Posts Tagged ‘Childhood’

love this girl

April 30th, 2010    -    15 Comments

she levered into my lap
spilling over the overstuffed rocker
the old nest in the bend of my elbow
I had a rough day
I had a rough day

a catastrophe of words
spare can mean reserved or saved
I didn’t know
I didn’t know

I was so frustrated
Erased hard and tore a hole
in the multiple choices
her friends whispered into palms
my life is pointless
my life is pointless

the exaggeration scares her short
is the plural hyperboles?
she stretches the length
of her tiny big girl bed
head propped on a dingy pink unicorn
I see the sunrise and moonglow in her face
the bloom and the night
and I think to myself
Love this girl

A tribute to being 10.

value the child

February 17th, 2010    -    26 Comments

My daughter went to a wonderful preschool that had a slogan on its brochure: Value the Child. I liked the sound of that, but it took me time to realize what it meant. It didn’t mean what I thought at the beginning. I’m not sure how many other parents ever got the gist of it. To them, the value might have represented the bazillion dollars we spent on the monthly tuition. We already valued our children so much that we wanted them to have the best, and the most, and the first, and the highest.

In other words, we didn’t value our children at all.

When I say that my daughter went to the preschool I really mean that I went to the preschool, because I did, for part of every day. Gradually, I learned what the devoted, loving and talented teachers were showing me: what it means to value someone else. read more

How to make a baby

November 15th, 2009    -    13 Comments

Add baby.
Dispose of birth plan.
Put all cashmere out of reach.
Abandon eurostyle.
Abandon style.
Piss on style.
Shop Wal-Mart in haste and desperation.
Beg for hand-me-downs.
Wear husband’s sweatpants.
Every day.
Leave room for baby weight, flat feet, worry lines and permanent scars.
Resemble your grandmother.
Forget bathing.
Luxuriate in a hot shower for 7 seconds one day.
Forget that day.
Chop off your hair.
Lose your head.
Soak all stains overnight in salty tears.
(The stains remain and the tears return.)
Simmer in fatigue.
Whisk in exhaustion.
Churn the night into the day.
Let surface harden until brittle.
Scrape the bottom.
Let time evaporate.
Give up completely.
Make nothing.
Except mac and cheese microwaved for 3.5 minutes on High.
Love without doubt.
Forever.

If you have a minute, stop by here and give Theresa an attagirl.

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The Parent’s Little List of Letting Go*

October 13th, 2009    -    9 Comments



A seasonal refrain sung to the tune of a deep exhalation.

Baby is born.
Baby sleeps through the night.
Baby bites.
Baby crawls.
Baby turns 1.
Baby stops sleeping through the night.
Baby pees in potty.
Baby throws binkies in trash.
Baby starts kindergarten.
Baby stops sleeping through the night.
Baby’s first drop-off.
Baby’s first text.
Baby loses first tooth.
Baby’s first career plan.
Baby stops sleeping through the night.
Baby’s first true love.
Baby’s last Barbie.
Baby’s first head lice.
Baby’s second true love.
Baby’s first first-place.
Baby stops sleeping through the night.
Baby says, “Mom, I like your deodorant. Can you get me some?”

Baby is always right on schedule.

*Not so little. Never ever gone.

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The road traveled

August 18th, 2009    -    7 Comments

Spying the untouched package, realize this is the last doll.
Watching her take a bath, realize this is the last of childhood.
Counting the days until deadline, realize this is the last draft.
Lifting the carton from the shelf, realize this is the last Mint Chip.
Tasting the grounds in the cup, realize this is the last coffee.
Facing the shrinking summer, realize these are the last lilies.
Remembering everything, realize this is the last regret.
Nearing the horizon, realize this is the last stretch.
The color! The color!
This is the road traveled.
None traveled less, none traveled more.
Everyone travels the same, alone and yet never apart.
Hello, traveler.

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Aha moments

February 18th, 2009    -    9 Comments



Hey mom, I have an idea to make money.

What’s that?

Let’s invent medicine that really works.

Why hasn’t anybody thought of that?

And that tastes good!

***

Mom, you know what worries me every time I fly?

What’s that?

You know when they say in the event of an emergency landing do not take your personal belongings?

I’ve heard that.

What if I’m carrying my American Girl doll?

We’d get you another one.

Just checking. That’s what Dad said too.

***

Mom, I’m worried about some of the kids in my class.

Why’s that?

Well, they are in third grade already.

Yes they are.

And if they don’t know anything by now how will they ever graduate from high school?

***

Mom, I feel sorry for God, you know why?

Why?

Because he has to create like a billion, million jillion fingerprints.

Too little time, too many facts

February 10th, 2009    -    18 Comments


A nocturne to the strains of a full moon.

Mommy, don’t be mad I can’t go to sleep.

Make your mind empty. No thoughts. No pictures.

You mean like a TV screen that goes blank?

Yes, blank.

I don’t want to grow up.

I’ll always be with you.

How old was I when your mommy died?

