Rain clouds slide nearer, and a damp blue creeps across my lawn and window. The air cools visibly, and tree branches ruffle silently. Unfolded laundry stacks precariously on the couch behind me, and the house is still as naps or room-projects claim my children.
Earlier this week, four year old Daniel holds up tiny chocolate squares, reading them like fortune cookies. Even though I know the words scripted into melting chocolate say “Hershey,” he is convinced they predict his future. And the future is always the same. “Daniel can go to my friend David’s house today!” “Mom, Mom! Yook! It says, ‘Daniel can go to my friend David’s house!’”
“Your chocolate is wrong. Sorry, bud. That’s not today. On Wednesday you can go to your friend David’s house.”
“No, see?” He hands me the chocolate square, pointing to the letters. “Daniel can go to his friend David’s house today” looks remarkably like a location in Pennsylvania, but I smile. “Pretty soon, huh?”
Today, his chocolate fortune is coming true.
His nap winds wonderfully long right now though, and I wipe batter off kitchen counters after zucchini muffins and chocolate chip cookies. Traffic hums in the distance, and I ponder what my pleasures promise me, and how often they are wrong.
It's a deep thought for me today, and I save, hit publish, and walk away, still pondering.