Lemonade

Boof!

“Alright! I’m coming!”

Boof, boof!

“Putting my shoes on!” I grab my sneakers, and slip into them.  I sit down on the couch to tie the laces, and my lab Lacey starts dancing around in circles in the living room.

Boof! Boof, boof!!

“Can I tie them please?”  If she could roll her eyes, she would.  She lays down on the carpet, staring at me impatiently.  She’s a rescue dog, and she’s been with me for 3 years.  She knows the routine by now, but still gets impatient.  

“Ok” I say, as I lace up the second shoe.  “Go get your leash!” She doesn’t wait for me to tell her twice!  Lacey jumps up and prances her way to the hallway to grab her leash.  I clip her up, and lock the door behind me.  We get to the sidewalk and I (unlike her) wait patiently for her to decide which way she wants to go.  She stands there for a minute smelling the air in both directions, like it’s the biggest decision she’ll ever make in her life.  She decides to go right tonight.  We walk north for a few blocks, up past the Elementary school, and hang a left a few blocks later.  We wander along the quiet suburban street that’s blanketed in the fallen purple flowers from the Jacaranda trees above.  I gaze up at the partial moon that’s visible early tonight.  I love my neighborhood, it’s a little slice of a small town inside of a big city.

Lacey gets excited, and starts pulling a little.  I look around, expecting to see a squirrel or a cat, but instead down the block is a little girl set up in her yard with what looks to be a lemonade stand.  Besides her ball, Lacey’s other great love is kids.  She can’t pass anyone under the age of 12 without saying hi.  Some parents are a little leary, but my sweet girl knows exactly how gentle to be with kids.  If she sees a toddler, she lays down at their feet and waits for them to approach her.  Bigger kids she just walks right up to and kisses on the cheek.  This, of course, usually elicits a bout of the giggles.

As we approach, the girls mom comes and stands behind her, protectively.  

“Whatcha got?” I ask.  Neither of them respond, but I see the colorful sign encased in butterfly stickers that clearly states that a glass of lemonade is 25 cents.  “Wow! Lemonade.  And it’s only 25 cents?!”  I say excitedly.  Again, no response.  I dig in my pocket and pull out two quarters, and hand them to the little girl, in exchange for the solo cup in her outstretched hand. I say thank you, and am about to resume our evening walk when the girls mom pipes up.

“We don’t want your charity! Give that lady her quarter back!” She’s not yelling, but her voice is booming.  I stand there baffled, since when is giving a kid an extra quarter considered charity.  I look at the mom, and she has a look on her face that’s daring me to challenge her.  The little girl sticks her hand in her money jar, and awkwardly holds the quarter out for me to take.  I don’t.

“It’s not charity, it’s a tip.  I got excellent service!” I say sweetly, with a smile.  I start to turn away again, hoping this is the end of the conversation.  Unfortunately, it’s not.

“100% tip?!  Where I come from, that’s considered charity!”  I can’t believe this lady.  You’re bitching at me for giving your kid an extra quarter?

“Where I come from, it’s called encouraging young entrepreneurship.” The little girl looks up at her mom, clearly confused by what I just said.  I turn to leave again, hoping and praying that this is the end of this dreadful conversation.  Of course it’s not, why would it be?

“We don’t want your ‘encouragement’.” She says snottily.  The kid isn’t the only one confused by what’s going on.

“What do you want me to do, dig in my pocket and find a nickel so it’s exactly 20% tip?”  Mom sticks out her lips at me, clearly disgusted by my attitude.  This time I really do walk away, feeling sorry for that little girl.

I try to swap leash and lemonade in my hands, but of course the lemonde ends up spilling all over the leash.  Awesome, now I have a sticky leash I have to deal with.  

“No good deed goes unpunished, right Lacey?”

Boof! She starts bouncing excitedly, and pulling on the leash.  It really is a squirrel this time.  The rest of the lemonade gets dumped all over my shoes, in our race to the tree.  Lacey puts her front paws on the trunk, wishing desperately that she knew how to climb. The squirrel hangs out on the trunk, just above her reach. Taunting her, and staring her down. Oddly, this squirrel somehow reminds me of the angry mom I just encountered who tried to stare me down.

“Come on lacey, we’re not gonna win tonight.”  Lacey follows me regretfully.  Like all the dogs I’ve ever had, she thinks she could get that squirrel if I had just let her try.  And who am I to tell her there’s not a chance in hell?  At the end of the block we make another left, heading home with an empty lemonade cup, and empty hopes of catching a squirrel tonight.  There’s a ball at home though, and that will make us both forget all about the squirrel, and the lemonade.

