Tag Archives: family

30×30-Day Four-Sometimes You Have to Walk Away

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I can hear you both,
when you talk about my son.
Eyes lowered, whispering under your breath.
You don’t think I know the context of the conversation?
How does she do it?
She doesn’t do enough.
I would do it different.
I wouldn’t let him get away with that.
Thank goodness he isn’t mine.

I only hope his hearing isn’t
as good as his mother’s.
How do I love such a creature as him?
You mean the most witty six-year-old you have ever met?
The one with the vocabulary that rivals my own,
I do it by asking him to tell me a story.
When he finishes he jumps up, grabs on to me
as if a Koala, tells this mama he loves her so.

I don’t do enough – you say this
because you have seen
just five minutes of us.
You are not there, as I scoop him off the floor
after the fifth tantrum of the day-
The one where at just six years old
he shouted,
“I hate my life,
you can’t control me”.
You are not there as I pull him into my arms
hold the boy still,
calm the nerves,
of the one who never grows that fast,
so that at six he still fits in my lap
assure him,
that his life isn’t so bad.

You would do it different?
Really, tell me how? Yell at him in public,
beat him till he was blue,
be less stern with him,
negotiate longer,
medicate him less,
or more?
Would you schedule more meetings with his teacher,
set up more med checks with his pediatrician,
would you change the whole diet of this family,
lock him in his room till he was eighteen?
Quit your job, school him at home?
Please tell me – what-
would you do?

Let him get away with what?
Having feelings,
noticing every last thing in the world,
stopping for every flower that looks different?
Punish him for his frustration,
tell him to bottle it away?
His energy, you would contain it?
His synapses-You would stop them for firing how?
Would you punish his frontal lobe cortex?
Tell it next time, it better shape up?

Thank goodness he isn’t yours?
Well yes,
Thank goodness he isn’t yours.
They say you get the children
you are supposed to,
and he was supposed to be mine.
As if you would even know
where to begin,
with someone as special as him.
But this time,
this time,
I am just going to have to walk away.

Give me my ‘A’ in Scarlet.

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Yeah, thank-you for that blank stare,
that one you gave, when you realized
what you let-go from your mouth.

Oh yes, that was ignorance defined.
You ask, “how do you do it,
don’t you miss them when they’re away
from you? I couldn’t do it.”

Miss my sons? But it’s only been two hours
since I’ve seen them last.
Who is taking care of them?
Their father.

“Oh but daddies just don’t
do it like mommies do.” Read the rest of this entry

Best of the Week

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It wasn’t the almost-midnight, almost-falling-over laughing with new co-workers on a school night, and it wasn’t the compliments from parents at open house – It wasn’t the students being silly about my new haircut either, or my mock trial team members coming to my room every day in anticipation of our first meeting for new teammates.

It didn’t last long. It took just three words, a half a smile, and a glance to the back of the car.  I’ve mentioned this before here — that one of the things that I measure my parenting by –is the love my sons have of  music.  So when a new favorite song of mine came on the radio, a song the energetic one asks me to turn-up every time it’s on – I turned it up before he had a chance to say anything. And in my quick glance back to see what new dance moves he was working out, he pointed at me with grin that belonged only on the Cheshire Cat, and said, “you read my mind”.

Oh sweet five-year-old, I’m not sure how much longer I will be able to do such things, to read your mind, to know what you need.  But right now, right now, that I can just know your favorite song, that is enough to make me bathe in the light of the moment for the rest of the week.

About my Grammy-

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This week Grammy would have turned eighty-eight.  If you know anything about me, you know I loved my Gram with all that I had. When she moved into Pop’s house a few years back – my childhood room, became hers.  On Memorial Day weekend, I sat in our room, that was now a mix of both of us- her bed, my shelves- her pictures, my teenage scrawl still tucked in the closet.   Read the rest of this entry

Sometimes. . .

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Sometimes, I just want to write about the political.  Be it the politics of motherhood and the war on women, or the politics of a fourth estate gone missing, or even just the politics of a two-party system and a presidential election. Sometimes, when I start these pieces, I am so angry by the fourth paragraph, I can barely get my words out coherently (oh and this one too).

Sometimes, I just want to write about how sad I still am. How I hate father’s day, and May. But instead, I just stopped writing for six weeks. Read the rest of this entry

All Growns up and you’re all growns up.

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I’ve known most of these folks, you know besides the little ones, for more than ten years now. A couple for way longer than that. And now, these people who used to be my roommates – now we’re all sitting around with babes in arms – and man how the time flies. The thing that never changes though – is how much I freakin’ love everyone in this picture.

Don’t Mind Me –

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— I’m just going to post some stuff I wrote a ways back.  Because, well, I want to.

This one I wrote back in the day (and by back in the day, I mean last year),  when I was in the worst of the ppd. I thought I’d post it again, because I was praying about a friend and her parenting struggles, but then I started thinking about six other friends, and all the things they go through every day, and I thought it could use some reading again.

April 7, 2010

April is a month set aside for poetry, and I stumbled again, on this clip of a mother who cares less about what others think of her than I am capable of. I want to be this mother – sign me up for the tattoos, the sweater, the cropped haircut, even the skull and cross-bone broach. If it means, that I can stop caring about what people think. Read the rest of this entry

Out of my system.

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Ten days after I got back to MA, ten day after my dad’s memorial service, the message came that Gram was about to pass. And for eight weeks, I had thought I was going to be okay with that message, that after everything we had gone through – I was going to be okay with that message.  But I wasn’t, and ten days after I had been home in MA, I was packing up and heading to CT. Again.

An aside-

-there about fourteen stories I have to tell you in this one post to get to the ending, so please hold on, I’ll get there.

When Papa was in the hospital – I had a lot of new CT area code numbers in my phone.  And one day when I meant to dial my mother – I dialed my grandfather. Read the rest of this entry