Full Bellies

Day 329

Who knew one of the day’s highlights would be feeding meters? 

The boys and I are downtown trying to squeeze out as much fun, fun, fun as possible before school starts on Monday: Skating at Fountain Square.  Lunch with Chaz.  Carew Tower.  Sweet Abby Cupcakery. 

What do the boys talk about on the ride home?  This.

I give each of the boys a handful of quarters and tell them to find expired meters.  Each embraces the task as they do life. 

I. analyzes each meter and carefully selects which meter he should feed. 

A. runs willy nilly down the street putting quarters in every meter he passes, even those without cars parked beside them. 

F. searches until he hits the jackpot and finds an expired meter flashing red. 

We cover four blocks.  Up.  Down.  Hungry meters get full bellies. 

“High five,” I say, smiling when each runs back to report and hold up their hand in triumph. 

Our mittens connect in a muffled slap.  

2013

Day 328

The older I get the more I regret the choices of my youth.     

As a teenager, I’d slather baby oil over my skin and bake in the sun.  For hours. 

I don’t apply moisturizer nightly.  I’ve been known to stay up all night just to see if I can.  Fruits and vegetables and I enjoy an on-again-off-again relationship. I don’t floss.  

I tell you all this to explain why in 2013 I’m pledging to be kinder to my body. 

Today I start a 24-day cleanse with a handful of friends.  I expect I’ll need an army to talk me off the ledge since from my perch there’s no sugar, no dairy and no bread. 

The boys and I talk about New Year’s resolutions, what they are, why people make them and why they’re helpful in pushing us to be better.

“Like a do-over?” A. asks.   

“A do better,” I say.  

Something Unexpected

Day 327

“Mom, where are the eggs?”  This comes from the same boy who at three asked me where I keep the gasoline. 

“Why?” I ask with more than a little trepidation.

It seems his intentions are pure.  F. wants to surprise my husband with breakfast in bed. 

Whenever we can, we let Chaz sleep in.  He works long hours during the week, volunteers his evenings to the Cub Scouts and does the lion’s share of the cooking on the weekends.  Yes, if you’re wondering, I did marry Superman. 

This shocks all who knew my husband all those years ago. 

He was the one who was never getting married.  Kids?  Forget about it. 

Then I became his roommate in a rundown Capital Hill row house.  Six months later he proposed.  The rest as they say is history.  Sometimes you don’t know what you want until it moves into your apartment.  

I steer F. away from eggs and encourage him to make a breakfast that doesn’t include using fire.  He builds a plate of cereal, fruit, yogurt and toast.  I think it’s a nice touch that he trims off the crusts.