2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 8

Tonight, I got home late from a professional development session I co-facilitated.  Dinner was in the oven, and to this tired soul, the 'gourmet' Red Baron pizza (with extra cheese!) baking inside made me want run to the table like I was sliding into home base.

My husband cut and served the gooey goodness and we sat down to chat as a family.  Of course, the normal conversations ensued:

"So, what did you do at work today?" I asked my beam-designer husband. 
(I still inquire...even though his technical jargon sounds more to me like the person Peppermint Patty conversed with on the phone in Peanuts cartoons.)

"Normal.  Got a 90% deadline tomorrow..."
(Blah, blah, blah---LOVE how cheesy this slice is.)

Still arrested by my dairy affair, a little voice rescued me from coveting the last slice lying mere steps away in our midget kitchen.

"Mommy, what did you do at wawk today?"
(In Reid-speak, that's 'work.')

I stared into his brownie eyes.  In fact, it might've taken me a minute to process his informational request.
OK, he asked me what I did today at work.  Really?  That's never happened before.
OK, so I have to answer him.  
What do I say?  What do I say?
How do I put what I do in a day in two-year-old terms...?

"Well, I talked with some teachers,
then, I tested some kids,
then, I taught some kindergarteners a little more about writing,
then, I worked on letters with some other kids,
then, I went to a meeting."
(Obviously, the abridged version of March 8...)

'Did you eat pizza at your wawk meeting?" my lovely little one inquired.

AMAZING.

Even a toddler knows the best meetings are those which offer soul-pleasing snacks.  My benchmark for planning future gatherings has been reinforced (yet again).

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 7

Walking down
our once blank, bleek
apartment hallway
New life blossoms
every
Sunday

Months ago
I became
tired
of the whiteness,
the plainness,
of the new space

So I stopped it,
in favor
of
toddler
Sunday School
masterpieces

"This is your art wall,"
I proudly
proclaimed
to Reid
at the start
of our new
ritual

Each week
we
tape up
a
coloring page:
God made my arms
        God made my feet
                God gives us food
                        God gives us family

Each one shows
how our
baby
is
growing:
in spirit
        in motor control
               in conversation

Now
as the collection
expands,
Reid says,

"This is my heart wall, Mommy."

Yes.
It is.
(And, never once do I rephrase...because his nomenclature is far superior.)

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 6

Last night after dinner,
Reid and Tom stayed around the table
just a little longer than I did.
Relaxing on the couch with my hometown's newspaper, I zoned out
in favor of the goings-on with familiar people and places in Berne...
until gregarious laughter exploded and
seemed to roll through
our apartment room by room.
I ran, hoping to catch
the tail end of all this silliness.

Indeed, I was privy to much more.

Tom decided that our toddler needed to learn how to play "Simon Says."

Now, this may seem like a pipe dream...
but from what I could tell,
Reid really stuck with the simple directions offered.


"Simon says, touch the cup."
Check.
"Simon says, pound on the table."
Check.
"Simon says, touch the plate."
Check.
"Look up at the ceiling."
(Um, yeah sure; why not?)

Two quick hands flew into Reid's tiny armpits and "buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzed" him
(complete with appropriate sound effects)
after the ceiling miscue.
He burst out laughing, giggling, gaffawing ---
whatever it was,
his eyes sparkled and his cheeks became rosy.
It was precious.

Reid caught on to the game.
(Oh, he is a smart one.)

The next series, he followed all the directions
prefaced with "Simon Says" to the letter.
Those missing the alliterative indicator,
he completed
in
anticipation
of
the "buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
from Daddy.

Laughing, giggling, gaffawing ---
whatever it was,
his eyes sparkled and his cheeks were rosy.

It was precious.

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 5 of 31

Is it...

In the silver purse?

No.

In the houndstooth bag?

No.

In the houndstooth bag's:
Front pockets?  
Side pockets?  
Inside pockets?

No.  No.  NO.

OK.  Reboot.
Then it has to be in the car.

Between the seats?

No.

Under the floormats?

No.

Under the seats?

