He gathered up his new acoustic guitar and his amplifier and took them into the living room.
It was there that he sat with his guitar teacher - to learn his lessons.
I'd walk by every so often and see him listening diligently and strumming on his strings. He'd look up seriously and ask questions. He'd write on his pad.
He was a good student.
When the lesson was over, he walked to the door to escort his teacher to his car.
I followed.
I stayed back a ways, near the front door, while he walked beside his teacher down the sidewalk.
After his teacher had loaded his own guitar and amplifier into his trunk, he turned to Little Billy and shook his hand, "Good job," he was saying - or something to that affect.
My son shook his head and smiled.
Then ...
Little Billy, sticking his hands in his jeans pockets, looked up at his teacher and said, "When I get my band - are you gonna come and see me?" he spoke so confidently.
His teacher assured him he would.
"You'd better," Little Billy began to walk away. He then looked over his shoulder, "Because I'll mention you - ya know?" he giggled. "You are the one who taught me."
His teacher laughed and then waved at me in the doorway.
I smiled.
I waved back.
I thought ...
This man has little idea of what has just happened.
What this small boy was offering.
But, I did.
I had taught him the lessons and was proud to hear his words.
Show gratitude for your gifts.
Give thanks to those that help you.
Appreciate where you came from.
Never leave anyone behind.
Good boy!
On the upside ... He has soooo got the most positive attitude and soooo going to make good things happen in his life. I just know it! I just hope that the love and kindness and generosity that he shows now ... follows him all the days of his life.
He's the sort of boy that has never shown a fear of wandering into the woods alone or racing his bike up a ramp that sends him flying into the air.
He likes fast motorcycles and go-carts.
He likes pellet guns.
He likes bows and arrows.
He likes chasing after animals and hiding in dark, scary places where no one will find him.
People have often commented that "Little Billy isn't scared of anything," and it is very true.
Not long ago, I was in my room working and I heard a noise on the roof.
I went out on the deck just off my second story bedroom.
I glanced up to the roof, held my hand in front of my face to block the direct sun from my eyes. I squinted and searched to see if I could spot one of our cats or squirrels making the noise above me. Suddenly ... between the sun and me ... I saw a small boy's silhouette standing on the peek of the house - two stories off the ground.
"Little Billy," I yelled.
"Yes, Mom," he answered casually.
"GET DOWN OFF THE ROOF!"
"Awwww, Mom," he grumbled, as he made his way back across the shingles and over to the tree he had used to elevate his tiny self to this escapade of danger.
He looked back over at me, "Can I have a hug?" he asked, knowing that maybe this request would soften his mother from beating the crap out of him.
"When you get down," I answered calmly.
On the upside ... I know -- this is not good -- on so many levels. But, this is not an uncommon occurrence for this boy child of mine. Sometimes, my mom will be at my house and she will suddenly announce, "Little Billy's on the roof," or "Little Billy's up in that tree - do you see him?" I know --- this is not good. But, this child is a dare-devil. I warn him to stay down from high places - I do! It scares me to death. But, I have to admit -- I also love the idea that he is a free spirit that follows the whims that entice him to live his life at accelerated speeds and exhilarating heights -- over a boy that is trapped in a life that brings him no joy or adventure.
I hugged the boy when he got down from the roof and I scolded loudly, "YOU'VE GOT TO STOP DOING THAT - YOU SCARE THE LIVING DAY LIGHTS OUT OF ME!"
He flashed his most charming James Bond smile and said, "Okay, Mom," and then went on his way.
Uh ... wait, that's not true. I'm the least patient person I know.
But, I do pride myself on being a good mother.
Uh ... wait, that's not true either. I'm basically a mediocre mother at best and I know this.
Okay, I am friendly and like large crowds.
Uh .... wait, that's false. I'm not a fan of large crowds and even search out ways to hide sometimes even from my own family.
Like recently, when I tiptoed like a quiet mouse upstairs to escape into my bathroom for some peace and quite.
Yes - I just went in there and sat at the small bench in front of my antique vanity and stared into the mirror at my frazzled reflection.
I was just looking for a bit of solitude.
I was just taking a minute for myself.
I was HIDING!
It didn't last long.
Suddenly ....
I hear someone enter the bathroom and start the shower in the room on the other side of the wall from me.
I hear some scuffling around and a bit of humming.
It does not take long before I know who is in there when the child begins to ramble incessantly ...
