With my bucket in one hand
And the children lagging behind,
I begin summer's trek today.
All the wonders and conquests
I have stowed upstairs all year
Have rushed my mind's door,
Like the mother of sick children,
Begging for immediate attention.
I am not able to salve those burning ideas
Not yet, anyway.
They say I must rest
Before the mountains of summer are scaled.
I fear the coals will be squelched
Or at least cooled to a tolerable temperature.
I don't want to answer that universal
August question with a shrug, nothing much, you know.
Triage must work overtime, then,
Sorting every idea into those ubiquitous mental bins:
Now, later, or never.
Plans to be set, broken, then reset
Will rarely resemble my tableau
I pictured when I first mentioned
That cockamamie idea.
One more thing to put in the bucket for another time.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Handmade Baby Present
Dear new Mama,
There will be some days when
Every green light is a direct gift from God,
And your handwriting is perfect.
Your baby will be happy and easy,
And you can conquer the world.
Your friends will say just the right things,
And you will have the perfect comeback,
Sweet or salty or both, just right.
There will be other days when
You don't want to hear anyone
And their thoughts on pacifiers
Or sun screen, or vitamin drops.
The struggle to travel around the clock twice,
May seem like three or four laps.
My kingdom for a pacifier,
My empire for a nap.
The tightrope is scary,
And high enough for everyone to see.
There is no time or place for practice.
If you look down, though, remember that safety net
Stretched taut and safe, held by all
Who love you just as much
During the rain as during the sun.
There will be some days when
Every green light is a direct gift from God,
And your handwriting is perfect.
Your baby will be happy and easy,
And you can conquer the world.
Your friends will say just the right things,
And you will have the perfect comeback,
Sweet or salty or both, just right.
There will be other days when
You don't want to hear anyone
And their thoughts on pacifiers
Or sun screen, or vitamin drops.
The struggle to travel around the clock twice,
May seem like three or four laps.
My kingdom for a pacifier,
My empire for a nap.
The tightrope is scary,
And high enough for everyone to see.
There is no time or place for practice.
If you look down, though, remember that safety net
Stretched taut and safe, held by all
Who love you just as much
During the rain as during the sun.
We're all cheering for you from below.
Thursday, June 2, 2016
Dear June
Eliot made romantics bat their eyes when he nominated April as the cruelest month, but my vote for the most tortuous period goes to June.
June, when my children go to bed before dusk to wake for school on time.
June, when the neighborhood pool is open, and teenagers bring their notes to read at the nearest picnic table. Heads turning at each diving board wobble, each lifeguard whistle, distracted until their study guide for civics or French or world domination is finally complete.
June, when it's already 70 degrees by breakfast, but you have to wear the school uniform.
Teachers are still waking up early in the middle of June, scrambling to find a sitter so they can pack up the rest of their classroom, labeling every piece of "good" furniture 25 times, just in case. Report cards, check. Student folders, check. Finding the permission slip "that" mom swore she brought in, just before she swore all the way down the hallway, check. Thank God for social promotion.
School staff complete their check lists and relinquish their other keys for 65 days. For several mornings, they will awake in a panic, having slept past dawn, but the discomfort passes. So does the fear that they have forgotten something at school. Some teachers get a second or third job in the summer, others cram in continuing education. All of them have plans for doing better than before in the coming year.
Families gingerly ease into their summer rhythms of sleeping in, or summer camp, or grandma's house like they ease their toes into a cold pool before the sun has had a good chance to warm it up. That happens a lot in June, too.
By the time the family's summer is rolling it's July, and kids talk wistfully about classmates and anticipated adventures one grade up. Independence Day, family reunions, and sports devour the summer and spit us out mid August, sweaty, irritable, and ready for our next favorite season -- school shopping.
June, when my children go to bed before dusk to wake for school on time.
June, when the neighborhood pool is open, and teenagers bring their notes to read at the nearest picnic table. Heads turning at each diving board wobble, each lifeguard whistle, distracted until their study guide for civics or French or world domination is finally complete.
June, when it's already 70 degrees by breakfast, but you have to wear the school uniform.
Teachers are still waking up early in the middle of June, scrambling to find a sitter so they can pack up the rest of their classroom, labeling every piece of "good" furniture 25 times, just in case. Report cards, check. Student folders, check. Finding the permission slip "that" mom swore she brought in, just before she swore all the way down the hallway, check. Thank God for social promotion.
School staff complete their check lists and relinquish their other keys for 65 days. For several mornings, they will awake in a panic, having slept past dawn, but the discomfort passes. So does the fear that they have forgotten something at school. Some teachers get a second or third job in the summer, others cram in continuing education. All of them have plans for doing better than before in the coming year.
Families gingerly ease into their summer rhythms of sleeping in, or summer camp, or grandma's house like they ease their toes into a cold pool before the sun has had a good chance to warm it up. That happens a lot in June, too.
By the time the family's summer is rolling it's July, and kids talk wistfully about classmates and anticipated adventures one grade up. Independence Day, family reunions, and sports devour the summer and spit us out mid August, sweaty, irritable, and ready for our next favorite season -- school shopping.
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