daughters

Every Moment

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I remember nights without sleep
and cries without consolation
diaper bags and strollers a must
for even the simplest outings

now their once-wispy hair is
tied back in tight braids and
their cries are aimed at each other
with bitter words to match.

a blur it’s been, baby years gone,
relinquished first to toddlerhood
and now we’re full-on childhood
their lives zipping by me

before I can even sit on the swing
with their daddy and reminisce
the time that is happening now,
they will be all grown up.

(I will remember this when I
hold my hand to a feverish forehead,
when they pitch a fit and act their age,
when I think every moment is too much)
because every. moment. counts.

Adrenaline

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it’s amazing how the smallest thing
can pump a mother’s adrenaline—
a scream, a weak call, a fever
(not my own, but the listless look
of a sick child)

it rushes in, takes control
of my body until it transforms
to hand-jittering fear.
the moment passes
but as long as I’m a mother
the adrenaline will be there
hiding like fog on my soul,
waiting for its next chance
to smother me as I reach
to protect her.

Ten Haikus for 2010

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Only in Denver
do we enjoy seventy
degrees and then snow.

Running eight hot miles
is easier than having
to say no to you.

Watching Grease again
I wonder if I’m being
their very best mom.

Screaming loud children
are like daffodils: better
when the sun is out.

Two dark chocolate cakes,
one happy hour, zero
days of school: perfect.

Parents who dislike
teachers should home-school their kids
and stop degrading.

Girls wearing dresses
are rainbows shining brightly
after the downpour.

Family is a gift
and also a sacrifice
that makes us complete.

Television steals
moments that we should share to
make the world better.

Spring is a wild breeze
that ushers out winter’s cold
and blows in summer.

March Daughters

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Isabella

I thought by seven you wouldn’t want
to wear those fancy, “spinny” dresses that,
at age two, caused you to flop on the floor
in tireless tantrums, insistent upon wearing
a dress—OR ELSE—so much so that
even if I pulled out a pair of pants
or a onesie for your baby sister,
you expanded into a volcano of screams.

Yet, on a day when you are free from school,
I know I will still see you emerge from your room
clad in the neck-to-toe Victorian style dress
with the gold Christmas paint on the navy blue
background, the embroidered buttons, and
the ballet shoes over your tights, spinning just
as happily as if you were still two
(oh how I love you now but still miss year two).

Mythili

we have no need for gifts in our house.
you create your own.

finding on the floor of my car
a bright yellow foam brain
(product of my school district’s
ridiculous expenditures),
you snatched it up,
reclaimed it as a mouse,
carried it to the park
and named her Lola

Lola hurt herself falling
off the seesaw
and jumped for joy dashing down
the twisty slide,
settling in next to your mouth
(fingers inside)
for your nighttime soother
(of course under blankey)
every night, causing panicked screams
when misplaced,
your beloved, favorite found toy.

we have no need for gifts in our house.
we have you.

Riona

at Mary Poppins, in between
your animated reactions to the
bright colors (“it’s turning green now”
“look, Mama, it’s bright red!”)
and the tap dancing (“see all the
chimney sweepers in black shoes?”)
my friend Hanna counted fifteen times
your turning to me and whispering,
“I wuv you Mama,”
making my heart melt more
than you in your pretty dress,
your first (perfectly obedient) night
at the theatre,
your first musical,
your first time walking everywhere
I once rolled or carried you,
because no matter how many times
you say it to me,
I feel as if it is my first time
hearing your lovely words.

I’ve Been There

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he has carried her in the crook of his arm
to the point of exhaustion for both
yet
even long distance I can hear her cries,
I can feel the stress rising up over phone lines
and all I can reply is, “I’ve been there.”

she handles it as flippantly as a new mother can,
mentioning only her concerns about the schedule,
the lack of sleep,
the looming return to work,
but he is not so sure
and when she tells me she must go
it is not because of the crying (now settled)
(innocent, newborn) baby,
but because he is stressed.

and all I can reply is, “I’ve been there,”
knowing the words will
never be enough to
cover the overwhelming burden
(of love)
that comes with becoming parents

The Fierce Heat of Living

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(Inspired by David Whyte)

How do I survive in the fierce heat of living?
by taking her hand within my own
and dashing across the stalemate parking lot
on our way to our next adventure,
plucking up her sisters (trapping their
thrilled screams in boxes)
to ride a bike behind my new two-wheel rider,
to ride a plastic horse for a penny,
to choose another fantasy from the library,
everything free (almost free)
just like the way life was, once,
before we knew better.

How do I survive in the fierce heat of living?
by taking her hand within my own
and dashing into the blue moon night
on our way to our next adventure,
plucking off our clothes (trapping their
tangled mess in piles)
to scream out into the darkness
to roll our nakedness in the snow
to choose another fantasy from our minds,
everything free (almost free)
just like the way life is, now,
because we know better.