"NO," he says loudly.
"I KNOW," he then says even louder.
"DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING?" he's speaking in a voice that is echoing painfully loud off the tile walls of the bathroom.
"NO, I DO NOT KNOW - DO YOU KNOW?" he is talking to himself.
"I KNOW THERE IS NO ONE HERE, DO YOU KNOW WHY NO ONE IS HERE?" He goes on and on using the word NO is too many different and annoying ways.
"I TOLD YOU NO! DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT NO MEANS? NO? WELL, NO MEANS NO! DO YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN?" He is now giggling after each creative sentence.
"NO, NO, NO! I DON'T WANT TO KNOW ANYMORE ABOUT IT. I SAID NO!" His voice fades a bit as he steps into the shower and slams the glass door.
I smiled.
And then ...
I sighed loudly.
And then ...
I got up and went to search for somewhere else to HIDE!
On the upside ... NO, I don't KNOW the next word he repeated over and over again, but I am confident that after I escaped the bathroom that there were likely additional vocabulary words tortured by the small boy.
Little Billy went away this past Saturday to Boy Scout camp.
FOR A WEEK!
Before he went I, of course, helped him pack.
We were organizing his stuff on the bed in his room. "Make sure you brush your teeth, every single day," I pleaded.
"Oh ... there won't be water there," he said, while helping me fold his shorts and shirts and underwear. "I don't think there will even be bathrooms," he never looked up.
I glanced across the room, "Oh ... there will be water," I giggled.
"And ... make sure you brush your hair - don't let your hair be a mess all the time," I harped.
"I will - here's my brush - SEE," he waved a black brush above his head.
"And ... change your clothes. If you come back in the same outfit you left here in - people will talk about you. You'll be known as the "STINKY-On-The-Upside" boy," I poked him in the ribs.
"I will," he was annoyed.
"And ... make sure you keep your stuff neat. Don't make a big ol' mess in your trunk or you won't be able to find anything. Keep it neat," I instructed and smiled.
He rolled his eyes.
He turned in my direction.
He said ...
"Mom ..."
"It's cool!
I can handle this.
I am ...
A Boy Scout - ya know," he reached over, grabbed his Boy Scout cap and put it on his head.
"Stop worrying so much!
It's coooool."
On the upside ... Come back soon ... Little Billy - I miss you!
In the meantime, cozy up to that camp fire and ... send your mom a smoke signal - or something!
When I was young, I don't necessarily think I was all that cool.
I was definitely cooler than I am now.
I try to be a cool mom.
I'm not really all that cool, but I try.
I don't know how important it is to be cool, but I often hope that my kids think I'm cool.
I want my kids' friends to think I'm cool.
I'm also fine believing that my kids are also cool.
Little Billy asked me recently, "Mom, do you think I'm cool?"
Sitting in the front seat of the van, looking at my cute, dark-headed son in the rear view mirror, I said, "Definecool."
"Huh?" he says, a confused look on his face.
"Tell me what cool means. Definecool."
"You know - cool. Do you think I'm cool? Do I act cool. Do I look cool. Am I - cool?"
"Absolutely! You are cool," I said, smiling at my boy with the most confident smile.
"Define cool," he then says.
"Is this a trick?" I ask.
"No - I'm just curious what you think is so cool about me."
Hum. "I think everything is cool about you. Your hair is cool. Your personality is cool. Your clothes are cool. You are definitely cool," I say, trying to maintain my confident smile.
"You're not really the best person to ask - about cool - are you?" he says, totally innocent, but giggling a little too much.
I went to my son's school to meet with his teacher for a conference.
We sat at the table in her room, went over issues Little Billy has been having about not remembering things - like ... when tests are coming up ... reviewing for tests ... studying for tests ... failing tests! (He is going to be the death of me!)
The moment he walked into the house I said, "Little Billy, do you have homework?"
He runs up the stairs and stops on the third step, turns back toward me and says, "You know I have homework. I always have homework. Why do you always nag me?"
Has a girlfriend - who happens to look just like him - a lot like me when I was a kid (really weird).
He's on the phone with her non-stop (from the few conversations I could force myself to eavesdrop on - endure - they were mostly speaking in tongues - talking gibberish - much to my relief).
I see my husband in front of the TV. "Where's the boy?" I ask.
"On the phone with the girl," he offers with a bit of a proud smirk on his face.
