F@#*! God#$*&! Mother@$#*!!!!!!!!!

OK, so we needed a car battery for our SUV
this morning.
Sounds simple enough, right?

HUBBY:
Just go to Costco, batteries are cheap there.

(extremely slow in the whole car parts, prices,
etiquette) WIFE:
So what kind of battery do I get?

HUBBY:
I don't know, just ask whoever is behind the
counter.

(sort of patient but NOT wanting to go to
town for a boring battery) WIFE:
OK, so what do I ask for? What KIND of
battery? Is there like a certain number I
need or a certain amount of energy? What?

HUBBY:
I don't know, just look under the hood at
the battery but make sure you get one that
has all the connections in the right place.

(patience is fading, lack of caffeine hence
headache starting to kick in) WIFE:
First of all, I don't know HOW to get the
hood on the car up, and I have no idea
what connections you are talking about
and if I DID, then I wouldn't be freaking
out about buying a battery! Could you
help me out just a little bit??????

(with major rolling of eyes) HUBBY:
Come outside, lets look at it.

(freezing my ass off in purple fuzzy
slippers in 30 degree weather,
with nice hot coffee getting cold
inside) WIFE:
Which button do I push to open the
hood?

FASTFORWARD

(late for work, frustrated) HUBBY:
Make sure the battery is this many
inches by this many inches and the
positive and negative posts are here
and here. But they might ask you
about a core charge so find out about
that, too.

(patience is gone, as is feeling in
fingers and toes) WIFE:
What the HELL is a CORE CHARGE?

(hopping into own vehicle which
starts right up with lots of power and
energy and HEAT) HUBBY:
They'll want you to turn in an old
battery when you buy the new one.

(pissed off with fire in eyes) WIFE:
How the F#@* am I supposed to
take our OLD battery out of our car?
Am I supposed to just do that in the
middle of Costco parking lot or WHAT?

(extremely late but extremely warm sitting
in running vehicle)
HUBBY:
There's an old battery sitting outside the
shed, just take that one in. Have a good
day, bye!

(screaming headache, freezing hands and
extremely irritated) WIFE:
But which button do I push to close the
hood?

FASTFORWARD

(mad at hubby and the world for having
to spend morning driving to local city which
is normally a 15 minute drive but now takes
30-45 due to construction, bypasses favorite
latte stand to take the shortcut that might
get to Costco in 25 minutes instead of 45,
pulls into parking lot at EXACTLY 8:30 in
the morning and finds parking lot completely
empty, drives by front door to see when
damn store opens, sees it doesn't open until
10:00) WIFE:
F#*@!! God@~#*! Motherf#*@!!

(so mad has to sit calmly for one minute
so hands stop shaking to call hubby at
work)WIFE:
So this place does NOT OPEN for an
hour and a half and I am NOT going
to sit here for an hour and a half and I
can't go anywhere ELSE to kill time
because if I shut the car off it might not
start again so what is it EXACTLY that
you want me to do because I am extremely
close to pulling off my fingernails and
running into RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC
right at the moment!

(happy to be anywhere but in wife's
car at the moment) HUBBY:
Just go to Walmart. Batteries are
cheap there, too, and I think they
opened at 7:00!

We are NOT in Kansas anymore, Toto!

OK, I moved back to my hometown.
Hometown, Montana.

This explains my long absence and my lack
of musings lately!

If you are new to this site you should take
a minute to read my post called, "The Tie
that Binds". It might give you a brief intro
to where I am coming from now!

My bestfriend called me nuts for moving back
and I had all sorts of excuses as to why in God's
name we were going. I had weighed all the
pros and cons. I had gone through every single
worst case scenario. I had pondered all the
good, wholesome opportunities that this hometown
has to offer. (Family, friends, our church, our dog,
free riverfront property to build our dream house on.)