Mouse

Every few months my mom orders book character costumes from the publishers, and I get to prance around inside the costumes during story time, and hang around after for hugs and pictures.  I’ve even made a signature for each of the characters I’ve been, so I can sign books for kids.  Two or three days before each character appearance, I start dreading it.  It’s like being stuffed in a gym bag. Except..gym bags get washed every once in awhile.  Today, I got to be the mouse from “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie”  Mid May in southern California, and being stuffed in a smelly mouse costume aren’t a great combination.  

An hour before story time I start putting my costume on.  First the fur shirt, and then the overalls that weigh more than some of the kids downstairs.  Of course you have to have the feet, gloves, and the head the size of a yoga ball.  The fan inside the head is broken of course, they all are.  I think it must be some sort of costume rule.  While getting dressed, I often wonder what the characters at Disney Land do.  I hope they have air conditioning, and a cooler of beer in there.  

Mouse somehow manages to get downstairs in his getup, without falling and breaking his neck.  Which is good, we don’t like dead book characters.  I wander outside for a minute to see if I can catch any kids walking by that want to come to story time with the mouse.  Almost everyone that walks by, adults included, want a picture with the mouse.  This is fine, I just wish I had more of a view than just out of the mouth.  Sometimes I accidentally step on kids trying to get a picture with me, cause I have no idea they’re there.  Can I get some mirrors on this thing, for my blind spots...which is everywhere.

The storytime fairy arrives, and it’s time to get started.  She picks out a few Laura Numeroff books, including a couple that have “me” in them.  She sits in a chair in the corner of the kids section, I stand next to her, and mime all the actions as she reads the story.  The kids love this, they laugh and giggle, and copy me.  It’s cute!  But now, like everyone else wearing the costume before me, I start to sweat inside the completely fur encased costume.  It runs down my forehead and burns my eyes.  I can’t wipe my face of course, because my hands are stuffed in mouse gloves, and I have no access to my face inside the giant mouse head.  So I blink through it, and keep on miming.  

A little girl in the corner keeps trying to get my attention, so I stop miming and wave at her.  She’s cute in her white dress with three little red roses sewn on the collar, and matching red ribbons in her hair.  I count down the minutes until I can get out of this thing, and swear I’ll never do it again.  It smells like Michael Jordans socks!  Every once in awhile, a small breeze gets through the mesh mouth, and there’s a moment.  Just a moment, where it’s ok.  Just in that moment, I can breathe, and it’s not quite so hot in there. Then the moment passes, and I’m once again in hell.  Which at this moment, happens to be inside a mouse.  Last time it was the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and The Very Hungry Caterpillar.  

Story time is over, and it’s time for hugs and pictures.  Kids line up one one side, waiting patiently for their turn, and parents with their phones on the other side.  It’s quite the ordeal.  Sometimes I worry a little that parents will think i’m a pervert, hugging all these kids.  Maybe I’m still just a little traumatized from the creepy Elmo I met on Hollywood Blvd in.  At the end of the line is the little girl in the white dress that kept trying to get my attention during story time.  She’s pretty tiny, so I kneel down so she can hug me.  She hugs me, and waits for her parents to take the picture.  When she pulls away, she says “I love you mouse!  You’re my best friend!” I feel like the guy from the meme’s that starts crying when he sees cute kittens.  Ok kid, you have my heart, I’ll do whatever you want!  

All the kids are gone now, and I take one more sweep outside to say hi to the dog next store at starbucks, that doesn’t quite know what to think of me.  

“Oh, thank god you’re still here!” Says the dad that comes to every story time with a character.   I had wondered where they were. “I drove like crazy to get here, so glad we made it in time!”  His little girl nods.  

“Yeah!” She agrees, “He did!”  Oy, poor kid, glad you’re all still alive!  “I drew you some pictures mouse.” she says.  Yup, I’m the meme guy again.  I kneel down again to give her a hug, and take the pictures she drew for mouse.  I put my hand to my chest to show my gratitude in all my mousey mimey-ness.  It’s hard to express some things when your head is made of cardboard and fabric, and your expression never changes.  I take the pictures from her, and put my hand to my mouth and mime blowing her a kiss.  She doesn’t get it.  I hold the drawings up so dad can take a picture of us.  I spend a few more minutes with them, but my face is starting to itch, and I gotta get out of this thing!

I eventually make my way back upstairs, and start peeling away the layers of my own personal gym bag hell.  I finally get all the pieces off, and I’m completely drenched in my own sweat, but I don’t care.   A couple hours in the costume was worth it, to make these kids so happy.  

