It Could Be Worse

I was feeling a twinge of guilt tonight,
making supper,
feeding them some instant mashed potatoes instead of the real stuff.

But I felt way better after reading this tasty recipe on the back of the box:


Barbecue Meatballs:

In medium microwaveable casserole,
microwave 1 lb frozen cooked meatballs
on High about 4 min or until hot.
Stir in about 1 cup barbecue sauce.
Cook 1 min longer.


I read it like three times before I realized
that was it.


*

Thanks, Man

A special thank you goes out tonight
to the man who said, "G'bye Dan,"
before he walked out the back door of the music store today.

Dan leaned his head out and said, "Hey, aren't you Kulio?"
when I knocked on the repair room doorjamb to
get somebody's attention, and to ask if Chauncey was around.

He remembered my name.

I met him once a long time ago and he did me a big favor by
fixing my speaker cords for free,
and another time he took apart my amp and almost saved it,
apologizing that he couldn't.

Such a nice guy,
stuck back there in the dark workroom,
the kind of guy who doesn't get a lot of praise or recognition for his talent.

And I could not remember his name.

But the man who was just leaving,
he said it aloud, and shook Dan's hand,
with manners and kindness.

Saved.

"Hey Dan,"
I said,
and we chatted for a little while.

Thank you, wherever you are.

*

Casual Cool

I keep waiting for somebody to notice the awesome bruise on my shin
so that I can tell them I got it riding my son's skateboard.

I'm pretty sure my son would rather I keep that info to myself.

*

Humility

There is nothing more humbling than
a conversation with an honest child.

When twin boy was eight,
he stumbled into the bathroom unexpectedly
and the first words from his mouth were,
"Don't worry, Mom! I won't laugh!"

It's good to know that the first emotion my nakedness produces
is barely suppressed laughter.

And then at times, without warning
I find myself looking down into the large eyes of a small person
who has silently appeared by my side to comment with awe and wonder,

"You ate that really fast."

The truth about my body, my actions,
my private blunders and my humanness
are revealed through the smiling candor of the children around me.

Innocent observations about
wrinkles, moles, white lies,
hidden laundry piles, poor driving skills
and whether or not I had my eyes closed during prayer.

All of that, accepted with blind love and
small hands patting me on the back.

Yesterday twin boy made an important query
on our paddle boat ride in the middle of Lake Lansing.
I saw that he was glancing down at the specifications label
next to the steering rudder,

"Mom,"
he said, reading about the 900 lb limit,

"how much do you weigh?"

*

A Special Day

Odd circumstances created a sudden dilemma:
three of the children were destined for Cedar Point,
and one was left out.

I asked boy twin, "Do you want to go too?"

"Or would you like to stay home and have a special day with me?"

He did not hesitate.
Special Day.

Now my idea of a special day would be to wake slowly,
loll in bed, sip coffee and stay in our pajamas for too long.
We would walk the dog downtown to get ice cream.
We would read books companionably, side by side on the couch.
We would inspect the garden together,
eat lunch on the deck, and chat about important things.

My idea was not the same as twin boy's idea.

He made a list.

And this is what we did...

Target cafe, for pb&j, slushy, coffee and a muffin:

Action figure and Hot Wheels browsing.
Water balloons purchase.
IMAX theatre, to see Night at the Museum II.
19 holes of Miniature Golf:

10 tokens spent at an Arcade:



Breakfast at IHOP (3pm).
Lake Lansing Park:







French Fries and Cheerios for supper.
A game of Scrabble (he won).
A walk downtown with the dog for ice cream.

He thinks we should have a Special Day more often.
I think...
that I will sleep well tonight.

*