Look. I really appreciate that you’re trying to be fair, but how about, instead of cajoling me, attempting to convince me that you’re right when you know you’re not, and reviewing my grade book like an accountant at tax time, you just tell me you want me to change the student’s grade though he has unequivocally not passed the course, and save us all some time and stress? I need to get back to blog reading essay grading. Cheers.
If you have a few minutes, please peruse Katie’s blog over at The Journey. She’s just your average 20-year-old who moves to Africa and adopts 14 children. On her own.
I read things like this and I wonder how much more I could do, how much more we are all capable of. As R and I wade through adoption and foster care information, I think of Katie, mother to fourteen, and I wonder how much more we can do as partners. Frequently we see families with many kids, or with special needs, or with extraordinary circumstances, and our first thought is always: “How do they do it?” Sometimes, my teaching, my two kids, and a husband who’d lose his head if it weren’t attached are all I can handle. I remember when I was sick sick sick with my second child, face to the ground, unable to stay on my feet, gasping into the dirt: “No more. I can’t do this any more.”
And yet somehow, something intensely human inside of us moves aside when faced with extraordinary circumstances. We do what is in front of us. We do what must be done and we, and those around us, are a little bit better.
A tiny bit.
More.
I promise I remember the days of hyperemesis, when my body cried out for nutrition but always heaved it back up in a matter of minutes, halfway digested. Salad was the worst: those green, crunchy leaves would wreak havoc on my esophagus. I remember the ligament pain, the waddling, the stretching, the lack of sleep.
But somehow, I’m still thinking about you.
I’m thinking about those short, pixellated moments directly after birth with you sobbing on my chest, and me heaving in exhaustion. Feeling in real time what I’ve been feeling for the months before within my belly.
Yes, I still want another head to wash in the bath at night, baby curls encrusted with the day’s leavings. I want to rock with another sweaty head on my shoulder in the wee hours, to calm the fears of another sleepless one. Most often I think of my favorites: swaddling, nursing, and the burbles: you know- that gelatinous sound you’d make, trying to talk to me.
I am still thinking of you. Imagining who you’d be, what path you’d take. What disaster you’d be in my life, what sweetness, what exhaustion.
And I think: there are not enough reasons not. And so many for.
And I think: I hope you come soon.
Mara Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder’s hands,
two socks as soft as rabbits.
I slipped my feet into them
as if they were two cases
knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
Violent socks,
my feet were two fish made of wool,
two long sharks
sea blue, shot through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons,
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks.
They were so handsome for the first time
my feet seemed to me unacceptable
like two decrepit firemen,
firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
of those glowing socks.
Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere as schoolboys
keep fireflies,
as learned men collect
sacred texts,
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
in a golden cage and each day give them
birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the magnificent socks and then my shoes.
The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.
Neruda- Ode to My Socks
Things have been quiet (at least since last week) around the blog for a while, and so Evenshine wanders into the always-humbling exercise of Checking The Blog Stats.
I learned early on in this blogging thing that I could either pay assiduous attention to the Numbers, and agonize over my relative insignificance in the world, wondering about the many visitors (or lack thereof) and the reasons they arrived, or…not.
I chose the latter.
Every now and then, however, I have to wonder what people are looking for when they find me. You know you’ve done it. It sheds surprisingly little light into either your writing ability or your attractiveness as a person/blog. But, like waxing and rubbernecking, we do it anyway.
So, then: the latest installment of What The Huh Were You Searching For, That You Arrived Here, in order of popularity:
1. Victoria Beckham hair short/ Kate Walsh hair: Both of these are near the top in % of searchers. Probably due to this post, where I was in desperate need of a haircut. I can guarantee, however, that you did NOT find what you were looking for. And no, that’s not me in the picture.
2. shamrock/ shamrock pics/ sham ROCK: amazing that such a tiny plantlike thingie could create so much traffic. And what is that last term? Are they looking for a fake rock and roll act, a la Spinal Tap, or a stone that looks real but is not, or is this the title for the new Fraggles’ movie?
3. is it normal to have two periods/ low sex drive/ short periods with Paragard/ Paragard pain/ pregnancy Paragard etc.: Look. I’m not your OB/Gyn. Make an appointment and discuss these things with her/him. I have no idea why you can feel the strings, nor can I shed any light on why Paragard is lowering your sex drive. Really. Stop asking.
4. Latino baby/cute baby pics/ ColombianEcuadorianMexicanPanamanian baby/ mixed baby pics etc. Yes, I’ll own it, shamelessly. I’ve got some cute kids. But seriously: is there some discernable difference in cuteness between a Colombian baby and a Mexican one? Were we shopping??? Add to basket…
5. chicken dough depardieu receipt: I am speechless. I sincerely hope you find whatever it was you were looking for, and that it is in no way related to me or my blog. And I only ate the chicken dough that one time.
Recent Comments