One day, not too far in the future, we will be grandparents. Our children will no longer live at home. We will no longer be carrying them around, changing diapers, or driving them from place to place. They will be grown, and we will no longer be responsible for their every waking movement.
One day, we will reminisce about these years. We will stop random parents with their children in the grocery store to ask how old their children are or to tell them about our grandchildren. One day, we will be sitting in the park, eating lunch, and watching the children play.
In those moments, when we are remembering our own children, and missing our grandchildren, I hope that those younger moms show us kindness. I hope those moms tell their children to wave at us. I hope those moms make eye contact with us and offer a smile. I know that one day, really not so long from now, I will miss today, and I will appreciate a wave or smile from someone else’s little one.
This morning while grocery shopping, I was approached more than five times. I was approached by elderly men and elderly women. They all asked me if my girls are twins. They all commented on how one of my daughters has so much hair. They all told me something about their children or grandchildren. I listened. I laughed at their stories. I encouraged my twins to wave and told them to say hi.
I encouraged my children to TALK TO STRANGERS! Gasp! Horrible. Sinful. Dangerous! 
All of the stops probably added time onto my shopping trip, but all of the stops meant something to me. Will I remember what person number four told me about their great niece’s neighbor who had twins too? No. However, I will remember how happy the other person looked when one of my girls smiled at them. I will remember when they complimented me for shopping alone with two babies. I will remember how they showed me kindness when I probably looked frazzled.
I know those more seasoned moms and dads appreciated the stops. I know they enjoyed talking with my kids. I could see the way they literally lit up when they saw a baby and then another baby. Their joy was almost contagious.
One day, a long time from now, I will stop a mom at the store pushing her twins in a stroller while pulling a cart. I will tell her how I remember doing the same thing when my girls were little. I will ask about her children’s ages. I will compliment her for being a solo shopper with twins. I will smile. We will part. I hope she will know how much the encounter with the stranger will have meant to me, a fellow mom, simply in a different stage of life.