Don't get me wrong. We moved here (hubby,two kids
and I) because the pros DID INDEED outweight the
cons and as a family we decided that it would be a
great step for us. We've been here for about eight weeks
now and all in all it's going fairly well.

Being in a small town is most definitely a different
living experience. It's not so small that everybody
knows everybody else, but it is small enough that
you recognize people and cars and you notice EVERY
wierd person who makes you wonder why on earth
did you move BACK here!

I think a lot of people have misconceptions about
Montana. Yes, we do have cable television! And
no, we do NOT ride horses to school. Yes, we have
Old Navy and The Gap. No, we do not all live on
farms! Yes, we have millionaires and movie stars
that live here. NO, I have NOT run into Brad Pitt!
(Although don't think I haven't looked!) Yes there
are LOTS of grizzly bears and mountain lions here.
NO, I have not gotten over my fear of said
carnivores! (See post called Self Meditation!)

Montana is big and beautiful and it's one of those
states that most people want to see before they
die. If you haven't been here, you really should
come visit.

But, back to the weird people!
Remember the Unibomber? He came
from Montana. He is an obvious
BIGGIE that will go down forever for
making Montana look bad. But when
I mentioned earlier that the weird people
just sort of tend to stand out in a smaller
town, these are just a few:

FIRST, there is "the walker". He is a guy who
spends hours everday walking from restaraunt
to restaraunt and eating. He always sits in the
very back of the place so he can eat and watch
people and he is actually VERY unfriendly. I
know he has a name, but we have ALWAYS
called him "the walker". In fact my own kids
have grown up calling him the same thing!
This is second generation weird! As long as I
can remember, he has been walking, walking,
walking. He scares me. I should add him to
my "things that scare me" list in my post called
"Self-Medication"!

Then there is "Flat Stanley". He walks, also, but
he is about six feet five inches tall and it's almost
like all he is is a backbone. He is so flat and wide
it's like he is just a 2 by 12 with feet and a head.
I don't know why he walks because I know he has
a car! And when he walks his head is looking
straight ahead, back is straight, arms straight
down by his side. It's really very strange.
Although, unlike "the walker", Flat Stanley seems
to be very nice. He doesn't scare me but he
DOES make me feel funny!

And finally, there is "Hail Mary". She is not
weird, she is just extremely and profoundly
OLD. But, she drives this white, midsize
SUV around all the time! Most of the time
she drives to the Catholic Church, hence
the nick name. My kids and I have always
joked about being a very defensive driver
when we see her coming down the road.
She does seem like a very sweet lady but
I would feel more safe on the roads if I knew
she wasn't out driving her Izuzu Trooper
all over the place.

I am sure that all three of these people are
very sweet and kind and really I have no
excuse for saying negative things about
them. It's just hard not to NOTICE them!
I am sure they may think horrible things
about me as I am eating a hamburger or
talking on my cell phone while I am
driving around in my own SUV! "Hail Mary"
probably prays for her OWN safety when she
sees me driving down the road! She
probably screams out obscenities at
me calls me a damn weirdo!

It's just that compared to where we
HAD BEEN LIVING, my little
hometown is still a bit "slow". I do
not have the time or, God forbid, the
ENERGY to walk anywhere! I just keep
filling up my obnoxiously huge gas
tank with highly expensive gas and drive
around to my heart's content! The only
place I walk to is the bathroom! When the
stoplight turns yellow, I punch it. People
who have lived here forever slow down a
mile BEFORE the stop light just in CASE
it should turn yellow!

All in all, I am happy to be "home". But
I can totally relate to Dorothy when she
told Toto she was NOT in Kansas anymore.
Afterall, she thought the Munchkins were
all a little weird, too, right? :)

the musings of mary jane

the musings of mary jane

I am back for better or for worse! I have been without my email for quite some time and my family has moved back to
my hometown. It feels good to be back to my musings....it's
good to be home.

Note to self:
Need a new blog one of these days!

Note to good friend in Cali:
email me!

