julie

Thought for the day: Once the parts for the Christmas play were assigned, there was a rebellion among the sheep. For to be a sheep would be to wear a fur hat with ears fashioned from faux shearling, "baaa" coming through lips that would rather serenade the baby atop toes that would as soon twirl.

One might watch on Christmas Eve and wonder, "Which one of the sweet angels was supposed to be a sheep?" But truth be told, the one whose tears afflicted, also gripped most of the rest of the sheep, causing a cascade of fallen lambs in a rebellion usually reserved for willful girls in their teens.

The director is a pushover!

In the heaven of the play, therefore, one must imagine that all the pretty little kindergarten angels were sheep before they got there; the few surviving sheep bleat unknowingly, some even blissfully, waiting patiently for their turn to rise to white wingtipped shoes come November.

Dec. 5, 2005

Quote of the day: On a regular day, if we've got someplace to be, I'm the one running around the house looking for boys' shoes and hats and coats and screaming something to the effect of, "We're going to be LATE! Come ON! Why are you building that Lego thing NOW? Let's GO!" And then once we're in the car, my sons usually get an earful about how they're always fooling around and making us late for things.

But this was no regular day. This time, they were waiting quietly in the car, drumming their fingers on their knees when I finally burst through the back door, jumped in the driver's seat and sped off down the driveway.

"You can yell at me," I said, as I waited powerless at a traffic light.

Bradley broke the silence. "No, no. Stupid is as stupid does."

Dec. 2, 2005

Quote of the day: A few weeks back, charcoal clouds parted for a patch of orange sun glowing through the leaves as I sat facing a long narrow lake. I was watching geese float. They were preparing for flight, chatting with each other, some resting on the water, some dunking for a final drink. One was biting at the tail feathers of another — a goose soap opera: Love Triangle on Plainsboro Pond. As I sat on my wooden plank bench at the edge of the evening sun, kicking the dirt with my fat-lace hiking boots, Bradley and Gregory explored the opposite bank, digging rocks and charting tree leaves. My eyes faded from watching the boys as I lost myself in Soap Goose, waiting for the grand finale when the sky would be filled with feathers and the pond silent, save for the soft rippling from the silvery wind.

Suddenly, Gregory surprised me from behind, lifting my arm and plopping himself down on my lap, interrupting my daydream, my precious alone time.

I was annoyed. I was rude. "Can't you go sit somewhere else, Gregory?"

"But," he said, after kissing my cheek, "I wanted to fly here on the breeze with you, watch the geese and dream of spending the freezing winter away south."

I drew my little boy closer. "Stay."

Nov. 30, 2005

Quote of the day: At five years old, Gregory would rather dress himself than be dressed. Fine by me. Gives me one less thing to worry about. But today, he showed up in my room wearing desert camouflage fatigues and a neon yellow t-shirt with glow-in-the-dark dinosaurs on the front.

"Um, sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but that shirt doesn't go with those pants, 'cuz, you know, the pants are beige and brown and the shirt is bright yellow."

He looked at me like I was a flight attendant going over the safety brochure.

"Let me try this from another angle," I said. "The shirt contradicts the pants because the pants are HIDE ME CAMO and the shirt screams HERE I AM COME AND GET ME."

"Dinosaurs," he said with a cutting glare, "lived in the desert."

Nov. 29, 2005

Quote of the day: To lessen the pain of bill-paying, I thought it might be cozy to make a little bill-paying encampment on my bed. I arranged the pillows and blankets, fluffing them lightly to make a nest for the checkbook and stamps. By the time I spread out the bills, I could have stitched them together to make a new bedspread, if I'd had money left to buy thread that is.

Gregory, my 5-year-old, came in the room just as I was getting started writing the checks. "Whatcha' doin'?" he said.

"Paying bills. That's a lot of bills, huh?"

"Can I help?" he asked.

"Sure!" I was thinking that he might enjoy sitting with me, that he might like to put the stamps on the envelopes, make neat stacks and help keep things organized.

