The Day After Halloween

Can see my own breath;
Won’t see the Jack O’ Lantern
For another year

Living in an Airport

These days, I feel like I live in an airport
Which I suppose isn’t an awful thing
I’ve always liked going to the airport
Usually it means you’re going somewhere and
Since I’ve never really travelled for work
It usually means I’m going somewhere exciting or
Going to see someone exciting and
It always means I’m getting out of town
Unless I’m not
Unless I’m welcoming someone who
Is getting out of their town or
Picking someone up who is returning to mine
Even then I’m not unhappy because
I get to watch
Hugs, kisses, tearful embraces, and
People sprinting into open arms
Wearing those expressions that are so raw you have to turn away
It’s almost better than being involved in them but
I’m old
So I remember when all of this took place at the gate or
Even on the funny little retractable hallway
Connecting the plane to the gate
You weren’t supposed to do that but
When my sister came up from Columbia at three months old
My mom did it
Since then I don’t think I’ve witnessed it personally
Since then it seems like it’s been moving steadily closer to home
First it was back at the gate
Then came 9/11 and
Either you waited until baggage exchange or
You had your emotional reunion at the metal detectors
Then I had children and
Went where few men go
Home all day with the kids while my wife went to work
Every day and
Came home every day and
Hugged and kissed the kids each time she came and went
The ritual has involved sitting in the back of the car in the driveway
Waving from the kitchen window
Running down the street
Holding the two of them
One in each arm
As Mama drives down the street
Hand out the window waving until she turns the corner and
Drives out of sight
Regardless of the specific ritual, however
It is always emotional
Always involves hugs and kisses and
I am always watching
It’s like living in an airport but
As long as it doesn’t move right into the bedroom
While I’m still sleeping
I’ll savor the goodbyes and the hellos and
No matter how raw the emotion
I won’t be looking away

Beautiful Memories

Sometimes late at night
When I should be sleeping
Getting ready for another in an endless series of early morning wakeups
I am watching movie scenes on Youtube
Maybe the bar scene in Good Will Hunting or
Any Al Pacino speech or
The marriage proposal in High Fidelity or
Rene saying “you had me at hello” and
Being moved by the beautiful memories
That someone has seemingly created and
Put to music
Just for me

Not tonight though
Tonight I am staying up too late
Trying to find an appropriate way to record
How I felt this morning when my son
Greeted me
In the pitch dark of his room
By falling silent
Abandoning his chant of dada dada dada
Clamoring to the side of his crib and
Into my arms and
Clutching me tight
His hands on my back
Head on my shoulder and
Foot in my groin
Motionless
For twenty minutes
A moment he broke with a back rub
It is a moment worth staying up to commemorate
It is a moment when I again realize that
There are beautiful memories are really mine

Seren’s Halloween Poem

Halloween is trick or treating
At seven in the morning
Just kidding, that’s a trick
I really go at seven at night and
I get to stay up late and see
Dragons (That’s my brother) and
Vampire bats
(Beavers always have to be vampire bats because they have the teeth) but
The eyes can barely see
It’s dark and
I’m wearing a costume
A ghost costume
I’ll be a scary ghost
Two of my friends will be scary witches
We’ll all get treats
At school and
From houses
Halloween is trick and
Treat


By: Seren and Daddy

Fatherhood Is

Fatherhood is a red and blue wooden lobster
Sitting on the right side of the desk
Revealed by the light of the tiny little lamp
With the energy efficient bulb
That takes half an hour to get bright enough
So that you can see your hands
Looking up from
Amongst a half dozen containers of Albuterol Sulfate
The size of M-14 cartridges
It’s view partially obstructed by
Dirty tissues
Flung about as if there was a massive surrender and
Standing at attention
Poised to take on the two plastic chocolate chip cookies and
The ceramic doll from Iceland
As spoils of war

Sand is always in season

Raking the first leaves;
Playing at the sand table
In sweatshirts and jeans

Haloween Magic

A thirty pound pumpkin sits on the coffee table
Looking like something lifted out of the middle of the Cinderella story
A fairy godmother didn’t put it there though
She also didn’t carry it to the cashier
With a two year old boy attached to her leg and
She didn’t spend almost fifteen dollars for it and
She didn’t carry it to the car at the walking pace of that two year old
While answering questions from his four year old sister
She also wasn’t around last year to explain to the aforementioned children
Why we had two pumpkins taken off of our porch and
I know that this year
I have yet to turn down an offer of help from anyone wearing wings
But she did go and do all that magic for Cinderella and
Then I went and purchased the book she did it in from the thrift store and
Allowed it to be chosen for family story last week and
I don’t have a job and
We do have a lot of credit card debt and
We have plenty of anxiety and worry and
Could use a little magic
So
If it disappears tonight
I’ll thank the Fairy Godmother
Not for what has disappeared but
For what has been left behind

The end of an evening at the neighbor's house

Carried home by mom
Squirming, flexing, and Kicking;
Screams pierce the brisk night

Parenthood Is

Parenthood is
Cross country skiing
In the early morning
In the most beautiful snow covered scene you can imagine
With your very favorite piece of soft music playing in the background
Be it the Mountain Goats or Emminem
While carrying a backpack containing
A Chicken Pesto sandwich on freshly baked foccacia bread
A bottle of Riesling
Two plastic collapsible wine glasses and
Tom Thumb and his fat cousin Bertha playing
An indoor racket based sport
Inside a fifteen pound bowling ball
Skiing in fresh and deep snow
Towing a Bengal Tiger Pup
Who is usually a joy
Except when you want to go somewhere on skis

Misc.

The label says miscellaneous junk
The shoebox itself is filled with old negatives and
He hopes it has the old negative he’s looking for
The picture was taken from the top of a Windmill
Looking down a road on the farm
His cousin’s family’s farm
Where he spent many a summer day
When he was growing up
The farm that his cousin
Now closer to eighty than eighteen
Has just sold
The farm
The mention of which always conjures up
The picture taken from the top of the windmill
The picture he thinks he took but isn’t sure
His cousin might have taken it
After all it was his cousin’s farm
But his cousin didn’t get back into photography after retirement
In a big way
In a state of the art scanner, fancy software, multiple lens kind of way
So his cousin has nothing to gain from having taken great pictures in his teenage years and
Probably doesn’t care who took it but
He does and
Maybe the negative will offer proof so
He goes through the negatives one at a time until
He finds it and
The negatives from the other pictures taken at the same time and
Then
Five of six negatives in he
Sees another shot of the windmill with
A hand in the upper left corner
A hand
With only four complete fingers and
That brings a smile to his face
Because among the miscellaneous facts he might share about his life
If you were to meet him
Is the fact that at age fourteen
He shot off his pinky while preparing to go hunting
Thus
The four fingered hand is
Just the sort of label he was looking for

Changing Seasons

Sobbing and clinging
Face pressed against my shoulder;
Seasons all do pass

Sisyphus

Earlier today she had new shoes but
After a few hours and
A play date and
A playground and
Chalk drawings and
Two huge toe scuffs
She needs new shoes

How to Make a Ghost

Grab a white sheet

Find someone who can sew

Give them directions
Extravagant directions
Wonderful directions
Perfect directions
Make it flowy and elegant
It can’t go over the head,
It should be like a poncho
Or a choir robe
Only in white

Find a mask or
Some good white makeup or
A white wig and
Maybe a wand
Everything can use a wand

Then get white gloves
White socks or tights
White shoes

Lastly
Find a way to do all of this
Granting her wish to be a ghost
Without having to explain what a ghost is

I’m still working on the white sheet

Picture Perfect

Picture perfect
Then picture a little closer to imperfect
And you’ll have the right picture
Sometimes we raise our voices
We don’t always talk nicely either and
Often we don’t lie serenely in bed
Neither do the kids and
They don’t always say please and thank you or
Treat each other with the utmost respect or
Listen and
They are almost never quiet
They are heard but not always seen
The house is not always to be seen
The car isn’t always full of gas right before a day trip
The kids aren’t always bathed and
We’re not just talking smelly Sundays
Sometimes the cat goes days without having his litter scooped
Sometimes the cat hair goes days without being vacuumed
Sometimes our daughter laughs so loud it makes me cry
It’s really too loud and
When her brother dances
He has no rhythm
Just like his daddy and
He runs into things
Just like his daddy
He’ll probably end up in the ER a lot
Just like his daddy and
Maybe he’ll write poetry
Just like his daddy
That rambles around from mess to
Masterpiece and
Everywhere in between Just
Like his life
Which will be a little less than perfect
A little more like perfect and
Well worth picturing