Note to all of my fellow bloggers out there:
I hope this finds you ALL doing well. I will
be back snooping around very very soon.

Until then......

My Dirty Little Secrets

OK so I went to Oprah.com just a little while ago to see about an upcoming show I am interested in watching. It's been years since I've been to her website so I spent fifteen minutes or so just poking around and reading things that interested me. I clicked on "Be On the Show" and a list of maybe 50 topics exploded all over the screen and when I started reading the headlines it made me...well... wonder how many of them I could honestly write in about so I could maybe qualify to "be on the show"!


Some of the topics were NOT for me!

Things like:

are you friends with your husband's
mistress?
---isn't that like a Maury Povich show topic?
I bet Connie Chung is asking herself that
question as I speak! :)

are you a weight loss success story?
--- yeah....NO! Maybe if it was a weight
GAIN show....Now THAT would be success!
I've gained eighty pounds since high school!

tell us about the world's best glazed
donuts!
--- now THAT should be a part of the weight
GAIN show, no? Come on, Oprah.....the world's
best glazed donuts????? I wonder if she's going
to give a box of Krispy Cremes to everyone in
the audience on that day? Lame.

But there WERE topics that piqued my interest!

Things like:

Do you have a mental illness?
---it depends on the time of the month and
whether or not I am being diligent about
taking my zoloft (suppose THAT would get
me on the show?)

Is an unusual addiction ruling your
life?
---does playing a hundred hours of Tetris
per week on my daughter's computer count
as an addiction?

Do you have story of betrayal?
--Hell ya! In the last few months, Maybelline
has discontinued my FAVORITE mascara...
assholes! I even tried emailing them
with an official whine.... nobody got back
to me...backstabbing bastards! (I should
call Jerry Springer and meet Maybelline
face to face!)

Do you have a problem throwing
things away?
---OK, I know Oprah will love this one. I
have a horrible problem with throwing
things away. If you leave the newspaper
laying around for more than two minutes,
it's a gonner. If you do not read the news
paper within 1/2 hour of it hitting the door
in the morning..... it's outta here. If there is
any question WHATSOEVER about the
contents of wierd, creepy looking substance
in the back of the refrigerator.....in the trash
it goes.... usually with bowl and all. I drive
my family nuts with my "throw away" issues!

OK... maybe I am not Oprah worthy after all. I didn't really want to be on her show anyway. I am more the Dr. Phil type. Just for fun I went to HIS web page to see what it would take to get me onto HIS show!

Let's see......

Switched at birth?
---Gawd I HOPE so, because then
I would finally understand why I am
the only normal person in my family!

Wish you could show the world
the real you?
---Um.... that would be a sad, sad
day indeed! Things have fallen
and they can't get up..... EVER!

Obsessed with amputation?
---OK that is just wierd, Dr. Phil.
And it makes me feel funny........

Are you a Cougar?
--What the hell?????
No wonder people think they
need a shrink. He is freaking nuts! :)

I bit the bullet and clicked on the cougar link to see if I fit the bill! I'm going with a resounding NO.... But you will have to go find out for yourself if you are a cougar or not! I guess we all have dirty little secrets! These were just some of MINE!

The Tie That Binds

[I am right in the middle of wrapping up the
END of my semester so instead of trying to
come up with something creative to blog about,
I decided to just share my latest term paper
with you. This kills two birds with one stone
because as I type it out again I can proof read
and also because it gives me something to add to
my blog site since I am having a hell of a
time getting here on a regular basis! Besides
it will give you another peek into my musings.

Thank you for your help with my proof reading
effort.....hope all is well out there with my
blog-buddies! Once finals are over I hope I
will be a better blogger!]

