The Castle and the Sandbox (Wednesday's Words on Thursday)

Another "Once Upon a Time" story, inspired by Wednesday's Words, thanks to River over at Drifting Through Life.  

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Once upon a time there lived twin princesses.  Hilda lived with the king and queen,  without a single pet, inside an opulent castle.  Their grand abode was surrounded by lush, green gardens and sandboxes filled with kitty doo-doo. 

Hilda's twin sister Helga lived with five calico kitties in a sandbox at the edge of the east garden. Hilda and Helga played together every day in a courtyard between the castle gate and Helga's hideous, stinky sandbox.

One fine morning, Helga said to her twin sister, 

"The castle is so beautiful, Hilda,  but I daresay the aroma of antiseptic spray is one to which I could never become accustomed."

"Nonsense!" replied Hilda. "Anyone who enjoys feeling clean could become accustomed to the aroma of antiseptic spray. It's rather like perfume to me now, darling sister."

"Like perfume?  Good mercy!  Would you suspect that any boy would want to get near you if you smelled

like antiseptic spray?  I hardly think so."

"Try it," said Hilda. "It's worth a gamble."

Root Canal and Alien Teenagers (Wednesday's Words)

River posted two lists of six words  each to choose from for Wednesday.  I chose the first list and decided to try my hand again at creative writing with the prompt.  The words are:  satellite, bananas, unannounced, cherry, backtracked,  included.

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Once upon a time, a baby cherry fell from the treetop, cradle and all, when the bough broke. Of course she was surrounded by other baby cherries who had fallen with her.  

Her Mommy and Daddy cherry had been eaten by two alien teenage boys the week before when they arrived by satellite unannounced. The boys had been given a list of must-eats and must-not eats upon arrival, much like Adam and Eve were told in the Garden to which they came as aliens.  (Methinks Adam and Eve were created as teenagers, but such fact is omitted from the Bible and unverifiable.)  

Anyway, to backtrack to the baby cherries and the teenage aliens...

The teenagers had been told by their alien parents to eat bananas upon arrival on earth, but as teenagers, whether alien or earthly, they didn't wait for the details, nor did they care. Food is food, and devouring it in mass quantities is all they care about. The teens didn't realize that cherries aren't soft throughout; they have pits included. 

Crunch! Crack! Yowsa! 

The boys broke all their mushy alien teeth in the feast. 

Serves them right. 

They swallowed not only pits but also their pride, and dug a canal into the roots of the cherry tree to backtrack home to their parents.  
  
And that is how we got the term "root canal."   



                                                                    

Pie Gone Awry: My Thanksgiving Poem

On Wednesday night I put a pie in the oven
It's hubby's favorite and a way I show lovin'.
I set the timer and then shut the door
While Sarah took a mop to the kitchen floor.

A half hour later, I went to check progress
But the pie slipped and dumped quite a mess.
"Oh, no-no-no-NO! Gooey coconut paste
All over the door and racks, what a waste!

Determined to salvage at least part of the pie
I gingerly slid it back in, "Worth a try."
Baked it for thirty more minutes or so,
Then I checked again, and whaddya know?

All was not lost--the dessert was redeemed--
But the mess in my oven has got me steamed.
I can be such a klutz, but why on Great Pie Day?
Guess who'll be scraping black yuck on Black Friday?

Describing Skies and Trees

In less than thirty minutes last Sunday, the skies here changed texture and color dramatically. I just sat in the car staring out the windshield, saying, "Wow, God. Wow!"


Puffy
Patchy
Painted
Periwinkle
Partner
of
Proliferous
Pines


became...

Smoky
Salmon
Silky
Skies

Showing off

Silhouetted
Spruces

Breaking Up is Easy to Do

A letter to Mr. I, a dude I met this morning. Most people call him MRI. But that seems so impersonal. I thought I owed him a letter since I separated from him so quickly.

Dear Mr. I,

It's almost 10 a..m and I am....getting...very....sleeeeeepppy. But I just wanted to write you a quick note that expresses my feelings for you. Or to be quite honest, my feelings against you.