Pumpkin Pie

It’s dark at seven;
Baking pumpkin pie from scratch
From real pumpkins

Colder Weather

Sandals are replaced;
Now I tie up his sneakers
Over little socks

Almost Two and Running

Running downhill at almost two
Is enough to make almost any parent sick
Even if it’s a grassy hill
With a soft incline
Strewn with flowers and
He’s running hand in hand with Heidi
If he’s running by himself or
Worse, with his sister leading the way
On concrete that has been tortured by tree roots and
Those folks who think maintenance involves
Letting their kids color on the rubble with chalk and
He’s doing the nearly two year old run
Which is more lurch meets electric slide than it is run
Then
Speaking for myself
It’s hard to maintain consciousness
But when he throws his hands up in the air and
Does his growl giggle
Well then you almost forget that two isn’t yet guaranteed and
You settle for running in front and
Letting him bump draft downhill at almost two

Sand

I want to hold on to each moment and
I can’t
Pictures don’t capture it
Poems can’t recreate it
Hugs end
Trips end
Vacations end
Bottles end
Naps end
Good moods always end
So much worth holding on to and
So many wonderful reasons not to even try

Trip to the Orchard

She picked one apple;
He picked one and a pumpkin
That’s still in his lap

Puzzled

Does one puzzle piece know any of the others?
Is it easier to make real connections in a 60 piece puzzle
Than it is in a 1000 piece puzzle?
Maybe location is more important than population
I think I’d rather be an edge piece but
I’m sure my wife would want to be somewhere in the middle
Surrounded and in the middle of things
I always sat in the back at the class
In the last pew or in the balcony at church and
In the aisle seat on a plane
If I could
I like space and
I always want an exit plan
Even if I’m probably not going anywhere
It would be nice though
Even for me
To have a friend and
You would think you’d have something in common with your neighbors
Even if it was just the picture on your back sides
Unfortunately
Neighbors often do match in that way and
Only that way and
It would be nice to do more than match or
Even not to match at all but rather
To really connect
To worry less about whether fit benefits function and
More about whether fit benefits us
To know more about what benefits us
To know where we are
Who we are and
Who we are with

To My Wife

A red tractor sits
In front of a red barn
In a dusty and rutted driveway
A white fence to the left
In front of the house
Surrounds a small vegetable garden
Red tomatoes
Red Peppers
Green peppers
Green beans
Some herbs and
In the far corner
Closest to the faded red chicken coop
Sits a Chinese eggplant
That is you

Picture

Curls
Blown dried straight with glitter and
Back with a drop of water
Brown in the winter
Streaked with blond in the summer
Blue eyes
Well on their way to being green
An amazing smile
Pretty teeth and full lips and a glow
That can become sarcastic or snarling
In the time that it takes laughing
To turn into screams and snarls
In the time it takes her to switch topics in a conversation or
Fixations
Cars
Books
Puzzles
Shoes
We have new shoes
In a new size because
She still likes the new shoe song at her pre-school
Where she just started a new year in a new class with new friends and
This Friday will have another school picture
Another school picture
Featuring an
Awkward,
Unsimiling,
Unposed,
Cute little curly head
Captured in its present incarnation
For all time
For now

The Tide

I have decided that I am becoming more and more like the tide
Going in and out over the same terrain
But not at the California Coast or
Even the Jersey Shore
More like the Delaware River
Or Core Creek
Wherever I am
It isn’t expansive
It can be smelly and
I find myself adjusting to an increasingly debris scattered topography
Without making any kind of impact
Not even gradual erosion
I am the only thing eroding
And now the toilet handle no longer does anything
The chain has come loose
I have tried to fix it but
It keeps coming loose and
I open up the back of the toilet and reach in to flush it
I don’t reach in every time
So it doesn’t always smell fresh but
I do it now almost out of habit
Adjusting to the new reality
In and out in the same old way

Butt-Ball

My son is at another key developmental moment
So am I
He’s taken an active interest in sports
He’ll even watch on TV
For a second
He calls everything “butt-ball”
Because his sister inherited my sense of humor
But he’s interested in “butt-ball” and
I’m becoming interested in playing catch
Maybe even with a baseball
In buying him jerseys and other officially licensed clothing
Maybe even stuff from Philadelphia’s teams
In cheering him on
Maybe even in saying things like atta’ boy
Way to go son
I’m so proud of the man you’ve become and
Show no mercy
I’m not there yet and
Before I start telling him about my own glory days
I’ll have to make some up
For now I’ll just enjoy the fact that
He’s not even two and
He wants to play ball
He wants to play every kind of ball
He wants to play every kind of “butt-ball” but
He wants to play
He kicks a soccer ball
He can throw anything that is vaguely round and
Sometimes it even goes in the direction he intends it to
Most significantly
He now points out every basketball hoop he sees
He yells “butt-ball” as loud as he can but
He points them all out
He’s at the butt-ball stage
Happily
So am I

Seren's Fall Poem

Leaves fall
Leaves change color
It gets colder
I wear long sleeves
I wear long pants
I really wear jeans
I wear sweatshirts with hoods
I pick apples
I have my own pink rake
I rake leaves
Leaves fall



By: Seren and Daddy

Love is ...

Love is when you sing someone to sleep
Carrying him in your arms
His head heavy, warm, and slobbery on your shoulder
His arms pinned between your bodies and
Stretched down as straight as lines on a highway in North Dakota
So that he can manage to reach down and around his own crotch and
Get a fingertip hold on your arm

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Fists clenched
Arms to the side and shaking
Skin flushed
Face squinched up
Lips curled back revealing
Two rows of little teeth clamped together
With the hint of a smile barely visible on either side and
In the eyes
Which are as focused and tense
As his throat
As it lets loose a noise
Reminiscent of a mouse on steroids

Breathing

I don’t say a word
I don’t look back
I don’t even stop walking
I just reach my hand back
She runs to catch up
She grabs my hand
We cross the street together

Socks

In Jeans and Sketchers
And a natty blue and peach striped polo
He’s a little man
Almost reminiscent of those prints that are always in doctor’s offices
Those prints of children in suits and
Dresses and
Romantic poses
Almost
But not quite
Since I put him in white sweat socks
Because I’ve never liked those prints and
I like my little boy

%$#&

Colorful language
Still slips out from time to time
Lots of stuff happens from time to time
Which I don’t want to acknowledge
Shit happens
Fuck too
But now I feel guilty
If I do more than mutter it under my breath
So usually that’s what I do
Mutter
And occasionally give the cat my two cents worth
Though when they grow up
They will use it too
Regardless of how softly I mutter bitch or ass under my breath
Maybe my job is to teach them the right way to say “fuck”
Where to put the emphasis
How to sync up the hand gestures
Maybe
But more likely my job is to teach them the words and
How to properly feel guilty when they say them
That sounds like a job I could
Slip right into

Fall Crafts

Trees still have green leaves;
Toilet paper roll, paper plate
Two kids and orange paint

Dark Juice

As the days get shorter and
Darkness begins to intrude into the world
That exists between
“Dada I’m up” and
The screaming and splashing of bath time …
The waking world
I am thinking more and more about
Dark juice
It haunts me
It intrigues me
It hides out there on the edge of my consciousness
Like yetis and vampires and
Vampire yetis and
Some troubling combination of
The Bear and his friends from Bear Snores On and
The Collins’ from Dark Shadows
After all
It sounds like a denizen of the night
A concoction from the dark side and
It is
Apparently
Alluringly undrinkable
If you are a four year old
If you are a grownup
It is kind of like the bell from Polar Express
It just tastes like juice
It’s not special and
It’s in a sippy cup that we’re not supposed to drink from
So it is as good as broken
My daughter thinks dark juice is broken and
Maybe me too
Since I don’t recognize the need to replace it with
Fresh juice
Light juice?
I always replace it
But as the light begins to leave the edges of my world
It calls to me in a sinister yet childish way
Which makes it even more sinister
Like a care bear with claws and fangs or an
Overweight Barbie
Glaring at Skipper on her little pink scooter and
Holding a weapon from GI Joe
Buffy would drink dark juice with Xander but
Not with Angel
Maybe that is why it intrigues me
Sitting there in a little pink cup
With an orange lid
Maybe
Now that it’s dark
I just can’t see the pink lid
Maybe I’m not supposed to know

Limited Vocabulary

Noooo

Trash

Noooo

This
Ball

Moo, baa, hissss
Bock bock
Meow meow

Nooooo

Owl
Fish

Car
Bus
Boat
Baby

Uh oh
Ouch

Up mama
Up

Nooooo

Down

Cracker dada

Buh Bye

Green Grapes

Green grapes
Clinging to the vine
In ignorance of what is about to happen but
Still afraid
Imagine if they knew that they were about to be cut in half and
If they are lucky
Eaten
I say lucky because
I wouldn’t want to be stepped on and
Cursed at or
Thrown across the room and
Cursed at or near or
Trapped in silence
In a diaper next to …
Well next to nothing good
So they are probably better off
Clinging in ignorance because
It truly isn’t easy being green
Not that red or black is much better

