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Tomorrow She is Never Again Four Years Old (Not Even One Dot)

This post is fabulous!!

jen groeber: mama art

I look at the clock and it’s 11:34 pm. I picture my newly minted five-year-old, asleep in her bed, covered with the Hello Kitty blanket I stayed up until past midnight last night to make, her hands curled under her ear, like the fiddlehead ferns she begged me to buy in the grocery store last week. I wonder, does she know that she has twenty-six minutes (now twenty) left of being in the in-between?

Because on her birthday this morning, she began as a four-year-old. And four-year-olds are young. They’re like babies. They go to pre-school. They say things like, “I liked it, but only one dot,” and everyone nods in wonderment. They are allowed to lisp. They always get right of way, whether on a bike or in a pool or playing Skipbo. Because they’re just four. And everyone else, at least everyone else in my house…

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The Winter You Were Seven, II

So touching!!

a white dog

The winter you were seven

I slowly hung pictures

and the dark wrapped us up

safely in our nest of lamplight

and pop music. I put beach towels

against the bottoms

of the doors in a comfortable habit.

It was cold out, and at night

the baseboard pipes gurgled

with warm water and I slept

next to you, because why not?

And in your febrile hallucinations

you sat up and criedI don’t want to

and I laid you back down

here, on the pillow, and said

you don’t have to

and meant it as much as I could.

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Fish Bowl in my head

A fish bowl in my head?
What does that even mean?What a weird title?…

Well I guess anyone reading this blog must be wondering about the same. So let me tell you what is the meaning of such an absurd title.

Everyone who knows me knows that I love to talk and that I invariably say whatever comes to my mind. If I run out of topics to talk about either you are my biggest enemy or you are a wall.
Despite that I have talks that I only want to talk to certain people but I end up speaking it out loud.
I think  its a fish in my head. Every single thing happening to me is recorded in my head like a story…like a fish blowing out bubbles from it’s mouth… everything I experience keeps coming back to me …like a story that never ends…like the fish that keeps swimming from one end of the bowl to the other…never stopping…moving in the deep blue waters…like every moment is a memory… like every drop of water is a friend that the fish wants to meet again and again…there is a
fish bowl in my head…

image

Esha