dance now at every chance
September 29, 2009 | Filed Under familial | 2 Comments
so henry has fallen in love with big daddy’s dog, kahlil. they laugh and, quite literally, romp through the yard for hours on end. lola is not so sure, mostly watching from the schoolroom windows, from across the yard as the dog stands at attention in her kennel. jude screams and runs and has been scratched in ugly long pink lines down his back. the dog is playful, huge, and extremely naughty. we have decided that obedience school is a must, though i don’t know what i’m doing when it comes to choosing a school/method/instructor. but henry, oh henry, he loves this dog and so it really has to work out, having this gigantic puppy who has a lot of growing still to do, it has to work out that she stays with us.
and lola has fallen in love with big daddy, who is even now sitting downstairs in his recliner, reading a book and resting after a long day of working. he is a worker, this thing is sure. lola sat in the yard at the edge of the garden this afternoon, chattering at big daddy as he worked. i don’t think he could hear her and we really can’t understand what she says all that much, anyway, but there they were, the two of them, working and chatting. having big daddy and his dog move into our family permanently has been a very seamless transition. i do feel a teensy bit obsessive about cooking actual food and not serving crumpled peanut butter sandwiches to everyone for lunch. also, i must admit to feeling this way because of big daddy’s presence (i surely cannot ever give him a crumpled sandwich, can i?), but i think it’s for the best, really, that i’m serving actual food to my family all of the time, isn’t it?
the day turned cool. a breeze on the tops of the trees and shuddering down through the birdsong and into the grass. the kids nearly forgot all else but the dog, the grass, the bikes, the running and rolling and blue sky watching. i wish that most days were like today, peaceful and full, everyone getting along, everyone running through the sunlight, the dog leaping after herself, the boys full of a laugh, myself not feeling irritated, many books and drawings and cookies, the cool floors underfoot, the windows up and open wide, all of last week in a blur, all of next week a mystery, all of it only the whistle that sings for today.
messengers of day
September 24, 2009 | Filed Under familial, ordinary | Leave a Comment
lola’s path of destruction is building up in small piles, mountains, towers with spires, all over the house. did the others do this? surely, they did. i don’t remember it being so terrible. i know that i did not run about after them with the dustpan, catching the crumbs as they dropped them. today i had a vague memory of spending naptime, both boys asleep, eating chocolate and drinking coffee and watching the gilmore girls. i would sit on the couch and watch and there would be mess all around me and i would feel this uncontrollable glee. i don’t know if this is a real memory or a dream.
the fall weather is non-existent. there are leaves of color spotted in the crowds of green, but there is still this desperate smog of humidity. i hide behind my amazing sunglasses because it’s too hot to hide under sweaters yet. the glass in the sunglasses make the clouds pop from the sky, golden and extraordinary. sometimes i’m driving along and i almost gasp at the clouds up there, billowing and stretching as if to boast about being way out there in the blue while we’re down here, propelling ourselves across the glittering pavement. the kids don’t have polarized sunglasses so they don’t know what i’m talking about as they crane their necks and look up and out expectantly.
the last few days i feel like i will never get it together, like i will be buried alive by the laundry and the dishes and the schooling and the mothering. the kids play in the yard and leave trails of soccer balls and discarded clothing in the grass. they are needy and always want to be fed and consoled. everyone is wondering why i have not replenished their drawers with clean shorts, underwear. i want them to understand that i’m running on caffeine and the few words of adult conversation that were uttered to me by the exuberant woman ringing up my groceries.
everyone went to sleep early, by eight they had brushed teeth and had been read to and were tucked into bed almost without protest. it’s dark and quiet, the house waiting for the morning, for the leaping from the beds fresh with new dreams, rested and ready to make as many noises as a human mouth can possibly make before seven, before coffee, before i’ve taken that deep breath and the day bursts open.
