Too Much of a Good Thing
Page 4
“No. He’s in his room.”
My children are becoming increasingly sneaky. “When did he come back?”
“A couple minutes ago.”
“Well, what’s he doing?”
“I dunno. His door’s closed.”
“Well, run tell him to dry the dishes and take out the trash.”
Instead of moving from my lap, Toni yells, “Junior! Take out the—”
“Hush!” I say with a squeeze of her leg. “I said to run tell him, not yell at him.”
“Oh.”
She drops off my lap and runs to Junior’s door, bellowing at the top of her lungs again. Time to type fast.
If necessary, put up a daily schedule of chores that rotates with each child.
Toni’s back. I need a bigger apartment so she’ll have a longer run. “Junior says he’ll do it when he finishes his chapter.” She climbs onto my lap. “What are you saying now?”
I sigh. “Grown-up stuff.”
I watch her lips move as she reads. Oh, well.
As to the “sharks” in your house, I hear you. I have a piranha, a guppy, and a dolphin of my own.
“We don’t have fish, Mama,” Toni says.
“I’m talking about you all.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Am I a guppy or a dolphin?”
“You’re definitely the guppy, little and cute and easy to take care of.” For the most part. She has her piranha moments, though.
“Oh. Right.” She rolls her eyes. “What’s a pur-ran-ha?”
“A vicious fish.”
Her eyes widen. “Crystal.”
“That’s right.” I keep typing:
But as to the “half-mine” part, Joe, they’re ALL yours now, 100%. That’s the part that still scares me. We are completely responsible for the lives of three children. And don’t ever be sorry to ramble. There is much sense in what you say.
I sigh. That last sentence was something Rodney used to say to our kids and to me when we weren’t making any sense. It would always make Crystal giggle, and I think she purposely said goofy things so that he would say, “There is much sense in what you say.” I don’t even know if Crystal has the ability to giggle anymore.
Let me know how tomorrow goes.
I smile. I’ve just asked him to write back without asking him to write back. And now all I need is a Bible verse to help him through. Which one? There are so many highlighted in my Bible. I could hit him with Ecclesiastes 3:1: “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Hmm. Kind of dry, that verse. Not enough life. The Psalms are more uplifting.
Let me know how tomorrow goes.
Shawna
“But thou, O LORD, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head.” (Psalm 3:3)
I hit the SEND button.
“Why did you put that Bible verse in there, Mommy?” Toni asks.
“To lift up his spirits.” I squeeze her shoulder. “It’s getting late, Little Miss Guppy.”
She groans.
“And you need a bath.”
“Aw, Mama!” she whines.
Yeah. Aw, Mama.
That phrase is music to my ears.
While I’m making my child take a bath to remove some of her guppy funk, I know there are probably other single-parent women my age out on the town. For whatever reason, I have never been that way. I hang with my kids. I’m so old-fashioned. I just can’t see myself dropping off my kids with a friend or getting a babysitter so I can go to happy hour. My happy hours are with my kids. My coworkers tell me that I need to go out more. Why? I have responsibilities—three, to be exact. “You need to find you a new man,” they say. Why? I haven’t finished with the gifts Rodney left me to enjoy.
Speaking of my surprise gift—Toni—I had better make sure she washes behind her ears.
It should be the highlight of my evening.
5
Joe
Shawna:
Cleanup was interesting. I had intended to throw out a lot of stuff, but the kids wouldn’t let me, claiming Cheryl’s items one by one. Rose now has most of her mom’s clothes, Joey has all of Cheryl’s books (they’re stacked all over his room), and Jimmy has the photo albums.
And I was the only one crying. Why is that?
When I put up the chores schedule, before I could even explain it, Rose and Jimmy jumped me. Joey was willing, but those two ... I took the list down. I need a firmer hand or something, don’t I?
Anyway, we made it through another day together, and I guess that’s really all that matters.
Thank you for your prayers.
Joe
“The Lord is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him” (Nahum 1:7)
6
Shawna
Nahum? Is this man Jewish? I have to look that one up in the Old Testament. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s Jewish. Maybe he just knows his Bible. I like that.
Dear Joe:
Your children WERE crying—on the inside. Perhaps if they see you letting it out, they’ll do the same. There’s no telling with kids. I expected Crystal to cry the most, but she cried the least. Junior cried himself to sleep, and Toni (who was a newborn) just cried and cried because she could.
Sorry to break it to you, but you do need a firmer hand now that Cheryl is gone. Sometimes I wish I had three hands, one for each child.
Rodney was the gentle “enforcer,” the “good cop” to my “bad cop.” I have had to learn not to be as firm as I once was. Joe obviously is a teddy bear with his kids.
