Broken Plates

The broken pieces lay around me like a carpet. Jagged, sharp edges. Flowers, rimmed with gold. Stripes. Nothing at all. Filtered by bits of fallen leaves and broken twigs.

The plate in my hand glittered in the sunlight flowing through the canopy above. Bits of written words shone back at me, placed there in my own handwriting.

I took a step, widening my stance. Lifting the plate high overhead with both hands, I inhaled.

Flung at the ground with all the force I could muster, the plate exploded with a shower of sparkling shards. My throat growled with animalistic sounds, a cry so deep every emotion spoke through, feeding the earth, the explosion, the sound.

Collapsed on the broken pieces, I wept. Never enough.

Night Before

'Twas the night before school
And all through the house,
All the creatures were stirring
With nervous tummies and trips for more water.

All the outfits were laid
On the dressers with care,
All too soon the school bus
Was going to be here.

And Daddy on his computer and
Mommy on her laptop
Settled in to their chairs,
Only to get up again for one more kiss goodnight.

Mommy was wondering what to pack into lunch boxes,
Because she hadn't wanted to go shopping at all this weekend!
"I'll do that on Monday," she said, and she jumped into the pool
For one last swim with the kids.

At last they seemed quiet, perhaps all asleep.
With visions of school work and new friends,
And the cake they know Mommy is going to bake,
For our snack tomorrow, to celebrate.

Life in a Small Town

Living in a small New England town, there's a lot of faces you see every day. Eleven years and many children have brought us a big circle of faces and names that we know. Some, I have gotten very good at avoiding. But sometimes, avoidance isn't an option.

At a school open house I got out of my truck and walked literally face to face with one of those I usually avoid. My stomach sank and I felt like I wanted to get sick. How I long for the feeling of palm to skin and the satisfying sting that follows. So many words to say, and nothing to say. Sometimes the only closure we can get is silence.

I'm mad at myself now for walking around a bank of cars parked along the sidewalk and not falling into step behind. For not allowing my daughter to greet the first person she saw. Soon, I will no longer have control over who she picks as friends. She has lessons to learn, just like her father and I.

I need to stop allowing myself to take all the blame, as there is another set of eyes that played a role, that should look down to the ground.

My daughter and I were greeted in the parking lot by friends and hugs. We were hugged again on the sidewalk up to the main entrance. And again at the door to the school. All along the hallways and into the school classroom, my daughter and I embraced friend after friend in greeting and well wishes, some we haven't seen since the end of June. Blessed, beautiful, wonderful people, some who know where we've been and have left judgement at the door.

My daughter grinned her trademark beautiful smile all through the school. A smile I hear about from so many in our town as one of the highlights of their days. We were in the building for the entire hour of the open house. Victory was ours. And even more hugs were received as we left the school for home.

There are days that I am happy that we have not yet left our small town for the safety and distance of a different locale. Yesterday was one of those days.

In the Matter of a Day

Overnight, it happened.

Or rather, while I was out for a run. It happened.

My baby grew up. He decided he wasn't a baby anymore. He was a big boy.

Gone was the baby who would choke on a little baby food poofie. Gone was the baby who pushed away noodles. Gone was the baby who was content to cuddle with mommy and nurse to sleep. Here to stay was the baby who wanted a cup full of milk. Here to stay was the baby who wanted to eat the same food as his big sisters.

Mommy wasn't ready. Mommy looked forward to those quiet moments holding her son and caressing his chubby cheeks as he fell asleep. Mommy took far longer than needed most evenings to nurse her baby and rock him to sleep.

I tried. Oh, I tried, to convince him every day, not to give up on Mommy. But, he's simply just ready. Ready to be a big boy.

Thankfully, I've clued in to a lullaby to sing to him at bedtimes so I can get his little cuddly body to snuggle in to me a few more times. I will cling to that song for as long as I can. For as much as Mommy is ready, Mommy isn't ready.

Roller Coasters

Roller coasters are entirely different when your baby girl is sitting in the seat next to you.

That thought didn't hit me until we were seated in the car, getting ready to ride the fast and long wooden roller coaster.

On our walk over to the ride, I held her hand. We talked and were silly, excited that it was just the two of us. There was no wait for the ride. She was excited. So was I.

Settled in our seats I turned to look at her. The ride started moving. And then, the thrill was gone, replaced with concern for my baby. Would she get hurt? Be too scared? My gaze was intent not on the twists and turns, but her beautiful face.

She was quiet for the ride. Not a single scream from her. Her face was tightly clenched as I tried to alert her of each dip, turn and hill. At the end of the ride was a booth of photos taken during the ride. We laughed at the face of the man in front of us.

"Mommy," she said as the ride slowed down, "I do not want to do that ride again."

It was too much for my dare devil little girl. And, I have to say, it might have just ended up being too much for me.