Of Fibs, Kids, Pee, and Me

Somedays the kids are all about fibs (about things that don't even matter) and a puddle of pee (a mere, stubborn five inches away from the potty).

Somedays, I prefer my students to my kids. (Less pee.)


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Swept Away

I think of the journey work 

of each of these rain drops,

how the studious landings burst

on the skin like surprise kisses

waterfalls that drape every stair

and the leaves hiccuping bigger

in quick gulps, swallowing time.

For I don't cry, who would know?

This sky is now world's cage

it dissolves; is strong, is sullen,

threatens in words too primitive

to howl rainbows at them. 

Don't hide your face, my love

--in your safe, plastic landfall

there is also a middle, an end.

We'll win.

_

Selective

For these are the measures of the everyday assassin
wash hands and sanitize.
Moisturize.

Every thing in its place.
Hair. Bullets.

For you will assume news is anachrony.
For you will know anarchy is nothing.

Nothing.
Nothing is nothing.

Below, a window--
To the window.

All is quiet within.
And you are steel.

Smile.

Early Birds, not Love Birds

We're on our way to the opera, but we're listening to hip-hop non stop. Wiz Khalifa is bragging about how his checks look like phone numbers.

Big A: Kinda like you, Puppy--except your checks be looking like just the area codes.

Oooh, burn :)!

The Daughter of the Regiment was the dopiest thing I've seen. Dopey--not dope.

We ditched our passes during intermission to go try out a new tapas bar and get some Thai food. And we were home by 6:45. P.M. That won't make sense until I say our opera tickets are always for the Sunday matinee. One day we'll be seniors and we'll already be champions of the early-bird specials.

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Sad-U R day

Ha.

We were supposed to hole up last night at a Holiday Inn a few hours from here, so we could arrive at the Miami University Traithlon registration early. (Big A was supposed to triathlete, not me.) Didn't.

We were supposed to go to the YSKP fundraiser this evening--I had the perfect dress with a keyhole neckline and tattoo tights picked out. Three different babysitters bailed on us.

It's as though today were taking lessons in deportment from Baby A, whose favorite response to everything, including suggestions of timeouts is: But I don't want to!

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Cute! (But where are the girls?)

At the nursery school established by Usha Gehlot in the Indian town of Jhajjar, there are toys, books, brightly-painted walls, and very few little girls. "In last year's intake, of a total of 59 pupils, 43 were boys," said the headteacher, running a pen down a column in the handwritten register book.

Read the rest and weep.

_

And so it starts...

Cuts to education = cuts to the Women's Studies Program at the local state university.

Don't know what it means for the course I'm supposed to be teaching in the fall yet.