Sorry to leave you alone in that cold, half-dark room, but I just needed more space. I need room to breathe and not feel trapped in our relationship. It's not you, it's me. Well, actually, it is you, too. We're not a good match for each other. You deserve a girl who doesn't need drugs in order to hang around with you,. Someone who loves you for who you are--a whitewashed tomb with a serious thing for grandma's music.

And no offense, but I'm not crazy about your barrel chested physique, either. I appreciate the good things you do for people; you really know how to see into people's deepest recesses, actually into things they didn't even know were there. And not to be crude, but you do give a girl a lot of bang for her buck.That much I can say for you. It's just that I am not into a lot of noise and confusion. I would prefer a massage and spa treatment. Actually, I'd rather have another root canal than spend one more minute with you.

Ouch. I know that hurts to hear. But it's true. I'm just being open. I think you should be, too.

And that is why I thought I owed you an explanation. Don't worry. I'm sure you'll have plenty of other flings. You have a magnetic personality, after all. Take care of yourself.

Apologetically,
Zo

Almost Halfway

Dear Time,

Please slow down.

I'm eating blueberries from a Star Wars cereal bowl.

I reached for it because it was blue,
but then realized
it wasn't really for the blue that
I chose it,
but for the Star Wars.
Clone Troopers, to be exact.
That's important to know,
he says.

This bowl represents the things of childhood
that will all too quickly be replaced
by things of adolescence.
And then things of manhood.

Just yesterday my boy told me
that one of his slightly older friends
is "halfway to being a man."

"How old is someone who's halfway to being a man?"
I inquired, curious as to his thinking
on the matter of maturity.

"Ten," he said.
"Cuz when you're twenty,
you're a full-grown man."

I remember waiting ten years for this child,
ten long years
of praying, losing, surrendering,
praying harder, longing...

And then he came like an early jonquil
in February.
Eight years ago.

Do you mean that in less than two years,
this child will be
halfway to being a man?

No! Please say it isn't so.
Say it!
Say it, and just let me eat my blueberries!
One at a time.
Slowly.
From his Star Wars bowl.

And let me savor every bite,
every morsel of sweetness
called childhood.

As I do, as I pick up one after
another, examine it, and watch
it disappear after enjoying the
sublime taste,
I notice something.

Not just the bowl
and not just the fingers
are
blue.

Fun Email Exchange

It's not every day you get someone's personal email in poetic verse. But yesterday I got one from Toby and Kelly, which amused me to no end, and I had to reply in kind.

Here goes the exchange:

Dear friends,

Toby's got a new cell,

and Kelly has one as well.

So to give us a call,

you'd best be on the ball;

take care not slumber,

but use our new number.

So update your contacts,

then sit back and relax;

that's all that needs doing

- please leave off the booing

My poetry is poor; Christ's love is perfect,

love in Christ,

Toby
-----------------

to which I replied...


Someone's got time
To make up a rhyme
That he judges poor at best.
But it made me smile--
it's an email with style--
My inbox has surely been blessed.


I'll make a note
of the changes you wrote
and will keep your rhyme in my drafts,
But don't be surprised
If I call you, disguised
As a publisher wanting your crafts!


Zo

To which Kelly replied,

"You worry me - truly. :) "

What I Gave up for Lent

Some people give up chocolate or booze,
Some rise early and don't hit the "snooze."
Some put the brakes on coffee or tea,
while others decide to go sugar-free.

Some gals call a halt to using a razor
Cancel the cable to become a stargazer.
But, I? What did I for Lent sacrifice?
Deodorant, folks. Don't I smell so nice?

Fankful Friday Poem

I'm thankful that Satan,
Though he roars like a lion,
is no match for Jesus,
the King of Mount Zion.

For Sarah's who diligence
made the house neat and clean,
and inspired me to decorate
with red, white, and green.

For candles that smell
like apples and spice,
for baby's breath accents
I've used more than twice.

For Cheryl's new home,
Though moving into it was hard,
has Narnia-type spaces
and a terrific back yard.

For Molly, our dog who,
despite soft, fatty masses,
seems perfectly healthy
except when she gasses.

For scratching our itches
With nails on our fingers,
for massages of muscles,
relaxation that lingers.

For a change of heart
with regard to Hanukkah,
I say, "Light the menorrah
and play dreidel till dawnica!"

For God's protection on Paul
when his car engine went haywire
and now won't exceed forty
though 70's his desire.