My Son

Beads and a purse and
A wrist full of silly bands or
Hair ties

A purple head band either
On the head
On the throat or
In the Lavar Burton over the eyes position

Holding a baby
Preferably one of sisters

Big smile
Blonde hair
Blue eyes
Penis

Asleep

Asleep
Both of them were asleep
In the car on the way home
From Grammy and Poppy’s house and
It felt like a quiet moment
Along the allied trenches
Somewhere in France
In 1916
A quiet moment for conversation
Even contemplation
Amidst the ruins
Of cheerios
Dirty sippy cups
Dollies and bottles
Soccer balls
Old grocery lists
Receipts and
Google Map printouts
A quiet moment
Not meant to last
But meant to be savored
Both of them asleep and
Us awake
In the car on the way home
From Grammy and Poppy’s house
Us awake
And the two of them
Asleep

Safari Shirt

Today
A little man in a button up safari shirt
Complete with an Elephant
A giraffe
A tiger and
A macaw
Threw dirt on a slide and
Onto a friend
Climbed into more than one situation
Where he found himself or
Was found
At least four feet up in the air
Looking around for someone to notice
Yelled at a bunch of older girls
Causing them to cover their ears
Spun his dad around
With the help of a little friend and
Screamed bloody murder at least once or twice
All while looking impossibly and
Distressingly
Old in his
Khaki
Button up safari shirt
Complete with an Elephant
A giraffe
A tiger and
A macaw

Four

Girls at four

“I’m not playing with you now
Why don’t you play with …”

Girls at four years old

“She can play with us, but not him.”

Girls at four years old
Remind me of Girls at fourteen

“Daddy
They don’t want me to play with them
On the green dinosaur.”

Girls at four years old
Though
Are still four year olds

“They told him he couldn’t follow us but
That’s not nice so
I told him he could follow us.”

Four year olds
Are full of pleasant surprises

Looking Ahead

Emptiness
When I close my eyes and think of the future
It is emptiness that haunts me more than anything else
It is like that moment when you get a puzzle out and
Start separating out the border pieces and
You are counting the corners and
Setting them aside
First you find one
Then you find the second and
The third
But the fourth one never shows
Even though you know it was there
Because you did this puzzle last winter and
Nothing was missing then
But now it is gone and
It never shows up and
While you can keep putting it together
The puzzle is a little less interesting
A little less relaxing
A little less appealing
A little less and
That is exactly what happens as I look forward into my future
I see the pieces disappearing
One by one
Sometimes two by two and
gradually
There just being less and
More emptiness
When I close my eyes I see empty chairs and
It makes me cry

What does a cow say?

What does a cow say?
Mooooo.
What does a snake say
ssssssssssss.
What does a cat say?
Meew
Meew
What does a horse say?
Mooo
A horse says neigh.
What does an owl say
Aaaohhhwool
What does an owl say?
Mooooo.
An owl says whooooo.
What does a snake say?
Mooooooo.
It says hisssssssss.
Mooooooooo.
What does a cat say?
Moooooooooooo.

And now the only answer I will get is mooo
Or mooooooo
Or mooooooooooooo
And lots of laughter
I always know that
If the snake doesn't break through
Then the game is over or
it's just begun
I don't know which
So I just give up
and join in

Mooooooooo

Happy 37th

Birthday Carrot Cake;
Red curry wild boar served with
Some pantaprazole

Last Day on the beach

Our last day on the beach
Was captured on video
Like the last moments
Around the water hole on the Savannah
Lions and elephants and
Long legged
Knobby kneed birds
All warily eyeing and
Vying for the last drops of water
The BBC didn’t capture us
Vying for the last days of summer
Granddad did but
We were thirsty just the same and
Not yet ready
To move on
From our last day on the beach

Tired Happy Parent

Tired
Happy
Parent

The tired part is a guarantee

I’m too tired to wax poetic or get too deep into the zen of parenting
So I will leave alone the question of the permanence of the parent part

So the only real variable is the happy part
Sometimes I feel too tired for that too
Sometimes it feels completely out of my control
But I don’t think I am
And I don’t think it is
It might be shared control
With a four year old
And an almost two year old
And a thirty three year old
And a twelve year old cat
And a set of inlaws
And my own parents
Whose ages shall all remain unknown although I think the truth is quite poetic
And who knows who else
But
At least its not guaranteed
Either way

Tired
Parent
Who
Can be
Wants to be
And is
Occasionally
Happy

That is guaranteed

Autumn Air Conditioning

Leaves are on the ground;
Air conditioner white noise
Covers night walking

Under Five Soccer Practice

Leaves fall on sandals;
Ball and small cleeted feet
Leave no room for leaves

Falling

Falling
Not jumping
They are not jumping
No matter how far the chair is from the couch
They are not jumping
They are falling
Sometimes they fall one at a time
Sometimes together
Occasionally it has the look of mass production
Usually it is more mass than production
Make Way for Ducklings meets the Three Stooges
Always it is falling
Always it is loud
Sometimes it is rude and indignant
Sometimes it is playful and audience friendly
Occasionally it is cooperative
Usually it falls short of that or any other ideal
Whatever it is though
It’s not jumping

Later Summer

Midnight on the clock;
Air conditioner still on
Even as leaves fall down

The Path

I am walking a well trodden path
But doing it slowly and awkwardly
Doubling back here and again
Looking for something I may have missed
I’ve never been this way before
I’ve never gone this far in before
But it is all too familiar
And the familiar stretches on ahead as far as the eye can see
I suppose I could leave the path altogether
But where would I go
Wouldn’t I just end up back here anyway
Back on this path
This path from which there is no flying away
No digging under
Nothing to do with
Other than
Walk awkwardly
Walk slowly
Veer often
Occasionally double back
Or even lay down
It is a limited creativity
A common creativity
But
Well trodden though it is
It is all I have

Late Summer

Still eighty degrees;
She wears footie pajamas
Covered in snowflakes

After the Playground

Small shirt wet with sweat,
Feet covered with dirt and sand
Washed with baby wipes

My son at the pool

Waving arms on deck …
Stillness in the pool surrounds
Outstretched arms inside

If you see her

Long curly hair
Blue eyes
Says “no” a lot
If you see her …

What … need more?

Well …

She’s still on the short side of four feet
She has trouble sitting still
Unless she’s reading a book or
Putting together a 100 piece puzzle and
If you see her …

Still not enough?

Hmmmm …
If she’s standing next to an even shorter person
A boy
She’ll be
Pretending to give him food or
Pushing him down or
Giving him a big hug whether he wants it or not or
Asking him to say this word or that
Everything from cow to pillow fight or
Laying on top of him while he screams and
If that is the case
Calmly pull her off and
Tell her that is not how she is supposed to treat her brother
She probably won’t be doing any of that though
She’ll probably just be sitting there
With her arm around him
Reading him a book and
If you do see her

You’re kidding … right?

Pbbbbbbbbbt …
She’s very observant
A little shy at first but
Impossible to shut up once she gets going and
Hard to bull shit
And
Chances are she’ll be wearing a band aid
Maybe on one of her birth marks
She’s got lots of birth marks and
Unfortunately
She has my feet
And
If you ask her to smile she will and
You should ask her to smile
It’s worth whatever she puts you through to get one
And
She’ll probably be pulling her shirt up to show off her belly or
Her pants down to show off her underwear
And
She’ll answer to Seren
So
If you do see her …

11:00 p.m.

