“What are you going to do today?” My husband asks. I know he’s not talking about errands but instead about my random act of kindness.
“I was thinking about Mrs. Jacks.”
My husband laughs. “She’s kind of your fall-back, isn’t she?”
He’s right. I absolutely adore her.
Eighty-year-old Mrs. Jacks lives across the street. She was the first to introduce herself and chatted happily to us as movers carried our furniture from the truck into the house. She recently decided to sell her home and move into a retirement home in Dayton closer to her son.
When the sign went into her yard, A. asked, “How will we talk to Mrs. Jacks everyday if she doesn’t live right there?” I explained that we could write her letters and call but he wasn’t satisfied.
“It’s not the same,” he said. Such a big thought for a little boy.
I don’t have time to think about Mrs. Jacks at the moment. This afternoon, two of my three boys are bringing friends home from school for early release.
I like to have some planned activity for the kids. Let me put it another way. With five boys in the house, I better have a plan. Today we are decorating cake pops for Thanksgiving. I think of it as their party favor for coming to play.
Three hours later, all the boys (except mine) are gone. They’ve explored the creek, battled bad guys, and climbed the tree house. They played board games, video games and made-up games.
I don’t know about them but I’m exhausted.
No rest for the weary, I have one more important thing to do. I package some cake pops and grab my oldest son. We head over to another neighbor, a good friend that I don’t see as much since she started back to work.
“Mrs. Jacks?” My husband looks over from the couch when we return.
“No,” I smile. “I’m spreading it around.”