Potatoes

"Mom," Jack says, "I put some potatoes in the fruit basket for you," his potatoes, his own, fresh dug from his garden. His head poked in my room, bright freckles and a sky-blue shirt, I smile at him.

"Oh, thanks," I say. Perched on the edge of my bed, I've been staring at the open closet trying to extract something that will fit and look appropriate. The children bustle down the hallway behind Jack. Everyone's prepping for a day at work with Daddy.

"You can use them for whatever you want," he says, "like making chips or fried potatoes or WHATEVER you want." I smile, watch his eyebrows curve around those blue eyes. "'Cause, I like to have a little surprise for you any time I'm gonna be gone," he says. That closet full of clothes and nothing to wear and then this.

"Aw, thanks, Jack."

"Yeah!" he says. With that he clicks the door shut, scampers down the hallway, and soon the house is quiet, just Betsy and me.

All day I think about those potatoes. I fry them up for dinner, split them with Craig. We agree, hands down, the best potatoes. Ever. Could have eaten a whole bushel of them. But the nourishment, that was all Jack.





Gratitude:

6032. We have a garage sale with Pete and Rosie, a huge success.

6033. The kids help Craig move everything back into place in his classroom after the painting is done.

6034. I finish another sweater for baby boy.

6035. And a blanket.

6036. We finish the first week of school. Memories of the self-discipline required for learning begin to re-emerge. It feels good.

6037. We celebrate my mom's birthday.

6038. We celebrate Craig's dad's birthday.

6039. We land on Sunday tired and grateful for rest. It's the long afternoon nap, laundry forgotten on the couch, and bedtime come early.

Gifts

"That's for you," Joe says. Barefooted, he thunks across the kitchen, palms a green cherry tomato out of his mouth, lifts it up to me, hands shiny with spit.

"That's ok. You go ahead," I say.

"I washed it," he says.

"Oh," I say.

"Can I eat it?"

"Yeah. You better."

He pops it back in his cheek, purses his lips to contain the overspill.

***

"Should I open these?" Myra crinkles a fun sized pack of M&M's between her fingers. The two of us on a date, the budget down to the end of the month, I'd grabbed them on our way out the door. M&M's: a date.

"It's up to you," I say. "They're yours."

"Hm." She pets them with her hand. "I might wait 'til we get home 'cause the kids might want some," she says.

"Ok."

She nestles them next to the booster, a sliver of shade. We run errands, take a walk, circle back home. And she splits the little back open for everyone.

***

"Now that I'm going fast, this is actually fun," Jane says.

I glance up, iron paused and puffing over my quilt. Anchored to the school table like ball and chain, she grins. I laugh. "Yup," I say.

Her math book sprawled open to lesson 52, she leans an elbow across its face. "Careful when you pick my discipline," she chirps, a squirreling smile ribboned across her face.

"Better keep going," I say.

"I know," she says and scrawls repentance across the face of the next hour.

Practice. Practice makes easy. And like water turned to wine, discipline becomes play.

Gratitude:

5494. Jack and Lucy take up Canasta. Myra watches. "I like Canasta," she concludes. "There's nothing bad for me in Canasta."

5495. Craig and I take up Canasta again. I only have to apologize once for being a bad sport.

5496. German potato soup. Mom makes the best potato soup.

5497. Fleece lined leggings. Fall finally hits and the girls winter up with fleece lined leggings.

5498. Good food and family. We end on blondies and transparency, a la mode.

5499. Joe tries his hand at dumping nail polish (again) down the bathroom sink. Brilliant red. Craig polishes it clean with straight acetone. Joe PROMISES never to do it again.

5500. We celebrate a birthday party with friends that feel like family.

5501. Craig helps me distill down more strategies on how to instill good work habits in the kids.

5502. Mom and I trade quilting chores. We mastermind more quilts.

5503. Friends give us hand-me-downs.

5504. The girls get headbands.

5505. We begin plans for Thanksgiving.

5506. Waist high in a discouraging week, deep waters of encouragement spring forth. Each on cue, women I love speak truth into my life.

5507. I feel well for four days in a row. I pray the next week brings wellness untold.