Not yet two.

It’s sad that I didn’t get to see her or know her.

She watches you every night when you sleep.

Then she must be watching someone else tonight.

No, she’s right here, waiting for you to go to sleep so she can come to you in your dream.

Mommy, don’t be mad I can’t go to sleep.

Are you nervous about something?

Yes.

What is it?

We have a timed test tomorrow and there are too many facts.

Facts don’t matter. Make your mind blank like the night sky. Without the moon.

Mommy?

Yes.

I really love you.

I’ll always be with you.

When girls collide

January 14th, 2009    -    6 Comments

When your daughter’s new doll is 18 inches tall, and your new daughter was 16 inches tall, the brief span of Daddy’s Girl fits entirely around the length of an American Girl. Are they one or are they two?

(Mommy saved her baby clothes, and her baby didn’t save a trace.)



Bearded lady

December 14th, 2008    -    3 Comments


Mom, you know what’s great?

What’s that?

Some people don’t think Santa Claus is real, but he is.

Who doesn’t think he’s real?

My friend Marjorie. But that’s just because she didn’t get a laptop last year.

(When you tug, it hurts.)

It felt like a chain around my neck, but it wasn’t

November 9th, 2008    -    15 Comments


There are many, many things that are dear to me, but one of the dearest is a reader.

A dear reader contacted me with this finding, a sterling silver “breakfast cereal necklace.” Yes, that very breakfast cereal that is so dear to us mothers, dear because it infiltrates and overtakes our lives and carpets and tabletops and carseats, ground into dust on floorboards, sofas, strollers, and high chairs, hidden in tiny fists and under tongues, carried in ziplocks, diaper bags and purses, never ever to be without until the day they disappear for good.

They disappear. You can try to cast them in silver and string them around your neck, but they disappear, and that’s what makes them precious, our Cheerio days. They disappear.

This is a road that is neither solid nor silver, and all the more priceless for leaving no trace.

Thank you, dear reader.

By any other name

October 22nd, 2008    -    6 Comments


Children’s books that forever changed my life.

Of course, you say, of course she’d like that book. She chose the name.

My daughter is named Georgia, but not for the artist O’Keeffe. My daughter is named for two great-grandfathers on both sides of her family. One an architect; one a farmer.

So this book, once again, is rather for me. Georgia O’Keeffe is my namesake, my mentor, as an artist and an independent being. As a heart and an eye and a hand that saw the big truth in small things.

My Name is Georgia
A Portrait by Jeanette Winter

Her entire life story is told in these 48 pages of spare text and evocative illustrations. Her own girl, with her own way and her own way of seeing. Drawn by the urge to meet the faraway up close, to render mysteries plain and true so people would see.

I went to the New Mexico desert.
So far away that no one ever comes.
I was satisfied to be all by myself.
I did things other people don’t do.

I painted my sky BIG,
so people would see the sky the way I did.

Find the fearless footprint, hear the song of truth and echo it back over the mountains. Paint your life BIG so people will see.

My earlier favorites are shelved here, here and here.

On little cat feet

October 21st, 2008    -    12 Comments


Children’s books that forever changed my life.

It turns out I have an affinity for things French (besides fools and fries). Today I send you in the direction of a cat that travels, in the inscrutably self-actualized nature of a cat, across the entire country of France to find his original home.

This is the sweetest, shortest evocation of a spiritual sojourn that I have ever read.

The Cat Who Walked Across France
By Kate Banks
Pictures by Georg Hallensleben

Kitty lives in a stone house by the sea until the day he is shipped north, with all the other lifelong belongings of the old woman who once scratched his ears and stroked his back. Soon he is forgotten among the unclaimed and disused. Until one day he leaves.

Children playing ball would chase after him. And the cat would scurry up a tree. But when he nestled in its branches, he would remember the tangy smell of lemons ripening on a branch under a window at the stone house by the edge of the sea. And he would move on.

May we all move on through a life as lush as the French landscape until we reach a wide open front door, settle into a warm, familiar spot and come to rest, knowing we are home.

Earlier recommendations here and here.

Make the world more beautiful

October 20th, 2008    -    8 Comments


Children’s books that forever changed my life.

Today’s recommendation is wildly popular and yet so intimately meaningful that if I could, I would plant it in everyone’s home with a carefree toss from my open hand.

A gift to my baby when she was barely born, from a faithful and nearly lifelong friend, this book delivered a set of emphatic instructions for my own life.

Miss Rumphius
Story and Pictures by Barbara Cooney

“When I grow up, I too will go to faraway places and come home to live by the sea.”
“That is all very well, little Alice,” says my aunt, “but there is a third thing you must do.”

“What is that?” I ask.

“You must do something to make the world more beautiful.”

“All right,” I say.

But I do not know yet what that can be.

My goodness! All the passion and discovery, all the trial and error, all the heart and truth and promise in that simple “I do not know.” It is my wish and recommendation for you.

More favorites all this week, and see my first choice for your library here.

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