Deuces

Your hand on my knee, Come drive with me To wade in an ocean salty I'll claw fingers through sand, Sun on my hands The warmth to the cool on wet palms For a time, we'll bask Good humor with laugh, Hold tight, hold tight, remember

We strolled the grocery aisles- a family of four. We were hungry and homeless-looking, coming straight from a run and play at the park.  Our hands were probably dirty. Our clothes were sweaty. My "messy hair, don't care" bun teetered to one side of my head, reminding the world I needed a cut and color immediately.  Within the store stood a small McDonald's.   Lloyd nodded toward the menu. "Do you want anything?" My face scrunched tightly, revealing my disdain for fast food. "It's still one of the things I can't eat, after all those years being a vegetarian..." I explained.  I took another glance at the menu, pausing thoughtfully as I scanned- the rumble in my abdomen reminding me I was hungry.  The look of disgust on my face didn't match the salivation in my mouth- the scenario took me back a year.  In that moment, I remembered. I remembered the random cravings I had while pregnant with Alana.  One of them wa...

I looked up from my phone. I saw the flashing lights from my periphery- a motorcycle cop passing by the school. I was sitting in my car- a hot day keeping me patiently seated behind the comforts of the blasting AC while waiting for the school bell to ring so I could collect Sayler. I was reading this story:  http://4.nbcla.com/975hphw When my attentions were diverted to the funeral procession. My heart stopped for a moment. I sat gazing. Watching each vehicle in the procession pass slowly by the elementary school. To my right, my daughter safely sat in class; to my left, grieving family and friends in their vehicles. The dichotomy struck me. I became sadly numb- the sense of loss penetrating through the confines of this vessel with the welcoming breeze from air vents breezing past my face. I am alive. Sometimes these reminders strike me in ways that are hard to explain as I fumble through days full of common core kinder realities and diaper changes and my children's many milestones...

These girls...

I held you in the dark, moonlight filtering through the blinds, our heartbeats connected. I smiled widely, and in a moment of whimsy whispered "you're my favorite". And I laughed quietly as you rested your body against mine; we swayed side to side. To be clear: I don't have a favorite. But I said it in good humor, a joke shared between you and I that I would later share with your sister.  And though you couldn't understand the untrue words that I whispered I know it's never too early to share inside jokes.  I know these days are passing too quickly.  I know hugging you tight, planting kisses and more kisses across your sweet cheeks is a serotonin boost to my soul.  Baby, I love you.  I love your mullet, and the bald spot just above it where hair is starting to fill-in.  I love your easy-going disposition and your perfect smile.  I Iove the way your eyes light up when you see me.  I love watching you watching your sister; earnestly gazing... smilin...

For you, best friend, I grieve. For you, my beautiful friend, I wish comfort and peace. For you, I wish many days of quiet reflection, rest, and the warmth of knowing your mother knew you were by her side in her final days.  With you, I will keep your mother's memory alive.   I promise to remember her, and how she raised you- you who became one of my first forever friends at age 11.   Your home that I have been in so many times, where we would whisper and tip toe around as pre-teens, always hoping to not get in trouble, I will remember her in.  With you, I will talk about your memories. With you, I will laugh at stories... Like the story of her colored pots and pans. I will always think of your family's kitchen where she cooked for you and your little sister and younger brothers and your dad. For you, I will cherish our remaining parents and love our children, mine and yours both.  With you, I will pray. For you, I will pray.

"mommy can I have ice cream?".... ""When can I have ice cream?"... "Will I have ice cream today?..." Not quite 11:00 a.m. and my eldest can't seem to process there will not be ice cream in her immediate future.  I pondered the harmfulness of ice cream so early.   I battered the idea in my head as I savored away, attempting to steer her appetite "do you want a taco?" "No... Five year olds don't like tacos..." As I carefully bit into my golden corn tortilla, beef and cheese tumbled out.  I wondered if she would like *my tacos. I was quite proud of them. My mom makes good tacos. Lloyd makes good tacos. And you know what?  I make damn good tacos. Heavy on aleppo chile seasoning and porcini powder, I cooked for no one but myself, perhaps subconsciously aware that if they were just spicy and savory enough I wouldn't have to share the leftovers.i  Sayler was right that her five-year old sensibilities would not like my tacos. I...