Crickets chirping
The occasional clicking of computer keys
Wedding ring tapping on wood
Static from the monitor
Periodically interrupted by the whizz and whirr of the air conditioner and
Accompanied by rustling on one end and
Rustling and sighs on the other

Far in the background
People can be heard driving to and fro on I-95

Artichokes and Beaches

A day at the beach with two kids under the age of four
Is like eating an artichoke
That moment when everyone is on the beach and
The kids are playing in the sand
Without screaming or
Shoving or
Throwing sand and
At least one of the grownups is laying down
That moment when you are all down by the water and
No one is screaming to be picked up or
In danger of being carried out to sea
That moment when your son stands there
Motionless
Until the water sweeps over his feet
At which point he splashes furiously until it goes away
That moment
Where your daughter
Lies down
And lets the water spill around her
And then gets up and dips her hair in less than an inch of water
That is the reward
The rest of the trip
Is the washing
Cooking
Peeling and
Cutting
That moment in the car
On the way home
When it is clear that a good time has been had by all and
It feels like mission accomplished
Is the reason you buy another artichoke
I don’t know where the melted butter comes in

Seven Kisses

Every other night I put her to bed and
Every other night I blow her kisses
Seven Kisses
It’s been that way for a while
We read six stories
One we all read together
Then
If it is my day
She picks two books and
Places them on the wooden step stool
The one to be read first is on the top step
Once both are read
I turn out the light on that side of the room and
Turn on the night light
She chooses two more books and
After a check to see that all of her dolls and stuffed animals
Are in their proper places
I read the last two books to her
While we lay in her bed
Where
After she drinks a little juice and
A little milk
I turn out the lights and
Sing Springsteen’s The River and
Then offer up the beverages again
If she is awake she always accepts and
Then waits for me to ask her how many kisses she wants
She says seven

Seren's Poem

This poem was written by Seren and her Daddy

I have cute feet
I don’t use them in the street
I keep them on the sidewalk
With my sidewalk chalk

I don’t use my feet to draw
I use a hand
When I’m done drawing
I use my feet to stand

Then I go to my favorite place
It’s the playground of course
I play on the slides and ride the swings
But I never ride a horse

When I’m done
I jump in the car
And go to the Please Touch museum
Because with my feet it’s too far

Daddy drives me
Wyeth and mommy come too
If Wyeth isn’t looking
I might yell boo

He likes it when I say boo
So he’d probably laugh at me
And there’d be a lot of noise in the car
So daddy would say shhhhhhh to we

When we come back home
My feet will take me in the door
Daddy and mommy will be tired
But Wyeth and I will be ready for more

She told me

She told me we have to save the baby stuff
So she can use it when she has a baby
Apparently she’ll be having her baby in the house with us
And her brother will be the father
Of course
She also told me
That when she grows up she won’t be able to fit in the house
When I called her in to look at a big Eggplant
She told me
It was too big for the house
And that I was too big for the house
And then she followed me into the garage
And caught sight of the baby stuff
Which is what got her thinking about babies
She has lots of babies
Sarah, Juliet, and Bubble Top just to name a few
A couple are dogs
And I think there is a tiger in there too
It wears a blue denim jumper
They won’t ever be too big for her house
She told me she will always love them
Of course
They have birthdays everyday
And occasionally go to China
And practice medicine
And are older than she is
The truth is
That right now
She only barely fits in the house
She told me that too

Midnight

It's Midnight
And a pie is in the oven
Filling the house with it's perfume
The kitchen and the office are clean
And the lights are out in the rest of the house
And the kids are asleep
I’m on the phone with my dad
And writing poetry
It would be a great moment
If my son had pooped today
But I can’t quite get the thought of a 3:00 am diaper change out of my mind
So it’s only a good moment
But it is a good moment
It might be a good moment only in comparison
But I don’t care
Besides the pie is done
So it’s over now anyway
And it's past midnight

Serengeti

Having kids is like watching Wild, Wild World of Animals
The way you would have watched it when it was on television
Without Tevo
Sometimes you see the kill
But miss the start of the chase
Today I missed the shove
Which normally wouldn’t have been a big deal
His screaming is all the evidence I need
Today though
There was no screaming
Only the sounds of collisions and falls
Which could have easily been dismissed as over-exuberance
In our house over-exuberance is like wariness is on the Serengeti
But for some reason I was diligent today and
I turned around
Just in time to see the pan to the face and
I wanted to laugh
But it seemed like cheering for the Antelope to outrun the Cheetah and
I always cheered for the Cheetah
Besides I’m not just a viewer of this drama
So I couldn’t laugh
But I could deliver an I told you so
Clothed in parental care and love
Because I warned her that
It’s a wild, wild world in here

The Neglected Child

When I lie down on the bed at the end of the day
He appears
Almost like a rabbit out of a hat
Except he’s bigger than a rabbit and
Sounds more like a motorboat
A motorboat that approaches rather quickly and
Always drops anchor within arm’s reach
Where he stays until the lights go out and
He is unceremoniously shown to the bedroom door and
Vanishes into the darkness
Even if I spend another hour in the office
While my wife sleeps
I won’t see him until I head up to get the kids in the morning
At which time he’ll escort me up the stairs and
Scream at me until he gets what he wants
Just like everybody else
Just like everybody else
What he wants in the morning is food and
Maybe a clean litter box
It’s only at night
That he consistently wants attention
Only when I lies down at the end of the day

Confession

A raised voice
A slap of a fat little hand
“This is your fault … it’s your fault we …”
Five minutes on espn.com while the little one screams
Talking while one falls off the slide …
“I think she’s yelling for you”
Taking the last piece of corn
Eating it in the kitchen
Where no one can see me
“Sorry sweetie, there’s none left”
Baking a pie with both
Even though one can’t really help and
Really can’t eat pie and
Will just be yelled at for
Flouring the room
Spilling the milk
Coloring on the floor and
Dragging the metal colander across the new wood floor
“I think he just wants you to hug him daddy”
Keeping them still
On my lap
For twenty minutes
Watching inappropriate music videos
On you tube
Which at least one will sing when guests are over
“I hope it gives you hell”
“Just one more store”
Which they scream through
But I had to have a look at the distressed plants at Lowes and
I’m not Catholic
So this will have to do

Waning Light

It’s mid-August
Which means that at half past eight
With the lights off
It’s no longer possible to see his face clearly in the mirror
So I can’t tell you what his face looked like
When I confidently
Yet quietly
Slaughtered the last line of the Star Spangled Banner, and
He pushed himself up off of my shoulder, and
Began clapping
I don’t know if it was a perfunctory applause
The type he gives after nearly every song of any kind he hears during the day, or
Whether he was truly appreciating my song stylings
Probably he was unable to tell the difference between this version and
The goofy and purposefully off key version I used to keep him awake
On the way home from the pool before nap
If I could have seen his face
I might have seen a smile
But since it is mid-August
I moved right into Hallelujah
Jeff Buckley’s version
Sung by me and
Even though I was alone with my twenty month old son
I was glad it was mid-August

More or Less

He’s asleep on me again
Head on my shoulder
Bottom on the desk
The rest of him in between … more or less
And I am typing again
Teaching my online class in critical thinking
And fulfilling all of my responsibilities
… more or less

Parental Bliss

We’re on a family walk
I’m watching our daughter ride her bike
So I miss the first few dadas
But he is nothing if not persistent and
I hear him and slow down so he can catch up
When he reaches me
He takes my hand in his
Rubs it against his face
And then drops our hands down into
The walking while handholding position
I smile
Inside and Out

Fleeting

The specter of growth hovers over everything
Dating, Driving, and Moving Vans … I see them everywhere
In the dirty diapers that keep getting bigger and bigger
In the last remaining bottle of our daily routine
In the fast disappearing remnants of the toddler walk
In the growth in her vocabulary and the words that inhabit it
In the kisses she gives to his boo boos
And in his acceptance of those kisses
In their yearning to run out of the room,
To run down or upstairs depending on where we aren’t
And to bolt for the door
I see it in the time I spend away from them,
When I carry them, and hug them,
And when I try to write poetry about them
Failing to capture them even in words
Even now

Gas

He passes gas and laughs
He’s done it for something close to half his life
Of course he is only twenty …
Months
Old
But I still think I have plenty of cause for worry
Only a few months into dating
His mother was lifting a cheek and lettin’ em’ rip
And Uncle John
Well … let’s just say he’s not shy about the passing of the gas
And he would never say “passing gas”
Although he might say “letttin’ em’ rip”
And has referred to dropping the kids off at the pool
And he has no children
So laughter and gas at twenty months concerns me
Me
Who used to go into a separate room every time I had to pass the gas
Me who marriage has softened
But I still say excuse me
And feel just a little dirty every time
I don’t think my son has those feelings
And it’s my fault for not passing on
The traditional Midwestern discomfort with one’s own body
And bodily functions
I even smile when he does it
But in my defense
Anytime he laughs
It’s hard not to smile

Absolutely Not

Absolutely not
About half of the time
That’s the reply
It almost doesn’t matter what the question is
Or if there is even a question being posed
Absolutely not can be the reply
Don’t go outside
Absolutely not
You have to share that …
Absolutely not
Because you know you can’t keep him out of your doll dresser …
Absolutely not
When your brother says no you need to stop
Absolutely not
You need to eat pizza before you can have a nugget
Absolutely not
I can’t imagine ever saying absolutely not to pizza
At least not before I turned 30 and was afflicted by acid reflux
But apparently times have changed
I should ask her about it
There is a good chance I would get a thoughtful
And endlessly entertaining answer
Delivered in the manner of one friend to another
Talking about the important matters of life
Midmorning over a cup of tea
But there is at least a fifty percent chance
That I would get an answer
That I already know quite well

