Divine

Coolness personified
in the way only
Uncle can capture.
Sure the car helps
and the shades bring it all
together
to that moment
somewhere between
his lips and his
brow

Where his mother
looses her child there
for a moment
in a mirage
of a young man
poised for the
possibility
only he will
divine from our
collective
imagination

the goldfish bowl is murky

the goldfish bowl
is murky
but Balloon swims on
two bowls of water to be added
sit nearby waiting
for me to make time
next to the bills
things for the calendar
and the notes
about a campground in Alfred...
Balloon's fine.

So is Marcel
despite the gazillion purple
bumps and 103 at waking
doctor says a virus is to blame
I think his body is still
angry about all those
shots last week.

Narrow escapes
come in so many forms.
the building inspector next door
who noticed the cover to live
wires of the fatal to the touch
variety
on the ground
at my house
the electrician who was nearby
and reinstalled it for free
just because
he could

The Easter Bunny really knows what I like

This looks like one of those photos that the editor removed the ball, and you try to draw it in the right spot to win a prize. Don't let the bagel throw you, we are on an egg hunt here, and apparently both boys have just made visual contact with some prize material.

After opening up all his chocolate filled eggs, Sam declared that the EB really knows him well, to know how much he likes chocolate.

I am home sick today. I am trying so hard to dodge whatever it is. I have had the energy to write--and have not had the energy to clean. How blessed an event is that?

I just completed an important piece that speaks to how I felt as a biological mother verses an adoptive mother. Since I want you to return here frequently to read the piece, I am not giving away the answer. I will be submitting it to Brain, Child and other publications this week. I'll post part of it here as soon as I have sent it into the world in it's entirety first. Wish her well! I am taking my Wayward Writers Online class again with Ariel Gore, and it is moving the tectonic plates of my writer self again. The movement is even deeper this go around.


It really is impressive that I haven't even put a load of laundry in, or gone grocery shopping. This is progress.

in the eyes of a stranger

coming home on the 7:40 ferry tonight
after dinner and two hours of playgrounding and strolling
with T on the island
my wind swept
well giggled
and nourished family
sat content across from each
other at a table.

We smiled
ate cookies,
shared cookies,
recapped,
and charmed the
lobster buoys
off of the three couples
sitting quietly
and smiley
around us.

Marcel's scrunched up
WHOA pronouncement
as he points to the WA-WA
outside, immediately followed by
COOKIE, and an offer to any
who would like it, scored a perfect
10 each time

Sam's sweet reminders to
his brother to
chew carefully
bottom on chair
and repeat the numbers
from 1-10
(between chews of course)
drew adoring stares from
the loving crowd.

And I just sat
and watched.

Exiting the ferry, a young woman
a mother too
I think from the
way she delivered the lines;
You are such a good mother
no, really.
You are.

And for once I did not
try to disagree.
Although really
sometimes
they make it
so easy.

and then it was dark..

I am not convinced that I made the right
choice
In fact I feel horrible.
Did I act too quickly.
Did I listen to Sam's words
with the best intention,
but with poor judgement around what a
four year old
(even such an aware one) knows about
where he is, or where he wants to be

Can you tell that I talked to the director
of the current school
and the teachers
who were shocked, saddened
and confused.

Now they tell me how
happy he is,
how bright this star shines
how much everyone loves him here...

Now they tell me about the
weekly progress reports,
and photo journals they were keeping
and how if I had just asked
they would have shown me

BUT I DID ASK

and all I was told was that he was

fine.

And fine is just not a word I have
ever been
comfortable with.

A decision that is done
and done and done

feels thick
and undigested in my
swirling what ifs

had I had a partner
to have gone in and asked where
I was getting nowhere

or to have heard another
side of Sam's story
then what else might I be writing
about tonight?

It's not like
me to second guess
to wonder if my instinct needle
is set to true north

or not.

