The Good Mother

Take me to the place where I am the mother I wish to be, I most want to be.

It is in this place that I build fires by moonlight like a woodsman
Read my babies poems by Lucille Clifton an hour after bedtime
Eat cookies with abandon
Brush my hair one hundred times
Boil water dancing to Cat Stevens
in the kitchen
Explain to my son what the word proud means

All this in one day

It is in this place I have the patience of a swan
I don't raise my voice once,
Only to howl at the moon
by my father's side, with a fat baby
wrapped in my favorite pink sweater.

When my friends call I have time to really listen
When family comes I have time to really talk

This mother can write,
She can dance.

She sometimes forgets,
But then always remembers.

Gone but not forgotten

Ok, I'm here, but I'm the worst mother on earth so I haven't posted for awhile. I forgot to feed my chickens and I think they ran away. I've yelled at both my kids recently. Yes, the 6 month old has apparently been very bad. I've been having mama meltdown and not enough energy to even whine-type about it. But I'm seeing the other side and making an effort here. Spent 5 days at the cabin where I was the Good Mama. Arrived home last night and immediately morphed back into Cruella de Mama. Trying to figure out how to stay a decent human being where the population is more than one person per square mile. Wrote a bit at the cabin. I'll post it later as proof I have goodness in my heart.