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Sotto Voce I

How was the sick day today?

Mostly okay.  The boys bounced a little mid-afternoon and played with toys.  

How about the older kids?  

Deacon and Ward seem to be fine but Hopr slept a lot today.   I hope she isn’t coming down with the boys’ virus.

She seemed okay at dinner.  No signs of a cold.  Could be a growth spurt of some sort?

I guess so.  I hope so!

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Called for dinner

Sometimes it felt like dinner preparation could be illustrated by some whacked-out algorithm involving multiple levels of human skill, human height, and human volume.

Either parent might prepare the meal and when possible the complementary parent would bark orders to the troops:

Deke, silverware!

Ward, beverages and cups!

Boys!   Come to the table!

Hope!  You are on hand-washing then serving.

Hope?  

….

Hoooopppppeee!!?!!!

Where is that girl?

Boys?  Go check on your sister then come to the table!

A few minutes pass before re swirling chaos of little boys comes barreling down stairs as a unit of light and sound exclaiming

She was sleeping!  Don’t worry!  We woke her up!


Rip Van Something

The girl was indeed sleeping, had been all day, through the rain, through Lincoln log castles, through the static, pre-recorded “workout time.”  Through the halls of the warm, quilt-like chaos of the house…through dinner sounds…through a series of dreams in which she attempted to go to swim practice only to find the pool drained, down for repairs, or mysteriously occupied by sharks.

She slept for hours and days and years and in and out of countries.  Slept as though all those fairy tales told by parents to sleepy little children could be true.  Like princesses could really be put into enchanted slumber.  She slept without coming up for air.

On the way back

she stops in Deacon’s room to investigate the percussive sound of some sort of shin-dig?

Opening the door she sees her oldest son, seemingly engrossed in his father’s Handyman’s Digest while an class full of be-leotarded enthusiasts shimmied and lunged to club music.

What are you doing?  She asked wryly waving toward the recorded and ignored dancers.

Without looking at the screen he waved toward if languidly.

Oh that?  Raining out.  Workout time.

She knew better than to pursue the imbalances in expenditures of calories.

Where is your little sister?

Duh-know.  Sleeping?

So tell me about the house

what do you have in your mouth?

She asks the younger child

He rolls it to the side of his check and grins

Revealing a planet-colored bouncy ball

Busted! She exclaims playfully, adding an unspoken reminder that ointment should be placed on his upper lip where the cold was beginning to take its toll in the mimicry of a handlebar mustache.

Turning to his older brother she inspected his Lincoln log castle.

and see this?  This holds up the walls and the ceiling…and see here?  The windows.

Can you take a picture?

Yes.  She says, stationing her camera above it just as Bouncy Ball swoops in to photo-bomb his brother’s master project.

Under the weather

In a  storm-god gesture of sympathy

it rained all day

as the little boys played with Lincoln logs and bouncy balls 

their sister slept and slept

Not yet arousing suspicion 

about the change in her

Inside-out 

Already begun

Hijacking this blog

today we did Charles Bukowski and Greg Kinnear side by side with a crash course about computers and a video about four words you should use a lot-

free/you/instantly/because.

Oh, yeah, and Sylvia Plath

As the neglected clothes spin in the dryer-Virginia Woolf.  A room of one’s own seems to be a device of one’s own.  Which for me is this blog, these blogs, on this middle-aged iPhone 

My room is a phone.  Which I am hijacking for….

Made up story/not based on real peeps/all rights reserved

So here we go….