Two conversations, in which my tone was terse and bedtime ready. I had been dodging their idonwannnagetreadyforbed volleys for going on an hour — Robotically getting them cleaned, and dressed, and attending to their oral hygiene — I tucked them in – Gave them appropriate cover, and handed over perfunctory kisses. When all seemed settled, I started turning lights off around the apartment and discovered — Read the rest of this entry
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?
“Oh but daddies just don’t
do it like mommies do.” Read the rest of this entry
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.
Don’t everyone freak-out at once. But, I am going to be super cheery right now.
No. No. You haven’t clicked on the wrong blog. And don’t worry, it’s okay I’m sure I’ll be mad at the world, or the media, or the political sphere – anytime now —
But for this minute . . . Things I’m loving . . .
Afternoons with Keegan. Keegan and I have barely had anytime together on our own. Read the rest of this entry
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.
-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
feel free to keep all your branches tonight.
the homeowner who enjoys both her slate roof and her electricity
Dear Gods of snow days and delayed openings,
any other time of the year you are most welcome, but during exams, you make everything wonky.
the teacher who enjoys things unwonky
Dear food, stop being so good.
the woman who would enjoy wearing some of those old size eight jeans.
Today when I said I quit, and my name wasn’t mommy anymore, it was Tara, and you would have to go to the Mommy Store and pick out a new mommy– yah, sorry about that. After you went to bed, I totally stashed away some money for any therapy you might need in the future.
kisses and hugs,
your mommy, who promise she won’t ever quit
lovely enough to walk to the library. temperature at 4pm, 40°
Today, at lunch, when Russ cut Kai’s meatball in half, he offended the God of spaghetti, and Kai keened. Not just wailed, keened, like Irish, Banshee women for a fallen meatball. When I dared to give him regular milk with his dinner instead of moo-cow-chocolate milk – he let out a cry as if to let Zeus know I had done wrong.
And after his bath, when he started wailing that I had thrown away his dinner – you know the chewed up crusts of grilled cheese, and the last tomato soup soaked saltine – it took all my resolve not to say – “stop crying, ’cause I’ll give you something to cry about”. Because you know – he’s three – and because – when my dad said that to me – I swore to him (at him?), I’d never say that to my kids – and damnit, I’m just that stubborn.
So – I picked up my wailing, keening banshee, tucked him into bed, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and lulled the beast to sleep with old timey songs.
sunny. not as brutal .temperature at 11:04 pm 18°
My son turns three in a week. A WEEK. How did that happen? We’re having a party here in seven days – and this year I’m pretty excited, as always to make his cake. He asked for a super-hero robot. Apparently he thinks I’m a super hero baker! But I’m going to try, and I’m going to document this week of birthday planning because lord knows I poach enough ideas out there, that it’s time to give some back.