THE TIE THAT BINDS

Having been born and raised in Montana you would think that my finding a topic and writing an essay about it would be fairly easy. Normally, a nice quality story starts out with, "Once upon a time..." and then ends fabulously with, "...they lived happily ever after!" Somewhere tucked nicely between the beginning and the end there are heros in tight pants willing to risk their very lives to save the beautiful princess with white teeth and great hair. Unfortunately I am having a difficult time believing that my life, my big "Montana Experience", is worth the effort of a six to eight page term paper. I am also quite certain that my comings and goings are not so daring enough that they would warrant a fairy tale. Besides, the longer my hair gets the more split ends I have! Don't get me wrong, though. My life has been steeped in tradition, full of myth, and plagued by chaos. It's just that it seems quite boring when compared to the excitement of Meriwether Lewis when he saw the Great Falls for the first time, or the sentiment of George Catlin. When all is said and done I am more the Mary MacLane type in that I tend to see things in a darker light and such tendencies rarely have a "happily ever after" ending.

Technically, my story could start out with, "Once upon a time..." Once upon a time a baby girl was born in ***********, Montana on ********* , 19**. That all seems simple enough. But controversy surrounded my wee bald head the minute I decided to enter this world because my mother was only fifteen when she got pregnant with me and sixteen when she had me. A month before I was born there was a shotgun wedding and by that I mean that my dad married my mother because my grandfather held a heavy and well used shotgun up in the air and hollered, "You'll marry her, goddammit!" It sounds like I caused a big ruckus but I've heard that I really was a good baby! Needless to say I was raised watching MASH on a tiny, thirteen inch black and white television while we ate TV dinners. My young parents drank a lot, smoked a lot and cussed a lot but they also learned a lot. Mostly about each other, as they were practically strangers when they married. I am sure back then they were making plans and dreaming adult dreams. But under the "Big Sky" of Montana anything looks good at first. Those were the good old days. Those were the "once upon a time" days.

Then reality set in. Just like the undaunted explorers and reckless pioneers of way back when, my parents didn't really know anything about ANYTHING. Life started to get hard and the daily grind became almost more than they could bear. But my dad worked hard and my nervous mom had another baby which she was more than willing to hand over to me while she drank chocolate cokes, chain smoked and flipped slowly through Cosmopolitan magazine wishing for another life. I learned quickly that the easiest way to stay out of trouble was to stay out of the way. I spent my time with my younger sister and we grew up exploring the great beyond. I thrived in the thick shadows of Glacier National Park. I participated in summer camps on Flathead Lake. I learned to water ski on Whitefish Lake. We camped on the Hungry Horse Reservoir. We picked huckleberries in the North Fork. I cut wood with my dad in the fall and we went to the forest to chop down our Christmas tree every winter. I poked my finger into the noses and eyes of the deer and elk Dad brought home with pride during hunting season. My entire childhood was spent living the Montana experience but I never looked at it like that. To me, I was just a kid growing up.

Part of growing up however is wanting to spread your wings. I found out at a fairly young age that if you are born in Montana you are expected to live and die in Montana. It's tradition. It's an unspoken rule. Instead of being tagged like a calf is as soon as it's born, somehow the nurses put a huge "Made in Montana" stamp on your forehead when you are born and the minute you even pondered the idea of leaving, the stamp created a burning sensation that put you back in your place. Usually your place was where your parents lived or worked. Under normal circumstances that could mean a fine job at the local aluminum plant or a swell job at the local lumber mill. If you were really lucky you got willed into the family's small business; a restaurant or a souvenir store that catered to the curious masses visiting from somewhere different. Only on special occasions (called full-ride scholarships) were you allowed to attend the state university in Missoula but you had to solemnly swear under punishment of death to bring your degree and your new-found husband or wife back to the Flathead Valley. Tradition was stifling.

