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.

No way to No Mothers Day.

Christy Turlington Burns has founded an organization called Every Mother Counts. The issue this organization focuses on is global maternal mortality, and the lack of accesible care for pregnant women.  It’s a worthy organization, one I support, but one that is guilty of having its latest campaign suck.

The latest campaign is called “No Mothers Day”.  It calls for mothers to “disappear” for Mothers Day.  That means accepting no phone calls, not updating their social networking statuses, and accepting no gifts or flowers.  The idea is to “underscore just how missed a mother is when she is gone”.

Christy Turlington Burns has put together a video of very high profile moms calling for other moms to join in silent solidarity and say no to Mothers Day.

 

 

 

I just cannot cannot cannot do it.

Though I admire many of those mothers, I am not like many of the moms on the video.  I don’t have staff that comes in and helps clean my kitchen.  I don’t have a nanny to take one kid while I struggle to get the baby to sleep.  I don’t even have family nearby to watch the children for a couple hours so I can get a haircut.

Mothers Day is the one day I hope above hopes that I will get to kick back, pseudo-relax, and get a nice present in exchange for 364 days of indentured servitude.  At this point in my life, I have given up my career to be a stay at home mom, at least until our youngest is old enough for school.  My days are filled with wiping butts, scrubbing floors, cooking meals, doing dishes, and other endless chores – all while holding a baby.  I don’t get paid to do these things.  Most of the time I don’t even get a thank you.

I love Mothers Day.

I don’t want to be silent on Mothers Day.

I want to roar on Mothers Day, “Look at me!  I’m a mother!  I finally know how to love someone else more than I could ever love myself.  Because of that, I have a habit of putting myself last, and I need this one day to be told how much what I do means.  Cook me breakfast.  Tell me how much you love me.  Make me cry with a stinking hand made card!”

So, to the campaign No Mothers Day – I say, no way.

I understand what Christy is attempting to do.  I’m sure the idea to remove mothers from Mothers Day in honor of women who don’t survive to be mothers seemed like a powerful one.  The women in the video are expressing the idea that  ”our silence will speak the loudest, for all mothers.”  That sounds pithy enough, but I always believe that silence can never raise as much awareness as speaking out.  The statistics on maternal mortality in some countries are staggering.  So lets spread the word and still celebrate the mothers who are alive and well.

One thousand mothers will die this Mothers Day due to pregnancy or birth related complications. That demands attention for sure.  Women all over the world are dying because they are “about to become mothers”.

I did become one.

I am lucky for it.

It’s the hardest and best thing I ever did.

There is a day that celebrates it.

I refuse to give it up.