The What

Like the seasonal 

fretting of birds, their

riffs of maps and plans

friends at 11:30 p.m.

earnest, affectionate

suggest car pooling

and I honest with drink,

ennui and attachment 

to the one place and time 

--that I am ever unaccompanied and by myself save the ten minutes in the morning, on the chaise  with hot honeyed water. What? 

I'm never even alone in the bathroom anymore, accompanied as I am by entreaties and questions and barging-ins--

demur, characterizing myself 

to their surprise, possible affront 

as "So not a car pool person."

-- 

Augury as August Ends

The earnestness in this enjoyment

--calm, confused schizophrenia

of trees, changes: everything.

And here--right here--a fibrillation

of notes and sighs, of animus.

Brutal brightness, laid bare.

_

Starting September

There will be a story today--

for stories make better memories

alert as questions are the old ones

and distanced at every silence.

We have no capstones yet

and these corners are barely 

imaginary; no trumpets, better--

no victories--only stories.

One day soon, as we know

there'll be snow and television,

clumsy museums encased 

even more than their exhibits. 

For now flicker--babies, friends,

daily glories, automatique-- 

these sunrises of every day,

in skies hiding sudden heavens.

_

That's Hot

It was hot today. Really hot. A hundred times hot. So hot that when one of Li'L A's cross country teammates demurred about running with his shirt off because he was too fat, he was told, "Dude, it's too hot for bad self esteem today." (HeHe, Gulp, and Sad Face all at once.)

Nevertheless Baby A's first day of nursery school followed by a potluck at her sweetly hippy-dippy institution of early learning. After I got home from work, I wore a sari and Baby A wore a scarf draped as a "half sari" over her trousers. (I wore my favorite Rosie the Riveter button as a sari brooch.)

_

Press Start

Looking at the post counts for July and Aug and cringing. I re-remember now how difficult it is to get back to a routine after an emotional disruption. 

So, scrambling to get prep managed and presented. Really scrambling. The English courses (Colonial-Postcolonial Litt, Composition) started last week, the Women's Studies course starts next week. Thankfully, we (Big A and I) decided that I could take a break from the four ESL classes a week. I loved being in touch with newly arrived international students and we could use the extra money, but there's just not enough time. For me. Big A NEVER has enough time. OTOH, I admire resent admire/resent how Big A decides that he needs to do something and then goes ahead and does it. E.g. Finishing up a mountain of patient charts at home or training for the marathon. There's very little I can expect or bring myself to ask of someone who has worked a 14 hour day and run eight miles in training. 

But that still leaves three weekday mornings to do serious writing. So it is written. 

_

Things Can Only Get Better

Dad's birthday. Woke up at 5 to wrap presents before final class prep. And then begged two kids and an adult with increasing desperation and superhuman amounts of groveling to sign his card from 6:45 to 7:50.

Was away all day on campus and then too late and tired to stop anywhere to get a birthday cake. (Lazy!!) Did a drive through Tim Hortons for 40 donut holes that the kids and I stacked into a pretty impressive "cake tower," parked a tealight on top, and had a festive birthday party anyway.

Happy Birthday, Daddy :). (You're the first feminist I ever met.)

_

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.

_