Why I Can't Write

Sleeping til nine; poolside breakfast picnics; the Science Museum; the gardens; the zoo; wet paint; blue skies; gathering garden herbs for dinner; puzzles on the floor; new novels; late nights; raspberry-tipped fingers.

Consequence

Penelope: squinty-eyed, word-hurled, scrunch-faced fury: "Next time we go on a date, I'M NOT GOING TO HOLD HANDS WITH YOU, Mommy!"

Katherine in Summer

Shivering and pale, school braids still woven in her hair, she stands at the edge of the pool. Then she jumps. Bare feet springing off wet tile, she stretches her body long against the rising splash. Her braids come loose in the water. Her elastics sink. Sunlight tangles in her nut-brown hair.

She makes an easy lap.

When she emerges, dripping (equations shed, the days of the week, the Oxford comma), sunlight clings to her. Her eyes flash. Her skin's grown darker. She's Katherine-in-Summer, at last.

How To Be Beautiful

Out of nowhere, Katherine wrapped her arms around me. Her voice surprised me. "Hi, Mom!"

I flinched.

My first instinct was to reach out, shut the computer screen quickly, or at least turn the video off (after all, these were naked people), but I hesitated, hand extended, and thought: this isn't a project to hide from my daughter. So I stopped.

I wrapped my arms around her. "Good morning, sweetie. Where did you come from?"

She wrinkled her nose at the computer. "What are you watching? That says beautiful, Mom."

"Yeah, it's an artist's clip about a photography project; it's about beauty."

Her smile faded. "So you're watching a movie about beauty? Like, How To Be Beautiful? You're getting tips?"

"No," I laughed. "It's about -- well, you know how it bothers you the way princesses almost always have blue eyes? This project's sort of about that. The photographer's making a book to show how there are lots of different ways for women to look and still be beautiful, even though in movies and magazines we usually only see just one. In this part, she's showing us how beautiful women's bodies are when they're pregnant and after they've had their babies -- see them?" I pointed to the screen. "See how beautiful those women are? Plus, you know, it's always cute to see pictures of babies."

"Yeah," she nodded, her eyes shifting from the computer to me and back again. "So you're not trying to learn how to be beautiful? You're not trying to get beauty tips or anything?"

"No, honey." I looked at her, suddenly concerned. "Why? I mean, I don't really think I need them."

"Good!" she grinned. "Because -- I just think you should know -- you're already beautiful, Mom."

Permission

"Okay girls," I said, clearing their plates off the table after dinner. "It's time to get ready for..."

"Mama," Penelope interrupted. I pursed my lips, ready to say no to whatever she was going to ask me. I shook my head at her and continued on. "It's time to get ready for..."

"Mama," she said again, but this time her words were hurried. "I know it's time to get ready for bed, but can we please, please go outside -- just for a minute -- just to touch the last bits of sunshine on the grass?"

"Oh, can we, Mama?" Katherine gasped.

I looked out the window. A bunny was easing its way toward the strawberry patch. In the garden, the herbs were lit up here; the flowers, darkened. Sunlight was falling in golden strips across the grass.

"Okay," I smiled. "Go on."

Power Struggle

"Grandpa?" Penelope's voice tumbled down the hallway. My dad opened his bedroom door.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"I'm thirsty. Can I have a drink of water?"

"Okay," my dad whispered, but then he paused. "Did you already ask your Mama?"

"She said no!" Penelope's voice was louder now. From my room down the hall, I could practically see her eyebrows knitting themselves together. I imagined her thrusting her lips forward as she scowled at the floor.

"She did?" My dad sounded surprised. "Why?"

"She said, Go back to bed. You've already had a glass of water. But that's not fair!"

"Oh, but honey, I didn't know that. I can't go against your Mama."

"You're her daddy though." Her voice was serious now; she was wide-eyed, most likely. "That means you're the boss of Mama."

My dad laughed. "No honey, your Mama's all grown up. I haven't been her boss in a long time."

"But you're still her daddy!" She paused, giving this bit of encouragement a moment to sink in, and then she continued. "You march into her room right now and say, I'm the boss of you, Mama!"

a note about today

Bare feet, warm grass, a bunny under the desert willows. Katherine -- mapping the gardens.