The Do-Over(62)

Assisting nine-year old Simone to grasp her paint brush, I asked her to show me what color paint she wanted to use next. Her hand moved to a neon pink and together we dipped the brush into the bubblegum colored paint.

“That is a very happy color, Simone.” The little girl looked up at me with a bright smile and together we ran her brush across the canvas using a broad stroke. “Very good,” I complimented her.

Gazing over at my daughter, I couldn’t help but smile as she stood between two of the children, helping them to create their latest masterpieces. I knew this kind of experience would shape her in so many positive ways, potentially setting the direction for her future and I had Stacy to thank for this.

As we were cleaning up the room, the director popped her head in and pulled me out.

“How did it go today?” she asked. Camille Toussaint was a small, energetic woman and my gut told me she was probably a champion kickboxer.

“I think it went well. Everyone left with a canvas suitable for hanging and a big smile on their faces.”

“Well, I’ve got some good news for you. We have a patron who will donate laptops for the graphics program you talked about.”

“Tux Paint. And the program itself is free. We can just download it onto the laptops. This is so exciting. It will not only teach them about art, but help hone computer skills. This is amazing.”

“What else will you need?” the program director asked.

“A photo quality printer and ink cartridges so that the kids can print and take home their work.”

“Well, I think we can pay for that with our budget.”

“Camille, thank you so much.” I wanted to hug the woman, but I got the vibe she wasn’t a hugger and I’d end up flat on my back on the cold, hard floor after she flung me down with a perfect self-defense move.

“Don’t thank me. It’s our generous donors.”

“Is there someone I should be thanking for this?” I was beyond elated at the usable skills I was going to be able to teach these kids under the guise of fun. What they would learn would help them in school and someday out in the work world. There was nothing better than teaching skills that could be generalized across environments.

“No. Our donors prefer to stay anonymous.”

“I understand. But please thank them for me for the generous donation and I promise it will be put to great use.”

Back in the classroom I announced to Scarlett and Emmy, “We’re going digital! Brand new laptops are being donated for the kids.”

“That is awesome, Mom.”

“And a lot cleaner,” Emmy added, her smock looking similar to many of the canvases that walked out of here today.

I laughed. “Yes, it is. You can actually wear cute clothes here knowing they won’t be ruined. No more neon slashes across your shirts.”

My head was swimming with the possibilities and I knew I had to break it down into simple steps that built on one another so that the kids would have success and want to continue.

“Well, you two,” I said to the girls. “Let me pay you for your morning’s efforts in food. Where would you like to go? And make it someplace where we are served. No drive-thrus.”



“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

Looking up from my book, “Of course not, sweetie. It’s your time with your dad. Go enjoy yourself.”

Sitting down next to me on the bed, Scarlett smoothed out the cream silk comforter. “But Mom, you just like seem so sad all the time. The only time I literally see you smiling and energetic is when you’re teaching the art class.”

“That’s not true.” I reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Yes, Mom. It is. You were not this sad when you and Dad got divorced.”

I laughed, “That’s because I was so damn angry.” Which was odd, because anger was usually my trigger for tears.

“Yeah well, guess what, Mom,” my sage teen began, “now you’re like literally so damn sad.”

Hearing her say those words broke my heart. Opening my arms, she came in for a hug. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I will push myself to get to a better place. You deserve that.”

“So do you, Mom.” Her big blue eyes told me she was dead serious.

“You are very smart. And you are right. I do deserve to be happy. And since I’m the one in charge of my happiness, I need an attitude adjustment.”

“You like literally do, really. Maybe you and Aunt Laynie should like go out for Margaritas or something.” Scarlett smiled at me.

“You know you inherited your brilliance from me.”

“Of course I did,” she laughed.

“Okay, I promise to call Aunt Laynie and get my butt out of the house tonight.”

“That makes me happy, Mom.” Scarlett gave me another tight hug before going back to her room to finish packing.



“She’s right, Tara. You are significantly more miserable now than you ever were during your divorce.” Laynie was giving me that tilted head, raised eyebrow look. The one that screams you know I’m right, so don’t even think about denying it.

“It was a hope thing, I think. I let myself believe that Wes was the one I was always meant to be with and could be my happily-ever-after.” Taking a sip of my wine, “Just verbalizing that sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? Ugh. I just felt like I had this soul attachment to him. But clearly, I was just another expendable woman.”