Friday

Okay, no poetry today.
I spent my time this morning writing in the girls' journals. The entries were way overdue.

Here are the highlights:

Eli spoke a sentence this morning when a book fell and hit her feet.
"Oh no, feet hit that."
She knows the sounds for a boat-load of animals. Including elephant (which she empahtically calls "eff-unt", donkey and rooster.
She's hilarious, as she neighs with gusto and moos by saying "mmmmm." -- Oh, yeah, a frog says (wait for it....) "wid-dit".
She'll also mimic just about any word you say, these days. She's started to be good at rolling or throwing a ball, and her stacking toys fascinate her.

Tressa loves to tell stories and learn rhymes. She surprised me lately by learning the whole "eeny-meeny-miney-moe" rhyme by heart, after I'd said it only a few times. It's long, especially with the whole tiger and 'my-mommy-told-me" part!

Tressa has a hard time understanding where people live and where they work. Yesterday she kept saying that the librarians must have been in the library all night. I told her that they go home at night, they don't sleep there. She insisted, and even hypothesized about where the kitchen is and where the beds are at the library. This morning it dawned on me why she can't figure out the difference between a workplace and a home....(duh!) -- Both her parents work from home. We say we're going to 'work', and go to the basement; or we sit at the dining room table and work. No wonder she thinks the librarians live at the library and her gymnastics teacher never leaves the gym.

Both girls are totally beautiful.

Pyatnitsa Pahyem (Friday poem)

One Day

One day you'll think I'm wise and beautiful and you'll identify with pieces of who I am.
But not before you examine and internalize and rationalize and possibly reject my choices as a woman, as a mother.
But not before you grudgingly admit I might have understood a few things.
But not before you despise me and my placid mommy-life as I set your teenage curfew and ask about your friends.
But not before you roll your eyes. Embarassed while I taxi you around town.
But not before you spin and twirl around the living room - excited about your first sleepover.
But not before you lose your first tooth.
But not before you finally get to sleep tonight. After my last visit with water and a pacifier and a tissue to put under your pillow.
But not before I blow a few more bubbles that shimmer down to the bathtub and land on your wet hair.