Wordless Wednesday: When the children do the breakfast clean-up, the reason why you can't for the life of you find the Cheerios the next day is that they're in the refrigerator, where you would never dream of looking, and also, where the heck is the box? but it's a small price to pay to teach them how to clean up after themselves, right?

A Mother's Abecedarian Poem

By Louis-Gustave-Fortuné Ratisbonne (1827-1900) (Scanned from book A. B. C. Trim, alphabet enchanté) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons*

Fellow po-blogger Drew recently invited her readers to try an ABC poem, also known as an abecedarian poem. An abecedarian poem is a type of acrostic poem structured around the use of successive letters of the alphabet. The most recent ABC poem I've read is "On Earth" by Carolyn Forche from her collection Blue Hour. She takes this form to its limits, often allowing one letter to generate the beginning of lines across multiple pages before going on to the next letter. She seems to use this form as equal parts structure and randomness, to very good effect. In her book, she notes that ABC poem were used in some early spiritual writings. I'm pretty sure a few of the Psalms were written as ABC poems in Hebrew, for example, but I'm too comfy right now to get up and check, and google is not really helping me out with this one. At any rate, I thought it might be fun to try an ABC poem with a motherhood twist, and here's my effort:

A Mother's Abecedarian (Not-Really-a-)Poem

Ask politely Brush your teeth and wash your face Clear your dishes Don't talk with your mouth full Even mothers make mistakes Flush and wash! Go to sleep Have a good day I love you Just a minute Keep your chair legs down on the floor Lower your voice for heaven's sake! Make do with what you have No Open this door right now, young man! Patience, grasshopper Quiet down for heaven's sake! Rack 'em and stack 'em! Stand up straight Tuck in your shirt Umbrellas are not for dueling well dear, Vaccines are a public health issue Wash your hands with soap Xylophones must be played behind closed doors Yes Zip your lip

(that last one is one of my favorites -- just the sound of it and the crispness of 'zip' are extremely satifying)

Clearly, I am not in the Carolyn Forche league, but sometimes it's fun to think about all the things that come out of one's mouth as a mother -- the regulars (if I had a dollar for every time I've said 'flush and wash!' ....), and the things you never could have imagined saying to your child ("well dear, vaccines are a public health issue" -- as if this would convince a 4yo to go peaceful into that good exam room!? Yes, I really said it.). So, thanks to Drew for a bit of fun. 

Now, Reader, try one of your own. Because I'm sure you have nothing else to do this week, right? Ah yes, I can see it now, a holiday ABC poem....

*Translation for text on image is roughly: Look! when the mouth opens to say Ah, the mouth makes an 'A.' And small ducklings quacking: Quack! Quack! look like lowercase a's (thank you, Google Translate).

Wordless Wednesday: Meet the Latest Addition to My (air quotes) Writing Studio (end air quotes)

Rack 'Em and Stack 'Em!

Way long time ago (in my life, this means "before the kids were born"), Husband and I were watching a home decorating show. Don't ask me why. We obviously had time to kill. At any rate, this show was interesting because it was devoted to resolving differences of opinion between spouses/partners on how to decorate their home. This episode featured a couple who couldn't agree on how to configure their guest room. They wanted to have room for their four grandchildren to sleep over; they also wanted to be able to use the room for other purposes (perhaps as a den or office? I can't remember) when it was just the two of them.

The husband wanted to "rack 'em and stack 'em!" -- in other words, he thought bunk beds were the obvious answer. The wife preferred the day-bed-with-trundle-plus-Murphy-bed approach. The husband must've said "rack 'em and stack 'em!" fifty times in the half-hour segment.

Later in life, when Husband and I had a several things, not the least of which were children, to rack and stack, we took to calling out to each other "rack 'em and stack em!" Yes, we find humor wherever we can.

At any rate, I'm thinking of rechristening our little house the  Rack 'Em and Stack 'Em House. Because of the shortage of space here, there are many, many things which are put away on top of other things, which are put away upon other things, which are in turn put away on top... well, you get the idea. If Anyone (I won't name names) decides to, say, rearrange the fragile system of racking and stacking, we end up without a place for certain crucial objects. Such as the coffee mugs. Or the T.P.