Yes, it will feel strange to be the rule-maker and rules-enforcer, but you have to do it. Try putting up that chores list again, and just leave it there. Your kids may surprise you.
Now what? All I’m doing is answering his letters. I’m not really talking to him. I want to ask more about Cheryl for some reason. It’s not as if I’m checking out, well, my competition. It’s just ... curiosity. That’s it. I’m just curious. No harm in being curious.
Tell me about Cheryl.
Shawna
And now I need another verse. Flipping through the Psalms, I find the perfect verse.
“He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him.” (Psalm 91:15)
Hmm. Maybe that verse is too forward. I mean, Joe has called upon me, and I have answered him. I am with him in his trouble, but am I delivering him? Only God can do that.
I delete the verse and find another:
“Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” (Psalm 61:2)
Better. Joe needs to be a rock now. I hit SEND.
7
Joe
Dear Shawna:
Putting up the chores list worked! Not at first. Only Joey did his, but eventually they pitched in. Thank you. I guess subtle works when in your face fails.
You want to know about Cheryl. Cheryl was amazing, happy, content, unafraid, resourceful. I miss her.
Which reminds me: How much should I be spending on food? Is $170 a week too much for four people? It’s not breaking me (yet), but I have a feeling I’m spending too much.
Joe
PS: I like your verses. They have lifted my spirits. This verse always lifts me up: “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.” (Isaiah 40:31)
I hit SEND and wait, my fingers itching to reply to her reply. I’m finally talking to a person who knows and completely understands what I’m going through, unlike Arnie, and I’m finding it hard to concentrate in my daily life. I compose long letters to Shawna while I’m driving from one dented fender to another, listing all my various shortcomings as a father and single parent, but when I sit in front of the computer, I forget everything I want to tell her.
The little bell in the computer dings. She wrote back already? That means she’s sitting out there waiting for me? No, she’s not just waiting to write back to me. She just happens to be online, that’s all. Or maybe ... Nah. I’m the onl
y person who would sit and wait for an e-mail to arrive. That’s how exciting my life has been recently.
Dear Joe:
You are spending WAY too much on groceries. You should be able to get by on $90 a week (or less). Do you ever use coupons? Do your kids put items into your cart without your knowledge?
I hesitate to tell Shawna about all our fast food meals. And as for coupons, Cheryl did that for us. I will have to start clipping now—and buying groceries instead of hitting the drive-thru.
Are you making a list? You have to, and STICK to the list. Otherwise, you’ll buy much more than you could possibly eat. And don’t go to the store hungry. You buy much more food when you’re hungry.
Shawna
No Bible verse today. I hope everything is all right. I reread her e-mail. She sounds stressed, even a little angry. Maybe I’m dumping too much on her. I’ll just write less often. That’s probably it. I’m asking too many questions. I’m also making myself sound helpless when, with God’s gracious help, I’m not.
I shut off the computer.
8
Shawna
Joe hasn’t written in a while. Maybe that means he’s doing okay, and for that I’m happy. But I miss “talking” to him. Was there anything in my last e-mail that turned him off? Was I too pushy? I was ordering him around a bit. I shouldn’t have been so direct.
Weeks pass, and each day I check my e-mail—in the morning, when Toni is doing her homework after school, after dinner, and just before I go to bed. No word from Joe. And for some strange reason, I find myself thinking and praying about this man at the oddest times. I’m trying to survive a lunch rush shorthanded with a cashier who can’t hit the right button to save her life, and suddenly I think of Joe and his food bills. I’m taking a deposit to the bank, and I think about, well, Joe and his food bills. That was a lot of money to spend on groceries. Are they big people or what? I mean, maybe they’re big-boned, but come on! My kids would outgrow the apartment if I spent that much each week.
I just can’t get that man out of my mind.
I almost write him several times before he writes me, you know, just to see how he’s holding up, and I even write an extremely long-winded letter about Rodney that I delete before sending.
“Wait,” I say aloud, “on the Lord.”
That verse is becoming a mantra to me. It’s a good verse, don’t get me wrong, but when the Lord has you waiting for eight years, it starts to get old. “I’m not Job, Lord,” I whisper nightly. “I’m just plain old Shawna.”
Then, out of the blue, Joe writes to me again:
Shawna:
Sorry I haven’t written. But once again, I need your help. If I’m getting too needy, please let me know. I don’t want to burden you with our problems.
Halloween is coming up, and though we don’t really “celebrate” it, Cheryl made a big deal out of making hundreds of cookies, bagging them, the works. The neighborhood kids are expecting her cookies. What do I do?
