1. I like when my children sit down at the piano with bunny ears on.
Or a sideways scout hat with sunglasses on. It makes me laugh. I also like that they are playing the piano. My sweet eldest has been passed on to a different teacher for the spring because it’s just better that way for awhile. For both of us. It also makes me happy that I only have to start ONE more child at the piano.
2. I like Ann Romney and I like Michelle Obama. They’re both great, strong ladies who love their children and this country. My ears turn deaf to the Mommy wars…yawn. Women, please stop using stupid and devisive phrases and words to make yourself feel better. Devisive is an adjective: tending to cause disagreement or hostility between people. I apologize if I’ve said stupid or devisive things. I suppose it’s a casualty of being human.
3. I love this quote in Kelly Rae Roberts’s house, (photo courtesy of kellyraeroberts.com) featured on design mom this week. I have a feeling that if I picked out pieces that didn’t match, they would just look like pieces that didn’t match. I like that I don’t feel badly looking at other people’s homes anymore. We all spend our time doing different and (hopefully!) worthwhile things.
4. Like running. I really like running. I like Barbara and Edna and Grandpa in the kitchen at Proctor because while Gregor drives the kids to school, I run to Proctor, where he works. But he arrives sooner than I do and sometimes has to get to early meetings. So every day Paige runs into the kitchen to see her friends who are all at least 40 years older than her. Even though they are very busy, they give her scrambled eggs and orange juice, teach her to peel carrots, make bread, create great works of art, and today taught her how to blow a bubble with her bubble gum. They are so nice to her. Paige cries when I run at a different time or don’t feel like going out, because she loves her Barbara and Edna and Grandpa so much. Sometimes she’s only with them for 15 minutes but it is a huge help to me. Simple. So kind.
5. And since it’s National Poetry Month, I will share a poem I now adore. And I only heard it last night when a little, almost-10-year-old girl, got up and faced a very large audience. She reminded me of Scout from my very favorite Mockingbird book. Her voice was clear and bright as she recited. I wanted to capture the words in a bottle. I wished I were a poet. I must now discover the poet laureate, Billy Collins.
On Turning Ten
The whole idea of it makes me feel like I’m coming down with something, something worse than any stomach ache or the headaches I get from reading in bad light– a kind of measles of the spirit, a mumps of the psyche, a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.
You tell me it is too early to be looking back, but that is because you have forgotten the perfect simplicity of being one and the beautiful complexity introduced by two. But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit. At four I was an Arabian wizard. I could make myself invisible by drinking a glass of milk a certain way. At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.
But now I am mostly at the window watching the late afternoon light. Back then it never fell so solemnly against the side of my tree house, and my bicycle never leaned against the garage as it does today, all the dark blue speed drained out of it.
This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself, as I walk through the universe in my sneakers. It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends, time to turn the first big number.
It seems only yesterday I used to believe there was nothing under my skin but light. If you cut me I could shine. But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life, I skin my knees. I bleed.