Another relaxing week, frantic job hunting aside. Russ is enjoying daycare, though he still has issues with the separation. I picked him on Thursday so we could meet the cousins at the trampoline park; he saw me and started crying and came running I picked him up and he was crying "take good care of me, Lauren!"
According to the day care lady, he's alright and has fun once he gets over the dropping off process. I think he just hates change - he never wants me to take him home either. If it even looks like we're going in that direction, he'll start saying "we're not going to my house!" He doesn't like leaving when someone comes to pick him up either.
So anyway, we went to the trampoline park that day; I don't bounce, but I do get to go in as a guardian, so I got some time in on the trampolines for free. It's a neat place, but you get real tired, real fast.
It was our weekend with him too; my brother has moved out of this house, so Mom stayed in his room last night. I bought Epic Mickey 2 for Russ (well, for me really, but still), and he thinks it's hilarious to hit the second player character. He doesn't play, just hits Oswald Did it for a good chunk of the evening too. Mom had to pry him out of my room so she could get him to go to bed. The whole time it was "I wanna nap in Lauren's room!"
You may find it humorous or sad that Russ occasionally calls me mom.
I took him out for a few hours this afternoon since I had a coupon for Micheal's that expired. Got some new stuff to work with and some nice pictures:
This particular street has had a lot of renovated buildings of late, this cute little alleyway being one of the upgrades.
Lots of boats on the river this evening; Russ and I saw at least four speedboats in the few minutes we were on the bridge.
Shot of the day The sun was just in a perfect position, shining right between the buildings and down to this pavilion courtyard thing behind the Rivermarket.
DailyLitRecognition is hosting its first contest! We want you to create your own DLR feature/ mock-anthology - details in the link!
Nichrysalis and I are collaborating on a feature - I'd apprecaite it if you'd check out the poll. (Also, it doesn't have to be something you wrote - it can come from anywhere!)
Lissomer is holding a color contest!
Homelessness mini contest
Love Letter Contest
If you're looking for something to do, CRCommunityProjects has a Mentoring Project in need of volunteers!
AlphaManifest has kicked off her TheDailyBreadCafe project.
your shadow and I have begun
to argue about sharing space
the color of endingsI've always hated
the color of my eyes
and I'm beginning to
hazel - the color of endings,
of moss before a frost,
tree leaves losing their bright green,
a siren call of fall,
an ending that cannot be reversed.
I see reflected in my eyes
endings upon endings,
goodbyes to joy,
that I hate so much.
but I remember reading somewhere
that the colors of red, yellow, orange
leaves are the natural colors -
is a mere mask for
the truest hues.
and I can almost hear a command
which I know by heart:
"love your neighbor as yourself."
Radio SilenceI wonder if your transmitters
could stop dead a human heart,
if the tangles of cables and wires
you've made into armor
ever lets the wind whistle through.
Surely it's lonely measuring sines and troughs
but never making your own -
studying the art of sending signals,
cloaked in a heavy web of empty.
One day I will look back on your plain face
and wonder what I saw there.
The fingers like telephone towers,
teeth aligned like cemetery stones.
You live in a little world
of dot dot dash to the deadline
And I cannot translate you.
Breathing RoomI leave chrysanthemums
scattered at your feet on tile floor
like the pencil shavings piled
on your desk.
"The flower of death,"
with Rorschach roses on your knuckles
and the hint of a warrior
in the line of your lips,
you sketch bears with open jaws
and black-shadow eyes
in the margins of your math book
with permanent ink.
The hooded abyss of your gaze
you can't bring yourself to say:
Love is short
and prone to fading.
It's a good thing I don't mind breathing life
into negative spaces.
The color of betrayalYellow is the color of the land when it betrays you. That's what Mama says. She said it during the drought year, pointing to fields of corn that stopped growing knee-high and turned a sickly gold.
Why you wanna dress that color, she said.
But I did. I liked the way it was soft like a spring flower. I liked the way it looked against my skin. So I folded my arms and stomped my foot. This is what I want, I said.
That was the summer of the squatters. Mama called them that. She let them hide in her house during the day so the police wouldn't grab them off the street and send them to the farms, or worse. Most of them were migrants. All of them sang the blues.
I didn't mind the squatters. They were kind to me, usually, and they told the best stories. They brought news, too. Some of them had news from as far away as Chicago. I listened to everything they had to say and everything they had to sing.
Mama would get up early in the morning every day. Usually she'd send me off to school -- not the
if every second was a perfect soundI realised yesterday
that there is no time in life for half-measures –
when I love people I want to love them loudly enough that they know it.
I want to tie my heart to the sleeves of every passer-by
so that they understand how much I want them around.
I want to write love on scrap paper and tuck it into the crevices in walls like a birthday wish
and never let misanthropy grow where it shouldn’t be.
The sun burns itself just to send light out for thousands of miles
and keep us alive.
I want to try.