For God's giving me stamina
To fold piles and piles
of clean and dry laundry
(I hope it brings smiles.)

And finally I'm grateful
For a nice warm bed
in which to nap now,
to rest limbs and my head.

Memoir Prompts

I love reading memoirs. It doesn't matter one whit if the author has ever been famous. In fact, I much prefer reading snippets from the lives of people I know personally. My dad, for example, filled out a book for me that I gave him for Father's Day one year. It's a blank journal except for a pre-printed question on each page to help the writer recall a specific memory. This book is called A Father's Legacy, and is an absolute treasure to me.

Reading that my dad's favorite author is Albert Einstein came as a complete surprise, more because I don't think of Einstein as a writer, but as a wild-and-white-crazy-haired scientist and inventor. But it should not have been a surprise: my dad is an excellent writer, scientist, and inventor. No white and wild hair, mind you, but intellectually (in my childlike bias, at least) my daddy is on par with good ol' Al. In the last couple of years of my dad's career with the Army Corps of Engineers, he invented a new-and-improved chemical filter for mustard gas. Along with it, he wrote a manual, complete with diagrams and explanations that even the layperson could probably understand, because he's had a major beef about writing with such "-ese" (government-ese) that the average Joe --GI Joe--is left scratching his head rather than using it.

So here's my prompt for anyone who wants to use it: Choose a male in your life (doesn't have to be dad) and ask him who his favorite author is and why. Write a post about it. I know I'll learn something from it. Maybe you will, too.

If you do this, please leave a comment here so we can follow you. Thanks.

(The candid above is my dad playing MasterMind in my parents' loft on Christmas Day last year. I'm sure Joel will always keep a fond spot in his memory bank, recounting many times of playing games and drawing cars with Pappaw. My dad's love of children, his seemingly endless patience, and his affinity for art make him a favorite companion to my little guy--and to me.)

Sometimes

I feel like I'm going to wake up and realize it was all a dream.
One very, very, very good dream.
My life, from childhood to present, was all a dream,
and the bad parts were redeemed, and the good parts live on
in my children.

I will wake up and realize how good it was to be silly
with my children,
to listen to my husband tell me about work, even though I scarcely understand his professional jargon,
how much I loved the rhythm of our days and evenings,
and how I adored the warmth and softness of one loving dog
beneath my feet at the computer in winter,
and how I loved God more each time I realized His love for me
in the kitchen, though it seemed thankless and mundane too often...
in the car...when He protected me from things I never even saw coming...
in church...when I took the preaching and the people for granted...
in the bathroom...when I realized the difference between health and illness...
in the ER...when I begged God to bring my baby's fever down and give me peace when the doctors had no diagnosis...or when I wondered if this child might lose his eyesight or walk with a permanent limp...
in the basement...when I folded laundry and thanked God for my mom's example of being grateful to have people alive to dirty the clothes she just folded...
in bed...cuddling with a husband whose grey hair is soft and silky, just the way I like hair to feel...or snuggling with a toddler who tells me I am "Comfy Princess" and he wishes he could marry me...


and in a thousand little grace notes of light, I live this life
as if in a dream
and wonder if it's too good
to be true.

But then, the dog poops on the rug, the alarm clock rings, the raw chicken spills all over the inside of the fridge, and I realize it's not a one-hundred-percent perfect dream, but I'd rather redream it with a chance of poop and salmonella than to wake up.

If I Were the Teacher for a Day

Last week I gave my fifth and sixth graders a choice of three writing prompts. They had 15 minutes for this creative assignment. One of the topics was "If I Were the Teacher for a Day." Thought you'd enjoy what one boy wrote. Here's the rough draft.

If I were the teacher for a day the students would have 30 seconds of work. Then we would have recess all day. The students would be able to play tackle football. When they get dismissed I would take them all to Mcdonald's to eat. I would have no rules and nobody would go to the principals office. If anybody hurts somebody, I would make them sit out of recess for 10 seconds.




====
I made minor corrections on his paper, and wrote, "Where is the wisdom in your fantasy? :) "

Simple Woman's Daybook 10.6.09

Outside my window...
dusk has turned to dark. It's cool enough to be called a fall night, but warm enough to want to leave the windows open a crack, and just listen. Crickets chirp. Now and then a car passes by. I can tell the age of the driver by the presence or absence of a drumbeat.

