Gifts

For a variety of reasons, I found myself walking to and from the school a lot today. Part of my story is my son. He is wonderful and challenging. He is as hot as the sun. He's mesmerizing with his brains and beauty, but he can't always keep his emotions between the lines. Bit like his mama.

This morning was a hard one, but then on the way home he found a butterfly. It had died where it flew, and he spotted it perfectly in tact. His brother protected it until we got home. His sister kept the dog from eating it.

Did I mention he had poetry homework? Here is what he wrote...

I am a smart boy who like sharks

I wonder what life will be like for our descendants who will live thousands of years from now

I hear my fan at night

I see a good life ahead with lots of mistakes and successes

I want to have an impact on those around me

I am a smart boy who likes sharks

I pretend that I am well known and revered in the world

I feel powerless when I hear about loss

I touch other people’s lives when I do something for charity

I worry that life will pass me by without me doing anything

I cry when I hear about how much poverty there is in the world

I am a smart boy who likes sharks

I understand that I can’t do something for everything that happens in the world

I say that I can do almost anything if I put my mind to it

I dream that there were a decent life for everybody

I try to make an impact on my peers

I hope that life will get better for everybody

I am a smart boy who likes sharks

Wheels

When I first learned to ride my bike, my brother and I rode loops around my dad's condo parking lot. We timed the laps like a crit race, because it was a really short loop. I can remember sliding out in a sandy spot beside a speed bump leaving road rash on the inside of my elbow, all down my hip, and blood dripping from my knee. We kept riding tho.

Last weekend I saw a boy on the street. This is big news because my son has been without street friends since we moved to the new house. Maybe you don't remember how important street friends are? Trust me. They are important, and I celebrated. Every time the dog barked, I hollered to my son that somebody was on the street. Was it his future street friend? Go! Get your bike! Go see who it is!

The week came and went. The elusive boy on bike was not met. Sunday he asked, "Mom, will you take me down to the new people at that house?"

"What if I make cookies?"

"Then he'll definitely be my friend."

Bambi the Buck

The deer in this neighborhood are bizarre. There are so many, they're nearly tame. I find them eating the flowers in the front yard in the morning. Not one, not two, but six or seven or nine. When I drive the street, they look up and then carry about their graze. I have a garden with an 8' fence with no vegetation and hoof prints. There's a nuance to this domestication tho. When I bike up the street, they bolt.

This bizarre thing happened on the way home from school the other day. My son (on bike) makes his way up the street first. Between him and child #2, a car is approaching - and Bambi appears. He's spooked and headed full throttle towards the fence. Nothing is going to stop him! (except the fence) The fence stood its ground, and Bambi flipped back into the street. He's fully panic-stricken. He's in a seizure state of fear. His movements are violent and uncontrolled. He's grunting and growling at himself while somersaulting forwards and back.

We step back and watch, hoping he'll get it together and letting him have his space. It takes 45 seconds? a minute?, but he does catch his feet on the ground. The first grip sends him up the street towards us. The single speed tandem is too heavy to try to manipulate into a shield, and I worried. He flipped and fell again. Another 10 seconds of deer terror, and he finds his way the other direction into the woods.

And this is the day I met my new neighbors! I mention this because this really happened. This weird scene is not a metaphor or a moral story. Only Bambi's name was made up. It's a story about a freaked out buck. Oh deer.

Bag Lady

My mother has trained my daughter in the art of putting things in a bag to carry them. My daughter has as many bags and purses as my mother. The humor here is that I have so few. I will go out of my way to not carry a purse that I will leave things I *might* need. If the likelihood of needing the item is less than 100%, there's a good chance I will leave it at home. I try to carry very little baggage. Weekend in south Texas? A purse with a bathing suit, a dress, and sandals is plenty. For everything else, there is retail shopping and shipping.

Something amazing happened on the bus -- AGAIN. Let me set up the logistics a little. My car was at the office. Sometimes I leave it there and bike home.  Enter the drama.

I'm headed to south Texas and I really have only my bathing suit, a dress, and sandals. I'm a little panicked because I tried to drive my car home last night. Mental recall of events tells me that I must have dropped my wallet with my car keys on the bus yesterday morning. I'm headed to work before going to the airport. The bus company is closed so I leave a message. There's nothing more to be done except cancel the cards and replace the keys. Replacing car keys can be really messy (read: expensive). In this particular model, you have to have it towed to a dealership and have a new key programmed. All in, we're looking at ~$1k. GAH. Deep sigh. Mantra, "it's just money."

I'm about to accept my fate, leave my car at the office for the weekend, and fly out when you know what happened? I got a phone call from the bus company. Somebody turned in my wallet. It was light a little cash, but it had the very expensive key and all of my cards.

My love-hate bus pendulum swings back to love.