Costume removed, I go back downstairs.  The little girl that drew the pictures for  mouse is still there.  I smile and wave at her.  She looks at me like I’m creepy.  Oh yeah, I remember, I’m just me now.

I don’t want to!

I don’t want to do anything! It’s been a long week, a hard week.  I want to just veg out for a couple hours, I deserve it.  But I can’t.  I have to pack, and  and write my article that’s due in a few hours.  I’m so tired!  

Emma broke her arm on Tuesday, falling off the monkey bars at school.  I love my little girl, but she made a hard week even harder.  Doctors visits, x-rays, a cast...bright pink of course.  Poor baby was in so much pain!  She came home crying on Wednesday, because she couldn’t play one handed.  The other kids signed her cast, but that didn’t seem to make it better.  She couldn’t play four-square, or jump rope, and definitely no climbing on the monkey bars!!

Thursday, her father blew in with the wind.  Unexpectedly of course.  He’s just like that.  I’ve grown used to it, but I wish I could have done better by Emma.  She doesn’t understand why breezes into town for a couple days, and then takes off again for another year.  Maybe I should have just told him he needs to stay or go.  But that would take some guts on my part, and i’m too exhausted.  He’s so infuriating!  He thinks he can come back whenever he wants, and make the rules.  No sir, that is not how that works!  I’m the mama.  I dealt with the broken arm, and the sad little girl who couldn’t play with her friends.  I’m the mean one that has to make her eat her broccoli, and go to bed.  You hang around, and you might get a say, but I’m the grown up here, I make the rules.

Yesterday my boss called, and said he would need my article a day early.  Oh, and by the way, there’s a story on the other side of the country that I need you to fly out and cover.  Great, thanks.  That all helps so much.  What do I do with Emma while I’m gone?  I certainly can’t leave her with her father, he would probably take off and leave Emma here by herself for 3 days.  No, it honestly wouldn’t surprise me.  Mom would love to watch her, but that would mean two plane rides there, and two back.  Why did I move so far away?  I just made life harder on myself.

Nick is outraged that I would fly Emma to my moms, when he is here and “perfectly capable of taking care of his daughter for a few days.”  He says it’s for real, and he’s sticking around this time.  How many times have I heard that before?  For some strange reason, I just don’t really believe him.  One of his friends will call tomorrow with a get-rich-quick-scheme.  And he’ll ride off into the sunset convinced that he’ll come back with enough money to “take care of his girls”.   Yeah, his confidence and charm are why i fell for him.  I realized quickly that he was all talk, but it was too little too late.  I was already pregnant with my baby.  He means well, he just doesn’t get it.

I wonder if Janette could watch Emma.  But who would watch her while she was at work?  Her slutty stripper roommate?  I think not!

What is Nick doing now?  I swear it’s like having two kids when he’s here.  Get off my computer! I need that for work!  It’s kind of my livelihood right now.  He’s buying a plane ticket?  I knew it, he’s gone already.  Glad I didn’t fall for his bullshit again!  Wait, what? Why do you want to know what my flight number is? Wait, you think you’re coming with us?  You want to watch Emma while I’m at work?  And then if you leave she’s alone in the hotel room in a big city by herself? Nope, I’m good, thanks.  I’ll take four planes so mom can watch her.  Much preferred. Have a nice life.  You can be on your way now, we have this covered. Ugh, why is he not dropping this?  I’m so tired, and so worn out.  I don’t have the energy to fight with you.  Please just go, it’s so much easier when you’re not here.  Why are you packing?  No, it’s not final!  I have the last say!

Why did I agree to this? I won’t be able to concentrate, I’m so scared he’ll leave.  Maybe the hotel has a daycare, just in case?

I can’t believe it.  He stayed the whole time!  He made us dinner, and took care of Emma.  Thank you so much for your help, I can see you’ve grown up some.  You can be on your way now, I understand that you’re still you.  Don’t worry, I’ll explain it to Emma...I always do! Say what?  A job and a house?  Your scheme worked out this time? You’re staying?  I hope she doesn’t get her hopes up too high.  You’re so convincing, I almost believe you myself...

