Fans of the Game

So, the other night, during the seventh game of the Blues and Blackhawks series, my husband laughed and said, “Look at those fans.”

I looked up from the essay I was grading to where my husband sat hunched on a tiny, yellow, plastic child’s chair positioned three feet from the television screen, yelling at professional athletes — who were actually located in Saint Louis and not the tiny box in our living room — and explaining how one actually plays hockey, real in-depth commentary like “shoot the puck.”

“I can see better from here,” he told me defensively when he noticed my raised eyebrow.


That makes it all okay.



Some Lucky Lady

“Hey, Mom,” Younger hollered down the hallway last night.

I peeked around my computer towards the direction of his voice. “Yeah?”

“Have I taken a shower tonight?”

I blinked. “Uh, I don’t think so?”

“I don’t think so, either,” he finally muttered.

“Well, is your towel wet?”

“Oh, it’s hanging up. Not in the floor. So, I haven’t taken a shower today.”

I sighed. “That’s just sad, Younger.”

“Just honest,” he replied cheerfully. “And a little funny.”

Ah, yes, and, some day, he will bless one lucky lady with his humor.

She may strangle him with a wet towel.

But she’ll be laughing all the while.



Dust Gets in His Eyes

Today, I thought I would share an old story from 2002, when Elder would have been five years old…

An hour ago, when we were cleaning the toy room, I had to remind Elder several times of his objective, finally telling him, “If you don’t start picking up those logs, I’ll have everything else put away before you’re done.”

“How do you know that?” he questioned.

“Well, Elder, it’s not that hard to figure.”

“Oh. When I didn’t pick up before, it was because I was lazy,” he announced.

“Well, Elder, now, I don’t think you’re lazy. I just think you’re easily distracted.”

His eyebrows came together. “What does ‘stractd mean?”

“It means you start doing one thing when something else catches your eye and you forget what you’re supposed to be doing.”

“What catches my eye, Mom. Huh? What catches my eye?”

“Well, Elder…”

“Dust? Does dust catch my eye?” I was too busy controlling all signs of my instantaneous amusement to answer. So he started waving his hands in front of his face. “Get back dust. Go away. Stay out of my eye!” He looked at me. “I won’t let anything catch my eye. Okay, Mom?”

Yeah, okay.

Except, during the entire conversation he had not retrieved a single Lincoln log.

And I had finished with the other scattered toys.

It ain’t just dust that gets in his eyes.


Robots and Their Followers

We now have a Roomba. Which is a great cleaning tool. But an even better source of entertainment.

Our border collie hides on the stairs while the little round robot rolls in mystical patterns across the wood floor, but our black lab, who usually follows me when I’m cleaning, now trails his new buddy.

Which I thought was amusing.

Then I cranked up the Roomba last night for the first time while Younger was home.

And when I glanced up from cooking dinner, I discovered the teenager traipsing behind the squat robot, gleefully announcing, “Oh, oh, you’re stuck now. How ya gonna — Oh. Well. Now, where ya goin’?”

A Roomba, a couple dogs, and a teenager . . . the fun may never end.