Playing Pinata.

I kicked the kids outside this morning a few minutes before the bus was to roll into town.

I do this often. Usually, they are bouncing from wall to wall anxious to get going with their day.

I like to take these few minutes in a quiet house to do one last sweep. This morning I found Mood Goo stuck to the fridge door. I found underpants, inside out and ALMOST in the washer - ALMOST.

I found my coffee, still warm, next to the window I spontaneously windexed when I noticed that some-three-year-old-someone in Happy House (ahem) decided to practicing kissing techniques on it with cherry flavored chapstick. Awesome.

I found that when Declan told me he'd straighten the little couch cushions this morning - he really meant it and he really did his FIRST GRADE BEST. So I left the cushions askew as a reminder of his good deed.

And, as I glided through the house a cry came from the front path, where the children were waiting for me. "Don't go through the gate" I had said earlier. And they didn't. So they were roudy and rough-housing close by. In the mornings, they behave like pent-up cattle waiting to be released to greener pastures.

When I opened the door to see Nonie covered in tears and wailing, I asked her what happened.

"Decky hit me!" came the tears and sobs.

"What Mom? We were playing my new game called 'pinata'." Dec said with a face that became my brothers' of 20 years ago. Mischievous and innocent swirled into a grin.

"Playing pinata, huh?" Nonie crawled onto my lap as I tried to give Dec an out... "Okay Dec, tell me the rules of this one".

"For Serious."

I fell in love with Dec across the checkerboard this afternoon.

It wouldn't have happened if he didn't come bounding down the staircase

asking in his sweet little boy voice if I would play a game with him.

When I agreed, he had the checkers set up in an instant.

I sat down and we played. I don't really want to call him a cheater - but really,

the kid cheats at every chance he gets. One of his double jumps today was so, so

creative and so, so incredibly illegal, that I had to call the Hubs in to witness it.

Later on in the game, I tried to jump one of Dec's checkers and he insisted that it

wasn't in the box that I'd jumped.

His quote (and yes, I wrote it down the minute he said it, out of mad-mother-fear that I'd forget it):

"Mommy, my checker was in the middle of those two boxes. For serious."

As if, having your checker reside in the middle of two boxes, actually means that you can

choose to have said checker jumped or not jumped by your opponent.

As if?

For serious.

When a missing toothed AND adorable freckly faced 6-year old smiles at me with that, "I'm just so happy to be playing a game with you on this snowy and cold afternoon" heart warming grin....

Maybe sitting on the line of neither here nor there (neither boxed in, or out), does count for something.

Something VERY special.

Thank you my incredibly awesome Dec, for kicking my butt at checkers this afternoon.

I love you so, so, so much.

For serious.

Hope in a Box

What I'd like to share tonight is called "Hope in Box"

You see, it all started when our financial institution decided to eliminate their "cash rewards" program - which I never paid much attention to anyway.

But recently, I noticed a lingering 3,000 + points in the periphery of my banking desktop window.

What's that????? I inquired. Innocently. Upon further inspection, I noticed that my rewards PROGRAM had been eliminated. But I had valuable points JUST WAITING for someone to take notice.

Others with more $, could have cashed their rewards in for cars, luxurious travels, jewels, and niceties... but my rewards? Wow. The best I could do with them was a game of Parcheesi.

So? Of course, I ordered it. And, upon its arrival at our home, I answered a million of these:

"what's in that box?"

"what's in that box?"

"what's in that box?"

"what's in that box?"

"what's in that box?"

"what's in that box?"

"what's in that box?""what's in that box?""what's in that box?""what's in that box?"

you getting the idea?

And when my flat-toned answer resonated with the inquiring children, they would ask,

"Parcheesi? What's Parcheesi? Can we play, can we play, can we play Parcheesi now?"

"can we play Parcheesi now?"

"can we play Parcheesi now?"

"can we play Parcheesi now?"

"can we play Parcheesi now?"

"can we play Parcheesi now?"

"can we play Parcheesi now?"

"can we play Parcheesi now?" "can we play Parcheesi now?" "can we play Parcheesi now?"

We didn't play. Because, I asked the children to wait.

Wait 'til Friday (the game is not that much fun).

Wait 'til Sunday (the game is not that much fun).

But tonight, once the hubs had gone to watch game 7. .....and Nonie had ventured off to sleep. Dec came wandering downstairs asking if I would unwrap the game and play.

"NO!" I thought at first. (Because the game is not that much fun).

But, "Yes" (brightly, smiley, enthusiastically) and so..

Unwrap the box. I played. He played.

Together we played.

He rolled, and counted, laughed, and high-fived... (tiny fists).

I laughed, and watched, savored and loved..... (his whole old soul).

Parcheesi was all that. And then some. I think it may have been a little bit more.

And LONG before I knew it (or discovered it really), my child five times younger than me -

sitting inches away - knew that playing the game was really about... being together.

The two of us. Me and him. Him and me. Parcheesi, aka - "hope in a box".