bless the rat guys

Well, I think your uterus is probably in better shape than the crib. Do both your gates open? Just say the word, but consider also that I have no storage and it is likely that time and weather will determine if this crib is useful every again, your uterus or no.

Meanwhile, the rat guys have just left. They're not really The Ray Guys, but the guys in charge of sealing off every possible entrance and exit that a rat might use to inhabit new chez moi. The Rat Guy himself is fascinating-- a young Indiana Jones type, who travels from house to house trapping unwanted pe(s)ts (ever noticed there is only one letter difference there? me neither) SO now they are gone after a whole day of hammering and nail gunning and pouring concrete and yanking up planks, and telling me about their kids and their respective (sometime single) parenthoods. They all play in bands, and the had to leave promptly at 5:30 to make it to thier gig, which is in some Harley bar in Phlugerville. I was like a welfare rat job,you know, because the landlady wouldn't pay, so I scraped up what I could and said 'Do what you can with this' and bless their hearts, they went all out for the kids sake. Really swell blokes, all the rat guys, and the main rat guy even panicked once when he wasn't sure where Sophie was.

God bless the rat guys.

stunned

You called the other day with a simple question and it has thrown me into a certain angst. The question, "Would you like your crib back?" Crib. My crib. The crib that three of my children slept in, a crib that held laundry when not in use. A crib I recall picking out being full and round with baby Oona. A crib that held so many hopes and dreams.
Do I want it back? What would I do with it? But more importantly why would I hold on to it? Keeping it would mean there was still some remote possibility that it would be used. That my uterus would be used, filled once again with life. I thought I had come to terms with the idea that babies are a thing of the past for me. I have moved on to a new place in my life. But there it is, "Do you want your crib back?" It was like you asked, "DO you think you may have another baby?" I still can't answer the question. I picked up the phone several times to call you and say, no, I don't want the crib back. But I always hung up. I am in a nowhere place. Not ready to give up babies and not ready for grandchildren.
This still does not answer your question, but I have to answer it first and this I seem unable to do at the moment.
G.

manos

It seems like "madre" should be a masculine word, like "mano" is feminine, for they are interchangeable, hand and mother, the mothers are the hands, the spine, the structure, after all, the caress, the slap, the hand over the mouth, the hand to mouth.

I drift in and out of mothering, the way my mother perhaps did, although I think she was mostly out. Lately, as you say, I have been deep into other things, although I know the lesson there--it has been hammered into me by innumerable novels and films: The Piano, The Good Mother, Erin Brockovitch, The Hours--if you want something for your self, some identity or uniqueness of being, some singularity of purpose or intent that diverges from the motherly path, the wifely path, the subservient path, someone always gets sick or dies, or hit by a car, or at least scarred for life, so that you will never forget your brief and deadly foray into selfhood without a shocking and visceral reminder.

So I tread on this very thin ice on mother's day, half of me wanting to hold them close forever, to deflect every harm, some secret part of me wanting towards that day of freedom when they have been delivered safely into the hands of adulthood. But that's a myth also, isn't it? They will always be children, heavy, beautiful, weighty, delicious burdens, the way all exquisite burdens should be, after all, requiring something us that seems at times more than we have to give.

Happy Mother's Day to you, my friend. You have earned your place among the saints.

alone but never alone

I wont even try to take on two personalities myself. Dear friend you are deep into finals, children, work, etc. I am still here when you are ready to return. In the meantime here are some ponderings.


I reluctantly gave up my Sunday. Sunday is the only day of the week I
have to sleep in, and I am very possessive of my Sunday morning sleep.
I told Annie that we would "do something fun". I kept it vague as to
not over commit myself. An eight year old can be convinced that half
an hour on a McDonald's playscape with an .89 cent ice cream cone is
fun.
We talked about riding her bike, which would involve me running along
side of her holding the seat until I felt she had her balance. I was
not particularly in a running mood. Then her friend wanted to come
"do something fun" with us. For this I was grateful, it meant she had
someone else to talk to and I could be quiet.
We piled into the car not sure where we were going and an odd twist
brought us to a part of town I don't often go. I suggested we go out
to the lake. They protested that they did not have bathing suits,
towels, sunscreen, floaties, etc. I responded with, "So what." They
were skeptical to say the least.
Before we reach the lake there is a hiking trail that follows a
stream, so I pulled over and announced we were going hiking. The
trail is shaded and not only does it follow the stream but you have to
cross it several times. They worried about their shoes getting wet,
and I responded, "who cares." And then tromped in the water to show
them the world would not end with wet shoes. They laughed and giggled
and splashed.
Hot and happy from the hike we headed to the lake. More protests from
my worried little companions, "we only have clothes, we can't get them
wet." Continuing on in my monosyllabic wisdom I said, "why not?" and
I plunged myself into the water. They needed no more reassurance from
me and jumped in.
After I thoroughly felt baptized in lake water I sat on the dock to
dry off. I felt tired and happy, the kids created a complicated game
that involved jumping off the dock and climbing back up again. My
toes dipped in the water and I was mesmerized by the light reflecting
off the water. Blue light coming off the water, tipped with the white
small waves. The feeling of the sun on my skin, the water on my feet
and evaporating from my body was bliss. Then the smells floated over
to me. A family having a barbecue and filling the air with sensuous
smells. As if my senses were not filled enough the children started
laughing as they jumped in the water, then silence followed by squeals
of delight as they emerged. I focused my eyes on the blue light
reflecting from the water and every part of me experienced a quiet
joy. This must be what my heaven will be like. I felt closer to God
sitting on the dock taking in all the feelings around me than I ever
have sitting in a pew in stiff clothing. Then I laughed to myself and
thought, "Nature is my true church."
Happy Mothers Day.