Miranda dragged herself back into her apartment, dreading the return to reality.  As she opened the door, she was met by the stench of dirty laundry sitting in a hot apartment for a week.  Why hadn’t she at least left the air conditioning on low, while she was gone? yuk! She dumped the contents of her suitcase on top of the already smelly mountain of dirty laundry that she had neglected before she left.  She had left so spontaneously that she hadn't even brought clean clothes with her.  She packed her favorite dirty clothes, and washed them at the hotel.  Some switch had flipped in her brain last week, and she just left.  She called ito work to tell them she was taking an emergency mental health vacation.  They didn’t mind, even with no notice.  She’d been there five years, and had never even used a sick day.  Recently she’d been so on edge and grumpy, they had been begging her to take some time off, come back refreshed.  The problem was, she hadn’t come back refreshed at all!  She’d come back completely aware of how out of control her life, her car, her apartment was.  Laundry mountain was just the beginning of what she had come home to.  Also completely aware of every ounce of stress in her body.  How had she never noticed any of this before?  It was all too glaring now!

The truth was, she’d done a lot of thinking while she was gone. Way too much in fact, but once she’d jumped over the hurdle of denial, she knew she needed a change in profession.  She had no idea what she was going to do, or how she was going to live, until she figured it out, but she couldn’t go back there.  She had gone straight from college, to working at the law firm, and until now, had never looked back.  She knew she couldn’t do it anymore though.  She couldn’t deal with everyone else’s problems, and petty lawsuits.  She couldn’t deal with the constant overload of work, and crazy long hours.  She needed to feel free again.  She needed to find herself, and figure out what she wanted out of life.  All she did know, what that she wanted no part of an office job anymore.  That of course left unlimited options, and the thought of starting all over at the bottom of a different career ladder made her want to sit in the corner and cry.  A wave of panic hit her, what was she thinking?  She couldn’t just randomly decide to pick up and change careers, that went against everything...her!  So, of course, did randomly packing a suitcase full of dirty laundry and taking off for a week.  Was she changing that much?  Was she turning into some new spontaneous, intuition leaping person?  She had never been that person, and didn’t know how to become that person.  Apparently though, she already was becoming that person, whether she wanted to or not.

My Lady

I don’t know where she went, or how to get her back.  My muse.  I don’t know that I can even say exactly when she left.  I’ve been ghost writing to get by, until she gets back.  How come I can write for others, but everything I write for me, is crap?  Sometimes I can force it, but it never ends up working.   Can I do a rain-dance to get her back?  I don’t think it works like that, but I need to write! It’s my soul, it’s my world, it’s my life!

How do you adapt to this?  You can’t fight it, or cry about it.  You have to accept it, and move on.  But how can I move on, if my passion is gone?  I know I can write! I’ve done it before!  They gave me prizes, and awards, and cool shit like that.  Now they just stare at me, and hand my writing back.

I hope someday she realizes she misses me, and pops right in my head while i’m sitting here with coffee.  It would be so fantastic to just write and write, and write.  I know I have pent up words, I just need that spark of light.

Maybe if I call her, she’ll realize she’s been gone.  But how do you call something that’s invisible, intangible, and maybe even lost?

“Shut up you fool, stop whining.  I’ve been here all along. You just didn’t see me. You were over thinking, what went wrong.  You can write without me, it’s all inside your head.  Maybe do some soul searching, and find your inner truth.  I can’t fix that for you, it’s for you to figure out.”  

Cub

They walked up the steps arm in arm, grocery bags balanced evenly on their outer arms, laughing and giggling.  They truly were newlyweds at heart, even though they’d already been married for years.

mew

“So I’ll chop, you cook?” Monty asked

mew

“Hmmm... I don’t know, I’m kind of in the mood to each charcoal, why don’t you cook tonight?” Nat teased

mew

“Very funny missy, if I had a free hand I would-

mew

“Honey, SHHHH!”

mew

“What? Ms. Launingham is half deaf, she won’t hear us!” He said with a wink

mew

Nat rolled her eyes.  “Cute, but not what I meant, Listen”

mew

Monty’s eyebrows shot up.  “Is that...?”

mew

Nat nodded “I think so.”

They gently set the grocery’s down, and listened intently to see if they could ascertain where the sound was coming from.

mew

“Is it...” Nat wondered

“Yeah, under the steps.” Monty finished

Nat and Monty were laying face down in the dirt, trying to get the orphaned kitten that had somehow ended up under their back porch.  He was scared and hungry, and wanted no part of them at the moment.  

“All-right, farm girl, what do we do?” Monty asked.

Nat had to belly crawl into the tiny space in order to grab the kitten.  He hissed, and cried, and tried to scratch. Once she had ahold of him, she gently stroked him with her thumb.

“It’s ok little guy, we won’t hurt ya” she cooed.

