Getting dirty...

Sometimes life is just, well, a little dirty.  Today my six year old on the way back to the car after soccer practice was being silly, joking around with himself, and was heard by my husband saying “middle finger you!”  Over, and, over.  Again, and, again, until dad, who is also a coach of the team, could get him in the car, and explain the situation to him.  Mind you, there were no gestures; just something he had overheard his older brother yell at me, mama, months ago during a nine year old to mama battle. 

A few months back my enraged son screamed, “Middle finger you mom!”  Well, I couldn't do anything but laugh!  Hysterically!  I mean, here was my nine year old screaming an obscenity at me, which if he knew anything would have been gestured at me!  Funny, right?  Well my nine year old just looked at me like I was insane.  Not like a teenager would look at you when you are light-years away from them on every level, but, like a nine year old who knows they’re in deep trouble, but you are just not making any sense at the moment. 

When my laughter slowed to a point where I could finally talk to him, I asked if he knew what that meant, and, honestly, thankfully, he said no.  So, I explained it.  In grown up words, and, terms, with the gesture.  He was shocked.  Mortified. “Thank God!” I silently screamed in my head at his newly shamed state.  

Then I asked, “Where did you hear that?”  Now, I can cuss like a sailor on leave in a faraway port, but, I am not the guilty party when it comes to gestures.   Gestures are not my game. 

With eyes as big as moons he looked at me, and replied, “At school.”  Hmmm.  Where to go with this now?  I thought for a moment, letting the little screamer squirm on the stairs like an eel about to slip away.  You could just see him wishing the stairs would swallow him up!  After some mental debate with myself, I decided on this, “Well, you can just go back to school and tell who ever told you that, what it means, and, what it got you.”

Life will always find a little dirt to plant a seed...

Then he begrudgingly followed me to the bathroom for a squirt of soap, which was applied directly to his braces for maximum tastiness.  While he trotted down the stairs, most certainly to scrub out his mouth with the first piece of clothing he could find, I snickered, and, giggled over his outburst for the rest of the night. 

Now, back to tonight and, my six year olds repetitive, laughing, squawking little voice saying, “middle finger” on the way to the car.  I think he got the message from his mortified dad who laid down the rules clear, and, direct to him about things that are jokes, and, not so much jokes. 

So, as everyone came into the house tonight from practice, and, my husband related his parking lot adventure to me, of which, of course happened within ear shot of one of the families on the team.  I started to laugh.  Not just a little, but the kind of laugh that will get me snorting for breath!  If you know me, you’ll know what I mean.  For goodness sake!  This hasn't been mentioned in our house since the nine year old originally said it, and, of course he heard me telling grandma about it.  Now months later, it’s come full circle with another child, in a dirty, gravel filled parking lot, with kids, and grown-ups all around my horrified husband.   

Who would ever guess the millions of ways that life will come around in tiny little repetitive waves to complete circles of these moments within the daily adventure of my life?  Each day there are beginnings created by a broadcast of interactions at every direction, and sometimes, sometimes we get to reap the funny, cute, wonderfully dirty harvest of the seeds planted last month.

One things for certain on a harvest as good as this one, it’ll make it to the final memories when all I have left is a few vibrant moments from my life that I will repeat a million times to the few ears who will still listen to an old woman telling the story of her life, “Back in the good ‘ol days.”   When there was less cement, and more dirt.  

~Nita Lundberg