Reasons Like Seasons

Boy One is being an uncooperative punk, and my husband is mad. Boy One is five, and my husband is an adult, but at the moment, it is hard to tell the difference. Both of them need a time-out, but instead they yell at each other, locked in conflict, for longer than I would wish, neither willing to back down or retire. After far too long, they are calm, and I venture to speak. "Why don't you call your mom and ask her what you were like when you were five?" I suggest. "Why don't you call your mom?" he throws back. "She said I didn't listen until I was thirty," I replied, "and with that, she's being generous." "I'm not calling my mom," he declared. "Have it your way," I respond, grinning. (I bet he was exactly the same.)

My skin's as smooth as a baby's now, No longer scratched By unshaven whiskers. I always have enough blankets, And I don't have to share when I sleep. Billy never starts playing When I want to hear Elliott, And I never have to worry About when you're coming home from work. Instead I wonder How long my phone card will last, How much I can communicate With three Euros' worth of time. I wake up to the wrong person snoring, And I fall asleep to the Jimmy CD That you made for me... While I wait as patiently As possible, To come back to you.... May I always come back to you.

This evening, Boy One would not stop stealing Boy Two's pacifier. He pestered, proded, harassed and teased despite everything I did to try and stop him. Then, the problem solved itself, when Boy Two smacked him, hard, in the ear with a block. Boy One cried. He cried a lot. He cried the cry of the innocent victim despite his obvious guilt. And I was glad. Vengefully glad. The bully got his comeuppance and Baby Dude stood up for himself the only way he knew how: with a blunt weapon against a tyrant. Nice going, David. Goliath has fallen. So, facing a sobbing five-year-old, I kiss his face and ask him what he learned. "Nothing!" he yells back at me, angry and clearly beatten. "Well, I suggest you leave your brother's pacifier in his mouth next time." I reply. (Three cheers for the underdog.)

In the tiny compartment Between the top and bottom bunk I can see clearly all that I have: A safe place to live. A pair of healthy boys. A husband who loves and adores me. I have all that one could ever desire, Yet I lack. What I lack can't be counted On a survey Or a worksheet Because on paper, I have everything. Everything. So how... How do I feel What my brain knows is real? What others can see? What is right before my eyes? Rather than feeling the empty, The spaces... How can I focus on the all that I have, And ignore the not... Because my all is complete. What is missing is within me. And that I cannot fill, Despite my grandest efforts, No matter my contribution. May the world grant me peace. Peace and fulfillment. As I wait, and I long... To see myself as others do... To accept the beauty that is my life... To be beyond the feeling of nothing... May the everything overwhelm the nothing. May the nothing simply cease to be. May I see my world

At the Huntington Harbour Mall, the management company has decided to show movies on designated Friday nights throughout the summer. Tonight, they are ending this year's run with a showing of Cinderella. At least two dozen little girls have arrived in the open space between the Athletic Club and Noah's Ark Pet Grooming, donning their finest rendition of the famous Disney princess. They are a rainbow of tiny humanity, mostly frocked in frilly blue dresses. Some break the mold, like the little girl with a pink and gold gown. My favorite is the one with a blue tule skirt and a Leonardo sweatshirt from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. A few boys people the audience as well, outnumbered and underdressed. My boys stare at the girls, confused and entranced. Some things may never change. With blankets and wagons, beach chairs and snacks, we all gather together to say goodbye to the summer. We gather in hope of entertaining our children while we attempt to relax, sipping wine from p

I wish I had more to say this evening, but between small children and getting ramped up for the school year, there is little of me left to compose beautiful prose to dazzle and amaze you with the difficulties and trials that are my day-to-day existence. Suffice it to say that while today was good for some of my family, it was a struggle for others, and although I wish it averaged out to fine, the difficulties of one brought down the whole more than one would wish or expect. Please feel free to keep me in your thoughts, prayers, or whatever else it is you keep when you know someone who isn't having the best of times. Do not fret, however, that my blog will remain vacant, as when things settle down a bit I am sure I will get back to writing. Be well and stay well, RL

I have experience with angry parents. Parents who wished for another life. Parents who wanted something more, something different. Parents whose dream for their children was something other than what occurred. But angry children are a new breed. He wants more. More than I can offer. More than what I can allow. More than I am willing to give. How can I requisition one and refuse another? How can I excuse the former and subdue the later? How can I pretend that my wishes supersede those of another? How can I prioritize? He is small, but he is real. I am large, and I am real as well. He is young, and he is growing, May I not be stagnant. May all be well and kind. May all be well and kind. May I remember that I was once small. May I remember that I may soon be old. May we all be as we are. May we all be well together.

