It depends on the moment, but lately there is very little still. We live in cycles of motion, pitching and listing, then swaying and lolling. I cannot say that I prefer one over the other, but I am clearly dazed, unable to really root myself in anything but the anticipation of the next propulsion. Briar huffing, bossing Avery. Briar writing, asking, surging ahead. Avery pouting, lamenting that she is not in school. Avery gasping for breath between body wracking guffaws, Avery exclaiming, “By. My. Self!” Finley scaling stairs. Finley exploring outlets. Finley finding itty bitty bits of plastic. Finley doing and doing. I watched the numbers on the calender whiz past. I haven’t written. It ricocheted off the hampers of clothes waiting to be…
Categories: Mama Sap