Back to prose, peeps...don't know what's been going on with the poetry. Embracing a long, lost part of myself, trying to not take it all too seriously, being a spokesperson for creativity from the heart and leaving the revisions and workshops as a part from the past. We'll see where it goes. For now, it's just me. I'm listening to some mean tunes on my headphones, happy to feel my fingers typing with their resonant, jammin' like frenzy. Jeff's been gone again this week. He was gone most of last week. Watching myself do the sola dance is kinda funny. The dance has so many parts. There are the long, slow, serious parts where I'm so tired, so annoyed, so spent -- all contemporary, all post-modern, not too fun for your average viewer. There are the super-fun, hip mama moments, me blasting pop tunes on the radio while going nuts in the living room, Sol banging on his banjo, Eliana looking at me wild-eyed and amazed before she does another cartwheel (almost) on the carpet. Then there are groovy, flowy moments where I just feel in it, a dance to a world groove, reggae or afro-pop, summery and mellow and fluid. I like those moments the best.
And my children have the lines to accompany any of my dances. They are both off the hook right now with poignant words. The other night when Sol flew out of his crib for the millionth time, raced out the back door to the deck, booked up to the middle of the picnic table and hopped up and down like a maniac, I kinda lost my shit. I definitely said his name in a tone that Elie wasn't used to hearing. Her response: "Ah, mama. When things go wrong, just sing a song!" It was funny enough to take me out of my moment of frustrated exasperation. "Where the heck did you learn that?" "It's from The Wiggles, mom. Just take a deep breath, okay?"
Okay backatcha! So, all of the sudden my daughter is administering dimestore self-help (which I clearly need...). Soli, on the other hand, has moved into full on sentences. And they sound so funny and foreign coming from his chubby lips that I almost don't get what's going on. Yesterday we were at Joellen and Bobby's for dinner. I lost Sol for a moment. When I called his name, I heard a, "I'm downstairs, mama!" come from....downstairs! Homeboy can communicate! Then when I told him to come outside because that's where everyone else was, he said, "I need my shoes, mama." Well, of course ya do, Sol! Love that you can be so clear and articulate. Let's gather your shoes already.
I love the heck outta those two. They are tremendous. And while I love all this time I am getting with them, it wears me out in a totally different way. I can get so much shit accomplished on a normal work day, before I even get to work. The summer is like a long, low, summer drawl. It stretches and oozes and morphs with nary a deadline, nary a plan. I don't do so well without a plan. So I make one and then I'm in the middle of executing it and I'm thinking, isn't this supposed to be summer? Why am I driving all over town so that I can have see one tutoring client or teach one hour long yoga class? Why is is so hard to get everyone where they need to be so I can do what I need to do? I ran into my girlfriend this morning while I was dropping Elie off at the art museum, for her camp and I said something of the sort (her kids are a few years older). "Is this what it all turns into? Driving around like a crazy lady?" "Yes. It's insane." Her reply was deadpan and grave. I gulped, turned up the car radio and peeled away, hauling Soli's little bum to his playdate on the other side of town.
Jeffy comes home tomorrow. Our day is pretty mellow. Then I spend the weekend floating the river with my best girls. Things are pretty damn good. The white, puffy clouds of Missoula summer are here to remind me how sweet it really is. The bright blue sky and not too hot days. The sweet smell of cottonwood and pine, of clean air. My cozy little home, skinny limbs around my neck. It's all gonna be fine.
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