30: You

I snuggled into bed with you

early afternoon today

You yawned - I knew it was time

You cradled your blankie and rubbed the tag

while sucking your thumb

Your tell-tale sign

It was time for me, too

I don't remember much

past your yawn

your blankie

your thumb

I made it over the hill...

...and then woke up to you 

tapping my nose and 

finger-combing my hair

and giggling

One more tiny kiss on the hair

"Sleep tight"

and

"I'll set the timer and you can get up when it goes off"

and

"Make sure you're quiet enough to hear it..."

And you ran around upstairs instead

while I sat downstairs reading

So I invited you, again, to

"Stay in bed quietly"

"Just five more minutes"

and 

"Be super still..."

And guess what?

You were

For better than three hours

***

At dinnertime

you bounced downstairs

to notice the cookies on the cooling rack

"I was TIRED, Mommy!"

and 

"That was a goooooood nap!"

fell between cookie one

and cookie two

***

Sleepy you...

Funny you...

Growing you...

Blessing...you

Write on,

b

21: Snack!

You get an idea
and climb up higher than we'd choose
to make it happen
into the refrigerator for a drink of cold, cold milk
onto the countertop for a shorter reach to
candy
cups
peanut butter
Nutella
(which these days, is better than Easy Mac, Uncrustables, clementines,
and even apple sauce topped with a blanket of cinnamon)

You get hungry, so hungry right before dinner...
even while the meat and potatoes are cooking...
that you make your own luck
so today, while I was upstairs transforming from teacher to mommy,
you made the climb again
I shuffled down the stairs
through the dining room
and into the kitchen
to find you solving your own problem
by reaching for two jars

Today,
no crackers
(that would've been another climb -- inside the pantry)
no apples
no bread
no toast
no nothing

Just a spoon
(which is not a climb -- how safe)
because sometimes that is all you need...

...well, maybe really two spoons
a short one for the Nutella, a long-handled sundae one
for the 'we're not messing around' jar of peanut butter

Write on,
b

20: In Common...

I sat

in the running record session

Saturday morning

listening to the speaker talk about coding

how important it is to have a system

that means something

to every person who encounters the 

check marks

appeals

substitutions

omissions

insertions

the M, S, and V

I sang

"Wooden Ships" by Crosby Stills and Nash

in my mind

If you smile at me I will understand

because that is something 

everybody everywhere does in the same

language

I pondered

Do people think smiles are constrictive?  Like codes?

Or, do you find what you seek?

Write on,

b

19: Warmth

Here's my perch this afternoon
Looking south on Broadway Street
Watching the cars, taxis, walkers, strollers pass on 75th
My cheeks are warm, so are my knees as I sit in the sun
reflecting on
 taking and analyzing running records
how running record patterns guide instruction
just-right checklists to help students set and work toward writing goals
and the many ways data points differentiate core instruction

Here's my take on all of it --
I have more questions than answers
More balloon strings at risk of slipping through my fingers
than taking my thoughts into the stratosphere
up, up, up
into new places, new phases, new projects
new understandings
Is it that I'm trying to fit new ideas into old forms
Maybe that's why it all feels slippery

In just a few hours my perch will look more familiar
less like graceful towering buildings and more like green neighborhoods
more like day-to-day activities and less like vacation spontaneity
more like school, family, house
packing bags and pairs of socks
and less like a subway ride to
inspirational addresses and solid workshop sessions
to grow my thinking
How will these ideas incubate?

With time
session notes
"I wonder if's..."
notebooks
sketches
coffee dates
rougher drafts
conversation
cleaner drafts
courage
vision
perseverance

With warmth.

Write on,
b

17: Quiet...

This morning we woke up here on the Upper West Side

and decided to go downtown

down, down, down,

all the way down to The Battery's Castle Clinton

to catch a glimpse of Lady Liberty's shining torch

and Ellis Island's spires

and

the 9/11 Memorial

Its location is quiet, unassuming -- I almost missed it

except for the flock of people who banked into the space 

to catch a glimpse of the familiar square outlines, airy waterfalls and pools

and to read the names, one by one

...and her unborn child: There were three mentions like this in the names listed at North Tower.
These babies would be driving now, thinking about college...

