Quote

I can't let my previous post sit at the top of the page.

I want to send positive out into the world.

I'm not feeling original tonight;

therefore, I'll leave this:

"I intend to live forever.

So far, so good."

-Steven Wright

Feeling Squashed

Apart from my funky attitude lately

concerning the changes in the weather,

and changes in the landscape, I'm finding

myself with many a craving.

Today I pulled out the crockpot

and made a delicious butternut squash

soup. It was my first attempt at squash,

but it must be an easy food. The hints

of cinnamon and nutmeg made me

wish (almost) that snow was falling outside

my window.

So, until I make peace with the dropping leaves

and cold mornings, I'll turn to my crockpot for

the contentment I'm struggling to find.

....I just read this again and almost imploded.

I'm

a

housewife.

I need some new adventures.

and I need them yesterday.

Fifteen Steps

I walked around the corner.
The baby gate had been left open.
There you were.
Your small left hand was moving
slowly along the wall.
You wobbled just a touch
as your foot reached for the
next step. Your right hand
was gripping your pink
blankie. All the way to the
top you walked, just like a big girl.
You turned around and saw
your amazed audience.
You laughed at us.
We stood there silently,
watching our baby
grow up before our eyes.

I forgot who "I will never forget"

I have these old journals.
They have traveled from
house to house,
digs to digs,
casa to casa.

I looked over a few of them this morning.
Some of the funniest shit I've ever read.

I started writing in them when
I was 10 years old.

Oh, for the love of puberty.

I wrote of first loves, lost loves,
unrequited loves. I'm sure it
was therapeutic although it reads
quite pathetic.

I wrote of parents who were
so unfair. Of siblings, who were cruel.

I wrote of birthday wishes, of
Christmas gifts, and how my day went
at school.

I have been keeping a journal off
and on for years.
My writing has improved
somewhat since the 1980's.
My punctuation has taken a nose dive.

In the future, I'll be quoting some of my favorite,
and some of my least favorite entries.

the scary part

This weekend I sat on the floor
in a mountain of baby clothes.
The closet has been more than
overflowing for months now.
I sat sorting tiny socks, onesies
and some of my favorite
little outfits that it seems like
our lil Bug wore just yesterday.
I tried holding them up to my nose,
searching for that new baby smell.
No luck. Everything was clean.

I also sat there in the middle of
all of this and was reminded of
the lack of sleep, the 3 am feedings,
and the inconsolable crying that
sometimes made me melt down.

I thought of the hospital.

My heart started racing at the thought of that
moment - the moment things got really scary.
I'm so thankful that I'm here to
watch you grow lil Bug.


I remember picking you up from your crib in those
first weeks and coming so close to blacking out.
My head would start on fire and everything would get
so dark. I'd hold you over the crib until it passed,
just in case. I'd walk five feet to the rocking
chair and be so exhausted when I sat down,
wondering if I'd ever be strong again.
And Dad, how he must have worried.

Those first months went by so fast.
But those moments in the early days,
they seemed so long.

Thank you for my health.
Thank you for the health
of my family.
Thank you for the love
and the prayers during
those first few weeks.

The Last Meow

Dead cat
wasn't mine.
On the street
quarter til nine.

I got the call
lookin for digits.
Owner of the cat
needs to know
IT was finished.

The owner is waiting,
still has no clue
that their beloved cat
had been shoved
by my shoe.

I just couldn't imagine
the kids walking by,
seeing that cat
then starting to cry.

So out with a shovel,
a bag and flashlight.
The dead weight of that cat
marked the end of my night.



......Yes, a little odd.
Someone ran over a cat
in our neighborhood tonight.
I just stepped up to the plate because
I'm fearless that way.

Gone again.

She stands up tall

on the front porch.

Puts two words

together

"Daddy Workin."

"Yes Bug,

Daddy Workin."

What makes her

think of him?

What did she see

that reminded her

of him?

I smile at the thought of it.

Later...

There's a knock

at the front door...

"Dada! Dada!"

"Sorry Bug.

It's not Dada."

I open the door

when her nap has ended.

"Dada! Dada!"

"Hi Bug, it's Mom."

"Dada??"

"Dada's working."

Come home Dada.

We're missing you

too much today.

New York is just

too far away.