C O N T E X T

Chicago

cold feet, snow, (real and drifting snow) promise of 20 below windchills by afternoon

A N G E R

It's not failsafe. It's a brittle exterior. It's breakable. And when it breaks, I scream. And the children stop and regard me with wide eyes. Or they don't. They laugh, thinking I've joined in whatever game it is they're playing that has pushed me to this edge. And sometimes the screaming turns to music, I bellow, operatic: "Ev-erybody go to bed now-ow-ow-ow-ow." Until all the anger is dispersed and everyone is laughing.

Sometimes.

C O N T E X T

Chicago

continued cold, hard, crackling

survived a weekend in which no outside play was possible

should warm up to the teens tomorrow. Yippee

It's happening already.

The other day, I overheard Gus saying to Jake, "When I was really little, I used to sleep in the room where Mom's office is now and before bed Daddy would lie on the bed with me and read comics."

It was like a punch in the gut for me. Like someone had stolen my presence from his past. I wanted to say, "When you were really little, I read to you every night and carried you, walking back and forth under the eaves, from window to window, singing, until your body had gone slack and heavy and I knew it was safe to lay you down. Every night. When you were really little I was the one who was there. I was the one who fed you and changed you and carried you. When you were really little, your father hardly acknowledged your presence, except by moving to another bed where he could sleep undisturbed by you, by me." I wanted to holler, "Your Daddy never read you anything when you were little, it was me, me."

Not a pretty picture, Mama clamoring for glory. I'm glad, really, that Gus remembers Watt the way he is now, rather than the way he was then. Much better picture of a Dad. Still it took me by surprise. Left me feeling cheated.

I keep telling myself that what is now is separate from what will be. This time right now: Tucker's soft cheek against mine, Jacob's fear of the dark, Gus's hunger for glory on the basketball court - all these things must be appreciated for what they are now, not what they promise of the future. The future will be different. So often adults look at children and think of what used to be and take away from what used to be because of what has become, or take away from what has become because of what used to be. This is now. Now is complete.

C O N T E X T

Chicago

More snow today, covering the car between the time I woke up and the time we got out to drive to school. Late again today.

T U C K E R   S A Y S  

C O N T E X T

Chicago

Predicting windchills of 50 below today. School's closed.

Gus and Jake are amassing an army on the stairs up to my office - lego guys, action figures and various animalia. Jake set up a swimming pool for them, but slipped down onto it and caused a flood that drenched the paper tipis we'd made this morning.

C O N T E X T

At 7 am the thermometer on the back porch read: 47 degrees. Yesterday's rain had melted all the snow, the air was damp and soft, the morning luminous. I thought I was going to have a good day.

People have been crawling out of the woodwork all day. Asking for things. But I'm all out. Clean empty.

Snuggling in bed at the end of this truly gruesome day, Jake said, "I hope we all die at the same time cause if you die first Mom I would miss you so much."

C O N T E X T

C O N T E X T

Chicago

Mood broke like a change in the weather, sudden pressure shift. Thanks to Lupe for knowing what was going on and feeding me pan. Thanks to Marian for making me laugh. Thanks to Watt for choosing to come home, eat pizza and watch the Bulls with us, rather than go to the studio and work on the 2 new paintings he's got going.

I got so jacked, I was up all night, thinking.

P E N I I   

Tucker runs around with his hand thrust down his diaper, chanting: Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.

C O N T E X T

Tucker and Watt still asleep. Gus and Jake playing legos on their bed. I slipped downstairs for a quiet cup of tea in front of the PowerBook.

It's cold again today. The air specked with snow.

W E E K E N D S   

C O N T E X T

Today the blood flow began. I've got cramps reaching down to my knees. But I'm not crying anymore. Yippee!

D R E A M   

C O N T E X T

Gone back to the cold that hurts. 4 below. -33 windchill. Ice covering the inside of the car windows.

W A T T   S A Y S

Last night as I was serving up a dinner which involved broccoli, Jake peered over the counter and said, "Oh no, we're going to have a house full of birds." All three boys fell to eatting with gusto, filling the air with blue birds and green birds, speckled and striped birds, falcons and eagles and hawks.

C O N T E X T

Another thaw. Sidewalks gone to slush. Boys all chose to go to Gus's basketball game with Watt instead of staying home with me. I had to stay home to get a 50 page document faxed off to a client. Feeding the pages one by one into my cranky old fax machine. I'm left with a couple minutes of quiet before The Return.

J A K E   S A Y S   ( I N    S P A N I S H )

Last weekend, Tucker was calling Gus, "Come here Gus. Gus. Come here, Gus." Gus was oblivious, so finally, in frustration, Tucker called out: "Ven para aca." Then Jacob joined in: "Vampire car, Gus. Vampire car."

