Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers

I think it’s time for another “Fortunately/Unfortunately” summarizing poem– learned from Sara Holbrook (@saraholbrook) at a wonderful inservice years ago. With many apologies to Sara Holbrook, I will try this again (I did it for a slice a couple of summers ago and then again last March.) First write using the words Fortunately and Unfortunately… Then revise taking out extra words. Here we go! 

Wow. It seems I’m a once a month slicer instead of a once a week slicer.
Fortunately, I am writing
Unfortunately, I am tired
Fortunately, the kids are asleep and the house is quiet
Unfortunately, that is rare

When I drove into the garage, the Christmas tree lights were off and I knew it was time for a Fortunately/Unfortunately.
Fortunately, the lights went back on and I saw my smiling son at the lightswitch
Unfortunately, he was turning the lights on and off and making a chewing motion, “The puppy chewed the lights.”
Fortunately, my husband remained relatively calm as he searched for the broken strand
Unfortunately, it was an annoying puzzle of lights, wires, branches and ornaments

I started loading the dishwasher, grumpy to do the chore once again.
Fortunately, the kitchen smelled like apple pie.
Unfortunately, my 10 year old said “Doesn’t that smell good? I made a scrap pie.”
Fortunately, I remained calm
Unfortunately, he made more dirty dishes

The big kids took the dog on a much-needed walk, and I went to help with the tree puzzle
Fortunately, the dog walk meant the dog wasn’t there to bother us as we worked
Unfortunately, the ends were hard to find, the ornaments kept falling
Fortunately, my youngest son sat and read a chapter book –A chapter book!
Unfortunately, the electrical tape was yellow, the plastic gate was ugly

Later, after dinner, but before the wild ruckus, the scrap pie was served.
Fortunately the big kids liked it
Unfortunately there are still scrap pie dishes to be done
Fortunately the boys read to each other after dinner
Unfortunately it got loud after that with wrestling, fort-building, piano playing “fun”

After school work and playtime, we snuggled in to read a few holiday books.
Fortunately it was before 9:00
Unfortunately It was almost 10:00 by the time I got back downstairs
Fortunately I was still awake…enough to work, to write
Unfortunately, I need to go to bed

TAKE 2:

Wow a once a month slicer
I am writing
I am tired
the house is quiet
that is rare

Drove into the garage, tree lights off
lights back on
my smiling son at the light switch
making a chewing motion, “The puppy chewed the lights.”
husband relatively calm
searched for the broken strand
a puzzle of lights, wires, branches and ornaments

I started loading the dishwasher
the kitchen smelled like apple pie.
my 10 year old said “Doesn’t that smell good? I made a scrap pie.”
I remained calm
he made more dirty dishes

The big kids took the dog
I went to help with the tree puzzle
dog wasn’t there as we worked
ends hard to find, ornaments kept falling
youngest son sat, read a chapter book –A chapter book!
the electrical tape was yellow, the plastic gate was ugly

After dinner, before the wild ruckus, the scrap pie was served.
big kids liked it
still scrap pie dishes to be done
boys read to each other
got loud after that with wrestling, fort-building, piano playing “fun”

After, we snuggled in
read a few holiday books
before 9:00
almost 10:00 I got back downstairs
still awake…enough to work, to write
I need to go to bed

Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers.

Yesterday someone referred to August as Summer’s Sunday. I’m not so good at Sundays. They are simultaneously the day I have finally relaxed into my weekend, and the day I remember all of the things I need to do for the week ahead. “There’s not enough time!” is my accidental mantra every August.

In the car, driving L to camp – over the mountain into the woods, she asked me if I had noticed the trees lining the road into the campus.

“They are such narrow trees, but such a thick forest.” She told me.

I hadn’t noticed. Yesterday picking her up from camp, I had noticed the tight one lane driveway, the way I had to pull over to let other cars through. I had noticed the forest, the way the light changed enough to make me take off my sunglasses.  I hadn’t noticed the interesting way the small thin trees stood close and thick and created the dappled light.

I guess I couldn’t see the trees for the forest. This must mean something.

So this morning, I noticed the trees in the forest, and decided I was so glad it was Tuesday… a day to notice slices.

I took the boys school shopping while L was at camp. I want to package up these little kids — resistant school shoppers who ended up really getting into picking their own clothes.  One day they’ll be borrowing my car, I guess… and running to the store to get their own stuff. I tear up just typing that. That is the day I want to pull out my package of slices. I want to laugh about H taking matters into his own hands to find a quarter for him and one for his brother, after I told them I didn’t think I had any. I want to remember their little selves, standing in fresh button down shirts off the clearance rack.

Slices were easy to see…

H standing in front of me, fresh from the fitting room where he wanted to go himself.  He’s wearing one pair of jeans and holding another. “If you’re wondering why that took so long to try these on? I took the other ones off – they were too small. I noticed they were inside out from taking them off, so I took all that time to inside in them. Then I tried on the other pair, and they felt exactly  like the too small pair. Then I realized I had just put the first pair on again! The ones I had just fixed! So I had to take that pair off, and start again! Phew. These feel so much better.” 

