Preschool petri dish.

The little hand swipes across the nose.

The nose is wet and red and caked.

She giggles.

The hand waves.

The hand grabs.

The hand cups her mouth as she whispers in his ear.

He laughs.  She smiles.

The hand “high fives”.

The hand pats his back as they hug and jump.

A marble passes between them.

Her fingers swipe his as they part ways.

He comes home to me.

Sleepy hands meet sleepy eyes.

His hand caresses my face.

Stories and pinky swears…

the goodnight kiss of death.

Such is the dance

of the preschool petri dish.

 

 

 

 

8 Line Challenge – droplets.

My pubic bone was split and left with an 8mm gap.

I began writing in only 8 lines for a month.

The 8 Line Challenge was born.

It’s time for another one.

Boom.

 

The prompt was – droplets.

Here are my guests:

Danielle Aubenque is an ex-theatrical, a poet, and a priestess.  Here’s what came out of her brain:

 

As So The Rains
Cyclical as the dance of rain
From tears to life to tears again

Globules of liquid flowing
Seeds of change always sowing

Thunderous roar to snuffing hush
Tin-pan crackles to sweaty flush

So like these droplets are we
Spinning through all seasons with ease

 

Danielle is a mother and not a blogger.  She prefers not to link to any online profiles, so you instead must bask in her mystery.

 

 

Kim Rullo is a mother, conceptual artist, disco dancer, conceptual transvestite, and lego architect.  Her brain streamed this out:

 

I exhaled towards the mirror as I prepped my station.

Droplets of my spittle lay on the glass a result.

“The third Tuesday of the month, the vilest of days,” I thought.

The last bottle of Black No. 9, she was coming in, and so are her
tiny, annoying roots.

I hate her smugness, her Twilight T-shirts, her pretense, her
condescending conversation based on unspeakable banality and post
pubescent narcissism.

I creak a smile through my pursed lips as she spouted on and on about
Nietzsche, Thom Yorke, Robert Smith, and others as if she had no idea
how boring, blasé, and tired her references were.

Droplets of blood pierced through my dry lips as I bit down, nodded,
and agreed halfheartedly.

Honey chestnut was her color… drip, drip, drip, through the nozzle;
blah, blah, blah, filled the air.

 

Kim blogs at Motherblue.

 

Thank you, ladies.  My pubic bone loves you.

 

* You can read the original 8 line series here.  Look for another 8 line challenge on the 8th, 16th, and 24th of the month.

I’ve been busy with stuff. Also, my eyes might bleed.

What day is it?

What’s going on?

Who are you people?

I’ve been running around like a mad chicken lately, chasing after my seven month old.  Meatball, who has spent his entire life demanding to be held, has now decided being held is for schmucks and has forgone crawling to pull himself up and start trying to walk everywhere.  How does this happen at seven months?  The boy has no fear, and he’s got the bruises on his head to prove it.  We totally skipped the part where you put them down and they stay there and look at stuff.

I’ve also been busy planning a fourth birthday party for this weekend.  I had no idea that once Bam Bam started school, a birthday party could be tantamount to planning a wedding.

Amidst these two ongoing things, I’ve managed to squeeze in:

 

The wearing of Mothers Day scarves made in preschool.

 

See?

 

Cleaning these.

 

Watching kids rapture.

 

The making of organic baby food.

 

Crying over awesome gifts.

 

 

Wonder of all wonders, I was also honored to take part in the Mothers Day Rally for Moms’ Mental Health with Postpartum Progress.  You can read my letter to a new mom who may be suffering here, as well as the words of some other amazing mothers.

Frankly, I was surprised I was even able to see the computer screen, because I neglected to tell you I was also on the review committee for the BlogHer’12 Voices of the Year submissions.  After reading and scoring eleventy kagillion blog posts, my eyes don’t focus anymore.  Seriously, I think my eyeballs are trying to murder each other.

It was worth it to read the words of so many amazing parenting bloggers.  It’s nice to be reminded once in a while of all the soldiers in the trenches with me.

