The Blue Pitcher

that which may be filled and emptied

Month: May, 2009

Day 190

Evabird, you’re just two days over six months, and already you love words.

When I read you books, I point and point at pictures. This is a sunset, I say, or, these are ten toes, or, oh look, a whole sea of jamberries floating under a jazzberry sky. But you, my little love, look at the words.

I guess for you those words are pictures too: that pretty humpbacked P; the lonely L; slippery s; too tall T.

O elegant E, I so love thee.

On Large Mice and Playing Dead

New post up at PBQ. Read it:

A Story about Fish

Or maybe it’s about love or the Harlem Globetrotters or fire or that blue and white striped scarf the people in our dreams who fly airplanes seem always to be wearing.
Painting by Pat Saunders-White

New story:

Summer Sliding In

Evabird, all weekend we’ve been in the Catskills with friends. There’s laughter and bare skin and trees taller than any you’ve ever seen. Yesterday we sat by the lake, and I shaded you with my body. Shadows, I told you, this is what the sun makes of us. The pond thrummed with the sound of mating frogs, and the sky changed over and over: stone to white-wall to bluer than blue.

Last night, thunder storms rolled through and I was scared that they’d wake you. Or maybe I was just scared. So I took you from your crib and held you in bed with me. Come morning, the raindrops glistened in the green, and we walked down the crooked lane and past a field of yellow flowers where a beat-up old piano sits. YARD SALE, a sign read, but when I asked the woman how much she wanted for something, she said, “Nothing. It’s all free. Just take it,” and then I didn’t want anything.

The days are already getting so long. Your third season out in the world, and nights, I give you spoons full of pears, then bathe you and, finally, watch as your dreams pass over your face. O sweet bird, I imagine some day it’ll be these trees and this thrum and this rolling sky that inhabit your dreams. Summer will slide in, settle around you, and you will hold all of this somewhere deep inside you, and it will give you all the peace you need.

On the Dirty Parts

New post up at PBQ. Read it:

Eight Things

Lazy, lazy mom Amanda tagged me in this note, and so, what the heck? Here we go…

Eight Things I Am Looking Forward To:
1) the 4th of July in Joplin
2) Eva reaching for me
3) this weekend in the Catskills
4) remembering these exhausting times
5) watching Grease II with Eva when she’s older
6) seeing my mom, listening to the songs she sings
7) getting in bed and reading
8) my goodnight kiss from Cody

Eight Things I Did Yesterday
1) picnicked in the park
2) walked five miles
3) toasted a dear friend’s AP celebration
4) Pilates
5) pushed Eva on the swing, read her stories, nuzzled her
6) got stunned by the Manhattan skyline
7) peeked in to see if my dear friend who’s crashing made it safely
8) worried that the bird is weaning herself

Eight Things I Wish I Could Do
1) sleep eight hours straight
2) slow things down a bit
3) love unselfishly
4) drop eight pounds
5) drive with all the windows down
6) show Eva the Pyramids, the Great Wall, the Grand Canyon, how to be kind
7) publish a couple of books
8) kill this fly that got in the house this evening

Eight Shows I Watch
1) The Bachelor
2) The Bachelorette
3) Sex and the City re-runs
4) Law & Order

That’s about it. Since Eva was born, I don’t watch much of anything but her.

Eight Bloggers I am Tagging:
1) Zoe: The Red Engine
2) Kate: Flights of Fancy
3) Margot: Un-BLOG-eavable
4) Little Miss Mel: littlemissmel
5) Heather: Cheese ‘n Pickles
6) Dad: Old Runner
7) Olivia: Near Life
8) Andrea: Sneaking Poems into Academia

The Calamity Janes

Last year, when my dear friend Zoe and I met up for our annual walk around Prospect Park, we were surprised–and thrilled–to find out that we’d both managed to get ourselves knocked up since we’d last seen each other. (No wonder we’d been too busy to get a coffee!) And so we walked. And walked. And walked. All around the park, all the months of our pregnancies, planning our drug-free, surprisingly painless births and trying to fathom the beings that grew inside of us.

And then they were born: Anna Jane on November 20 and Eva Jane just nine days later. The Calamity Janes, we call them. Yesterday, we didn’t walk around the park; instead, we laid on blankets with our daughters and celebrated Anna’s six month birthday. Happy birthday, sweet Anna. We look forward to years and years of sunshine, laughter and blankets in the park.

The Caregiver Dilemma

After Sunday’s post, you can only imagine how I felt yesterday when, after spending an hour or so staring at the computer, I came down to find Eva asleep–on her babysitter’s chest.

Me: Uhm, hey.
Babysitter: I know. It’s crazy. It’s the only way I can get her to fall asleep.
Me: Uhm, okay. Cool.

Standing there, my heart broke a dozen times. Let’s just hope this isn’t a sign of things to come, or I’ll be saying ixnay to orkway!

Day 169

Evabird, you’ve grown too big to sleep on my chest. For months, I pinned you there and held you until you stopped crying, until your breath grew rhythmic, until you slept and slept and finally woke. It’s been almost six months, and still, I can’t get enough of you. You smell like lavender and stewed apples and wishes gone good, and I bury my nose into your neck and lift you into the sky and think of how much more you’ll grow, think of jumpropes and hopscotch and T-shirts and bubblegum, and my heart clenches a bit, wanting to keep you this close forever. This. Close. Always.

Eva, two days old