E searching searching searching for an orange shirt in his size, small. He couldn’t quite figure out how to tell which size something was. He kept bringing me shirts, and then realizing they were the wrong size. “Ugh. Mommy. I thought it was my lucky day for a minute! But this is an xs not an s!” Why did he want a bright orange shirt? To match the bright orange shorts he had picked out, of course.  “I just really like vibrant colors, mommy.” 

Even easier slices this evening at a local dam. I live in the same town I used to live in as a child. We moved away after fourth grade. Perhaps because I didn’t live here for a decade or so, I often feel like I’m time traveling when I watch my kids in the same places I went to when I was their age.

A slice: The drive up and down the mountain roads to the dam…turning off into a thickly wooded gravel road. The bumping of the car and the beauty of the woods just out of reach because your head starts to hurt from the sunlight popping in and out of the trees — just enough to make your eyes squint.

A slice: The view. I stood in the dam, tried to quiet my anxieties about water and kids, wished I had my camera, and just focused on the view. Dark rippled water, the swimming section roped off, with more water beyond. Trees everywhere, and a blue sky meeting a mountain on the horizon. I wanted to take a picture, but forced myself to stay in the water just being there instead of walking to my car to grab my phone. Instead I begged L to take a mental picture so she can paint me this scene one day soon.

A slice: L with her friend, chatting in the water, building a sand castle, running into the water, splashing.  H searching for fish underwater. E floating along with his floaties saying “I’m glad you brought us here today, Mama. It’s so fun. I like lake swimming better than pool swimming I think.” 

It’s too much, these slices of time travel. I know I’ve gone too far into nostalgia when I start to wonder if the sand I’m standing on is the same exact sand I stood on 30 years ago.

“This is the same place I went to when I was a kid!” I tell Lilian – excited to see nostalgic things come full circle.

“Great.” She says, eyebrows raised in only the way a 13 year old can do it.

Apparently she isn’t pre-nostalgic for her own childhood quite yet.

Thank goodness. I think that means that we are still in the forest of her childhood.

Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers.

Suddenly we realized that everyone has needed new sneakers for awhile. I’ll accept my parent of the year award now.

L’s are too small. She started complaining 2 weeks ago, now that I think about it.

H has been wearing his non-sneaker shoes for months. But when he couldn’t find them on Friday, he squeezed into his sneakers. “These will be better for soccer anyway” he told me. Oh, yes. Soccer. It’s just the after school club, but maybe sneakers would be a good idea.

E’s toes are almost sticking out from dragging his feet when he rides his plasma car. I promise I tell him not to do that. Hey! At least I make him wear shoes.

So Sunday we went shoe shopping. The kids were mildly scattered, bringing shoes to the bench, trying them on, and I had a quick flashback to shoe shopping with my mom when I was a kid. I don’t know where we went, but I remember the shoe salesperson going to the back room to get my size, hopefully in the color I wanted.  My mom sat with me,  helping me lace the shoes, feeling for my toe when the shoes were on. Shoes we weren’t buying went neatly back into the boxes after my mom re-stuffed them with the paper.

So, I tried to feel for toes, and help the kids put the shoes back neatly. But somehow it just wasn’t the same.

L quickly found a few pairs to choose from, and then her boredom set in.

H was so excited to have sneakers again, “Look mom! I can run so much faster in these! I think they’ll be better for soccer.”

E found Star Wars sneakers, but he wasn’t sure of them at first. New shoes always feel different, tight. But, when he realized they not only lit up, but made R2D2 sounds too, he was sold.

H wanted to change into his new sneakers right away. E was a bit worried about the muddy park we were going to, so he stayed in his old shoes.

The next morning, getting ready for school, E asks me if it’s going to be a muddy day. “Is it going to rain, Mama?”

I say no, that it should be fine and he grins. He runs over to his new shoes, still in their box.

I want to pause that picture. That unabashed excitement for Star Wars sneakers.

It’s just too much, these little moments. Why is it so heartbreaking — the joy on my 6 year old’s face as he puts on his new shoes?

 I am participating in the March Slice of Life Challenge: A slice a day for all of March.  You should do it too!  Thank you, Two Writing Teachers! Readers, check out their site, and start slicing! 

Happy Easter, friends
on this chilly Easter Day
your baskets are pretty, but 
the sky is too grey

Why did the bunny 
bring all that is sweet?
chocolate, peanut butter 
so much junk to eat

I thought bunnies ate carrots
and all sorts of greens
a salad sounds great, so
why, sir, all these jelly beans?

My kids asked if I helped the bunny
I've been accused of being a rabbit!
but that's crazy talk because I know 
sugar is a super bad habit

If I were in charge of these baskets
they wouldn't be full of junk food
all the yum, all the fun isn't worth
everyone's foul sugar-crash mood

We keep eating sugar,
and I'm not to be blamed
if you see that crazy rabbit,
tell him I won't be framed!

But, if you are looking for me
I'll be making lasagne and roasted veggies
while my kids run, shout, laugh, cry and
even probably give each other wedgies 

Happy Easter dear friends
I hope your day is sweet
time to put down that basket
and have something green to eat!