Across from the pair of pools is The Oculus

an attention-getter from first sight 

I analyzed the structure as would my husband;

it's his wheelhouse

First thought: What IS this?

It beckons passers-by inside to notice 

two levels of shopping tucked underground

and even a train station

but it is quiet

so quiet

Second thought: Look how small the people are down below!  This IS big.

Across the street is St. Paul's Chapel

Built in 1766

I remember seeing its silvery steeple during 9/11 coverage

Unscathed and poised to serve

How could two gigantic buildings fall across the street and everything here remained intact?

Today's cornflower sky reminded me of my morning commute

that September day so long ago

It was beautiful, just like the water cascading into the footprints of the twin towers

It was bright, just like the glittering gold letters separating sections of names

It was quiet, just like The Oculus' deep, deep drop

...just like me

Write on,

b

15: Day by day, dose by dose...

the past two nights, this has been the bedtime conversation

between my husband and me around midnight

"So, if he doesn't feel any better when we get up in the morning,

who is going to stay home?"

and like clockwork, we'd nickel and dime our calendar engagements

"Well, I have this deadline..."

"And, I have this meeting..."

In unison, "I'm absolutely committed to..."

---

but he's not breathing well

(due to the post-baby RSV twitchy lungs)

and he's not sleeping soundly

because he is coughing

so we're not sleeping soundly

because we're worrying

that he's not breathing well

---

this afternoon's idea: 

if I call the pediatrician's office now

maybe, just maybe, we can still get in 

before I leave town tomorrow

"Sure.  How about 4:15 p.m.?" Barbie offers 

from the other end of the phone line

the cursory exams folllowed

listen to breathing

look in mouth

check out ears

"Buddy, do your ears hurt?"

"No." the eternally happy patient returns

---

I've seen this episode

lived this moment before

---

"You have a double ear infection"

"How about some nice, pink bubble gum medicine?"

---

the smaller little unpacks the CVS bag we picked up on the way home

even before removing his new shoes and placing them back in the blue box

"Can I take my medicine?"

---

dose 1; day 1

19 more doses to go

his eyes are brighter already

Write on,

b

11: Tangled up in blue...

the ornaments came off

like for like and were piled up 

in a tidy semicircle on the carpet

around the Christmas tree

the trunk grew looser and looser

as Tom unscrewed each bolt
holding the trunk

"I'll find a sheet so we can pull the tree to the back door"

because of the needles

needlesneedlesneedlesneedles

the needles

feet flew 

linen closet doors opened

eyes scanned the shelves

blue flowers were up front

hands grabbed

but my mind remembered...

the sunny blue bedroom in the front-right

of the ranch on Dearborn

the green furniture

the shag carpet

the soft blue flower sheets

on the guest bed

at Grandma and Grandpa's house

the sheets still folded ever so neatly

now upstairs at my house

my grown-up house

I buried my face

and I was there again, little

following around Grandma

standing in the tiny pantry tucked off the kitchen

opening the freezer for an afternoon treat

they haven't lived on Dearborn for 20 years...

I unfolded the fitted sheet just a bit more

Write on,

b

10: Friday night...

Two littles upstairs

one mommy down

one daddy getting take-out

no greater gift is found

Cheesy pasta on its way

I'll get the drinks

Salad, chicken, bacon bits

We're both too tired to think

Friday night's for pizza,

Chinese, or Applebee's

Sweatpants, laundry, couches

and (if I make it)

a little TV

Write on,

b

9: The decision...

Most often, the decision I'm making right now is whether
to stay up to get just one more project done or
to give in to sleep since I've just woken up in the smaller little's bed
and I can find the way back into the cocoon post-haste
Scenarios beg me to try them on, like last Spring's clothes

I could stay up, set my timer for thirty minutes to work
I can do anything for a half-hour
Anything
And, the time will be up before I really even get settled in
Thirty minutes is easy, doable
And, it's transient...noncommittal
I could stay up, set my timer for thirty minutes to work

I could go to bed, set my alarm for 3:00 a.m.
I can fall asleep, the sooner the better
Because if I fall sleep now, within the next couple minutes,
I will wake up to a quiet house and a clear mind
3:00 will give me luxurious time
And, it's space for coffee...growing ideas
I could go to bed, set my alarm for 3:00 a.m.