Also, parent-teacher conferences are coming up, and these will be the first I ever go to. What should I expect? I know Jimmy’s and Rose’s grades have fallen, so I’m bracing for the worst.
Again, sorry I haven’t written. I hope you and your family are safe and healthy.
Joe
Without hesitating, I reply:
Dear Joe:
I’m glad you wrote to me. I’ve been thinking a lot about you.
Whoa. That is way too forward, even for me. I delete the last sentence and type:
I’ve been praying a lot for you and your family.
Yes, that’s safer. I have been praying, but my prayers are becoming less prayerful.
Cheryl’s baking sounds like a tradition, and traditions are hard to break. Why not have the kids help you bake those cookies? And save some for me!
Hmm. If the kids make those cookies ... “Then the neighborhood kids might stop coming around,” I whisper. I don’t know if I’d eat anyone’s home-baked cookies at Halloween.
And as for PT conferences, relax. I have a cousin who teaches, and she tells me that she’s just as nervous as the parents are. Focus on helping your kids, and things should go smoothly.
I can’t end this letter here. Once again, all I’ve done is given him advice. I know it’s what he wants, but it may not be what he really needs.
Joe, I feel that I have to warn you about the upcoming holidays. There are quite a few traditions wrapped up in Thanksgiving and Christmas, and now those traditions will change. Rodney used to play Santa with the kids, letting them sit on his lap, asking them what they wanted. He’d have them write it all down or draw it for him, and then they’d put it in his briefcase.
It was such a simple tradition, but the kids couldn’t have Christmas without it. That first Christmas without him—I wish I could forget it. I tried to play Santa, but they wouldn’t even come near me. I tried to get them to write it all down, but they wouldn’t. Then I went out and overspent on toys I thought they wanted. I didn’t realize that all they really wanted was their daddy. Time to level with Joe:
I tried to play Santa, but I’m not Rodney. I’m too skinny.
I can’t believe I typed that! I mean, it’s true, but what if Joe likes his women with a little meat on their bones? Cheryl baked lots of cookies, and whenever I bake, I sample. Should I leave it in the e-mail? I want him to get to know me ... don’t I?
I decide to leave it.
Your first Christmas is going to be hard, no matter how hard you try to make it go smoothly and peacefully. They get better. You’ll just have to start a few new traditions to replace Cheryl’s.
And Joe, please keep writing to me. I don’t think you’re needy. I think you’re
Where am I going with this? Lord, why are my fingers more romantic than my mind? Joe could be in North Dakota or Maine or someplace cold where I do not want to go.
I know I’m lonely, Lord, but please help me keep my head about all this. Amen.
I delete the entire last paragraph and write:
Joe, you can write to me anytime. Everyone is needy at some point. I only hope I can help you.
Shawna
And now I need a verse that says what I’m feeling better than I can. I have to let Joe know I’m here for him, no matter what. I flip through the book of John, dancing my fingers through all the verses I’ve highlighted. Ah. This is the one:
“Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.” (John 6:37)
I hit SEND.
And then I pray.
9
Joe
Shawna. She is the answer to my prayers. Through her beautifully written, heartfelt words, she has gotten me and my family through the hardest six weeks of the year.
Maybe the second hardest six weeks of my life.
Christmas was so hard. I got them to make lists, and I broke the bank getting them everything they asked for. But there was no joy. They kept looking for Cheryl, expecting her to come out of the kitchen to say, “Breakfast is served! Wash up!” They missed her opening the lingerie and saying, “Ooh, la la!” And I’m sure they all wanted to hear her sing along with the carols blasting from the little radio in the kitchen as she prepared the Christmas meal.
I’ve only wept, really wept, a few times in my life. This was one of them. I just couldn’t stop crying.
And yet, Shawna has seen me through. There’s not much I can count on now, but I can always count on her. My prayers for her go something like this: “Lord God, thank You for Shawna. Bless her and her family. Keep her safe ... And keep her writing to me.”
I’ve become so selfish about her, hogging the downstairs computer. The kids must think I’m doing something for work because they don’t pry. I wonder what they’d think if they knew I was outsourcing our family problems to a perfect stranger who has been perfect in all the advice she’s given to me.
But Shawna isn’t that much of a stranger anymore. We’re sharing our lives together, even the daily nothingness that makes up most of lif
e. We talk about trips to the dentist, getting and paying for braces, the weather, car troubles, the price of gas, how to clean an oven without gassing up the house, even what direction toilet paper should go on the dispenser. It’s all so ... homey.
But I thank God daily for this “conversation” we’re having. I don’t want it to end. We sit, maybe thousands of miles apart, and “talk” to each other over hot chocolate or sweet tea or coffee. We’ve become ... friends.