big hoop, little hoop.

After making Anakin Skywalker die for the trillionth time, we embroidered together.

it writes.

Sunday Morning


Violet light spreads
like watercolor,
patterns blooming over the walls

The white quiet of morning
except
the squeak of your feet
They scamper across wood

The bed sheets rustle like
handfuls of peonies
A blue-jay presents himself,
his squawking call bring us
out of our morning fug

You are warm and
slightly sticky
You smell of peanut butter
and shampoo

You smile as you nest down,
triumphant
We will pretend to sleep--
another ten minutes perhaps--
before you spring up electrified,
Demanding pancakes for breakfast

**from the journal, 4/21/12

home.

Lately I've been feeling the urge to document all those little snippets of my home...you know, the little corners, the sweaters piled on the chair, the books all helter-skelter, the trinkets covered in some very real-life dust. I have this idea of putting photo books of the ordinary together for Hayden to look at one day, to see the places he lived in in detail. Let's just hope I actually do it.

26.

I'm still here. Haven't been able to compute for a while, which led to a lot of free time, which led to a lot of solitude and reflection. I was a bit bored at first but then...not. I caught up on all of my overdue library books. Cooked loaves of french bread and some amazing omelets. Have been rearranging the house, puttering around, shifting collections of seashells and crystals. Hayden and I really reconnected this week, playing one-on-one more. His self-expression through his drawings and doodles are completely amazing. I knew we'd hit a landmark when he came up to me unbidden and kissed me on my head for no reason at all. I'm still smiling after that one.

I'll be twenty-six on Monday. The husband brought me an early gift of yellow tulip bulbs and a bottle of wine. My mother is making me a lemon cake with black tea frosting. I don't think I need more than all that. Twenty-five was super-tough. I'm more than ready to move on.