I am thinking...
about how I thought on Sunday that maybe I'd missed my calling in life, only to realize that I haven't missed it, I've just not been looking for opportunities by holing up in my church and home and school instead of
praying to share with people who have narry a clue about Truth.

I am thankful for...
the rich deposit of God's Holy Spirit in me in the form of Jesus the Word, and the Bible.

From the kitchen...
came a peanut butter and jelly sub for everyone's lunch today since I haven't bought regular bread in an embarrassingly long time.

And also came cereal for dinner since Paul's at a business dinner at the Wine Market with a client from Greenwich. All I can say is, "I hope he brings home leftovers."

I am wearing...
a brown polo and black capris, my wedding rings, a peridot ring, and
my spectacles. I've been in a black-and-green mood all day. That's a good thing, in case you're wondering.

I am creating...
in a little while...a rubric for the writing assignment and oral presentation my students will have to produce for next Tuesday. They each have to write and tell us about a Middle Eastern country they've been researching. I learned today what a rebab is, and started to crack a joke about loving rebab pie, but I restrained. I don't think they would know the difference between rebab and rhubarb anyway.

I am going...
to floss my teeth tonight. I can be abscessive-compulsive about that.

I am reading...
A Faith Worth Sharing, by C. John Miller. Easy reading on evangelism from the pen of one who makes it sound effortless.

I am hoping...
my parents have a happy 48th wedding anniversary on Thursday. "If ever two were one, then surely they."

I am hearing...
the gentle hum of Sarah's aquarium and the panting of my dog who loves to watch the fish swim. It's so enchanting to watch her watch them.

Around the house...
are stenches I can't quite pinpoint, let alone obliterate.

One of my favorite things...
the scent of men's cologne that wafts through the upstairs after Paul, Ben, Stephen, and Joel have had their showers. Yes, even my second grader loves Adidas Curves for Men.

A few plans for the rest of the week...
mainly to look less like a Chia Pet and more like a beauty queen for school pictures on Thursday.



A picture thought I am sharing...

See this little "waterpark"? It was at the resort where we stayed at Myrtle Beach. This part of it is only about a foot deep. However, the sidewalk around it is about 18 inches high. I have a depth perception problem to start with, so picture me judging it to be 12 inches deep. Total. I didn't land as soon as I expected, hence winding up backside down on the concrete, in the water. Sarah (whose foot is pictured) got the laugh of her life. Then, I stood up and started to stroll casually to the opposite end for a cooling off of the topside of me. That's when I misjudged something more: the concrete base of those huge metal poles which is cleverly camouflaged under the water.
It's about 12 inches high.
So is my shin.




Penned by Zoanna
Labels: misc

5 Words Meme

Upon request, Krista sent me five words as a writing prompt meme (not that I usually struggle with verbal constipation; I was more curious than needy, surmising what five words she might think to send me). When I asked "why these five?" she said she thought I'd either have a lot to say about them, or she had no idea what I'd say.

In the order in which she wrote them, I will respond in a stream-of-consciousness way. No real organization. (My excuse? It's Friday night. The first syllable of that word is "Fried" as in my brain's condition right now.)

1 BOOKS ... I love the sound of the word "books." Only positive images come to my mind. Hearing my mom's voice read to my sister Rachel and me at naptime when I was three. Watching my dad take posterboard, markers, and a copy of Yertle the Turtle to create a children's sermon on pride. Smelling the brand new pages of brand new books when the Abingdon library opened . Smelling the musty old pages of Grandpa's Baptist hymnal whenever I dust them, and get the feeling of touching the hands that held the very same book and sang the same beautiful anthems to the same wonderful God. I grew up with parents who highly valued books. My mother was never what you'd call a "shopper" of clothes, shoes, and trendy household goods, but she could spend hours upon hours in a bookstore. I worked for a summer at a Christian bookstore, as did she. My son, Stephen, it just occurs to me, is a third-generation Christian bookstore employee. Much as I love books, I don't have as much of a problem parting with them as some folks do. This summer, when I decided to alphabetize all the books in the basement by author's last name, I heeded the Lord's prompting when tempted to hoard even such valuables as books: tithe on them (as in, give away ten percent of them).


