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So my Wabi Sabi motto for the day is acceptance. You know... the whole do what you can and what you can't embrace. What choice do you have?

What helps me, more than anything else, is faith and art. Faith means belief in what we can't see right in front of our egocentric noses. Art is the same thing. The process of both brings immense peace.

And so, here is my second poem. Again, not curing cancer, but hopefully one more ditty my kids can remember their odd mother by.

(And no, this poem has nothing to do with my marriage. Rex and I never fight or disagree. We are the uber ideal couple. Come on, now!

Good Shouting

There’s shouting going on upstairs

I can’t say exactly why

But Mama’s screaming something ‘bout

“If I cook one more meal I’LL DIE.”

When she finishes yelling about stepping on trucks

And M.I.A. lids from sippy cups

My daddy, well, then he starts right in...

Something about debt that we’re living in

And then I hear words like “credit card”

And for some reason a slipper – it flies pretty hard

Right out of the bedroom

And onto the landing

(Which makes me think Mommy is not understanding_

And then there is silence… like that’s all they got

Until Mom starts to cry, but dad adds “Nice shot!”

And then for no reason that I see at all

I hear giggling through their bedroom walls

It starts out all quiet like but then it gets louder

And soon laughter is raining like spilled baby powder

And then I hear “sorry’s” and a few “I love you’s”

And then the door shuts

So my guess is the two

Of them are likely chatting

About how good I can be

Maybe wrapping  a present they don’t want me to see

One thing for sure is that night over dinner

Papa is smiling – (And my dad – he’s no grinner)

 So whatever was wrong I guess now is right

It’s crazy how good stuff can come from a fight

 
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So I'm doing the prayer thing.

I'm slowing down.

I'm attempting to meditate

But honestly, people, I'm happiest when I'm firing on all cylinders.

And so, I'm back to setting goals for myself.

One of them is to finally write those books I'm talking about.

One book is under wraps, but I'll tell you that I'm bugging the lovely (and extremely gifted artist) Arwen to illustrate. (She's already published one book and seriously, the front cover does not do her illustrations justice.)

But the other, just for kicks and giggles, is going to be a book of poems Shel Silverstein style.

I by no means and comparing myself to that genius tale spinner, but I am attempting to write poems based on my crazy kids that I can pass down to them..

Here's one of five I've written. Tell me what you think.

Pink Umbrella

Mom said kids might laugh at me

And even cause a scuffle

If I took this umbrella to school with me

It’s pink (and it has a ruffle)

 “Honey, sweetie…” she said, “You know I don’t care...

But since you’re a boy… some kids might stare

So here’s a small tip that I have for you:

Be prepared with a response that works for you.”

My mom’s pretty sharp so I thought of an answer

‘Bout why boys could wear pink and could sing and be dancers

So when Markus asked, “Man, why are you carrying THAT?”

I said, “Friend, can’t you see that some girls don’t have hats?

I don’t want their hair-do’s to get wet in the rain

So I’ll walk them to class and they’ll never complain.”

And then while he stood there, kind of biting his lips

I decided to get one more thing in real quick

“My papa says girls like the boys who can groove

So if I save their hair then one day you’ll see, Dude,

That I’ll have a dance date whenever I please”

And then something happened that you wouldn’t believe

At school the next day… under those rainy day showers

Marcus brought an umbrella – it was purple… with flowers





 
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