Blowing Away

He turned 5 yesterday.

My world, personal lil' hurricane of love.

My heart, the one that

daredevils-but-cares

that-he-tap-dances-on and

thru-my-soul, the one that

lives like a livewire, 

fully exposed, throbbing,

laughing, breathing everything in,

pandemic and Petri dish of the pre-k world, too--

Ughhhh, what can I do?

Freeze Frame?  

A spell to stop him from growing up

while the brainiacs hurry up and

de-pandemify our world

so we can then go back to our

regularly scheduled lives?

Where's my bloody wand....

I can't even....

Soooo,

Let him blow out that candle

and re-light it, do it

again

and again

and again

(which I could honestly watch forever)

each time feeling like the first time.

Priceless. Perfect. My compass and my Why.

Blowing away every time while we sing. 

"Sing a song, make it simple...."

Song of happy, of boy, of slime, of stinky feet, 

of the megalodon and the alligator and the zombies that 

always seem to follow right behind Mommy's car....

of sticky fingers, of shredded t-shirts, of cars, of favorite shows,

of painting, of dart balls, of cookies, of pancakes, and spaghetti and meatballs.

of life, of hope, of jumping into my arms to tell me all about your day.

of promise "To Infinity and Beyond."

Mommy-hood and Mama Bear  

elated, glorified, and worried

beyond any realm of words known to humanity

in any tongue.

I see, feel, hear, know of the things

that go bump in the night.

And other things that tend to wreck lives, 

the world, and are Curiouser and Curiouser

happening faster and more devastating than usual.

Ahem...COVID!

Time out? Halftime? Uncle?

My dreams come true, however odd,

however dreamy or gruesome they be.

The eyes have it, so they say.

And mine have veil lifted,

as that is the way with me.

Makes me other, sensitive, exposed,

vulnerable in youth as am now.

Harnessing such vision and sensitivity

while channeling for true purpose

comes with a price higher than you could know.

And both path and person is often lonely and misunderstood.

That's fine. really. 

It's ok, I understand and I'm good with it all.

By all except for my truest heart outside my chest

the one that clarifies all the rest

and brings it all into sharpest precision

and aims me like the tool that I am.

Bullseye!

right into the fray

of the pandemic and the chaos

of today. 

All the while while cuddling with 

him close, ever closer, 

nuzzling his ear as he sleeps

and I watch over his dreamtime,

praying to the universe

to keep him ever strong, healthy, 

joyful yet full throttle handful of high octane non-stop

curiosity-mixed-with-screaming-body-slamming and learning.

Because he knows stuff. 

And he'll teach me. He promised.

And he teaches me far more than I could ever hope

to teach him. 

Time. Not nearly enough time for all that I want for him.

Brimming with light, laughter, always smirking mischief 

and dramatic eyerolls. ALWAYS.

Love, happiness, caring and hugs that he brings 

to everyone he meets.

When he looks at me, in the quiet moments, he takes my 

breath away...for a fleeting moment

drown in the brown of his gaze and see myself

as I bumblingly endeavor to be but painfully know

I am not. Not yet. Work in progress. LOT of work.

HUGE. BIGLY. TREMENDOUS AMOUNT. 

It's incredible. Hasn't been done before (by me at least)

in the history of my being a mother.

Though pandemic clears the streets,

covers our lips, poops the parties,

"huggus interruptus," 

and the most precious things best experienced

all together, in person, cuddled, closer, 

feeling the bond of love, 

of family both near and far.

Oh, my dear, weird, wild, wacky World,

I humbly submit

that the screen is 

NOT mightier than the hug, 

but a phantom copy of 

the real, true thing.

Yes, it's handy, 

and I know there's already

more than one app for that, 

but nobody discusses

the price that we, who are the World,

dearly pay and suffer.

People sniffle, deny, and die.

Masses shuffle in lines, 

standing in the blowing rain,

in the cold, for hours on end

for the proverbial possible cure

that is not a cure, just like Magritte's 

"This is not a pipe" but a version.

Weaker clone of a version not yet known

but will be. 

Life a la pandemic has become

altered carbon indeed

helping those in direst need

while praying my own are okay

unafraid, and safe.  

Masked, insanely sanitized, 

inside our bubble Family

getting creative and oh-so-flexible

with methods and behaviors,

yet the sleep and work things

or bills never wait, ever demanding

that we keep on keeping on, pound of flesh, 

even though, long out of gas, on fumes, 

almost to bone dry, take moment

of quiet at odd times and 

exhale, breathe, give thanks,

refocus.  

Watching his chubby, glittering smile

in my little video clip on my phone

is the worst best ever: I can't blow out

or re-light the candle or 

hug the damn screen. 

Technology obseen and

at times heard, mostly with sniffles 

and a nose blowing into a tissue. 

While I work, apart from him, 

it's all I have. 

Left wanting. 

As is this world

only if we let it.

Happy Birthday, my Angel, My Miracle....