momzonroof

… she's not coming down 'til it all makes sense again…


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Bird Riot

5 a.m., the house is so quiet, hot and stuffy, no air moving… the dog wants out… I poke my head out the door to feel the cool morning air, and the birds are having a RIOT out there, it’s like stepping into a different dimension, tweetertweeeeterTWEET BLIP BLIP WOOT WHEEET BLIPPY WHOOT TWEEEEEETER TWEEEET… It’s a veritable CACOPHANY, and I don’t use that word lightly… I leave my bedroom door open so I can eavesdrop on all the conversations.. watch the polka-dot sheers waft in and then out the open door…BLEET BLOOP TWITTER TWITTER WOOOP the birds crank it up a notch… and the sheers flutter softly …back…and then forth…. it’s like a dream, I’m waking on Walden Pond or something and I think that thought “the universe is unfolding as it should”… and I’m all dreamy-eyed and philosophical and under the spell of the bird song…  ….  ….  … 

 and then a dew-drenched, muddy-dirt-digging grimy little dog skips back through the wide open door and leaps onto my soft lovely lightest pastel blue Italian sheets..  REALLY?!  She starts the swirling process, the swirling, twirling, grunting, groaning, moof, moof, moof, she says, as she settles in and makes her muddy little nest in my formerly beautiful soft angel-touch sheets… We now look something like this:

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beethovenBut on a slightly smaller, Boston-terrier-sized scale… which makes me look like the Charles Grodin:

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Beethoven-and-Charles-Grodin-300x168 Whom I LOVE. Love me some Charles Grodin…. My face looked like that. Not really. 10 years ago, my face would’ve looked like that. But now my face looks like, meh… it’ll wash out. Boo’s all snuggled back in, the birds are still twipping and tweeting, but much less frantically now… the sheets will go in the wash, and the universe… will continue to unfold…

 

 

 


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acid touch

my son sits on the couch next to me, playing with the little puzzle with numbered moving pieces, his leg touches mine.. this is the only form of touch he will endure right now, I can’t ruffle his hair, I can’t hug him, I can’t smooth his face, nothing.. if I try any of that, he recoils like I’m the sulfuric acid.. It’s okay, I understand it… I’ll take what I can get. He has no idea how much he likes me, but that’s okay too, because I know…