Spinning Circles

tball

In my neck of the woods the boys live in seasons: Soccer, Football, Basketball, Baseball. There are overlaps, of course, and some breaks in between, but most days the minivan set has the same routine-- spelling words and drive-through dinner on the way to practice somewhere. I resisted this style of life. But then this happened: and this: and suddenly every day's a scavenger hunt for shinguards and ball bats and bags of little toys to occupy a two year old at the field. Much of my … [Read more...]

The Postcard

pic4

I have a small print hanging in my kitchen, just above the light switch. I pass it countless times each day, and occasionally I pause to consider the words. What sound can have such music As thy sudden laughter bright? What words can have such meaning As thy murmurs of delight? … [Read more...]

Big Work

swing

We sat cross-legged on the bedroom floor, the four of us, and counted ceiling stars. They were plastic, glow-in-the-dark, the kind you buy in packs at the drug store. By then, entire constellations had gone the way of single LEGO blocks: down the vents or in between couch cushions, or into the slobbery mouths of our dogs. But a handful remained, stuck onto the plaster with putty wads. We named them, listened to the sounds as they echoed through make-believe … [Read more...]

Bad Guys, Kryptonite and Bills

cape

I fought it at first, but there was no denying the six year old boy. I'd wanted to dress him in something home made, every stitch a wish of love. It took time to own up to the fact that I couldn't sew. (The only seams I mend are the invisible kind.) I considered various "creative" solutions- a bunch of grapes or a bed sheet ghost? He balked. So we drove to the store, baby in tow, in search of a costume befitting us both. The Halloween aisles, by then, were bare. Pickings were slim but … [Read more...]

Motherhood Is Not a Word Problem

wtv

Ten a.m. and the house is quiet. The breakfast dishes are drying on the counter, and there's dough rising high in a bowl by the sink. I sit sorting though the magazines that have collected in the basket for a month. Soon, I remember, it will be time to feed the dogs. Two p.m. and I search the cupboard and reach for a bag in the back. I grind the beans, savor the smell that rises thick as the steam reaches them. I am trained, I've trained myself, to appreciate this small reward. Thirty … [Read more...]