G U S   I S   H I M S E L F   

I want to tell Gus that sincerity is key. His enthusiasms are so immense and overwhelming, they require an equal pitch of sincerity as a kind of lubricant, to help keep him from completely wearing people raw. Want to tell him. Can't.

Unfortunately, the silly-voice seems to have matured into a kind of snide tone. The mockery turned outward. I see it aimed at Jake mostly. Though when Gus is with his friends, it's aimed at him. He's an easy target. It's hard to stand by and listen to your baby being ridiculed.

So it makes me happy, to see that flick to his tongue again. It reminds me of the person inside the bundle of loose ends and crackling energies, reminds me of the joy in him.

C O N T E X T

Too much work. Can't see beyond my fingertips.

J A K E   S A Y S   

C O N T E X T

T U C K E R   S A Y S   

C O N T E X T

Woke to unpredicted snow, big downy flakes taking the edge off morning, feathering the icefield of our front yard.

I win the coin toss and get to go to Gus's basketball game while Watt stays home with Jake and Tucker.

We're all teetering on the brink of colds.

G U S   P L A Y S   B A S K E T B A L L

Out on the floor, when the play stops, he slouches and affects a casual attitude, a bored expression. Here in public, he doesn't quite know what to do with his passion to play. While the ball's in play, he tears up the court, stealing the ball and making fast breaks, shooting a lot, but never quite sinking it. He's a spitfire. But when the whistle blows, it's awkward, just standing there. He hasn't yet learned the macho banter of competition, it's not cool to want to win in this league. The kids are told it's not about winning, it's about having fun. Yeah but, the fun of games like this is in trying to win, isn't it?

I guess they'll figure it out soon enough. Meanwhile, Gus chews the inside of his cheek, stares up at the ceiling with his knees locked and his arms loose at his sides. As if it didn't matter. But I'm not fooled, I know, in his head he's thinking: "Yo Squirt, you think you can get past me? Think again buddy, cause I'm going to eat you up."

C O N T E X T

More snow this weekend, not too cold. I am grateful for such a snowy winter. It's so much softer than the bitter cold, concrete-colored ones. Mid-February already and I am not yet sick of it.

T U C K E R   S A Y S   

G U S   P L A Y S   B A S K E T B A L L

J A C O B   S A Y S   

wow.

Things that have happened that I wanted to write about but haven't had time: Gus cutting his head open while I was fixing dinner, Lupe taking the boys out for lunch and not coming back till 7:30.

C O N T E X T

Deep thaw. 45 degrees at breakfast. Boys whooping and puddle stomping all the way to the car.

D O L L  B A B I E S   

Jacob, on the other hand, before he new better, preferred the "girl" toy to the "boy" toy at McDonalds. When I ordered 2 happy meals and the voice throughthe speaker asked, "Boys or girls?" I'd answer, "Two boys. And we want one car and one baby." That was before pier pressure kicked in (Gus and the neighbors) and Jake learned it was only cool to play with dolls if there was weaponry involved.

From the age of 18 monthes, Tucker has been known to cuddle and croon to anything he can hold in the crook of his arm. The big kids get a kick out of handing him a sock or a water gun or a shovel and saying, "The baby's crying Tucker, make it better. And Tucker will oblige and rock it and pet it and put it to bed and then stand and defend it if need be.

In the last couple of days, Jacob has gone over to Tucker's camp. They found a stash of stuffed animals we'd put up because no one ever played with them. And together, they've been wrapping their babies in sweatshirts and towels, keeping them warm. This morning as we were leaving for school, Jacob said to Tucker, "You take care of my baby till I get home, ok Tucker?"

C O N T E X T

T U C K E R ' S   D A M N   H A M M E R

C O N T E X T

S L E E P  

S H O E S  

It being my carpool day, I had to go out at 11 even though Jake was home. On the way back I stopped at Sears to buy Jake a pair of shoes. One sales lady, six waiting customers. 30 minutes later I left the store with a pair of black converse high tops that seemed to measure well against the boot of Jake's I'd brought with me.

"Yea!" Jake exclaimed, when I got home. "Now I can be part of the Conver team again. These are great. Not hard like my boots." His toes bumped up against the front of the shoe and in back I could fit my whole hand down in between his heel and the heel of the shoe. Oh well.

C O N T E X T

Rain. All day coming down. 4 inches in 24 hours. 3 times the average rainfall for the month of February. Talk of floods. Glad we don't live near any rivers. Other than our alley. In the afternoon the temperature plummets, winds pick up. Rain turns to snow. Freezes on the windows in thick sparkling ropes, like cheesey christmas decorations.

T A K I N G   A    B A T H

That's why, when Gus sat down to watch the Bull's game and Tucker and Jake were playing happily in the tub, I slipped upstairs to fix one more detail. Fixed it. Came down to check the boys. All hunky dory. Back upstairs to fix one more thing. And down again. Kept it up for I don't know, half an hour, forty five minutes, never gone for longer than five, ten minutes. And my desk's not far from the tub, can get there in a flash if they needed me. And they were playing so peacefully, quietly, happily.

