In the Middle

So Li'l A is in middle school now. And over the weekend, checking on cousin P directly in the path of Hurricane Irene, I was the one who got comforted. P told me that having this child in middle school would prepare me for when he goes away to college. Given the health insecurities of the summer, all I want to do is spend every moment with my kids lolling around, "snuddling," having picnics, but time is so tough. So tight. 


The middle schooler gets home at 6:30 weekdays (Cross-country training after school). Sidebar: And I hate that cross country trains five days a week and meets on the sixth day to race (like Christian gods) but my spacey kid turns out to be unable to play team sports that require him to visualize and this is the kind of activity where he can zone out and still get good-for-asthma exercise. I hate that for two hours a day I have no way of contacting him. He leaves his cell phone in his locker when he runs--naturally. And also, since they run all over the village, the glen, everywhere, I have no idea where he is. Feels so strange. But I am letting go. And then suddenly it's the weekend, but he's invited to some workshop on "facilitation" from 10-3 and then goes away to a friends sleepover. But I continue to let my peacock fly  baby bird go.

And I'm letting go sometimes out of necessity. School now starts at 8:45 and since my first class is at 9 and 45 minutes away, I'm trusting in him to gather his school things, let himself out, lock the door behind him, and bike to school. By himself.

That screaming is coming from inside my head.

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Oh Thank Heaven...

I don't know if you remember this big kerfluffle when Biden correlated Indian Americans and 7-11s?

Li'l A's middle school sure doesn't, or they wouldn't assign the sole brown kid in their school the locker number... wait for it... "7-11."

We've been teasing him all week :).

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I'm Special. So Special.

Because I can never remember the tunes to the silly songs I make up for kids, I have designated special songs for the kids borrowed (I'm a creative GENIUS!!) from the movies. My sister pointed out that they're both sad songs when situated narratively, but they soothe my kids, make them feel special (along with three other generations of Hindi-speaking kids).

Baby A has Chanda Hey Tu, Mera Sooraj Hey Tu, Li'l A has Nanhi Kali Sone Chali .  Last night as I told them what the words meant again, Li'l A growled with discontent:

Yeah. She (Baby A) is your sun and your moon, plus all the stars. And what am I? A flower. A little one. Nice."

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Mind. Business.

Baby baby baby
snakes
taper taper taper

tight

wave happy, happy 

goodbyes gone

clank tears,

swing slaughter

Nothing to do here

Keep moving along

Nothing to see

rest shadows, exit.

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Snapshot

There are oranges

the color of gossip

There is tea bruited

to honeyed brown

There is dreaming--

tastes like freedom

There is water shed

parading like blood

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Control

Because I have so little control over the big things: my kids' health and their safety: if my fellow drivers on the road will drive wisely; how many chocolates I will grab in a day; etc.: I exercise alarming amounts of control over the small things--things so small that they wouldn't even register if I possessed a slightly saner mind.

For instance, every morning when I make the kids their cheesy eggs for a breakfast boost of protein and fat, I pick the biggest eggs I can find in the box. This is a huge admission of kooky here: I pick the biggest eggs in the box. I don't eat eggs, so it's not like the kids are saved from having to eat the smaller eggs, or that I ever buy a new box because I judge the remaining eggs to be too small. The smallest eggs in the box will be eaten, inevitably, by the very same kids--just on day six, when they are the only remaining eggs. That's bonkers.

From tomorrow I'm going to pick any two eggs.

Freedom.

In related news, we've lived here for three years now, and it appears that I haven't been to the doctor in all that time. (Naturally, I've been there multiple times as chauffeuse and escort.) I tried to make an appointment with our family doc who has taken care of Big A on and off back from when he was a kid and now gives Li'l and Baby A their shots and referrals, to find out that I wasn't even in the system. I've made a Friday appointment to ask about anxiety, neck pain, and lady part exams.

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The Week Before School

Traveller, we could go
to Damascus. There.
Damn. Mass. Cuss.
It's my humming body

It's skin like chipped dreams
and questions, small cases.
I can wear a Kanjeevaram sari
you will wear a week's stubble

We'll soon travel all summer
in slumber, blessed stateliness
supplicant to windows radiant
with swimming celestial doubt.

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