The Wisdom in a Fortune Roll

“You look like a banana, mama!” The tot said in her loud voice. Her big blue eyes were round looking and intense. I have no idea what she meant by this, but I’ve decided to take it as a compliment.

“Thank you sweetheart,” I said, immediately returning to my own business. I was inhaling the cleanness of the children’s bedroom. One doesn’t generally consciously inhale in that room. If one did, one would not do so again. If clutter and chaos could be turned into an essence with color, the room would be exuding a murky mucous colored gas. Not today though. Today was New Year’s Day. And I was all over it.

Old Man Dog sleeping in the confetti. What a party pooper.

It is an informal tradition to clean things on New Year’s Day. In theory it should be done on New Year’s Eve, you know to start the New Year all fresh and clean. I didn’t have time for that. By 7:00 I was busy trying to blow up balloons for the kids to pop, one for every hour until midnight. The trouble was that I’m pathetic. My lungs are anyway. Or maybe it is the diaphragm muscles? Maybe there is an invisible pin hole in my lip. Anyway, I suck at blowing up balloons. If I blow up one to an appreciable size I’ve got to take a break to pat myself on the back like I’ve just given birth.

Anyway, I had other activities to attend to as well. I had to make our “fortune rolls.” I wrap up little slips of parchment paper and fold them into unbaked rolls. (My family really likes bread. Really, really. I could exist on bread.) Generally this involves wasting ten minutes trying to find a pen that will effectively write on parchment paper, and then another ten minutes of musing. The premise is the same as a fortune cookie—the message could be a random bit of wisdom, or some sort of prediction.

So there I was, pen in hand, mapping out the future carelessly. I wrote something intended for each individual, but of course the odds were good the intended recipient would not receive it. Therein comes the beauty of interpretation.

A fiery snowflake, or a sparkler on New Year's Eve. The beauty of interpretation - getting those brain juices flowing.

I got two fortunes. The first was really quite wise, and not intended for me, but it doesn’t matter because of the beauty of interpretation. It read: Do not forget to pull your underwear down before you pee.

This, in case it is not obvious, was intended for the tot. But for me it means so much more than basic bathroom hygiene. It means that I should stop rushing things so they don't get jumbled up. Don’t put the cart before the horse. And think ahead—who wants to have pee soaked underwear? No one. Plan, and don’t rush. Such wisdom.

My second fortune read: You have to drool before you chew. This one was intended for my friend’s one-year-old. But of course, it was meant for me all along! It was akin to my previous message. The great beyond was telling me again to not rush. One step at a time. I’ve got to slow down and take baby steps and not forget to pull my underwear down. I needed this advice.

The boy ended up getting numerous fortunes, because he was rather fond of the rolls. First up, he got: This year you will pet a zebra. Don’t judge me, I was probably not getting a lot of oxygen to my brain courtesy of those balloons when I wrote that one. Still, it holds meaning. Maybe the boy will really get out of his comfort zone, and do something exotic and exciting! Who knows…

My husband ended up with what was supposed to be mine: Write, write, and write! He doesn’t write, at all. But still, clearly fate wants him to focus more of that internal energy outward, you know what I mean?

The boy in pajamas sparklering it up.

We ate our rolls, then scrambled outside at 11:35 to fire off a few of the leftovers from the Fourth of July. The tot squealed for me to cover her ears, while the boy trotted around saying things like “That firework went into outer space!” At 11:58 I got the live feed of Times Square going, and we counted down in the dark driveway with sparkling juice and two big dogs shoving their way into the middle of our huddle over the glow of the phone.

And here we are - you sitting there like a normal human, me sitting here like a banana. I think she meant one of those unripe ones, that’s all sleek and yellow and hard to split. I’m sure of it.