a long fifteen
September 22, 2009 | Filed Under familial, ordinary | 2 Comments
the day in a box, pieces of it rolling across the bottom. we finally went to the park and sat under the trees, ran, swinging, the gathering of giant acorns. later there was breakfast for dinner, the kids in bed late, and sharon sneaking into the night to see us. soon i will toss myself into bed with lola, her golden hair in a whirl on the pillow, all of the laundry in the house in a heap at the end of the bed. and after that comes the morning, the boys bickering over legos in their room, the sky still dark, that early morning bird cantankerous at the window, the low sleeping sounds of ernie, the stretch, the mouth of a yawning headache, henry serving everyone breakfast, the coffee taking too long, the new day in a new box, pieces of it rolling across the bottom.
never stopping until i say, “whoa!”
September 21, 2009 | Filed Under familial, royal buffet | 4 Comments
jude slept, his body in a curl on the bed. it was almost four but i was weary so i just let him sleep. lola woke him up a little later and he ate zucchini bread and looked around through a tunnel of sleepiness, the after nap feeling in his teeth and the corners of this eyes. so now he is awake, henry asleep with a book in his hand, lola on top of the covers of my bed. he is helping ernie by wielding a tape measure. it’s hard for me to work when i know that there is a child around, awake, doing something somewhere in the house. i am horribly and easily distracted. it’s a terrible thing to be.
there’s a new garland in the shop, horses and pennants. lola loves to gallop, clunks down the hall pretending she’s a horse. her birthday is coming so i’m making some horse decorations, thus the new garland. a carousel mobile is in the works now, of course, along with the other mobiles i have in parts in the studio. easily distracted, remember?
a box just for wishes
September 18, 2009 | Filed Under familial, home learning, lists, royal buffet, the greene life | 1 Comment
the weekend, at last. i’m looking forward to two days off of school, almost as much as henry is looking forward to the very same thing. i’m hoping for a little bit of peace, a little bit of vacuuming, a lot of reading (ahem), a game or two of uno or animal yahtzi, something good to eat, maybe even several good things to eat, multitudinous first sips of coffee, maybe another little greene life movie, the completion of the enormous order of royal woodland animal puppets, a bike ride alongside my son wherein i am on my own bike and he is on his own bike and the wind is making our faces shine, the good things of sunday with God and man, the company of others, long evenings with sleeping children across the hall, a thunderstorm, a few hours of sun, a good cross-breeze, my hair to cooperate in its in-between growing out awkward stage, the hanging of pictures, the hanging of lights, bathed children, breathless children, gentleness abounding, and several other little things that are weaving their threads through the rest.
wishful thinking, i’m sure, but wishing is good on occasion.
distracted
September 17, 2009 | Filed Under familial, lists, royal buffet | 1 Comment
newsy
boxes in garage are close to non-existent. close.
henry has learned to ride a bike with abandon, as i said before, and ernie has made a wonderful little movie to introduce the world wide to our newest project: the greene life. watch it and wait for more.
the birds of paradise mobile of yore has been resurrected and topped with a giant star instead of the six bars it had before. the giant star is quite nice, if i do say so my very self.
big daddy moves in with us next week. we’re excited to have him here with us and a little timorous about his rambunctious dog coming along, as well.
have been sucked into the twilight and am nearly good for nothing for it. they’re desperately hard to find at the library and when you want them, you want them. thankfully i’ve been hooked up for the rest of the ride. much eye-ball rolling aimed my direction, i know. i just can’t help myself.
there are yellow leaves in the trees across the street. it’s coming.