Living with an 18 year old

today I finally made a long
and labored
decision to throw in the new school towel
and run back home...

translation:
Sammy is returning in two weeks
to the preschool he has been in since the Y's
sudden demise.



why did we leave?
more importantly-why are we going back?

sam

he kept asking.
he kept asking and asking.

he tried.
he made new friends.
he ate the food.
napped in the new place.
and learned the new rules
requests, and circle time
rituals.

and then he'd ask again.
mom can I please go back to my
old school?
please.

the most convincing argument besides-
my teachers love me more there
and my friends really like me
and I want to be in school with Marcel
but mostly I just was happier there

was when after I explained
that some decisions we will make
together,
and some I will make on my own,
and some he will make
alone.
But for the most part he would
have to wait until he was eighteen
before he could make certain
big decisions by himself.

thinking we were done
talking for the night
I turned to put away the dishes

a few minutes later
I look over and tears are racing
down both cheeks;
but mom I will be too old to go to my old school
when I am 18...

Observations

Mom I want to be a girl.

Oh, why?

Because they get to wear a thing on their head when they get married.

You can wear a veil at your wedding if you decide to get married.

No, I can't. Boys don't wear them.

If I get married, you can wear my veil.

OK.

***
I went to my friend Andrew's book release party
(www.andrew-mcnabb.com) tonight. I could only stay long enough to purchase, hug,marvel, get signed, eat chocolate, admire wife, stare at beautiful young children, and realize how close I am to sharing such a moment. I walked home with The Body of This proudly under my arm, and a renewed commitment to have my children at my book signing in the near future.

***

Marcel is apparently patterning blocks. This is apparently not a pattern for those his age. I took too much pleasure in the momentary delusion that somehow his proclaimed genius made me somehow other than I am.

***

Going to see David Sedaris tomorrow. He is performing in a venue ten times the size of the one I saw him in last time I saw him five years ago. More inspiration.

***
A few short pieces will be included in an anthology that will come out this summer. Movement.

***

A Civil Rights Movement unit with my eighth graders that is pushing them, and me. My teaching continues to stake out new territories. Growth.

***
Things pushing up in my little six foot by two foot garden. I removed the debris, and welcome each sprout. I swept the sidewalk, and picked up garbage all around the house, and sidewalk. Uncovering.

***
Marcel and I went to the park. The snow was gone. We yelled at ducks. Arrival.

***
Staff talent show in three weeks. A commitment to read two new poems. Unknown.

***
A promise to myself to get out once a week. Survival.

eighteen months is all it takes

The wait is officially over.
Sssuh-sam-me
He said it.
Clear as a, well
a toddler who wants more than
anything to honor his older brother
by speaking his
name-
has wrapped it up
in fine multi-syllabic
phraseology.



Ssssssuh-sea-sam-me!
he screached the second time
when he heard us
with our
approving lit up smiles
announce;
You did it Cell, you said Sammy!

Best part of all-
Sammy walking over to him
and hugging him
all gently while saying;

I knew you could do it-
I always knew it.

Now can you say
dessert?

Indeed.

(an old photo of a pre-verbal Marcel
to remind us of the distance we have traveled)

appearances

Pan or modeling healthy choices?

So, aside from the
pump
action
water
blaster
But Mom, rain is the best time to shoot the blaster
then no one notices if they get wet..
the weekend has been delightfully
nondescript

We don't say gun
but what's the use-
I was in the front of the line
to stand high on
that soap box
and all that got me was
a farther fall to the ground
of face it he's a boy
and it's a gun
and the two will be united
so save your breath

I pray we will defy the
odds and I will keep
my sons safe from the
probability.
I won't even type it out
so that that fate has no place to rest
her heavy laden haunches here.

The worry cup has been over
flow
ing-

with old maid fears
single parent
isolation too
easy to
anger
and frustration
no space
time
clarity
to write
or exercise
plenty to
snub
and criticize

mud season can do this to you

feels good to slop
through it here
a little bit

it's hard

today.

rejection never felt so good

Sam, I wrote a stanza of the poem when I was in the shower.

Did it get wet?

***

Mama-the-writer update:

I received the greatest rejection letter today, from the editor of a literary magazine on the west coast. After informing me that my piece would not be included in their spring issue she goes on to say;

"I especially appreciated the risks you took in "Let's Go to Your Place" - this was a deeply private piece, and much of your imagery and language recalled a dozen, similar emotions and memories of my own - always a good sign."

It's hard to call encouraging words like this a rejection. And days before that, another writer emailed me to say she had recently come across the blog. Her impressions? Your writing style is spectacular and your sons are good enough to eat. So in honor of crossing the 1000 mark on my ticker, I want to say thank you to all who have stopped by for a gander, and keep coming back. Because the writing will just get better, and the content richer. And how much will you enjoy telling your friends that you knew of me long before I was a regular contributor to Vanity Fair, NPR, The Atlantic, and The Sun for starters.

