How do you tell your adult best friend
That her basic civility,
Her kindness, her loyalty,
her late night chats
Have healed a childhood
full of mean girl relationships,
That made you doubt yourself
and waste 30 years
Trying to figure out why the mean girls picked you to be so mean too,
And that every new face isn’t a mean girl waiting to do the same thing?
How do you say a big enough thank you
For all of that?
My first born is leaving soon
Flying the nest.
In just one year
He will head to college
To a life all his own.
But the separation has begun
Like a baby pushed downward
In labor’s contractions
Making ready the path to vacate.
It isn’t today that he leaves
But the pains are increasing.
His silences are greater
and His reclusion-
to talk to friends, the family
he wishes he had,
Increases.
My heart is beating
outside my chest.
And not for me.
In fact, it beats
in defiance of me.
I love you my Solo.
So much so that I am letting go.
But not because I want to.
I’m desperate to hold you close
Protect you
Adore you
Smother you
Forever.
But you are almost ready.
To go.
Raising boys
Is urine on the toilet seats,
And on the tile walls behind it,
And pooling on the floor
(Which you only find late at night
After stumbling with eyes closed
Down the hallway.)
It’s flexing in every mirror,
Toothpaste in the sinks
and painted on the counters.
Raising boys is a mad house
Of yelling and wrestling and
Throwing punches instead
Of saying I love you.
It’s asking what’s for dinner
at every breakfast,
Second breakfast and lunch.
Raising boys is empty pantries,
Empty Freezers and empty refrigerators.
It’s an endless grocery list
that’s consumed as soon as it’s restocked.
It’s having pajama, croc clad boys
Meet you to unload the car of packages
and bags every time you come home.
It’s texts of “where did you go?” and “when will you be home” after only half an hour away.
Like you left them for a month
and didn’t leave a note.
Having boys is realizing
That one day you may be
the other family.
The in laws, The other grandparents,
The back up family getting second holidays.
Having boys lets you see your husband,
His brothers, and his mother
In a light no one else can see shine.
How they loved and fought,
Antagonized but defended,
Pledged a silent allegiance
Over legos and backyard ball,
Mosh pits, and at concerts.
And suddenly, I want to embrace
The brothers he has left.
Bc they are his Solomon, and Eli.
His Jonas and his Ben.
His brothers. Born from a faithful love,
Made loyal in the woods at Stoney point.
Being a boy mom is knowing
The bits and pieces of growing and birthing
Are a tale only you will revere,
A story only retold
In your memories
As they spread their wings
And fly away.
Thoughts of my dad, on his birthday.
I was never cold.
He fed the wood stove
like it was a newborn baby and in return
we were always warm.
He told me I was beautiful
the summer I turned twelve.
During that season, when I was awkward and changing from girl to young woman,
I ran the Florida shores
with all the confidence in the world.
When my best four legged friend died,
he buried him under a tree and sat with me for hours, which turned to days,
which turned to weeks,
while I broke into a million pieces.
He regaled me with stories,
showed me Magic Kingdoms for Sale,
the Shire, and the glorious prose of Pat Conroy.
He gave me Led Zeppelin, Santana, Jethro Tull and Aqualung, Allison Krause and Union Station.
We shared the same dream at night,
often waking to find the other
had also found another room in the ever growing magical house we could only find in our dreams.
My Dad- he breathed for babies, and the elderly, and all the folks in between,
trading his tool belt for a stethoscope.
He showed me how to wait
in the space between breaths
because that is where we find
what others need.
He has always made me feel safe.
He knows every answer
to every question I could ask,
He fixes everything that ever breaks,
and he set a standard I never thought
I’d match in a spouse.
I see him in my sons.
Solomon is a pillar of quiet strength, watchful, still waters running deep, prepared and always ready.
Eli would trade earth for the Shire, Ender’s intergalactic travels for a life on earth, and loves knowledge but also has understanding.
Jonas has his work ethic. He wakes to move, to serve, to do and fix things.
Ben has his humor. He is witty and sharp, funny with the same twinkle in his eyes.
I am the luckiest daughter. My mom and sister are the luckiest. His grandchildren are the luckiest of all.
Menopause-
Middle age puberty.
I don’t fit right in my skin.
Things are out of focus.
My left foot doesn’t sit right
In my Hoka, and there’s electric currents running down my arms,
like my funny bone took a hit.
My ears itch and ring
And the sound of breathing around me
Makes me hold my breath.
Im hot, feverish, and sweating
through three changes of clothes a night,
While I shiver from the fan.
My Loves speak too loudly,
And too quietly, and if the captions fail
I hear only gibberish.
I want to be hugged
And I want to body slam the hugger.
I want to tell you Jesus loves you
And fuck you for driving 5 under the limit
in the left lane.
I grip the steer wheel,
come out of my seat,
anger rising like bile.
Alanis comes on the radio,
And it’s ironic
How the static just
quiets.
Hormones are monster.
The lack of them is a bitch
