If you are a mom you have to remember (or still experience) Mama purse. That is where your purse is not your own, but becomes the receptacle for everyone in the family's stuff. When my kids entered the teen years I went through a rebellious stage where my purses went tiny. The girls had purses of their own and the boy was a strapping fellow and able to carry his own crap. The husband? Well, he just had to deal. Just sayin.
But after my annoyance and payback was achieved, I decided tiny purses are just a pain. I have stuff of my own that I want to shove in a purse, quite a bit, actually. So my purses have grown in size over the past few years. I'm not back at the beach bag stage but I can carry a book and a wallet and a few other necessities in my normal and reasonable sized handbag.
On Sunday we took the g-kids out to eat at Qdoba. There were a few moments of tension and earned timeouts awarded while the adults stood patiently in line and the hangry little stinkers decided to act out. But we all survived the outing. Whew.
On Monday, I was digging around in my front pocket on my purse. I found a handful of cardstock hitchhikers. That explains that moment of silence. And also concerns me that we may have some future pickpockets in the family!
Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.