All the love

Mom I gave Eddie all my love.

I heard, I am sure she could feel it.

But, now what do I do?

Do?

Do I not have any love left?

Cool thing about love Sam, the more you give out, the more you have to give.

How?

Magic.

Actually Mom, it is not magic. It is your heart.

***

Meanwhile Marcel, aka the Great Disperser (if it is contained, he will free it, dump it, throw it, send it to a new destination) is gathering words by the mouthfuls to add to his impressive store. At the moment he is waddling around the room talking about hockey (Sam's calendar) bus (which means let's get in the car, and go look for buses his current obsession) poo-poo to celebrate his morning constitution, and Eh-dee because I mentioned to Sam that she is coming for dinner this week, and Marcel has been looking all over the house for her ever since. My favorite is Watch this! And then he jumps in the air a centimeter and screams WOW.

The writer Mama has been on hiatus, and it is time to ramp it up again. A new class begins in a few weeks, a major poetry performance looms on the horizon (yearly school staff talent show, where I have performed for the last two years, and have a little parent and student following now. Most importantly, Sam is looking forward to it, and even suggested topics for the poem last night; "me when I was a baby again, or me doing karate, or a poem about how you yell."
When I told him that I had written a line of the poem in the shower he asked if it got wet. Of course that begins another poem entirely.

Next entry--photos from the newly refurbished, and kick'in playroom, which Sammy described last night to Eddie on the phone as "totally awesome". This was unprompted, so you know he really digs it.

Only in Maine

Do we dress up and drive out thirty miles to plod through the mud and melting snow to wait outside in line two hours for an opportunity to eat pancakes and drink mediocre coffee outdoors with hundreds of other like minded foragers for this seasons' first official taste of the new batch of maple syrup.

syrup verdict: a little light

Maple Syrup Sunday highlights: woodsmoke in your hair, petting an ox, moo-ing at cows, scratching a pig, free vanilla ice cream under a not too generous sample of maple syrup, biggest home made see-saw you ever seen or saw. And mud. Lots of good, free, best of the season mud.

Line Up

Mom? Did you know what I was thinking about when I was watching T play bass?

No, what?

Darth Vader dying and knowing that Luke loved him.

Whoa. The music brought that to mind?

Mom, if you eat everything you are supposed to we won't have to burn you on a pile of wood, because you won't have to die. So let's eat a lot tomorrow OK Mom?

Indeed.

***
We saw a show tonight, at a local coffee house, where Sam's beloved T(ia) was playing bass, and hosting the songwriter's showcase event. It was the coveted Mommy-Sammy night out. The music was phenomenal, being around non toddlers was in itself intoxicating.

As usual he was the only one under the age of 21 at these things, and was adored by all. Dang he is so precious. Could he get any more charming? He spent the evening nestling into various musician-friends' laps, while I kept him well hydrated with pomegranate fizziness.

As I watched him work the crowd, ask his heart felt questions about musical this, and musical that, I was astounded by his confidence, and his ever increasing independence from me. Last week his namesake, Samantha reminded me that as a mother I am the air that he breathes, he doesn't need to be reminded of my presence, at this age, mom is just a given. You are just there, and if I have done my job right, he knows that, and trusts it completely.

So my lap was empty, my pomegranate drink was empty, and in some way I felt a little empty too. Across the room was a bunch of should-be-in-college kids, drinking root beer, writing in their journals, text messaging their other friends and looking slightly ill at ease in their grown up bodies. I imagined Sammy there in fourteen years, and realized how much more at home he is in his skin now, then I may have ever been. I can relate to those kids, in some ways more than I can relate to him at that moment.

He is already quite an improvement on this older model.

You know you're a good mom when....

Your son feels so securely attached that he easily makes meaningful connections with other loving adults in his life.

He transitions easily to a new school, and impresses everyone when he elects himself to be the one who helps another new student adjust by being his special buddy, and helping him when he felt shy or sad.

You decided to stop yelling a week ago, and haven't yelled since.

You give your son a selection of pictures to take to school for the "family" wall, and he looks through them, and chooses one of everyone he adores, and also picks a picture of his birth mother, because she carried me in her tummy to you.

You made pork chops for the first time, and they were good.

