More Tragedy Than Comedy

Time

Drips
   Drips
       Drips

Out the seconds
Like drops of pitch

Slowly
     Slowly
         Slowly

When I am watching
A school performance
That my kid
Is not in.

Forgetting

We have gotten them to preschool on time all year.
We have always arrived to preschool on time to pick them up.
Snacks were packed every day and not forgotten.
Snow boots were sent in the wintertime
Rain boots were packed in the spring.
Permission slips were filled out and returned.
We participated in fundraisers and open houses and science fairs.

Why then,
As their teacher kisses each child
On on both of their cheeks
And their foreheads,
And wishes them good luck in the fall at their new school,
Do I feel SO GUILTY
That I had NO IDEA
Today was the last day of preschool?

If a Picture is Taken in a Forest...

The flash going off in the hallway is unexpected
I turn to see what exciting life event is being saved for posterity.

The oldest has commandeered the old point and shoot digital camera
With better cameras available on cell phones,
It has been relegated, unused, to a drawer for months.

But he has found it
And claimed it for his personal use.

And now,
Triumphantly
He holds his arms out away from his head and up at a 45 degree angle to the horizon
(pausing to adjust his baseball cap)
He turns the camera towards his face,
Which erupts in a full smile of eyes and braces and teeth!

Cheese!

He lowers the camera and flips it over to examine the screen
Turning the knobs to review the captured image.
He grins, satisfied, then punches a few more buttons
To delete the picture.

The selfie that no one will ever see.

Closed Doors

Two closed doors

At the top of the stairs. 

Each room a refuge-

A place to let the anger subside. 

They are not mad at each other,

Not this time. 

Each door, decorated with their names

And months old artwork,

Was slammed in my tyrannical face. 

I did not yell, holler, scream

Or stamp my feet at them,

Not this time. 

My crime was only suggesting that

9:45 was too early for lunch.

Busy Bee

Busy

Busy busy

Busy busy busy

Running running

Here and there

I think I passed myself

In the hallway picking up Little People

Today is a

"Where did I put the underwear

With the poop in them"

Kind of busy

Where Too Many Men Have Gone Before

When I am older 

And my hair is gray.

When I am hard of hearing

And I need help getting around and 

Taking care of myself.

I hope that you remember today,

My dear, darling daughter.

I hope that you remember the day you asked,

"Daddy, will you go into the port-a-potty with me?"

And I replied,

"Yeah.  Sure.  I guess so."  

Stopping for Some FroYo on a Spring Evening

Stopping for some FroYo on a Spring evening,
We pause to lock our bikes to a tree.
My two trusty companions
And me.

Suddenly the ground starts to shake,
A frigid blast of cold wind whips down from the North and
The air is filed with a high pitched whine.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up,
I have a bad feeling about this.
Then I see the first ones come over the rise.

The surging adrenaline slows time
I turn to the faces of my young friends,
Desperate to meet their eyes,
Panic fills my voice.

"THEY'RE COMING!!
RUN FOR IT!!!"

We jettison their locks and their helmets,
Running for safety.

We do not speak again until we are barricaded safely inside,
"What was that, Dad?"
He pants, out of breath.

"A tween birthday party, son.
There had to have been at least twenty of them,
And they're still out there.
Quick - to the cookie dough while there is still time!"

The Birth of a Masterpeice

She is creating.
Head down,
Her new-copper-colored hair cascading
From the crown of her head,
Her face is hidden.

Markers and their caps
Are scattered everywhere across
The formica tabletop,
Their corpses-
Discarded casualties
Of the process.

The pigments have flown across the paper.
Dotted Circled Scribbled
The misfired ink on her hands
Pajamas and face,
An inevitability of her process.

As she works,
She sings her own accompaniment.
The soundtrack, a song about
Cheetos, An Upcoming Trip, Her Sister, Her Grandmother
To the tune of "Jolly Old St. Nicholas."

Finally it is done-
Another masterpiece.
Happy Mother's Day.

On Gender Differences in Little Leauge

In the course of an early spring baseball game,
Nature called.

In the well appointed (for a baseball diamond) restroom,
I found the ubiquitous
Forced Air Hand Dryer
That has been found in similar little boys rooms since the sixties.

These hand dryers all come with
Explicit instructions
That begin:

1. PUSH BUTTON

This restroom dryer was like every other hand dryer I have encountered
In every other Little Boys Room since the beginning of my memory.
Similar in that
In a fit of hilarious vandalism,
The crucial letters "O" and "N" were vigorously scratched off
And the detailed instructions now began:

1. PUSH BUTT

I must admit,
When I saw this
I laughed a little Buttheadian chuckle.

Huh.Huh.Huh.

(It gets me every time.)

When I asked the assembled baseball moms if their
Forced Air Hand Dryer
Was similarly, classically maimed,
They claimed ignorance.
They had never seen such things.
And isn't that kind of childish?

Little Mars.
Little Venus.
It must start early.

Condiments

Ketchup!

Mustard!

Ketchup!

Mustard!

Driving down the quiet city streets
On the way to preschool
Shouting started from the backseat.

Mustard!

Ketchup!

Excited, playful shouting
Not the often heard bickering

Mustard!

Mustard!

It started seemingly from nowhere
There was no discussion about
Favorite condiments for
Hot dogs, hamburgers or french fries
They just started shouting

Ketchup!

Mustard!

It took me another three blocks to realize
They had created a game out of the ether.
When they saw something red, they yelled

Ketchup!

And when they saw something yellow, they yelled,

Mustard!

There was no discussion beforehand
About the game to be played
But they started at the same, in perfect unison

And that-
Twin Hive Mind
Frightens me
Terribly

Going Down?

What's that banging?

Do you hear crying?

Girls
Girls
Girls

How did you lock yourselves in your brothers' closet?

Why are all of their clothes on the floor?

There are stuffed animals everywhere!

You cannot do this.

You are not allowed to play here.

No more playing in the boys closet!

But this is our animal hosbibal and that was our elebator!

Wahhh!!!!

Inspiration (Secrets of the New Writing Revolution)

Since so many great ideas have
Come to me while I am:

In a car pool line
At baseball practice
At swim lessons
At piano practice

And are subsequently
Forgotten while I:

Do laundry
Prepare meals
Clean the house
Work

I decided to make an
IDEA NOTEBOOK
So that I could jot all my little ideas

Down
As
They
Come

So I can skip the inspiration step and
Flesh the ideas out during my
Downtime
Thereby markedly increasing my productivity and writerly output

I would like to share with you the success of
Day One
Of the New Writing Revolution (TM)

I wrote
IDEA NOTEBOOK
Really big in black sharpie on a notebook
With a fancy drop shadow
And then I had to go pick the kids up from school.

Today's word count: 2