With the springtime falling of rain, our yard washed over with dandelions. As each came into its own puffy fluffy fullness, Lucas would find it. Each newly-found dandelion was a discovery, a delight, a cause for celebration. And after each celebration there was a pause, while he considered to what use he should put this particular wish. Then his lips would pucker like a kiss, and with a whoosh the seeds would sail into the air, off on their own adventures and (I suspect) eventually coming back round to our own weed-riddled grass, to sprout and to grow and to flower again. Continue reading
The boys have been intent on reminding me this week that THOSE ARE NOT WEEDS! They are FLOWERS! Their insistence comes after I went on a bit of a rampage clearing out a flower bed and into the green bin went a heap of their beloved sour grass. But they are not alone in their enthusiasm; at our market this past Saturday I met a farmer whose entire acreage is given over to what grows there of its own volition. She had strawberries for sale, tiny red ones. In big buckets were curvy-stemmed, three-foot-tall gaggles of weeds. Or flowers, if you’d like. With thoughts of my guys, I brought home a bunch. Continue reading
There are many brands of maternal guilt that can swamp us. The version I’m currently swimming through involves failing to notice, despite three days worth of complaints about “itchy” hands, that my son was having a life-threatening allergic reaction to an antibiotic. I did notice, eventually – right around the moment he woke up covered in head-to-toe, blistering welts, his eyes swollen to bloodshot slits. Continue reading
Today was my co-op day for Jacob’s class. I was working outside, at the round brown table under the big juniper tree, helping the kids make flowers out of enormous coffee filters and green pipe cleaners. They painted them with liquid water colors – vibrant springtime greens and pinks and oranges, yellows and purples, bright turquoise. Jacob and a handful of other kids concentrated on their blooms as his teacher and I watched. “I love the colors,” I said.
“I picked them for spring,” she said. Continue reading
I spent an hour today sitting on the couch, looking out the big windows into the yard. I was holding a slumped, sleeping boy; Alice Munro’s words (What there is time for is looking out the window … ) and the weight of his fever-warm head kept me from propping him against the pillows and Getting Something Done. Instead through that golden wedge of afternoon, I gazed at our fading open-house landscaping and imagined the very chicken corral that of late I am set on building. It will have Continue reading
“I’m part of the whole universe,” Jacob tells me. I am sitting across the foot of his bed, hugging my knees, leaning back against the wall. It is dark, the nighttime quiet punctuated by Lucas’s soft snoring. Jacob’s feet push at my leg from under his striped comforter. “I feel so cozy right now, because you are next to that edge, and I have my red blanket.” He yawns. “The universe is so big and we are all part of it. Like how all the sand makes the beach.”