I'm Holding Mine

I heard this on Writer's Almanac today. In the midst of the whirlwind of buying a house, I've been distracted. I finally clued in last week when my otherwise social butterfly toddler cried when I left her at a nursery. Later that afternoon she had a meltdown on her way to her Mimi and Papa's. She is not normally prone to separation anxiety...I had to evaluate what was going on. My only explanation was a distracted mom and dad seem to have taken its toll on her sense of security and well-being. Now I'm in repair and reassure mode. How can I get so distracted and forget how wonderful life is when I look her in her eyes and listen to her story. Or when Tom and I picnic outside in her fort, or swing at the park, or color, or just sit and read stories and sing our favorite songs?



Family Reunion

The divorced mother and her divorcing
daughter. The about-to-be ex-son-in-law
and the ex-husband's adopted son.
The divorcing daughter's child, who is

the step-nephew of the ex-husband's
adopted son. Everyone cordial:
the ex-husband's second wife
friendly to the first wife, warm

to the divorcing daughter's child's
great-grandmother, who was herself
long ago divorced. Everyone
grown used to the idea of divorce

Almost everyone has separated
from the landscape of childhood.
Collections of people in cities
are divorced from clean air and stars.

Toddlers in day care are parted
from working parents, schoolchildren
from the assumption of unbloodied
daylong safety. Old people die apart

from all they've gathered over time,
and in strange beds. Adults
grow estranged from a God
evidently divorced from history;

most are cut off from their own
histories, each of which waits
like a child left at day care.
What if you turned back for a moment

and put your arms around yours?
Yes, you might be late for work;
no, your history doesn't smell sweet
like a toddler's head. But look

at those small round wrists,
that short-legged, comical walk.
Caress your history—who else will?
Promise to come back later.

Pay attention when it asks you
simple questions: Where are we going?
Is it scary? What happened? Can
I have more now? Who is that?