A Question Of Faith For The Second Grader

The Second Grader lost another tooth last week.  At age 8, he's a tooth-losing veteran, wiggly teeth no longer make him giddy with excitement.  Still, it was the first thing he told me when he bounded off the school bus. At this age anything involving blood is news worthy.

I lost a tooth!  At lunch!  It was bloody!  I got to go to the nurse!

But as he was preparing to put his tooth under his pillow that night, his smile faded and his eyes narrowed with innocent skepticism.  The Second Grader was suddenly all business.


You know what?, he said,  I wasn't going to tell you about the tooth.  I WAS going to put it under my pillow and not tell you.  That way, if there was money under my pillow in the morning, I would know for sure the tooth fairy did it.  If there wasn't any money, then I'd know it was the parents.

What a struggle for The Second Grader.  He's old enough, and smart enough, to question the ridiculousness of a winged fairy exchanging money for a tooth.  He's also old enough and smart enough to realize that if he admits disbelief, the money will most likely come to a screeching halt.  A conundrum of the most serious kind in the eyes of an 8 year old boy. 

To believe or not to believe.  Already he is facing the universal question of faith.  Okay, it's *just* the tooth fairy, but I would argue that the basic premise is the same. Questioning whether or not to believe in something you can't see or touch or even prove exists, is a monumental concept, especially for a kid who just wants to make sure he gets fair market value for his incisor.

That night, as we tucked him into bed, he chose to believe.  He put his bloody tooth under his pillow, considered staying up all night or at least setting a trap for the infamous fairy, but finally, surrendered to sleep. And it paid off for him, literally, when he awoke to a crisp dollar bill under his pillow the next morning. 

 I bet he'll still leave cookies out for Santa, too.
 

Meeting Bill

I don't know whether it truly keeps happening or whether I'm more open to it, this crossing paths with people-I-need-to-cross-paths-with thing.

Today I met Bill.

I instantly liked Bill.  He's that kind of person. He's the kind of person who has a story to tell. He's the kind of person who wants to hear yours.

Bill tells you the unedited version of what is on his mind, in the way that only a 70-something year old man can get away with doing.   When I introduced myself he squinted up his eyes and said, That's an unusual name.  A lot of people comment on the unusual-ness of my name, and generally these sort of critical remarks irritate me.  But I didn't mind when Bill said it.  I might have even said 'Thank You'

Bill told me about his four grown children, all who live far away, and his six grandchildren, all boys.  He doesn't see them often, but he spoke of them as if they lived next door.  

When I told him I wanted to freeze my kids at these beautiful ages they are at right now, he grinned a funny, smirky, grin and said, Your kids are cute now, they will be pains in the asses when they're teenagers, they'll leave you when their in their 20s, and when they're in their 30s they'll become you.   Be careful what you do and who you are.  It will come back to haunt you'.

I laughed (nervously, actually, as I thought 'oh shit, is that really true?').

We chattered some more, about nothing in particular, really, but I could have sat there all day with Bill, chatting about nothing in particular.  It was easy, effortless.

He radiated kindness and truth and authenticity.

If Bill had asked me to come to his house for supper I would have asked 'what time?'. I would have brought a macaroni and cheese casserole with bread crumbs on top to go with the meatloaf I think his wife would have served.  There would have been apple pie for dessert and Maxwell House bubbling in the stainless steel percolator on their kitchen counter.   I think he would have taken his coffee black.

I imagine he lives in a 1960ish shingled split level home where he has spent the last 40 years fixing leaky faucets and tinkering around in the basement workshop.  Paying someone to do a job he could do himself would seem downright stupid to him. The only reason he was inside today, he told me, was that it was raining, which prevented him from working on his roof.  After he told me this he sighed, 'eh, I'm too old for it all'.


We talked, Bill and I, for only a brief time in the big scheme of things, maybe ten minutes at most. When I put on my jacket and jingled my keys, he grumped, You're leaving?  You can't leave, I didn't get to know you, yet."

I guess he didn't get to know me, not really anyway, not any more than a chance morning run-in could allow.  But to me he felt as familiar as apple pie. 

Thanks for making me smile today, Bill.

Topless At The Breakfast Table

This morning, after drizzling syrup onto his stack of flapjacks, The Second Grader got a googly, starry-eyed kind of look in his eyes as he placed the full bodied bottle back on the table.

Look, Mom!, he bubbled, she just lost her shirt!

Oh, Mrs. Butterworth, why must you taunt my son, so? 

Into The Woods

I was here over the weekend

to get here you have to drive down this

and once you drive down that you do things like this

and this

and some of this (if you're a dog, that is)

and then, just as you are beginning to relax, just as you are becoming one with the fire pit smoke that lingers in your hair and clothes, just as you are successfully building up your beer drinking tolerance with good friends who are helpful like that, you have to pack up your car and come home to this

But it's all good.  Because you know you'll be back to this

 just as soon as the calendar flips to July.

.

Riding The Serendipitous Wave

While sipping my usual cup of dark roast from my usual ceramic mug, I logged into my Yahoo account this morning, as I usually do. Stuck in routine, I am. The usual junk was there, Lands End sale, the DailyOM, Eddie Bauer FREE SHIPPING!. There were a few emails from friends, one from my mom, and one from a woman I don't know very well, who, in fact, I haven't been in touch with for over a year.

