I am assuming that every family has some weird little games they play that when described to others fall into the category of evidence for the state.

We have many of these games, but the one that Sean loves most right now is called The Run Away Game.

The Run Away Game erupts. It is never planned and usually happens when we are all just standing around the kitchen grazing and looking through mail and that kind of thing.  The first parent to faint from exhaustion loses.

One of the parents picks up the child and says to the other parent, “No! You may not have my baby!”  And then runs like crazy through the house, carrying said child, while the other parent gives chase.  Eventually the run away duo is captured in a group hug. And then the capturing parent steals the child saying, “No! You may not have my baby!”  Another chase ensues all while the little boy squeals and shouts, “Run! Run faster!”

Great fun.  And a good bit of exercise running through the house with a five-year-old.

Yesterday, after a rousing round of Run Away, I set Sean down and clutched my chest and tried to catch my breath.  And I wished that either a) I was about 10 years younger or b) that I worked out more often.

As I sat on the floor panting, I thought about all the different little made up games we have played along the way, most of which he probably doesn’t even remember and I wouldn’t either if I didn’t write stuff down.

I wondered if he would remember the Run Away game and play with his own little boy some day.

I hope so.

Does your family have any made up, unexplainable, weird games/things?

As quickly as she came into my life, she was gone.

Yesterday morning, I checked on my sweet little dove.  She was sitting quietly in her nest in the Carolina jasmine, just the same as ever.

Although she did not seem thrilled to see me, she did not glare at me either.  I suspect that is only because the dove lacks the ability to glare or cast disparaging looks. With no eyebrows, the dove is stuck with an all purpose blank expression, a lot like Jessica Simpson.  Otherwise, upon the sight of me, she probably would would have narrowed her eyes and curled her lips. If she had lips.  Another problem.  It’s also probably good that doves can’t make gestures. The symbol of peace indeed.

So early this afternoon, I went outside to get the mail and I couldn’t stop myself from toddling up the driveway to check on her again.  I was surprised to find that her nest was empty! Very surprised. No dove, no eggs, no feathers. Nothing. No Tom, not even a note.

I assumed that when the eggs hatched that she would hang around until she saw her young out of the nest and then she would fly off into the sunset, but not before perching on my kitchen window ledge, tapping on the glass with her delicate slender beak and then casting me a knowing and grateful look for all I had done for her.  I would dab a tear from my eye with a dish towel and wave her off. “Go on you crazy bird,” I would say, “Get out of here! Go see the world!” And then she would spread her wings to fly, but pause one last time, wink her round black eye at me and then be off.  I would rush to the window and wave as she melted into the sky and became a dot in the distance.

Or something like that.

When I told Sean that the dove was gone, he said he thought it was my fault, that she had left because I had disturbed her.

Perhaps so.  I was a terrible landlord, I know that – nosy and overly interested. I was Mrs. Roper, not in a caftan, but in a frighteningly sad pink chenille robe.

For more than a week she had put up with cold rain, hail and high winds.  But it was me dropping in on her and asking all kinds of personal questions that sent her over the edge. She just couldn’t take another day.  Perhaps  it all became too much and she threw herself in front of a cat. We will never know.

And now (dramatic pause, dropping chin to chest) I must mourn my mourning dove.

No, really. I’ll be fine. (sniff sniff) Carry on.

~The end~

So for a week or more now, I’ve had this mother dove nesting in the Carolina jasmine that is growing on the fence that runs alongside my driveway and just outside my kitchen window.  And I have to admit here, I’ve become involved with this dove.  I wonder if the dove is okay, I wonder if the dove is hungry, I wonder if the dove recognizes me, I wonder if the dove likes me.  I am obsessed with the dove.

Multiple times a day, I run outside and check on the dove.  And multiple times a day I find the dove sitting on her nest staring straight ahead pretending that I do not exist.

Early yesterday morning, we got a terrific thunder and lightning storm with some heavy rain and high winds.  It woke me up around 5am and my first thought was not “Is my child frightened? Does he need his mommy?” but “I wonder if the dove is okay.”

So an hour later, after the storm passed, I went outside in my threadbare hot pink chenille robe and fuzzy leopard print slippers to check on the dove.   I realize as I leave the house that I look a little like Crabby Maxine and for a split second I consider putting on something less likely to frighten or offend the dove. Doves probably have very delicate sensibilities when it comes to garish fashion and other startling things.