Tonight, the decision to sleep now wins
The sooner, the better
For clarity, sanity....me

Write on,
b

7: Lost in a Dangling Conversation

It's 11:37 p.m.

Just pulled from the warm coccoon of the smaller little's bed

(because I'm a good-luck charm, right --- I make bedtime less scary)

I sit here now

to slice

because it's 11:39 p.m.

and there are only clunky words 

adding to this post's bottom line

snippets of ideas

parlaying into nothing

really

but scraps of future posts

about bowties

mirrors

green eyes

or might we say, hazel

because it's 11:45 p.m.

and the quote about writing

from Joni Mitchell is

poetically lost

and is another scrap added

to the pile of future posts

It's 11:46 p.m.

He sleeps

I dream

of words smooth and strong

that run around the block tonight

like a teenage boy

Will they relent tomorrow

when I sit to write again

because it's 11:47 p.m.

and all I have to offer you is

this "dangling conversation and superficial sighs"

ala Simon and Garfunkel

Because it's 11:52 p.m.

Write on,

b

2: Lion or Lamb?

It is the second day, Dr. Seuss' day
Indecisive snow covers the blooming bulbs
Chilly air overshadows last week's sandals, sun
It is all milquetoast now despite the greening grass
Two nights ago the wind howled
like a freight train
like a spring storm
like an 'almost trip' to the basement
It's too early
for you
for me
for March

Is it in like a lion?  Or a lamb?

I sit in the living room's antique rocking chair
Nestled atop its black leather seat
already wearing wooly slippers, a TC sweatshirt, and jeans
writing, thinking, writing
trying to put thoughts
into words
into stanzas
into sense
into published sense
for you
for me
for March

Is it in like a lion?  Or a lamb?

A neighbor lady runs by our living room window
She's warm from rhythmic breathing
focusing on the next stride and the next
contemplating her day, listening to music
making it all go away until she sees her own driveway
It's nine weeks until the big half-marathon in town
one long run each week
five miles
six miles
seven miles
eight miles
for March

It is in like a lion?  Or a lamb?

The boys form Play-doh masterpieces in the kitchen
They're friendly, perched on bar stools at the island
collaborating on creations, coaching each other
making my mama-heart sing
It's been a long time coming
after fits
and tears
and time-outs
and retail therapy
and prayers
for March

Is it in like a lion?  Or a lamb?

Is it possible, both?

Write on,
b

26: He's growing...

He sits by my left elbow at the dinner table
piles of food come and go
stories do
teeth do, too
He smiles, it stays
longer with each passing time
as if to threaten the fits into
dwindling...they
dwindle
He sits by my left elbow at the dinner table

I saved the last bite for you.  
Want it, Mommy?  It's a good one...
Or, maybe, Grant wants it.
Want it, Grant?  It's a good bite.  The best onnnnnnne.

Thank you for making dinner tonight, Mommy...


Write on,
b

25: Friday night...

I'm sitting on the living room floor

legs criss-cross-applesauce in grey flannel drawstring pants

laptop open

ideas spinning

I'm a traitor to my state and its storied sports history

as I hear the din of a certain sweet-sixteen

basketball game in the background

One thought keeps pushing its way to the front

sleep

Write on,

b

24: Timely cinquain...

Spring Break
Starts tomorrow
Radiant potential
Playing laughing resting building
It's here!

Write on,
b

22: The micro-vacation...

I could feel my toes under the waterfall of sand

it started off fast and then trickled off

so I'd dig...deeper, farther this time

and I'd watch it all happen again

Around me an expanse of blue

skies of the cornflower persuasion

seas in some spots bordering on turquoise

and in others cerulean

as if an invitation to wonder

what mysteries lie beneath

The sun kissed my cheeks and then my shoulders

as it fell down like the most comfortable blanket

the one you want to grab on a cold winter's night

which is, perhaps, why the unseasonable warmth

delighted me so

Palms swayed in the gentle breeze

bikers, runners, seashell diggers

moved from one end of the beach to the other

I'd catch them both 

coming

and

going

My book progressed a page here

and one there

what separated them from me

were two eyes that would

blink slower and slower

until the sun, the sea, the seashells

mattered not

...

