more convincing

I forgot that I had said I
would sub on v-ball
tonight at 615.  Should be
home around 730.  Love
you, maybe we can rent a
movie.

Holding my phone. 
The txt springs tears that I didn't know were bubbling.
New mom has them in full supply.
"Lovely" I want to type.  But don't.
I want to write things about selfishness
about responsibility.
I want to be a complete ass snob,
writing "Sure a movie is all I want from life"
but instead of send I click backspace. backspace. backspace.

I am sad that I'm not going to book club tonight.
I am sad that I didn't mention it yesterday.
I am sad that I'm not going to my friend's graduation tomorrow.
but most of all I am sad that I decided not to mention these things-
because I wanted to be home with my new little family.

The trouble is I wouldn't rather be at bookclub than home with you.
But I would rather be at bookclub than home alone.  again.

I wish you wanted to be home.
I know you do.
I know you're caring.
I know you love us.
I know I won't say anything, because I want you to want to be home.
I want to keep this relationship happy--after all it's the only adult convo I'll have today.
And the only one I'll have tomorrow.

It's just hard when all these hormones make me need a little more convincing.
And hard when my whole day is spent waiting for you to come home.

midnight in paris

"No subject is terrible if the story is true. If the prose is clean and honest, and if it affirms courage and grace under pressure." 

I just watched the most lovely movie. . . all by myself.  I wanted to try and watch all of the Oscar-nominated films before the big event on Sunday, but a couple of them are neither in the theater or out to rent yet.  Anyway, for a former English teacher this one was very fun with its allusions to writers and artists.  As I finished the film, two things keep ringing in my mind--renaissance begins now--we always want for another time, either living in the future or the past, but the real time is right in front of us.

"The artist's job is not to succumb to despair but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence."

Shrove Tuesday

Shrove Tuesday (or Pancake Tuesday) is a day of confession.

I must confess that I have been away from writing.  It was nice to rest in the needed hiatus following my dissertation, but I have decided that it's time.  Time to write again.  This year for my lenten devotion I have decided that I am going to write every day.  Something.  Every. Day.  While a large majority of this stuff will be crap (that is for certain), just the idea of writing every day means that perhaps something will come out in the writing.  After all, I like to tell my students that an important tool in writing is their butts.  A butt in a writing chair got a lot more writing done than most other tools.

So each day I will write.  Starting tomorrow.  I am not going to narrowly define my topics or wrangle myself into writing things that I hate.  Instead, I am going to simply follow the intent of this blog in the first place--to focus on how today is a REAL day--a day to live life to the fullest.  Within this lenten season will come the birth of our first child and the time that comes following that.  I see it as a good time to document.

I have debated about giving up FaceBook for lent.  I toss and turn the idea.  Just this morning I learned of a friend leaving youth ministry.  I wouldn't have without the good 'ole FB; however, I have come to see that each morning as I lazily scroll through posts--most of which are simply a waste of time--that I am missing the magic hour at the start of the day.  I am missing it.

Perhaps that is my Lenten devotion this year more simply--to stop missing it.

Want for movement

Fingers still I want for movement
and words
that haven't moved
in this hiatus
needed
but awkward
in its waiting and wanting
not feeling right or left
just off.

3 Preggo Poems

Body

You've always done things I don't understand.

as a scab fades to nothing

a banana turns to energy

and a 13-year-old skinny blonde stands two inches taller

Imperceptible change only measured in hindsight.

That doesn't bowl me over like it should.

Or force me to ask how . . . or why?

Instead I walk by you like wallpaper that's the ugliest

red

floral

catastrophe,

but I don't notice, after all

it's always been that way.  Hasn't it?

My hand fingered the mattress

Wrinkled the over-washed white sheet

Just like I told it to.

As I sat with Grandma--

Hospital sea-green sterile, enveloping chords and paper skin--

Trying to look at anything else but how she feels,

To soften fuzzy edges.

But you feinted . . .

. . . after I specifically told you not to.

But as I continue to round out with a new body inside

perpetually in the future

with the present invisible

except for this huge pairs of knockers

that don't seem to fit on this B-Cup diva

I wonder what you're up to.

And I've never understood less.

I never thought you were all that

shifty

shady

dark-alley walkin'

You've been a good employee

On time and pretty reasonable

Listening to me, your boss,

Index finger taps the letter "j" on keyboard

almost

before I can think it.

You're good.

You're quick.

Dependable you.

Turkey Bacon

I like to think about you.

As I turn over and run my right toe across the quilt edge.

Hair tither wiped away

As I squint out the window at bare branches

Hoping for Spring

And you-you and me-different.

Lucie wags her tail and shakes her collar

so loud

saying "get up or I'll piss all over"

I call her bluff.

Linger and scroll my finger across my phone

delaying vertical.

She puts a paw by my one open eye and

harumphs

as her head flops down curling over you

and over the thin line of me that separates

As I open the other eye

Half the world is dark and the other light.

I don't think she knows, but it's fun to wonder wish

that she's somehow sensing the magic

of new life waiting inside.

The doctors say you know our voices.

I don't even recognize mine on a recording, but you--

you know it.

I like to point out to the daddy voice that you're going to be both me and him

Somehow 50/50.

He just smiles and says the part like him

is Filet Mignon

and the part like me. . .  

. . . is Turkey Bacon.

And he laughs.

I hope you laugh like him.

And someone hears it the way I hear his.

I hope you're just okay with you . . . whatever that might be.

You'll just have to explain to your dad.

