Strawberries

"Momma says we should give our first crops to other people, Lucy." Jack hitches the refrigerator door open. He reaches between a tub of yogurt and the pot of last night's stew to pluck up a tiny baggie of strawberries. "Now we can share it with Logan and Thad," he says. He unzips the little baggie and squeezes in two mostly ripe berries no bigger than thimbles.

Lulie nods, "Ok."

Jack squibbles the baggie shut and sets it on the yogurt tub. He whirls the fridge closed with one hand. "There," he says. "Come on, Lucy." He skitters out the back door like a tricycle on two wheels.

"Wait for me, Jack." She bobs out the back, a buoy on his heels.

The door clicks shut and I sigh. Joe again in the crook of my arm, me moored on the little black couch, I watch the children spin my words into worlds.





Gratitude:

3246. Jane makes a friendship bracelet. "It doesn't really look very interesting," she comments, "but it is -- like knitting." She weaves an indigo string into place. "If there's enough string in here for two," she adds, "I want to make one for you, Momma."

3247. "Some people leave a lot of food on their plate," Lucy notices. I tell her they shouldn't, and she responds, "Yeah, else they'll maybe DIE."

3248. "Lucy, why are you taking so long washing your hands?" I holler to the bathroom. "I want to wash up around my armpit," she shouts back.

3249. We dry a load of jeans in the dryer, all the buttons and zippers rattle and jangle. "Is that one of Jane's tooths in the dryer?" she wants to know.

3250. "Why did you try making hotdogs?" she asks me later. "It's a lot how I wanted it," she adds, "and a little how I didn't."

3251. She tastes dinner and drawls, "It's ADORABLY too spicy."

3252. She loop 'round the kitchen, through the laundry, into the living room and calls, "I did my extra-cizing five-minutes-a-hour. Mommy, mommy, I did it nine-minutes-a-hour now."

3253. We take the kids to a wedding, the kind where the bride and groom embody pure joy, the kind where the bride and groom have waited and saved themselves for their day. Purity. All seven of us lined up in a pew, we let the children watch, see the real thing.

3254. We eat salmon-melts down on the farm.

3255. The kids practice shooting cans filled with water. They all miss the target except for Lucy, her eye patch still on.

3256. Trader Joe's mini peanut butter cups.

3257. White balsamic vinegar, cold pressed olive oil.

3258. Mom and I visit Rosie's new apartment and soak in all the artful touches.

3259. Hand-me-down shirts.

3260. Myra holds my hand during worship on Sunday and strokes my arm.

3261. The cousins mount their posse of bikes and weave in and out of neighborhood driveways. Cerissa and I visit and enjoy our friendship.

3262. Queso bbq burrito, mango salsa on top.

3263. Grilled carrots with cumin and coriander.

3264. Craig takes note on the kinds of questions I love to be asked and then asks me.

3265. The comfort of complete agreement on a few controversial topics.

3266. I remember again how to stand tall, square my shoulder, and take the day in stride.