You let your four year old take a picture of you with your nice camera, and it comes out well.

Your 18 month old, has so many words and ways to express himself, that you actually understand more then don't what he needs.

Friends rent houses 5 minutes away, to be close to your family.

You have successfully navigated over the past year and some, a co-parenting relationship with your older brother who moved back to the states, your state even, in big part to be nearer to your children.

You have bought him a booster seat for his car, because it is time, and he is fine with that.

You order huge appliques of sports figures to put on the wall of the playroom, and include a few girls too, so that all our friends want to come play.

You practice the karate bow, so your son can get his first belt tomorrow.

You make time to do the stair master at least 15 minutes a day, so you can continue to not yell.

You remember not to wash his hair because the ruptured ear drum could get infected if the soap gets in there.

You kept your son pain free with tylenol and motrin safely.

You inform the doctor at the Saturday office location (who actually has her practice there and isn't just filling in) that this is the third and hopefully last time you need to call to someones attention the fact that the six giant 18x24 color photographs of all white children in the lobby do not take into consideration the needs of all of her patients.

You thank her as she agrees. And, so does your son.

You recorded a happy birthday video for their grandfather, and sent it on time, because the kids wanted to show them how they do yoga.

Your kids do yoga, even though you don't know how to.

The book they often request to read is the book you made on Shutterfly about their summer vacation in Washington--because they like to "read about themselves".

For all the self aware hyper critical introspection you do, you are able to praise yourself for your excellent parenting when it is time.

For Posterity's Sake

What inspired me to do the asking, or the recording, let alone the publishing here I'll never know. But dag gone if his answers didn't get me thinking more about my parenting. Maybe that's the problem--I spend too much time thinking about it, and not enough time improving on it.

I asked Sam the questions, his answers are recorded here verbatim.

1. What is something I always say to you? Don't do that
2. What makes me happy? When I say I love you
3. What makes me sad? When I say I want someone else to be my mommy.
4. What was I like as a child? You were like me.
5. How old am I? Twenty
6. How tall am I? taller than a lot of people
7. What is my favorite thing to do? Go for a walk.
8. What do I do when you're not around? That's crazy.
9. If I were to become famous, what will it be for? Writing a book or a poem.
10. What am I really good at? Making things happen for us.
11. What am I not very good at? Yelling.
12. What do I do for my job? Help people be nice, make good choices and learn to write and read
13. What is my favorite food? Eating all the time
14. What makes you proud of me? When you read your poems in front of people with a microphone
15. If I were a cartoon character, who would I be? Darth Vader
16. What do you and I do together? Special things without my brother.
17. How are you and I the same? We play basketball.
18. How are you and I different? Our skin.
19. How do you know I love you? I am in your heart.
20. Where is my favorite place to go? Do you go anywhere?

Respect is free for the first month

After our initial "private lesson" Sammy is a "little ninja" in training.

On Monday he gets his first white belt, and an official invitation to start karate group lessons the next day.

Homework?

"Yes ma'am" (no really that is the homework, for him to practice saying Yes and No ma'am.)

Sammy modeled his new belt-less costume, while Marcel ran around kicking things in his bathrobe.

Not only does the place give you the first month of lessons free, but teachers get a discount, and his teacher is a woman, who is going to insist my son learn respect and self control. If someone else wants to take over that piece for a month for free, I say; Yes Ma'am!

***

A new feature to this blog is going to be the Thursday Line Up.
A collection of one liners from the week that you, my adoring fans of my adorable and beastly children will appreciate.

Minimal context, high impact is our goal.

(Pretend it's Thursday.)

Thursday Line Up

Fashion: I walk out wearing the new bathing suit I had ordered online. It features "boy shorts" and a tankini top. When I walk out of the changing area Sam hoots; "Show us what you got sister, uh-huh." I stop laughing just in time to hear this; "Uh Mom? A little too tight huh?"

Beauty: Feelings were left in tact, because he was right. I emerge three minutes later wearing a black cotton dress with a nifty neck line. But this time I hear, "Mom that dress is too big, it hides your beautifulness." I simply trust the child, and put that in the to return pile too.

Athleticism: Marcel's teacher to me; "He had a good day. He ate well, slept great, and besides needing to be reminded not to kick his friends he had super fun throwing the ball at people."

