Second-Hand Find

The littlest things made my son happy. Why couldn’t I be more like him?

- Kelly Gallagher

HOW MANY WEEKS had I been looking for a job? I didn’t want to think about it. I just hit send on my latest application and went into the kitchen to make some dinner. Two-year-old Hudson toddled in after me. “You really like watching me cook, don’t you?” I said, settling him in his chair. “Maybe one day you’ll be a chef.”

I switched on the oven and opened the fridge, but my mind wasn’t on the food in front of me. It was on that job application. Maybe I should have been more detailed in my cover letter, I thought. I should have checked my resume again for typos.

I shut the refrigerator and turned around. Hudson looked puzzled. I’d forgotten to take anything out.

“Mama needs to stop worrying over things she can’t do anything about,” I said. “Just like Daddy always says.” But that was easier said than done. My husband, Alan, had thrown up his hands at my attitude. Of course he wasn’t the one job hunting. It seemed impossible even to get an interview.

The next day Alan stayed home with Hudson while I ran some errands. Don’t think about the job search, I told myself as I pulled out of the driveway, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts from popping into my head at the bank or the supermarket or the second-hand shop I swung by on my way home. As I turned to leave I saw something interesting: an adorable play kitchen. All plastic, it was light as a feather, with a blue countertop, two burners, an oven, and a microwave with a door that opened. Hudson would love it!