I step right in front of him. "You've had the talk with him, right?" Hands on my hips as I glare down at my cowboy husband, who, by the way, is far too proud of his boy and his new relationship - proud in the way redneck fathers are proud - you know ???
His eyes flutter up to me - confused.
"The. Talk!" I huff.
He sort of rolls his shoulders and gives me that look that is meant to imply he will obey - only he might not, actually. He might just have let my (demand) request seep right in one ear and out the other - hope for the best - you know - with the boy - with me.
"I did bring up the girl today," my husband offers proudly, like the mere fact they discussed her would impress on his offspring to never ... actually TOUCH her!
"Yeah? And ...?" I ask, hands still firmly on my hips.
Husband pulls me closer. Says, "He saw right through me. Created a diversion. Asked me, 'And what about all those animal noises I hear comin' from your room at night?'" Husband pulls back, eyes wide, sparkling, humored.
My mouth drops. I say, "You don't ... you don't think he actually hears anything, do you?" Surely he was just trying to distract you - making up stuff."
Husband shrugs and peeks around me to see the TV.
I begin to walk away and then look back over my shoulder. I say, "Talk. To. Him! And, next time, don't let him get you side-tracked. And, for cripes sake, don't explain the animal noises."
Husband laughs.
On the upside ... Okay ... so I guess I'm going to have to sit the boy down and seriously talk to him - again. God only knows what sort of noises the boy thinks he's actually heard ... and how anxious my redneck husband might be to pass along a few pointers. Ugh! You might be a redneck if ... you pat yourself on the back when your son points out he's heard animal noises coming from your bedroom.
*Disclaimer: There has never been actual animal noises emitted from our bedroom. My husband might be a bit of redneck, but ... I am not. I would not be at all enthused to hear a sheep bawling ... or a cow mooing, if you know what I mean. Now ... jungle noises. Or firehouse noises. Or rodeo noises. Okay ... enough of that.
When he was small, he followed after me everywhere, just like his sisters. He clung to my leg when he was confronted by strangers. He was on my lap and in my arms for the beginning days of his life and seldom wanted to leave my side.
But ...
Somewhere along the way, he found himself a pair of child-sized scissors and ... he cut those apron strings and off he went to find his daddy. And, the only time he really looks for me now, is to help with homework or ... late in the evening when he wanders into my bedroom, crawls up on my bed and begs me to rub his back. I am always happy to oblige.
Following, for so many years, in his father's footsteps, has led Little Billy to many places he would not have experienced if he had stayed home, close by my side.
It has offered him a life filled with exciting adventures and manly errands. Of fast cars and dirty finger nails. Of time spent under the hoods of cars, in the aisle ways of Ace Hardware and Auto Zone, searching for parts and tools. Of time at the end of a pier with fishing lines strung into murky waters. Of peering through slits of deer blinds in the coldest part of the morning. Of sharing the front seat of a truck with his dad and engaging in manly conversations.
Little Billy's daddy grew up in rural Texas. He was a country boy. He learned to hunt and fish and aim a sling shot at glass bottles lined up on the railroad tracks. He learned to work on cars and trucks and did not worry that he smelt of grease and oil. He was not coddled by his parents and was allowed a childhood that encouraged roaming and wandering and adventure.
Little Billy's daddy does not coddle his son. He allows the boy to climb trees and is content to stand below the branches and smile up in amazement and pride. He hands his boy the largest rock he can find and encourages his son to toss the rock into rivers and streams and sometimes at the broad side of a barn. He stands over the boy's shoulder and steadies a man-sized rifle.
I often worry about Little Billy. "Keep him away from the alligators," I will insist, when I hear there are Texas gators in a nearby tank. "Make sure he watches for snakes - I am not going to be happy if you don't bring him home alive!" My fears and worries are never ending. "Make sure you quiz him on his spelling words," I will scream as they climb into the truck. "He's got a spelling test tomorrow." I think they laugh at me as they drive away.
Not too long ago, the phone rang in the early morning - I was still in bed. It was Little Billy calling from school.
"Hi, Mom," his voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
"Hi, Sweetie. What's up? What's the matter?"
"Nothing's wrong," he says, "Guess what I got on my math test?" He sounded very calm.
I sat up in my bed, "What? What did you get?" I hoped for good news.
"I got a 100," he said proudly.
I went on and on about how proud I was and then asked where he was calling from. He informed me that he stopped by the office to make the call, on the way to his next class.
