Pirates, amigos, and q-tips

I spent my day in the truly northern part of Northern California, visiting Jessica Emmans, meeting sweet Cadi Emmans, and catching up with Melissa Tonissen. So worth the drive. On my way home, I decided to stop at my mom’s to eat and wash my car. Fill my belly and wash my car, I did.

The picture is wonderful: My jeans are rolled up, my hair is blowing in the wind, my flip flops are flippantly scattered on the lawn, the day is nearing its end, and my curly-headed nephew is creating a masterpiece on the driveway (the concrete, his canvas; chalk, his medium). I hear the sounds of children laughing and “Baby" Roman says, “Nantie Sherry, what are dose? What are dey doooing?” I realize that they’re running door-to-door, obviously participating in a scavenger hunt! I try to explain the concept of a scavenger hunt to my nephew, but he is unimpressed (or thoroughly confused), and he returns to his art. My brain wanders to memories of my own childhood scavenger hunts, wishing the smelly neighbor lady would hurry up with that Q-Tip before my sister’s team beat us. Almost anybody on the block would have a Q-Tip, after all. It’s not even a good one. I have to pee just thinking about the excitement.

Then, the boys run by our house. They comment on the “stuff” I’m spraying on my tires and accuse me of spraying evil poisonous potions. I’m taken aback. Are they being silly? I smile and say, “Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s only tire cleaner,” to which they reply, “Suuuuurrre.” I inquire about their sombreros and they assure me that they’re just “a gimmick.” I wonder who taught them that word, and note to myself that the hats seem to be working. If I ever send 10 year-old boys on a scavenger hunt, I’m totally sending them with sombreros. The scavengers run on, one boy turns back, and I shout after them, "Have fun, boys!" As if they need my permission.

A moment.