Woog had been wanting to own a bag of marbles for such a long long time now. But being the parent that I am, I had horrible visions of him accidentally swallowing one. Or of offering to share them with his one-year-old cousin, Ia, and her swallowing a couple of them, as well.

Then with my imagination on overdrive and I would picture the whole household speeding posthaste to the hospital, where amid the ruckus of pumping out the children's tummies, my husband, my sister-in-law and her husband would be glaring at me, the guilty perpetrator of it all.

Still, in my heart of hearts, I couldn't resist this simple need of a little boy to acquire such treasure. After all, didn't I have a bag of my own marbles at his age? And I don't ever recall swallowing one either (even if I did, I'm still here, aren't I? Healthy gastrointestinal track and all).

His quest for marbles wasn't an insistent one. He would talk about them, wish he had some. Sigh a bit. Then perhaps, if it occurred to him, to wonder out loud most politely if we would buy him just one. Or maybe even a couple. And being the parent with the over-active imagination, I would hedge and say something like, “maybe...if you're behaved, and maybe...if we had the money. (like, sheesh, how much would a bag of marbles cost?)”

So yesterday, as I was aimlessly wandering the aisles of a china-goods shop (walking, walking, walking to get the baby down to birthing position), wouldn't I just happen upon the most deliciously colored translucent glass marbles in plastic fishnet bags? Fifteen pesos a bag (twenty-eight cents at the current dollar rate), barely half of what I usually spend for a mid-morning snack.

And wouldn't you just know? I bought them.

This morning, I came in from the bathroom to find Atch hugging a yawning Woog. It being a Saturday, we allowed him to wake at his own leisure. We were about to leave for work when I suddenly remembered.

“Hey Woogie, guess what I got you.” And some interest sparked in his sleep-chinky eyes.

I pulled out a plastic bag from my purse and the clinkety-clink of glass balls sent him off his bed, all thoughts of lying-in forgotten.

“Mommy! Marbles! Thank you!” His voice was squeaky.

Atch and I took in his excitement and we exchanged a glance moist with full-hearted wonder. How simple it is to make our child happy, we should do it more often, Atch's glance seemed to tell me. I blinked back my affirmation.

We left Woog with hugs, kisses, and warnings about putting them in his mouth. Last we looked, he was sprawled on the bed in his pajamas, flicking one colorful glass sphere against another.

And hey, if he does swallow one, he can always poop them out, can't he?

07/01/06