NO.

OK.  Now with most things, the moment I quit looking for them...
they present themselves.
Maybe I should try that strategy
because my other option is to
COMPLETELY FREAK OUT THAT I'VE BEEN WITHOUT 
MY SCHOOL ID AND ELECTRONIC KEY FOR A WEEK.

Yes, I've had to bum entrances into the building each morning.
I've had to text, call, and parking lot stalk my friends to get inside.
I've had to walk around the school instead of
cutting through a few simple rooms to get to my destination.

OK.  So, maybeeeee, it is jumbled in one of my messy desk drawers at school.

No.  No.  And, NO.

OK.  So, maybeeeee, it is in a store at the mall.
We were there two weekends ago and I distinctly remember
adding it to my diaper bag before leaving
(because yes, Virginia, some stores do honor teachers
by providing additional discounts...eh-hem, J.Crew).
Really?  
I don't want to call each and every store we traipsed through.
Gee.  Who has the time?

IT'LL TURN UP; I JUST KNOW IT.

OK.   So, today I was packing my houndstooth bag to run a few errands...and...

THE ID CARD WAS POLITELY LYING 
FACE-UP IN THE 
BOTTOM 
OF 
MY 
BAG.  

Last week, I looked there a dozen times.  No dice.
Why today?
Because today, I wasn't stressed out while looking...
today, I was open for blessing instead of pushing my own agenda...
today, I savored 'the find' as if I had won the lottery.

Tomorrow, I can go to school when I want,
open all the right doors,
and not have to expend valuable energy
taking more steps than I need to.

It DID turn up; I just knew it would.

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 4

 So, last night, my husband and I had a movie date.  It was "game on" the moment our remote landed on the first "Sex in the City" flick.  If you're part of their cult following (and everyone who is knows that the show is much more about the girls' relationships than sex...), you know this cinematic event is significant in the series' life because this is where the myth of Carrie and Big as a couple finally gets put to rest.

Well, kind of.

I'll admit: for many years, Big and Carrie were real people in my life because their rocky relationship connected each episode, season, and viewer.  We all wanted editorialist, Carrie, to actually find love with the elusive Big.  {It just seemed right, like Saturday morning coffee breaks.}  The movie's no exception.  They finally decide to get married, Carrie plans a fittingly stylish ceremony against Big's wishes, and then Big stands her up, sitting across the street in his signature black limo to place the call.  Events unfold, details come to light, and the rest of the movie is spent weaving their lives back together through a rich tapestry of stories but never once do they actually see each other until...

This one moment that takes my breath away each time.  {In fact, it's like so many high school sporting events that come down to last-second decisions.  The space goes quiet (amidst the deafening noise), time slows, and everything in the periphery fades.}

Carrie, in the last hour as owner of the new apartment she was supposed to call home with Big, hysterically races over to pick up the remainded pair of designer pumps she had nearly forgotten there.  She opens the door of the dream closet Big had built especially for her, and there he is, in customary sharp black suit, crisp white shirt, and striking black tie, holding her blue satin delights wistfully.  He turns, giving his trademark puppy eyes, and they run to each other...embracing like a century had passed.  He drops to one knee, proposes properly this time, and places the diamond-brooched shoe on her left foot.

Oh, are you kidding me!!??!  How poetic---in her favorite space, a closet that will fit her extravagant wardrobe.  Yessssssssssssss!  Finally.  My heart cries out with each viewing.  Breathe.

Smiling like it had been me picked up in my dream closet by my dream guy, my husband looked over and laughed.  I almost didn't see him; I was so in the zone.

"Have you ever connected with something so deeply you're there?" I asked.  {Educators know this, of course, as empathy...}

"No," he replied, "this really isn't my type of movie.  You know it's just a movie, right?"

That's just it.  I do---it is a movie---but my history of connecting with the characters and with Big and Carrie's on-again, off-again romance made me part of the story.  And, it's a good feeling to be actively involved in stories.  Stories that move.  Stories that unite.  Stories that take my breath away time and again.

You know the type?