Know

Noooooooo
It doesn’t exactly say it all, but
It’s all he says
More or less
All tigers have stripes
All ladybugs are red with black spots
And my son always says no when you ask a question of him or anyone else standing within earshot but
There are stripes and there are stripes and
I wouldn’t want to take every no to be a no
Especially if blueberries or cheerios are involved and
I don’t because
Like the parent of twins
I can tell one from another
I know

Boo Boo

Scrapes and bruises are like Bridge to Teribithia
When you get older
They just aren’t the same
The excitement and the fear vanish
I suppose boo boos weren’t made into a movie
Given definition
Fenced in
Restrained
Stripped of their magic
So maybe they can recapture their luster at the end
When a little cut is again a big deal
Truly capable of rendering you immobile
Shutting down the whole world and
Leaving you in tears
Just like it could when you were four
When a your dolls might live in Africa
And a rope swing might lead to a magical kingdom

I don't Know

I don’t know who she is
That’s the truth
I do know her better than I know myself
But that may be simply a question of desire
Or a matter of circumstances
She is the movingest of moving targets
Only knowable one moment at a time
Which is a perfect match for my mind
Only interested in any one thing for a moment
And always a half dozen steps too far ahead
Which is why I’m worried about more than
Moving targets
And knowable moments
I know she will get ahead of me and
Be perpetually on the other end of some communication device
That is now only the faintest of thoughts in the mind of some scientist to be
And I know that all of what I fret about now
Including what I don’t know about her
Will be but the faintest of memories
In the head of a scientist who could have been
And I won’t have anything
And I will long for the person I don’t know now
And all the unfathomable promise that has appeared with her
And now goes everywhere with me
I don’t know who she is
That’s the truth
For now and always
May it be that way

Help with baking

Dribbling off fingers
Like a melting daffodil
Onto shell fragments

Saturday

The kids are asleep and the wife is cleaning the toilet
I should be looking for a job
Or grading papers for my on-line course
But I don’t want to
Sunlight is streaming in the window, and
I’d rather just lie down in it
Than grade a paper
Or prepare a writing sample

This is one of those moments
That I wish I was a cat

There aren’t many of them,
But sometimes I do think it would be nice if
The world could end and begin with light streaming in a window

In between there would be carpet covered platforms, catnip filled mice, and lots of yarn
And love
Love and yarn
That is really all I want

It’s not hard to be happy
It’s never been hard to be happy
The challenge
At least for me
Is to be happy with just being happy

It has never been enough for me to make a fruit pie
I always have to try for the meringue
And I always over beat it into a thin
Wet
Mess

Once in a while it should be enough to make store bought brownies
And eat them in a sunny spot
Somewhere
Anywhere

And then go on a walk in the woods
And try
Again
To notice something
Anything

And be inspired

Of course a cat wouldn’t be looking for inspiration
But for birds
To eat

I head to the kitchen for something to eat
My wife is in there cleaning
And I should feel guilty
But I don’t want to

Cat’s don’t feel guilty
When they lay down on the floor
In a ray of sunshine

They also don’t feel guilty
When they piss on my computer case

They certainly wouldn’t feel guilty for not looking for a job

But I’m not a cat
I’m not lying on the floor in the warmth of the sun
And it is Saturday
Which could point either way
Or right back here to my computer
And the student’s exams
And the job sites
And my cat Jordan
Lying on his back in the sun
Purring
Asking me to join him
And bring a ball of yarn

Friday

I got the kids to laugh today
But it wasn’t at the children’s museum
As I‘d planned

It is a great museum,
So it’s a shame we didn’t make it there

The Please Touch Museum

My mother-in-law calls it the
Please Touch Me Museum

This is where I should insert a pregnant pause
But I’d be too afraid that whatever is yet to come will call me dada
And enough folks call me dada already

Both of those dada wielding folks had a hearty laugh today
A hearty laugh at my expense
Whilst I was kneeling in front of the toilet
Throwing up

Actually, only the 15 month old laughed
The almost four year old didn’t laugh at all
There were far too many questions to ask for her to waste any time on laughter
She had to know what I was doing
Why I was doing it
Why her brother was laughing
Whether I was all done
And whether I was going to wash my hands again

I washed my hands again
I washed my hands a lot today
By the end of the day I wasn’t the only one throwing up

I only threw up four times
But it was enough to put a fitting end to the week
Spinning down into the toilet
To join last week
Two bowls of rice crispies
A boysenberry yogurt
And last night’s basil chicken
 

Thursday

Thursday

When we have more money
I hope to be able to buy things at the thrift shop
Things like furniture
Lamps
Paintings
Desks
And maybe even a mirror in a wooden frame decorated with elephants, giraffes, and lions

For now, however,
All I can do
When I take my year plus old son
While my daughter is at pre-school
Is window shop
And dream of the day
When I will have enough disposable income
To buy more than a twenty five cent used kid book that originally came in a box of cheerios

My day to dream this impossible dream has to be a school day
And today is a school day
And today my wife
Who likes to shop
Has not purchased a non-essential item
Which I Who likes to save money
Has to return
And today I have cash
Which is essential
Since the thrift store doesn’t accept checks or credit cards for purchases of under fifteen dollars

Maybe if I get a job
I can buy an old desk
Or a bookcase
And use my credit card

Wednesday

Wednesday

Sometimes I arrive right at 9:15
Sometimes I’m a minute early or late
But always I drive the old person’s car
Or in my case
The poor person’s car
Old Buicks are either driven by old people or poor people
Never poor old people
They drive old Chevys
No one my age with a college degree drives a Buick Park Avenue
No one but me
I’m not old
Which means
That at least I don’t drive slow
But occasionally I do have to slow down
My daughter can’t jump out of a car at forty miles per hour
And she has to get out of the car in order to go to pre-school
So I have to slow down when I pull into the driveway
Three days a week
Tuesdays
Thursdays
And
Wednesdays
And on each of those days
We spend a good deal of money we don’t have
And I park in line with the Land Rovers, Land Cruisers, and Excursions, and
Wish my JD was framed and hung in the rear window
I suppose it is framed
In my home-office
Where I spend every nap
Perusing the on-line job sites
Hoping not to find anything
So I don’t have to waste time applying for jobs I’ll never get
But if one is there
I apply
Because I have a dream that one day
I will be judged not by the color or make of my car
But by the content of my character
Or at least that my car will more correctly reflect my character
Until then
I pull into the drive
Three days a week
In my baby blue Buick Park Avenue
At 9:15 in the morning

Tuesday

Tuesdays are like a second date
Where she lets you hold her hand
But you still haven’t kissed
And there hasn’t been more than the passing hint of the possibility of sex
And it doesn’t bother you
Yet
It’s all possibility, promise, and potential
And none of it has been pissed away
Yet

For me
Tuesdays hold more than a passing hint of the possibility of sex
But not much more
And it does bother me
A little
But I’m married with two children under four
And on Tuesday
Other than sex with my wife
Or talking to her about anything more than what the next day will bring
Everything else still seems possible

I might be able to really look for a job
Shower
Brush my teeth
And not lose my temper with the kids

Or even better
Actually have a good time with them
Play a game
Do a science experiment
Teach them new words and concepts
Share a quiet moment
Read a story
Get outside and let them stretch their legs

Plant
Paint
Cook
Clean
Organize
And make each one into a teachable moment

Write a poem
Work on my novel

And get a job
And live in a house with a fireplace, a porch swing, and a midnight blue 1969 Camaro in the driveway
And make the world a more peaceful, poetic, and analytical place

And never have a need for first dates ever again
Whether real
Or
Not yet

Monday

The
day
start
s
like
ketch
up
fall
ing
out
of
a
glass
bot
tle
and
it
woul
d
stay
that
way
but
i’
m
not alone
reading want ads
i’m wearing a wig and an eye patch
as I sword fight with a fifteen month old
and stand all day,
at the other end of the stream of consciousness that comes
uninterrupted out of the mouth of an almost four year old
and by the end of the day
i feel like a leftover fry
red, soggy, and left behind
waiting to see whether
my fate is
the trash can
the garbage
disposal
or the
com
po
st
bi
n

Five After Four p.m.

