Sometimes There Is Nothing

Three months back, a friend came to a party
And left very soon.
He hadn’t looked like he was having a good time,
And I felt the weight of that failure to provide.

Two months back, a friend came to a party
And left sort of soon.
She hadn’t looked like she was having a good time,
And I felt the shame of that failure to engage.

But I can see now that she was simply
Introverted.
Engagement will look different for her.
That doesn’t mean I failed.

And I know now that he was dealing
With hard things,
And there was nothing I could have done
To improve his time.

Sometimes there is nothing.

Hospitality Demands

In the midst of a fabulous time
With guests and laughter,
I went to change the baby’s diaper.

As my back was turned to get a new nappy,
I heard a soft, strange noise,
And turned back to find baby and bed covered in vomit.

The baby had not eaten much:
Apparently, a piece of pineapple, a jelly bean, and kefir water.
But he was drenched and furious. And loud.

This was a new conundrum for me.
How to allow the guests to continue in peace
While also cleaning, comforting, and quieting Caleb?

As carefully as possible.
After bathing, I sat in quiet and visited with a friend,
While the baby ate and fell asleep.

Sleepwalker

In the middle of the night I awoke
To baby cries,
Coming from the kitchen.

Caleb had bypassed Phil,
Ignored me,
Crawled over Joe,
And wandered alone into the dark house.

He seems young to be sleepwalking,
But if he was awake,
Why did he not notice me next to him,
As he has every other night of his life?

Out the Door

I put Caleb’s shoes on.
He walked to the door,
Reached up,
Pulled the handle,
Opened it,
And walked out.

We have entered
A new dispensation.

The Ox and the Crib

Where no oxen are, the crib is clean, but much increase is by the strength of the ox.

With a party coming soon,
I walked outside into the brilliant spring sun,
Looked at the detritus strewn about,
Attempted a desultory pick up,
And avoided a panic attack by going inside
And pretending the great outdoors doesn’t exist.

As I sat in my tidy bedroom,
The only room that I manage to keep clean most days,
I read an article with the heading,
“A clean house is a sign of a wasted life.”
Which is, perhaps, a variation on the proverb
About oxen and manure and how
You don’t have one without the other.

This reminder came at just the right time.
If the boys went away to school,
If Caleb didn’t pull books off the shelf,
If I cooked for only one or two,
The house would stay more clean.
If we hadn’t attempted animal husbandry,
If we hadn’t built a home from scratch,
We wouldn’t now have evidence all over of
Failures and successes.

I stayed in my tidy bedroom, but
The overwhelming feeling of failure
Passed on.

A Living Wedge

I had just finished working
And Phil came to give me a hug.
He called Isaiah to be in the middle
Of our hug sandwich,
And we all ended up lying on the bed
Where our son received kisses on both cheeks,
Protesting just enough for form’s sake.
We could tell he liked it.
We all laughed.

Not Caleb. He heard Isaiah’s summons
And came too. Apparently envious
That he was not the focus
Of the affection,
He first sat on Isaiah’s head,

Then, incredibly, figured out that if he
Put his feet at our head level and
Inched his way down,
Eventually he would be
Encircled in our arms,
A living wedge
To enrich our lives
And our affections.

Vacation Planner

Most of the year, I take no thought
For the wider world,
Happy enough to live my life.

But there comes a day when
I have a gut feeling about where to go,
And I feel compelled to research.

I’ve done this before, and I know
Approximately
What I need to find out, once we’ve settled
General date and location.

Map the driving distances.
Check Trip Advisor for attractions.
Look at vacation rentals by owner
(Not many homes sleep 17);
Contact promising places.
Search for caterers.
Search for health food stores.

Then call the travel agent for tickets,
Make sure the rental cars are ready,
Hash out details of transitions as best I can.

And then my travel itch will be scratched
Until the week before we leave.