Hands

Overheard on the trolley:

"There used to be a statue of Jesus up there [gesturing out the window] and it didn't have no hands, and I was like, 'Oh, man! Somebody went and stole Jesus' hands!' And then one day I looked at the sign and it said, 'I have no hands but yours.' That Jesus statue never had no hands!"

I Keep Thinking of That Cheesy Poster That Says "Pobody's Nerfect"

The other night, my son completed a math page and then went nuts because he got one answer wrong. As I tried to explain that no one is perfect, I mentioned that the only one who's perfect is God.

"Well," he retorted, "I'm pretty close!"

And thus begins a new lesson phase.

I'm Just Sayin'

If you ever meet a good-looking, strong, gregarious, widowed ex-fireman, you could totally play it cool.

Or you could blush, wish you were wearing nicer shoes (but feel good that you'd just gotten a pedicure), ask questions about him after he leaves, then not recognize his voice on the phone later.

I tend to go with the more interesting choice.

Bright Spots

Yesterday I picked up my son at school and took him back to my office to meet my fabulous officemate. She'd been out on Monday when I first brought the kiddo in to meet the awesome crew; she'd been on a grocery errand on Sunday, been rear-ended by a truck, and spent that night and the following day dealing with whiplash, a mild concussion, plenty of bruises -- oh, and insurance companies. Frankly, I was surprised that she even came in this week, but she typically plays through pain and our supervisor asked us all to keep an eye on her, lest she push herself too hard.

Anyway, I brought the kiddo back to the office, my fabulous officemate brought her eleven-year-old daughter to the office, and the two kids had a great time together. C.'s daughter even helped the kiddo with some of his homework, and she did it so kindly that I was very impressed. C. was characteristically warm and welcoming to my son, and I really appreciated that. Some of my co-workers were around, and they were happy to see the kiddo again; he loves the place and wanted to stay at the office even after C. and her daughter went home. Finally I had to lure him out with the promise of a trip to Jamba Juice. ;^)

We'll be going back again, though. It's just that kind of place. People always bring their kids around and everyone is very sweet and welcoming. It's a wonderful counterbalance to less pleasant things that continue to occur. More on that later.

Silence Is Often Underrated

Last night I tried to pour some dog food from the ginormous bag of senior food I'd bought recently.* The bag proved to be too heavy for me and I accidentally poured kibble all over the floor.

"Wow," my son remarked as he ate his (non-doggy) dinner, "that was really clumsy."

It had been an attitude-filled afternoon.

You know, I told him, I've had a hard day and that kind of hurts my feelings, so I'm going to take a little break from talking to you.

The kiddo chewed in silence and thought about what I'd said. After a few minutes, he spoke. "Mom, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I was just trying to use one of the words we learned in school today."

Okay, thanks for telling me, I told him.

Another minute passed. "Hmm," my son said, the picture of sincerity and innocence, "maybe I should've used a different word, like 'stumble'."


* Can I just tell you? Senior dogs really do need senior food. It makes their poops perfect. And you do not want a dog with, well, imperfect poops, lest you find yourself standing next to a dog tub, washing a reluctant dog's diarrheal butt while you wonder what exactly you ever went to college for. Take my word for it.