Wow. Kid’s birthday parties are exhausting. But, by all accounts D1 had a good one. Tonight I thought I had an ant in my pants. For real. And Mae, age six tomorrow, said “take off your pants and you will see, what a wonderful thing that can be”. She’s already a poet with the passion. So proud. She got to open one family gift tonight, after the Post Spa Day facial she gave to her Grumpy, and it was Maya Angelou’s Poems for Young Children
They were exhausted, but still had me read almost half of that book. My girlies like poems. Score one for me. Score two? I hosted a birthday party and didn’t die of my social anxiety. Woot Woot! Score three for me? I got to hold eight-week old baby Arthur, which was my bliss again today. Did I get spit up upon, yes, yes I did. Did I like it? Yup. Did he giggle in my arms? Yes, and it was holy bubbles.
I’m supposed to write D1’s birth story and my memories from the last six years for her kindergarten teacher to read at her school party (somehow D1’s b-day has become a three day celebration), so I’m going to plagiarize myself again and then go to bed.
Novemember 10th, 2008. Clark Fork ID.
Six year ago tonight D1 was born. It was raining. That Body and Bodies On Overdrive feeling so clearly comes back. Gripping the car door so hard it broke, how slimy she was, flopped up on my chest, and how we were so confused by the little body suit she was supposed to come home wearing, and how proud we were when we finally got her dressed. How loud she ate, then, so appreciative of each sip, her first curls and giggles, how we were tired. She remembers the two year Panda birthday, as her first memory, the cocoa that thunked into the flour and billowed. She doesn’t recall when we brought the sister home, or how her hair curled to her bottom, but she remembers the dress she wore every day for a year or more, white with purple polka dots. What she can extract is the moments of celebration and joy, those come back with ease. What she remembers is the smell of Grandma’s house when the cookies baked. What she can pull back are the grandest moments of great Thanksgiving.
Happy Sunday, poemfriends. I was social today, even without Hp around. I pat my back for that.