savagemama

Yesterday I ran into a friend downtown. We were both on our bikes and going in different directions yet circled back to, well, love up on each other. This friend kisses on the lips. And, as Eliza said when she was about two-years-old, she has “big na nas.” Eliza actually said, “he big na nas, mama!” pointing right at them. My friend was not offended or embarrassed, she was more delighted than anything. She just giggled and gently corrected Eliza, “she, baby, she big na nas!”
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My wifey, Marge, she quietly does amazing things. And, Sunday, she was not the only one. She and about 1,300 other people ran a really long way for reasons only they know and, watching them, I was so, so moved.
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Yesterday I loaded our children into the car and drove them to preschool camp. Lucille takes her shoes off the second her butt hits the car seat so I was fishing her pink Crocs out from the backseat, moving old newspapers, water bottles and half-dressed baby dolls out of the way in the process. When I finally found her shoes I went to slip one on her outstretched foot and stopped cold. The bottom of her foot was nearly black. Her little red toenails were covered with dirt from the previous night’s powwow dancing and as I looked up to her knees, her legs were dotted with old stickers. I realized her hair smelled like sweat and I wasn’t even sure she was wearing panties.
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Two days before Lucille’s third birthday last week she spiked a fever. We’ve stopped taking her temperature because 106 degree readings live and digital do little to help when she’s feeling so sick. They don’t help me, they don’t help her. She was burning up. I didn’t need a thermometer to tell me that.

She woke from a nap hot to the touch and asking to watch a movie.

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