If I didn’t have children I would be
Indisposed
But I have children
And only one is asleep
The other is moving slowly away from me
Crying and
Crawling backwards
He wanted me to hold him and
When I didn’t
He began to do his best crab impression
Turning red and backing away
The further he gets away
The more I began to think I am witnessing
An exorcism or a scene out of poltergeist
As he is pulled into the kitchen and out of sight
The whole thing is really beginning to freak me out
Then I hear laughter and see the cat’s water dish splash into view
I give one last hopeful wipe and
Follow the trail and
The peals of laughter
Steeling myself not to join in
Knowing it’s too late
I do have children

Forty After Two p.m.

Only the crackle of the monitors fills the air
Finally
After almost nine hours
All is still
More or less
The occasional grunt, moan, or shriek is the noise that proves the silence
Occasionally it is so quiet
That I forget and
I relax
Allowing everything else to melt into the static

Twelve Fifteen p.m.

A hot day in May
Small hand on tray scatters lunch
Blueberry under foot

Eleven Thirty a.m.

It is eleven thirty
In fifteen minutes my assistant and I have to be at
Preschool
To pick up my assistant’s sister
If we were at home
We would have to leave
We aren’t at home though
We are at the thrift shop
My assistant and I go to the thrift shop once a week
Things have gotten so bad financially
That it is the only place I can afford to
Window shop
But I can’t afford to spend too much time there
Because my assistant, old coffee mugs, thirty year old Christmas decorations, and
Senior citizens
Can only co-exist so long before
Something gets broken
Or someone invades my personal space
So I never budget much time for the thrift shop
Which is why I frequently find myself in the situation in which I find myself now
Standing in the thrift shop parking lot
At eleven thirty
Wondering if it is worth it
To risk being late
For a ten percent chance of buying a ceramic elephant
Or a grab bag of toddler clothes

Ten Thirty a.m.

Just two steps
Two small steps
If you’re six feet tall
Two big steps if you’re two feet tall, but
He is completely unfazed
The smile comes out when he reaches the top
Even though his knees are slightly bent and
Both hands are firmly pressed against the wall and
His body language would indicate that
He is poised on the edge of a cliff as
He painstakingly turns himself to face out into open carpet
It makes me think of the guy who walked from one
World Trade Center tower to the other
That guy was French
My son isn’t French, and although
He doesn’t speak English, and
He betrays more than a hint of attitude as
He seeks eye contact with me
Right before he walks off the edge,
He’s not seeking to avoid a collision with the ground, but
Falls face first onto the carpet
Convulsing with laughter

Eight Fifty Six a.m.

Shit
We’ve got to go
Now
And his diaper is full of shit
Shit number two of the morning

He always has two
Or at least as of today
He always has two

There is no such thing as always
Without qualifiers
At least
Not any more

Nothing is without qualifiers anymore
Starting with the phrase
We are ready to go

We were ready to go
As long as no one had a poop in his diaper

Two pairs of shoes were on
Two jackets were on
Beverages were in hand or in the car or both
The book bag was in the car
Dolly was in hand
No one was screaming and
We were all on our way down the stairs to the car

We were going to make it to pre-school for the daily drop off on time for once
As long as someone had no shit in their diaper

Shit 

Seven Thirty a.m.

Most mornings
It feels as if we are a football team
Platooning quarterbacks
And anybody who knows football
Knows that platooning quarterbacks is a bad idea
You use two quarterbacks only if you don’t really have one
And even then it is a mistake

It certainly isn’t always like that
Sometimes we work together
Like a good doubles team
Maybe the Bryan brothers

Other times we’re the Detroit Red Wings under Scotty Bowman
Executing stunning shift changes

I’m not a baseball fan
But someone who could stomach watching a whole game
Could even watch us during certain moments
And find himself remembering the handoff between
A setup man and a closer
Maybe Jeff Nelson and Mariano Rivera
And if baseball is your thing
Please picture me as Mariano

My image of choice
If I was me focused
Would be a White Chocolate pass off of his elbow
To whomever
But I’m a team man
So I aspire for the two of us to be Isaiah and Joe D.
And despite the whole Knicks mess
I still want to be Zeke

At 7:30 on most weekday mornings
I fall pretty far short of Zeke
Even the one that is now coaching at Florida International
I think it is safe to say
We often fall short of all of our aspirations

She is almost always yet to leave for work
Filling up coffee mugs
And locating car keys
Amidst a deluge of cheerios
And tears
Which unlike the cheerios
Could be coming from anyone and anywhere

Sometimes everyone wants to say goodbye
At once
In loud voices
At the open door
Or even in the driveway

And sometimes no one wants to say goodbye
Which could mean lots of screaming and pleading
Or could mean that I am fighting to keep everyone within sight and off of the stairs
And off of the table
And off of the cat
And off of each other

And when it is like that
It isn’t clear who is calling the plays
And doesn’t really matter most of the time
Since we are stuck in another winning strategy
The prevent defense

Six a.m.

“Why are there
So many
Songs about rainbows …

It’s five three five …

My babies are all here
Sarah
If you want to go to Bubble-top’s house
You have to ask your daddy
He’s with baggy right now …

It’s five three nine …

Que Tiempo
Que Tiempo
What’s the weather like today
Is it snowing
Is it raining
Is it baining
Staining
Laining
Maining
Goofy oofy spoofy …

It’s five four three …

Hi Grandma
It’s good to talk to you too
I’m asleep right now
Are you asleep
I went to the beach with Daddy and Wyeth
There were no bathrooms
So we drove to a dirty one
And ate at Burger King
Wyeth spit out a nugget when he fell out of his chair
He had sand everywhere …

It’s five four eight …

La la la
La la la la la la la
La la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la la
I am a poor boy
I have a story told
I made some excuses
And some mumbles
La la la …

It’s five five one …

Mary had a little lamb
Her fleece was pink as pinky pink pink …

It’s five five four …

I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that’s why I love you …

Daddy it’s six
Daddy it’s six
Time to get up
It’s six Daddy
Daddy it’s six!
It’s six!!
It’s six!!!
Six!!!!
Daddy it’s six!!!!!
Daddy!!!!!!” 

Shhhhhhh

Now that he says “poopoo”
We’re clearly in double digits for words
And
Since he says it while exhibiting a textbook stinky face,
Perhaps even a board book stinky face,
We’ve also witnessed our first completely summed up event
And
While it is true that a scrunched up face and the word “poopoo” don’t do it justice
I’m willing to cut him some slack
Since
I’ll have plenty of time to tell him all about how much stinkier his poops were than his sisters
Or
Than any other poop I’ve ever run across
And
If I wait long enough
I will be able to use words that more accurately describe the experience
And
So will he

Routine

She rarely says more than
“dad, read”
The volume varies
As does the tone
And the frequency
But every time I fall asleep
As I am reading her stories before nap
She wakes me up
With some variation of
“dad, read”
And I do
Whether I’m falling asleep in the midst of reading a short book
Or a long one
Whether I am forcing my eyes to stay open in the rocking chair
Where we always read the first two stories
Or in the bed where we read the other three
And regardless of what mess
Wyeth is making
Although when he melts down I am allowed to put him to sleep
But I always resume exactly where I left off
And I never leave when I melt down
At least not for more than a minute
And never sleep more than a few seconds
And never start reading before I know which stuffed animals and dollies are in the bed
And which aren’t
If there is no Blue Baa Baa
Or no Baggy
There will be no nap
And if there are no stories
Neither one of us will be good company at dinner
So when she says “dad read”
I read

Easter Poem

This Easter I’m ready to move beyond Jesus

This year at 10:00
We had
Several dozen plastic Easter eggs
Two sets of bunny ears
Two hand woven pastel baskets
Raisins
Chocolate Cheerios
Fruity Cheerios
Gerber Graduates banana puffs
A few strips of grass untouched by the backhoe that dug up our backyard last fall
A sunny Sunday morning
Temperatures in the mid to high 60s
One video camera
One old digital camera
Two children
Lots of squealing and screaming
And only a few scrapes

It was pretty profound, involved little dressing up on my part, was easily captured for posterity, and no one mentioned sin or evil

And did I mention the bunny ears?

Words and Lyrics

From day one, my father read poetry to me. He read some standard, or at least fairly standard, selections, like some of the Eliot's Cat Poems (specifically: Growltiger's Last Stand, Mr. Mistoffelees, Macavity: The Mystery Cat, and
Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat). He also read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, William Blake's Tyger, Randall Jarell's Death of the Ball Turret Gunner, and Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night. These were not really standard selections. Not many four year olds go around saying "In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo."

