Scene: AJ�s bedroom right after breakfast. All parts below are played by AJ.

AJ (as AJ): Hi, Girl Next Door [TGND]!

AJ (as TGND): Hi, AJ! Do you want to play with me?

AJ (as AJ): I can�t. My friend N. is coming over.
AJ (as TGND): I know N. Can I play too?

AJ (as AJ): No. I�m sorry. I can just play with one kid at a time.

AJ (as TGND): Awwww!

* * * * *

One of the great things about being a kid is that you can play out all those conversations you have in your head out loud. And one of the great things about being a parent is that you get to listen to them.

AJ�s friend N is indeed coming over in a few minutes. AJ�s remark that he�s only allowed to play with one kid at a time is manufactured. I think he wants to keep his friend N to himself. He always seems to forget that TGND knows him too. But AJ�s known him longer. The denial of TGND�s access to N may be a bit of Schadenfreude. Or maybe he just wants to stay in control. Perhaps he�s feeling like TGND is making friends faster at school than he is, which is undoubtedly true, given that TGND is far more outgoing than AJ. Or perhaps he�s just being silly. I really have no idea.

* * * * *

Scene: Our backyard. AJ is playing with TGND and TGND�s big brother [BB]

AJ: What time did your mom say you have to go home?

BB: I have no idea.

AJ: How come you always say, �I have no idea?�

BB: I have NO idea.

[Scene ends with all parties rolling on the grass in hysterics. The scene will be replayed over and over again with AJ playing all the parts]

* * * * *
At least the conversations in AJ�s head are interesting. If mine were the ones being acted out in public, you would hear a lot of cursing at inept drivers, the occasional admiration from total strangers or perhaps celebrities of my extreme beauty and wit, or perhaps a half-baked lecture delivered to a class that is hanging on my every word or a mock job interview where I blow them all away. Maybe even a blog entry.

I think we can all be glad that I keep most of this stuff to myself.

I know I am.

* * * * *

N and AJ are racing in opposite directions around the circular trail through the nature preserve, occasionally calling out through the trees so that each knows where the other one is.

N�s father is dying. His brain tumor is in the process of moving from state 3 to stage 4. It is crossing hemispheres. He can�t move. He is getting confused. It is probably a matter of weeks, N�s mom said almost casually. �We don�t expect him to make it to Christmas.�

Something has changed, though. Things are, in some ways, looking easier to her. She is looking past it all, planning ahead. A move, a smaller house, a steadier job. And N�s mom admits that she has been overwhelmed by the miraculous actions of others, people who have given up not just time and money but parts of their lives to help. �When I think about that I just want to cry.�

I marvel at how she pulls it off. My own life feels like a mess to me and I have everything going for me. I am lucky beyond reason. I don�t know why. I have no idea.

* * * * *

It is time to go to school. The boys grasp each other around their chests and hug each other like they�re wrestling to the finish. The wind up rolling on the floor giggling, a mass of five-year-old arms and legs waving in the air like indecorous bugs.

On the walk to school, AJ asks, �What�s wrong with N�s dad?�
�He has cancer.�
�Is he going to get better?�
�Probably not, but I hope so.�
�Me too.�

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