During a visit to their grandparent’s home, my littles played tag in the backyard. After a long drive, they needed to burn off some energy, and the bright sun, beautiful weather, and a patch of grass beckoned them outside.
I stood and watched as they ran back and forth in the sun-dappled yard. They periodically stopped to pick up some pecans scattered about the grass, while squirrels dropped bits of the shells from the tall trees above.
At one point during the game of tag, I was named “base.”
Normally, I would have declined that designation and told them to use their regular base. After a long drive with a van full of kids, my capacity for noise and interaction was pretty low for this introvert. (And being a crash pad isn’t a role I particularly cared to play!)
But on this day, for some reason—or due to some infusion of extra grace—I chose to let it ride.
I’m pretty sure in her decades of mothering, my mother-in-law played base at one point, too.
In a lot of ways, she still is.
I know my mom is.
Actually, I think most mothers are.
As we enter summer, and our kids—big and small—return home for more time than usual, as our routines and schedules are all in flux and transitions abound, let us remember that we mothers are that base.
We are that safe space.
We are that soft landing—even as they come crashing into us.
We are that home they return to.
Even if we may not particularly want to be base at a given time, even if we’re exhausted and feel like there’s nothing left to give, it is a gift from God that *our* gifts from God return home over and over again. It is a grace they return to base, and grace that allows for us to receive them each time.
Plus, as my son happily exclaimed, “This is great! Then we can even give you hugs when we’re on base!”
Yes, dear. Always.