"And ..." he went on quietly, "Dad wrecked the Corvette this morning," he offered nonchalantly. "But, you didn't hear it from me. I gotta go, Mom - see you after school."
On this morning, his dad had driven him to school early to complete a math test he had failed to finish the prior afternoon. On his way out of the driveway, he ran the rear end of the Corvette into the corner of a trailer - the damage was minimal.
I smiled a big smile when I hung up the phone that morning. While I was a bit worried about my husband's Corvette, the worry was replaced quickly with pride and smiles. Proud of a boy that took time out of his morning to call his mom. Proud of a boy that felt pride of the work he had accomplished. Proud of a boy that even though he would prefer spending his time in the woods or in the bed of a pickup truck on a back country road, he finds time to be aware that his future is dependent possibly on the worth of an A on a math test. A lesson his mother had been trying desperately to teach him. A lesson she was not certain he was grasping or embracing.
I also found it interesting that he switched sides - if for only a moment - to rat out his dad about the Corvette.
I think there might still be a bit of a bond between Little Billy and his mom. I might not know how to load a shot gun or clean a catfish, or be comfortable when I see my son on the top of the roof or slinging razor blades at a bull's eye painted on a sheet of plywood, but ... I do believe he might just be looking to me to help guide his little butt through school. He might just believe he will do good to achieve scholastic honors along with ... antlers he can mount on his wall.
HAPPY 12th BIRTHDAY, LITTLE BILLY!
May your life always be filled with adventure.
May you always realize how lucky you were to have such a wonderful father.
May you never forget that the part of my heart that is yours ... is overflowing with love and pride for my precious son.
I have tried to teach my children the right way to act.
I have tried to teach my children to do the right things.
I have spent many years encountering situations and making efforts to instill in my children the lessons they will need to be good and caring people - and to survive in the world.
I often wonder how much these children listen to their mother.
I never know if they listen to the words they hear.
It is often when I am not with them that they are confronted by situations where they have to apply the lessons they have learned - they are on their own.
One day recently, I was talking to Little Billy.
We were discussing a problem he had encountered in one of his classes at school.
"There were three of them, Mom," he was trying to explain. "They wouldn't listen to me - they wouldn't let me help."
"Girls act that way, sometimes," I said. "Sometimes, when they are in groups - they act silly or mean. Maybe you should have not gotten mad - maybe you should have tried to handle it differently. Maybe you should have tried to charm them - use your charm," I suggested and smiled.
"But we got the wrong answers - I kept trying to tell them," he was exasperated. "Charm wouldn't have helped - they were just trying to boss me around," he was so sure.
"Maybe they didn't understand you. Maybe you weren't making yourself clear," I continued to try to determine the details of the problem and offer my wisdom. "What are you going to do?" I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
He lowered his head.
He ran his hands through his dark hair and he said ...
"I'll handle it, Mom," he giggled, "I can handle it. If you mess with the bull ... you're gonna get the horns."
*okey dokey*
On the upside ... Okay - I don't remember teaching him that lesson. That's got to be one of those Texas lessons his redneck daddy's been teachin' the boy.
If you are one of those people not used to being around kids - my kids and their noise will ...
WEAR YOU OUT!
OVERWHELM YOU!
MAKE YOU ... COMPLETELY CRAZY!
I am around my kids all the time and ....
THEY MAKE ME - CRAZY!
My husband and I were in the car recently, driving across town to look at a car we were thinking about buying.
In the back seat was our son.
He had been working with his dad all day and was a bit tired.
He was a bit hungry.
He was a bit - wired.
He began to laugh.
Not at anything.
Not with anyone.
Not for any particular reason.
He just began to laugh.
He started out laughing in a giggle-like laugh. Sort of squeaky - sort of quietly - pretty annoying.
Then ...
He got LOUDER!
He started laughing with a rhythm - like a song.
Short spurts - no words - laughing in the tune of a song ..
HA HA -- HA HA -- HA HA HA --- HA -- HA ...
*sigh*
Then ...
He got REALLY LOUD!
He began to laugh like a machine gun - long hahahahahaha and then a short haha--haha-haha-- long hahahahahahaha and then a short haha--haha--haha ...
*sigh*
REALLY LOUD AND REALLY ANNOYING!
I turned around ...
I said ...
"WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT!"
He didn't stop.