I feel as though I am on the brink of something. The brink of what, I can't tell you, but I hope it is something good, something rewarding. I could use something rewarding. Maybe it's the usual excitement of the new school year. As one who longs for routine, the comfort of established daily expectations, I certainly picked the wrong profession. Months of unstructured summers tear me apart, and the despite my constant vigilance, there is too much variation for my liking. I spend more time thinking about what I should do than actually doing it, and the stress builds more than it is relieved. I feel like the only person on the planet who gets stressed out by having too much time off. Maybe it's the promise of finally going back to work. Maybe it's the culmination of the steps I managed to take during my time off to put myself in a better position in my body. I got glasses, so now I don't have to squint and strain to read or write an email. I started going to the chir

Anger burns. Sometimes like a match, Quickly scratched then quickly extinguished. But that is the best kind, The best because it is gone Almost as quickly as it comes upon itself. Anger burns. Sometimes like a lighter, Held as long as one wants to hold it. And that kind causes little harm, Because the owner is in control And can put it out at any time. Anger burns. Sometimes like an ember, Hot and smoldering for ages. And that is the worst kind, The worst because it lingers Longer than anyone would expect. Be cautious always for embers, For they can ignight at any time. There is no looking back. Anger burns.

Unfortunately, it is my purse, and in my efforts to make it more like an elegant woman's satchel and less like a grumpy toddler's carry-all, I came across the following items: - a baby blanket - two diapers, both unused - the book, The White Queen , of which I have read three pages - my wallet (One point for me!) - a batman hat - a pair of (clean) underwear (Bless my luck!) - a apple sauce pouch lid - a white handkerchief (One point) - lipstick (Bonus points! This counts as two, bringing my total up to four.) - a receipt for Boy One's glasses - the paper cover for a pair of disposable chopsticks - baby sunscreen (I'm counting this for me, because I use it, too.) - a pack of silica gel - Boy One's glasses, in their case - car keys (another point for me!) - a pen - part of a tissue - an empty medicine bottle So, in total, I have six points, if and only if I count lipstick as two and the kids' sun screen as one. They, on the other hand, are respo

The Good Wife is good. I love my husband good. Balancing children and work is hard good. Living in an apartment after living in a house sucks good. I am loving this show good. The levels of awesome are deep and gooey: the main character addresses racism in the courts, sexism in general, and the seeming impossibly of achieving anything that resembles a work-life balance. Then, on top of all that, she kicks some major butt in court prosecuting pharmaceutical companies and defending  the poor and defenseless. Excellence spreads itself all around. Anyway, please forgive the shameless promotion. It is rare that I fall in love with non-historical fiction, so I thought I would share my most recent addiction. Please feel free to share some of your favorites in the comments below. I look forward to hearing from you!

This is me trying to remember that they're not small forever. This is me trying to remember to stay focused on success. This is me trying not to get angry that I am awake and that they are awake and that every single person in my house is still awake. This is me trying to see the beauty in the world rather than the disaster. This is me trying to avoid the "if onlys:" if only Boy One would go to bed; if only Boy Two were already asleep. This is the me trying not to scratch the eyeballs out of old, old women who tell me that these are the years I should treasure, these are the days I should hold close to my heart. This is also Boy Two giggling about how funny it is that mommy is angry. This is also Boy One, overtired and unable to manage his emotions. This is also my husband, desperate for time with his woman, fully unable to successfully manage the small people in his care. This is Sunday night, and my anger burns. On my walk around the neighborhood, p

As my little blog has now earned its first pennies, I thought it time to spend more than 3,000% of my earnings on business cards while simultaneously keeping my day job. However, here is where you, dear reader, can contribute and show your love for my continued reflections and rantings. Here, you can take a moment of your precious life to vote on which style of card from the "Elegent" list on Vistaprint best embodies the style, mood, and tone of my illustrious blog.  Yes, I know what you're thinking. How could one tiny rectangle of heavyweight cardstock possibly do justice to all that my blog contains? Well, obviously, or at least hopefully, it can't, but at least you can have some input as to which example does the least crappy job. I will take all votes into consideration, then do whatever I want to do anyway. Artists and writers are fickle and capricious like that. And with all seriousness, thank you for reading my blog. It brings me great joy to know that

A bedtime dialog between me and my five-year-old. [Boy Two], what was the best thing that happened today? Sleeping. Sleeping? Uh huh. Seeping. How could sleeping be the best thing that happened today? I mean lunch. Lunch! Lunch was the greatest thing that happened today. Do you agree? Was lunch the best thing that happened today? What do you mean, lunch? Where did we go for lunch? The pizza place and the veggie place. Actually, yeah, I did like lunch. What did you like about it? I liked everything about it. That's pretty awesome, dude. It's not often that I like everything about anything. How do you think that I could like more about the stuff that I have to do? You will never like the stuff that you have to do. You mean there's no hope? Is there nothing I can do to be happier when I'm doing things that are kind of boring or annoying or that cause me to be anxious? Isn't there anything I can do to make my life better? You could watch Netf