One Summer’s Day
Lucas off to camp, Daddy off to work. Me and Asher with all kinds of time for …
chalk drawings on the patio,
inspection of garden flowers,
and the study of sun and shadow, curves and lines and points …
for free-ranging hens, like Avalanche here,
and for growing pumpkins, green and ghostly white,
for purple morning glories, cana seed pods,
and corn in the morning light. How do we know when it’s ripe?
It’s August, so the crepe myrtles are blooming, bursting!
We’re busy, so the playroom needs sweeping. A million precious things scattered a million different places.
And then the blocks simply must come out to play,
and Mommy simply MUST work a tad.
“Bob the Builder” is fun for Asher. Chapter 8 is not so fun for Mommy.
The leftover Ciro’s pizza simply MUST be Lunch.
“I will take my nap on the couch. For ONE minute. And then you wake me up and say, ‘Asher, it’s time to wake up to play!'”
Mia’s Apple Tree
Cameleon Was A Spy
I’ll be damned! He is asleep on the couch, just like he promised.
More of Chapter 8 in the hush of the sleeping preschooler, who,
miracle of miracles!
awakes with a smile and gentle
pat, pat, pat footfalls,
bear in hand.
We fetch Lucas from summer camp, where he wove a tiny rug.
“When can I go to big-boy summer camp?” Asher asks. Again.
“Buckle up, boys. We’re going to the library,”
where they cannot see the books for the computer that has kid games and a candy-colored keyboard.
But the Carmichael Library is newly remodeled and lovely, as is evident in the rotunda. Mommy wants to take more pictures, but then feels too much like a weirdo.
There’s also too much bickering between Asher and Lucas over the computer, so Mommy decides to check out.
Three books for boys, three books for Daddy.
We visit Great-Grandma and Great-Aunt, who are fine and old and loving and mysterious and bored until we arrive.
They don’t believe we have chickens.
Home again, we collect the day’s eggs. The green ones are lucky, don’t ya know.
And “Toy City” grows and grows some more.
For dinner, tasty snapper, spinach, snap peas, garden tomatoes, à la Daddy.
Sundown.
There’s still time for chicken ranging, feeding, and holding,
for watering the garden,
for watering the boys, giddy and nekkid, screeching and laughing.
“MY FOOT! I stepped in chicken poop!”
Shivering.
Shower. Teeth. Jammies. Stories. Lotion for eczema. Songs. Cuddles.
“You check on us?”
“Oh yes.”
August 6, 2010 at 10:37 am
thank you….