2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 22

Sunshiny days make me want to do things…things like:

Eating a mint oreo blizzard outside: Spring starts in the Midwest when walk-up-window Dairy Queen franchises open.  Seriously, when I drive by one (and for the record, this is every day), the solitary thought romping around in my mind is “Do I have time to stop today?”  I never do, but I always think about it.  There is nothing better than a freezy, creamy, melty ice cream break on a warm, sunshiny day.

Sitting at a picnic table under the arbor at Tree’s Drive-In:  Nice weather means my hometown root beer stand is preparing to open.  It is out in the country along a main highway.  It has carhops to take orders and bring delicious fried treats.  It serves the best kind of root beer (as far as I’m concerned): A & W.   And besides, most of my small town will be there too because each family had the same idea --- Let’s eat outside!  Going to Tree’s is a welcome addition to any warm, sunshiny day…

Trying to tan my paper-white legs: I’m melatoninally challenged.  Yep, you read that right.  Try as I may, tanning is not part of my skill set.  But, on sunshiny days, I pull up the capris (or if I’m feeling daring…I actually wear shorts!) to give it the old college try.  I wish I had one of those nice, already-tanned complexions…but I don’t.  I’m a Swiss blonde.  I still make an attempt to tan on a warm, sunshiny day.

Imagining there is a palm tree draping lazily overhead: Anyone who lives in the Midwest is an expert in southern beach destinations.  We have to be.  It’s the only way we make it through our {typically} long, cold, bleak winters.  My first trip to Florida in elementary school left me coveting --- a palm tree.  My parents broke the news that it wouldn’t survive our harsh winters at home, so to me, a palm tree is an unequivocal symbol of a warm, sunshiny day. 

Piecing at a cup of frozen lemonade: Warm, sunshiny days remind me of fairs.  Every small town has a fair.  For one weekend in the summer.  When it is blazing hot.  With any kind of fried food you could ever want.  But even all that is just too much.  Heat and fried foods aren’t well suited mates.  The natural refreshment of frozen lemonade is the only treat that will do on a warm, sunshiny day .

Today is a warm, sunshiny day.  What will I do?

Stop at Dairy Queen on the way home,

See if they have frozen lemonade,

(then I could kind of merge two of my favorite activities…)

Put on shorts for a walk with my boys and tan these pesky white legs,

Visualize palm trees in our neighborhood to replace the hum-drum oaks…

Tree’s Drive-in?  I’ll have to work on that one with a little more diligence.

Even Daylight Savings doesn’t support a two-hour drive for a root beer stand dinner…

Write on,

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 21

This first grade classroom...

Bright, cheerful colors envelope guests, students, and their artsy teacher

Peace signs and posters showcase ‘can-do’ personalities

Cozy cushions and books welcome readers who enjoy savor learning

A gallery of student art honors hard-work and creativity

Beautiful, purposeful charts anchor their buzzing beehive

Love.  Life.  Joy.  Inspiration.

You can feel it in this first grade classroom

for a second

Skies cloud, rain falls, memories return

All because

one name, her name,  

                                shows up

                                             again and again

                                                                     on class charts

“What do we keep up?”

“What do we take down?”

“When?”

Between tears, the young and fragile teacher asked

her bereavement counselor one morning just two weeks before Christmas.

“Take it as it comes…” she consoled.  “Your kids are hurting right now and so are you.”

Nothing came down,

except one nametag on the students' work tables

She’s on the data wall

                                   the favorite book list

                                                                    the birthday poster

                                                                                                  the diagram of reading spots

Just like the rest of her classmates, she’ll move off these boards

when the doors close, the halls quiet, the lights dim one last time

Bright, cheerful colors envelope guests, students, and teachers

Peace signs and posters showcase their ‘can-do’ personalities

Cozy cushions and books welcome readers to enjoy savor learning

A gallery of student art honors hard-work and creativity

Their special space anchored with beautiful, purposeful charts

Love.  Life.  Joy.  Inspiration.

You can feel it in this first grade classroom

for a second

Write on,

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 20

It’s just like brushing teeth each night --- at bedtime, we lay out our clothes for the next day.  Top.  Check.  Pants.  Check.  Belt.  Check.  The right shoes.  Check.

I’ll admit, this routine began with me a few years ago.  Each morning I’d struggle, and struggle, and struggle with what to wear.  Sheer vanity, I know.  Too short.  Too tight.  Too heavy.  Too light.  Wrong hemline.  So, instead of waking up early to accommodate this madness, I resorted to an evening fashion show instead.  I admit all this to you through clenched teeth.  Embarrassingly enough, sometimes it would take forty minutes to try on a combination of shirts, skirts, and pants, visit the full-length mirror with each revision, and change out a pair or two of shoes until a winning ensemble was created.  Yet I’d do it.  Over and over again.  All to save a little time each morning and to make my life a little less stressful.  It also prevented any “Oh, that needs to be ironed” set-backs. 

