Littleloudone staged a coup today.  It didn’t go the way she planned.  Assuming she was planning anything.  On the one hand, I wonder what in the heck I’m going to do with her.  But on the other hand, telling stories about her makes me laugh. 

The coup.  Her class is sitting on the rug in music class.  Apparently she wasn’t enjoying the activity, so she started singing.  The music teacher indicated that she should stop, which she did.  Except that she thought better of obedience and started singing again.  He tried to kick her out of class, an invitation she also declined.  Then the whole class left and she felt “isolated”.  Her word.  While she was giving me the lowdown on the showdown, she inserted her opinion that music class should involve music.  Can’t argue with that.  She revved on up to full rant (can’t imagine where she learned how to rant.)  No visit to the principal’s office so far this week.

This led to the next discussion of the afternoon.  Whereupon she told me that she’s going deaf because she has cotton but not really stuffed in one of her ears.  She was sick recently, so I made the genius jump to ear infection, which I still think is the problem.  But making the obvious suggestion that we go to the doctor ended up with wailing.  Like those mermaidy things in Harry Potter.  Made my ears hurt.  Because she hates that place.  I ask more intelligent questions which lead me to mention again the place where the problem can be fixed.  More shrieking.  You might wonder why I’m asking if she wants to go to the doctor.  Good question. I will remedy first thing tomorrow morning.

I needed more excitement in my life so I went ahead and picked up that other kid (against my better judgment.)  First words out of her mouth were the snarky that I have come to expect and appreciate since she found Jesus in Pittsburgh last week.  The child has been nagging and criticizing about every darn thing for days.  Nothing I do is right or timely or appropriate.  She’s getting on my last nerve.  There we are in the car with a friend of hers (who is so incredibly polite that it embarrasses me) and I went off.  I apologized to her friend, dropped her off at home, and had conversation with spawn.  Plainly worded, rational conversation.  Then I told her about the coup and we laughed at LLO until tears rolled down both of our faces. 

More than our share of crazy.

 

Orion’s belt in my night sky

the wind whistling through the trees

the first buds of spring: white,yellow, pink

the moon covered in eerie fog

a good book to hide in

rolling in crunchy leaves

the right song for my mood

blue sky that goes forever

contagious laughter

nighttime quiet, stillness, alone

the song of any bird but a mourning dove

waves crashing against sand

brilliant color

finding pictures in clouds

a crackling fire on a cold day

the friend who knows what I mean

even when I say it wrong

the first cup of coffee

at sunrise

the last wish at sunset

the smooshing closeness of a hug

creating something out of nothing

the sun warming my skin

bare feet in soft grass

joy in a child’s face

sitting criss cross applesauce

 

 

 

bluemooncat enormous thing.  write a piece about a hoarder

 

There was a chink in the armor.  In rushed that petulant thought… it’s not fair.  Not fair.  NOT FAIR!  And with that small thought, the hole in the armor became a little bigger. No glue to be found.  The moon took that away.  That and the scourge of all womanhood.  Nothing to hold a patch, no patch to be had.

And so another petulant thought, accustomed to sliding past the shiny metal, discovered the fertile ground within.  Ground that fully accepted, encouraged and nourished… I don’t want to.  Which bloomed in black, fist-sized petals of anger and jealousy. 

Anger.  No real cause.  Doesn’t make it any less.  Anger that bubbled deep and hot and ugly.  Hotter than hateful words.  Uglier than why won’t you. Not so deep.  Not anymore.  Close enough to the surface for deep lines on a face more commonly smiling, for mean in eyes more used to seeing. Heart stamping, spluttering, stabbing.

Jealousy. Ever present, that nasty stuff.  Why? Why not? All because it’s quiet.  Because it’s not how I want it.  Because no one is saying what I want to hear.  No one is saying anything to make it better.  So those words that I need must be going somewhere else.  Wasted.  Because they were meant for me.  My right.  I own them. Or I won them. Or maybe I just need them.  I’m on Word Welfare.  Because I want more.

