Little Things

There I was, lying on the couch watching American Idol.

Actually, I was waiting for Chris to get home from a 3-day trip and a delayed flight with dinner from the taqueria.

Actually, I was watching American Idol. I watch about 10 hours of television a month, and Idol accounts for most of it. I was hungry, too.

Actually, I usually don't lie on the sofa and watch it. Usually I have my laptop on my lap and I work while I listen to it. If the performer is interesting enough to distract me, then I pay attention. Is that watching?

I'm avoiding the point.

During one of the many commercial breaks in this two-hour marathon they call a semi-final, one advertisement caught my attention.

In it, a boy of about five has to learn to share and live with a much younger baby brother who - as all babies do - is set upon a course of mayhem and destruction at a time when the older brother is learning to create and nurture.

Their mother, perfectly aware of the sacrifices and the life-altering reality of her older son, rewards him with a healthy lunch out, where they share chicken and apple slices and 2% milk.

It's much the same meal the princess has when we visit those legendary golden arches, even if these days she prefers a tuna and cheese sandwich from Togos to a Happy Meal.

Except ... there's no baby brother at home, waving happily from the window when they return.

The silliest and most unexpected things make me cry.