Leafing well enough alone

My Charlie is out of school for Thanksgiving break. I'm glad he has the whole week off; school is tough and his days long.

So sweet mother that I am, I smiled at him as he lay on the couch...at least until the 17th time I walked by. I gently asked what he was doing on the computer (FOR THE LAST FOUR HOURS). I let him sleep, trying very hard to vacuum quietly.

But long about 3 p.m., I'd had enough of sloth. I strongly suggested a little together time; namely, raking leaves.

An hour later, he was still in his PJs. I raised my voice (but hardly at all) saying it wouldn't take long and that it needed to be done.

So out we went. I started putting the piles into bags. He said he wanted to rake a huge one and jump in it. So that's what he did. But not till I found my little video camera and shot this. I haven't mastered the art of editing (or, admittedly, filming). So start this at about Second 11 and go from there.

Raining silence

I am sitting on the porch, hearing the rain before it starts. The air shivers; it rustles; it quivers a bit.

I call my son outside to affirm what I am, or am not, hearing.

"Listen," I tell him.

Charlie is quiet for a moment, then asks: "What?"

"Shhh. The sound. Do you hear it?"

"It's rain," he says.

But when he trots across the porch and stands on the sidewalk, he doesn't get wet.

He goes inside, and the rhythmic sound persists. Hearing it, yet seeing nothing but the orange tint of autumn's air, is an odd sensation. I feel as if I am somehow privy to the future, to a split-second secret of what is a breath away: The last batch of leaves to fall; stars about to sparkle; wineglasses and hearts to shatter.

Within minutes, the rain is falling. Oddly enough, without a sound.

Volleybald champs!!

Oh my. What a win! Guess maybe rubbing the kid's head for good luck helped.

Short(er) and still pretty sweet

On Thursday, five days after the initial head shave, Charlie said his hair felt "uber heavy."

So back we went to Huey's barbershop. This time, Huey himself did the honors -- shaving what was left of Charlie's tresses. And not without asking several times if Charlie was SURE that's what he wanted.

Charlie was. So Huey shaved.

His parting words: "Charlie, the next step...is blood."

In the car, Charlie told me he wanted it short so, in case his team made the volleyball playoffs, everyone could rub his head for good luck.

We'll see how well that works. Playoffs are today at 4; the Lions are in 'em.

A shaved head?! Do Tell(y)

About a month ago, my son Charlie (to distinguish him from all my other sons) decided he wanted to shave his head.

The reason? An upcoming volleyball tournament of course. (Why I missed that connection is beyond me.)

"Who else is doing it?" I asked.

He looked puzzled at my question. "Nobody I know of," he said. "Just me."

I asked again today, minutes before our jaunt to the barbershop.

"Because I'm me," he said. "Because I'm a little crazy. Because I'm the unofficial team cheerleader."

These are all true. He is very much his own person. Plus, as the youngest player on the varsity team, he doesn't always get to play. So he screams and yells and whoops during the game, usually coming home hoarse and happily wiped out.

I was fine with his decision. Pretty tickled, actually. So off we went to Huey's, where Charlie has had his hair cut since he was 10 months old.

As we sat and waited our turn, we couldn't stop smiling. When Huey's son called Charlie to the chair, I followed with my video camera (post to follow...soon!) We laughed like idiots as his beautiful dark brown hair fell to the floor.

And we agreed that yes, this was indeed a good idea.