I didn’t ask the little boy to come up to me. I didn’t even smile his way.
But he did come up to me. He wasn’t shy at all, and he even smiled as he asked me to push him on a swing.
“Is your mom around?” I asked him, hesitating. It’s not that I didn’t want to be friendly, but I wasn’t sure about this. We live in the country, and I have no idea what the unwritten rules are for pushing a strange kid on a swing.
Read the rest in my latest column at CatholicMom.com, “Becoming “That” Mom.”
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Here at Snoring Scholar, you'll find marriage and motherhood, book talk and rambling remarks, observations and distractions, in the midst of life in rural Ohio on a farm, with kids, critters, and Catholic flair.
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