her lessons.

words scratchy and thick with
good intention
struggle to find their way out
about
instead: a shout.

she sees the true
challenge as finding
one's own fiddle
and playing it hard
and well

bon iver pulls
tears from her eyes
as effortlessly
as they strum; hum
each day spent
inspiring someone.

she will find her way
to give this eternally
happy feeling
to those around her

lessons in listening
present
the air to us
as a gift
to do.

it will be done.

her search.

she yawns cat-like
stretching the new day
into her arching back
so she can support herself
and her simple ambition:
to find you

you, who she now
pens letters to

you, who she
sneaks into her dreams

you, who she thinks
up names for

you, who she believes
simply must exist

somewhere

each day
begins to rememble
a moment
a sweet kind moment
that will be later catalogued
as 'before YOU'

she will keep looking
she will find you

and when she does
her nights, though
sleepless for a while,
will be full of
more contentment
than she has
ever
known.

she will rest
easy,
because you,
my dear:

you will be home.

an august haiku

more of summer gone
it is a reality
that the sun will set

real work.

i think my seven year old needs therapy. or might soon. or something equally horrible. up until oh, about now, he was purely brilliant, confident, sincere and amusing. all traits he inherited from me. of course. suddenly, he has turned into a sportscenter watching, overly selfindulgent, bragging, punk with a giant (and not the slightest bit delicious) CHIP on his shoulder. (ahem, i think we all know who he turned into...)

the thing is tony has a legit temper. (i will preface that it is his own personal achilles heel and aside from this, he could pretty much be a perfect human being- shhh. don't tell him i said so!) and in spite of all of his OWN work (and there is a lot of work he has done) to cope with these angry outbursts, he has succeeded at handing this behavior over to his son. plain and simple. i wish this were a blameless situation but it's not.

the bottom line is, when lil ole manda was at YMCA camp as a child, playing capture the flag, she simply did NOT walk over and push stupid jenny down (to the ground!) when jenny took off after the flags before the whistle was blown. mini-manda would probably be a little ticked (7 year old manda was already a giant fan of justice.) however, she would probably have just done the child version of writing a person off. pfft. who needs her. look at her dumb ponytail anyway. the end.

on the OTHER hand, i have a sneaking suspicion that the lil tyke known as tiny tony would have also nailed the kid down to the ground too. unapologetically. and called him a cheater. never EVER feeling as though he was in the wrong. justice prevailed! damn straight!

and now, i am starting to understand that *this* is who ezra is. or at least who he was at camp today. according to my sister who called to tell me. i am not sure words can explain how eternally grateful i will forever be for hearing this sort of news from my sister (world's best camp director), instead of a camp director that is a stranger (who would in turn hate me, and my kid, and i would be forever mortified.)

ez has inherited this attitude from his dad. my heart wants to jump out of my chest cavity and throw itself off a cliff. or really, it just hurts. a lot. this is my little boy, my BABY, the one we took to peace rallies and dressed in tie-dyed pajamas. the one we have always TALKED to in a way that we feel has made him a smart person, sure, but moreso, a KIND person. the little dude who really seemed to GET THINGS, like big amazing THINGS, has suddenly turned into a punk. a punk that pushes kids down. a punk that when tattled on by a peer has this said about him: "well you know that ezra and his anger issues..."

WHAT!? he is SEVEN. oh man, here come the tears again. this simply cannot be. but it is. and oh wait. for crying out loud! i am also currently experiencing my monthly mood swing... so this dramatic babbling is really quite enhanced right now. hormones. (i wish ez would get back from camp and punch these damn hormones right in the face for me! they won't stand a chance against my prize fighter!) oh look, i can make jokes. phew.

what i really want is not altogether that complicated. or, in my opinion, too much to expect. i just want a nice boy. and the thing is that he IS a nice boy. why is this all going horribly wrong all of a sudden? is this the real work of parenting? when they grow up and spend time away from us and we can no longer decide exactly the sort of beings that they will be? control is not something i am good with freely giving. i pretty much like to keep it all. crap. this really is the hard part.

letting go. yet hanging on for dear life.

so it goes....

i love lists.

-i haven't posted any lists lately
-or even jotted many down
-i think this means i haven't actually accomplished very much
-most of my lists motivate me *to do* things
-oh well
-i swim a lot
-and read blogs. i really like dooce.com
-she's funny
-after years of saying the only time i would ever "run" was when chasing a ball was involved, i turned into a runner!
-holla!
-almost...not quite there yet, but i am actually ENJOYING the experience of jogging.
-remember in anchorman they called it Yogging?
-i am on the toilet.
-i think that is funny to point that fact out.
-i also tend to point this out to friends while i am on the phone with them.
-i like good mental pictures.
-giving and receiving.
-i live far too close to my neighbors.
-this concerns me when the redsox are playing poorly and tony shouts extremely loud and embarrassing obscenities.
-mostly at "nancy" drew.
-this list is not really a good list.
-it's like a run on sentencethoughtthing
-with the dashes
-the dashes are what allow me to get away with writing in 'list form'
-my daughter is singing a song about her Love Box that she made for a boy named Liam
-it is not what one might think
-it is a box. with love notes inside: a Love Box.
-i am now talking with remy about muggsy bogues being the same size as me.
-AS ME!
-i really love the NBA. well the idea of it anyway.
-it's definitely changed since i was a wee one.
-once, when i was a kid, i spent a good couple of months sketching Magic Johnson on lined notebook paper. over and over.
-A portrait:it sucked.
-i moved on to sketching a basketball shoe. a kick?
-if shoes are sometimes referred to as "kicks", would a single shoe be called a kick? that's weird.
-i like saying 'nice kicks'
-i also like calling a car a ride or a whip.
-and yelling holla! at silly times.
-remy wants to get married when she is ten, she just informed me.
-clarified: 'i will just MARRY them at 10. i won't like STAY with them or anything.'
-phew.
-wait? she said THEM. plural? so confusing, this girl.
-my mind certainly jumps a lot.
-just remembered the time i was home sick in my apple pj's in 5th grade.
-my mom left for an errand.
-the fire alarm went off (a bug got in there? a spider?)
-it wouldn't stop so i freaked.
-ran around the neighborhood seeking help. in my apple pj's.
-everyone was doing errands.
-errands: such a funny word.
-also, i wasn't really sick that day.
-i thought twice about faking after that.
-oh and there was no fire.
-also no smiles from my dad when he pulled up to see three fire trucks a my house.
-alarms still ALARM me to this day. ALARM. funny.
-what's it called when a word is it's own definition of itself?
-i should really go get the laundry.
-or have another kid.
-they are so darn expensive.
-but well worth it.
-the end, for now.
HOLLA!