Politics: Sam: Mom I saw Obama walking down the street.
Me: I doubt it hon, he doesn't walk alone anywhere.
Sam: Why?
Me: Well, he's too important.
Sam: Is that why you are never alone too mom?

Nutrition: Me: Marcel use your words. What do you want for dinner?
Marcel: Ice-keam and cookie. Mine. Mine. Now. NOW!

not to worry

Sam loves his new school, and I am coming to appreciate all sorts of communication styles from all sorts of people who love my children.

Tia is transforming our basement into a magical, colorful, weatherproofed, and all around inviting space.

Karate lessons start on Friday for #1 Son.

New words include: mine, my, book, baby, cookie, ice cream, and chocolate for # 2 son. I trust all are noticing the priorities in this house.

It is melting, the snow.

face plant

Maybe the hardest part about it was that we were having a really good weekend. You know, lots of outdoor time, almost no yelling, and at the very moment when he announced it the baby was napping and he and I had just finished thirty uninterrupted minutes of mommy-sammy time drawing pictures and doing mazzes and connect the dots at his request. I felt almost award winning at the time. I am in the small bathroom putting some clean clothes away (it doubles as a walk in closet) when I hear; "Mom, I wish Eddie was my mom." My rib cage turned to sand and I collapsed internally. (Eddie is our friend, his now retired 21 year old nanny.) What woud you have said?

It really is a blur how poorly I handled the situation, but it went something like I have feelings too, and how would you feel if.. and just go in the other room because I need a few minutes alone. Basically I relinquished all medals at that point. I redeemed myself several minutes later when his guilt had bought him several hundred hours of future therapy credits. I said I understood that he loves Eddie, and she is family isn't she. I went on to ask what I could do more of that Eddie did that he might be needing. He twisted the knife deeper with his immediate response to that too; "just hang out with me more."

So the kid can share his feelings, and certainly has no problem in the attachment arena some of you might be saying. Nice try. Oh and then later he is dancing around the living room singing his birthother's name punctuated by the words "love, love, love" in a Beatles kind of refrain. If I had hours to list them, you would be privy to an impressive array of my insecurities that were dancing next to him on that dance floor.

We ended the weekend with leftovers, Star Wars, chocolate brownies and whip cream. He got a line up in the tub, and wrote his name, and mine (he can't spell Eddie yet) on the wall of the tub in shaving cream. After M went to bed, Sammy and I read three stories, cuddled and reviewed the highlights of the weekend. He said the best part was licking the spoon to the brownies, and the bike ride- until he fell, but that was cool too. He reminded me that he would be coming in my bed later if he woke up. I knew it was time for me to get more exercise when I wanted to tell him that it was too bad Eddie was out of town, or else I'm sure she'd welcome a late night wake up call.

I have to go find a way to scrub the pencil drawing he put on the new futon cover, and then patch his favorite jeans or I'd write more.

here's looking at you

a little early morning March check in
from a new format.
It feels like an important week just
happened. How often to I get to
realize that?
Marcel is routinely, dare I say it, sleeping through the night. And I mean sleeping
not a peep
snoring
out like a light.

and language-
We've got it!
Just a few weeks shy of 18 months, my little brainiac is busting out!
every day a new word
with glory and
certainty.

Mama wook baby my! translation: Mom look at my baby (doll).
I'll spare you the list
but one more highlight care of Uhn-kle:

I duhn NO.

And really he doesn't know.
Marcel where is your shoe?
I duhn know.
Marcel are you done?
I duhn know.
Marcel can you stop screaming please?
I DUHN NO.
(we think the sound of NO is what makes this so appealing.)

Omniscient is Sam's newest word.
Mom, you are so omniscient he tells me.
Of course he knows what it means.
Thanks Uncle.
I had to look it up.