“Big fight for such a little guy!” Monty said

Natalie was trying unsuccessfully to backwards belly crawl her way out, but her hands were full of fighting kitty.  Monty couldn’t help laughing at Nat’s struggle.  She had to use her elbows, but she was finally able to get herself and the kitten out.  When she stood up, holding squirming kitty in both hands, Monty laughed even harder.

“What the hell do you think is so damn funny?”  

“You, are covered in dirt!  Did you rub your face in it?” She glared at him playfully.

“Just for that...” she said opening the pouch pocket of his blue cubs sweatshirt, and putting the kitten inside, who seemed to be instantly subdued. “You’re the mama!”

“I’m not a mama! I’m a papa!” he protested

She hooked one finger inside his pocket, and lifted it slightly to make her point, eliciting a mew of protest from the baby inside.

“Kangaroo pouch makes mama, not papa.  You bond with your new baby, mama, and I’ll run back to the store and get some goat milk and an eye dropper.” He stared at her blankly like he had absolutely no idea what she had just said.

“okaayy...let’s try that again.  You keep kitty  in your pocket, where he feels safe, and gets to know your scent.  While I run to the store, and get goat milk, easily digested by all babies, and an eye dropper, so we can actually feed him.”

Monty stood up straight, kitty bouncing in his pocket, and saluted.  

“Yes ma’am, Sergeant farmer girl!” Nat rolled her eyes, and started to turn towards the car. “Babe, wait.” he said.  Nat turned back around to face him.  He walked up close to her, pocket full of kitty between them.  He gently brushed the dirt off her face with the back of his hand, and kissed her. “I love you.” he whispered.  Nat smiled “Love you too.  Take care of your new baby while I’m gone, mama.” She winked at him and turned to leave.

Over the next several weeks, the still unnamed kitty bonded with his new “mama”.  Nat showed Monty how to feed the kitty, how to litter train the kitty, and how to make a safe play area for him so he couldn’t get into too much trouble. Kitty decided that Monty’s cubs sweatshirt was home, wherever the sweatshirt was, so was kitty.  If Monty had the sweatshirt on, kitty crawled back in the pocket, if the sweatshirt was lying around the house, kitty was in, on, or under the sweatshirt.  He even made a habit of  climbing up the wicker hamper to get to the sweatshirt inside.  When the once palm sized kitty got too big to fit in the pocket, he liked to hang out in the hood while Monty was wandering around the house.

Nat was making dinner, and Monty was hanging out in the kitchen pretending to help, when kitty decided he wanted in the hood, and proceeded to climb up Monty’s leg to get there.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, OW!” Monty cried impatiently, as he bent down to pluck the kitten from his jeans, and put him in the hood.

“I think you should just give him that sweatshirt, it’s really his now, anyways.”

“But it’s my favorite sweatshirt!” Monty whined.

“Honey.” Nat said patiently, as if addressing a child. “You know I love you, but that sweatshirt is 100 years old, and full of holes.  It’s time to give it to the cat.  Who, by the way, still needs a name. Poor thing, we can’t call him Kitty forever!”

“Fine.” Monty pouted. “And, I know he needs a name, but nothing seems to fit. He’s just him...”

“He’ll let you know when it’s right.” She smiled. “Ok, looks like dinner’s ready, let’s eat! I’m starving!”

Monty safely deposited both kitty, and tearfully, the sweatshirt as well, into the play area.  The couple sat down to eat dinner, and tell interesting tidbits from their day.  They ate one handed, as they always did, so they could hold hands under the table, a sweet routine from their dating days that never seemed to fade with time.  That was what really made them work.

They were clearing away the dishes after dinner, when Nat gestured with her chin, to the sleeping kitty in the play area.  Monty looked over to see the kitten curled up perfectly inside the Cubs logo on the sweatshirt.  He made his own fuzzy black and white “C” inside the circle.

“You know..” Monty said “Maybe we should just call him Cub.”

Nat smiled sweetly, and nodded.  

“I think that’s the perfect name, mama.”

Poor me, I’m so lonely

I just want to be friends, why don’t they understand?

I don’t want their food,especially not if it’s canned

I’m a cuddly bear, with a rolly polly belly

Poor me, I’m so lonely

Maybe I should be in a zoo

then some people would like me, too!

I’m too big to cuddle? That’s bologna

Poor me, I’m so lonely

My forest friends are scared of me too

I don’t know why. I just eat, and poo

All I want is a friend, that would be lovely

Poor me, I’m so lonely

I’m a sweet sweet bear

tell me your trouble, I promise i’ll care

bears can listen, better than a pony!

Poor me, I’m so lonely