dodgeball v. worms

Today I waited for Frances on a bench in the sunshine at the end of the school day, along with Gabriel and our friends. When she was finally dismissed and made her way over to us, she carried a crisp new fortune teller in one hand and dragged her backpack in the other, walking slowly and steadily until she was about an inch away from me. We stood nose to nose. I could not read the mood, not even a little.

Mama, she said, very earnestly. Would you please find a plain old t-shirt in my drawer and embroider it with the words "I hate dodgeball"?

Oh, daughter of mine! It is awful, isn't it? (I don't think I said that. I'm pretty sure I just thought it).

I know many of you have fond memories of playing dodgeball in school. I think that is just terrific. I, however, do not. And according to Frances, not even Mr. Dan--resident physical education guru, beloved by every first grader I know--can make dodgeball fun. So in my mind, that settles it.

It was one of the first times I understood in my bones why she feels such envy towards Gabriel, who gets to spend time with me while she is at school. The mere mention of dodgeball helped me to get it, and the fact that he and I spent a near perfect morning outside in the garden today, digging up worms, flying a little plane of balsa, pulling up the radishes, and generally soaking up sunshine in the breezy May weather.

I'm off tomorrow, on a trip all by myself (in a much bigger airplane) to Denver, to see a beloved friend and her beloved family. Extraordinary. May is simply an excellent month. Happy weekend, everyone!