Sam's to do list this weekend:
sign up for karate
eat pancakes
roller blade outside too
it's fun in the playroom but he wants to JUMP more
help mommy the first time she asks
(I swear this is from his mouth, with only a little suggestiion)

My to do list:
Notice how it feels to be rested
exercise outside
print out five working chapters of memoir (!!!)
get the crock pot back to work
figure out how to record a few books on tape for sam
play more
fuss less

Marcel's to do list:
he doesn't know

plateau

the director reassured me
that this is normal
this not being sam's reaction to his new school-
but mine:
needing information, details, a sense of
the child's day

complicated conversation convinced
me
to exhale, trust and believe
that he is where he is meant to be-
and i might be the one who learns something
this time around.

we don't believe in the behaviorist model
but we understand that some households do.

huh.

it's not like the stickers are going to earn him
a candy bar I hear myself thinking out loud

we believe that children are learning
during the bad days too

kind of like I am learning not
to feel judged for the sticker chart
I have wedged over the car's visor
to immediately reward him
for one more day of
good listening the moment
he plants it in the backseat
and announces he had another
GOOD DAY MOM.

hooray.

my sticker chart
wedged underneath the chocolate chip
cookies and the
strawberry ice cream
for a Mama who didn't
scream
when she really
wanted to.

four + one = forty-one

A snow day here in the land of
four and one
and forty-one is another gift
to unwrap slowly
today.

Royally treated again:
waking at the farm house in Hiram
for pancakes cooked for me
and twenty minutes to read about
that other famous mom
Michelle with the beautiful arms
in a magazine
on a couch
with a warm cup of
brewed coffee brought
to me followed by
a spontaneous song and dance on a dirt
somewhere under the snow
covered road
announcing to bent over birches
that I
am still standing
tall, and bringing it in
with my best bring it on
surrounded by love on a perfect
First Sunday in March

Balloons, flowers, and festive
signage
welcoming us home
on our return to town
an ominous
weather report giving me full permission
to dress it up
live it up
toast it up
on a
a Girls Night Out
with babysitting
provided by a Boys Night In

Home safely
well celebrated
I revisit the
voice, text and email shouts large
from the world at large
and feel the love radiating to me

Holding my favorite
home made card boasting every letter
in no particular order of
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM
written proudly
by himself

hearing over and over
a one year old's
self assured
bursts of
Hippy-Birday MA-ma
which
reminded me
over and over again
that what I give up
yearly
to be here daily
is worth another
birthday wish devoted to
asking
for it to be no other way
then I had it today
for part two of this life well lived
from zero to forty.

Forty-one to eighty
I'm ready.

At a loss

Wracked with doubt since last night about sam's new placement. Did I move Sam to the new school for reasons that I thought would justify this huge transition for him? It has only been a week, but yesterday at pick up, the teachers tell me that they "both want to have a conversation with me about how I get Sam to be, to be, to be less uh, to be more checked in, and here, and just you know listening to what you need.."

What?

That parental dread feeling washed over my insides in one three second woooosh. Sam's not working out. Sam doesn't belong here. Sam is not listening. They don't like Sam. They are not connecting with him. He will not make friends here. What a mistake I have made. Is it too late to move him back to his old school??

The teachers are lovely, and they love Sam. The school is ethnically, racially, economically diverse. They school is accredited, subsidized, flooded with light, and has the biggest playground in all of Portland. These things seemed so important at the time..

However his new teachers are not parents themselves. Parents of boys. Parents of active boys like his old teacher was. She got him. She is also an adoptive mom. And his other teacher started crying when he left. They adored him.

Why didn't I get that?

And Marcel and him were together in the same building where they were had each other. They both loved that. In 4-6 months they new school will have a spot for M too.

What kind of a message am I giving if I say--well that didn't work, we gave it a week--time to beg and plead to go back to the old school. Am I showing that I am not afraid of admitting I was wrong? Or am I showing him it's OK to give in, and give up at the first sign of dis-ease.

Friends say to trust my instinct. Others say to wait it out.

Sam was crying and pleading with me to go back to the old school last night.

These are the moments when I so wish I had a partner who felt as invested in the outcome as I do. Who lived with this boy day and night and could help me see through the trees to the beach, or through the leaves to the swamp, or pick an idiom that works cause I'm at a loss.

uphills and downhills

two drop offs every morning,
two pick ups every afternoon
shoveling shoulder inflamed
and still
hoisting marcel up the two flights of stairs to
the purple room every morning
and afternoon
$65.00 more a week
worth it when I see
the brown skinned girl handing Sammy a crayon
who says you look like my brother
and I want to sit with
you at lunch.

learning the names of 18 new friends at the
new new school
(the kid has been through a few too many
of these these transistions..)
an accident on the playground
when he didn't know that you couldn't
get to the bathroom from
that door...

across town
clinging onto the picture of
nah-nah (big brother)
as he looks down the hall
where Sammy should be when
a little guy needs a hug before
nap


three andersons
on one sled
in full sunshine
in any empty
park we call our
backyard.

mom look at the crows!!
they are coming back-
because the snow is melting and they know
it will be springtime soon.
Welcome back!
We hollar in Anderson
unison
almost as loud as the
raucus
cau-caw-cus above
us

coasting along
with daffoldils
in glass jars
peanut butter and frozen peaches
for dinner
and Mommy telling her sons
how she met Claudette Colvin
at school today
the 15 year old girl
who didn't get up nine months
before Rosa Parks said
I've had enough
too.