The first time I ever escaped the clutches of tradition and left Montana was when I was a senior in high school. At seventeen I boarded a plane for the first time with my government class and we ventured out to our nation's capital to check in on Max Baucus. Washinton D.C. seemed like heaven to me; the cars, the cabs, the crazy people, the chaos. I loved it. I had found my Eden. The city seduced me and I went back after I graduated from high school to nanny for a year. Yes, I destroyed the Montana mold and I went out East! At seventeen (and a half!), I boarded a plane for the second time and ventured out to our nation's capital but I left Max Baucus to his own devices. I was out for adventure. I managed to secure a fake I.D. which was appropriate under the circumstances because all along I was searching for another identity. In the city I could be anyone I wanted to be but most of all I didn't HAVE to be from Montana. During that year, with the help of my new credentials, I drank a lot, I cussed a lot, (I have never smoked) and I most definitely learned a lot.

Like most teenagers I had no fear so I was able to "suck the marrow out of life" (HD Thoreau). I discovered who I wanted to be. I met people I trusted and people I didn't. I drove too fast and slept too little. I wandered for hours through the museums and walked up and down every marble step in the city. I spoke to Abraham Lincoln and I cried at the Vietnam Memorial. I lived dangerously, but I did live. Of course my parents being the faithful Montanans that they were, were thoroughly convinced that I was addicted to drugs and alcohol. Or, even worse, that I had joined an underground cult or an "inner city gang". Essentially I became a black sheep. I was a nomad in the badlands of the east and loving every minute of it. (Lucky for me I was never approached about joining an underground cult or an "inner city gang"!) After a year the brand on my forehead started itching and I returned home. The pompous mountains parted just long enough to let me back in. I was pensive, reluctant, but very aware. I was aware that there is, indeed, life beyond the borders of the great west; the wild and untamed wilderness. Aware that the tie that binds can sometimes choke the life out of you. Aware that the mountains have the ability to make you feel too small and the "big sky" is just too damn big sometimes. You can lose yourself in it.

It's been ** years since I returned from my adventure out east. I have been married for fifteen years and I have two children of my own now. My husband is a native Montanan and my son and daughter are now living their own "Montana Experience". As a family we still pick huckleberries in the North Fork and we still camp on the reservoir. We've spent many summer days playing in Whitefish Lake and we still go traipsing into the forest to cut down our Christmas tree each year. I guess some things never do change with time. My parents are still married but they have never gotten to know each other. They are each others' bad habit. My dad still works hard and my mom is still a nervous chain smoker, although now she drinks triple lattes and reads gardening magazines. I still enjoy MASH reruns but I watch them on a twenty five inch flat screen while I am flipping back and forth from CNN. I don't think I've eaten a TV dinner since I was ten. I still poke my fingers into the noses and eyes of the deer and elk that the men in my family bring home each fall but I only eat beef. I know that I probably swear too much but I still do not smoke. And good old Max Baucus is still in Washington D.C. doing whatever it is that he does but I have not been back since I left in **. I have very fond memories of that era in my life and its pulse still runs through my blood even after all these years.

I love Montana although it does not define me nor does it confine me. Deep down inside I am still a nomad looking for something. I don't know what the something is yet, but I am patient. These Montana mountains make me feel trapped and insignificant. The Lodgepole Pine trees prick at my nerves. The deer irritate me and the gray winters bore me. I've spent countless hours in my adult years sitting on the beaches of the Pacific Ocean breathing the salty air into my lungs, willing the waves to take me somewhere, anywhere. I paint, I draw pictures, I write stories and poems about the myths and chaos of life-undiscovered; life outside of Montana. I constantly encourage my children to think outside the box because I want them to pull back the tree branches and gaze over the mountains. I want them to know they can leave. I have emotionally and mentally erased any stamp or defining marks that tell them they have to live and die here. I want them to write their own stories; stories that end in a hundred different ways with a thousand different adventures.

In the mean time, life goes on. I am thirty five (and a half!) years old and I feel like I still have not found my true identity. I believe that I am everywhere but here. Yes, I am still a daughter and a sister and now I am also a wife, mother and student. I am happy. But somehow I am still missing. Am I running wild on the east coast weaving in and out of the cherry trees, living in Monet's paintings? Am I blowing softly on the winds in Hawaii? Am I crashing dangerously onto the unforgiving rocks of the Oregon coastline? Am I drifting back and forth between the tides? Ah, but my forehead is burning.

