In appreciation of S.

On Friday night, I made the rounds from room to room, gathering up the day’s detritus. I put away dishes and returned jackets to their hooks. In our closet, I paused to admire the puffy abundance of our children’s coats and snowpants. Many of them were handed-down to us by P. & S., two dear friends from college. P. & S. married soon after graduation. They started their family six or seven years before my husband and I did. From our earliest days of parenthood, S. has sent us boxes brimming with clean and neatly-folded clothes. Somehow, even with three children of her own to keep track of, S. has managed to time her packages to arrive just at the right age and season to outfit our children. Now that they’re older, my daughter and son look forward to these bountiful boxes as much as I do.  P. & S. live just two hours away, and through regular visits through the years, our children have all become friends. When the packages arrive, they are ripped apart, and their contents relished like presents on Christmas morning. My kids feel regal wearing the clothes once donned by the big kids they so admire. “Generosity” could appear on the garments’ labels, just as accurately as “cotton” or “nylon.”

When I look at the coats, hooked over their silver knobs, I think most especially of S.  Of how she once chose and ordered these items in good time for her children, anticipating winter’s cold.  She probably selected the clothes on a regular weeknight, under lamplight in a quiet house, without notice by CNN or the Washington Post. But her daily efforts on behalf of her children, and her attention to their growing bodies and burgeoning interests, form the armature of their sense love and security. Hers is work of enduring and incalculable value.  I see my children wearing boots or hats from P. & S.’ family, and I am grateful for their style and utility. But mostly, I am grateful for the example of motherhood they represent.