The kids are alright (5)

No musical soundtrack at the moment- just the sounds of my boys running like maniacs, spending the last of the day’s energy before being ordered to bed. I can hear them upstairs.

Aidan, “Bwaaaah!”



Connor, “Bwaaaah haaa!”


More giggles. They alternate bwaa-ing and thudding. I have noooo idea what they’re doing–but it sounds fun, and since there is no sound of breaking (yet), I sit here instead.

Gabriel Lies in my arms, being his baby-self. This is our time.

Technically, I became a mom the moment Aidan was born. Theoretically, I’m three times more mommish because I have more kids.

They say that Weez is one baaad mother

(Hush your mouth)  …

but I’m talkin’  ’bout kids.

(We can dig it)

Mom’s are supposed to be all knowing, together, with it, have bandaids at the ready upstanding uber domesticated females. So not me. Me of the “only has 13 bucks ’til the next paycheck” me. But we’ve got milk, and I bake bread and make my own tortillas and cookies. Their clothes are clean, and we can see the floor every third day. Yet another role. My bro said something, though that made me feel alright about it all. Beau said I wasn’t really a mom, just Weez with kids.

They’re good kids. Pretty chill and happy guys. Can’t believe they’re mine.


Francois Lachance –  ‘2004-05-16 20:41:17’,’To some it has been a slow time coming to sound out the paths that allow me to step between a March 30, 2004, Note to Self and a June 5, 2003, who echo. Here is it is a report of a brother observing that a sister wasn’t just playing a mom role by calling her by her name and signaling the togetherness: “just Weez with kids”. There it is another brother leaving a comment to see the entries on the mind of dad. The kids are boys. How often does the word “kids” evoke boys in the mind of the reader? What gendered influences may be at play to allow certain little beings speding before bed? I like that dropping of an “n” or an “e” that space where speeding and spending meet. Speding (one “d”, long or short “e” pronounciation upon whim) so like an emblem of the mysterious ratio involved in having and being. There is a certain asymmetry to parenting. The children are not yours. But you are theirs. Sweet Honey in the Rock, the acappella group, on their Good News album, have a piece with lyrics from  Kalil Gibran’s The Prophet. The lyrics invite us to consider a untangling the relation of belonging from possession “You can strive to be like them / But you cannot make them [the children] just like you / Strive to be like them […]” And there is an uncertain symmetry: kidz with Weez!’

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