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The Musings Of A Mother, The Echoes Of Childhood

Updated on April 30, 2017
Juliet Stewart profile image

Juliet Austin- is the Mother to three well rounded Children, the smartest most adorable little Boy calls her Grandma.

It's the Little Thing's

The wonderous sound's of laughter

Echoes through empty hallways

making pitter, patter sound's up and down the stairs

Just here, a memory of little hand's holding on to a banister,

Smiling, dirty faces, a muddy handprint,

Along a freshly painted wall

With now unsteady gait I walk from room to room

Another memory, then gone so suddenly as though imagined

In this space now empty all except the bare essential

A glimpse of big brown eyes staring in wonderment

Of doll's lining shelve, clothes recently discarded

Strewn carelessly along furniture and floors

And a voice I've come to recognize as my own

Gently chastising a reminder of the need for cleanliness

The smile that comes from my daughters' lips, belaying my stern intent

My youngest

Seeing it for what it is, unmoving, secure in that knowledge, she carries on with play

Dismissing my word's for meaningless chatter

Turning eyes so like mine towards me

watching as I pick up articles of clothing

Lovingly refolding and putting them away

So intense this Child of mine

Thinking, she will no doubt be a beauty one Day

As I smile and walk away

Smiling still

I move along walls now slightly yellowing with age

Feeling for the notch that years ago a baseball made

Just here, and below a cherished frame used to sit

I remember an irreverent sorry, from eyes as huge as saucers

Then a smile as I comforted with word's again

Chastising for playing indoors

This room also empty no car's truck's or airplanes align the walls above the bed

All prized possession boxed up to be passed on

To the first born son of a first born

No comic books or baseball cards

No books of adventure to stir the wild imaginings

So like your Mother in that regard

Empty except for a bed and desk that now fills that space

Barren and cold, bereft of life that once it knew

My most mischevious Child

The memories of you brings a smile to my lips

My first born such joy you have given me

As I continue along I stare through the open windows

Watching the curtains as they gently move

The breeze catching the ends

And again I smile, my middle Child another Son

The middle Child, of a middle Child

So quiet but with so much to say

Barely a whisper at times, but with a heart so filled with love

Always a smile for Mommy and kisses aplenty

With hug's as big as the Texas skies

His Sister's favorite, or so she lies to all three

With nary a complaint, he'd help her comb her dolls hair

Put a finger just so to help tie a bow

The mildest mannered of the three he loved to laugh

A practical joker

At the antics he stoked more like his Mother I think

At least here a football, a miniature basketball still sits

I always loved his room best

Big open windows overlooking the front yard

Where crepe myrtles and a giant oak blossoms

In the Spring and Summer

In this middle room, I often sat and contemplated

Just here by the big open window

Tired now I sit to rest to contemplate the gift's that living has bestowed.

Below the stairs, voices ring out

Yes the voices stronger now

Voices from the past and ones of new

Slowly I rise making my way below stairs

Big brown smiling eyes look up at me a look I have seen before

From eyes so closely resembles his Father

A broken vase lay in shards upon the floor

An irreverent sorry with a wry grin brings a smile to my lips

My first born's first born

A wry grin and scowl now marring a perfectly sculptured face

Twirling a baseball bat in tiny hands

He pathetically apologize for the tiny nick in the wall

Hugging him tightly I try hard to be stern

As I gently run my hands over a mass

Over black curly hair, I trail fingers lovingly

Worried brows so like mine amuses me

As I gently chastise for playing ball in the house

Holding on to tiny hand's I look down at my Grandson and smile

So the cycle again begins

Written in 2012 The ending of course not representative of my grandson, creative liberty taken as I envision my Grandson being just as mischevious as his Father. Of course, I couldn't climb stairs either I used a chair lift. Writing involves taking certain liberties with a Story, I take a lot of Liberties at times. But one Day I know it will happen just as I envisioned. My Grandson and I have a special connection. When that Day comes Grandma will be waiting with open arms.

Copyright clause: As it pertains to all written work Copyright Laws and plagiarism Laws applies cannot be copied or used in part or totality without giving credence to the Author as it stands under intellectual property laws.


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    • Juliet Stewart profile image

      Juliet Stewart-Austin 12 months ago from San Antonio, TX.

      whonunwho, a curtsey and head bob, to say thank you for taking the time to read and give me your feedback, It is highly appreciated.

    • whonunuwho profile image

      whonunuwho 12 months ago from United States

      This was so beautifully written and the photograph was so wonderful, to accompany it. Thank you for sharing his special family memory with us all. Blessings my friend. whonu