From my quiet kitchen 

I saw it all while

looking past the emerald swath

of young grass

and the stately border 

of backyard pines

washing the flatware, cookware, dishware

drying the flatware, cookware, dishware

listening to the soap swirl down the drain

Until next time...

Write on,

b

18: Hallowed ground...

This slice is a follow-up to 16: Around the Table...Again:


We stood outside this morning
on a tiny postage stamp patch of wintry grass
underneath a tiny canopy
made vibrantly blue by the colorless sky
black overcoats, suits, dresses, tights, boots
packed in by family
behind the two rows of felt-covered folding chairs
that lined his golden oak casket

I caught my eyes darting between headstones
close enough to read

WULLIMAN

Harry and Elmira

were just beyond

FLUECKIGER

Robert and Marilyn

To the left there was one darker stone

almost covered by the throng of mourners

I could only make out the last three letters 

yet the tears welled up

and rolled down, down

my fingertips straightened

and pushed my pockets' seams

to stifle the smallish gasp 

because I knew

just like that

where we were standing

MC KEAN

Gorman and Lorraine

the hallowed ground 

where my grandparents

rested

I remembered them, too

Write on,

b

18: I sit down now...

I sit down now
to write
Again
It's 10:55
For the past two hours
I've laid on the cold, carpeted floor
of the smaller little's room
while he tosses
and
turns
"My ears hurt," he cries
waiting for sleep
I'm convinced
for me
it would come
like lights
at the flip of a switch
I think about
packing four people for a weekend away
walking out the door in the morning by 7:30
finishing the laundry until it's stacked like sorted coins
writing
not writing
sleeping
not sleeping
Easter clothes
coaching teachers
I sit down now
to write

Write on,
b

16: Around the table...again

Years ago in the house on West Dearborn
the living room lights would twinkle on a Friday night
there would be four cars in the driveway after dinner and
four couples
laughing about diets and desserts
remembering farms and furniture factories
telling stories and
playing games like Bones and Skipbo
around the dark formica table in the avocado kitchen

But then it was my grandpa twenty years ago
and my grandma's sister's husband one month later
which was a blessing
they had each other here
and they had each other there
so they removed a leaf from the table
and then it was my grandma's brother on April 7
and my grandma's younger sister on April 7 the next year
so they removed another leaf from the table here and added one there
and then it was my grandma's brother's wife a few years later
and then it was my grandma a few years after that
so they removed another leaf from the table here and added another one there
and then it was my grandma's older sister a few months later
and yesterday it was my grandma's younger sister's husband

When I heard the news I heard them
laughing again
like they did years ago in the house on West Dearborn
the living room lights would twinkle on a Friday night
there would be four cars in the driveway after dinner and
Earl and Corrine
Harry and Elmira
Gorm and Lorraine
Bob and Marilyn
would play games likes Bones and Skipbo
around the dark formica table in the avocado kitchen


Write on,
b

15: It's dark...

It's dark
my mind is
blank
tired
It's 11:11
that should be
auspicious
like winning the
prize in a
raffle drawing
or a
writing topic
at the laptop
in March
It's dark
upstairs
two boys
made it over the hill
I stand at the bottom
wishing
            dreaming
                          myself
                                    over
listening to their metronome breaths
It's dark

Write on,
b

13: Faith...

Sleepy fields
and parks
homes
and shops
all absent
on the drive
this morning
even the church
absent
from the stoplight's perspective
atop the interstate overpass

There was nothing

Like the Grand Canyon
so many years ago
I stepped
out of the car
in anticipation
the beauty, scale, shading
vivid as a postcard
in my mind

There was nothing

A grey pillow
smothered the vista
I reconciled
the postcard and its
beauty, scale, shading
with reality
My mittened hand on
the frozen railing
led me to know
it was out there
down there
across there

There was nothing
but even still
there was something

Faith
in what
should be
could be
and
will be
again


Write on,
b