The shiny metal protection- is it protecting me or everyone else- melts, burning against skin.  Hurts.  Blisters. Every thought brings a tear and every tear brings more anger.  And why am I why do I spins out of control in the lava of anger pockmarked by the steam of tears.  Burning.

No thought to how this volcano will stop or what happens next. 

That will come later. When the lava cools and the tears dry and the shiny armor is back in place and the eyes are human and the lines on the face are from smiles.

The good news is that there is no longer a tent in the living room.  You may ask why there WAS a tent in the living room.  Clearly you don’t live with littleloudone.  She would be happy to sleep in a tent 365 days a year.  There appears to be nothing better than lounging in a tent watching Phineas and Ferb. The tent was put up for the epic sleepover from the other night and was left up for a bonus night because it was.  LLO wanted to sleep in it again last night even though it was a school night and she was coughing up a lung.  I was just happy she felt like sleeping unlike the previous night when she woke me up with her giggling at 4am.  Luckily the words in my head were translated before emerging.  She wanted it tonight too.  But I convinced her otherwise.

There is no longer a tent in the living room because now we have a dog.  A temporary dog, thank goodness.  Nonetheless a large, perpetually underfoot dog who irritates everyone but me (and I’m not really a dog person to begin with.)  We are dogsitting for just a few days.  It should be no big deal really.  This big ole dog-smelling dog is so happy to see us.  He’d be happy to see the cats if we had any right now.  They are all hiding.  They do not care for the big ole, always underfoot, highly enthusiastic dog.  We call him rent-a-pooch.  Not that we rent him. 

Spawn comes home tomorrow.  She has been on a very fine mission trip to the ‘burgh all week.  We’ve spoken to her every night, so it’s been just like she was here.  (Since she only emerges at home for food and to nag me about something.)  I couldn’t understand a word she was saying this evening, because the child is pooped.  So, she will arrive home tomorrow and be miss crankypants the entire weekend because she is tired and who should be blamed for that but her mother who insisted on allowing her to go on this trip in the first place.  Yes, I’ve missed her.  I admit it.  It’s been awful quiet and peaceful here.  Almost boring.  As if.

LLO is feeling poorly.  I can tell this because she is talking non-stop and not interested in going to bed.  Trust me.  She’s not well.

There are two things that bubble beneath the surface.  They are theoretically opposites, but really are not.  Interconnected in spite of being complete opposites.  Building.  Bigger and bigger.  The one spills.  The easy one.  The one that makes the other grow exponentially. Because.  That’s why.  And right now there is nothing that can be done.  Hold it.  Wait for the moon or the rain.  Wait for just the right thing: the right word or image or song.  If it’s exists. Or maybe let some of the bubbles out.  Nope.  Too many bubbles.  Just do not pretend.  Because.  That’s why.

Far more important news.  My mommy had a mini stroke the other night but is home now and okay except for seeing some really wild stuff.

 

poetry on a theme that isn’t whining.  all for bluemooncat enormous thing.

2. epistolary poem

To the young woman in the mirror

Do not wish for later,

it comes faster than you think.

Do not wonder what will be,

it cannot match your expectations.

Do not think on forever,

it is never long enough

Do not expect always,

transience is the only guarantee.

Do not criticize your face,

lines are character but they are still lines.

Do not worry,

tomorrow does come.

Do not doubt yourself,

your best is good enough most of the time.

Do not compare,

you cannot see inside anyone but yourself.

Do not second guess your decisions,

even the wrong ones lead you somewhere.

Do not cry over things you cannot change,

but you’ll ignore that advice.

Remember to smile,
it’s a good life.

 

7. Triolet

Sand

The sands trickle in perpetual motion,

Neither stopped nor slowed by our wishes,

Marking the forever gone of our years.

The sands trickle in perpetual motion

Ignoring the banality of our fears and tears-

Gathering speed as we gain patience.

The sands trickle in perpetual motion

Neither stopped nor slowed by our wishes.

Once you triolet, you find you like olet. Have another.

Time is like a song

Make days last forever, if words could make wishes come true

Hanging on in quiet desperation, we’ve all got time enough to cry

If you're lost you can look--and you will find me.

Make days last forever, if words could make wishes come true

Time keeps flowing like a river, to the sea, to the sea.