I decided last week I need to take a similar, rack 'em and stack 'em approach to my writing life. In other words, I need to find a stack of hours for writing, and a stack of hours for other stuff like being a mom and running a household. If I don't keep the stacks separate, if I don't arrange them just right, then something loses its spot. And, of course, writing is always the thing that gets muscled out of the stacks of time.

So, starting this week, I started racking and stacking. I started three dinners on Sunday, so I wouldn't need to spend as much time in the kitchen during the week. I set aside a stack of mornings as work days. Yes, work days. I have actually spoken these words: "I can't do it on Tuesday because I work that day." I've stacked up my errands and household duties for attention on other days, at other times. This probably seems like no big deal to many of you who have been balancing work and home responsibilities for years, but since I have just recently entered the phase when parenthood doesn't require my constant attention, I am learning it anew.

In keeping with the rack 'em and stack 'em approach to life, today I took a good look at all my recent work, everything in my "Active" file. The poems I feel excited and hopeful about, I left in the "Active" stack; other poems, ones I don't really feel much energy for, I put into the "On Hold" stack; a few poems went in the "Submit" stack; several had the chance to meet the shit-can (sorry, Mom! but sometimes only the right word will do).

I've been walking around my house today proclaiming, "Rack 'em and stack em! Rack 'em and stack 'em." It feels good.

(P.S. For a beautiful reflection on the integration of writing life and family life, read Sage Cohen's post today.)

(P.S. Again: !!!WARNING!!! In case anyone in the readership (all 3 of you) is considering the wisdom of the rack 'em and stack 'em approach to sleeping arrangements, let me say this: DON'T DO IT. In another small house of mine, I was persuaded by Someone (I won't name names) to bring into our home a loft bed, which is the bunk bed's poor country cousin. Said Someone, "Rack 'em and stack 'em!" The loft bed was very annoying but minimally workable until I got sick, after which there was no earthly way for me to change the sheets when Someone was traveling for work. I pause here to remember the spectacle of my friend, the big shot lawyer, changing the loft bed while wearing a three-piece suit. Let me tell you, it wasn't pretty. Keep the beds low to the ground, Reader, low to the ground).

There should be a word for...

... the feeling of dread one experiences when one skips a day of doing laundry

... the feeling of surprise when one takes a sip out of a cup expecting one thing, and getting another

... the experience of reading a book one thought one hadn't read and realizing during the final chapter that one has already read the book

... the kind of light that makes one realize one's eyebrows really need tweezing

... the moment of wondering why one went into a particular room

... the moment of remembering why one went into a particular room after one has already left said room

... the feeling of delight at being carded long after one needs to be carded

... the experience of spilling a glass of water off one's nightstand in the middle of the night

... the delightful taste of summer tomatoes

... the peculiar mix of horror and joy when one's nephew repeatedly calls one "Grandma"

... the feeling of envy inspired by another's super-cute shoes

... a child's inborn desire to buy something, *anything*, in every store the child enters

... the feeling of wishing one would never have to see another plate of tacos, spaghetti, pizza, (fill in your own dinner ruts here ________) again

... the act of making tacos, spaghetti, pizza, etc., again the next week

... the act of putting a stamp on upside down

... the inflection? many of the younger generations? seem to put at the end of all their phrases? that make them sound like questions? but they're statements? (no offense to anyone intended?)

... the moment when one realizes the people making statements that sound like questions are now teachers, stock analysts, and labor and delivery nurses

... the fear of aging oneself

... the particular brand of laughter that makes one stomach hurt so badly one wishes one could stop laughing but one can't

... the painful period of waiting for the next season of Downton Abbey

... the particular brand of homesickness one experiences when one knows Everyone Else is at The Lake without her... sigh...

Any others, Reader?

Dispatch from Northern California

Well, here we are.

After almost two weeks of hotel living and several days of utter unpacking chaos, here we are in our little (and I mean little) rented house in the golden state.

