Wednesday, August 08, 2012

Mom-Fu 10 - The Hiding In Your Car Stance.

Sometimes a mother just needs between 20 and 45 minutes to be all alone. Often, when this time is requested, it doesn’t work out quite the way she wants. To eliminate any objection to having 20 to 45 minutes all alone, resort to

The Hiding In Your Car Stance.


1. Notice some incredibly vital and important item is missing from the house.

2. Announce that all food service, bum wiping services, beverage service or art/science project services must be immediately suspended.

3. Announce loudly, that the world has ended because there is no milk, water colors, broccoli, properly fitted goggles for swimming. You decide.

4. Get your purse.

5. Get your car keys. (Cell phone is at your discretion. Because they will call.)

6. Head towards your car in the mobile variation of “The Yes Position.” (This position combines “The Embrace The Whole World Position” with a slight adjustment to “The Neutral Position.”

7. Shout loudly in a sing song, soothing voice, “I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone. Love you!”

8. Proceed to your car.

9. Get in car.

10. Drive to whatever store you need to procure said item. Procure said item. (Maybe get a mocha if you are truly more than desperate.)

11. Sit in the parking lot drinking your mocha and listening to your favorite radio station. Listen to the whole story. All the way through. With no interruptions.

12. Return home.

13. Announce food service, bum-wiping service, beverage service, room-cleaning service, laundry service has returned because of your massively awesome and spectacular feat.

14. Assume “The Yes Position.” Combine with the “Ebrace The Whole World Position.”

15. Be loved and adored.

16. Restore service in “The Neutral Position.

Tuesday, August 07, 2012

I Speaks Now

I is a tender,

fragile, precious


thing that holds

a lot of resilience and fortitude.


I smiles.

I belly laughs.


even when I ache

I


always have a grin for you.

I


opens my soul

doors. says come in!


relax, have a drink.

I


is fragile

break me?


no. I

Is tender.


precious. cared

for the resilience


of fortitude.

Without Children Underfoot - Dream

He takes me by the hand. Just like he always does. And I trust him to take me anywhere. If his hand signals right, that is where I will go even if a screeching police car is careening around the corner.

He knows. I trust him to know. Because I am his.

But, this time, he takes me down. Down to what my friend’s call the woman cave. Down to the perfect bathroom. Under ground. Our basement. But, I go.

There is no beard hair on the sink. There are no pee stains around the toilet. This is my space. He takes me here. To my space. And undresses me.

Yes, he unhooks my bra. Shimmies down my knickers. Starts the water.

Yes, he tests the water first. Then, puts me in rain. Soft, sweet, with hands firm telling me about every single step.

Yes, he sits me down in the rain. He gets the soap and washes my body. He gets the soap and washes my hair. He scrubs me new.

He shows me my woman and cave. Then, turns the water off. Lifts me. Careful. Careful. Carefully, dries every drop remaining on my body. Then, takes my hand.

Walks me up two flights of stairs. Puts me in clean beddings. Rubs Shea Butter into every aching pore. Kisses me gently.

“Yes, dear, In the mourning, I will give myself to you.”

Wednesday, August 01, 2012

The House That Slack Built

(for A Scarlett Starr)

is full of shells. like hermit crab habitats

we crawl. tender


vulnerable in

and out. suit. needs.


decency. work

with this idea.


the cotton protects

your tender bits.


even sprawled and open

soft, sofa can chafe;


food can burn;

a hot laptop; government


can come

calling. oh yes.


on a tele-commute

with bankers, wear a shirt.


even if they can’t see

you, they know you


free. find

the shell. climb in.


stay. stay

just a short,


short time stay.

then breathe.