Birthday Prayer

. . . even increase her joy.

Early Morning Birthday Gifts

A little insight into my life. (Work less!)

A sunrise in bed.

Rainbows on the ceiling.

The largest towel, dry and welcoming.

Giggling in Bed

Phil, perhaps from surfeit of dried mango,

Said, “It’s like a cabbage died in my butt,”

And, truly, the analogy is apt.

As he turned out the lights, 

A little toot escaped, and

I was overcome with giggles.

Ears

Praying in bed, I looked out 

To see two monkey ears 

Silhouetted 

Against the morning light.

Abraham, as Monkey-Puma,

Was preparing a bowl of chili.

Chicken Soup

Phil, after a long and stressful day 

Of working outside,

Came home, 

Physically ill,

Wondered about chicken soup.

In a refrigerator almost empty,

I had yet one jar of chicken broth,

Carrots, onions, green onions, half a cabbage . . .

Enough to make chicken soup.

We were both nourished.

Calebism II

After a comparative assessment

Of the intelligences of family members—

Abraham “the smartest,”

Phil “the least smart man,”

And so on,

Phil asked about the only female in the house.

Why was she left out of the discussion?

“Oh, she just does homeopathy stuff and makes dinner,”

Was the reply. 

Calebism

“Turn the fan on when you poop, Jadon!”

He ordered imperiously.

After hearing that the offender was Phil, he yelled,

“Well, it’s good for you to know, too, Jadon!”

Antidoted

When I woke yesterday thinking,

“Maybe this is what clinical depression feels like,”

I decided it was time to antidote my remedy,

Not push through.

I woke today, feeling like myself.

It’s good to be back.

Mogadishu

Imagine your family going to bring food

To the homeless on Thanksgiving,

And the homeless kill half the family.

Would you want to go back?

What kind of a hellhole do people create?

Pray.

Pray for the people of Somaliland.

Down

I rise every day, wishing I could go back to bed.

It didn’t help that Caleb screamed 

Repeatedly through the night.

Was this because he ate a bite of wheat pizza?

History

Reading a few spreads

About the 1980s, 

I was surprised how many terms 

I recognized,

People and events 

Heard on the radio

As my dad drove me home from school:

“You give us 22 minutes;

We’ll give you the world!”

Then the spreads of the 1990s.

The Clinton years. 

Even now, I had to cover up his face

To read the summary of his presidency.

And remembering Columbine,

How much that hurt my church community,

How my pastor had driven right out

To minister to hurting teens.

It’s surreal, to read these things,

Summarized neatly on the page.

Five Extra Hours

Sunday school and church cancelled.

I drifted through my day:

Reading this and that,

Editing for Louis,

Homeopathy progress,

Caleb time.

How do I normally survive Sunday

Without those five extra hours?

Tears of Salt

Reading such a story, of a doctor laboring day after day

On a rock in the Mediterranean,

Three hundred thousand refugees, arriving,

Almost dead, in dire need,

Raped, mutilated, grieving,

Traumatized, sick, hungry . . .

It was almost too much. 

Now that I have looked, can I stop looking?

Birthing a Book

To craft a poetry book:

Look up the publication dates.

Find poems in the public domain.

Think about the age of the student reading.

Categorize—but not too much. 

(No one wants to read 10 bird poems in a row.)

Organize. 

Think.

Review.

Cry.

Poetry Testers

I read dozens of poems to the boys;

Good poems, far better than most.

They rejected them, almost entirely.

The older two said no to Frost’s

Invitation “The Pasture.”

Then Caleb piped up,

“I like that one . . .

But not too much.”

I Didn’t Know

Joe has hit a wall in his reading.

The three week break didn’t help.

He went to bed with a headache,

Slept, threw up, rested.

I hadn’t realized that “fluency”

Is a fluid word,

Different for neurotypical children

And for children with auditory processing.

I have kept moving forward

For the last five years,

Always hoping that something would change.

I hadn’t thought this condition was permanent.

Graphic Novels

There’s a collection of fairy tales

Illustrated by different graphic novel artists.

We are artistic snobs now,

Educated in what to look for,

And we analyze and comment 

And learn.

Dried Mango

Unsweetened, the dried mango is

Impossibly sweet,

Perfectly chewable, 

Utterly delicious,

Hard to stop eating.

I bought one bag the first trip,

Then two, 

Then four,

Now six or eight.

It won’t be enough.

Abraham Observes

“Mom, you’ve seemed more grumpy lately,

Or maybe depressed. Maybe more impatient.”

“Well, I’ve been sick the last two days.”

“That might be it.”

It might not be, though. 

Hmm.

Dud Birthday

Cinnamon muffins for breakfast.

Pizza for dinner.

Chocolate cake (#2) for dessert.

(#1 went to friends at a nerf war.)

Two episodes Parks and Rec.

One puzzle completed.

But some gifts were delayed, 

No cards were waiting,

No brothers gave gifts . . .

This was hardly a celebration.

The Middle of the Night

Ill and discombobulated, 

I was still dozing when Caleb came

To bed just after one.

It took him three seconds to climb over me

And curl up between the parents.

“Finally,” he said with an exasperated sigh.

“I need water,” he said, almost immediately.

“Go get it,” I directed. 

It wouldn’t take him long, and I was ill.

A half hour slowly passed.

Suddenly: hard jabs in my thigh, again and again.

“What?” I asked, amused.

“Maybe we could go together?”

Mother-in-Law

Phil answered the phone, 

Then passed it to me.

My mother-in-law had called

To thank me for the Christmas books.

I knew she’d enjoy

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society,

And she did.

But she also wanted to talk about 

One Voice: The Story of William Wilberforce.

Such an unusual format, 

She wondered about it and went looking,

Only to find my name on the cover.

What a surprise!

Taking the Case

A friend asked on behalf 

Of a loved one with nightly night sweats.

I spent the afternoon taking the case,

And the evening writing it up.

It’s not over easy, but I have good hope.

Inking

Comic book artists 

Use nibs and pens

And paintbrushes and ink,

Along with, perhaps,

Disposable pens.

Abraham, eager,

Tried once, twice,

And, startled by 

Unexpected difficulties,

Found it hard to stay calm.

But he carried on,

Daunted but undeterred.

What a guy! What an artist!

Stalking the Delivery Man

Hour after hour,

Abraham waited.

Three new art programs coming,

New art supplies.

Near nightfall, at last:

Satisfaction.

All three videos watched

Before bed.

Working Just Enough

I decided to (mostly) take Thursday off,

A random day near the middle of the week.

But I had front-loaded my week, and 

Ignored homeopathy studies.

I needed a win to keep going.

It was a good decision,

Even if I didn’t get nearly as far 

As I would have liked.

I do have sons, after all.

Accomplished

I skimmed through two art books with Abraham. 

We had covered most of it. 

I’m not as behind as I thought.

Unexpected Read-Alouds

Abraham and I read through both his new course material,

Page by page. 

Some repetition.

Not quite enough detail in practical things.

But still some information.

Then we watched the teaching movies

For the second time, picking up a few new things,

Really letting the information sink in.

It’s not something I knew much about,

But it was still interesting.

Quantum Leap Forward

Abraham reviewed some of his new training materials,

Then put them into practice.

His skills took a quantum leap forward in one day.

Welcoming the New Year

Phil and Caleb were asleep in my bed.

I was listening to The King of Attolia 

And doing a 300-piece puzzle (without the picture).

The other boys quietly said, “Happy New Year”

And headed to bed.