My husband, well, he wasn’t initially as hip to the whole organizational system I’d set up.  But I’ve noticed as days turn to months, and months turn to years in our marriage, he sees the value in what my little obsessive-compulsive manifestation can offer him.  (See also: a little extra time; less headache).  Now before bed, he irons, lays out his clothes, searches high and low for a belt (which is always the elusive wardrobing element it seems), and then in the morning is able to focus more on preparing Reid for his day with the sitter and less on chasing down accoutrements.

The system works for Reid too.  Each night, there is complete outfit which magically appears to meet his needs the next day.  For a long time, there’s been a thought tumbling around in my mind.  It’s a thought I know will one day come to fruition.  It has to, developmentally speaking, but I think it’s going to be a hard one for me…I like knowing exactly what will go on and when.  I know, I know --- I’m going to have to give that one up. 

What happens when Reid doesn’t want to put on what I’ve chosen?

This week: fruition.  Like apples ripening to picking perfection.  Sunday night, as I worked on Monday’s stack, Reid set to his own organizational system --- taking shirts out of his closet and hanging them from nearby dresser knobs.  Four, in total.

“What are you doing?” I inquired.

“I’m getting my clothes ready for this week,”  Reid proudly declared.   

“OK, Kiddo.  We’ll keep them there.  Now it’s time for night-nights…” I gently prompted.

And, wouldn’t you know, the next morning he remembered.  Gone was the prepicked outfit.  Present was his first-ever toddler outfit under my husband’s watchful (and non-confrontational) eye.  It wasn’t a doozy…but maybe just a preview of coming attractions.   An email served as a status update, “This morning, Reid refused to wear the plaid shirt you set out for him.  He had to wear the surfing polo shirt he picked out instead.”

And, so it begins --- my little darling will discover ways to make his own life work, which from this day forward will include any necessary fashion decisions. 

Write on,

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 19

Good morning, week.  I've been waiting on you.

As I sit in my remarkably still classroom right now,
my singer-songwriter tunes remind me that
this is the place I've designed.
Zebra curtains flank the windows and paper lanterns hang
in an asymmetrical arrangement above my meeting table.
This is a spot I like to come to each day,
to be inspired, to be an inspiration.
We gather in this place to
eat,
    think,
         dream,
                plan,
                      plot.
To consider ideas bigger than ourselves,
and to portion them into approachable bites.
Right now, before the sun is even up I see
today's light in my mind and all
the wonderful things that will happen here.

Good morning, week.  I've been waiting on you.

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 18

We feel the the apartment is cramping our style.  And, since Indiana has decided to launch without hesitation into summer, our lack of yard space is really a downer.  Each day this week, we've watched the mercury rise and we've explored our options...

ME: Hey, what about going to this park?  We've never been. 

MY HUSBAND: Oh, I don't know about that.  What about just taking a trike ride around our old neighborhood.  (Which ironically we could; after we sold our house, we literally moved into the apartment complex across the street.  How's that for confusing?)

ME: We can do that any old day.  What about doing something special since it's the weekend?  Like maybe the new park at the art museum?  We could take the stroller and enjoy a nice walk...

So, yesterday my suggestion won out.  We did try the new art museum.  And, it was great, thank you.

We hopped into the Jeep afterward, fully satiated. by nature's early bounty. 
Dirty jeans,
muddy sneakers,
tired smiles.

I gazed out the window as we began our short trek home, reflecting on the many random fishermen we'd seen at the river and small lakes which bordered the art museum's grounds.  My eyes, somewhat disconnected from these thoughts, began registering new information.

Before full analysis, I began to speak.  "Oh, look.  More fishermen have set up shop under the bridge there," I remarked as I surveyed an assortment of jumbled blankets, a folding lawnchair, and an ugly blue tarp tethered to the bridge's underbelly.  I'm pretty sure at that point my brain looked more like the scrolling pictures on a slot machine face...desperately trying to make a match.  My background information told me this was not a Saturday spot for recreational anglers.

"Those aren't fishermen, are they?" I inquired without genuinely wanting an answer.  It would hurt too much.

"Do you know how many homeless people live under bridges?  It's really pretty common," my husband offered...a wealth of factual information. 

Our car sped along and the flowering trees displayed this spring's glory.  My mind also sped along, considering what life under a bridge must really be like.  It's not anything I want to spend any more than a couple seconds creating, for sure.   But, yet, I was drawn in.  Talk about a living situation cramping one's style...

Quietly I rode.  I considered my own narrow parameters --- a yard, a bigger space, storage, a kitchen with an island.  I shrank, embarrassed.

I don't live under a bridge...

