Unexpecting

Isaiah 54:1* Sing, barren woman, you who never bore a child; burst into song and shout for joy, you who were never in labor; because more are your children than the children of her who has given birth.

When this scripture was read at my prayer writing group I couldn't help seeing a little of myself and where I'm at in life in it.

I have no children of my own. While to describe a woman as barren would generally indicate a more permanent and less voluntary state than I would presume or wish for myself (or anyone), the fact remains that I've never given birth. I've never experienced labor or held a baby in my arms knowing it came from me.

I don't have a family of my own to raise (though I hope to someday), yet I spend my days raising children. I've cared for enough families I've lost track of how many. I've had countless kids capture pieces of my heart, and to myself I call them my kids. Especially recently, now that I'm working for a single family instead of a preschool with dozens of kids, I've caught myself saying “my __ year old” and adding “that I watch” or “that I babysit” before telling something they did, to prevent confussion over why I talk about “my” kids but never have them with me. And so I have both many kids and no kids.

*I adapted from the New International Version

Fireworks

I cannot think of fireworks without remembering long afternoons with family waiting for the fireworks at Long's Park. Going to the fireworks is always a family affair. When we go it looks like we're packing for a week. We pack a cooler or two full of drinks, and dips, and cheese spread and chicken kabobs, bags of chips and crackers, stacks of blankets, dice games, trains, and perhaps a board game, always a deck of cards and of course books. We bring a huge canopy and stake out our claim on the hill with a tarp and blankets, but the best thing is the twenty foot bamboo pole. Every year we strap a bamboo pole to the roof of our car and then carry it into the park to mark our spot with a kite or a flag or a windsock. Then we chuckle to ourselves as we hear people saying on their cell phones "yeah, I'm by the big pole, where are you?" Course then there was the year we sat beside the sofa....

Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: Write about fireworks.

Reading in Bed

With eyes scrunched shut,
breath held tight,
a too still body,
listens...

To the creak of the door,
carefully opened,
to take a peak
at a child's sleep.

Wiser eyes know,
the scrunched ones aren't sleeping.
With silent smile,
they turn off the light.

After the door shuts,
and the footsteps die,
small eyes pop open,
as if spring loaded.

Little hands search,
for their lost page of adventure,
to silently read,
by the light of the moon.


Inspired by the prompt "After the door shuts and the footsteps die..." which my cousin shared with me.

Who told you that?

That's an electric fence,
to shock you if,
you try to break in.

Who told you that?

It's true,
they turn it on at night,
and then,
it shocks people.

Who told you that?

My mom.
A child's eyes declare,
it must be true,
My mom said so.

It's not,
but how can I say,
Mom lied to you?

Of Age

First legal sip,
slips,
bubbling down my throat,
ice cold bottle,
pouring warmth into me,
a taste of beer,
ironically taken,
not from my own bottle,
but offered by mom,
a simple taste,
same as past,
but legal now.

Excerpts from "My third Grade Journal"

While cleaning out our old school/craft/storage/everything room earlier we pulled out a box of workbooks and school notebooks my brother and sister and I used. I flipped through a few of the books looking at the work I did and thinking back to when I was in school. We were discussing getting rid of the used workbooks when my mom handed me a small notebook "You might want to keep this."

Wondering what it was, I took the notebook and opened the cover to see "My third Grade Journal" and my name written neatly in my best cursive. I couldn't have even told you that I had a journal in third grade, but it's neat to look back and remember the things I was doing.

In honor of the nostalgia I'm posting a few excerpts, complete with horrible spelling.


First entry:

Tuesday, September 3, 199*
This week I started school and ballet. Miss Becky is my ballet teacher again this year and, I remember most of the girls from last year. My school work is fun. I like science the best but phonics is to easy.


When Nana helped me make a quilt for my baby doll:

Wednesday, October 30, 199*
This week I made a quilt for Joy. I picked 7 different faberics. Next I cut the faberics into 3 1/2 inch squares. Then I sewed them together on my Nana's machine. Next I cut batting and backing. then I sewed the top, batting and backing together. Then I used heavy thread and made 9 knots.


When I was going to Nana's to make a quilt for my sister's doll:

Friday January 3, 199*
I'm going to Nana's house for the weekend. I am excited. me and Nana are going to sew a quilt for Emme. I thingk I'll have fun whith Nana.


Trying to sail (probably without wind):

Mach Friday 28, 199*
Today we trid to go sailing ,but we didn't, we just moddered around. I sawl a person capsised. I was in the lookout touer most of the time!!


Going on a field trip:

May Fryday 30, 199*
Today we when to fish lift. I thoght I knew how it worked but how it workes is totelly different from how I iccepted. My faverit thing was whaching fish zoom by! Nekst stop greek food festavil where we piked-up 3 gyros, 2 dissert sippers + 1 laghe sald. When we got home the kids chached into swim-suits to have some water fun!


* Year removed because I don't want to publish how old I am online.

Christmas Magic

Remember Christmas as a kid? The hyper excitement? Not being able to sleep, but being afraid Santa wouldn't come unless you did? Waking up and realizing it was Christmas day?

When I was a kid we were never allowed to see our gifts until Mom and Dad were up. If we woke up before they did we were allowed to go to the bathroom or each others bedrooms, but we weren't allowed in the living room or whatever room the tree was in.

My brother was always the morning person in the family, but the excitement of Christmas made it easier for me to wake up than other mornings. With whispering and creaking footsteps we'd try to sneak peaks at the tree. There was something magical about waking up knowing the tree we'd carefully decorated would be surrounded by gifts, and the stockings we'd bickered over would be filled with candy, batteries, chapstick, and assorted "little things."

As kids we didn't question the magic of Christmas, simply anticipating the day made the magic real. Somewhere along the line - perhaps when we started to see the gifts Mom and Dad slipped into shopping carts, perhaps when they in inadvertently showed us a tape of them wrapping our Christmas gifts, or perhaps just when we got too old to believe everything we were told - somewhere believing in the magic turned to pretending to believe in the magic. I've considered myself "too old" to believe in things like Santa Clause for a long time, but even in the years I declared "I know where those presents really came from!" there was something magic about seeing gifts around the tree for the first time on Christmas morning.

This year I found myself wanting to hang onto that magic.

I woke up to the smell of coffee, and the sound of my parents in the kitchen. I've never liked the taste of coffee, but I love the smell of it, and waking up to the smell of coffee always makes me think of family time. Though we're no longer banished to our room until everyone is awake, I found myself not wanting to get out of bed. Nestling in my blankets I breathed in the smell of my parents coffee, and smiled at the realization it was Christmas day. As long as I stayed in bed the anticipation made the magic real. And who doesn't want to believe in a little magic?