2. ADVENTURE is a word that conjures up feelings of excitement and fear and wonder and energy. When I think of adventure, it involves a modicum of mystery: Where exactly is Vladimir, Russia? Will my room in heaven have all the flowers my mind and heart can ever want? How can I make grammar NOT boring to fifth and sixth graders in such a way that they "get it"? What will I look like when I'm 80, if I'm still alive? What if Plan A doesn't work out? I'm excited about Plan B. It always works out, and sometimes is even more fun that Plan A.

"Adventure" makes me remember Great Adventure, a theme park my friend
Cindy and her sister Sondra invited me (and my older sister) to when I was in seventh grade. It was one of the most fun days of my entire life. I splurged on a stuffed frog at the end of the day and had a bunch of people at school sign it. How many other people can say they've owned an autographed frog?



3. BABIES... Nothing says "Made just for you by Jesus" quite like a baby. No two alike, not even identical twins. I loved being pregnant with my babies, an unspeakable, unmatchable, unquestionable pleasure of being Woman. Never has joy been so great as when I felt a baby kick inside my womb. Never has a sorrow been so deep as when the doctor said, two different times, "I'm sorry, there is no heartbeat."
I can't write those words without crying, and it's been ten years since our second loss.

I didn't think I could ever love a baby as much as I loved my first baby, Ben, and when I got pregnant with our second, Sarah, I begged the Lord to give me as much love so that she wouldn't feel deprived. I think He laughed; it was an absurd request, thinking back now. Of COURSE, as surely as the sun rises and sets, I loved all my babies, and would love a hundred and twenty babies if I had them (though I'm glad God chose a much more manageable number for me).

I'm looking forward to having grandbabies. In fact, I find myself wondering what they will call me. Paul wants to be PopPop. I know I don't want to be Grandma (sounds so old ladyish) or Granny , but would love a completely unique name from my grandbabies, something one of them creates for me from baby babble. "Priddy Gammy" would do!


4. CHANGE--I am just about evenly split in my knee-jerk reaction to this word. Having lived in 13 houses by the age of 11, I adapted quickly and rather easily to change. I have lived in the country, the city, a small town, a college dorm, in the 'burbs, at the beach, in a duplex, in single-family homes. I have lived on food stamps and have dined on gourmet food. (I much prefer the latter.) After 21 years as a single, I got married and the change to wife was a lot harder than I imagined. But the change from not-a-mother to a mother ? Totally unprepared for that. To be responsible for another human being 24/7 changed me profoundly. The starkest revelation was that I hadn't changed fundamentally; I just couldn't hide the parts of me I had always been able to hide before: the ugliest, most selfish me. But then again, changing diapers and
hearing my babies coo and seeing their luminous smiles and gazing upon their blue-eyed beauty for lo these 21 more years, has been an uncomparable experience. I am ready to die, for I know my Savior and have been a mother. Those are the two deepest joys of my life.


5. PUNS -- For the most part, people think of my jokes as the first two-thirds of the word "pun." I can't help it. My husband calls it Dauber humor. I call it Kansas humor. I have no concept of living a day without puns. It would be an adventure, a real change, an idea to baby, something to put in the record books. Punless Zoanna. Unthinkable! (But worth a try, perhaps?)

Anybody else like to write on 5 words? Let me know in the comment box.

My Finished To-Do List in Verse

Woke up at seven to clear out the van
So my daughter could take it to work
And then to a concert two hours away,
"Put gas in the tank," I warned. "Don't shirk."

Ran to Walgreens for a few personal things
Drove right on by several yard sales.
We don't need more junk, so don't open the trunk
Just go home and polish your nails.

First put on gloves to tend to the gardens
You've neglected the blooms long enough.
So gardens I weeded till my strength was depleted
Then arranged a bouquet of picked stuff.

Took a nap for a smidge, then cleaned out the gross fridge,
Organized the pantry with Joel.
Then watched him bathe "Hermie" (his young hermit crab)
By dipping the chum in a bowl.

Rounded up paper for my hubby to make
Palm branches for his Sunday School lesson.
He's quite talented with a scissors and Elmer's,
His creations don't leave you a-guessin'.