Birthday parties…

Important cyber rallies…

Dishes…

Walking seven month olds…

and eyes bleeding from goodness.

It’s a crazy world.

One I’m kind of chaotically basking in.

Even if I don’t know what day it is.

 

 

One mother to another.

I remember:

Singing on the way to preschool.

Gentleness.

Amazing Grace on the guitar.

Playing with fly swatters.

Sleeping with you when Daddy was away.

Wearing your clothes.

Telling me you were proud of me.

Arms around me when I cried.

You listening.

You taking a dance class with me so I would try it.

Magic hugs when I was sick.

The importance of schoolwork.

Ten dollars for every A.

The importance of telling the truth.

Believing in me.

Telling me you were proud of me.

Letting me sleep with my head in your lap at church.

Driving me to endless dance rehearsals and recitals.

Playing with my hair.

You apologizing when you felt you were wrong.

Letting me know when I was wrong.

Being honest with me.

Telling me I could be whatever I wanted to be.

Sharing stories from your past.

Loving me in a way I never doubted.

Telling me you were proud of me.

Well, now I’m proud of you.

You did good.

From one mother to another,

thank you.

I’m a good one…

because you were too.

*****

 

Happy Mother’s Day.

 

 

* I wrote this a couple years ago for my mother.  I may just post it every year for her to read.

TIME shmime.

People keep asking me what I think about the latest TIME magazine cover.  I swore I wasn’t going to write anything on my blog, but I’m afraid if I don’t put it down in words, I won’t be able to let it go…

and I’m already tired of it.  It needs to be let go.

So here, in a nutshell, is what’s rolling around in my head.

 

Yes, here is a picture of the bait that I'm sure you've already seen.

 

  • The picture is intentionally provocative.  I’m sure when they nurse at home they are seated comfortably with him cradled in her arms, looking very much like mother and child.
  • The first thing out of my husband’s mouth was “Whoa.  She’s hot.”
  • There is nothing wrong with extended breastfeeding. I only nursed my first son for a year, and will play it by ear with our newest boy.
  • There is nothing wrong with attachment parenting, though the media wants to make it into something extreme.  I know mothers who practice all the tenets of AP, others who practice some, and mothers who just do what works for their family regardless of what “style” it falls under.
  • There is nothing wrong with mothers who work outside the home.
  • I’m extremely put off by the title.  It is intentionally divisive, in hopes of pitting mothers against each other.  It is a clever play on “Are you man enough”, but used in poor taste.
  • The picture and title are selling a billion copies.  The creative team will be chalking this up to a win.
  • Most mothers I know are actually tired of the whole “mommy wars” thing.
  • The woman on the cover is a mother.  She saw an opportunity and took it.  It worked – her blog has since crashed from all the traffic and she’s making oodles of money being interviewed.  She also seems like a very nice lady.
  • I do, however, wonder how this picture may affect her son when he is in middle school and his friends see it.

 

Katherine Stone over at Babble also asked me my thoughts on the cover (not the article).

Here is what I said:

To the media pot-stirrers, stop trying to put us mothers in each others’ way. A mother is responsible for another human life. There is no nobler or anxiety-ridden job on the planet. ‘Mommy guilt’ is relentless no matter what choices we make, but no one helps lessen that guilt like another mother. Mothers are a powerful force, and trying to distract us with each others’ choices will no longer work. Most of us are too smart to fall for it.

In honoring another mother’s choice, we in no way take away the freedom to make our own. The more you try to divide us, the more many of us will link arms. Even with a baby attached to my breast, I’ll link arms with the mother next to me who is feeding her babe with a bottle. She will reach over in support of the other mother who is just kicking off her shoes at the end of a long work day. We are nurturing, intelligent, capable, and not your emotional playthings. We are mothers. We can kick your ass.

 

You can read Katherine’s thoughtful article here, as well as what some other well known mothers who blog had to say.

This has been a fascinating 24 hour distraction for all of us, now lets move on.

TIME shmime.

It’s becoming more and more like Star everyday.