Four cousins who had never met became fast friends. The brothers gave a free concert to the frogs in the pond, and the frogs gave a free concert back to the brothers. And I floated barefoot through the clover and whispered to the fireflies, and refilled my margarita glass once or twice.
This morning we discovered in a most comical way that my eight year old is a grapheme-color synesthete, meaning that, in her mind, each letter of the alphabet has a color associated with it. Words have colors, too, usually based on their first letter but not always. Watch the video for an explanation of our discovery, and a demonstration. I am amazed that I have been her mother for eight years and never knew this about her, and she is amazed that not everyone “feels” colors in letters and words like she does. She would like to know if there are other girl synesthetes out there with whom she may correspond, so we’re putting out a call to other color-feelers. What color is your “A”?
Last week we sat together on a single chair at Starbucks, waiting for our Frappucino. I piled her long limbs into my lap and circled her with my arms, holding in her angles and big feet. I rubbed my nose into her hair, and she closed her eyes. “You two are so in love,” said a woman to us in passing. “That’s so rare to see.” She lingered in the kitchen with me all of this morning while I made scones and coffee. She slipped out for a few minutes, then returned and handed me this card. I whispered my thanks into her sweet, soft neck.
I am very glad that I am not a mama pig. Wait a minute. My young roll around in the mud, too. Maybe I am a mama pig. If so, I got gypped in the boob department.
I made a world for them. When I couldn’t find the perfect bunny house for sale, I glued wood and moss and stone, late into the night. I crafted grass, and a pond, and a path between the two bunny families. I felted rugs and bowls, sewed tiny curtains and pillows. I released my love into each piece, working as they slept, and with every stitch I sent thoughts to my little ones: ...
One short vanilla breve and one short hot cocoa to go before hitting the grocery store. No boys. Big smiles.
I forgot to arrange a sitter, so I sent him without me. Part of me wanted to go, but I was afraid I’d have nothing to say to them. I didn’t realize he was going to come home so late and so hungry.
When it’s twelve degrees outside on New Year’s Day, it’s important to stay near the fire, have a guitar dance party, and drink eat leftovers for dinner.
Warm cookies and gloomy skies are the October norm in central New York. He was home all week with the flu. We sat next to each other on the couch, our respective laptops at hand. She wished for flu so she could take her place on the couch, too. The after school cookies were my compromise. We’re looking forward to the weekend: bulb planting, garden clean-up, and sewing for some of us, more couch time for others. Happy weekend to you. ...
As I watched this day end I somehow knew that I was really watching the end of a season. When we left the next morning, the air had turned much colder. The leaves that lined the turnpike with fire on our way down turned brown and curled in the wake of our speeding northbound minivan.