Are you reeling in the years stowing away the time?

Make days last forever, if words could make wishes come true

Hanging on in quiet desperation, we’ve all got time enough to cry

 

 

 

my best friend just laughed at me.  because she says i’m whiny. yes. it’s true.  i am whiny.  because i’m having a bad day and i don’t want to play anymore.

llo and went out for brunch.  i took a picture of her because she looks freaking miserable (because she is whiny too.)  actually it’s an “and” not a “because”.  i do not need to document this child looking miserable.  she practices.  she doesn’t need to practice.  isn’t she a little charmer?  how much fun we’re having this week. bonding.

anyhow, we get the bill and it turns out i’m $.53 short because i only grabbed a twenty.  i guess i’d forgotten how much breakfast is.  (and seriously 20 smacks for breakfast for 2?)  so.  like the goober i am, i go up to the counter with sheepish face, explain my situation, and say i’ll be back in 15 with the rest.  the cashier was very nice actually and looked like he was going to tell me to forget it except that i said quickly i needed to tip the waitress.  so away we went.  and then i made the second trip to pay up.  yay. nothing i enjoy more than doing things twice.

then i decided to see about getting the junk i needed at the library.  how much fun was that?  i couldn’t print out the articles i needed and it took me a long darn time to figure out why.  turns out my endless supply of free printing ended.  i figured out how to add to that so i could print out some stuff.  then i discover that most of the articles i needed to print out are from the textbooks on reserve.  incidentally, someone from class was supposed to pdf these for us and hasn’t.  please note that i honored my commitment for my two weeks and in a timely manner.  so yes, i’m miffed that someone else did not.  nonetheless, i need to buck up and make my own photocopies if i want them now instead of later.  fine.  i brought approximately 20 lbs worth of quarters for photocopying because i learned my lesson last time.  the lesson where the change machine gives out those goofy gold dollar coins that only the tooth fairy uses and the photocopiers only take real coins.  so i was ready.  except that i can’t find the books.  then i do a little reading to discover the books are on reserve.  but not on reserve at the desk in the education library,  because that would be convenient.  they are on reserve at the main desk in the main library which now has a new name (which i can’t remember now. common services or some such) that nobody in the library actually uses because it’s all new and improved.  so i walked past the desk twice following their stupid signs.  finally make it to the appropriate desk.  i used what i thought was english to make my request.  it took several times and some pointing at my syllabus for the boy to understand what i needed.  so finally he finds me the books and asks for my id.  my id which i never carry.  because i lose things.  then he asks if i know my id number.  no, i do not.  because instead of using a simple, easy, convenient SS number, we use a 20 digit number (give or take 5) for security.  yes, it is extremely secure.  because nobody can possibly know a number that big.  and then he had the gall to seem annoyed when i said i’d have to come back and it wouldn’t be today.  frankly, i’m exhausted.  because all this stuff for my convenience really is just too much.

got home and that sweet little bundle of joy and cooperation (yes, that is sarcasm. you can see the picture) is annoyed that her friend hasn’t returned her call yet.  the call where she wants a playdate and sleepover.  egads.  the last time they had a playdate her friend came over at 3pm and hadn’t had lunch yet and they argued the whole afternoon.  toss up on which is more taxing to me: llo annoyed or llo happy.  good news.  the phone call was returned. and now llo has the motivation to practice that freaking dang drum.

so. instead of the sacred nap, i’m going to be refereeing. today is just the best.

even my monkees pandora station isn’t helping.

when the other parental unit gets home, i am running away.  because, frankly, the person who laughed at me for being whiny deserves the pleasure of my company.  and she has fancy beer.

bluemooncat enormous thing.  ekphrastic flash fiction.  the art is here

 

Rosie runs the vacuum in the home of her employers.  The small ones leave their toys lying about, well-taught by experience that their maid will pick up after them without complaint or rebuke.  Rosie pushes the buttons to serve the meals, well aware that not a word of appreciation will be forthcoming.  She hears laughter that she cannot share.  She sees affection that is not for her.  Her position is clear.

