Mondays are meshed with Tuesdays, and the week with the whole year. Time cannot be cut with your weary scissors…
How I love Pablo Neruda.I seem to have glanced down at my lap for a moment, and when I looked up my children were grown. Not grown grown, certainly, but Pablo had it right when he said that Time lost its shoes. A year is four centuries. Suddenly Zoey has eyes that are a little bit far away, and Ozzy, well, Ozzy says things so true that they burn like a coin in my hand.
That is what parenthood does to you; it takes time and wraps it like an errant hair around its little finger, sometimes its middle finger. It points at you and tells you to shut it. There is nothing linear about this business of being their mommy. You will always be my baby, I whisper into their necks because they always have been, before any of us were even here.
Pick a number and I will count to it. If I could do nothing for once then perhaps a great silence would interrupt this tangle of me trying to understand how fast it's going, where it's going, how much I love them like a small dry star in my mouth.