Six-Penny Happiness

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A lackluster errand to the bank
(located inside the grocery store)
seems tedious as I sit in the driver’s seat
of my compact car with three
antsy girls who unbuckle themselves,
scratch the back dash,
bang on the window
as I count quarters that have
spilled out of their paper sleeve
(I lost $1.50 in the depths
of Hyundai oblivion)

They are seven, five, three,
and don’t attempt to contain
the excitement that bursts at
the thought of what is to come:
a free kid’s cookie for each,
a slice of orange meant to entice
paying customers (that they will
suck the juice from and abandon),
and the pennies they’ve discovered
(in their search for quarters) that
will pay for six rides on the horse.

They take turns, maneuvering from
tail to saddle to head to leg,
the shiny plastic horse never
moaning under their ample weight,
and every time another penny is inserted,
a new wave of thrilled screams erupts,
making this six-cent endeavor (this
tedious, hideous errand) worth more to me
(to them) than a million dollars that
I will never have to count (or spend)
to bring them happiness.

Swallowing Our Sadness

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After two gloriously quiet hours,
they are ready for the flourless cake
that this time (after multiple envious complaints)
I have made just for them.

They emerge from the family room
after watching The Velveteen Rabbit,
tears streaming down their
reddened-with-sadness cheeks.

“What’s the matter, don’t you want cake?”
Daddy asks, his voice dripping with confusion.
“The movie was so sad.” Sobs erupt
from their throats and trap any more anxious words.

“Really? What’s it about?” he asks, never having seen it.
As I begin to describe the rabbit becoming Real
(Isabella chimes in about the high fever)
their tears find their way into my own eyes.

I look at the three pained faces of my girls
who for the first time have been touched to tears
by a movie, and I wonder if I’m crying because of
the story or because they’re now old enough to understand it.

Either way, as I slice up the cake
that they take tiny bites of and abandon,
swallowing their sadness with delectability,
I am not able to swallow my own sadness.

Before I have even had a chance to stop time,
I have a houseful of growing-up girls
who reminded me today how precious
every bite of cake, every rite of passage, can be.

Ten Random Thoughts

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1. Though I thought I really had earned that 99-cent bag of Cheetos after my eight-mile run, I decided, as always, that it’s better to share it with my girls. Everything is.
2. Libraries are the best places I know. From browsing through the online catalog and reserving books and CDs to their wide variety of audio books and DVDs, I can think of few places where our tax money is better spent. It’s a shame more people don’t think like me.
3. A frugalista’s version of a car wash is to squeegee all the windows at the gas station. It’s not like we need to see out of the doors or the hood, so why do those need to be cleaned? Ever?
4. Having a handful of kids’ DVDs can make the weekend much more relaxing.
5. Why didn’t I think five years sooner to give the girls a bath BEFORE dinner? That way they’re mostly ready for bed before we even eat and their hair dries on its own. Duh.
6. Having second-degree-burned myself as a child (resulting in plastic surgery and permanent scarring), now when I make a quick burn mistake I have catlike reflexes, rushing to the sink and running my hand in ice-cold water, preventing another scar. Or, everything happens for a reason.
7. iTunes and iPods are the greatest modern inventions. In ten minutes I made the perfect playlist for running with an iPod that fits in my tiny yoga-pants pocket. Remember the days of mixed tapes and Walkmans?
8. Always go for the sale items. Today I saved 30%. Tomorrow I’ll have money to pay my bills. So simple.
9. Cheap wine (my favorite is Barefoot) tastes as good as expensive wine if you share it with someone you love.
10. The only thing I remember from that Life’s Little Instructions book my mom gave me when I graduated high school: “Marry the right person. It will determine 90% of your happiness in life.” Almost twelve years later, I must concur.

Decisions, Decisions

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What can I capture from today?

The angry parent email
with threat to principal and
superintendent, all over a book
she shouldn’t have read
(for surely she didn’t understand
its genuine meaning)?

The morose groans of CSAP prep
and note-taking
that I put my students through
year after year
(yet do they listen)?

Or

The perfect rectangle of dough
rolled and ready to fill
with a mix of scallions, dill,
butter, garlic, and parsley
(everything already chopped)
laid out by my husband’s hands?

The well-behaved seven-year-old
daughter who carried in posters,
collected pennies for tastes,
sat listening to every presentation
and (for once)
asked permission before every request?

The gutak herb fritters
and sour cream, cider vinegar,
lemon-pepper sauce
that filled everyone’s faces
with smiles and everyone’s
stomachs with thanks?

The choice,
just like my fretful decision to bake,
my too-young-to-be-married decision to marry,
my too-early-for-grandkids decision to have them anyway,
is obvious.