Better

I was in a far better mood today. I spent our morning commute enjoying the signs of spring: willows trailing their filmy veils of green, forsythia beginning to set the roadsides ablaze, swelling buds on cherry and magnolia trees, a promise of beauty to come.

My moods are closely linked to the seasons; every fall I mourn the dying year and fading light and every spring I find myself renewed and invigorated by the lengthening days and burgeoning, blossoming world.

11:20 a.m. I'm writing this at the food court in Wegmans. The boys and I didn't get our weekly visit here last week because we were too busy, so we were all looking forward to our trip here today.

The Mardi Gras decorations are all gone, of course, and now everything is green for St. Patrick's Day. Downstairs I walked by buckets of green flowers for sale: daisies and mums dyed green. Shamrocks abound. There is Irish cream-flavored coffee at the coffee shop and Irish soda bread at the bakery. Corned beef and cabbage is on sale at the lunch counter. Who actually eats that stuff?

There are several rooms up here in the food court. I usually go to the remote one and sit at a table near the balcony overlooking the bakery and patisserie. It is quiet at this time of day. The lunch rush has not started yet, and I had the room to myself while I sipped my coffee and read my book.

A few minutes ago, an older woman and two younger women, each with a toddler in tow, entered the room. One little boy is perhaps sixteen months old, the other is a little older. I imagine the older woman is the mother of one of the younger women. The three women are sitting at a nearby table. I find myself getting annoyed that they didn't choose a table on the other side of the room. Can't you see I want to be alone?

No, I'm sure they can't see. The women are oblivious to everything but their conversation. They are paying little or no attention to the toddlers who are wandering all over the room.

"When I go to visit Lisa in North Carolina," the older woman is saying, "I bring my own pasta. And cheese. Lisa always asks me to bring cheese."

One of the boys is over at the caddy where the plastic utensils are stored and is hurling straws and paper-covered chopsticks to the floor. After a while his mother leads him back to her table.

The women are talking in hushed voices about some medical procedure now. I try not to listen, but random words and phrases seep through

"...caught it in time?"

"They won't know until..."

"...three centimeters..."

One boy is busily taking chopsticks out of the paper envelopes. His mother picks up most of them but allows him to keep two. She shows him how to beat them against the table like drum sticks. I'm not an overprotective mother, but I don't think I would have let my children play with chopsticks when they were that young.

The other little boy is shaking a vacant table and giggling when he hears the salt and pepper shaker clanging together. "Douglas, how about not doing that?" his mother says. Even a toddler understands that it's a suggestion, not an order, so Douglas keeps on shaking the table until his mother finally removes him.

I was hoping that the women would leave soon, but I'm getting tired of trying to wait them out, so I'll be packing up my Palm and keyboard now. The kids are adorable, and I don't blame them. They are just doing what toddlers do: exploring and investigating their surroundings. I do think the mothers should be paying a little more attention to their children, however.

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