GIFTS

My mother-in-law Pam is an artist. Her mediums include story telling and practical jokes, but her specialty is hunting. There's not a church sale or consignment shop in the entire state of North Carolina that Grammy Pammy hasn't picked over in search of the latest and greatest treats for her grand kids. On a recent outing, she bagged a nearly-new LL Bean winter coat just Hudson's size. A few days later she returned to the scene for more and, in conversation with the shop's owner, mentioned she'd found a rock in the coat's pocket. The woman was mortified, as she carefully screens everything that comes through her doors. But she'd misunderstood Pam's intent in telling the story. She loved the rock for the secrets it held. The little boy that had worn the coat last was a master of adventure. The rock was the evidence.

This morning as I was getting dressed, I put my foot through the leg of my freshly laundered khakis. Out the other end popped a pair of striped pink panties. They too were clean, but I was annoyed that they hadn't been shaken out of the pants before they went through the wash. I needed only one guess to identify who ran the load (hint: it wasn't me or Huddy.)

I'd been thinking of suggesting to Logan that we formally divvy up the chores at the house, with me taking laundry. The pink-panty incident reignited the idea. I think we would all agree that our whites would be whiter and the number of lip balms and screws found in the dryer after every load would be greatly reduced with me in charge. On the flip side, we'd probably end up with a backlog of dirty clothes from time to time because, quite frankly, I'm a bit afraid of the basement.

When I found the lint screen covered in cornmeal this afternoon, I thought to myself, that's IT. I'm taking over. But then, as I folded the laundry, I reached in to one of Hudson's pockets and came out with a fist full of cornmeal. And I remembered the crafts table at school. Cornmeal.

I sat down on the couch, held the pants to my chest and smiled.

Hudson on a swing at Grammy Pammy's.

The lip balm, the panties, the cornmeal... All of it is just evidence of one thing:

A life well-lived.


As for who does the laundry? I think I'll wait until the new house is built to decide. Hopefully that basement won't be as scary.