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 17

Day late and a dollar short; HATED the technological difficulties which kept me from posting this yesterday.  But, I am loving sitting outside at Starbucks with my vanilla bean frappuccino this afternoon to write two slices... :)  Now, on with the show!

******************************************

You know that moment when time is moving so s-l-o-w-l-y, but you still don't have a spare second to react?  Yep; that's what it was like at Ritter's last night.

The three kids were running around a tree while two sets of parents enjoyed frozen custard.  This was a late-breaking development (and an improvement) because they were formerally encircling us at our table flirting with the parking lot boundary.  Ellie, 7, and Joseph, 4 were showing their little cousin the ropes in a pint-sized game of chase.  In fact, my biggest thought at the time was, "Aw, I should grab my phone and take a picture.  This is slice-worthy."

But the very next second I was frozen, like cement curing on a summer's day, while watching Reid suddenly trip over his sneaker at a high rate of speed. 

He stumbled briefly and worked hard to regain his balance.
      (I cheered.  Crisis averted.)
He over-compensated and began flying out of their neat little orbit.
      (I gasped. I'm no physicist, but he was parallel to the ground.)
He flew.  And flew.  And flew.  Straight toward the next table's concrete bench.
      (I shuttered.  What if his head, or possibly worse yet, his mouth hit its edge? 
      This isn't exactly what his first dental appointment in two weeks was
      scheduled for...)
Finally, a resonating thump followed by a collective sigh: he landed just short of the bench.  At this point we had all patrons' eyes and hearts.
      (I ran now, even though the whole time I had wanted to.)

Silence.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Scooping him up with my mama bird grip, I nuzzled him close --- forgetting about the road rash on his forehead, the classic scrape on his nose tip, and the full-on cut undernearth his nostrils.  We rocked and rocked; well, as much as our concrete fixture allowed. 

The wailing subsided.  His rational side returned.

"Mommy, I got hoot (hurt).  But it wasn't too bad.  It feels bedoow (better) now."

I am the one still reeling.  If only, if only, I could've moved faster...

Write on,
b.

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 16

I can remember each Thursday, like it was yesterday...being all giddy for that evening's TV.  And, by TV I mean one show in particular, the show.  It offered romance, interesting relational struggles, a handful of far-fetched medical situations...but most of all, it offered me another group of friends far more exciting than their real-life counterparts of my twenties.

At ten o'clock, the tinny-modern-medical-machine-sounding theme song began.  I loved the vivid image contrasts it presented --- red satin pumps following scrub-covered sneakers, an eyelash curler amidst the surgical tools, an IV drip come freshly-poured martini.  I sang the lyrics...they had danced through my mind the entire day prior...like I was part of it all too.  I just couldn't wait: would Derek and Meredith actually figure out their relationship this week?  The short signature piece by Psapp concluded and the episode's title (always named after an actual song, which I totally respect) centered itself on the screen.  Then, we'd launch into the world of Seattle Grace Hospital.

"Grey's Anatomy."  There was a time in my mid-twenties when I just couldn't get enough.  I downloaded the songs, I watched episodes more than once, I purchased entire seasons on DVD, I solved tricky relational difficulties in conversation with my friends who were also fellow watchers. 

Tonight, I saw this type of show devotion manifested in the life of a two-year old.

"They're two, they're four, they're six, they're eight...shunting trucks and hauling freight.  Red, and green, and brown, and blue, they're the really useful crew..."

I'm pretty sure after "They're" and before "two," my tot was up wildly dancing around.  In the living room, past the kitchen, through the bathroom and bedroom, and back out to the TV --- he danced the entire circuit.  He sang with emphasis, anticipation, and glee. 

6:30 each evening is a special time...and prior to it, he anticipates watching "Thomas and Friends" on Sprout.  It offers him behavioral lessons, tips on work ethic, quirky expressions (Well, bust my buffers!), and a preponderance of nitty-gritty details about trains.  It provides him a chance to see how friendships work. Thomas, Victor, Rosie, Percy, Toby, et al...these are 'real people' in my son's life.  He knows each engine's character traits and uses them to explain each episode's plot.  He considers the island of Sodor to be a magical destination where anything is possible.  He blends his reality with theirs by inserting characters into our everyday happenings (e.g. searching for Thomas whenever we drive over railroad tracks, saying 'hello' to Harold whenever we notice a helicopter flying above).  And, he's a devoted follower --- we have books, train sets, additional engines, t-shirts, and a fuzzy blanket. 

So, while "Grey's Anatomy" and "Thomas and Friends" are worlds apart in content, what each of us expects from an episode of our favorite show is remarkably similar.  There's a buzz of excitement, complete joy at the prospect of learning new information, rapt attention, and reflective analysis.

I promise you this though --- in all my years of the "Grey's..." fetish, never once did I dance around my house when the weekly episodes began. 

Write on,
b