Crime and Punishment

A sorted through her purse today and found a forgotten gift card.

"Sweet!" you might say.

Or "Big deal."

But here's the thing: 'We,' have history of saving gift-cards. Not really hoarding; hoarding is too strong a word for this. And hoarding gift-cards doesn't have the same dramatic effect on TV as say, hoarding garbage does. If she were to buy loads of crap with gift cards based on late night infomercials and then never throw any of it away, and the Fire Marshall couldn't find any of my dozen or so bikes from underneath her hoarding ways, then yeah, that would be a problem that could make for good TV. But this, this is not hoarding.

Yet there is a strong historical trend of hanging onto gift-cards or gift certificates well past their expiratition date while all along being too gun-shy to pull the trigger because next time/month/year there might be a better deal/sale/need where that twenty-bucks might make the difference of us eating or not. Then the odd day comes to clean out the purse and low and behold; a stack of free movie passes, coffee, dinner or $$ off at select stores, all as valuable as East German currency.

Anyway, she found a gift card today from like 3 years ago and decided to test it to see if it worked. She logged onto her favorite on-line retailer and bought earrings.

"Good for you," I said.

I would have done the same thing. Except I don't carry a purse or let any amount of money in any form last for more than about 12 hours in my possesion. Except for the one time I carried a single $1.00 bill for a month. It was when I stumbled across another $1.00 bill on the sidewalk that I remembered I had the first one and immediately bought a cup of coffee.

At anyrate, A buys the earrings and the total, including shipping is more than the value of the card. Except that, and here's where the story really gets good, the charge goes through. The card worked at 101.4% of it's original value 3 years ago. Gift cards as I am aware are not an investment. Worse case, they lose a percentage value over time until they are worth nothing (at which point she tries to use them). Best case, they are worth what say they are worth.

So now, she's really amped. She also feels a wave of guilt. As if she just kicked The Man in the crotch. She becomes distraught. Then excited again. Then a fire truck drives by 6 blocks away and she thinks its the cops coming to arrest her. Then I walk in and she spills her guts of the whole thing. Knowing that telling the truth should set her free she remains torn, frought with emotion after her confession and is now additionally processing her anger at me for laughing at her.

"The true cost of these earrings," she says, pointing her finger of justice at me,"No, the punishment... no, both the cost and the punishment, is my conscience. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to wear them!"

The Bitter and the Sweet

In recent weeks Gavin has now experienced the bitter and sweet of lifes' highs and lows first hand. As with any good story it's a three part play.

Act I



Portland has a rose festival. The Rose Festival fireworks show was where A and I first moved from casually knowing each other to the phase where I screaned her calls and she stalked me. Thats not entirely true. Regardless, part of the Rose Festival is a childrens 'junior' parade. I've never paid much attention to it, filing it under cheeky kid stuff. Turns out it's a big deal. Real big deal. Live TV, Beauty Queens, marching bands, the works.

One of G's friends happened to have her 4th birthday on the same day as the Junior Rose Festival Parade. The plan was for her to ride in a cupcake bike trailer/jogging stroller and for her beu, Gavin to be her escort in Thomas. As previously mentioned, I was clueless to the magnitude of the event or the fact that each of the parade entries were judged. G and I showed up, ate some PB&J with our friends then were told we won our division and awarded the Blue Ribbon while in line for the porta-potty so G wouldn't pee himself during the parade propper. What a great present to get a Blue Ribbon on your birthday. Not to mention that Brian's cupcake work was pure genious.

Act II




Busy as we've been with the details of buying/selling houses, it was a rare treat for us all to be home and have eaten dinner before the sun had set. Given the rare time we had, a family bike ride to G's favorite park and Thunderdome was the unanimous choice. Gavin was exstatic to show off for both A and I at the same time. We raced around the tarmac playground on our bikes before he lead the ride down the hill to Thunderdome, his grassy free-ride gully beneath Redwood trees.

Full of confidence and brimming with pride to show his mom Thunderdome for the first time, G raced spectacularly down the paved path on his skuut bike before launching Steve Austin style from speed wobbles and using his body to stop his inevitable impact into the chainlink fence that surrounds the public pool.

First was the shock. Then the pain. Walkers passed by and from behind his tears I could see his embarassment. Next was his anger as we walked slowly home, G on my shoulders cradling his arm and spot of road rash. Finally acceptance, "I really wanted to play at Thunderdome with you Mom."

The next morning he was still cradling his slightly swollen elbow. I squeezed and moved it, just as many doctors and medics have done to me many, many times before. A and I deliberated but weren't convinced it was that bad. We also weren't convinced it was okay. A doctors visit, X-Ray and lolly-pop later, G was the proud owner of a tiny fracture and a sling that he would wear for a grand total of 3 seconds. The next evening,we rode a lap around the block but he still lamented missing the chance to show his mom his moves in Thunderdome.

Act III




My Dad wanted to take G and I to an outdoor model train exhibit. Various backyards around town dedicated to trains. It's been planned for months. Given that G rested his arm for next to no time at all; this would be a great way to pass a day and keep him from trying to climb, wrestle, punch or othewise over-use his bad wing. G dozed as we drove from house to house and fought from leaving each one, fearful that the layout at the next house would suck.

I'll spare you the dozens of bad pictures of cool model trains and the back of one redhead kids' mellon. But the trainsets, landscaping and detailed features of each yard were all amazing.

Epilogue




The doctor said to try and use a sling if G will allow it but to otherwise let him use his arm but not to over-use it. I'm not sure how to express 'over-use' to a near-four-year-old, but I think if he can manage to swing a hammer while waiting for Mac & Cheese, he's gonna be alright. Did I mention that the new house is halfway down a steep hill?

Racer Boy

In his usual way, G wore down his grandparents today like a stage hunter in a long break-away full of lesser domestiques, before finishing solo arms raised, legs fatigued, smile full, alone in the picture.

He took them on one at a time. Divide and conquer. Feined interest in their chores, tasks and playfulness until they needed rest. He then turned to the other with the same strategy. Targeting the opponent and keeping them in the wind a little longer than himself for each rotation of the echelon. Repeating methodically until they fell off the pace; Napping, horizontal in an aged reclyner.

But then the mountains came late in the stage. Literally. He climbed me. Little hands gripping mine, little stinky feet pressed against my shins. Against my thighs, into my belly, barely stable on shoulders until finally atop my head. Over and over. "Again, Daddy, agian!"

He descended, a giggling ball of weight flopping onto the couch lacking form yet always quick to big-ring another ascent. But the scenery changed. The course profile was not as he expected. Burgers, pinball, video games and ice cream came into view over the horizon.

He approached each with the same strategy as he conquered his elders. Taking on one at a time. Divide and conquer. But the quarters ran out; his pockets were empty, energy sapped. I saw through his poker face as the finish grew near. His nodding and fighting to keep focus. Todays' would not be his to win.

Finally in the finishing straight, snuggled into the couch, for the first time since he was an infact, he fell deep asleep snoring in my arms. Midway through his favorite movie, even before his usual bedtime. Gangly, weighted limbs, any of which heavier than his whole as a tiny baby, rested against me uncomfortable, cutting off circulation to my own limbs.

He is no baby any more. He is a boy. He is boundlessly full of energy and imagination and wild adventure. As I carried him to his room, he labored his eyes open, glassy and still asleep, smiled, then closed them again. I will savor this victory.