But he didn't instantly jump up on the bed-slash-bill-paying-nest; instead, he darted out of the room.

I shrugged, and went back to my work.

Moments later, Gregory returned. "I got this from my bank," he said, handing me a dollar. "Does this help?"

Nov. 28, 2005

Poem for the day:

On the Eve of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving eve
While tucked into bed
He looked at me sadly
With a grim grin and said,

"How long until Christmas?
I know I can't wait
One thing on my list
Not six, three or eight.
The one, an accordion
With green and gold keys
But mom, oh why bother
I won't eat my peas
I cried for no reason
I spilled berry juice
I made you buy chicken
No Thanksgiving goose
Left cars in the kitchen
My blocks in your room
Downloaded a virus
My Christmas is doomed!
Oh why was I naughty?
Still time to be kind?
I'll eat what you feed me
And then bear in mind
I've got a whole month yet
To get it together
Write out my letter
And mail it to Santa
How long now till Christmas?
I know I can't wait."

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving
Green peas on his plate!

Nov. 24, 2005

Thought for the day: The preschool teacher asked her class to draw pictures of vegetables that start with the letter C. My son drew crackers and ice cream.

Nov. 23, 2005

Quote of the day: Bradley read Scripture as part of Worship Services on Youth Sunday. When church was over, the senior pastor complimented him. "Now that's the way to read Scripture!"

I have to admit, even though I may be prejudiced, that he did do an excellent job, enunciating and emphasizing just the right words, and delivering the verse slowly, which brought an extra ounce of emotion to a powerful message.

Later, at home, I asked Bradley how it felt to be standing in front of all those people reading from the Bible.

"Just before I went up to the pulpit," Bradley said, "I put my hand on my stomach, and I said a little prayer. It went like this: 'Oh God, just please, whatever else happens, please don't let me throw up.' "

Nov. 21, 2005

Thought for the day: About 11:33, when the newsroom was still, and growing ever quieter, I heard a loud, shrill scream coming from someone, a woman, on another floor. I was not alarmed. I knew instantly the cause for such a scream.

Mouse.

Nov. 16, 2005

Quote of the day: He walked down the sidewalk leading away from school wearing the Eeyore slouch on his back, bad day written on his face.

As he walked to the car with a noticeable limp, the story poured out like salt from a shaker with a loosened top.

A kid dropped a trumpet case on Bradley's toe during band, then stepped on Bradley's foot, and didn't even apologize. Later, another kid jumped out to surprise Bradley from behind a corner, spilling water all over Bradley's pants. Two hours after that, his pants were still damp.

At lunch, he opened his sandwich container to discover that mold had grown on the bread since breakfast.

He forgot to bring the essay he'd worked on for homework the night before. A day late, a grade short.

At his locker, he was trying to juggle too many books, and dropped his clarinet case on his toe, the trumpet toe.

Getting into the car, he slung his bookbag bursting with homework into his little brother's face, an accident for sure, but despite profuse and heartfelt apologies, the little brother was in no mood to forgive just then. Salt in Bradley's wounds.

He sat in the very back of the van, staring at the grey clouds. "I thought it was supposed to rain," he said bitterly. Then he said nothing more, a sure sign that his head was full of gloom.

Even so, only a few minutes after arriving at home, Bradley seemed suddenly chipper.

"What was it that cheered you up so fast?" I said.

"The cat didn't purr at me when I rubbed his fur just now," Bradley said. "But he didn't run away either."

Nov. 15, 2005

Quote of the day: Talking to a new friend, I said that it would be nice if I could go to South Carolina to visit my mom.

"Did your mom retire and move to there?" he asked.

"No, no, that's where I'm from, born and raised."

"Oh!" he said. "That explains a LOT."

I squinted and tilted my head to one side, wrinkling my nose ever so slightly, before heading home through a Northern town.

Nov. 14, 2005