My husband - totally unaware of this bizarre and LOUD ongoing annoying behavior going on in the back seat of the van - says ... "Just ignore him - that's what I do," he keeps on driving.
"Does he do this all day long," I ask.
"Pretty much," my husband responds.
"Does this sound funny?" my son asks and then offers up yet another ear-piercing, drawn out, ridiculous rampage of giggles.
I turned around and watched.
The small boy was putting an obnoxiously huge amount of energy and effort into this laughing episode.
I tried to bite my tongue.
I tried to find the humor.
I tried -
I tried -
I tried -
I tried -
I tried -
But ...
Instead ...
I SCREAMED ....
"YOU. ARE. DRIVING. ME. CRAZY!"
He stopped.
On the upside ... Then ... I laughed - LOUDLY - like a machine gun - long hahahahahaha and then a short haha--haha-haha-- long hahahahahahaha and then a short haha--haha--haha ...
When I was a girl - boys wore their hair long - it was the thing.
Now days - boys are wearing their hair long - just like when I was a kid.
It's funny how fads go around and come around again.
Little Billy has beautiful dark hair.
He's gotten to where he likes to wear it long.
His friends wear their hair long.
His sisters say his hair looks better long.
As long as I can see Little Billy's eyes ... I like seeing him in that long hair.
But ...
I don't like it too long.
I want him to be presentable for school - you know.
So ... I let him wear his hair long - especially long - over the summer and told him that once school started that we were going to have to cut that long hair.
The day before school was to start - I went to him and informed him that he had two days and then ... off to the barber.
From the living room - where he was lying sideways on the chair - watching TV, he says, "I'm going to to start up a petition."
"What?"
"I'm gonna have everyone sign it - everyone likes my hair!" he exclaimed. "I'll even let you double the "NO" votes," he yelled, and then he relaxed and went back to watching TV.
On the upside ... I gotta stop teaching that boy - stuff. You know, like about democracy, about fairness, about voting and crap. He keeps using all my lessons against me - UGH!
While I would never consider myself to be a chef *throws head back and laughs* - I wear a chef's hat now and again.
While I am not as popular or as efficient as Alice - from the Brady Bunch - I am definitely the housekeeper of the On The Upside household.
While I have no formal training or resume - I am the accountant, bookkeeper, file keeper and cashier.
I am the masseuse that my children come to for back rubs and lotion applications.
I am the doctor, the nurse practitioner and the pharmacist in our family.
I am the pool guy - without the great six pack and California smile - and buldge in my shorts.
I am gardener, mower of the lawn, trimmer of the trees and shrubs and ant pile killer.
I am the laundry lady, the dish washer and the closet organizer person.
I am the trash collector, grocery buyer and purchaser of the clothes.
I am the killer of all bugs and finder of all lost things.
In the midst of one of my busy days of taking off one professional hat and replacing it with yet another ...
It was the end of the day and I was preparing the household for bedtime.
My little son had just taken a shower.
I called my son into my room.
He stood by my side and we talked.
We were having a tender moment.
I commended him on a good day's work.
He smiled.
I touched him gently.
He smiled.
I pulled him into my arms and hugged him tightly.
Our hearts were happy, as we were sharing some moments of joy and then ... I patted him on the back and sent him on his way.
As he entered the hallway, I yelled ... "And clean that mess off the floor of your room. If I walk by there and there is still anything not picked up - I'm throwin' that stuff in the trash."
He shuffled quietly down the hallway.
He stopped in his tracks.
He mumbled ...
"How can she be so nice one minute and then ... screamin' mean stuff at me ... the next?" his voice faded as he entered his bedroom.
On the upside ... *Evil chuckle from the mom as she removed her warden hat and placed it on the night stand beside her bed*
It was a last minute excursion, but one that the On The Upside family decided was long over due - a bit of time to relax.
One of the best parts about the weekend - aside from the time spent with good friends, good food - including bunches of Halloween candy - and down-time, well deserved by all --- was the extra hour of sleep gained --- due to the changing of the clocks. The end of daylight savings.
The weather was unusually warm and beautiful for November. It was especially clear and on Saturday evening my good friend and I pulled the two green Adirondack chairs off of the front porch and out to the big yard in front of the ranch house.
We relaxed, talked and gazed up at the vast Texas sky.
We marveled at the beauty of the stars - the sheer abundance and the brilliance of the universe as can only truly be seen and appreciated, when you are away from the bright lights of the city.
