We walk to school every day and note the changes that we see and hear. "Oh look at that, the Easter bunny ears have blown off of the green frog lawn ornament." The woodpeckers are out. How wonderful their knocking is. But as we approach our elementary school and neighbors race ahead, his face begins change. Paranoia arises in me. I know he is preparing himself for what lies ahead in his day, but is there more to it? Are we approaching the end of a long year? Is he being bullied? Why does he have a look of dread on his face? Is this normal? And then, for some strange reason Little Debbie comes into my head. Maybe she can help. I know it is nothing he can verbalize, and according the calendar this is about the time when I blow things out of proportion. But, I will make two stops. The first, to our terrible awful, giant semi-local grocery store, and then the library. I pick up a box of oatmeal cream pies. I feel ridiculous thinking that this could help. Back at home, I write a note for the package and drop it off. I hope I am not making his molehill into a mountain. I do not want to encourage sore, mopey attitudes. I really want his life to be much less dramatic than mine. I think.
And for home. Something new to look at.
The drive to the dreaded, Stop and Drop gave me the chance to listen to the BBC's tribute to Margaret Thatcher. I learned that as a young girl she used to help out at her parents grocery store. One old acquaintance described her by saying, "She's a proper madame, that one." I loved hearing that.