Mom, I am taking a real bus
too,
on a field trip
next week
did you know that
I could do that?

I do love
yes I do.
And Claudette*
does too.


* Claudette Colvin(born September 5 1939), who some historians say is the "Mother of the modern Civil Rights Movement". In 1955, at the age of 15, she refused to give up her seat on a Montgomery bus to a white person, in violation of local law. Her arrest preceded civil rightsactivist Rosa Parks' (on December 1, 1955) by nine months.

On Friday
tulips for his
"best, best, best, best, best, best, best
teachers ever" gets everyone crying.
They do goodbye right.
A giant card with quotes from his
friends;
I love you Sam because you:
wear cool slippers,
hug me,
are my best friend
I love you Sam because
you smile at me
play kitty,
and share your fruit snack.
And from the teachers on the back
"energetic, helpful, your smile lights
up the room."

Vacation week review:
accountant (the one time being a single mother is rewarded)
the dentist
the new playroom
and studio
But, mom you never play with me
the flowers Sam picked out
from the sale bin of Valentine's
bouquets that didn't find their
Valentine-
until now
internet issues
surprising lack of tissues
long lovely visits from Sage, Eddie, Alex, T-T, and Weezie-Bruce
thawing summer visions
and a $296.00 visit to the grocery store
with me clapping and asking if I can just add four more?
transitions
permissions
omissions and so much new
space for
three.

Space Mama

I am taking up space- it feels crazy, risky, necessary. The recently vacant downstairs apartment was up in the air. Rent? Bed and b'kfast? Playroom? Studio? Office? I won't bore you with the details, the cons, the pros, the what ifs. All those of you reading who are making hard decisions on your own, you know the territory I've covered solo the last few weeks.

Then the wise friends chimed in; your boys need to run around. You need a place to write that is yours. You need a place for friends and family to sleep..

It has a long way to go, but Lamoine's Lowdown Lounge, is in the making! The main room is furniture free. Just balls, nets, hoops, trucks, did I mention balls? The once bedroom, off of the main room is storage and the DRUMS. And the room you go through to get to Mecca is the guest room/office, writers room.

Uncle is going to help me get the free standing hoop out of my living room and into the lounge.

I am going to have an almost TOY FREE living room. (exception-train table and trains, and books remain upstairs as they are quiet activities).

I have gone from feeling like an urban mama in a cave, to a queen in her sprawling mansion. The heavy lifting has been extreme, the cleaning tiresome, and the paint job that Sam requests is going to be FUN. He wants each wall to be a different color. We have enough paint to make that happen.

And today, because the IRS loves the single mama, I ordered a giant mural of a space man in full regalia for one wall--because Sam says he wants to be an astronaut, or a hunter. I won't be ordering any deers with targets painted on the side for the other wall of this I can assure you.

B is for Brown

Last night while waiting for me to get Marcel to bed, Sam sat back to the heater (his favorite place in the entire house, even in the summer the metal cools him) coloring his new adored book. Normally, I would frown on this behavior. In this case, I even gave him the marker, and showed him how. The book, Z is for Zamboni A Hockey Alphabet by Matt Napier is just what you would expect in a board book. Chunky, infinitely colorful, and inviting. Well, inviting if you are a hockey phenom in the making (Sam) and white (not Sam). So we remedied this with the brown marker.

I explained to him how traditionally hockey has not been a sport that brown skinned people have been drawn to for several reasons, the one my heater loving son could truly appreciate is that historically people with skin his color preferred warmer climates. Places that did not have frozen ponds for learning to skate on like he did twice today, and almost every day I can arrange to get someone to take him there. (I use Marcel as an excuse to stay home unless it is sunny out.) Uncle took him twice yesterday. When we came down to watch, I did not recognize Sam. His agility on the ice has improved five times in a week. According to Marc, Sam draws constant praise from any skater who comes within earshot. They refuse to believe he is four. Last night when I mentioned my disbelief at his skills, Sam responded; I know mom, and I can button my pajamas and write my name too. True that. As I type this, Marcel is coloring his pajamas with markers. There is no more room on his hands or face.

meaningful?