It was amazing.
As the evening wore on, everyone wandered off to bed - as there was hunting to be done in the morning - leaving Little Billy, his friend and I, alone in the living room. I was watching Law & Order and drinking coffee. Billy and his friend were sitting in chairs across the room from me - each playing games on their Gameboys.
I was content.
They were content.
The house was quiet.
Then ... Little Billy suddenly says ... "Can we stay up and watch the leap thing?"
I glanced across the room. "Do you mean - the changing of the clocks?" I chuckled to myself.
"Yeah - when does it happen?" his eyes were wide with curiosity - and so serious.
I was already loving this conversation. "What do you mean - when does it happen?" I giggled.
"The time? The clocks?" he says.
"Well ..." I can hardly hold back my laughter, and before I have the chance to offer an explanation, his friend - sitting in the recliner right next to Little Billy - never taking his eyes from his Gameboy - says ...
"It's not like a ... magical event, or anything ..." and, he continues to play his game.
Then ...
I laughed.
On the upside ... Poor Little Billy - he was under the impression that all of the clocks suddenly just changed time - all on their own. Like it was a magnetic occurance or cosmic or .... something. After realizing it was nothing near all that exciting - he smiled, lowered his head and ... was sucked quickly back into the mesmerizing glow of his Gameboy. Me ... I wiped the (giggle) tears from my eyes, changed the hands on the face of my watch and then ... wandered off to bed to ... enjoy my extra hour of sleep.
She's got herself a busy life - as most mothers do.
She's the sounding board for most every word that comes out of her children's mouths and every thought that pops into their little minds.
She's the go-to person for advise --
For Band Aids --
For ...
The fixing of all broken toys.
She is the finder of ALL LOST THINGS!
She is a cool mom (the coolest - really) - but ... there are certainly times when she is ... TIRED!
Times when she might just say things to shush a rambling or whining child.
She might just elaborate statements - so as to make a child feel happier or put them in a better mood.
She might even - lie!
"So ..." Little Billy is standing next to the sink in the kitchen, "Can M spend the night tonight?" he asks, in an excited voice - so sure this question directed at his mother - the mother seated at the kitchen table - the one trying desperately to enjoy her delicious brisket and potato salad - will ... answer a quick, "YES", and then Little Billy can run happily on his way to call his buddy.
"NO!" is the answer that comes out of his mother's mouth.
Little Billy's shoulders slump.
His eyes dart back and forth.
He becomes fidgety and begins to shuffle his way across the kitchen to stand in front of her.
"But - you said," he tries very hard not to whine. He tries very hard to maintain his composure. He says, "Last night - you said, 'Maybe' - and you said it --- so positive," he is obviously confused.
Little Billy's mother shoves another bite of brisket into her lying mouth and thinks to herself how funny it is that the older kids would have picked up immediately on this stalling tactic the mother often uses to pacify a situation.
The older children would have easily seen through this feeble attempt on the mother's part to offer a statement, such as 'Maybe' --- even if offered in a chipper voice --- as merely a ploy -- a tactic -- a lie!
Poor Little Billy - he's got so much still to learn.
On the upside ... The mother showed pity on the boy child and changed her answer to "YES". How could she resist? He was so darling - standing there all wide-eyed and trusting (*evil mom throws her head back and laughs ... nearly choking heself to death on a mouthful of brisket*)
"What if? And ..." "How could you? And ..." "You have to ... And ..." "I've told you ... And ..." "Next time ..."
And ...
Look right into those ...
Puppy dog eyes that were pleading ...
"I'm sorry Mama." And ... "I won't do it again, Mama." And ... "I'm not a bad boy, Mama." And ... "I'm trying, Mama." And ... "I'll try harder, Mama."
I just wanted to reach over ...
Pull him to me ...
Hug all his sadness away ...
And ...
Melt right into those ...
Chocolate brown eyes.
And then ...
I did.
On the upside ... I might have wasted this one well scripted, well expressed, well intentioned lecture, but ... I have others. There will be plenty of other opportunities to scold that boy. On this day ... well ... I folded.
It was that day where my son had to go to his school to get his schedule - his books - his locker - his gym uniform - his lunch ticket, etc., etc., etc.
It was also the day that my twin daughters had to go up to their school and get their schedules - their lockers - their lunch tickets - etc., etc., etc.
