The Kids

My kids often remind me of the hyenas in “The Lion King.” The maniacal laughter, the irreverence, the bad jokes, the drooling, the food scavenging, the mange. One minute, they’re in sync and united to take down their common enemy (usually Chris or me), and the next, they’ve turned on each other, teeth bared, hackles up, ready to fight to the death.

I’ve always told them they’re going to wholeheartedly love and appreciate each other someday. “We gave you siblings so you’d always have an ally,” I say. “Someday, you’ll understand,” I say.


When Mary Claire was little, she was George’s self-appointed caretaker. Just 22 months older, she did everything for — and to — him. That baby was constantly spackled with Disney Princess Band-Aids and treated with ice packs, whether he needed them or not. We called him Georgie when he was young. And in Mary Claire’s infection-riddled and semi-damaged ears, she heard “Juju.” So, Juju he became. “Baby Juju needs his boppy. Baby Juju sad. Baby Juju cry. Baby Juju spit.” She had her pudgy little finger on the pulse of his very existence.

Now, however, the story is a bit different. It goes more like this, “George, you are SO annoying! George, would you STOP playing your violin for TWO SECONDS? George, your shoes STINK! George, just STOP TALKING!” Dramatic huffs are exhaled, doors are slammed, “Never Shout Never” is turned up full volume.

The pack has turned on itself.

But yesterday, I saw a glimmer of what is to come. The sweet, caretaking Mary Claire of yore made an appearance as I dropped the kids at school on a freeze-your-eyeballs-cold morning. George was toting his backpack, his violin, his saxophone, and a Stephen King book as big as his watermelon head. The morning drop-off always stresses him out. It’s fast-paced, high-intensity, and the line monitor is reminiscent of the Soup Nazi: “Don’t stop! No loitering! Move quickly!” Her arms signal wildly for movement, movement, movement!

We always hold up the line.

“It’s okay, George,” I assure him. “The world will not stop spinning if we’re two car lengths behind. Take your time. Don’t forget your stuff.” (It’s imperative that he not forget his stuff because — clad in my pajamas, fleece sleep socks, and pool slides — I am unable to run it into the office for him.)

But the morning drop-off routine still makes my slow-and-steady boy’s blood pressure rise.

Yesterday morning, he was moving all of his school essentials from the Lincoln to the sidewalk. He was flustered, cold, dropping things, breaking out into a sweat under his layers. Mary Claire — who normally would have been heads-down and fast-striding out of the elements — stopped. She picked up his saxophone case, held his Stephen King tome, smiled at and encouraged him.

They walked into the junior high together, laughing and talking.

And for a frozen, fleeting moment, all was right with the world.

Hakuna Matata.

Share This Post

5 Responses

  1. Jimmy and Tim have loved and fought one another fiercely every day since Tim was born. Now that Jimmy is away at school, Tim is literally heartbroken. He stays busy with school and sports but there is a real void in his life. I am afraid that Tim is going to attend IU, despite it not being the best college for his interests, just to be with his brother. And I am afraid of this because Jimmy told me, “Tim made up his mind when I made up mine.” Brothers, sisters…it’s a complicated relationship.

  2. You have managed to make me laugh out loud and shed tears in a matter of 3 minutes flat. You are the happy accident of my day that will now become a daily habit. (A mother of 4, staying at home, raising children north of the Mason-Dixon line.) Thank you for your honesty, your humor, and your gift of eloquence. I’m stuck at home today – snow day – so I’ll be downloading Table for Six. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Sign up for my mailing list

More To Explore

Don’t Feed the Trolls

We all understand that people are emboldened when their weapon is a keyboard and their superpower is the invisibility of the internet, but I didn’t realize quite how bad it was until now. 

My HuffPost Essay

My HuffPost essay was published today. I’m really proud of it, even though the trolls are coming at me HARD. Wow. I wish this world

From Pickleball to Pool

Dear Diary, Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe left. That’s my cadence as I freestyle slowly from one end of the pool to the other. I try