Sunday, May 13, 2007

Happy Mother's Day

I don't usually wait a whole week between posts and thanks to all who noticed. My "meatspace" life, to borrow a word, is busier than ever these days. I think it's the natural evolution of family life. Spring is becoming summer; the kids have new hot-weather needs; soccer has ended and will soon be replaced with swim lessons. The school seems to make request after request after request. I'm going to have to discipline myself into feeling good about saying no.

Our first dip into the pool this season was in my neighbor's backyard. I was disappointed that my kids didn't seem to retain what they'd learned last season. My six-year-old's best friend's parents are putting a pool in their backyard and I warned her that she'll need to show more confidence in the water before I let her hang out there all summer.

The three-year-old contented himself poolside until I pulled him in with mommy, and he let the entire neighborhood know exactly how he felt about that. I wonder how he'll react on his first swim lesson.

Anyway, GREAT Mother's Day. Though I woke at 6:30, I don't think I got out of bed until about 11:30, what with breakfast and coffee coming, the laptop keeping me interested. I finished a column and editing a piece. I then hit the gym for a light workout, returned to chat with the father formerly known as my husband. I made a quick run up to the fabric store to complete the cornice in my son's big boy room (looks good!), got to use the drill to tighten some screws on the wall-hanging ironing board holder, and am currently attempting to finish today's post after several attempts.

Not being able to finish reminds me of one of my favorite poems:

I Stop Writing the Poem

to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies, I'm still a woman.
I'll always have plenty to do.
I bring the arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I'll get back
to the poem. I'll get back to being
a woman. But for now
there's a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it's done.


I was checking through the archives to see if I'd posted that poem in the last two years, but it looks like not.

I stop writing the post

to repair the ironing board holder.
No matter who lives or who dies, I'm still a mom.
I'll always have more work than can be finished.
I place the bit in his drill
and tighten. Nothing can stop our tenderness. I'll get back
to the writing. I'll get back to being a blogger. But for now,
there's an ironing board, the standard-size kind
in my hands sliding into its wall mount, and somewhere
hopefully, a little girl
noticing how that her mommy did it and how it was done.

Today my husband stopped building the car to replace the soffit vents, something I didn't know we had. Just by instinct he realized they'd been painted over, were clogged up and is betting that our attic will now be within 10 degrees of the outdoor temperature. I'm a bit skeptical because attics are just hot. Seems no way of gettin' around it.

After he replaced those, he took a gander at that area of the yard that's always muddy and found the leak, sprung a new one and created a twenty-foot geyser. I stopped writing the post to watch the baby while he went to Home Depot for a couple things I can't remember the name of, so let's call them doohickeys, until he returned to turn off the water. So I returned to the post, but when he realized he was short one crucial item (hard to believe if you've seen our garage), he went back to the store. And I stopped writing the post (again) to gather the garbage and recyclables and watch the children.

And now he's returned and showering off the mud, after putting the steak on the grill, I've come back to the post while the children at my feet live the see-saw life of childhood annoying the c%#*@ out of each other one moment and amusing each other into fits of giggles the next.

Unbeknownst to them and my husband, I know about the pint of ice cream in the freezer, and after the kids go to bed, I'll be at it with a spoon, a tablespoon, and luckily there won't be a daughter--standing next to her mother--watching to see how it's done.

Labels:

7 Comments:

Anonymous Papa Ken said...

Enjoyed the post. Some business majors are going to think you are divorced. "formerly my husband."

6:16 AM  
Blogger Dana said...

I'm glad you had a Happy Mother's Day! I luxuriously lounged on the sofa and watched 'The Queen'- which seemed a most appropriate movie for Mother's Day. My husband grilled fresh salmon and herbed new potates. We really were meant to be queens, yes?!

8:12 PM  
Blogger Mike LaRoche said...

A belated Happy Mother's Day, Nancy and Dana! I gave my mom some perfume and cooked her a New York strip steak dinner.

2:56 AM  
Blogger Nancy said...

Thanks, Mike!

We really were meant to be queens, yes?!

Yes. In fact, I was just commenting to the father (formerly known as my husband who really is my husband after the kids go to bed) that I can't believe I've reached this stage in life and not only don't have a red velvet cape like the one worn in My Fair Lady, I don't even have a need for such a thing!

What kind of queen does that make me?

1:34 PM  
Anonymous kathy said...

of course you need a red velvet cape, everyone does -- are you seriously saying you don't HAVE one?

what a lovely post and worth waiting for. I especially liked your revision of that poem --

6:31 PM  
Blogger Dana said...

Nancy, if you lived close to me, I would let you wear my tiarra.

:)

6:45 PM  
Blogger David N. Scott said...

Hahaha... the 'formerly my husband' threw me for a second, but then I re-read it and laughed. Funny. Man, this post reminds me why I prefer apartments and tend to let my domiciles steadily collapse into a state of genial disrepair.

1:49 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home