It’s Got a Ring, Thanks Anyway

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poor future suitor
just try to live up to this
prior engagement


Seven and I crafted this gorgeous cocktail ring from a kit. She is very pleased with it, and informed me that if any boy tries to marry her, she can tell them she’s already engaged. Or…just no? That works, too.

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Nosleepferu

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I used to sleep every night
With the covers around my neck,
To protect myself from vampires,
Those monsters straight outta heck.

Tasty veins swaddled in safety,
My bedroom door closed tightly,
I slumbered in cozy confidence
All through every nighty-nighty.

Now, at least once a week,
I scream loudly without warning,
As a bedside child scares me awake
Because nothing can wait ’til morning.

I no longer need the blankets.
My door hangs all willy-nilly.
Monsters don’t frighten me anymore,
It’s my kids that scare me silly.


I really did sleep with the covers around my neck right up until we brought home a newborn. At that point, I learned how to fall asleep anywhere, in any position, with or without blankets. The nice thing about newborns is they lack the mobility to sneak up to your bedside and whisper “Mooommmmy” like some little possessed person.

Also…I know that is a huge leap from Nosferatu. *shrug*

Ask A Poet An Abstract Question…

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“Mom, what is the meaning of life?”
Oh, it depends on which meaning you mean.
Sometimes it’s amorphous, ephemeral, obscure—
Other times it’s the spaces in-between.

I’ve glimpsed it in sunshine and moonlight,
Walked its beat in a graveside procession.
Been smacked by a smile, a laugh, a look,
Lost its trail in shrouding depression.

This question is too complex without context!
I could fill books with the conflicts I’ve had.
Saints and philosophers have failed as I—
“Umm…thanks, Mom, I think I’ll find Dad.”


My kids ask me a lot of questions, big questions, and I do go on. Sometimes I can tell it’s all rushed over them like a gust of wind, barely ruffling their intellectual hair. Other times, we spend an hour talking about cremation or self-respect or kindness, and I feel like I’ve made a little bit of an impression. I think we owe it to them to try, though, even if they won’t get it until they’re adults. Every bit of understanding of the human condition leads to self-awareness. Self-awareness plants the seeds that blossom into empathy, and good grief, do we need more of that.

I also use a great number of words my kids don’t know or understand–yet. How’re they going to learn them if they never hear them? Slap out those five and six-syllable monsters and then define them. It’s hugely entertaining when they work them into conversation later.

One, Two, Boogaloo

Nose party

There’s a party in your nose
And all your fingers are invited.
Show your mom your goody bag,
She’s sure to be delighted.

The dance floor’s kinda small,
But you can twist and grind.
Tear it up and lay it down,
No boogie left behind.

Tissue box across the room?
There’s storage even closer.
Your mouth is right below your nose
And bonus—even grosser!

So cram that finger way up in
Until it disappears.
When that party’s petered out,
It’s time to hit your ears!


I found this classy picture on the iPad and it inspired me to heights of verse. I’m pleased to add some culture to your Sunday.

Lavatriage

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Heart of a young parent
Inside a middle-aged host.
The floor may not be lava,
But your ankle sure is toast.


My dear 46-year-old husband did this to his ankle in the middle of our roadtrip to Montana last week. He was playing “the floor is lava” with the 6-year-old. There are many advantages to having your kids later in life, but occasionally your body decides to remind you that there are consequences for your foolishness.

The 6-year-old was the one who told me exactly how this came about. I’m glad she’s around to make sure no detail is left unshared.

Light Bright

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cherish the old soul
but diamond dust in my eye
her shiny new one


I am lucky enough to have one of each–a wise little old soul and a sparkly new one.  These littles with the newly minted souls burn fiercely, and she gives me hope that we will find our way, that the mistakes of our past do not have to be repeated.  Love big, cry hard, laugh loud, and try all the things.

Almost

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now that you are eight
you pedal-fly and don’t look back
but you’re only eight


I’m posting from a campsite again. This year, the medium boy has a level of independence that leaves me anxiously waiting to hear his bike bell and know that he’s fine. We let the line out, then pull it back a little, let the line out, pull it back again. For him, this is exhilarating and scary and slightly difficult to navigate. Is he ready? Am I ready? Almost.