Mountains have the ability to make you feel too small and the "Big Sky" of Montana is just too damn big sometimes. You can lose yourself in it.

But I am patient.

love is in the air

I don't remember how old I was when I saw the movie Bambi for the
first time, maybe 8 or 10?

ALthough I DO remember that it was the first drive-in movie that I'd ever
been to and not only that, but my COOL aunt Connie took me

I loved the thought of being in the front seat of her old beat up Datsun
drinking too much pop and eating too much junkfood

that's what cool aunts are for

of course we all remember the story of Bambi and those of us with kids
have probably scammed Thumper's advice, "if you can't say something
nice ....don't say anthing at all" (I say that allllll the time!)

lately, though, I have been thinking about the movie a lot as I walk back
and forth to my college classes because there is one thing that is very
apparent around here in my neck of the woods.....every beast and bird
in the world is TWITTERPATED

on the college campus there is a very cool duck pond which is the place
young families take their kids on the weekends to throw bread and show
their toddlers the "duckies"

and more times than not there will be young college kids sitting hand in
hand falling in love for the first time, or the second or third

it's actually a neat little area and it's got great vibes

[but I am also a sucker for both toddlers and romance]

anyhoo...back to the springtime sexual revolution

the local duck pond has actually become the local red door district
and it should have a large sign posted in the area that says
rated NC17 for those parents who are prone to protecting young
eyes from such things

mommy, what are those ducks doing?
daddy, why are there four boy ducks on the girl duck?
grandma, why are those ducks biting each other on the head?
grandpa, I think they are hurting each other!

ahhhhh.....twitterpation at its best

the essence of spring

new beginnings
new life
new hope
green grass
dandelions
baby "duckies"

it's so refreshing

it's easy for people these days to get so caught up in life that they MISS it
spring break happens
t-ball starts
baseball starts
the time changes
all the school concerts happen
if you are in college, finals are right around the corner and if you are
anything like me, you have put things off until the last possible minute

it's too easy to miss the BEST part

NEW life

it's all around us and we don't even see it
the flirting
the crisp mornings
the swollen buds on the tree branches trying so hard to burst
the birds are going crazy
the ants and the butterflies come back
the days get longer and warmer
it sounds a bit cliche, but it truly is one big circle of life
don't miss it

that old drive-in movie has been gone for ages
and my cool aunt has recently become a cool grandmother
but life just keeps going on
Thumper will forever be Thumper
ducks will forever be ducks
and spring always follows winter

go for a walk
feel the energy
take your boyfriend or girlfriend to a duckpond
listen to the birds
show your kids the ants
don't miss it
be twitterpated with life

to the moon and back

So this past Wednesday I dropped my two kids off at school, skipped my one and only college class for the day and decided to bite the bullet and clean my son's room

[my bestest-smartie-pants-friend in California cleaned HER boys' play room the other day and it must have inspired me

although I will admit that I also needed a good excuse for hubby as to why I was going to miss class.... AGAIN]

background

J is 11, in 5th grade, and is your typical all-american
pre-pubescent sort of guy
he's got the biggest brown eyes and the cutest crooked smile and you can't help but like him the minute you meet him
he's also got a heart of gold; very sensitive and nurturing for his age; always looking out for and standing up for the underdogs in the world

