A Note to My First Born

When you were born, the joy that accompanied your arrival filled a hole in your father’s and my hearts that we weren't aware even existed.  We felt as if we were bubbling over with so much love and excitement that we didn’t quite understand the intensity of these feelings or where they had come from.

Over time I came to realize that not only did you fill that hole, but you owned that piece of my heart.  When you felt joy, I magically felt it too.  When you were sad or uncontrollably cranky, screaming until your face turned a rainbow of colors, I felt cranky and wanted to scream right along with you.  Unfortunately for me it was, and still is, not socially acceptable for a grown woman to flail her arms and throw her head back, screaming at full volume when the moment strikes.

Throughout your early years you challenged me in every emotional way.  When you stamped your feet and attempted to exert your independence, I stood my ground (most of the time), desperately trying to NOT stamp my own feet in reaction, and tried to show that I knew better than you, even with your cute, chubby little cheeks and expanding vocabulary.

Throughout school there was many-a-battle, ranging from homework and grades to sleepovers and activities.  You always KNEW you knew best…until the occasion when the report card said otherwise.  We butted heads a plenty, usually arriving at a middle ground somewhere between total restriction from all activities and complete freedom.  Emotions became so entangled that sometimes it was difficult to tell who was angry and who was hurt…more likely it was both at the same time.  One heart feeling everything at once.

Yesterday we took you to your college dorm with a van packed to full capacity with your belongings and various personal trappings.  In anticipation my heart hurt for you, hoping that all your dreams would come true.  Yet everything seemed so perfect.  So happy you were, to set up a place that was all yours with friends who belong to you.  All of your tomorrows so full of potential and oozing with the future and countless things to come.  

We, however, were forced to leave and drive westward onto the highway in a van with one gaping extra empty seat, leaving that place of learning you now call home.  Against my better judgment I felt that hole in my heart opening up just a little, kind of like that empty van seat, the newly empty space stinging with a twang of loss, pain and longing.

But today, as we message and share with one-another, I feel that heart-hole filling up with the stories and pictures you are sending my way of your adventures.  Your friends who make you laugh and help you figure out how to hang your decorations in your new home give me hope.  Your new pals who need your help to solve the biggest problem of the day:  How to prop your door open with a spatula so that more friends will walk across the threshold of your lives to expand your world.  Your total excitement about learning new things, meeting new people and having new experiences fills my heart with contentment.

You go, girl!  My heart grows with yours.

Our Turtle Ran Away

 

A couple of days ago I sat here in this chair with a plastic cup in my hand that I picked up from the local Feed & Seed weeks before.  In the bottom were three wiggly meal worms climbing over one another that were supposed to be breakfast for my turtle.  I was amazed that they were still alive without food or water for such a long, lonely time.  Deciding to show mercy to the poor insects, I stepped out onto our deck to set them free in the plastic kiddie pool garden filled with turtle-edible plants.  Immediately they burrowed down into the damp dirt to safety with their tiny, jointed legs.

One month previous, during the warm August days, those strawberry, spinach and kale plants had grown so tall and lush that Alfie the Box Turtle used one as a stepladder to escape his garden.  This wasn’t his first successful attempt as an escape artist.  In past summers he would find the perfect sturdy stem, heave his shell up over the edge and CLUNK - land upside down on the wood planks of our sunny deck.  Stretching his long neck to use as a lever, he would right himself and proceed to march all around the deck.  Afraid of heights he would stretch that telescopic neck to peer over the side, then always back safely away from the edge to move in a new direction, much like those Roomba vacuum cleaners that bounce and reverse and eventually cover every inch of the surface.  After many tries he would end up crossing the threshold of the patio door to wander inside the house.  We were always alarmed to find the pool empty, but the crisis would end when he was spotted scooting across the carpet or resting under the sofa.

This dreadful time, after a few days of looking, we faced the reality that Alfie was likely on the lam.  Assuming that the mild-mannered reptile wouldn’t go far, we alerted the neighborhood and waited for a chubby-cheeked, grinning child to ring the doorbell holding our handsome fella in one hand. 

Days became weeks, and then stretched to a month.  No doorbell, no sightings, no shouts of “How did you get here?!” from downstairs when I hoped my daughter would come upon him under a shoe or behind a cabinet.  As the nights grew chilly, we would all shiver at the thought of our frigid, wet Alfie.  Our cold-blooded friend who cannot regulate his own heat and depends on the warmth of the sun, his heat lamp or heating pad to keep him warm, was outside with no heat source at all. 

Or was he?  Could he be snuggled on the lap of the Cat Ladies down the road, being fed sautéed insects and Crème de la Mango from silver dishes?  Maybe he took up residence in the garage of our Engineer/Mechanic Hobbyist friend at the bottom of the hill and has been going on joyrides in the red muscle car, snuggling up to the heat vent on the floor below the passenger seat?  On the worst days I worried that there was a family of raccoons enjoying a meal of Turtle on the Half Shell…  There could be some truth to all of that, but we’ll never know.

Yesterday while sifting through Facebook I clicked on the Critter of the Week video from our local Humane Society.  After five seconds my mouth emitted a shriek of surprise, happiness, disbelief and excitement all in one breath.  There our fella was with a brand-new facial profile (they dremeled his beak to a fine, handsome point) but with the same old chips and scars we know him by! 

Somebody, we don’t know who, dropped him by the shelter after-hours.  They found him somewhere, we’re not sure where, by the side of the road.  The only thing we do know is that he had been there, at the shelter, for one week.  That means that for 3 weeks he was unaccounted for!

Now, with our turtle safe back at home, we look at him and wonder what he went through.  We check him over for scars that might tell a story.  I haven’t found any biker club tattoos on his arms or diamond rings on his claws to shed light on his activities for the 21 days he was on the lam.  All we know is that he is vigorously active, voraciously hungry, and bolder and more confident than we ever knew him to be before this adventure.  Someday will we come across a litter of baby turtles that have his same strong profile and deep, red eyes?

I am delighted that on this rainy morning he is inside his heated home gorging on a pile of soft green peas.  When the sun comes out this weekend I will prune his garden and let him out for a wander in the sun.  Those three little mealworms had better be on their toes, because WATCH OUT!  Alfie is back!

GO HAWKS!!

What are we watching?  We are riveted, watching a few dozen well-paid athletes who make a living working out and challenging their bodies to their limits while building up false rivalries, and now put on a flashy display of fighting contrived battles against well-paid athletes from other cities, wearing different colors.

We study each of these green and blue athletes - their history, their skill, their personality… until we feel like we know them, are connected to them in some way and we cheer them on as if they are fighting our very own battles.  We cheer them on with passion, as if the outcome of this game will change tomorrow.  Our momentary happiness depends on the performance of these strangers tonight.

But tomorrow, or next year, our favorite personality whom we felt represented everything that is great about our state, our big city, what we stand for, might choose to play for a different team that offers a better deal, to represent the team in a rival city that has nothing to do with us.  Then that beloved athlete will no longer be wearing green and blue, and they will be wearing a color combination we have learned to despise for a reason we can’t explain with ease or logic, and he likely will no longer be loved by us.

Tomorrow, or next year, OUR team might be made up of different athletes from different regions, but the green and blue will tell us that they represent us and we will cheer them on and our momentary happiness will again be dependent upon the outcome of their contrived battle on the field.

I am sitting here in my own flickering blue glow, happy that the green and blue score is more than double what the other color has accrued.  My happiness is secure for this moment.  And then I will do the dishes, kiss the children goodnight and take the dog outside for her bedtime potty.  And tomorrow will be tomorrow, whatever the outcome of the game.  Go Hawks!