Here I am, sitting in the near-dark with the windows open, listening to the crickets chirp, watching out the window for the moon, knowing not where to begin.

I believe my first txt msg that went from California to South-of-the-River said: "Freakishly large geraniums."

It's true. They're like shrubs.

And I really don't know where to begin -- everything is so new and different, I'm just taking it all in. What I can tell you is this:

~Yes, it's true what they say about the weather. It really is lovely. In the midwest, we'd call it "good sleeping weather" -- you know, warm days then cool nights perfect for sleeping with the windows open. In a stunning departure from expected midwestern behavior, I have stopped checking the weather forecast every morning. Every day is the same: overcast morning, clouds giving way to bright sun and blue sky by 10 a.m., temps 70-75, steady light breezes, nights cool enough for fleeces, no rain. The midwesterner in me keeps looking over her shoulder, like it really can't last.

~Yes, it's true what they say about the produce. Also very lovely. Delicious, fresh, and cheap. Still not quite reaching the perfection of the Michigan sweet cherry, and yet the avocados nearly make up for it. I have already found my favorite produce market and it has become my second home. When I first entered, I had to pause for a moment of awestruck silence to say to my fellow shoppers: The produce snob in me (insert solemn bow here) greets the produce snob in you.

~California driving requires lots of u-turns. I have not, uh, mastered the u-turn. It's not pretty. Instead of embarrassing myself, I've figured out how to go about a half-mile out of my way on any given errand to avoid having to attempt a u-turn.

~California requires lots of documentation. So far, my dossier is not complete enough to get a library card, or to sign the kids up for little league. Note to self: must get one utility in my name.

~We have people here! We have relished spending time with my brother and his family, my uncle and his family, and an old college friend of mine and her family. It makes a huge difference to have these ready-made circles of love and laughter as we settle into our new home.

~The kids are happy. Our street is quiet and they are forever on their bikes. There's a lovely playground right around the corner. See above re: weather. They are brown as berries, and every night they come in with absolutely filthy feet. Every mother knows that absolutely filthy feet are an indication that all is well in the world.

~My desk is here somewhere. I know it's true because I saw it come in. Husband promises it's in the corner by the window with a view of the lovely fuchsia-flowering tree whose name I don't know. My own view of the alleged desk is obstructed by boxes that, alas, are too heavy for me to move. But never fear, my bookshelves are confirmed to be present and are slowly filling with all my best, dust-jacketed compadres.

~Speaking of compadres, I'm missing mine. Leaving my circle of friends in South-of-the-River was, of course, gut-wrenching. It involved lots of tears and hugs and the shocked silence of at least one casual observer as one dear friend and I wept into each others bosoms outside my house. Which isn't my house anymore. Leaving the house wasn't easy, either. I feel strangely untethered, a bit suspended between the ending of one chapter of life and the beginning of another. Dear compadres, nota bene: "I miss you" doesn't begin to say it.


Thank you to everyone who has sent, or even thought, good wishes and words of support. It makes all the difference to know that the people we love are wishing us well. And thank you, as always, for reading even as I haven't been writing much. I hope to be back here more regularly very soon.

Wordless Wednesday: In Which More Snow Falls and I Understand Anew Why There Is a Subgenre of Literature Devoted to Prairie Women Losing Their Sanity

In Which Grumpiness Has Its Rewards

Warning: mild profanity may ensue.

I don't know many immutable truths about parenthood, but I do know this:  If you find yourself wearing the Parent hat in this lifetime, you will at some point experience a weekend with your children that will make you think you must be doing everything wrong.  Even as the more reasonable voice of your intellect (I call this my Librarian Voice) says, "Well you know, dear, children will have their bad days and it's not all about what you've done or not done," you will believe in your heart that you have done everything wrong.

That was my weekend.

And between that, and a long winter, and the germ of the week, by yesterday afternoon I was Grumpy.

