When he was small, my youngest son had a habit of filling his pockets with treasures he encountered in his daily adventures. I didn't always understand the value he saw in his chosen objects -- really, how many rocks and sticks could one boy keep? In his eyes, though, each one was beautiful and important. Life is just like that on a larger scale, isn't it? We gather up the precious bits of our experiences and save them all to learn from and enjoy later. Perhaps you'll find a little something here that you'd like to keep in your own pockets. Thanks for visiting.

Friday, June 17, 2011

8:17 a.m.


8:17 a.m.: School begins in exactly 13 minutes, and I am trying (quite unsuccessfully) to slather sunscreen on two squirming boys in our front hall. Meanwhile...

At the top of his lungs, Will is singing a rollicking tune that he learned at school about going to heaven. (Imagine the song "The Other Day I Met a Bear" and substitute lyrics like "Oh you can't get to heaven in a limousine, 'cause God don't sell any gasoline". No, I'm not kidding. This is one of the little-known benefits of sending your children to Catholic school.) In between verses Will is pausing to ask me questions like "Hey, do cats have to get married to have babies?" and "When somebody says, 'Oh, for Pete's sake!', who exactly is 'Pete'? and what does 'sake' mean?". I am trying to figure out how to reasonably answer any one of those questions in the 30 seconds I have to devote to a response.

I look over at Noah and realize he still has a gob of peanut butter from breakfast on his cheek that he needs to go wash off. His glasses are streaked to the point that his vision must be comparable to driving in a dense fog. He is explaining to me (over Will's singing) exactly how he is going to style his hair for the airbands show, and informing me that he needs green and orange hairspray. Also, in exactly two minutes, Noah will walk out the front door and forget to bring with him the project that we worked about 4,000 hours on (with much drama in the final stages) and that is due today.

All around me the house is in a state of utter disorder, with the furniture all moved around and things piled up on top of it to allow our carpets to dry after being steam cleaned. Maggie the cat is a complete emotional wreck because of the unusual physical mess: she is howling inconsolably and constantly weaving herself in and around my legs because surely, the state of things signifies the world is ending or something of that sort. (Oh, and note to self: sunscreen plus a puffy cat does not equal anything pleasant.)

I wish I could say I made some of this stuff up for effect. Can someone please remind me again how many days left until summer vacation?
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