savagemama

I’m starting to call Lucille Luce (pronounced loose) as in loose cannon because, frankly, that’s what she is these days.

The other day we were at a friend’s house and she insisted on wearing a diaper that belonged to my friend’s six-month-old daughter. It was two sizes too small for Lucille but she screamed until I put it on her. Then Lucille wanted to wear one of the baby’s onesies. It was a 6-12 month short-sleeved situation that made my two-year-old look, as another friend once described her daughter, like a circus performer. But Lucille wouldn’t take it off.
Read More »

Driving west across Washington in the middle of the night last Wednesday I got a chance to do a little thinking.

My days are packed, it seems, with put your shoes on please. Did you get your lunch? Where’s sister? Please don’t take your pants off again. We have to wear a diaper. Please leave the lid on your smoothie. Yes, you can ride your bike but I have to be able to see you. Throw in a hey, how’s it going to Seth somewhere along the way and time to write shoe-horned in the tiny empty spaces and there’s not much time for anything else, especially time to sit and think.
Read More »

Eliza is going to walk down the aisle this weekend at Seth’s sister Robi’s wedding wearing Converse All-Stars. With flames on the sides.

A few weeks ago Robi asked if Eliza would be in the wedding, walk with her grandparents carrying the rings. We told Robi yes knowing that we had a sell on our hands. I wasn’t worried about selling the being-in-the-wedding part or the walking-with –your-grandparents part. We told her what an honor it is to be the ring bearer and that she’d get to walk with Grandma Maggie and Babu (her grandfather). She was psyched and I could see she felt important. The part I didn’t want to tell her had to do with the dress she’d have to wear and the subsequent dress up shoes that would go along with it.

“And, I mean, you’ll wear a dress that you pick out and it’ll be fun,” I said casually without looking at her.

Eliza stopped what she was doing. “But I don’t wear dresses,” she said.
Read More »

I have 80 pounds of peaches sitting on my front porch. Excessive? Maybe, but when I bit into the first one tonight I couldn’t help but smile.

The T-shirt read: You can squeeze our peaches but you can’t beat our meat.

It was my first job. I worked at a one part gas station, one part fruit stand, one part butcher shop in my hometown. Luckily, I never actually had to wear one of those shirts. They were mostly lore among the other teenagers I worked with but I did once see one. There it was – a saying – a little lewd, a little funny but splashed across a yellow shirt with giant, faded peaches on it.
Read More »

I’ve got that old feeling.

The one that comes from very little sleep.

I pulled myself out of bed yesterday morning, my bones heavy with fatigue and started on the to-do list I’d been writing in my head for the past few hours.

Check temperatures. Lucille had Tylenol last, Eliza Advil.
Give medicine.
Shower?
Call preschool, tell them we won’t be there for the first day.
Call friend who was to take care of Lucille.
Go to doctor.
Read More »