Deuces

It’s bedtime,  It’s dark, It’s thirty minutes of settling  Patty cake on my face My cheeks get planted, With kisses she’s so generously granted She fidgets and squirms Round my neck, her arms wrap tight,  And again I sternly say “now go ni’night!” Again we go round, As we settle in, Her body turns clockwise, Her foot to my chin, She kicks and she nestles, Then turns round once more, My body is starting to be pushed toward the floor. Her arm round’ my neck, Her milky hot breath, Her heart beats next to mine.

I’m not sure if the memories are true, Because I’ll never be able to ask you, And that is what weakens me most. To live them in my mind, and not yours, too, Those stolen moments and dreams  And wonderfully sweet things, Can you remember those things, even in Heaven?  I’d ask if I was right, “Remember that one night!?” And you’d frown and correct where I was wrong, You’d remind me of a detail, And I’d do the same, Until a picture, painted, within a shared frame. I’d tell you all the good things you’ve left with me, And in curiosity, I’d ask if I’d also given you any.  I’d like to hope, a few, but perhaps just one or two, Is all you could remind me of from Heaven.  If I see you again, I’ll say something witty (because that’s what I do when I’m nervous). I hope you will smile, and just sit for a while, to talk about life before pagers.  (See? That’s kind of funny when you stop to think about when we had pagers and the time before pagers even...).  I’m still wi...

She said “A’bu” as she pulled the door shut behind her. It was her way of leaving me in peace, with a lasting sentiment upon her departure.  “A’bu”, she said, to follow my own “love you”. I smiled. The same sleepy half-smile that is always kept on reserve for when Alana does, or says, something unexpectedly sweet and endearing.  Was this her first formal “I love you”?  Yes. I’m certain it was.  It was clear as day.  It was yet another sweet touch to her profoundly active and wide vocabulary.  From simple words like “spider” to complex questions like “where’dgo” our youngest is quickly asserting herself as a clear communicator. You’ll know when she wants to watch TV- her hand twisting upwards while inquiring: “wher’mo?” As she scans the couches and tabletops in search of remote control.  And it’s always the same show... “Cocoyo” she demands-  which sounds remarkably close to “Pocoyo”- the title of her favorite cartoon. Alana loves to jump- and she ...

The man was looking at me rather creepily. (Is "creepily" a word?). His eyes pierced mine, the rest of his face otherwise hidden as he looked at me through his rear-view mirror.   We were at a stop light- and he missed seeing it turn green ahead of me because his smoldering "I'll murder you" eyes couldn't tear away from staring at me. I contemplated honking so we could get this short procession going, but I didn't want to poke the bear.   He finally noticed everyone around him was moving and he carried on.  And as I eased at a careful distance behind him, I studied his license plates. And then I smiled in a memory.  When I was young, like... mid-late 1980's young, my sisters and brother Chris were in high school and at the age of being picked up in friends' cars for random things.  And over the next decade, as I myself transitioned into a teenager I started getting picked up in unfamiliar vehicles, as well.  And my dad's habit of staring out ...

I told my colleague that I felt like a failure.  She asked why I felt like a failure today. And I told her that I feel like that every day before 8 a.m. rolls around. Today was not much different.  I had dropped off a daughter at school late.  We weren't going to be late until I made a decision to turn around and get said daughter's forgotten tie from home.  I was racing, like I do most mornings, and I felt like a failure.  I had dropped off the other daughter- the one that radiates cuteness with her round cheeks, belly and doubly cute double chin at her daycare that I do not love to drop her off at.  And that made me feel like a failure. And my colleague, rather surprised, if not dismissive, pointedly said: "but you're not failing.... you're doing it... you're doing everything right... and there's no such thing as doing everything right, anyway". And she is right. So today, I won't feel like a failure.  Fall:

I am lost in what number it is. Top 10- or is it 5? It's one of those frequently used words of yours Alana, and I am pleased to hear it when it falls out of your mouth. "Sheesha". That is how you pronounce  "sister". And I would be remiss to not acknowledge that when you and I talk, I always refer to your one and only sibling as "Sister" instead of as Sayler. "Where's sister?...." "Let's go get your sister..." "Go with sister".... I often urge you, in attempts to have you shoo out of my bedroom while I am trying to hide away from my children. And since Sheesha is your favorite person, it's not hard to get you to do anything that involves her. You hug your sheesha every day. Not because we tell you to. Not because of any reason other than your strong need to put your arms around your role model and hold on- often for a full minute, waiting for sheesha to wrap her arms back around you, which she ...

Alana, You'll never realize how stinking cute you are.  You are an enigma, really, though.  You have this easy going demeanor until the minute you don't.  I am convinced there has never been a cuter tantrum-thrower than you.  The way you immediately slide into the floor like a baseball player stealing home.  You'll roll, tumble, wail, shake your head.  Sometimes, if you're really feeling an epic battle raging within, you'll even pause to survey the floor, do a pirouette, and proceed to the slide.  It's quite artistic, if I do say so myself.  But they never last long, do they.  Perhaps because mommy is nonplussed if not amused.  I want to capture you in all your cuteness. In all the ways you look at me. The way you move quietly to a corner when you don't want me to see what you're playing with.  The way your eyes innocently lock mine when you see me, see you, doing whatever it is that you shouldn't be doing.  The way you rifle t...