Thursday, April 9, 2009

This day.

This day, a lot like the others, but its very own.

My boy with cold and fever missed gymnastics and hanging with friends while the taxes got filed. Missed family school, missing mama's childcare gig at a church.

But he'll eat mackerel patties, his favorite, with roasted potatoes. (When I was a girl, we ate them heartily with boxed macaroni and cheese and canned or frozen spinach. We still eat mackerel, even though everyone else, it seems -- and I mean the Deep East Texas country folks from whom my parents sprang -- has moved on to salmon. We like it better, the mackerel. And we don't call them croquettes.)

My boy, who these days when not calling me a poopy head or telling me "Get your penis into the garden" when he is frustrated, tells me "I love you, Mama. You're adorable, and beautiful," picks me "sweet things" like dandelion puffs and the purple ditsies that run rampant across the yards through our neighborhood. Perfect for our windowsill posy vase.

This day, a lot like the others, but its very own.

The dog did not get bathed, and the potatoes did not get into the ground. There was, however, lots of cuddling and pancakes and tea. Jack Black was on Sesame Street, and a lovely nap was had. The dishes were washed, laundry done, sheets changed. The childcare will be done solo. The supper will be served.

This day, a lot like the others, but its very own.

3 comments:

  1. I love the way you are breathing poetry into ordinary days.

    PS--mackeral casserole, one of my earliest frugal attempts, is the only meal my husband ever refused to eat : O

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  2. Paige, you gave me a short story once, years ago when T and J were little - about a mother who grew her own food... I don't remember much about it. As it turns out you were giving me a glimpse of your future life! I remember you loved the story. Do you know the one I'm talking about?

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  3. Thank you, Meredith. (Not sure about mackerel casserole -- I'll have to look that one up! BUT: it's mackerel patty night again. With roasted potatoes (oven fries, essentially) and carrot raisin salad.)

    Sara, that was a story, perhaps even the title story, from a collection by Susan Engberg called A Stay By the River.

    Man, I'll have to reread that. I remember loving that story so so so much and making many many copies at Kinkos and passing it out or sending it via mail to everyone I knew who might read it! It was the *feel* of it that I loved, and the life I guess I wanted... some days I feel closer to there.

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