My natural response to Grumpiness seems to be to clean things out.  I'm talking about closets and drawers and boxes and bathrooms.  With the Grump-factor on overload, I am happy to tell you that I threw away or set out for recycling the following items, and more:

1.  All the clothes I bought lo these many years ago to wear post-baby.  I'm talking about Lands End t-shirts and yoga pants.  Reader, they are all GONE.  Do I hear a woot, woot!?
2.  All expired medicines, including a package of Benadryl that had never been opened and expired in the year 2000.
3.  All broken barrettes, and all barrettes that included any form of cute animal such as bunny, duckling, teddy bear, butterfly, just because I hate that kind.  Sister has not discovered this yet.
4.  All hole-y socks and undergarments.
5.  All sample packages from DHC, all having to do with anti-wrinkle something or another.  Goodbye.
6.  Any toothbrush or tube of toothpaste or bar of soap that even hinted of 'nasty.'
7.  The last half-package of Pampers pull-ups.  Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

I then moved on to my writing files, and here is where I must express my deep admiration for the verb "to shit-can."  Reader, there is throwing something away, and then there is shit-canning something.  Do you agree with me that to shit-can something is much more satisfying than to simply throw it away, or in this case, to delete it?  Delete does not begin to express it.

I went through my writing files and shit-canned all the poems I hate, all the poems I'm not interested in anymore, and all the poems that are boring, or stunted and destined to go nowhere, or otherwise undesirable.  Dear poems, it was fun while it lasted, but now let me introduce to my friend the Shit-Can.

I kept a few oldies for sentiment's sake. I kept a few that might have been better off shit-canned but that I still had hope for.  And I kept the best of my more recent work.  I still have plenty of poems to wade through, work on, and shit-can eventually if need be.

I feel unburdened, freer, and decidedly less grumpy.  And I'm never buying a Lands' End t-shirt again.  Amen.

The Late-Adopter Lately Adopts

Reader, this week I became the ambivalent owner of an iPhone.

I confess, I brought it on myself by leaving my cell phone charger at my parents' house at Christmastime.  By the time I realized I had left it, my phone was out of juice and it would be some days before the charger arrived in the mail.  During this time, Husband took to walking around the house muttering things like, "mumble-mumble-more reliable-mumble-mumble" and "mumble-mumble-phone that actually works-mumble-mumble" and "mumble-mumble-costs less anyway-mumble-mumble."

It's true that my old phone wasn't very reliable.  I would get a call and the phone would never ring.  A week later, I'd hear that little ding-dong that meant I had a new voicemail.  It would be the message left a week earlier.  Sometimes it was even from the school nurse -- a problem at any rate, but a bigger problem when there are offspring with peanut allergies and asthma (luckily, the missed calls from the school nurse were non-emergencies).

There are certain areas of life that Husband is in charge of: snow removal, breakfast, life insurance, folding the sheets, packing the car for trips, scrubbing the floors, and technology (amongst others).  I have my own areas.  It works for us.  I decided to stay out of the phone business and let him mumble-mumble, unsure of what to hope for.  My charger arrived in the mail.  I charged my phone.  It missed a few calls again.  Monday night Husband came home with an iPhone.

The Bean said, "How do you feel about it, Mom?"
The Mom said, "I'm not sure yet."
The Bean said, "Just promise me one thing."
The Mom waited for him to ask if she would please please please download the Angry Birds app.
The Bean said, "Promise me you won't be on it all the time."

I promised.

The iPhone (which I'm thinking of naming Rhoda) and I have been looking at each other sideways all week.  I have managed to take two calls and send three text messages.  Other than that, we've been giving each other wide berth.  I feel that we're on a first date, kind of sizing each other up.  There are a few sparks.  This might turn into something.  But I'm not jumping in too fast.

