I Think Finn Is Lying to Himself About His True Motivation

"I always give you kisses when I want something because I love you."

Del Mar Drive

At church, we were asked to attend the personal history writing class. This is what I wrote in response to the question to tell about my neighborhood.

I grew up in the 80s, which from my current perspective seems like the age of free-range children, unhampered by rigid restrictions like "bedtimes" and "playdates" and concern for things like "bad guys." One exception on the "bad guy" thing: there was a brief period circa 1984 when Salt Lake City grew deathly afraid of kidnappers. My mom packed us all in the car and we traipsed down to the City and County Building to get fingerprinted and to get our pictures taken. I don't remember my ID card, but I remember my little sister Marissa's, because at one, she was wearing my heart-shaped, rainbow-strapped, My-Little-Pony purse in her picture, and though I wanted it back for mine, she screamed until my mom let her have it. I found this injustice supremely unfair, and as far as I was concerned, Marissa and Mom were the bad guys, not some distant and imaginary "bad guy" who might pick me up in a dark-windowed van.

But other than 1984, the 80s were full of free-range children. From 4:00 pm until nightfall, Del Mar Drive was a haven for children, and the lack of supervision seems simultaneously wonderful and shocking. The Moresheads had four kids; the Paulsens had five kids; Spencers had six, Healeys had six, and the Larsons had five. That's 20 children who ran up and down the street, and that's just counting the regulars. I'm not even counting the Buckhouses, the twins who lived next door, the Ekdales, or the Greek girl who wasn't allowed to leave her driveway, but who was allowed to roller-skate in a circle in front of her house.

At 5:15, Jann Moreshead would ring a bell at her door and shout, "Supper is ready!" The Moresheads were Presbyterians on a street full of Mormons, and in my 6-year-old mind, supper is what Presbyterians called dinner. This is the only difference I could identify between our two religions, a difference which I'm sure had more to do with where Jann grew up that any difference in creed, but seemed perfectly logical as Protestant vernacular.

Healeys had dinner at 5:30 (their rigid schedule was both touted and threatened in my home on a regular basis--they also went to bed at the unheard of hour of 7:30 while we Paulsens stumbled into our rooms around 9, or 9:17, or 9:52). Spencers ate around 6 and the Larsons disappeared soon after that.

We went in for dinner whenever it got dark around 7 or 7:30. I'm not certain if this is because my mom like a busy and full life, whether that was chairing the Save-Wasatch-Jr-High Committee, or talking one of her students down off of whatever emotional or academic ledge they faltered on. But the romantic writer in me (and who's to say the romantic writer isn't accurate?) likes to think it was because that's when Dad got home from work. For much of my childhood in the mid-80s, Dad was working on the Emma Eccles Jones Education Building on Utah State campus and left home at 4:00 am to drive to Logan and then returned after dark. We went in to feast on spaghetti or beef rollups whenever the family was all together.

That's what I remember most about Del Mar Drive--playing unsupervised hide n' seek or tag or kick-the-can while my buddies disappeared one-by-one, my belly hungry but full of excitement because soon Dad would be home.

About a Week Later I Got Asked If There Was a Mr. Runner-at-the-Gym

Tyler bought me a wedding ring for Valentine's Day. This is because I misplaced the original. It is a thin gold band and it is lovely. It also makes me sad that I misplaced my original wedding ring.

We moved into this neighborhood a couple years ago and I started running at the rec center about six months ago. We're still relatively new, but we've been around long enough that I recognize a handful of people at the gym. Hi Egberts! You look good on that elliptical Jackie! Hi Jason! How's Leah feeling this morning? Hey Passeys! Hope you are doing well! Hi Guy-Who-Lives-Around-the-Corner-From-Me! How are you? Early workout, eh? That sort of thing. Delivered brightly with a big smile.

I kept up these kind of pleasantries every morning. In fact, one morning when it was about 14 degrees outside I saw Guy-Who-Lives-Around-the-Corner-From-Me on his hands and knees in the parking lot, looking for his keys. I pulled over and asked if he needed a ride home. You know. Neighborly. He said he was okay.

This cheerful banter continued for about a month until one Sunday at church when I saw the actual guy who lives around the corner from me. His name is Brent and he is a couple decades older than Guy-Who-Doesn't-Live-Around-the-Corner-From-Me-But-Looks-a-Little-Like-Brent-Who-Lives-Around-the-Corner-From-Me. And then I realized that I didn't know the man I'd been making small talk with every morning at the gym. And then I realized that I had rolled down my car window, leaned out, and suggestively offered him a ride. My stomach sank. I informed Tyler that I had been unintentionally flirting with some guy at the gym.

I tried to turn down the friendly until one morning when he parked himself at the stairclimber directly by the cardio room exit. I sensed he was ready to make his move. "Hey!" he stopped me as I was on my way out. I immediately launched into an awkward explanation in which I emphasized way too many times that I thought he was my neighbor:

"Hey yourself! So funny story! When we first met I thought you were my neighbor! You're not my neighbor, though. And yes, he's a very nice guy. But you are not my neighbor. Which I thought you were. Which is why I was saying hi. Cause I thought you were my neighbor. Yes I did offer you a ride. Because I thought you were my neighbor. So to sum up, I thought you were my neighbor. I know it seemed like I was flirting with you, but I wasn't. Because I thought you were my neighbor. Doesn't count as flirting. Because of the neighbor assumption. Which I thought you were."