I stand on my tip toes to see her and yes, she was still there, sitting on her nest and staring straight ahead as usual.  I coo to her in a low and soothing dove-like voice.  I tell her how I worried over her.  I asked her if the storm had frightened her. I inquire of her health and tell her she is a pretty dove and that I am a kind person.  I continue our conversation along those lines and at one point she blinked which I took to mean that we were bonding.

When I turned to go back in the house, I offered a feeble wave to the speed walker at the end of the driveway who had slowed down enough to catch me talking tenderly to the Carolina jasmine.

Every night before bedtime, and sometimes before school, Sean and AD will read at least one chapter from a book of children’s classics.

Having gone through most of the other more exciting and well known titles, we are down to Pollyanna. But he is just as enthralled with Pollyanna as he was with The Swiss Family Robinson.

Stepping up to chapter books like Tom Sawyer and Oliver Twist has presented many opportunities to talk about some of the more unsavory and unpleasant aspects of life.  Many of the characters are orphaned or suffer cruelty at the hands of those who should protect them.  And there is always a concern to AD and me over how much of this kind of information is appropriate for a five-year-old.

But the thing about Sean that continually amazes us is how wise he is beyond his years and how tenderly perceptive he is about the human condition and matters of the heart.  Although we would certainly like to claim credit for that,  it’s simply the way God made him.

If you don’t recall or haven’t read the story of Pollyanna, she is a young girl who was orphaned and goes to live with her Aunt Polly who is a cold and crusty middle-aged spinster.  Aunt Polly suffered a thwarted romance early in her life which left her bitter and she has never gotten over it.  Aunt Polly has a big house, yet she makes Pollyanna sleep in a hot, stuffy, bleak attic and in general gives Pollyanna no affection.  Nonetheless, as the story goes, it is Pollyanna’s way to see the silver lining in every gray cloud.

At one point in the story, AD stopped reading and looked over the book at Sean who was lying in bed.  “Why do you suppose Aunt Polly is so gruff?” he asked.

“I think she has a children ache,” Sean said quietly.

“Oh Sean,” AD sighed, “I think you are so right. A lot of times when people are gruff on the outside, and sad or mean, it’s because they are hurting on the inside.”

It’s true. I had a children ache once too.

Small talk makes the big world a smaller, cozier, more manageable place.

I love on-line small talk. I love to chat with people on Twitter and through the comments on my blog. But in the real world, small talk makes me break out in hives. It makes me extremely nervous because, oh glory be!! What if there is a silence?! It will be awkward! And then I will have to fill it up! And oh the pressure to think of something to say! Something pithy and funny, something that makes sense outside of my own head?! (screaming inside head: aaaahh! haaaaaallllpp! Beam Me Up!)

On-line I can just walk away and hide under the bed whereas it’s really bad form to vaporize in real life.

I’ve noticed that senior citizens, the FDR generation, excel at small talk. I don’t know if they are just friendlier or if you just get friendlier with age. Or maybe you just have more time to be friendly. I don’t know, but I suspect it’s all of the above.

My parents and my in-laws will talk to anyone at anytime about anything. And not just the perfunctory “Hello, how are you,” but they take time to engage strangers and swap stories and get to know them, trade colonoscopy stories.

My mom flies out to Texas several times a year and every time I pick her up at the airport, she has made a new friend on the plane, she’s hugging them goodbye at the gate and wishing them luck, they’ve traded emails and are planning to vacation together.

The last time I picked her up, she had met a nice young man who is getting out of the military, he is hoping to become a police officer… he was on his way to see his… he’d never been to Texas before… his wife’s name was… and she has asthma… he grew up in….

I probably would not want to sit next to my mother on an airplane.

One time when both of my parent’s were visiting, we went to the mall. My dad usually finds a park bench outside the store while mom and I go in and browse. When we came out he was talking to another man, also wearing Hushpuppies, a Members Only jacket and newsboy cap. It seems the other man was here visiting his daughter too… he lives in Ohio and has two boys and two girls and seven grandchildren and his wife name is… and he was in the army stationed in… and can’t play golf anymore because of his bursitis and…

I think small talk makes the world a better place. I just prefer mine in an electronic format.

* * * * *

Do y’all read Bub and Pie? If I were held at gunpoint and forced to pare down my Bloglines to 10 blogs, hers would be one I couldn’t cut loose. Anyway, she posted about small talk today too, so go check out her perspective and leave her some comment love while you’re there.