If you end up liking Turkey Bacon.

Motherhood

The sign by the highway reads

Windmill Farm

in faded black

paint on white

The "m" is hard to read, and no windmills turn for miles.

            But they did.

The parents sit wraggled

eyes tight after errands

the giving--oh the giving

that they could never prepare for

The sexy in them wrung out, and she doesn't drop F bombs anymore

            But she did.

Teenage heart throbbing

She escapes parents

blunders through identities

making new ones

and wears faces

She's independent now, and she knows she doesn't need them after all

            But she did.

Old mother

reminisces on poems

she wrote before wrinkles

wrote her.

Her first pregnancy totters on rusty memory, a vapor

The writer seems a stranger, and she knows it would have all been different if she didn't.

            But she did.

Christmas Letter 2011

"Release the tension in your shoulders.  Now in your back . . . "  At the end of each of our pregnancy classes the teacher leads the class of six couples through a relaxation series that always leaves me feeling refreshed and a little like my legs are full of Jell-O (in a good way).  Last week at our class I was just starting to feel relaxed when I heard it.  It was getting slower . . . and deeper . . . and louder.  Ralph's breathing was starting to sound like it does each night just before he goes to sleep.  I felt the sense of panic begin to rise in my previously calm body as I realized what was about to happen.  I decided to squint through my right eye to see if the other couples in the class were noticing.  None seemed to catch on until his breathing went from loud and breathy to an all-out snore.  The peacefulness of the dark room was gone for good, as I got the worst case of church giggles in my life.

Gosh, I love being married. :)

Yes, Ralphie and I are expecting a little bundle of Wusk joy toward the end of March.  We're hoping it has Ralph's charisma and my study habits.  Each time the baby kicks, Ralph takes it as evidence of its impending athleticism.  I guess we'll just have to see.  The little one will grow up as a Sterling Jet as we just moved to the booming metropolis in August.  It is a bit ironic as Ralph and my relationship started with me talking extreme smack about his small hometown . . . I guess maybe there was more flirting going on there than any real hard feelings.

Life Lessons Learned in the "Real World" Vol. 6

·      All pants should have elastic waistbands. (I might just wear these pregnancy jeans for the rest of my life.)

·      It doesn't take long to accumulate way too much stuff. (Thanks to everyone who helped us move all our junk!)

·      The best dissertation is a done dissertation.

·      Living in a small town IS all it's cracked up to be.

·      Making sauerkraut isn't as tough as you might think.  (Thanks to my in-laws and their good teaching!)

·      Gas is expensive.  (Ralph is commuting to the Department of Veterans Affairs in Lincoln, and I'm cruising east to work at Peru State College while still helping out with confirmation classes on Wednesday nights in Lincoln).

·      Seeing the Harry Potter movie at a midnight showing is exhausting.  (Thanks to my sister for reminding me that I'm not too old to stay up late).

·      With a FULL beard and long hair Ralph resembles Joaquin Phoenix during the time period when everyone thought he was going crazy.

·      The waiting time before a baby is full of joy and excitement.

I can always tell Christmas is here as Ralph starts talking about the end of his Fantasy Football League.  How does he always make it into those championships?  Yes, 2011 has been a year of changes, and like every year, we're continuing to learn.  While this year had many turns that we didn't anticipate, I have a feeling that next year might have even more to teach us. 

new house. new job. new pant size.

new house

White siding. Just old enough.
It is just
what I wanted
all these years
quiet
old yet and new
friendly somehow
with a gathering curve out front
I sit here in the living room
six windows play frame to
the art of yellow leaves changing.
I wonder at the life
unfolding here
all the leaf changes to come
and snows to fall
and knees to scrape
and Christmas giggles at a present gone
so right
or so wrong.
I will look back
at this kitchen, dining room, sun room
and life overflowing, busting the edges
with people and things we did
and laughs we shared
and messes we made
Now it starts
just walls, just rooms, just stuff.
I'm sitting in a blank canvas
and the paints will come fast and furious
Lord, help me stop and smell the brush strokes.

new job

I bought a lime green lamp.
Somehow that one thing gave me vision.
For the new office of
professor Wusk, not quite yet.
Three classes this fall
three this spring
new faces
new meetings
And I can talk about this from my gut
I fit in the classroom
back home somehow
I shift weight though
in the meetings
wondering how I fit
here in a candyland of words and spinning wheels
yet
thankful for a flexibility
that allows my hope and wondering thoughts
I know this will be my job
the longest job I've ever had
While I've been there awhile, It's like I've only
just put my toe into the waistband of a new pair of jeans.
I wonder at the fit still.
I know this will feel different in a bit.
But for now at least, I like the color, the fade
in this, my place of work.

new pant size

It was only last week when the first
stranger asked if I was expecting.
Yes
I am. Delighted.
Thank you
For noticing.
Anticipation stacked on anticipation
this normal thing
not seeming so normal
when it's your insides
squirming through
these months of changes
uncomfortable and yet more comfortable than ever
the one thing I've always known
myself to want
And yet I wonder, Why?
But when I remember myself--with all my thoughts and foibles--
my beginnings just this way
I can't imagine an excitement
more intense in hue
than this waiting
and wondering
at the slow change that will be the change
from all I've heard.
I want to meet him or her.
And I will never, even for a second, think/feel/know
the immensity of this.
As we walk through it like it's normal
buying a crib
playing the easy escape
owning simply a consumer role
and sometimes for entire days
forgetting just how close we are
to gravity changing.