It was PREP DAY!
I was exhausted.
I was hungry.
Once we finished at the schools, I drove the troops over to a little sandwich shop for lunch.
We climbed out of the van, headed into the shop and stood in line at the counter.
We looked over the menu.
I already knew what I would have, as I had eaten there many times and was very much looking forward to my regular order.
The girls made their decision and began to place their orders at the counter.
Little Billy, standing at my side, tells me, "I want a BLT - that's what I want," and tries to walk away, but I stop him.
I put my hand on his shoulder, "I don't think they have BLTs," I say - not really knowing. "Why don't you and I share a sandwich and split a salad?" I suggest.
"Okay," he agrees. "I want a BLT," he repeats his desires again.
"I don't think they have BLTs," I say again - trying to get him off the idea - I say, "Why don't we split a cucumber sandwich?" I offer this idea in a high pitched voice so as to make the idea seem *spectacular* and just as I finish with my suggestion, my mouth begins to water at the thought of their delicious cucumber sandwich and scrumptious salad.
*cue crickets chirping and small boy gets blank look on his face*
"Wh-aaat?" he looks so bewildered.
"Yes - it is de-licious," I try to sound convincing. "I've had it many times."
The sixth grade boy in front of me says ..."I. Don't. Want. A. Cu-Cum-Ber. Sandwich!" he pronounces each word very clearly. "Who. Eats. Cu-Cum-Ber. Sandwiches. Anyway?" he is starring up at me, so confused - so worried I am going to MAKE him eat this sandwich he does not want. "I've never even heard of a cu-cum-ber sandwich. Cu-Cum-Ber?," he makes a gagging noise and shakes his head.
On the upside ... I knew, when I mentioned the cu-cum-ber sandwich to the small boy, that my odds were not going to be good getting him to agree. And ... he didn't. I didn't have the heart to force an 11 year old boy to eat a sandwich that is normally reserved for grandmas, tea parties and Junior League luncheons - nope! We ordered a ... BLT.
Visions of the boy in the school bathroom - hugging the toilet.
Visions of the boy sitting in his classroom - slouched over in a metal chair - whimpering in pain.
Visions of the boy lost in the hallways - searching for a phone to call home.
Searching for the nurse's office.
Searching for the bathroom.
Searching his mind for reasons to ... get out of ... going to the rest of his classes.
The boy's father called me ...
"The boy called - he's sick. Can you go pick him up?" he said.
"It's the second week of school!" I exclaim. "He can't come home."
"He's sick - he called me," the boy's father explains.
"Where'd he call from?"
"The nurse's office. I gotta go," and he hangs up.
I call the school.
"Is my son in your office with a stomach ache?" I ask the nurse.
"What's he look like?" she asks, not recognizing his name.
"He's small, with dark hair," I offer.
"Oh ... he was here a bit ago - I sent him back to P.E. to get a pass," she says.
*I am stillin my pajamas.*
*I am happy in my pajamas.*
*I am not ready to get out of my pajamas.*
And ..
I am only into the early morning of my 7th day at home without children - enjoying my coffee - not yet READY to give up this new trend we have going - this ... back-to-school-for-the-kids-which-means-plenty-of-alone-time-for-mom - trend!
And ...
I am not so convinced that the boy is as sick as he is ... more likely ... tired.
"He's not one to miss school," I explain to the nurse, "If he's called home - he must not feel well. But ... it's the first of school ... I need to encourage him to stay if he can."
"Yes," she concurs.
"I guess he broke some rules," I suggest - realizing he hadn't gotten a pass - realizing he called from the gym - realizing he just sort of left his class and likely roamed around until he found her office.
She laughs. "It's okay."
"He's just wandering the halls - not good," I say, and giggle.
"He'll get it. They are all lost for a while. He is cute, though," she laughs again.
"Was there blood coming from his ears?" I then ask.
She hesitates.
She answers ... "No," and then chuckles nervously.
I guess I shouldn't have asked that.
On the upside ... She never called back. He never called back. He went on back to class and ... I'll bet, if someone were to ask him, he'd have to admit that .... he got that telepathic message I sent him ---- "SON, IT'S MOM.I'M STILL IN MY JAMMIES.UNLESS YOU'VE GOT BLOOD OOZING FROM YOUR EARS ...GET YOUR CUTE SELF ... BACK. TO. CLASS! LOVE YA - OVER AND OUT!"
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