Rumblings

Pitter-Patter

It was raining.

The drops slowly rolled down the window, and she realized how beautiful the sight was. She had gotten up early to do nothing. 

She sipped her coffee, content with basking in silence. The whole household was asleep, and soon enough they would slowly awake. One by one, emerging from interesting dreams, rubbing their eyes, stretching and yawning. Running down the stairs, clamouring about, looking for breakfast. They will, no doubt, each ask for a different thing for breakfast, and she will calm them down by proposing a suitable compromise.

But for now, there was just her. The silence was glorious. There was nothing but the smell of her coffee, the sight of an arranged house, unmolested by the day's activities, and of course, the pitter-patter on her window sill. This was bliss. 

She loved being a mother. She never thought of herself as a caregiver by nature, but something in those kids forced her to reach down inside of her, into her very soul, and find the shrivelled part of her that was maternal. She often claimed "I don't like kids, I just like my kids," and people usually assumed she was joking. But those kids were her life. She knew that no matter where life lead her, they would always remain her greatest accomplishment. 

Not because she was going to force them into one career or another, mind you, but because she was loving the type of people they were becoming. They were loving, empathetic, and they weren't afraid to express themselves. She knew they would go on to do great things - she could feel it in her heart, and she had never been so sure of anything in her life.