He'll send for a donkey as the children wave
Branches and cry out, "Hosanna!"
He just better not tell them to coax the ass forward
By saying, "Go! Go now, Old Miss Zoanna!"

Stormy Seas

My heart is not calm.
Beneath the facade is an ache I can't ignore,
pain that swells with each breath.
Hurts that don't go away.
Needs that aren't fulfilled.
Grey clouds cover my soul.

I need, once again, to know beyond a doubt,
and would love to hook my feeling to that knowledge,
that I am loved with
an everlasting love.
This love will last longer than childhood.
Or motherhood.
Or marriage.
Or death.

The Simple Woman's Daybook

I loved the simple lines of this thought-provoking meme which Amy got from the Simple Woman's Daybook blog. Please be sure to read this link before putting this meme on your blog. It's just a courtesy to the Hostess at The Simple Woman's Daybook. A little credit where credit's due if you decide to join in .


FOR TODAY, Wednesday, July 29, 2009...

Outside my window...in the thick, damp night, bullfrogs croak near the stream's edge. Back and forth, "qwark!" and "broyk!" they say in the rhythm of a tennis match. High above them hangs the moon like a pearly slice of a clipped-off thumbnail against the black canvas of the sky.

I am thinking...I need to go to bed, but am dreading it because our mattress is so uncomfortable. We paid good money for it, and I'm thinking it wasn't even four years ago, but
I'm not sure. Could've been nine. Nine years go by like four.

I am thankful for... the company of women, for board games, for the evening we shared as sisters in Christ tonight, for laughter and wit and words and the beautiful eyes I saw on all my fun-loving, laughter-filled, witty, wordsmithy friends.

From the learning rooms...my youngest is learning in the basement to fold bath towels standing up, first in thirds longways (which makes the towel longer than he is tall) and then to roll them. They fit into our narrow towel keeper better that way--in another learning room called the "WC" in some parts of the world. May he learn, dear Lord, to close the door before he voids and wash his hands after.

From the kitchen...comes not a sound except for the low drone of the fridge's motor and the long, swollen sigh of a lazy old dog. Earlier tonight we ate the first zucchini from our garden. I chopped it into finger-length sticks, tossed some bread crumbs and olive oil in a frying pan, and sauteed my Z sticks with a toss of salt and a grind of pepper. Two days ago we had our first cucumber which Joel made a Pinocchio nose of and modeled for the camera. In my 43--almost 44-- years of life, I have never been so happy about firstfruits from a garden. Makes me think of Jesus. Never thought I'd write Jesus and Pinocchio in the same paragraph.

I am wearing...a brown polo shirt, Mom Jeans that need to be replaced now that they're too big (I love saying that!), a brown watch, my three wee rings on the left hand and a costume garnet ring on the right. And my glasses.

I am creating...a menu for our mini-reunion of Russia missionaries at my house this coming Monday; two new planters from old drawers (drilled drain holes, need soil and flowers, and probably a mess in the meantime.

I am going... to tighten these abs. I look like a compressed marshmallow when I sit down. That comes from having four children and countless s'mores.

I am reading...the books listed on my sidebar. (Yes, I read that many at once, but slowly and as I'm in the mood.) The Testament is most engaging. Not eternally valuable like, say, the OLD Testament or the NEW, but I enjoy reading lite fiction in the summer.

I am hoping that our new family room will be as beautiful a haven in real life as it is in my fantasy.


I am hearing...the drone of my laptop, the clanging of my dangle earrings against my shoulders, and the fresh burst of artificial air through the vents. No more bullfrog dialogue. Tennis game is over.

Around the house...sit too many stacks of papers to be dealt with; a pile of giveaways ready for the charity truck pick-up; books to go back to the library, laundry in varying degrees of doneness and several closets and cabinets that haven't taken the class called "How to Organize Yourself and Stay that Way 101." I don't even think they've registered yet. What are they waiting for, a scholarship?

One of my favorite things...the giggles of my seven-year-old as we were making Alphabet Soup and folding laundry. I said, "Pretend we have a huge pot. You throw the first thing in that starts with A. It has to be a meat, vegetable, fruit, drink, or spice." He threw in asparagus, I threw in bacon, he threw in coffee...I threw in watermelon, he threw in "Xtra virgin olive oil" ...and he then got the giggles really bad and said, "Ew--hoo-hoo--this soup is really disgusting now. Watermelon and olive oil! " Oh, just now? I thought it was disgusting after figs and garlic.

