I just saw the Fireworks at 730pm out my multi paned landmark window,
(they ended at 745pm)
Pressed to the glass are six eyes and two bodies I created.
"wow, the squiggly ones in pink and blue!"
Shooting stardust traces golden sea urchins in the darkened sky.
"Can I buy it?, I can’t see it! can I buy it mama?"
Like he says "can I go IN the computer? In the computer! Mama,"
(when we watch firetrucks on You Tube.)
Meaning: I want to touch the fireworks and have them everywhere on me.
I am holding my two year old's soft belly with one hand and my four year old's soft buttock with the other.
Balancing them away from the radiator grill, on our makeshift window seats, up on tip-pee toes.
And because the fireworks interrupted our "OK! Put on your pajamas” section of the night ritual, they are half undressed.
Now he is spilling his entire vanilla milk box, down his tractor shirt, by sucking it from the hole made by the poke straw, that instead has fallen inside the container.
"Wow the sideways hearts, wow, a planet. The big red one, it's yellow! "
This is hard to write, for a mother who is protective of her children's soft brilliance.
Later I will nestle her in her bed, my nose at the nape of her neck, her hand pressing my hand under her cheek, to cradle her head.
She calls this “Next to Mama.”
But then comes “I’m too hot” and she turns on her back.
“Go like this.” She holds my hand and guides it to fan at the air.
“Oh yeah”
I don’t like that my four year old says: oh yeah.
Still I am mesmerized by how she squiggles and smiles and says I want to kiss you.
Silly her, she kisses me by licking my cheek.
I want to keep this private and yet I am revealing it.
And we touch noses and she
does a butterfly kiss and
I love my baby girl and
she is everywhere twinkling.
And our hearts are together
as our breaths coincide to
become her calm sleeping night.
Paolina Weber
Copyright
November 6, 2010
