Close encounters

A few weeks ago I took my two children on a walk. We live right by the Arkansas River - in fact, if I were to go running, I could run in a straight line and cross the Arkansas or the Little Arkansas River 3 times before I ran a mile. It's cool. However, there are some not so cool things about living so close to a river and the wilder side of nature.





On this particular walk, I was headed to the tennis club.


1. No, I do not play tennis. If you saw me play, it would give you absolutely no evidence that I am actually fairly athletic. But, they have really fun stairs and small stone walls and stray tennis balls by the tennis club and Warrick really enjoys hopping around and discovering things. This day, as I stopped my stroller at the top of the stairs and began to unbuckle the wiggling little man, I caught some movement VERY near us. Literally three feet from Warrick's feet was a raccoon. A small one, and we would find out, a not very healthy one either. Hence, the mid day rendezvous.


A quick strap back in, a wide passing, and on to the next set of not-quite-as-cool stairs. I repeated several times,"No, Sonny, that is not a kitty cat." in efforts of curbing his curiousity and to counter his "TOUCH IT!" We stayed far enough away to be safe, but close enough to watch, as we ate our crackers, his dragging and staggering. It was actually quite sad. Combination drunk and very top heavy. It wasn't top heavy, but it's movements would make you think that it's head was 80% of it's weight and kept tipping it over. Yuck. It had not even made it across the sidewalk when we left 15 minutes later.


2. But again, last week at dusk I went out to lock the car. The clicker doesn't work and the driver's side door locker button doesn't work either and so that's why I often forget to lock it. I was carrying Vera in a wrap and as I walked back up to the house, I was met by yet another raccoon who appeared to be making it's way to our recycling bin. On our porch, in the light, and not afraid of me. Stare down. Seriously. You need to leave. This is my house. This is too close.


3. And yet again, Brett was enjoying his quiet moments in the wee hours and had the privilege of listening to Ranger Rick the Third rummage around in our recycling bin. I have made great strides in cleaning the recyclables since I caught Warrick eating a black bean from a can on the porch. My only comfort was that it could not be more than 2 weeks old and he didn't cut himself on the can. Regardless, the raccoons seem to be able to make a meal of it.

4. Several of you have asked about our ant problem. They are gone. All of them. I'm not sure what happened, heavy rains perhaps, but they altogether disappeared. It was truly nothing we did or didn't do because we had given up entirely. If you are prone to gagging, do not read this next sentence. Here is how entirely we had given up: One morning as I was pouring my soy milk into the food processor to make my habitual morning smoothie I saw three ants float to the surface. Without one iota of hesitation, I poured in the blueberries and threw my pinch of spinach in over them and pushed 'on'. This is how you three will meet your end. You will become part of my sustenance for today. For probably 30 seconds you will fuel me.

Okay, you sensitivos . . . that's over.

5. Walking my children down our stairs (errr, ladder) in the morning and released the air that was causing my discomfort half way down. Warrick has never noticed before, and although he talks incessantly, he has never even indicated that he can smell anything. He does bend to flowers as we pass them and sniff, because that's what I do, but that's been the extent of it. He surprises me with this:


"TINKY MAMA!" scrunching his face and covering his nose with his big little boy hands. And laughing. At me. It's true.


I asked Brett if he taught him to say that. No, he hadn't. Lovely.

I am thankful this happened at home and know that I can never again ask my son if he needs his diaper changed (when he doesn't) in the grocery store as my cover. End of an era.


Confirmed by the following: Last one, I promise.


6. We're at the park. He notices, shortly after I do and realize what could very well happen and does, a very large man or boy on the swings. I don't know how old he was because this sweet individual had some obvious mental limitations. Today, it protected him from embarrassment by my son. I will only be factual because I do not want to sound cruel. That is not my heart at all and I truly believe that very very often our sweet Lord allows us to be blinded to things about ourselves so that we are not utterly discouraged.



And other times, for which I am humbly thankful (and also annoyed), He exposes things so that we are prompted to change, to cooperate with His perfect and gentle (and not so gentle if you are prone to resist . . . . yours truly ) leadings. Only God can reserve this power to totally rewrite who we have become and make something beautifully new. Oh . . . the Sweet Redemption.


This blissfully large person was exposing a considerable amount of his stomach below his shirt. Warrick stared and stared and stared and then said "TUMMY!" "TUMMY!" "TUMMY!" His interest for the playground equipment and the other children entirely disappeared as he stood, paralyzed, continuing to yell, "TUMMY!"

Do you know that I actually sat down to write this about my son? About my close encounters with him and who he is now? What I enjoy about him . . . . why I laugh with him . . . the ways he is unique . . . . that will happen another day. Well . . . maybe today, if the kids both keep sleeping . . . .