three long days. one sick kid. no diagnosis. several low-grade fevers. two grand mals. one partial seizure. four hours of agitation, panicky rapid heartbeat and clammy hands. two-plus afternoons with a listless child sleeping on and off. several restless nights. extra meds. one dream of caring for two calvins of different ages, each careening at the end of my arms. three incredible movies. one chapter read. zero words put down. thrice out of the house. seventy-five daily milligrams of cannabidiol. one beloved dead poet of beauty and nature. two inflamed elbows. four-degree mornings. ten to twenty inches of snow on its way. one aching jaw from clenching. one fourteen-year-old finger shut in a door. one crying child. one sorry nurse. one weeping, sleep-deprived mama. one chef husband and his three, savory, five-star meals. six-plus modest glasses of bourbon on the rocks between two people. one reckless president. twenty-eight days of shutdown government. too many hypocrites. millions of hurting federal workers and contractors without money to pay bills. innumerable racists and misogynists. dozens of formidable women in congress. one college art student who inspired this post. one morning without seizures. one child back to school. one smiling teacher ready to receive him. one tired mama, finally writing.
|Photo by Michael Kolster|