small beauty of living with mom and dad this fall:
about once a week i am sitting in my mother's kitchen when i hear a loud knocking on the front door--the kind of knocking that you expect the UPS man or the police to do. but it is no such company. it is, in fact, small neighborhood children. i open the door and find these depressingly beautiful children. they have big grins on their faces, but also look at me in fear because to them i am a stranger.
"we're here to see mcdonald," they say. now, mcdonald is my last name and i know that these cute kids are here to see my mom because she feeds them popsicles and lets them do whatever they want as long as they promise not to tell their moms, but why are they calling her mcdonald? not sister mcdonald or mrs. mcdonald--but literally: "is mcdonald here?"
"who's mcdonald?" i reply. to which they start giggling as if i was their grandfather just trying to get their goat. "you mean, carolyn?"
they are so adorable and tiptoe into our house as if it was a magical land that they can only muster up the courage to come into about once every two weeks. and my mom talks in a magical little whisper and takes them down to the garage where they smash all our diet coke cans (magical, right?).