Yesterday, the postman walked up to the door and rang the bell.
Now, as we don't live in one of those quaint neighborhoods where postman still walk door to door, this was big news. Big. The postman at the door can only mean one thing – he is carrying a package that is too big for our mailbox.
Little boys crawled out of every nook and cranny to bounce, wiggle and vibrate as I carried the package into the kitchen.
"What is it?"
"Is it for me?"
"Did you order more blocks?"
"Is it a toy?"
"Does it have my name on it?"
"I can't see!"
"Open it, open it, OPEN IT!!!!!"
They were a throbbing, pulsing heap of anticipation, and I, I was my usual dark and twisty self.
"Who is this person? I don't know this address. I didn't order anything. What could it be? What if some whack job found my address and sent me a dead chicken or something? What if someone does not like our stance on roosters and has vowed revenge?"
I can't help it, folks. It's who I am.
So, slowly, I pried open one corner and peeked in.
And I smiled, big and wide.
Out came this:
and we all, everyone of us, knew exactly for whom it was destined.
One look and Ryder squealed, "That's MINE! That's my GO BOX
! It's FOR ME!"
He immediately went to work stuffing things into it. There's a walkie talkie (just one), a plastic pith helmet, a stuffed chirping sparrow and a butter knife (cuz you never know when some toast might show up?)
It has not left his side.
He even slept with it. For real.
You know, sometimes it is really hard to be the littlest. The big brothers get to go to vacation bible school and he doesn't. They are big enough to choose and play an instrument, and he's not quite old enough for the drum lessons that he desires so much. They get to go down the street to their friends' house, and he has to be accompanied. It's a tough row for a little man to hoe.
But then, out of the clear blue, the postman rings, hands you a great big box and you are walking 10 feet tall, with smiles for miles.
Guess what he's doing right now?
Sitting on his go box, by the front door, watching for the postman.
His boundless optimism astounds me, as does the wonderful friend
who, in making his little heart flutter, made his mama's whole week, and then some. She's got style, that one.