The Burrow

I took the boys to the card and comic store last week. Mr. 11 got off the bus as I was two cars behind its yellow rear. He stopped to get the mail and to pick up the blue recorder Miss Texas had dropped that morning, thus saving it from The Schnozz's tires entering the driveway. He wondered what adventure I had planned for his little brother; he was thrilled to be invited to join us.  "Just send him in to get me," he said, and I did.   The little one was very happy to share the joy with his big brother. It's part of what makes him the kindest kid I know.   We drove down Campbell, looking on the east side of the street. We knew it was near the old Coffee X-Change but we weren't precisely sure. "There it is!" "NO"  "Uh-oh... keep going" "YES!" Who needs Google Maps when there are little boys in the back seat? Walking through the door was a blast from the past. Messers 9 and 11 were easily interchange...

I waited at Manzanita Elementary School this afternoon.  Mr. 9 takes fiendish delight in sneaking up on me.  Today, I sat facing out toward the line of cars instead of looking at the main entrance.  It didn't make any difference; he was behind me without my knowing how he got there. The smile on his face lit up my heart.  I'm part of the safety net that keeps him happy and present at after school activities.  His mom thanks me.  He thanks me.  I just grin and accept the kudos.  They really aren't necessary.  The fact of him in my life is enough. A piece of me is sad that I can't be there for FlapJilly in the same way, but that gets me no where so I'm leaving it alone.  It is what it is; I must move on.  All I can do is hope that she, too, will have a non-family grown-up on whom she can rely. Mr. 9 and I have secrets.  We make presents for Amster and don't tell her what they are.  He hides them in his room rather than...

Is it a measure of our times that I re-read the title to this post and wondered if gender identity was implied?  I ponder and pause and parse what I've written because I've spent the last week with my children... and they never miss an opportunity to deconstruct and interpret and tease me about my verbiage.  I love every embarrassing minute of it.  It comes with love and respect and respect for the depth of the love we share.  They know that I can take it, they send it my way with smiles and twinkly eyes, and they are always always always on the alert for any sign that they've hurt my feelings.  Most important, they are very funny and very right.  I'm so involved in the moment that, as TBG reminds them, I often don't let the facts get in the way of a good story.  (I am aware of that as a fundamental truth to much of my life and so I made I conscious decision when I started The Burrow to type only the absolute truth.  Many a post would have be...

This is what I saw while waiting to go through the intersection and pick up Mr. 9 after school.  It was an ugly scene on the roads in Tucson today. People here do not know how to drive when it's wet. They slow down to zero before turning, or they speed up and slide around the corners.   It's a small town with a few main through streets, so it wasn't totally surprising that the teenager chatting me up in the doctor's waiting room had seen the same accident I'd passed on my way in.  The driver of the crushed vehicle was in a neck brace, surrounded by paramedics and flashing lights, but turning her head and talking from the driver's seat as I inched by.  It was an intimate glimpse into what must be the worst day she's had in a long time; it felt intrusive, and yet I couldn't look away.   Mr. 9 chimed in, wondering if there was blood, because I had blood when I was in the hospital, did I remember that?  Yes, I did, and I remembered that he...

There's a lot involved with decorating. This is especially true when your mother has a J-O-B and absolutely no interest in knick-knacks. It's a good thing that my part of the village which is raising these children is filled with wonders. Just ask Mr. 9. Gramma Rose, who's nobody's grandmother by blood but everybody's grandmother by love, brought the Hawkeye's t-shirts when she visited last month.  I smiled just a little bit to myself; the machatunim  tailgate at an Iowa game every year, having deep roots in the heartland, themselves.  All the pieces of my ever expanding family fit very nicely within one another.  I am the luckiest girl in the world. Miss Texas thought she was pretty lucky, too. My walker never looked better, nor did that spider hat on her head. "Why does this have a bow on it?" she wondered "Because it made me smile," was enough of an answer.... for both of us. "What's a mallet?...

There's something about boys out in the wild. They will find an adventure ten steps from the parking lot. This the the top of the secret place . Big Cuter wondered how I managed on Mt. Lemmon with Amster and her kids on Sunday. I told him that I was able to creep through the secret place with no problems. " The secret place?" he wondered. " You know, there are always secret places," said I. "Ahhhh, yes, I know," was his reply. For a moment, I think, he was back on Mt. Tam with his little sister and his mother on an adventure - hunting buffalo and tracking them silently with our Nature Explorer backpacks and our sticks. The buffalo were everywhere, just as Amsters' kids' imaginary terrors were stalking us this weekend. Up and over and under we went - or they went and I observed and photographed. "Will we be on the blog tomorrow? I like to know when I'm on the internet." That was the permission statem...