no such thing as reason

when I want to reach
the unreachable

man in a yellow cab
leaving town all day long
leaving me and her and
all who care

when I think about "us"
or when we held hands
or when we named her
or when we looked
together
in the mirror

or saw her hair for the first time
emerging from me

because I don't want to remember
red scraping cutting words
and his impatience
with everything from the internet
to his shoes

and reason has no place in this poem

because I almost forgot myself
being a mother to his child
listening to him

because there is a stench in
his yard, behind his house,
under his bed,
and I didn't make it

but I did smell it
like it smelled good
and I took it home and wallowed
like a happy dog in it

and there is no such thing as reason
thinking of him

Here We Are in a Recent Pic!

the "genius baby" list!

I wrote a list today of things that Izzy has learned over the past month (She'll be 11 months tomorrow). It was enormous!

Highlights:
-she blows kisses

-she dances (knees bending, arms flapping wildly, hands clapping), but has to hold on or be held to do so

-knows how to drink out of ANYTHING...water bottle, sippy cup, regular cup, plastic bottle, Camelbak! and straw

-can pet the cat and dog gently with open hand

-shares food with cat and dog and anyone who is around!

-can brush her hair (and mine!)

-can brush her teeth

-opens and closes cabinets, doors and drawers-she loooves the Tupperware cabinet!

-knows how to help put her arms in and out of sleeves, but hates putting on pants (hehe)

-can feed self with spoon...messily of course

-she is very close to walking!! (can stand on her own if she forgets no one is helping :)

Be Still

God gently rid me of my fear.

Something so comforting in the abusive words, the ride of addiction, hearing his voice, the lies and knowing at least he’s still alive.

Seeing his unshaven face, thinking I can hold his heart in my hands, like his face, and make it clean and new.

He told me, “You’re not making this easy.” I wanted to explode.

And every time I see our daughter, every time I hug her and feed her and rock her and watch her sleep, I think of him, not doing those things.

And if I join my thoughts to God’s I lose sight of him, and am afraid I’m abandoning him.

Forgetting that being still is the only option, that I won’t change him, that any doing for him is doing for naught.

I want to fill the stillness.

Being alone with God is hard sometimes. It requires silence.

Silence seems useless, but when I’m in the noise, I die, over and over again with him.