celebrate kindness

The first days of the new year brought excitement of a possible snow storm at the end of the week. Now for those of you who’ve never lived in Virginia, let me fill you in on a little phenomenon called “Southern Snow Madness”. With just the talk of snow, us southerners start getting ready. Everyone runs to the store to get milk and bread (sometimes more than once!) and parents start digging through closets trying to find snow clothes for the children who will be clamoring to play outside.

We are no exception. It doesn’t matter if we receive an inch or a foot, all three of my kids will end up outside for hours sledding down hills, making snow angels, and having snowball fights (if the snow is wet enough).

As I was gathering the hats, gloves, boots, and bibs, I found a pair of like-new snow boots that my youngest son had outgrown. I decided to sell them on our community Facebook page and quickly received seven requests for purchase.

I looked over the list of names in my inbox and felt led to open one by a gal named Susan. (This isn’t her real name – she asked to remain anonymous.) She definitely wanted the boots, but wasn’t sure when she could come by my house to get them as she was waiting for her husband to get home from work.

I told her I was flexible, any time would do, then she replied that if she couldn’t get them tonight she could get them after the snow.

No. 

Absolutely not.

I felt my heart squeeze tight as these thoughts flew into my head. Pick up the boots after the snow? What on earth? These boots are FOR the snow!

Immediately I responded that I would bring the boots to her. In that moment, I had no clue where she lived, but I knew with full certainty that she needed these boots NOW.

We went back and forth a bit with her protesting my offer to deliver, and finally she realized I was serious. “Are you sure?” she asked, her question of doubt making me smile.

I. Am. Sure. 🙂

Twenty minutes later I was at her doorstep, snow boots in hand. She came out the front door, her joy radiating through our hug. As I backed out of her driveway, her little boy waved to me from their front door.

Later that night, she sent me a message on Facebook with a photo of her son wearing the boots. She told me how she had tried to purchase snow boots at the store, but they were too big, how her husband had just switched jobs, how money was tight and she couldn’t afford $30 snow boots. She was so very appreciative for these boots that were obviously meant for her son.

This morning I awoke to a yard blanketed in white. It brought such joy in my heart to know that there’s a little boy out there having fun in his new-to-me Spiderman snow boots, with a happy Momma by his side.

Last night as the summer sun swept across the horizon fading from the day, my son begged to go to the playground. “Let’s go, Mommy!” The smile stretched across his six-year-old face as I listed all the local playgrounds we could visit. “Pick whichever one you want and we will go!”

He pondered his options, then chose the last one on the list. It was the farthest from our home, but “has the most awesomest rock wall.” Who could resist that?

When we arrived, the playground was busy, but not mobbed. There were a few parents idling around, several teenagers walking the path, and a handful of children running and playing.

Not a single person here shared our skin color.

He ran towards the rock wall before I could even close my car door. “Take a picture of me, Mommy!” His small feet scampered up to the top and there he stood, so proud of his accomplishment.

Another boy joined him at the crest and they spent the next hour playing together. There were no formal introductions, no hesitation, just two boys happy to play with each other.

They ran through the jungle gym and slid down the slide, waiting for each other at the bottom to do it all again. Their make-believe banter echoed across the metal monkey bars as they celebrated their mission of evading dangerous crocodiles below. “Follow me!” they chanted as they zig-zagged through the park, their small bodies darting from one end to the other.

I helped the boys into the swings, their small legs too short to touch the ground, then gave them both five pushes (“and one for good luck!”) Then I sat on a bench to watch the boys swing higher and higher in the sky.

As I scanned the playground area, I saw trash scattered across the grass. Keeping an eye on the boys, I walked over and picked up the discarded plates, napkins, and plastic drink pouches, placing them inside the dumpster where they belonged. (Yes, I was struck by the irony of the trash so close to the dumpster with the “Please Don’t Litter” sign attached. My best guess is the trash was in the large box on the dumpster and had blown out from the wind.)

As night began to fall, we wrapped up our playtime with one last spin on the tire swing. “Mommy! I made a best friend today!” my little guy exclaimed as his giggles rang across the meadow.

Yes, you did, sweet boy.

Yes, you did.

This is how the world should be.

Sometimes all you need is a simple surprise to make your day.

Yesterday afternoon was a scorcher. Ninety-degree weather with a heat index well into the 100s. My sister and I planned to get the kiddos together, thinking a late afternoon walk through Maymont Park might be a nice, refreshing change from the day-to-day mom mode of summer.

Nice, yes. Refreshing, no.

The children’s zoo entrance was blocked due to construction, so we had to find another way in. The bears exhibit was closed and empty. We had tantrums. We had tears. We had a streak of angry petulance from one of the six-year-olds when we tried to take a group photo. (My child, not hers.)

We walked and we walked and we walked. There wasn’t much of a breeze, so our sweat clung to our clothes as if we had been caught in a downpour of rain. Some may have questioned why on earth we were still out in all this heat, but we knew what we wanted to see: the beautiful waterfall in the Japanese Gardens.

Our children climbed the rocks to sit in the tiny pagoda, a family tradition from when my sister and I were young and would come here with our dad. We reveled in the moment, knowing we were passing down our own childhood memories to the next generation.

Two hours later, we ended our walk where we began, gave our hugs goodbye, then headed home. As I pulled into my driveway, I saw an Amazon box by my front door and was surprised to see my name on the front. I thought perhaps I had received an item in error, or maybe my daughter had ordered something delivered in my name. I carried the box into the house and sat on the floor to see what was inside.

Using scissors, I carefully cut the packing tape across and lifted the edges to discover a speck of red peeking out. That’s when I started to laugh with childlike wonder… it was a hummingbird feeder!

Attached to the feeder was a small note from my friend, Karen Richardson, who blessed me with this surprise in response to my comment about her blog post this past week. Both she and Donna Donner described the joy of watching hummingbirds from their yard and I stated that I needed a hummingbird feeder, too.

And with that one statement, a random act of kindness was delivered.

JOY!!

What Karen and Donna don’t know is that we did a “deck overhaul” just a few weeks ago. We took down the table, chairs, and umbrella, stained each and every wooden plank, then purchased two lounging chairs, three folding chairs and a small side table to make the deck more like a relaxing “outside office” for me to do my writing this summer.

And now… I can watch the hummingbirds linger as I write, read, and play.

Thank you, Karen, for your gift of friendship and kindness and for reminding me how wonderful it is to be on the receiving end of a simple surprise. You absolutely made my day!