Every Thorn Has Its Rose

Backstory: Just last week, I was lunching with a dear, dear friend who is preparing to leave town for a glorious new gig in Chicago. As we stood in the scrumptious smelling Indian buffet line, anticipating plates piled high with palak paneer and pappadums, my girlfriend saw it: La Cucaracha. Crawling languorously across a wall...scandalously close to the heating lamps. After a moment's hesitation, we decided to brave it, and throwing caution (and maybe health department regulations) to the wind, we devoured dishes of delicious stuff.

When the time came to pay our check, my friend asked if I was going to note the apparent need for an exterminator. Naturally, I thought it wise; but as is my way, the notation was prefaced with an vociferous acknowledgment of how savory and satisfying we found our meal, and that we hoped no one else might have future meals (or appetites) jeopardized by such a brazen bug.

Flash forward: Two days later, when exiting the new family minivan (used, but new for us...there's blog fodder), Darren opened his side door and hopped out right into what is often a busy, speeder-frequented street. As if that weren't palpitation causing enough, he proceeded to walk BACK into the street to get something he'd "left in the car." ACCCKKK!

Needless to say, fear-induced, high-decibel maternal yelling ensued. Let it hereby be known, I never matriculated, nor applied to, the school of "scream-free parenting." In my view, there are most definitely occasions that merit --and in this case, mandate -- vocal intensity. Following the panic-produced reiteration of "You NEVER, NEVER walk into the street!" Young Son (who knew better) was sent to his room to contemplate the magnitude of his cavalier car exodus.

Our kids are six and a half...abundantly able (and encouraged) to express their feelings with great efficacy. Whether their wishes are responded to as they wish? Well, that's another story; but we're pleased they are communicating with us...regarding most (hopefully, all) aspects of their kindergartener lives.

So as I went up to spring Darren from his solitary confinement, to remind him of how very much I loved him, and how very scared I was to see him do something so very, very dangerous, here was the note placed welcome-mat style in front of his previously slammed (oh, how I don't look forward to the teen years) door:

Genetics are an amazing thing. The "I don't want to be talked to" comes straight out of his Daddy's coping with disappointment playbook. The smiley face inclusion after dispensing some potentially upsetting news? Hmmm....wonder where he got that from?