Word After Word

D. wants stew. Stew? “Nothing with tomatoes. Nothing lasagna-like. No chili.  A good stew. And no more epics. I think I’ve finally had enough.”

So I made up a box of stews and books for him. And for his brother, also enlisted, books (epics and pirate histories) and pistachios. His favorites.  And I stood in line for a long time. Kids lay on the floor of the post office. Other kids wanted to. A dad said no, we do not ever lay on the floor of any public place.  My stews grew heavier. But I was determined not to put them down. I just couldn’t bear to set them on the floor. My boys.

When I finally got to the counter, turned over my customs forms, got all my stamps and stampages, the postman glued my forms carefully to my flat rate box. “I am not covering up your ‘I love you’” he said. And I burst into tears, watching him adjust the form, so the writing I’d scrawled on the box would show.

I cry thinking about it now. These words, flung to the desert, to a place that isn’t on any map I own.

I am so proud of these men. All of them.

Related posts:

1. Face Blindness in Action (RPW 5–rate of perceived whining—aka moderate whine factor in this post)
2. BOYS GETTING DRESSED TO GO OUT
3. BOYS GETTING DRESSED UP TO GO OUT
4. Global High Point
5. High Point of My Semester So Far