Meanwhile I have been doing a little research about Apps, Googling things like "best iPhone Apps for writers" and "best iPhone Apps for readers."  And I've been thinking, Apple is really losing out on a whole area of business. I'm calling it the iMom Suite of Apps, and here's what I'm suggesting:

iLoop  This app would come with pre-recorded versions of the things that moms are constantly saying.  Things like flush and wash, hang up your coat, chew with your mouth closed, elbows down, stand up straight, I would like to hear you say 'please', use a tissue, finish your homework, etc.  These sayings, plus your selection of customized sayings, would play on loop throughout the day so that you do not have to spend your time or energy saying them.  A special algorithm would allow the app to customize the sequence of the sayings depending upon the frequency of certain behaviors.  Moms, no more feeling like a broken record!

iClinic  This app would take temperatures, scan rashes and immediately classify them as viral/bacterial/contagious/run-of-the-mill dermatitis/this is due to your  new fabric softener/etc., perform throat cultures, scan cuts and determine whether stitches are needed, scan ears and say whether or not they're infected, and take x-rays to identify broken bones.  No need to call the Peds triage line!

iWash  This app would eject a damp, warm, hypo-allergenic, disposable wipe from the phone on those occasions when you find yourself out in public with your children and they suddenly appear to not have had their faces washed in weeks.

iSew  This app can patch hole-y knees, hem pants, and re-attach buttons.  You can buy its sister app, iPress, for the times when you don't realize until you're already at church that the boys' shirts haven't been ironed.  Just turn on iPress, wait 'til the phone beeps, and run it over the wrinkled surface.  Guaranteed not to burn or scorch, unless they're being naughty, which automatically increases the temperature so as to deliver a message to the offender.

iForgot  This app remembers all the things you've forgotten.  I'm not talking about things you already entered on your to-do list and then forgot about, I'm talking about the things you've completely forgotten.  It will scan your sieve of a brain and find even what's not there.  It will even remind you of your children's names on those inexplicable occasions when you forget those, too.

iMoisturize  We've all been there: after a long, exhausting day, the children are finally in bed and you are, too.  Then it hits you:  You forgot to moisturize.  No problem!  iMoisturize equips your phone with discreet, light-weight tanks of a high-quality moisturizer suitable for year-round use.  Just grab your phone off your night stand, where it's already sitting waiting to wake you up at 5:30 a.m. to pack lunches, and squeeze gently, then moisturize away.

iDetector  For the times when your mother's intuition fails you, or when everyone is vociferously laying blame at the feet of everyone else, just wave your phone over the involved parties.  A full-of-baloney alarm will sound when the liar/liars is/are in range.  Customizable alarms for each child.  Also works to detect feigned illnesses such has sudden headaches before violin practice, and stomachaches on goulash night.

i'MBusy  This app creates a forcefield around you, sending out vibes that prevent anyone from approaching you and asking you for anything.  Covers the spectrum of possible requests from people at school looking for volunteers to children wanting their third snack of the morning.

And finally, what mother wouldn't want:

iHaveNoIdeaWhatTheHellI'mGoingToFeedThesePeopleForDinner  It's 5:45 p.m. on a Tuesday night.  You have 75 cents to your name until someone gets paid on Thursday, one egg, half a jar of olives, a can of stewed tomatoes and one partially moldy potato.  Just enter what you have on hand into this app, and it will spit out a recipe guaranteed to fill bellies and delight everyone, even the dog.


Well, a mom can dream, can't she?  In the meantime wish me luck getting to know the iPhone, and if you have any real-life apps that you think a reader/writer/mother/spiritual pilgrim might love, let me know.

Now excuse me, I have to go check out some weird noise in the kitchen........ oh, wait...... I think that might be my phone.........

Thankful Thursday: Good Advice

Today I am thankful for all the good advice I've received from older, wiser women.  This week, especially:  "Your life is your prayer right now."  This advice was typically dispensed from the pew behind us at church, as my then-toddler children used Husband and me as jungle gym/cat scratching pole.

I am convincing myself that this advice still applies during an Advent that seems more "O Come, O Come, Oh $%#t! I Forgot About the Cub Scout Meeting Tonight" than "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel."

Seriously, though, I love to get advice from older, wiser women.  Thank you to all the older, wiser women in my life.  Amen.


(P.S.  If the spirit moves you, share advice from the older and wiser that you are thankful for in comments).

Three Things That Left Me Speechless at Dinner Last Night

All perpetrated by individuals under the age of ten.

1.  "I don't believe in God or Jesus or any of that stuff you can't prove.  But I'm still a Christian!"  (Being speechless, I did not go into the definition of the word Christian just then).

