dismembered constellations

June 29, 2007 | Filed Under ordinary 

we got a wading pool after an afternoon of bickering, splashing, and sunburning (through layers of sunscreen.  jude, why are you so white?) at aunt janell’s house that ended in exhausted children who went to sleep easily, dreaming of water and blue sky.

“i hope it doesn’t rain today,” henry says.  “it won’t, look at the blue sky everywhere,” i say.  “look at the sky blue sky,” he says.  cooler than we could have created ourselves, this boy.

our wading pool sits in a very shady spot in the yard that is, due to shade and generations of slovenly yard-keepers, extraordinarily muddy.  i try not to be annoyed at the playing process that comes with location and boyhood immaturity.  self-control that is neccessary for the rinsing off of feet after a run through the squalor is hard to come by when enthusiasm grows golden in hair, skin, lips, fingers tipsy.  i hate it when they fight about it all: “i’m cold, don’t splash me,” “jude! stop spraying me!” “mom, henry is getting me wet.”  annoying at best.  it doesn’t help that i have to sit there for the duration to keep them from drowning or otherwise killing each other with sticks and flinging mud-slicked rocks.  the screams that come from our yard as one is mixing dirt and grass into water and another is creating waves impossible with so little water tell everyone that we are there, having some kind of fun that can be found in teasing, harrassment, ordinary meanness.  exhausting.  today they can play the way they used to play, before i thought it would be nice to have a wading pool to shellac the hot part of the afternoon.

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