We have met once, this woman and I, several years ago when we found ourselves at the same place at the same time and linked together by the people we knew. We got along well enough, but not well enough to stay connected on a meaningful level.  When we do exchange messages they are short, succinct notes of good will.

Hope you are well!

Merry Christmas!

Congratulations!

Today's email was different. Today, out of the blue, without any occasion that would require good wishes, she sent me an email with a question. A simple, but inquisitive kind of question. And on this particular day, instead of hitting delete or replying with a few polite words, I allowed my fingers to tap out what my head wanted to say. What followed over the next forty-five minutes of email time was a sort of spontaneous inspirational dialogue.

She doled out words like medicine: keep strong as you move along, and trust in what you believe; those negative comments are important...they get you to evaluate what really is right for you... and make you work toward attaining it.

These beautiful words of wisdom were offered to me at just the right moment in time, and I held on to them all day. I grabbed them off the screen, dipped them in chocolate and swallowed them whole. I watered the garden with them. I sprinkled them in my salad like sunflower seeds. I kept them close, allowed them to float around me until they slowly began to fade, as words often do.

It was only then, after they slipped from my grasp, after they fulfilled their verbal duty, that I wondered, how did she know?

How did she know exactly what to say?

What bizarre set of circumstances caused this woman whom I barely know, a woman who lives 3000 miles away, to hand deliver on the silver platter that is my computer screen the precise words of encouragement I so needed? Today.

Are we all connected in some mysterious way?  Can the energy of one person reach across the country to another without our full awareness?  Energy is a powerful force, so the Jedi in my house tell me.

Or maybe the magical wonders that occur in our lives can be credited to all the angels out there trying to earn their wings. It worked for Jimmy Stewart. I think I did hear a bell ring after my email exchange this morning.

Or perhaps, more likely even, we are all riding one big serendipitous wave of life, hanging on the best we can and hoping that the tide stays high long enough for us to figure it all out. If we're lucky, we get splashed with tiny droplets of clarity along the way.  We get thrown the occasional anchor of support and safety.  We get handed random swells of goodness from all the guest appearances who show up when we most need them.

Maybe. 

The truth is, I don't know.

And maybe it's better that way, this not knowing.  Maybe the mysterious workings of the Universe are a mystery for a reason. 

In any event, I'm glad I checked my email this morning.


Has this ever happened to you? Has someone or something showed up unexpectedly just at the time you needed it?  And did you think it was just a little bit creepy, but in a good way?

Spring Knees

The Eight Year Old Brain

Every morning, for the last 155 school days, The Second Grader has walked out of the house without his backpack.

And every morning, for the last 155 days, I have said, Second Grader, have you forgotten something?.

And the Second Grader has looked at me, every morning, with his blank eight year old stare until the flicker of realization hits him and he says, oh yeah, and he runs back inside for his backpack.


Twenty-nine more days to go.

Two Years

I have been slogging through the week, not quite right and not quite sure why. The unease has caught me off guard, knocked me down from my comfortable stoic resting space.

Today, finally, my brain aligned itself with my body and whispered in my ear.

May.

Two years ago this week the heart stopped beating.





I'll be back next week, witty and cynical with maybe a little funny.



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Oh, Rosie Come Out Tonight

It's been a busy few weeks, what with tending to the needs of my third child.



It's a good thing she's cute.

The Second Grader and I picked up our little Rosie* a few weekends ago at a rest stop in New Hampshire. It felt a little James Bondish mission-y, waiting for the unmarked van to arrive with our pups in tow. You see, we had to cross state lines to pick up our puppy. Had the rescue group delivered them to Massachusetts they would have been considered a 'mobile pet shop' and would have needed a license. So instead, every few weeks, the volunteers drive to a neighboring state, in this case New Hampshire where the motto is Live Free Or Die, to deliver the rescue dogs. So we waited in a deserted park and ride lot off the highway for the transport to arrive. When the van finally pulled into the parking lot, the bleary eyed drivers swung open the doors and handed each pup into the arms, or in our case, leash, of their new owners.

And there she was, our submissive Rosie, squatting in front of us peeing for our approval. Classic third child syndrome.

Poor Rosie has had a rough start in life. She was abandoned at an early age with her three siblings, and has spent the last month and a half in a shelter. Just as she was beginning to acclimate to shelter life, she was crated up and driven from Tennessee to New Hampshire in a dark, windowless van.

Rosie's got some issues to work through (but who doesn't?). She is a shy pup with low self esteem. She needs attention and love and external validation. In other words, she fits in perfectly here.

In order to decrease the submissive behavior, we are supposed to increase her self confidence. My first reaction was 'really?' which quickly turned into 'I'll do anything to stop my house from smelling like submissive pee'. So we play tug of war with her and let her win. We teach her new commands that she can easily master. We pat her chin instead of the top of her head. Not all that unlike a kid, actually.

In the week and a half that she has been here, we have seen a big change in her personality. She no longer cowers in front of us and pees for approval. She plays with other dogs in the neighborhood with ease and (some) confidence. She runs in the backyard off leash and chases tennis balls with puppy enthusiasm.

I think she is happy.

I know my boys are happy.

And I am sure I will be happy once I can get my hands on a steam cleaner.









* I am positive that by naming my dog after a Springsteen song, my chances of meeting him have increased exponentially. I'm sure of it.