Monday, March 29, 2010

Zookeeper

"The Zoo lady was talking down to them," she told me in disgust. "Thank GOD for The Mayor!"

I ran into the mother of one of The Mayor's classmates in the parking lot of his after-school art program.

"What happened?" I asked.

"The kids went to a presentation at the zoo and the presenter really talked down to them. She seemed so out of touch with their current level of development. I found myself getting mad on their behalf," she said.

I kept listening.

"But then, when she was talking about armadillos, The Mayor raised his hand."

I braced myself.

"What did he say?" I asked tentatively.

"Excuse me, Zookeper. Does the armadillo have an exoskeleton?"

I laughed.

"I loved him in that moment," she said. "The rest of the presentation was more at their level."

At dinner I asked The Mayor about the armadillo.

"Interestingly," he said, "the armadillo is a mammal so it has bones on the inside of it's body. It's one of the few mammals with a hard shell."

"Is that so," I said.

He shrugged.

"That's what the zookeeper said."

Friday, March 26, 2010

Gothic

The little girl was wide open, her doors were literally banging on their hinges.

“I have a lipstick on a necklace!!” she gloated, trying desperately to get The Rooster’s attention.

Roo, from her truly vibrant position in the spa chair, looked at her sideways but only briefly.

She was enjoying the rare luxury of a mani/pedi in a massage chair.

She chose a green so dark it may as well have been black.

I sat next to her marveling at her ability to pull off the Gothic look, something I am unable to do.

“I have a lipstick on a necklace!!” the other little girl in the nail salon repeated.

Roo flopped her head in the other little girl’s direction, shrugged her shoulders and nonchalantly said,

“I can spell.”

Friday, March 19, 2010

Asleep

They are perfect little beings, all their quirks making them that much more so.

Rooster sideways in her bed, raises up her head as I go to move her, mumbles, lays her head back down, clutching her blankie close.

I cover her up and kiss her head.


an e-mail from my husband, received while I was traveling.

Sunday, March 07, 2010

Georgia Clay Red

We found a spoon in the grass behind the abandoned storage building by the pond.

She realized its utility right away.

We made our way back up the hill, across the ball field, toward her bike waiting by the road but, we didn’t make it that far.

Now she squats in the dry red dirt around second base.

She has flipped the base over and is filling the little square divots on its underside with dirt, using the spoon as a shovel.

She mounds the dirt with her hands.

She scoops with the spoon.

She smooths each load with the back of the spoon.

She occasionally wipes her dusty hands on her face, staining her cheeks and nose the color of Georgia clay.

The clear sky glows blue above the ocher red of the infield and the tawny grass that stretches across the field beyond.

She breaks my heart and she's right there.

There is a god that can make something so perfect.



Her father sent me this message while I was out with The Mayor buying him new shoes.

He told me later that every now and then she would raise her head and look around, suddenly realizing that she should make sure he was still nearby.

Of course, he always was.







In other news - I was given the chance to test drive a concept car from Lincoln for a whole week!