Ahhh-I hear….a clock ticking. After a seemingly long, and at times exasperating, Monday the lone tick of an old clock is welcome. The youngest has been put to bed and the others are away or busy. So here I sit, now able to replay the day in my mind. I laugh. Now.
This day began too early for my liking by this boy complaining of a sore throat. He has been mentioning it repeatedly all weekend. I’ve prayed, consoled, offered lozenges, made him gargle salt water, viewed the said affected area by bright light at least ten times (to see not even a pink splotch). I’m not one to run to the pediatrician at a moments notice but my ‘wait it out’ philosophy was wearing thin. Mostly because my patience was. So by noon, on this fabulously sunny springlike Monday, we found ourselves prepping for a visit with the doctor. A one o’clock appointment awarded us with a negative strep test and an “I see absolutely nothing wrong, eat some chicken noodle soup”. Now on one hand I feel the sigh of relief but on the other the urge to cry at wasted time and no answer. Amazingly the simple knowledge the doctor had said he was fine cured him instantly. So much so that he didn’t need to drink the herbal tea I made him. He insisted he was totally better and wanted to play outside. I felt a tinge of anger rising. I made him drink the tea. Well most of it. Afterward we donned a hat and a light jacket for what was left of today’s nice weather.
Our yard is still a bit muddy from last weeks rain storms so bike riding and sports of most kinds were out. Even a nice walk is still a bit of a stretch. “How about let’s play bird watching?” Um, I’ve never heard him offer this option. It sounded relaxing so I agreed. A welcome sight and sound this week is the return of so many to play us their music again.
Once outside, I have to be honest, I was a bit confused. I saw little guy with two BB guns and two targets. He hands me ‘my gun’ and says “you ready?” I reply, “For—-??? Birdwatching?” He could not have missed the question on my face. He hurried to explain we were going to pretend to watch birds and then pick them out of the sky. A competition of sorts between the two of us. Naturally. This is no binocular in hand bird watching boy we’re talking about. What was I thinking? So we commenced shooting at our targets and one thing quickly became clear. I am no Annie Oakley. His bullseye was loaded with little BB holes and mine, well, lets just say I had a nice little group toward the top and right. Also a lot of ricochet noises. I may or may not have hit a couple of things in the distance as well. Thus began the giggles. He made an attempt to make me feel less inept by placing a new bullseye closer to my “group” so maybe I could hit that one. Still nope. I used to be so much better.
It is said that age 8, which little guy is now, Annie Oakley could hit a squirrel running across her yard. By 15 she was competing. By adulthood shooting had become her livelihood. This turn of the century sharpshooter could hit a tossed dime, riddle playing cards aloft, snuff out candles with her bullets breeze, and even shoot the cigarette right out of her husbands mouth. Apparently at this stage in life I’d be lucky to hit most anything…or shall we say unlucky????😬
I certainly lost our “birdwatching” game but won quite a few smiles. By the time we came in for supper it was getting a bit late. My day of frustration had melded into laughter like the sun into the night.
Just for the record, there’s been no further mention of the nagging sore throat. I guess I’ll chalk that up as a win no matter how it came.
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