Day after Thanksgiving

What happens in Wal-Mart at midnight? For most nights of the year, shady characters and college students are the lone few that roam the aisles. But a few days ago, things got a little crazy. Actually, it wasn't a little crazy, it was WAY CRAZY. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and Christmas Spirit was about to be unleashed with the doorbuster deals in every Wal-Mart and Target store in the country. Black Friday -- the name that inspires moms and obsessive shoppers to stand in mile-long lines in sub-zero weather. My mom is no exception. And just to join in on the adventure, most of the Metcalf family stuffs themselves in the car too. The first stop this year was Wal-Mart. At midnight.

There weren't any parking spots available when we rolled up at 11:55. The door busters were busted, every deal snatched up thirty seconds after midnight. So we left with absolutely nothing. Onward to the next Wal-Mart. After an hour at this one, all we came out with was a pair of socks and a stomach ache from eating McDonalds (just a little advice -- don't eat a quarter pounder with cheese at 1:00 am, it doesn't usually sit well in the tummy). When we left, it was 2:00 am, and all we had to show for our sacrifice of sleep and our struggles to get through the front door -- a stinkin pair of socks. Black friday indeed.

Goal #12 - Looking Both Ways Before Crossing the Street

The first couple of weeks, Tanner had a hard time remembering what to do. We would walk to the edge of the street, and I would wait for him to look both ways. Instead he just stood next to me, his eyes only moving to look up at my face and laugh at my silly expression. Finally I'd shift from Goofy to Mr. Party Pooper -- pointing both ways to help Tanner understand. But he simply giggled, slapping my shoulder with a soft hand. "Tanner, what do we need to do before we cross the street?" I would ask kindly, pleading with him in my mind to move his eyes to either side of the road. Sometimes he would. But those first couple of weeks, we stood there until snack time. Tanner was probably wondering why I was acting so weird. I was just wondering what he was wondering. And there we stood as minutes fell down into the gutter.

I found out this summer that patience pays. The last day of work, Tanner and I stood at the street's edge, and I looked across to behold the Promised Land -- the playground with Tanner's green slide. I looked at Tanner, hoping that he would fulfill his goal. Almost casually, Tanner threw his finger to point to one side of the street as his eyes followed. "Car," he said. Then he pointed to the other side. "Car," he repeated. I wanted to jump for joy, scream out in celebration. Tanner had gotten the goal. We did celebrate -- walking across the street to the green slide was good enough for the both of us.

Caked in Color

Heavy leaves fall from a branch's cradle, crashing down to the concrete path in front of me. My eyes move down, watching the little leaf defy gravity as it floats through fall air. I want to jump up and catch the falling leaves, want to roll around in the piles, soaking my clothes with the smell of barn red and burnt orange. I still can't adequately describe that smell, the smell that makes my lips curve into a simple smile, thoughts of past autumns floating down from the trees into my head. Thoughts of diving into the slip-and-slide of mud to find myself caked in color, leaves stuffing my ears and falling out my shorts. Thoughts of stabbing hard skin of pumpkins, following the stencil my mom got from a website to carve the perfect werewolf. Thoughts of home, of watching Spongebob Squarepants with my sister because it was getting too cold to do anything outside, of watching my dog run around in the back as he tried to escape the leaf rakes, of the warmth of chocolate chips oozing out the sides of newly baked cookies. Then I watched the leaf touch the ground, kissing grey earth. As I walked by, a cool breeze kicked up the tiny leaf, twisting it around and around until it escaped my view.