Problem solver 

Saturday should be a sleep in day, but that never seems to happen for me. 

I woke up a half hour earlier than normal, shrugged and went about my day. 

I finished my first draft of book 5, did a list of things to do, did laundry, cooking, cleaning and childcare, 

even launched my author page, at long last.

And my energy was gone by 5 pm. 

Through it all, my sense of purpose flew, 

atmospheric in its intensity, 

until the time fatigue took over the wheel.

It was a mixed bag of emotions as the exhaustion took hold, 

with good, bad, and overwhelmed fighting for supremacy. 

I try to piece it all together while breaking it all apart, 

just the usual good and bad 

of daily life.

I sit on the couch and breathe again, watching as my little love tries to figure it all out for himself as well, and think about how it’s just the size of the problems that change, not the problems themselves.

And smile when he figures it out.

 

Friday family movie night 

Friday is here again, with blustery cold weather that heralds the true beginning to the winter. 

While minus 17 isn’t the worst I’ve seen, neither is it a temperature I enjoy. I eagerly anticipated the hibernation to come at the end of the day, breaking my plans to eat chicken and beans with naan and butter chicken instead, convinced I needed it to stay warm.

We then bedded down on the couch, the five of us for a family movie. I felt like a giant mushroom, there in the dark, covered in dirt from my son’s daily adventures. 

We watched Hotel Transylvania 2, the kids transfixed and me feeling warm and lucky.

Friday night family movie night. My favorite night of the week.

Mom of Sam

No one can put a statement out quite the way a stubborn five year old can. One minute an angel, the next a small and vicious demon child.

I entered a quiet house today, unlocking the door with my delicious rotisserie chicken and Diet Pepsi. 

(I’m trying to cut back, I swear)

The next thing I knew, two waist- high projectiles were attacking me, in various stages of distress.

Prying them apart and teasing out the story, it turns out the older one had stepped on the younger ones hair, then apologized. 

At some point in this turn of events, the younger had kicked the older one in the crotch and stolen their glasses.

I was a little shocked, 

and incredibly worried for the future of people exposed to her. 

When I asked her why she’d done it, she said she just 

“couldn’t help it. Sometimes I get so mad” 

with an intense, scary look. 

Then when she didn’t get to snack before supper, she said 

“this day is totally not going the way I’d like it to”

The entire night was variations on a theme of stubborn and hilarious. She’s so deadpan and droll, speaking with turns of phrases years above what I want her to say. 

The other day when I said she was a valley girl, she turned and said,

“I’m like, totally not a valley girl, okay?” 

Like she was straight out of clueless. And she’s not old enough to know what that even means.

Heaven help me from my way too old for her age middle child. She’s keeping me on my toes at five, fifteen is a frightening thought.

I don’t think I’ll be ready yet.

Traffic

My eyes are grainy today,

but still somehow find the light.

It’s bright and wonderful 

through the fog.

Cars honk, go slowly,

pacing with their horses grumbling. 

They slowly move past the line,

reined in by the weather.

I feel their longing to bolt,

Tied and restrained into a 9-5,

somedays I’d like to run free. 

Through fields of green and gold,

Past streams and rivers and trees.

I’d kick up my heels and laugh,

but my seat belt holds me down

as I wait for the light to turn green.

Good days work

Another late night, getting through a day full of requirements, 

self-imposed and otherwise.

I unlock the door with the dubious pleasure of being the only one awake, 

sigh, 

and do the things I must before calling the day.

I go through the motions, 

tired in body and mind tonight,

Only two days into a workweek that has so far been full and draining.

I make another list, trying to keep track of all the obligations that are multiplying 

like the playdough on my floor.

But for all that, 

I had to stop and smile, 

content with the purpose my life has.

To raise good people, to help good people, to entertain good people and hopefully,

to be good people.

I sigh again, fill the coffee maker and turn on the program, 

ready for another day.

My Riff 

My life’s a place of work 

and laughter,

both at the same time.

Even on a Monday 

when life is hectic,

I find a place of joy inside. 

A repeating riff

of the variety of living.

The good, the bad, the sad.

Each day the same 

but slightly different.

Each aspect another facet 

of the diamond of creation.

I wake up, I go to bed

In between 

the magic of existence.

Black box

What’s in a story? 

I ask myself this daily now, deep in the throes of nanowrimo.

How can I make people feel, understand, live through the eyes of another?

How do I draw them in, capture them in my web,

Each story a black box, a mystery until it’s opened.

I’m every bit as surprised by what happens as it falls onto my page, sometimes a treasure and sometimes a lodestone.

Almost at the halfway point, November disappearing under my nose,

Full and busy of life and living

And yet,

The page calls, beckoning from that mystery box,

Waiting for me to open it and discover what lies in wait, 

ready to emerge into the light of day.

Lest we forget

No matter where I am, what I’m doing, what’s been going on in my life,

Today is a day that gives me pause,

Reminds me of how many people have given their lives so that I can live in the luxury of a country where I’m not worried about my basic human rights.

This isn’t the case in many parts of the world, and many people are still fighting for what we take for granted, 

here and abroad.

I imagine being a neophyte of sixteen, lying about my age to have the the chance to fight for me country,

To be a mature fifty year old, lying about my age for the same reason.

I imagine what must have gone through the minds of those young men and women who gave so much, many who never came home,

Those who came home altered,

Forever.

I see the poppy everywhere and think about Captain John McCrae, burying his friend and comrade in arms in a field so far away, 

dying himself shortly before the First World War ended. 

I see the world around me and I worry and wonder. 

How have humans existed so long and seemingly learned so little? 

This is why we need Remembrance Day. 

We need to learn about our history so that hopefully, 

we don’t repeat our past.

The rut

I watched as the week flew,

On wings of solid steel.

Picked me up and dropped me off,

And didn’t once ask how I feel
I thought I’d have so much more

time with which to play.

Instead I chose to get stuff done,

each and every day.
When all I wanted was

a room somewhere, 

far away from the cold night air,

to sit and write whatever I dare.
But instead I adulted the week away

With work, errands, and chores.

One of these days I’ll get it right,

and use time off for what it’s for
But now the weekend comes again,

with a cocky strut. 

I tell myself I’ve lots of time,

but fall back in the rut.

Better late then never

It stared at me,

with its lack of eyes

I gingerly cut it open,

scraped it out

callously

Without remorse or consideration 

Of the life it had lived.

I taught my young the same

indifference 

And made that pumpkin

Into the man it is today