i want to ride it where i like
September 15, 2009 | Filed Under extraordinary, familial | 3 Comments
my oldest child rides a bike now. he rides it and wobbles a bit in the middle, a bit for the launch. he is free and flushed, his teeth and red lips in a smile as wide as the street. early this morning he is upset that i am not willing to stand in the grass at the road with my hair in knots and my coffee yet to perk and steam, standing there so i can call out for cars and flash my very best reassuring smile his direction when he needs to see it. late this afternoon he is flying by and his heart, his little heart, his brave and strong heart is pounding and i can almost hear it singing, singing for the wind of the bicycle, the glory of feeling a little bit of fear in the midst of his exultations. the muscles in his legs never tire, the stinging in his eyes from the air doesn’t matter. the wheels flash glitter in the sun. his hair blows back on his head. he should be wearing a helmet, i think. and i remember my own head, free, the hair whipping out in long strands behind me. the helmet is safer, yes, as sticky and hot as it is. but just this once, just this one day under trees turning yellow, this one time he can feel like he’s boundless and magnificent and the only boy on a bike in the beautiful world.
gallop
September 14, 2009 | Filed Under familial, lists, ordinary | 2 Comments
tonight, indecision. do i stay sleep, falling fast with lola near the fan, the light from the lamp outside spilling on the floor, the night young like a baby, a sapling, a new exploding star? or do i force myself awake again, the quiet corners of the house, the day, taking over the place, the flood of quiet almost deafening?
before this, the tucking, the half heard mumblings of love, the brushing of little teeth, the snapping of pajamas.
before this, dinner, later than usual, a moment before, henry on his bike in the street, the evening hot and summer luscious.
earlier, thrifting and laundry and driving the distance to the old house and back again.
before this, the grumpiest of lunches, the grating of cheese, the laying of plates and clinking of ice, repetition, motions.
even earlier than this, the morning, a lifetime ago on the back of the horse of today, school and coffee and the marching work of mornings.
before this, the opening of eyes, the great yawn of the day, great as the salty sea stretched in silver blues, broad and sweeping, stretching ahead and all around, a yesterday in the making, a long blur of minutes in colors to come.
deftly maneuvering
September 13, 2009 | Filed Under extraordinary, familial | 6 Comments
the post office is unfamiliar, a bright yellow wall spans across the back and the weary employees are washed away in the brilliance of it. lowell does not work at this branch. i mildly miss his familiar thin hair in feathers over his face, his ears, skimming the tops of his shoulders. these postal workers, these with the yellow walls, don’t make chit-chat but they do make me fill out the entire customs form, both sides, with the address of the recipient, which lowell never made me do. thank you, lowell. i don’t like using that government pen on the chain that gets in the way of the paper as i try to write while leaning forward on the cold counter. and i really appreciated the way you always did the peeling of those labels and the placement of them on the packages for me. you are top notch and my favorite.
the windows hold spiders, spiders that spin ornate webs that are more like silver hammocks of cloth, tightly woven in swoops between the glass and the screen. we vacuum them out and they come again the same night, seamstresses and architects and hunters, they are, spinning and planning and waiting. these are the harmless spiders, the ones i don’t think about much until i see one casting on, dropping down for the night. the black widows i worry too much about. plastic looking, unreal, the things of halloween parties, they seem. an involuntary shudder, and then it is these i think about when the kids run through the garden with bare feet, effortless, unworried, their hair gold and shiny in the sunlight, the widowed ones watching my children and waiting for their own to be born in the cold and dark. protective and fierce we are, mothers.
he was swimming against the pull of sleep, jude, and he was holding my hand. he is a very beautiful child, under his weird hair that doesn’t curl white-blond and soft the way that it used to, his freckled white face startles me, the beauty of it. he is five years old and beautiful, his eyelashes asleep on his cheek, an ocean of dreams to swim through the night. his mouth smells like toothpaste as i kiss it before slipping away in the dark.
putting on the day
September 10, 2009 | Filed Under familial, home learning, ordinary | Leave a Comment
it takes most of the day to teach everything that should be taught and learned. i hear them playing nomads, making dwellings out of blankets and sticks and packing up to make them elsewhere. they know the names of butterflies, read to me while i make dinner, want to learn, want to play. but the boxes (enough about the boxes, you say) are everywhere and unpacked, the food is mostly quick and often includes peanut butter. i love and i hate the well trained mind.