She looks human on the outside: smooth life-like skin, lips set in a perpetually pleasant expression, eyes constantly scanning. She speaks the right words at the right time.  She drives to and fro and fro and to, acquiring the necessary things, delivering the required things, certain of her purpose and destination.  She does everything as expected in the manner expected at the time expected.  She is programmed to be- circuitry lending authenticity to her existence. 

A single tear drips slowly down her face.

Day #1 of complete spring break: no work, no class.  I’m almost in a panic about getting everything there ever could be that is relaxing and good accomplished in the break that I have.

1. It’s all bullshit.

2. I just painted my toenails tacky purple.  Did the fingernails too, because they were there.  Nail polish stinks.

3. I tried to go to campus library to find articles I need.  Library closed this weekend for my convenience.  So much for trying to do the smart thing.

4. Spawn told me I can clean her room while she’s gone this week.  Wow.  How generous.  Unfortunately it smells like teen spirit in there.  You can’t make me.

5. Holy crap!  Just had a lapful of manic cat trying to escape that freaking annoying kitten. 

6. Day number 2 of being outvoted for the family movie. Tomorrow I win or I’ll get rid of more family members.

7. I spent the first 5 hours of my day doing what should be done and it annoyed me.  I am tired of doing what should be done. 

8. I organized the fun projects that I want to do this week.  I’ve overestimated how much time I have.  I AM going to finish LLO’s mittens before winter is completely over.

9. I want to paint something, but don’t know what.  I’m thinking furniture.

10. I am neither smart nor sweet.  I have the attention span of a gnat and the depth of a turnip.

11. I think I’m afraid to write something longer than a paragraph.

12. I lost 20 IQ points yesterday and probably put a hole in the ozone.  It was crazy hair day.  Took me 3 times to get all the hairspray out. 

13. Lists.  Not my thing.

Poor little microninjapsycho kitten all tired out from torturing her big “sister”.

bluemooncat enormous thing: haibun.  Should I tell you what that means or do you want to google like I had to?  Fine.  prose poetry with a side of haiku. 

 

A sandwich lovingly ordered with all the right coverings, all the right insides.  Each delicious addition painstakingly assembled by plastic-covered hands.  The perfection protected by the crisp paper mantle.

The order totaled and the questioning eyes expecting payment.  The sign, “cash only”, caused consternation.  Empty wallets checked for hidden bills- always empty of such plebeian devices.

Small child devastated by loss.

“Goodbye, my sandwich”

“Don’t worry, dear, we’ll be back”

She loved that sandwich.

 

 

In other news.  That particular kid is going on a mission trip in 2 short hours.  My living room is filled will the accoutrements of her packing. We’ve been a hotbed of laundry servicing since yesterday evening.  Spawn is currently at the store buying important things that couldn’t be bought any time before now.  This morning has been filled with the drama of her trying to follow a list that seems extremely straight-forward to me, but requires intensive discussion for her. Yes. Tears.  No morning is complete without those.

Please.  Get out.  I promise I will miss you by Wednesday, or even Tuesday, if you just get out right now.  Thanks.

Shoot.  She’s nervous about going.  Why didn’t I see that?

bluemooncat enormous thing.  (really) short story using the words: virgin, stone, trombone, attendance, pretzels, rusting, camp fire.

 

Tired.  Tired of goldfish and pretzels.  Tired of playgroups and PTO meetings.  Tired of constant attendance on every word in a small voice.  Tired of the brain rusting like an old car in a junkyard. 

Emma took the latest Sandra Brown crime novel and a glass of red into the back yard.  She put these items in the Adirondack chair.  Stacking twigs and entwining newspapers, she set a camp fire.  The fire blazed hot and high, protected by the stone circle.  As she stared into the fire, Emma knew. 

She went back into the house for a few items: the multitude of child-rearing how-to books crowding her bookshelf and a notebook.  Her child-centered existence she ripped page by page and tossed into the purging fire.  Page by page, she reclaimed her life.  The ashes sunk to the ground. 

The sparks filled her eyes- purpose and dream and desire and creativity.  She opened the virgin notebook and began writing.

The neighbor girl practiced her trombone.