Red Box

Day 219

“What’s this?”  My mom is visiting from Chicago for the weekend and the boys and I drag her to the store to include her in today’s fun. 

“Red Box?  Think Blockbuster but at your grocery store,” I explain as I point to the large red kiosk.  “You pick out a movie on the computer screen, pay with your credit card and the movie pops out.”  I’ve never used Red Box but I think the idea is pure genius.  I only wish I’d thought of it first.   

We find the snack aisle and pick our poison.  “Popcorn or candy?”  The question isn’t out before the boys answer.  In unison. 

Milk Duds in hand, we spy walk our way back to the Red Box and nonchalantly prop the chocolates on the thing you swipe your card through to pay. 

I can’t take credit for today’s random act.  My friend Jamie sent a link when she saw the idea on the Red Box facebook page.  Jamie, this one’s for you!

We tape a note, “Enjoy your movie!” and hurry home to enjoy our own Saturday night movie. 

     

Flower Power

Day 218

When I was little, I loved bringing daffodils from my mom’s garden to my teacher.  With stems wrapped in wet paper towels and covered in tin foil, I’d proudly present my gift to much ooh-ing and ahh-ing. 

The heat and rain of the last few weeks has done wonders for my garden.  My butterfly garden sings with color.  My hydrangeas hang heavy with blooms. 

“Who wants to bring flowers to his teacher?”  I ask. 

The boys stare at me blankly.

“Why?” A. asks. 

“Because your teacher might like them?  As a surprise?” 

He considers this then shakes his head no. 

“F?  How about you?” Then I remember how he used the last bouquet to duel on the bus.  I still chuckle when I think of his teacher’s bewildered face as she graciously accepted his bouquet of twigs.

“How about you?” I ask my oldest.  He’s my empathetic, sweet one.  Or he used to be until he started third grade.  These days he’s less sweet more snot. 

“No way,” he says.  “Flowers aren’t cool.”  I can’t understand this statement.  My husband brings me flowers all the time for no reason.  That’s about the coolest thing in the world. 

“No one?  No takers?” 

If today’s random act of kindness were a flower, it died on the vine. 

Popsicle Party

Day 217

A. knows what he wants to bring for soccer snacks and there’s no persuading him otherwise. 

“Popsicles,” he says. 

I fight the urge to tell him that a box of granola bars will be easier.  In his league, the snacks rank higher than the actual game.  Don’t trifle with snacks.   

How much harder can popsicles be?  A lot it turns out when you can’t find the top to the cooler and the bag of ice freezes in one solid block. 

As Chaz searches the garage for the cooler top, I heave the bag of ice against the concrete garage floor to break up the chunks into manageable pieces.  The plastic bag explodes on impact and sends ice flying.  Lucky for us the clutter of boxes and yard tools act as a barrier and most of the ice ricochets back toward my feet.  I scoop up the cleaner pieces and line the bottom of the igloo, add a layer of popsicles and top off the frozen, if slightly dirty, parfait with another layer of ice. 

I bend down to pick up the cooler.  My brain knows what to do but somehow misfires the message to my arms.  Nothing.  I try again and ungracefully drag-carry the cooler to the car. 

“Need some help?” a dad asks watching me struggle at the soccer field. 

“I’m good.  Just a few more steps,” I grunt. 

I drop the cooler on the sidelines and collapse onto it.  The hard plastic provides a solid, if not comfortable, seat to watch the game.

A. must know it’s his final game and been saving his best moves for last.  He attacks the ball, stays in the action and nearly scores his first goal.  By halftime, sweat plasters his hair to his forehead and his face and cheeks are flush from running.   

All the kids look like A. after an hour of running in 90-degree weather. My son is right.  This is the best choice.  Kids know what kids like.  A.’s teammates stretch out their hands for the popsicles after the game.

With a dozen left, I tell A. to start passing out the rest.  “Any kid you see,” I tell him.  “Go find anyone who looks like they might like one.”  It’s not a hard sell. 

I dump the ice and lift the now feather-light cooler.  All around us kids lick multi-colored popsicles in the sunshine.