Initially I followed in my father's footsteps. I read Prufrock, among others, to Seren. But after the first year, I got away from poetry and, despite an uninspiring singing voice, turned to music to share some of my favorite lines and rhymes with my children. I am still staying true to my father's example, however. As of a month ago, my repertoire included: The Star Spangled Banner (it is admittedly a little hard to listen to me sing this if you are old enough to know better), This Land is Your Land (it should be the National Anthem), Amazing Grace, We Shall Overcome, Henry VIII (you just have to love Herman's Hermits), Janice's Mercedes Benz (my parents never sang this to me, but they played it all the time), This Land is Your Land, Yesterday, New York-New York, The Boxer, and Running To Stand Still (Challenging, but I do manage to pull it off from time to time).

Recently I have added two songs to the repertoire: Poison - Every Rose has its Thorns and Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah (I try to come as close to Jeff Buckley's version as I can). Last week Seren told me that she had been singing both songs for her teachers at her pre-school. I winced a little when she told me, because I'm not sure I want her pegged as the progeny of hair band aficionados, especially when we are already occupying the bottom income rung amongst the parent's at this school. When I began to relate this story to my mother in law, she winced and immediately asked about the lyrics. She winced again when she heard a few seconds of Hallelujah. I think she thought he was saying "she tied you to her kitchen chair, she broke your throat (rather than throne) and she cut your hair," but I'm not sure her opinion would be much different if she understood the lyrics. And if she knew Seren could sing a song about Heroin abuse almost by herself?

This has led me, again, to question my decisions and my motives here. I love the songs and I love singing them for her. Some of them deal with complex issues, but so what? There is still room for Row Row Row Your Boat. And when we read Prufrock in High School, I was a leg up and happy as hell. It was so awesome to not only recognize a poem read in class that most others did not, but to have the lines just appearing from the back of my brain. And Running to Stand Still is my favorite song of all time. Plus, these songs are something I have shared with Seren (a memory that is just ours). So, I'm not really questioning myself. I don't now exactly what I'm doing ... but this time, I think I am OK with that.

I'm in the poetry mood

Daughter

She is like the winter wind
Always poking and probing
For a weakness
A way in

And she is now afraid of the wind
Ever since it blew her plastic fire helmet off her head and
The stack of books off the roof of the car
In one day

It is still fall
But despite the occasional seventy degree day
Winter is on its way

With branches delicately painted white
A blanket covering the ground
And the threat of black fingers and toes hanging heavily in the air

I don't want to go to jail

"I don't want to go to jail."

I suppose whether those are good words to hear out of your child's mouth depends heavily on the circumstances. Spoken by your twenty year old over the phone at one in the morning ... not so good. Spoken by your three year old daughter during a break in 'doll house' play ... pretty good. Spoken flatly by a fourteen year old at dinner whilst eating Brussel sprouts ... now we are firmly mid-continuum.

This morning the middle scenario happened to me. Occasionally we speak about jail. For some reason I mentioned to her that people who don't wear their seat belts end up in jail (I don't always have the best judgement when it comes to the sharing of information ... I showed Seren clips of the World Trade Center attacks on YouTube, and was fielding questions about planes attacking our car for several days, not to mention my wife's quite justified anger and bewilderment).

Since jail entered our world, a whole series of imaginary characters, include strawberry and snoozy the invisible elephants, have had to be bailed out of jail. Strawberry has a convertible of some sort, and is a repeat offender. Our doll house people often end up in jail, usually at the hands of some sinister stuffed animal, like Curious George or Swiss Dog.

Today, completely out of the blue, came the jail comment, followed, as such comments almost always are, by an explanation. It turns out there aren't many toys in jail, and it's not like home. I liked her reasoning. It works for everybody at any point in there lives. We all have toys and we all have a 'home', whether or not we are always or ever there. I am sure if scenarios one or three ever arise she will have equally astute wisdom to share ... whether or not it will be as easy to appreciate is another question altogether.

A Thought

As befits the exciting, swashbuckling, and fancy free pretty boy that I am, I was up after Midnight ... researching car seats. Wyeth has come to his last days in the infant car seat. Seren has a little longer in her seat, but not too much longer. I'm Scottish. So, in order to spend as little money as possible I am trying to ascertain the cheapest possible way to meet the car seat needs that the next seven or so years will bring. I was intrigued that some booster seats claimed to seat and protect kids who were 30lbs and up. This seemed to be a cost saving measure.

First I determined that it was legal. I was in the middle of trying to determine whether it was advisable, when I happened across http://carseatnanny.blogspot.com/. The car seat nanny says that kids should ride rear facing until their 25 (slight exaggeration) and says no to the booster seat until the child leaves for college (another exaggeration). She backs up her booster seat claims with links to frightening you tube videos posted by parents whose children died in automobile accidents because they were in inappropriate car seats. I don't what she was trying to do with these cheap scare tactics, but I think it worked. Now I wouldn't buy a booster seat for Seren even if they included stock options.

And I almost came close to crying. Just the thought of anything happening to Seren or Wyeth sends me into panic. Just imagining the size of that void was enough to, eventually, make me see that I have a lot of reasons to feel happy. Not thankful ... or not just thankful ... happy. It seems logical ... at least to me. If losing someone or something would devastate you, then that person or thing must make you at least a little happy. It's far from rocket science, but it's a great thought.

Tonight I am up late filling every tub and sink in the house up to the top with water, in order to be able to drain them all, more or less, simultaneously, with the hopes of adding a few more months (years?!?!) to the life of the pipes that connect our house to the main sewer line. Who knows what great thoughts I will stumble across tonight.

Substitution

Seren's Dad needs a break from blogging ... already. Kind of lame, if you ask me, but what do I know, I'm just wood, string, and wire. I have a family of my own, though, so he thought I was qualified enough to write in his blog. I am sure he is right, but who wouldn't be?

I would introduce myself, but I don't know what my name is today. Usually I'm just "Your Dad." But, if you stop by and visit, you might have to call me Joe, Apple Face, Paperclip in Your Head, or Smunchy. Sometimes I am on my own. Sometimes I live with my wife and/or one or both of our kids. There are days when I am napping with my in-laws (Grammy and Poppy). Sometimes I hang out with another family of four and their grandparents (grandma and grandad). And then there are the 'chosen four.' They are Seren's family, and they let you know it. So what if they arrived first, and we came last. Maybe the best was saved for last. The best is definitely saved for last when all of us have to sleep in the doll house living room. Chosen one or not, that man's breath is kickin! I almost prefer it when they get put up on the third floor with the big bed.

I'm actually glad that Seren's Dad asked me to do this. The last few days have been pretty dull. My family and I have been left to our own devices in the house. Seren has played upstairs in her room with the third family. I am happy for them, they often get the short end of the stick. At least we are Seren's Dad's family. Unfortunately the 'special' people are in here with us. It was nice to see them get passed over, but to have to be down here with them for days ...

I'm being petty. They aren't that bad. We all watched television together today, and that was kind of fun. And the kids have enjoyed having friends around, and have especially enjoyed the down time. Last week our daughter broke her other leg. They both just flop around now. So it is hard on her when she has to get in and out of the Blazer, dance, stick her head in a giant candle holder, be run over by a tiny school bus, squeeze into the General Lee, and get attacked by the monster. And it's hard on her mother and I because we have to carry her everywhere. So, it's been great to have the time to rest. A little cleaning, a little television, and a lot of laying around in a pile. If we get pulled back into the fray tomorrow, maybe I'll have something new to share. If not, well, even then it can't be worse than having to read what Sam has to write.

Turning on the Charm

Today the kids and why watched Curious George. Curious George is a favorite. Seren and I used to watch Curious George during snack, when I was home with just her. She has lots of Curious George books, a stuffed George, and had a Curious George cake for her 3rd birthday (or at least she had a cake that was supposed to look like Curious George).

In general, our family doesn't watch very much television. We didn't watch much television even before Comcast began charging us more money for a selection of channels that, over the course of a few weeks, gradually shrunk to next to nothing. The kids watch less than half an hour in the morning during Wyeth's snack and/or during hair brushing. Throw in half an hour for mom and dad at night and a couple of You Tube videos and the rare sporting event, and you just about have all of it.

Until recently, Seren didn't even want to watch it. You could turn it on, and she would play and ignore it. Even now she would rather play 'doll house.' We play a ot of 'doll house,' but that is a subject for another blog. She does like watching it, though, and gets involved in it. She alternates between glassy eyed stares and conversation with the characters.

This morning, Mommy turned it on to facilitate hair brushing. She turned it on at 8:00, right at the beginning of Curious George. When the hair was brushed, and it was time to say goodbye to Mommy, I indicated that there would only be a few more minutes of television. She protested, and we went back and forth, which gave Seren an opportunity to show off the stubbornness that I have passed on to her. Then I sat down on the couch next to her and told her that she only had a few minutes and it wasn't a debate, in hopes of settling things down so we could focus on goodbyes and then getting ready for school. She sat next to me, and held my arm, resting up against my shoulder. She was so cute, that I just sat there until Curious George ended. Later we went upstairs, and Mommy called to check in. I told her that Seren had held my hand for the whole show, and Seren looked up at me and said, with a huge smile on her face, "I didn't want you to turn the TV off."

