Cheerios, blueberries and passersby: A Mother’s Day memory
My eyes are starting to strain, and it isn’t even eight o’clock. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I’ve spent half of my morning staring at my phone screen trying to decide where I’ll take my toddler today. With a cup of coffee in my other hand, I scroll to the sound of Cheerios crunching beside me – blueberries, too – his favorite.
As my scrolling stumbles upon an indoor playground for toddlers, I hear a spoon clank onto the floor. My attention is snapped back to my son, who is staring at me with his fist full of blueberries. I pick up the spoon and bring it over to the sink, realizing that the sunshine is finally making its way through the clouds. As I walk over to the front window, I can feel his gaze on me–watching, waiting to see what happens next. I turn around to smile at him and pull up the blinds with a little razzle-dazzle, making him laugh and launching Cheerios into places I’ll be finding for weeks.
Going back to my spot beside him, I notice his eyes are still fixed on the front window – someone is walking by with their dog. My son is so focused that he doesn’t notice me beside him. I sink into the moment, watching his face – his eyes full of wonder at this neighbor who likely walks by every day. He watched them until they were out of sight. The moment they were gone, his eyes snapped back to me – hopeful, almost certain I had seen them too.
I know that look. I had that look. I looked at my mom that way, too.
Before we could hold the internet in the palm of our hands – before apps – back when there was a Starbucks inside the Safeway at the center of the city, that’s where my mom would take me. She would pick me up from school, get me a chocolate muffin from the bakery, order herself an extra hot skinny caramel latte, and we would sit together – watching the people go by. Sometimes we would chat, other times we would sit in silence – her sipping her coffee, me sucking on the straw of a chocolate milk I found in the refrigerated section.
Each person walking by seemed to unlock a memory, story or topic for my mom to share with me. If someone walked by in scrubs, she would tell me about a hard shift she had at work as a nurse. If an elderly person walked by, she would tell me how strong they are and how hardworking and valued the elderly are in our community and culture. If another mom and child came through, she would ask if I knew them.
“Nope,” I would respond.
“Do I?” she joked, squinting toward them, making me laugh.
What was probably half an hour felt like time standing still. We didn’t have anywhere else to be, but we had someone to sit beside. We might have stayed longer if she’d ordered a venti instead of a grande.
The crunch of cereal, a burst of excited squeals, and the smell of my cooling coffee bring me back. The urge to look at my phone calls to me, but a tiny finger urgently points up at the window once more.
I put away my phone, settling in beside him, and watch as another mother and son walk past our window. Squinting at them, I ask my son if they’re friends of his. He babbles and keeps watching them intently, waving a tiny goodbye as they go.
“Nah, I didn’t think so,” I say to him, smiling, as we settle in, eat Cheerios, and wait for the next people to walk on by.
Nowhere to be, just someone to sit beside.