2.  Full-body demo by AJ to explain to Sister that the phrase "to stand in awe" does NOT mean to stand up in front of something and look up at it and say "Awwwww."

3.  Three words I thought I'd never hear:  "More sauerkraut please!"

Wordless Wednesday: The Story of My Life Until Snowpants Season

Wordless Wednesday: Poet's Buzz-kill

Sister's Definition of Arthritis

"It's when your JOINT.  HURTS.  And so then you need a lot of relaxin' time."

Wordless Wednesday: In Which the Poet Discovers Minnows In Her Freezer and Ponders the Question "Is Nothing Sacred?"

Go Fish

Sure enough, as soon as I wrote about what a great summer we're having.....

Yesterday morning was not the happiest of mornings around here.  There were rowdy boys and a sassy girl, and some plain old naughtiness here and there.  There was a mom who was not even trying to write, but who was trying to get "a few things done around here," as mothers must sometimes do.  I learned again the truth that all mothers know:  children are happiest when they have our full and undivided attention.

In the afternoon, it was hot.  The air heavy.  I was too crabby to go anywhere but knew we needed to do something to change the tone.  So, we went out on the shady porch and played Go Fish for a couple hours.  "Bean, give me all your (what are they, Mom?  Ate-ses?) Ate-ses," said Sister (she meant "eights").  "Oh, that hurts!" said the Bean, who was one "Ate" shy of a book.

I could relate.

I began musing:  What if one of them said, "Mom, give me all your attention!" instead of unconsciously seeking it through other, less constructive means.

And what if I could say, "Go Fish!"

It was worth a good laugh yesterday when I needed one.  A fly on the wall might have thought I was crazy (and of course I was, in that harmless, stay-at-home-mom kind of way), walking around the rest of the afternoon chuckling to myself.  Looking at the three darlings and thinking, Go fish, kid!  Sometimes it's good to have an evil little secret to get you through a tough day.

Today's better.  No Go fish! fantasies needed.

Wordless Wednesday: In Which The Poet Accidentally Grows a New Lawn in the Flower Bed and Thusly Learns Not to Put Millet in the Birdfeeders

And Thus Was Achieved an Uneasy Truce

Last night.

Husband to me: "Why do you like those Masterpiece shows so much?"

Pause.
Long pause.
Longer pause.

Me to Husband: "Why do you like NFL football so much?"

Pause.
Long pause.
Longer pause.

Husband to me: "Ok."

Breaking News: Mom Trying to Write Sighted Near South of the River

Sources in and around South of the River are reporting several possible sightings of the Mom Trying to Write. The earliest sighting is reported to be Tuesday morning, where an unconfirmed report places her at her writing desk around 5:00 a.m. The Poet A.O.D., a close friend and colleague of the Mom Trying to Write, confirms sporadic e-mail exchanges regarding a poem inspired by the story of the Prodigal Son, but cannot confirm when the poem actually was written. The local elementary school reports that the Mom Trying to Write cancelled a scheduled visit to Mrs. Nelson's room during which she was to have discussed, well, writing, with the second grade. The cancellation was believed to be due to the illness of one of her cubs. Indeed, a neighborhood observer said she saw evidence of nocturnal activity most of the night last night. Sources close to the Mom Trying to Write say, "She is busy this week, but a happy busy, not an occupied busy." Authorities are warning residents of South of the River to be alert but not alarmed if they encounter the Mom Trying to Write, who is known to circulate in public while staring into the middle distance, muttering things like, "If they rise up. If they rise up. If they rise up straight as prayer," and, "Couplets? Maybe couplets. No, no -- not couplets. Tercets. Definitely tercets." If you encounter the Mom Trying to Write, authorities ask that you please gently guide her toward her home, where her family is waiting for her and wondering what's for dinner.

why i sumtimes like txt msgs

usu i dont like txt msgs b/c they wreck r beautifl lang. but sumtimes txtng comes in handy. and sumtimes the abbrev. form creates sumthng that makes me :):

(My brother to me): what u want 4 xmas?

(My reply): books pens paper tea warm sox whirled peas


whats on yr xmas list?