Carter's Collection

Today, after his preschool, Carter and I walked down to the beach. It was brisk, but not too cold and the sun was shining bright in a clear blue sky. One of Carter's favorite things to do at the beach is walk along the shore looking for rocks and shells to add to his "collection". His collection consists of dozens of rocks, shells, and the odd pine cone, housed in a blue, faded plastic beach pail. This afternoon was an exceptional day for collecting. The tide was low and came in gently, shying away slowly after wetting the sand with its lingering kiss. As a parting gift, the tide left treasures of tiny little shells and smooth, shiny rocks. Yes, this was a perfect collecting day.

The shell beds were littered with an innumerable amount of miniature muscles. These little shells are common at Redondo Beach, so adults tend not to notice them. To children, these little shells represent a bounteous treasure. When Carter sees all these little shells strewn over the sand, it's like he's hit the mollusk jackpot! He runs up to a pile, crouches down, grabs a little handful, and hands them to me to put in my jacket pocket. I have to be conscious of what pocket I'm putting them in, lest tiny grains of sand violate my cell phone and car keys.

Wet rocks are also a prized beach find for that guy. Shiny black stones, smoothed over by the continuous caress of a salty mistress find their way into Carter's little paw. He grabs one excitedly and runs over saying, "Mom! Look at this interesting rock!" Then, he places it in my hand, and off he goes to the next one. When my hand is spilling over with slippery stones, I tell Carter that I've got enough and it's time to throw them. He loves throwing them into the waves, then watching them splash and disappear. Anthony has even shown him the proper way to throw--stepping forward with his left foot, and throwing with his right arm. He's got quite a rock throwing arm, for a three-year-old.

By the time we were ready to go home, my hands were nearly numb from plucking icy wet rocks and shells from their seashore garden. It was mostly a catch-and-release harvest today. However, I did come home with a few "interesting" rocks and several dainty little shells. As soon as we got home, I emptied our loot into the faded beach pail, and smiled. Carter's collection is not only shells, rocks, and the odd pine cone--it's a bucket full of blissful moments no material treasure could ever match.

Sick Memories

Some of my favorite childhood memories are of being sick. That might sound strange at first, but being the sixth child out of seven, sometimes being sick was one of the best ways to garner my frenzied mother's attention. That, and, I got to miss school. There were also some other benefits that came with being sick in our house. If you had a sore throat, you got twin pops (lime, banana, or root beer). If you were running a fever, you laid on the couch with a cool wet rag on your forehead chewing baby aspirin, tiny little pills that I thought tasted like orange creamsicles. For a bad cold, my mom would rub Vick's on my tight chest, then put a warm kitchen towel on top of the Vick's. To soothe a croupy cough, hot lemonade with honey was her secret elixir. There was also Campbell's chicken noodle soup, cold Sprite, and Luden's Cough Drops.

In addition to all the edible goodies that came with being sick, you got to sit in the big red Lazy-Boy and watch television most of the day. In our house, especially if you were sick on a school day, there really wasn't a big selection of shows to watch. Most of this had to do with the fact that we didn't have cable television. But because everyone else was in school, the sick-o got free reign on what five channels to watch. In the morning, if I were the sick one, I would catch some Sesame Street or Mr. Roger's Neighborhood before vomiting up the Sprite and saltines my mom gave me for breakfast. After the vomiting was over, I would crash while Mr. Slim Goodbody pranced gaily about in his latex suit of nerves, vessels, muscles, and organs.  Upon waking, if I were lucky, I could sometimes catch PBS's Masterpiece Theatre. The theatre du jour varied from illness to illness. One that has always stood out in my memory is The Yellow Wallpaper. The Yellow Wallpaper is about a neurotic woman named Charlotte who goes to the country side to get "well", but ends up losing her marbles over the patterned wallpaper in her bedroom; yellow wallpaper, of course. There was just something about watching a woman "creep" her way to insanity as I drifted in and out of fever dreams, that will forever make me associate horrible flues to PBS theatre. Not necessarily a bad thing, in my world.

My mom also had a thick, dark fuchsia, fleece robe that she would let us wear when we were sick. It was called "the fuzzy robe". Having that soft robe wrapped around me magically took the edge off of horrible body aches and incapacitating nausea. It was the best substitute for actually being held in my mother's arms all day long.

Now that I'm an adult, when I get sick I long for the days of the fuzzy robe, the red Lazy-Boy, Campbell's chicken noodle soup, icy Sprite, warm chest towels, and Masterpiece Theatre. Maybe it's not necessarily all the things that went along with being sick, it was having a mother around to provide all those things to me. Now...well, now I'm pretty much on my own. Although, I must give credit to my husband; he brings Jamba Juice and 7UP with him on his way home from work. It's just, he's not my mom.

Even when we're all grown up, I believe most of us long for our mothers when we're ill.

That's all.

Love,
Charise