And then they decided to make art. Tucker opened a package of four rolls of toilet paper and introduced them into the bath. Jake unfurled the sodden cardboard rolls and stuck them, criss-crossed on the white wall tiles to make stars decorated with blobs of toilet paper. When I stepped into the room, the water was murky with the stuff. Tucker and Jake were singing the refrain from a story we'd read two nights before, some silly hippos singing: "Mud, mud, glorious mud."

I screamed a little. Which didn't seem to faze them a bit. They were having too much fun. And I did feel like I'd gotten what I deserved. Wasn't paying attention, trying to squeeze too much in. So instead of getting the kids to bed and getting back to my desk, I got to spend - oh how to measure time thus spent? - extracting toilet paper sludge from the bath water with a goldfish net.

C O N T E X T

After all that rain and snow. A clear clean sunny day. The world gone to slush.

S H O E S  

Later, hunkered down under the tv table, Jake cut the pictures of his shoes out of the shoe box.

T E E T H  

C O N T E X T

Working through Tucker's nap. Watt's in the basement, plotting his next move in the campaign to repair and resurface the front wall of the living room.

W E A P O N S  

Earlier Tucker got a hold of Watt's wooden mallet and struck a fearsome pose. Makes me wonder about reincarnation, or ancestor memory or something, how easy my babies strike warrior poses. Tucker, baby Tucker, holds the mallet balanced, one hand at the base of the handle, the other just below the head, emblazoned with the words, "RED HEAD". Tucker stands with his feet wide, knees slightly bent. He lifts his upper lip, scrunching up his nose, and growls. When my baby, my copper-haired viking baby, raises the mallet to swing, I fear for us all.

C O N T E X T

J A K E    S A Y S

"You know what? I saw a star under the blanket."

"Cool." I answered. "You know what that is? That's electricity. Static electricity. Your body and the blanket making little sparks."

"Or maybe," he said, backing down, "it was just my imagination."

"Or maybe," I answered quickly, "it was a star." As if I could give back what I had taken.

C O N T E X T

W O R K   

C O N T E X T

Spring.

C A L L I N G   T H E   S H O T S

When I say "Come," he goes away. The harder I call, the faster he goes.

C O N T E X T

Snow again, after a week of barefeet and bike riding. Spring break is over.

J A K E   S A Y S   

C O N T E X T

Tulips blooming in the yards with southern exposure. And dandelions and daffodils.

Gone for a weekend, we come home to find all the budding trees gone to leaf. Second story canopy-green opening over us. We have been windblown for so long, we are ready for something soft.

N O   T I M E   

I said to Watt, "I have worked myself into a schedule which doesn't allow time for writing. If I continue this way I will shatter." He answered, "Then schedule writing time before everything else." Such a clean and simple answer.

C O N T E X T

Mother's Day.

Sunny and green. Occasional showers. Voices of the neighborhood drifting in through the window.

S O M E  C E L E B R A T I O N  

C O N T E X T

T U C K E R ' S  B O U Q U E T  

C O N T E X T

J A C O B ' S  A T T I R E  

"But Jake," I ask, "why do you want to wear so many shirts?"

"Cause why, I like takin'em off lots of times."

C O N T E X T

M O R N I N G S  

I N  A L L  O F  T H I S

C O N T E X T

C R A S H  

S U D D E N L Y  S U M M E R

And now it's over. The last few weeks the weather's gone cool and rainy. Tomorrow the boys start school. And I feel like I blew it, let the whole summer pass me by. I didn't hardly go riding with the boys or take Odojo on long walks, or sit on the porch watching the kids play. We didn't make it to the mountains. I didn't make a single berry pie or bean salad. I didnt' study PERL, didn't work on Gus' reading. Hardly read to the boys at all. They played a lot of sega. I worked and watched tv. Tonight it seems just that thin.

I did take a few notes though. I will post them now, a kind of summer retrospective. Maybe that will pull me out of this funk.

C O N T E X T

R I S I N G  T O  T H E   O C C A S S I O N

C O N T E X T

R O A D  T R I P

C O N T E X T

J A K E ' S  B R E A T H

C O N T E X T

A T   T H E   B E A C H  

Gus stands belly deep in the surf, hurling insults at the waves, challenging them to come at him again.

Jacob hunkers down at the water's edge waiting for the time we leave the shore for the pool; there, in the chlorinated blue, he paddles happily through the shallow water.

C O N T E X T

T U C K E R  S A Y S  

C O N T E X T

N A M I N G  N A M E S  

C L O G G E D  

C O N T E X T

G U S    S A Y S

J A K E    S A Y S