Women

Conversation with No. 2 Son

No.2 - Mum, some boys at school are rude to girls ... I'm not

Mum - No, you know how to treat a lady, don't you, kiddo.

No.2 - Yes Mum,... you get one woman and you treat her a little bit good.

Wise words to live by.

Morning Song 

by Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.

The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry

Took its place among the elements.

 Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival.  New statue.

In a drafty museum, your nakedness

Shadows our safety.  We stand round blankly as walls.

I'm no more your mother

Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow

Effacement at the wind's hand.

All night your moth-breath 

Flickers among the flat pink roses.  I wake to listen:

A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral

In my Victorian nightgown.

Your mouth opens clean as a cat's.  The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars.  And now you try

Your handful of notes;

The clear vowels rise like balloons.

I love this poem. Especially the onomatopaeic first line. 

The description of that first night with your first babe. 

And the third stanza describes something about motherhood that I 

sometimes sense ,but have never been able to put into my own words. 

Aah, Sylvia, love set us all going like a fat gold watch, even you. 

How sad that you stopped your own watch. 

This poem, Sylvia and the ticking love remind me to get out of my own

 head and back into life, into my kids and others I love. It reminds me 

that worries don't lead me to the good stuff. Not like my daughter's 

ability to burp on request, Sacha's inflammatory declarations that our 

Prime Minister is sexy ( eyew!) and DJ J's endless crooning of 

popular tunes will. 

Love set them going like fat gold watches. May they tick on and on. 

Put A Bird On It

Seinfeld - Serenity Now Montage

Is it just my kids who go out of their way to give their mother the metaphorical, and sometimes, the actual finger?

I have a feeling I am not alone.

After having been flown the metaphorical bird by my three year old today, I hold grave fears that I may not make it to their teen age years because I might actually blow a head gasket through pure frustration.

Serenity Now!