Rain clouds slide nearer, and a damp blue creeps across my
lawn and window. The air cools visibly, and tree branches ruffle silently. Unfolded
laundry stacks precariously on the couch behind me, and the house is still as
naps or room-projects claim my children.
Earlier this week, four year old Daniel holds up tiny
chocolate squares, reading them like fortune cookies. Even though I know the
words scripted into melting chocolate say “Hershey,” he is convinced they
predict his future. And the future is always the same. “Daniel can go to my
friend David’s house today!” “Mom, Mom! Yook! It says, ‘Daniel can go to my
friend David’s house!’”
“Your chocolate is wrong. Sorry, bud. That’s not today. On
Wednesday you can go to your friend David’s house.”
“No, see?” He hands me the chocolate square, pointing to the
letters. “Daniel can go to his friend David’s house today” looks remarkably like
a location in Pennsylvania, but I smile. “Pretty soon, huh?”
Today, his chocolate fortune is coming true.
His nap winds wonderfully long right now though, and I wipe batter
off kitchen counters after zucchini muffins and chocolate chip cookies. Traffic
hums in the distance, and I ponder what my pleasures promise me, and how often
they are wrong.
It's a deep thought for me today, and I save, hit publish, and walk away, still pondering.