A few plans for the rest of the week...tomorrow: to find homes for homeless miscellany (read: clutter) and clean the bathrooms; Friday--hang out with Ya'el, maybe treat her to pure, organic, sweet, smooth Broom's Blooms Dairy ice cream from "down the road apiece" ...since her last name is Blum (pronounced "Bloom") and this ice cream will leave her with a wonderful Maryland memory when she returns to Israel. Saturday--pick Kris up at the airport, go to Sacha's going-away/b'day party, Sunday hug my long-awaited daughter.

A picture thought... big brother, little brother.

As I Tie Up Your Laces

My son, my youngest of the four arrows in our quiver,
You bring me such delight deep in my heart.
Your smile--the one that has not diminished through
the loss of two of its members this week--
oh I wish I could capture that smile in my mind forever.
Your laugh, a giggle over the sound of funny words strung together
in a tongue-twister book, or your daddy's joke--or your own.

Your voice, the one that says, "awww....awww, isn't it SO cute?"
whenever you see a kitty. How you long for one of your own,
but will have to "just imagine it."

Your fingers that draw sports cars and sports figures,
both in full gear. The fingers that fit and unfit tiny Lego
Star Wars pieces together, a feat of engineering that
both charms and baffles me.

Your arms which hug me tight 'round the waist
and squeeze 'round my neck
with all the love you've got and can't contain
for your mama
and you say, "I love you more than you
love me and that's true!"
and I reply, "That's impossible.
No boy can love his mama more than this mama loves her boy!"

The boy whose deep blue eyes dance with furtive joy when
he fetches the mail and finds an envelope addressed to him,
and sees that it's from
his sister,his only sister, who is living away from home.
He exclaims "It's from the best sister
in the whole entire world!"

Your feet that seem to grow with each step you take
The feet that no longer demand Velcro straps
because you're learning how to tie real shoelaces.
(I want you to learn,
but I don't, for that means you will take yet
another step of independence on your way out the door
of childhood.)

Today you and I started your first official Bible study.
Just the two of us, shoulder to shoulder on the sofa.
The book of John. "That you may believe," it says.
(My prayer for you.)
You are drawing a storyboard, starting with a picture
of the Word, and then putting words to your picture.
"You are the Lamb of God!" John exclaims, pointing to Jesus
who is on a rocky cliff above him. "And I am not." Your
cartoon bubbles are priceless: John has rips in his jeans.
Jesus wears patches on his.
You point out they're both wearing sandals that tie up.

For a moment I think of Jesus when he was seven.
His own mother must have wondered as she
sewed on a patch or two for her mud-puddle stompin' boy,
"Yeshua! Please don't grow up so fast!
Yeshua! Wasn't it just yesterday you got your first tooth
and now you've lost two? Before I know it, your voice
will change, and you'll have big muscles like your dad,
and you'll carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

And she must have had the other same thought, "No boy has ever loved his mama the
way this mama loves her boy."
But knew she was wrong.

How many times did she tie her boy's sandals and think,
"I'm not worthy to be doing this"?
Yet, God chose her to mother His Son,
And God has chosen me
to mother you,
our last son, a task for which I do not feel worthy
as I tie up your laces.

Hiatus Haiku

A haiku is a particular form of Japanese poetry. It is supposed to express a scene or feeling with an action or observation. The format takes three lines: the first has five syllables, the second has seven, and the third has five. Here is mine as I take a break from blogging to put together some special things for my students in the last week of school (which ends Friday) as well as to help Sarah prepare to go away for the summer. (I drive her up to PA on Thursday.)

The blog break is necessary for my productivity. The school break is necessary for my sanity. The mother-daughter break? There are no words. If I start talking about it, my throat gets tight, my eyes water, and I just ...well... yeh...there are no words.

Taking a blog break
To wrap up school year, I'm glad.
But "Bye, Sarah"? Sad.

Fun Story Taking Shape

Thanks to some creative writers, I'm delighting in the lamb/lemon story. Krista's up!