The last morning together

She never smiles for the camera but I caught her in that last moment

Of being together, in a cozy bed, under a cozy comforter, with her Mimi.

That's me.

And the little one to the side, a moment before he started trying to lie on top of her,

We were all so peaceful, smiling, happy, in those moments before I had to say good-bye

For now.

Why does my heart ache so when I have to say good-bye, knowing that I'll see them

Again under sunny Colorado skies, so soon, even,

But that moment when she smiled, he clutched his new robot toy, the

Moment before they started squabbling over contested purses, 

His with two colors, but smaller, hers, bigger but missing the seahorse

Which she had placed in her new Fanny pack.  

She smiled and so did I, my heart prematurely aching for the many

Miles soon to be between us. 

 

And then there were two

There were two, after all, big sister with crocheted purse

And a little brother, who was usually in the shadow of his big sister.

We heard him, though, his small voice filling the empty spaces

With reverberations of protest and demands, the compelling voice

Of a three year old.

There were two, after all, a second smaller crocheted purse, in 

Two colors, the masterpiece of a beginning artist

Trained at the knees of the Master 

There were two, after all, two plastic bunnies fought over

By two siblings, there were two, after all, two parents who

Raise their eyebrows in disbelief at their good fortune,

The endless challenges of two, there are two, after all,

Two sides to every story.  

 

Crocheting for Barbie

She wanted me to crochet her a sweater in multiple-colored yarn 

But we settled on beach outfit for Barbie, multi-colored with contrasting bows

Using yarn for beginners, the single strands for the clumsiest fingers.

She wanted to learn, struggling to hold the right yarn tension between pointer

And thumb, her hands unsure how, I assured her that it took me many many

Many hours to master, so we settled on threading the yarn around the crochet hook

As my more experienced fingers held the yarn for her.

Each successful stitch resulted in the broadest smile, the greatest accomplishment

Ever for the both of us, this lazy afternoon after kindergarten, before the 

Demands of washing hands and eating dinner.

Deliriously delightful. 

 

Six year olds on the move - leaving the old behind

We had half a block of convo, as she calls it,

The dreamy comings and goings of free-form ideas punctuated

By the excitement of a newly discovered blossom, a roly-poly

Spotted next to the crack on the sidewalk.

Eliza called out to us, and the spell was broken,

The roly-poly tossed aside, the scooter abruptly rotated

Some ninety degrees and my lovely companion was gone,

The sweet moment replaced by the shouting of a couple six year girls

Now jogging, scooting, discussing the book fair, yet again

Interrupted by Caroline, who has now appeared at the corner,

The parents tossed aside like old news, the three shuffling

And scooting and talking on top of each other, about 

Everything and nothing, the convo of the young who no

Longer need the old.  

 

Who loves shopping more?

I'm not sure who is the kid who loves to shop.

Is it the big kid who hoists the little kid up to survey the possibilities,

As she clutches her shiny pink wallet with the matching fuzzy pompon ball

Dangling below.

It's not clear who is loving the careful selection process, the counting of money,

The need for a bit more than what is available from the cookie sale.

it's not clear whether the bigger kid will pull out his wallet and add funds

Or whether he will hold firm on budget

But as I listen from the adjacent aisle, my confidence in his willpower is rapidly dwindling

As the case is made for a tiny bit more money to buy that Barbie,

The one with the impossibly high red heels on feet that could never work in real life.

Purchases made, I join them at the exit, (perhaps not) surprised to see that the little girl

Has a Barbie in her arms, and more money in her wallet than before arrival.

The big kid that hoisted her to survey the goods could not hold the line,

This is no surprise to me, being married to this big kid with the huge heart,

Who can never say no to a little six year old girl who climbs 

In his arms and says, "please....."

 

Making money the old fashioned way - Bake Sale!

The prices have gone up but no one seems to mind,

Pulling out their phones and scanning the Venmo app, no more

Scrounging for ten cents or a dollar, a cookie is now $2, a deal for

Three.  

what's $5 when rent is $7000/month and a coffee costs $15 with tip

And service charge.

Times have changed, but the younger set is still thirsting for a new Barbie,

So they call out to every passerby, "Cookies for Sale!  Come on over!"

And they do, mostly women, their iPhones bulging in their yoga pants,

Slim and stylish, neatly coiffed and broadly smiling.

And as the sale winds to a close, and the mothers dwindle, as the wind

Picks up and the clouds hover, the remaining cookies are reduced for 

Quick sale.

"Free cookies!  Come and get one!" 

the girls having now shifted to counting and scheming 

What to buy, how to get there and how soon.  

 

When Motherhood was in Black and White - and thankfully it changed

Back in the day, there was no discussion, no space to disagree,

Risking the vacuum of being unseen.

Everything was black and white, yes or (no), 

The Matriarchs decided what to wear, when to eat,

The Patriarch mandated silence at the dinner table

(Regardless if you were choking on tough chunks of meat),

We all obeyed because they ruled in black and white.

Memories of Grandma's face enveloped in the grey cloud

Of cigarette smoke, and the grey landscape of life at home

With Mother, perhaps black and white would at least have offered

Contrast, and maybe a rainbow could have occasionally 

Burst through the seams of darkness.

They are smiling in this black and white photo but

I know that their entwined lives were mostly black,

Dreary in misunderstandings and steeped only in responsibility.

Today, there is color in mothering, reds and yellows, greens

And pinks, the drama of disagreement, the warmth of love

And connection, I see it everywhere even in the black and

White moments of difficulty, a rainbow will emerge,

A pot of gold at the base.

Such is love.

 

Karen and Felix 

Tori and Warren

So colorful!

There's a rainbow in my breakfast bowl

There's a rainbow in my breakfast bowl,

And I know not from where it came.

There is no prism hanging in my window, 

Only a squirrel staring at me from the bird feeder,

Only new buds on the Serviceberry bush,

There is no optical grating, not a single thing

That explains this rainbow.

I place the rainbow on my hand to raise it,

Seeking its source only to find that my rainbow

Has disappeared, as has the squirrel.

Conclusion:  the squirrel must have delivered

The rainbow to my bleary eyes this 

Lovely morning.  

 

The $150 haircut...never again

Why is it that on the third cut, the price goes up,

the quality drops, and we women are left clutching our emptied wallets

somewhat grief-stricken at the misspent funds at the hairdresser.

I have noticed this, that the first cut is attentive and less expensive,

the second, perhaps the same price, and not quite so great and the

third is accomplished by the same hairdresser who is clearly a thousand

miles away, finishing a cut that she knows well enough to do on 

auto-pilot.

But, oh!  the casual passing of her bill to me, and on seeing the

price having increased 33%, and add the tip, I am momentarily 

speechless, but having spoken of travels to Japan and such, aware

that she knows I must have the money in my pocket somewhere

and I do.

But, it's not worth it to me, this $150 haircut, with tip, I wish her

well, she has her bills, but surely, we women must rise up against 

the industry of the overpriced hairdresser.

Vanity is only worth so much.