What else is there to say?

Looking Back

I wrote this poem just before Megan became pregnant with Wyeth. Maybe I should change the title to "Inkling" or "Precursor" or "Soon Enough"


Nothing

It isn’t
No blood, no drama, no death
It just isn’t
And no one will ever know it could have been
No one but the two of us
Maybe Seren knew too
Whenever I asked her whether she wanted a brother,
She said simply “noooohhwa”
And when I asked her whether she wanted a sister
Another “noooohhwa”

If it was planned, we’d only be off till next month
But it wasn’t
At least not yet

It didn’t even make it to blue, or two lines, or whatever
For ten days, though, it was on the agenda
And it was a lot of things besides

It was a boy with a name,
And a girl with at least a dozen different names
It was no wine, no brie, and no allergy meds
It was the birthday gift I couldn’t buy my wife
And in nine months it would have been the birthday gift she couldn’t buy me
It would have been our birthday gifts for some time to come
It was what we wanted
And what we didn’t

When I asked Seren whether she wanted to be an only child
Without pause or indecision
She answered “nooooohhwa”
So it may just be delayed

Jello and Older Friends

I wanted to call this post Jello and Old People, but I am trying very hard to retrain and restrain myself. I call them old people way too much, and one day Seren is going to call them old people in front of their faces. For the record, Mom ... I'm not talking about you and dad. :)

Every Tuesday Seren, Wyeth, and I visit a "small assisted living center." I say every Tuesday as if it is a regular and established occurrence, but nothing in our lives is regular and established. Our second visit was today. And, for the record, it's a nursing home. Actually I try not to call it a nursing home, because, as I mentioned, Seren is coming with me. I don't think there is anything wrong with calling it a nursing home, but I digress.

The three of us visit with about ten of the residents. We sit on the floor in the middle of a circle of chairs and couches. The first time I felt as if I was heading up some sort of family of traveling performers. Kind of a white Jackson Five minus three, or the Carter Family without melody, harmony, or talent. We sang, danced, and crawled around. I don't think the Carter Family crawled around.

This week was more interactive. There were still performances (Wyeth took quite a few steps in a row, Seren sang a song about fire, and I demonstrated my hair brushing prowess, which, although mostly a mirage, was quite impressive to our older female friends), but Seren also 'helped' our older friends put together her puzzles. The cutest moment came when she walked over to the only man in the group, and started taking the puzzle apart on his lap. Then she sang You Are My Sunshine to him as they worked together to put the puzzle together.

In all seriousness, I think this is a great thing for all of us. Seren asked me when we were going back, and had a whole list of things she wanted to share with her "older friends." Wyeth took more steps than he ever had, and was soaking up the attention. The residents remembered us, even the woman that usually repeats the same question over and over again. Today, not a single question was asked more than twice.

I am excited about the good start this little venture is off to, so we celebrated with Jello Jigglers. Jello with fruit floating in it, or even Aspic, might have been more appropriate. This is an intergenerational experience, however, so maybe Jigglers were the perfect celebratory dish.

The Boys

Son

I've been home with Seren before. So that part won't be too new. This son thing, though ... I have never yearned for a son. I am not one of those guys desperately in search of a boy to play catch with. My daughter throws just as hard as their sons ... actually harder. She will play basketball ... I mean if she wants to she will. And I buy her match box cars. I always figured that all a son could do that a daughter couldn't was get into a father-son argument, and my dad is still going strong at 68 & 3/4 so (hopefully) that is covered for some time to come. I'll be honest, I wanted another girl. Wanted. See here is what happened. Most Fridays have been daddy days, right from the moment I took my new and soon to be old job. And for eight months daddy days have included my son. Except it hasn't been my son, the one I pictured with the baseball mit and fishing rod and semi-automatic pistol and openly rooted against. I've been spending Fridays with Seren and Wyeth. And Wyeth is a hoot. He does smile a little too much, but so does his mother and I love her. I love her even though she doesn't flail and smile at me when she first sees me after I return home from work like he does. He never stops moving, and now he actually moves ... and grabs and sucks on everything in sight. And tries to pull up. He wants to stand up. I think that is why he didn't crawl sooner. He wanted to walk first, but he has the grace and balance that he was genetically predisposed to have, so he decided to crawl for now. I crawl with him. Right on top. And he loves it. And so do I. And everyone buys him clothes that are blue, green, and red and have basketballs on them. Baseballs too, but I can overlook that. Seren has a princess shirt. She likes looking in the mirror with me too. Seren and Wyeth. Wyeth and Seren. It couldn't really have been any other way, which I know regardless of what I say. And Seren will yell at me too. Again. I've been home with her before.

A 'Triumphant' Return

I am back
and I have returned
to the scene of my
greatest triumph

Or a crime scene
Associated with an appalling and baffling tragedy

Either way,
During the deepest recession in several generations
I have quit my job of one year
And am returning home to be Mr. Mom
Again

It is officially a crime spree

And there are more criminals
this time I have a whole gang
a regular crime syndicate
still two cats
and now two kids with bizarre names
Seren, Wyeth, Wally, Jordan
and a working wife
who … shhhhhhhh …
is still a good mom even though she works

And a time limit
one year and I’m back in the courtroom
or somewhere close by

Four weeks and I’m 36
and officially back on
or off

In the kitchen
in the garden
in the ball pit with the other moms
conspiring against our husbands
and our boobs
and myself

I’m back
and who knows what mischief comes next

Musings

It's been a while since I wrote in this blog. A long while. I probably would have been even longer had it not been for an angry reaction to a post. I've deleted the post, because the anger was probably justified, and the most appropriate response seemed to be to delete it. I won't go into that in any detail, because then I'd just be making the same mistake again.

But the incident makes me want to express a few meandering thoughts. I am always struck by the fine line one walks when writing in a blog. How personal should one be? When you write personal stuff on a blog you're inviting commentary on the personal stuff from strangers, or at the least people you wouldn't normally share you're personal stuff with. People might disapprove or disagree and they may not be polite or thoughtful when they do so. I'm a shy and uptight Midwestern boy, not far removed from Obama's bitter people, so the idea of a blog makes me uneasy. Conflict makes me uneasy. Being judged by others makes me uneasy. Lot's of things make me uneasy. If I didn't love writing, and if the idea that people would read any of this wasn't simultaneously abstract and ridiculous, I couldn't think about doing this.

I have done it, though, and I haven't just written about myself. When you write about other people and their lives, they may read it and be unappreciative. When you write your honest opinions about other people's lives, the chances of backlash are much higher. People can be hurt and friendships can be destroyed, or at least seriously impinged. On the other hand, if you're writing a personal blog and being less than honest, what's the point? In an actual conversation involving someone other than my wife I might not say half of what I type, for a lot of reasons. I'm not sure which way that cuts. Certainly, one reveals a lot about themselves in their reflections on other people, and not all of it will be good. In this unmentioned case, that was certainly true. Who knows, maybe it's worthwhile if you learn something about yourself, and you use that knowledge in the future.

I do think it's true that people often aren't as thoughtful in blogs as they would be, and would expect others to be in person. Every minute I waste reading responses to articles on the election confirms that. And I'm as susceptible to that as anyone else, although you won't find me knocking off angry salvos at a presidential candidate and his or her supporters as if the rival candidate was my aunt or my second cousin. It is very easy to forget that real people are out there somewhere and can read what you write. It's even easier to think say and write stuff without really thinking it through. For some the cause might be a yearning for a female president, for me it is the yearning for the perfect phrase or some particularly biting bit of humor. Whatever the cause, the end result is still thoughtlessness, inappropriate statements, hurt feelings, uncalled for nastiness, etc.

I suppose I'm back in the blogging business, for whatever that's worth. I'm somewhat recharged and ready to continue to describe the life and times and potentially inappropriate thoughts of one stay at home dad. I'm certainly still at home, although not entirely by choice anymore (if you have a job you'd like to give me, please do! :) ).

I guess that the theme of this first wandering diatribe is the importance of thoughtfulness and consideration of the feelings of others, and also the importance of a cognizance and recognition of your own feelings and vulnerabilities ... even on the Internet. For me, I think it's important to be able to admit when I might be wrong, and recognize when it doesn't matter whether I'm right. That would be an important skill to pass on to my daughter.