Pause

We're in the car and just a block from school here. I begged Nu and they took a break from torturing me with BTS long enough to take this beautifully composed picture of the sky.

I really like the emphasis of the red traffic lights.

The baby is so talented.












_

New order

I've been taking the long way home after the Poco class stopping at places (so far this week--Pitaya, Target, Urban Outfitters, the Visitors' Bureau, Insomnia Cookies, and the Vinyl store), loading up my backpack when I get something, and counting it as weight training and aerobic exercise.

And just a day after telling the person who called from the doctors' office that I don't want to go to a followup, I found something... and Big A is adamant I need to see the doctor right away.

It's must be the middle of term, because I caught myself thinking it would be a nice break from grading. So there's that.

#RedCedarRiver #MSU
_

Tableau

So I'm in a car. I'm in a car stopped at a traffic light.
On the block on which my son lives now. It's by the--
by the Starbucks redux, by the telephone pole, by the
old 7-11, the zebra crossing, the Asian buffet--And. At--

At the zebra crossing, a mom looks on fiercely as: her
skinny toddler drops her hand, and steps precisely--as if
at prom, then delays--to tiptoe the three steps--three steps
away to press the button--the button that will summon the

white walk-sign man. And then I think she says thank you.
That's it. Oh. NoNo. there's a baby too, who anchors the mom,
who had yielded attention for a moment, but is now bouncing--
bouncing, appealing, willing mom to look--look back. Willing

her to smile back. I imagine the baby is a girl; the toddler is a boy.
I'm not reading their signs, only feeling my past. And they're so
close, so I'm smiling and nodding my encouragement to the child,
the baby still bouncing in the pram, the mom. Nodding to myself--

It's that familiar. Memories buzz in the car's hum of silence. The
residuum of busy, sticky hands I've let go. Panic--a fog. The years
alertly sliding in--backlog. Stuck waiting for a sign--green--walk--
wait--ok fine--we're waiting--so incoherent with longing, still, life--


______________________
Ha. I've managed to sneak "At" And "NoNo" in there.

-

"And then, mama..."

"Doing an after-dinner Huckleberry"

_

One Night in Lansing

 Nu looks so lovely dressed up for Navaratri visits. even their severe hair looks very model-like, I think.

I slept over with the three babies last night and this morning Scout and Huck seemed the same, but when I went to give Nu a goodmorning kiss, they seemed taller? Like they had grown in the night?

Big A said I was still taller by a hair; S, U, and E--our Navaratri hosts said Nu was already taller.

Nu is technically still eleven until Friday, so I should get used to being the shortest human in the family and to being addressed as "little mama" by my tall pre-teen. I'm sure I'll grow into it. Get it? Ha.




-

Thud

Last week was a rainy blur, so I don't remember which morning this was. But yes, that tree fell right into our tiny veggie plot and the putative garden... so: BOO.

It would have been more boo-hoo though if it had fallen a few feet to the right and taken out windows and skylights, so there's a bright side?

CF was going to spend the night here, but showed up early, laden with sweet gifts, but congested and wanting to get back to her own bed. I was in the process of making soup for dinner, so I packed up some for her to take.

I am sad and will miss our plans for intergenerational girls' night. And C's disappearance hacks heavily into Nu's plans to watch Derry Girls  all over again :D.
_

Here Comes the Sun

I was so delighted to see this bright face over the Maple River.

(In a show of what we used to call
"deep breath of beauty"
when we all had to drive to Alma for school.)

(Also: Kids, please don't try this in your cars.)