, , , , , ,

It’s a real hoppin’ Saturday night around here. HP is sad because USC lost handedly,and I just spent an hour and twenty minutes putting the girlies to bed. We are doing laundry. Fine by me. I have a note in my pocket that says “mom i luv You DAD to K U Your th BEsT mom Evr”. Winning.

I’m going to write a mom poem tonight and then get to sleep. I’m less snotty tonight than I was yesterday.

I’m still in the ballet mind. Watched these today:

The two are different. The Maya Plisetskaya interpretation appeals to me more than the Lopatinka version. There’s more muscle on the bird, in the Plisetskay dance. The update feels flimsy.

Obviously, I still have ballet on the brainspace. But, it IS Saturday, and I should be hanging out with HP, so, I’m going to write a little Mom ditty and couch it for awhile.

Telling Monsters

I told a fable today, I tell a fable a day, maybe three maybe four, and each homespun legend there was a knock on the door. Sometimes it was foxes, sometimes it was swans, sometimes there were bears and once, maybe twice there were faeries and fauna. I gotta mom cape, eat your myth babe, then brush your teeth and listen up and close your eye, ‘kay? You say “mama tell me a story”” and I say here, listen up to these dark woods and get brave. Leave the fear here in the dark, or just leave it to go out with the coals. Rest warm in your blankets while I scare you tonight, with monsters.


Golly, that took longer than it it should’ve. This Mom stuff has me beat. “night, people of the poems. Luv you.