HOME

I never knew I would be that kind of person.  Born without the ability to resist a small unclaimed soul, no matter the found state. With a family of six in a small-ish house, where am I going to put them all?  I only worry about that later though, not in the discovery moment, not with my sympathetic heart beating hard for the homeless.  If this happended once, even twice, it might be acceptable, not life-changing or atleast life cluttering, but I find them popping up during routine errands.  At the thrift store when I’ve run into to peruse the saturday deals, a garage sale, even at the library.  We tease my mother-in-law for being just like this, she can’t say no, she already knows their name before they’ve entered her house.  But now I don’t even wait until they come to me, I see a sign as I’m driving, logical thought slips right off the road.

I’ve taken in all kinds.  Never loved with the marks to prove it, cherished and then abandoned in a moment of haste, if it has even a hope of finding a home at our house, into the car it goes.  Sometimes I’ve had up to 70 in the car at one time.

But I might not have made myself clear.  I am particular.  I only take hairless, relatively odorless wanderers, with a guaranteed good back story.

I’m hopeless.  And completely resigned to something that makes me happy.

I like to put my safe skin on first thing in the morning before anything can happen.  Before I shout at a child and see their hurt face, before I think about people close to me sick and whether they’ll make it, before I call a friend to get together and they disappoint me and say they’re too busy.  But my safe skin tends to get pulled and torn a bit when a sweet child runs up to give me kisses even when I’m not trying to hide my grumpiness, or when my eyes land on a toothy, 16 month old who’s feeding her baby and giraffe with a spoon.

That’s why it’s important to mend my safe skin quickly, because I know that a small gap is a great risk to get injured by something unexpected(only the expected makes it through my safe skin).

Luckily, I’ve found a few ways to toughen up my skin and keep it from ripping so easily.  As soon as I get a free moment I can eat food, particularly chocolate, to produce a dependable, thick buffer between me and any potential threats.

Reading a book that can take my mind quickly away from the present is also effective and works even better when combined with the food strategy.

Occasionally I’ll hear a voice breaking through my safe barrier, asking me to let it all down.  Working hard to focus on the book in my hands, the voice interrupts and suggests calmly (but with warmth and intensity) that if I peel back my safe skin and make contact with the disappointing and the unexpected, I’ll find a deeper joy than the shallow happiness I seem to be missing in the moment.

I eat some chocolate and think about it.

I reach for the zipper but it’s not there.  I pull and twist the skin only to find that I’ve been more successful than I thought at toughening the thing.  Now I want more than anything to get it off, to connect to those around me, to take some chances, to feel some pain and the joy that was whispered to me.  I think it’s going to take some giving up.  I think it might lead to a death or two.  I know it’s going to mean listening to that voice without a buffer.  And it’s going to take time.

One missing tooth is cause for celebration,

Two missing teeth is a record at our house,

Three missing teeth and we told her to make sure she didn’t knock out any more to get another dollar in the same week!