I’m on an airplane headed back home to Austin, back to my waiting husband and kids.  I’ve been in Michigan at my grandmother, Harriet Decker’s memorial service. She lived a long life, mother to five children.   As soon as I step through my front door I will be needed again.  And it won’t be a pastel, casual need.  It will big need, loud like tie-dye.  So I’m savoring the silence and a cup of coffee in the clouds. I’m listening for Grammy’s voice as I study some photographs of her.
If I listen close I can hear her encouraging me as a mother.
You can be patient, Jessie.  You can do this mothering.  It is a calling.  Even if you don’t feel it every day, it’s there.  The calling is in your arms because she scraped a knee. It’s a boy who needs correction with love. Rest on the couch with a hand on your forehead if you need to. Utter praises. See what scripture you can call to mind.  Try it. 
You can mother them with a rhythm, Jessie. You fear you can’t, but you can.  See a metronome in your mind.  Follow a beat.  Hum a rousing tune.  Don’t retreat to worry.  Don’t let yourself get grumpy. Clip some flowers; they’ll make you feel good.  Draft a poem when you hold the baby on your hips.  Read a recipe while they play.  Don’t demand every margin of time be yours.  Stop grabbing at freedom like you’re starving. You aren’t starving; you are simply a mother.  Find small moments in the day. Savor them like fine desserts.  The discipline of choosing joy is real. I know. I had five children.  Lean into the hard days not away from them. 
The plane is touching down now.  The wheels bump along in that way they do.  I take one more long look at her pictures.
“And remember what my mother (your great-grandmother) used to say, ‘The best things in life are something to look forward to, a memory to cherish, and someone who needs you.'”