Anyway. Tyler bought me a wedding ring for Valentine's Day.

Yes, I am Keenly Aware that the First Post in Which I Mention My Daughter Includes References to Her Nether Regions

Lucy has taken to storing things in her diaper. I find this makes her uniquely qualified for a future career in shoplifting.

Here is a list of things I have discovered while changing Miss Lucy:

1. Perler beads
2. Pony beads
3. The Apple TV remote
4. My turquoise necklace
5. Anonymous superhero toy from McDonald's (The fact that I have no idea what superhero this was means I don't watch TV enough. Or go to McDonald's enough.)
6. Legos
7. More Legos
8. Even more legos
9. Dishwasher detergent packet

This last one was problematic. Lucy came to me complaining about her diaper. Since Lucy drinks ten cups of milk a day and gets the rest of her calories from dairy, she has frequent digestion issues. We're working on it. But I assumed she was constipated and held my whimpering little girl. When she didn't let up, I changed her diaper to see if the process had been productive, only to find that the detergent tablet she had shoved down her diaper had dissolved next to her skin and there were soap granules deposited all through her nether regions.

There are inescapable consequences when you dedicate your life to shoplifting.

A List of Quotations From Asher David Howe

1. Don't worry mom. I know the answers to all the big questions.
2. Hey mom, what's your third favorite kind of milk?
3. Listen! Lucy's saying Asher! (Incoherent babbling from Lucy.) Hear it? Well, she can't say her sh's so that sounds more like a d, and she can't say er, so it sounds more like uh, but she's saying Asher. It's her first word.
4. (On January 27, after several weeks of asking us to take him ice skating): Mom, I've set my New Years Rezelation: I'm going to go iceskating.
5. "Mom, can you make pancakes this morning?" "Sure. I have enough batter to make one or two pancakes per person." "Great. I'll take two."

Elegy for Lu

I remember the first time my dog Lu found me in the shower. I hadn't shut the door soundly and she had snuck her way in and curled up on the floor. At one point I jumped when I felt something touch my leg and realized I had a buddy in there with me.

Lu was a year old when Talmage was born. This time I had thought to lock the bathroom door and when I turned off the water she was whining. I opened and asked her, "What's wrong?" She led me to the nursery where six-week-old Talmage was crying. She had shadowed me enough to know what my responsibilities were and that baby was screaming and WON'T YOU PLEASE TAKE CARE OF THAT.

If I was cooking, Lu was resting on the heat vent in the kitchen. If I was sleeping, Lu was more often than not not on her dog bed, but on the ground next to me. If I was playing with children, she was present, lying serenely overseeing the commotion. Lu knew the commands "Sit," "Stay,"and "Come," but she was really trained to my voice and my person and was obedient to, "Let's cross here, Lu," and "Hop up, girl," and "Why don't we keep looking for your ball, sweetheart." Lu was always with me. She knew me and I knew her.

When Lu was seven months old, we discovered she had elbow dysplasia. We didn't have much money, but with the little we had and help from friends and family, we got the $1800 surgery. Her elbow was never perfect--strangers often commented on her limp--but she was ready to hike to Dog Lake and swim in East Mill Creek.

Around five or six she tore her ACL. She was playing fetch (she is always playing fetch with you whether you think you are playing or not) and pulled the ligament climbing up a hill. Well, maybe you pay a couple thousand dollars for a surgery when the dog has her whole life in front of her, but you don't spend that much on a DOG when her life is halfway over, do you?

We did.

Lu's almost eleven now, and for the last year she's been tripping over her feet. Three months ago when Lucy was born, she fell coming up Maquel's stairs and she's been limping on her bad elbow ever since. Yesterday at the groomer's, she fell out of a cage four inches off the ground, and it looks like she may have broken her wrist. She tripped as I helped her outside this morning, and other than a couple brief hobbles around the yard to relieve herself, she hasn't moved since.

Lu can't follow me around anymore, so today we stayed with her. I declared it a backyard day. The boys and I played hide n' go seek and Ticket to Ride. We read The Witches on a blanket. Finn brought out a pillow and his stuffed animals. We picnicked on quesadillas and mangos. Lu had a cheeseburger and two hot dogs. We roasted marshmallows for s'mores. We ignored all water restrictions and ran through the sprinklers at high noon. The sun blazed and sparkled on my boys wet bodies, the same bodies Lu sniffed and licked all over when they came home from the hospital as infants, her kisses their baptism into our home. Lu sat serenely overseeing the commotion, just like she's always done.

This evening Tyler and I will load her in the car, maybe to get some X-rays, more likely to make hard decisions. But for now--at 4:11 pm--I sit here writing with a Bic pen and a pad of lined paper. Lu is at my feet. Occasionally she growls at the neighbor next door. Once she barked at what was surely a raccoon. But we are sitting side-by-side. She knows me and I know her.

***

Miss Luella left her broken legs behind at about 7:30 pm this evening. I cradled her to sleep, my body wrapped around hers.

Little Ninja

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