How do you make Valentine's Day meaningful to a four year old? I had him sign his name, to the twelve home made cards I made for all his friends. By about the tenth labored signature, before completely giving way to his inner pirate's need to run around the house and whack things with a sword, Sam had mastered the placement of the A after the S, and before the M. I ran around after him asking for quotes to scribe from his point of view; "Sam (I duck to not get beheaded) tell me something you love about Emily..."

"Mom, I just love her. She plays with me." Oh right. That is what I am supposed to be doing instead of trying to maintain appearances with all of his friends' parents.

En guard!

Counting the family (Sam's poetic debut)

One for Marcel
and two for you,
and three for me.

Four for Eddie
And Tia makes five.
KK is six
Uncle is
seven.

Sarah and Jay
are eight and nine.

Nana is ten
and Weezie eleven
Alex is twelve
and Sage is too.

And my birthfather is thirteen
We can hold a number for him, for when you might get to know him better. How about your birthmother -number fourteen?

And Chuck and Jen and Parker and Rachel and Muriel

How many is that?

Uh nineteen?

Grammy and Grampy and we'll save
the other numbers
for all the
other people
in our family.
Our family is big mom.
It isn't just
three.

Movement

The stomach flu is the latest visitor to Marcel's little too willing of a host body. I'll spare you the details. After one of Marcel's more prolific moments all over mommy (OK I almost spared you the details) Sammy shouted; "Mom put yourself in the trashcan! Gross."

Sammy's movements are more significant in some ways... He will be starting a new school in a few weeks. The decision has been weighted, and weighed, over-thought, and well researched. The down and dirty version (it's a theme around here) the new school has an excellent reputation for several reasons, and although I am content where we are, I want to be thrilled. And, in the new daytime digs Sam would be one of several children of color, and our family would be one of several families brought together by adoption. The teachers seem so upbeat and gentle simultaneously. Sam needs this. The room is girl heavy--meaning many more of them then the boy variety which is good for Sam too. He likes girls. Wonder why. The fact the boys will be in tow schools is going to be a management nightmare for me. But, eventually they will both be there. We are waiting for an opening for Marcel. Hopefully by the fall. It is also going to cost me an extra chunk a week, even with the sliding scale. But, the playground is 3x the size, and they go out TWICE a day (where he is now, it is sometimes once a day). Did I mention the on sight chef, and the fact that I will not have to prepare his lunch every day? He said; "they don't have friends there. But they will when they get to know me." Brilliant child.

Me Still writing a ton this year. My online class continues to feed and push. The memoir is taking shape slowly but with distinct curves and raised bits here, and tucked bits there. I have a new intern working with me at school that is working out so well. My teaching rises to the occasion, like my parenting when it is witnessed.

The biggest movement of course being that our E the most excellent Nanny-Sister-friend has indeed moved. I breathe through the grief and the fear there with the comfort that she is up the street a piece, and will always be a part of our family. My family would not have made it here without her. We all know that, and so does she. But when it is time to move on, grow, push those tendrils, then it is time.

Speaking of time, someone needs his two tablespoons of pedialyte.

Worth Noting

Disney on Ice
Watching his jaw
drop to his knees
While the mountain sized
Sea Witch emerged horrific
in black lighting.
Sensing Sam searching for clues
to navigate the ice between
fear and amazement.

Marcel lost his independence
when his fever broke.
He clings.
My barnacle boy.
Breathe Mama breathe,
there's no use putting him
down.

Reassure me that the world is-
that the world at arms length from you is
as safe as I once knew it to be.

He insists as he sucks unto my thigh,
arm, and hip.
I want to set him
down,
and run
back to my early 30's
instead
I grab my frustration
exhale and picture when I can't
remember how it felt to be able to reassure
him that the world is-
anything

Wearing his magic cape,
and my blue gloves
Sam did the dishes
from start to finish
because I asked him to.
And he could.
And he felt success.
While I made the lunches,
and put out the clothes
for another tomorrow
when a groundhog will
see something else
worth noting