So his room is full of the regular boy things: legos, GI Joes, books, plastic guns, skateboards, a cool kite, lots of Zip Zap stuff from Radio Shack, a remote control Hummer, an assortment of balls (soccer balls, baseballs, basketballs, hockey pucks, footballs that range in size and hardness, tennis balls to replace said baseballs when there are too many windows around) and finally, last but certainly not least, a TV with a PS2 permanently attached to its innards

those are the normal things

here are the abnormal things

at least 200 rubber bands in varying colors and sizes
empty plastic tic tac containers
empty altoid tins
masking tape
scotch tape
strapping tape
electrical tape
Q-tips
empty shoe boxes
empty cereal boxes
wooden sticks and beads
more rubber bands
empty plastic Crystal Light tubes with accompanying lids
small tree branches
string and rope
an old telephone
an old microscope
a set of old (HUGE) walkie-talkies that my dad gave him years ago
rocks of varying shapes and sizes
rolled up balls of tin foil
oh, and did I mention rubber bands?

so this is my reason for this blog:

welcome to the world of the all-american pre-pubescent 11-year old boy!
what a wonderful, wonderful world

full of

imagination
freedom
curiosity
naivety
innocence
youth
exploration
inspiration
vitality
testosterone
bravery
pretend
creation
fantasy
illusion
artistry
vision

I sat pensively in the middle of the room
an industrial size garbage sack in one hand
a brand new bottle of all-purpose clorox in the other hand
feeling like I was about to invade his little niche

who was I to disturb his peace; his imagination?

who was I to force myself into the crevices of his mind and disinfect his thoughts?

who was I to steal the illusion, the vision, the vitality?

who was I to decide what was garbage and what was creativity at it's best?

oh, THAT'S RIGHT, I am his mother

the one who goes crazy everytime I go into his bedroom because I am fearful of
things-not-yet-discovered underneath his bed and behind the toyboxes in his closet!

stay focused, mother, stay focused

I spent five hours in his room that day

putting legos in the lego box

putting Zip Zap batteries, remotes, wheels and such in the Zip Zap box

retrieving Crash Test Dummy parts from here and there

sorting through two HUGE Rubbermaid containers filled to the brim with:

poker chips
McDonalds toys
stale popcorn
squirt guns
toothpicks
little plastic green army men (some of whom were missing various limbs)
baseballs, footballs, soccerballs, tennis balls, etc.
rocks
exhausted GI Joes; gone AWAL (sorry guys, you have to go back now)
kitchen silverware
gum wrappers
my favorite scissors
taped up and rubberbanded Tony Hawk figures
Q-tips that had been cut in half, made into crutches and taped to
before mentioned little plastic green army men
(I am assuming to help them gimp back to camp without their various limbs)
[my guess is that little plastic green army men will get suggestions from
exhausted GI Joes on best way to go AWAL]
empty plastic tic-tac containers full of lifeless dirt and sugar
(I am hoping those are NOT dead ants....yup, they are)
empty altoid tins full of sand and grass
(I am hoping that was NOT a dead worm...yup, it was)
shoe boxes and cereal boxes made into the shape of futuristic rockets
to tote favorite stuffed monkey around the undiscovered dimensions of space

and of course rubber bands

I had the best time cleaning his room that day because I felt like a peeping tom, a voyeur

I smiled at his creativity
I laughed at every discovered 11-year old invention
I cringed every time I opened something, not knowing what I would find inside
I celebrated when I found the 28 missing socks that would match the
OTHER 28 singles I'd been saving and mumbling about for months now
I dusted carefully
I organized
I vacuumed
I replaced Glade plug-in

and then I left his room thanking God for such an honor

the honor of having been blessed with my son
the honor of having cleaned, organized and dusted
pure, raw, unadulterated IMAGINATION

ironically, J had a playdate afterschool on Wednesday and between
playdate friend and the other two neighborhood boys who seem
to live here most of the time
I cringed lightly at the obnoxious
farting, burping, bumping, gut-laughing
pre-pubescent sounds coming from behind closed door

I could only imagine what the newly cleaned room was going to look like
when the four of them finally emerged from there two hours later

but somehow it didn't matter to me

my only thought was

play
play on my son,
my brown-eyed boy

and may the imagination and fascination of innocence take you as far as you can go....
rubber bands and all