A Birth Story of Sorts

con·trac·tion kənˈtrakSH(ə)n noun 1. the process of becoming smaller. a shortening of the muscles occurring at intervals before and during childbirth.   Scout, as we know him, had his first contraction in a corner table at Wendy’s. Two Frosties, two singles (one, no onions). Large fry. Extra ketchup. Could you ever adopt? a boyfriend asks

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Welcome Scout

The contractions begin. Bee is dressed for ballet. I’m adjusting her leotard, securing her loose blonde waves into a bun, clip to one side. A kiss on the cheek. The other 4-year-olds are skipping into class, bumbling into each other with excitement, energy. Trying to be graceful, trying to look tall. See you in a

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The Purpose of Clouds

A journal entry from last month: I’ve felt oh so brain-dead lately. There will be bouts of lucidness, sure, but mostly, I’m over here puttering around the sink, taking out the trash, avoiding cooking, thinking of 500 more ways I can justify breakfast-for-dinner again. What is it? I’m not sure. It’s just a little cloudy

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The Seahorse Way

Did you know seahorses turn around and change colors because they love each other? We’re together, Bee and me. We’re sitting on the deck, surveying the garden, checking the strawberries, watching her pinwheel circle around in blues and pinks and yellows. She is, per usual, feeling chatty. Really? I ask. Really! she says. I learned

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Safety Nets

Fall is ending. Our last unseasonably warm stretch is behind us, and I’ve traded my straw hat for wool. — The highlight of her evening is Octonauts. She likes it because Dashy (or is it Tweak?) talks like a Country-Western star and Bee has, since, adopted this trait for herself. Where’s mah coat? I need

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Questions Before 9am

Mom? What rhymes with air conditioner? What about plankton? Piano? — Hey, how’d you sleep? Want coffee? Did you sign the paperwork? — Does plankton rhyme with clankton? Can I stay in my pajamas today? Can I have ketchup? What’s a home study? — Does your mom need the car seat? Are we forgetting anything?

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Paperwork

I am easily overwhelmed. It takes only a perfect trickling of events for me to retreat to the shower for deep breaths and some rosemary shampoo, which is where Ken found me a few days ago – heavy eyes and sudsy hair. It was Saturday morning, and our little trio was home – in the

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Three

Bee is 3. We’ve spent the week in tiny, intermittent celebrations – a slice of cake at one grandmother’s house, a trip to the ice cream shop with another. It has been quiet, with joy. It has been sweet. Yesterday, she ran around with the fly swatter for an hour, challenging herself to exterminate all

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