That mysterious time before bed

My seven-year-old son plays it pretty close to the vest.  He’s king of the monosyllabic response:

Me:  Hey buddy, how was your day?

Alex:  Good.

Me:  What did you do at recess?

Alex:  Tag.

Me:  Sounds fun.  Tell me a little about your day?

Alex:  Later?

He was feeling particularly chatty that day, as I recall.  Now, I know better.  I know it’s highly unlikely that they’ll talk when you want them to, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.

Last night, I was looking forward to a bath and an early bedtime.  I ducked into Alex’s room, tucked in his covers, strategically molding around the Garfield book in which he’d buried his nose.  I kissed his forehead, whispered good-night and headed for the door.

“Mom?  Can I ask you something?”

I whispered good-bye to Me Time.  “Anything.”

“There’s this kid at school.  He used to be nice, you know, nice to everyone, but now he’s kind of mean.“

“Hmm.  Do you think maybe he had a bad day?”

“No,” he said.  “It’s like he’s a different person.  He’s just mean now.  He calls people names all the time.  Do people really change like that?”

I know the boy, he’s big for his age and typically friendly and he has a learning disability.  Alex confided that the other kids have been teasing him lately.  I called in Dad and we all talked it through.

I’m so grateful I didn’t miss that moment.

There are times when I do.  Sometimes I’m rushed and distracted, and I can get my priorities out of whack with the best of them.  But last night I got it right, and I want to remember…if we are willing to meet them where they are, the floodgates will eventually open.

Who knew ice cream could be funny?

I was recently elected Vice President of our school’s PTA.  The “passing of the torch” transpired yesterday, and one of my first official duties was to help coordinate the annual spring ice cream social.  We held the event last night, which consisted of serving ice cream and all the trimmings to about a hundred families.  It’s really pretty cool (ha!) to see the community come together to celebrate spring.

But that’s not the funny part.

When I put Brynn down for her nap yesterday, I told her all about the ice cream social and how she and her daddy and Big Brother Alex would go and stuff their respective faces.  I woke her up two hours later, and she sat bolt upright and said, “Mommy!  I can’t wait for my ice cream facial!”

Sick kiddos and the Tray of Good Things

When I was little, I’d get tonsillitis about once every three weeks.  Eventually we found a new doctor, who promptly ordered them removed, but until then I felt intermittently miserable.  Fortunately, I was blessed with a mother who could rival Florence Nightingale, and she taught me a thing or two when it comes to caring for sick little ones.

Flash forward thirty-*cough* years to the day, and I now have two sick little ones of my own.  Each one is sprawled on a couch piled with pillows and blankets and teddy bears.  They’re watching Scooby Doo, and soon we’ll switch to story-time, but before that I’ll pull a page from Mom’s Infirmary Playbook.

The “Tray of Good Things.”  (Affectionately named by my four-year-old).

You know how it is when you’re sick.  Fruit sounds perfect at first, then after two bites becomes the vilest food on the planet.  You want juice, no…wait…saltines.  Strike that, you hate saltines.  So it is with kiddos, and now I understand why my mom always brought an assortment of soothing foods to my bedside.

There’s really no trick, although I’ve found that putting a little effort into presentation makes them feel a lot special.  So break out the good cups-and-saucers.  Cloth napkins.  Whatever little touches you think would make your little one smile through his fever.

On today’s tray:

-  Sliced fruit
-  Hot chicken broth
-  Cheese-Its
-  Green Goodness (the Bolthouse juice that resembles swamp water)
-  Graham crackers
-  Fig Newtons
-  Bananas

Just a little of each, and each tray is different.  It only takes a minute to put together, but it’s something they look forward to when their day is otherwise filled with thermometers and headaches and “the yuck medicine.”

Image courtesy of stockimages at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Writing contest at Literary Bits

For any of you Being June readers who are also writers, I’m hosting a writing contest over at Literary Bits.  If you’re interested, click over for all the details - including a chance to win an extra large Moleskine notebook.

(contest limited to residents of U.S. and Canada only).

Waiting to breathe

As I write, I’m toggling between this page and a live news feed of law enforcement officials as they surround a home that allegedly holds the second Boston bomber.  Vests and Hum-vees and helmets and guns line the streets on what would have otherwise been a gentle spring day.  There are reports of more explosions.

No more explosions.

Our world has shifted, unlocking frightening questions for which no easy answers exist.  Along with the rest of our nation, I won’t breathe again until they get him, this human who holds no regard for human life.  And then…

And then we must move on and remember that there is still so much good in the world, and that we can work together to replace darkness with light.