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 3

So, today was full of typical Saturday fare...  My husband kept Reid busy so I could sleep in, we dilly-dallied around until it was time to make the weekly pilgrimage to Super Target for groceries (and everything else I'm invited to 'need' while there); then for kicks, this week, we added lunch at McDonald's. 

Now I know, that may sound funny.  I mean, we have a two-year old.  So, McDonald's shouldn't be a stretch.  And, it really isn't.  But, typically we hit the drive-thru (and like bad parents) pass our toddler back bits of burger and fingerfuls of fries while we finish the trip home.

Munching on salads, fried chicken, and cheeseburgers galore at our oval table, my husband made an interesting observation: I thought all McDonald's stores have a Play Place.  Didn't they used to?  This one doesn't...  And, that idea turned my mind into a veritable card catalog of all the franchise locations I've driven by, stopped at, or driven through in the past few years.  You know what?  It's true.

In my Midwestern metropolitan area, the big push right now with McDonald's restaurants is rebuilding.  The company will close a store, tear it down, rebuild a modern one complete with the tandem coffee house (sorry, it'll never be Starbucks!), and then open it six weeks later full of up-to-date amenities like lounge chairs and fireplaces.  But, the one amenity which doesn't resurface is the Play Place.  In fact, I can only think of one store right now (and that's up near my hometown) that still offers the space.  Evidently, its number hasn't come up yet...

Reid doesn't even know to associate McDonald's with playing after dinner like I so lovingly did as a small child.  Some of my fondest memories include when my grandparents would take all my cousins at the same time once each year for dinner and playing at McDonald's.  For him, Chick-Fil-A is the new McDonald's because the posh play area is integral to the restaurant's design and overall company mission to serve families the best they can.  We never do the drive-thru at Chick-Fil-A because it's far more fun to eat inside  In honest terms, skipping the play area afterward would be darn near unacceptable.

So, why do places that claim to be for kids cut out the kid-friendly amenities?  An inquisitive slice for this Saturday...

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 2

This morning on the way to school I actually listened to the radio.  Uneventfully, the weather report started at the top of the hour.  In fact, I almost wasn’t paying attention…more focused on my  upcoming activities.  Blah, blah, blah.

“Today will be cloudy with tornadoes expected.” 

No cursory “thunderstorms expected.”  No noncommittal “chance of severe storms.”  No blanket statement  “threatening weather.”  TORNADOES.  And, once you throw that idea out there…forget about it.  It’s a foregone conclusion that funnels, wind, unwelcome hail, and that disturbing freight train sound will all be in your neck of the woods posthaste. 

The storm chasers; they practically rejoice at the prospect of atmospheric instability.  They’d have a parade and then take the day to stalk it if they could. 

The school kids; they go berserk at the possibility of storms.  They’d announce 23 times it’s raining, watch at the window until the scenery became too real, and then crouch into position last-minute (but would probably rather be at home with their mommies!).

The teachers; they harbor fear that the storm will actually hit while they’re in class.  They’d be responsible not only for the kids’ physical safety but also their emotional well-being.  (Simultaneously terrified---if they’d admit it---that this is how it’s all going to end.)

“Today will be cloudy with tornadoes expected.” 

I mean, who says something like that?  In the Midwest, that’s akin to yelling “FIRE!” in a crowded theatre.  Most of us have probably seen one, hidden from one, or know someone who’s lost everything in one.  We know the score: they're terrifying.  

Now, it's true: in most cases a tornado watch ends up to be nothing and more often then not (in my experience), a tornado warning draws the same result. In fact, we play the odds that the National Weather Service may be overstating their case because we’re ‘just-think-positive’ kind of people with a meteorologic history of all bark, no bite.  But, then again, there is always that chance that if we ignore expert advice, our flattened neighborhoods will end up on morning news shows like so many other areas devastated before and the possibility of loss transcending mere objects is highly probable. 

 

“Today will be cloudy with tornadoes expected.”

Tomorrow, I hope to hear about snow instead---not the scary spring storms that on a typical year should be weeks away...

Write on, 

b