Kathadi: Up in the Air

Pulling at the seams of words
one stitch at a time. Worrying
at gasp of steam of fog of cloud
of a sky made from all shadows

Soft as floating belly of mango
memory unravelling in the heat
stitch and mimic scent of night;
tug at flood of string, cut. Kite.

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New Habit

New. Or "new to me" as Baby A says of the froggie gumboots handed down from the sibling eight years older than her.

Habit Blog: simple pictures; evocative words; no verbosity. And done.

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Baby A's nanny from two years ago came by for a playdate this morning (she comes by regularly because she has two boys in college and sometimes she just needs to squeeze a toddler).

But really, nostalgia appears to have no age bar. Although merely three years old, even Baby A apparently has tons of things she looks back on with affection: "That's what I used to do, back when I was a baby. Do you remember that?"

Yes. Yes. we do.

In the arms of an old favorite wearing something else that's "new to her."
The Wild Thing Tee that was the first present Big A got Li'l A all those many years ago. 

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TG(anesha)IF

Looks like my baby, the Mini, may need had to be towed to the dealership (leaking oil, engine light on, setting up the most terrific flapping-clattering sound under the hood). There's no way we're going to be able to drive the one hour to Columbus without hurting the baby.

Come back soon, little one!

But I ended the day at N&J's eating stuffed shells and cookie pizza and drinking big balloons of red wine while the kids played Minecraft ("not MinDcraft, Maya! MinEcraft"--Nine-year-old Pete corrects me, his voice dripping amused horror). And there--dare I say--I'm happy (even with Big A gone away at work).

To have friends with whom you can discuss whether women are always obligated to side with the only other woman in the room while being filled in on Game of Thrones is no mean blessing.

It's the stuff that keeps me warm as the year tiptoes away from summer.

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Done!

I made it! 


Week two of three classes on Tues and Thurs broken only by office hours and the 30 minute drive to another campus with 15 minutes to spare before class (what happens if there's heavy traffic or an accident?).


I came home and excavated some frozen store-bought naan and some long-ago homemade bean-potato-eggplant curry from the freezer (stuck there because there were claims that people didn't like it when I made it--lo--those two months ago, although everyone finished up yesterday), got everyone fed, supervised kid showers and didn't feel dead by 7:30. 


Week 1 found me passed out at 6:30; but Big A was home then and took care of dinner and kids. Still, yesterday with no co-parent backup, I managed it. I did it. I'm reading something for pleasure.  I'm ok.


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What She Said (2)

This thief--my child.

Her smile 

fills her eyes 

takes my heart

talks.

Rest warm

firecat fears.

Her cool hand 

diadems my brow

girds my sleep.

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Privately

Flood my blood 
at the edges of bed
our naked feet splinter
saplings, new miracles


Ravines of sheets
spin ghosts of arrival
taut wrist, tattered skin
bud, bury, holler: home


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Note to Self

If you're involved with the on-campus hospitality for someone who is--quite conceivably--the most famous ecofeminist in the world, perhaps you should make sure that she does not have to drink water out of a disposable plastic bottle. At the podium. While talking about sustainability issues. In front of the--rightly--tittering undergraduates.

That's all.

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