Simple Bear necessities

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Four bears at home

with all their bear stuffs

warm and fuzzy

the little ones especially

a snuggle sure enough

is a simple bear necessity.

 

On a rainy day

with muddy towels and tippy-toes

plays one baby bear

and cries the other, out of sheer perplexity

to grow together yet not entwined

is a simple bear necessity.

 

When wandering uphill

and not carefree

with burdened dusty shoes

In face of too much complexity

for the sake of longevity

A NAP

is a simple bear necessity.

 

On days of winter sunshine

light and gold

to seek solitude

and question their notorious brevity

to sulk when the world says happy

to give in to vain vanity

is a simple bear necessity.

 

For days that do not end

and those that do

in a huff, a puff , a blink

there is no tested remedy

but warm food and a thought to think

for to march on bear paws steadily

is the absolute simple bear necessity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pursuit of laziness

leads to happiness, for one thing.

Sometimes, nah, often I get rather cross at Big Bear for being too lazy. Every Monday , to tell the truth. The one day he is home, poor guy and all he really wants is to be in bed longer and keep me there too. He wouldn’t mind at all if there weren’t any food, we can always eat slices of cheese and dunk cookies in milk.

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It has reached proverbial heights (or lows) that right when I give in to his warm morning snuggles and am just about to nod off myself, one of our kids wakes up too sprightly that he must start to cry. I have to be off my feet just then , give comfort and arrange a quick snack. That starts it! My lawn mower of a brain, in defense of labor. My whipper-snipper hands ready to squeeze dry a day of all its slow pleasures. Rinse repeat.

I will go on! Proud of my little shiny happy people bouncing about, breakfast on stove and Big Bear with a childlike mouth slightly open, sleeping still on a delicious bed. From bed to kitchen without the transition of sitting on the edge while toes wait for knees to rise from slumber queers my thinking. I start to reckon what a perfect little bear , big bear is.On a holiday, he sleeps early, wakes up late , eats all that I make or don’t. What a wonderful unreal child he is.

One of my real children will make a face at whatever is there for breakfast and I will somehow force in a few spoonfuls. I will go on!  Clean up when the new book I started to read feels terribly ignored. Big Bear will call me to sit with him, relax. Lie in bed for the children are fed.  And me? I’ ll look at the trash he hasn’t taken out and think him lazy though my legs will quietly be thanking him.

overcrowded

I ‘d say we need a vacation,  we need to go out.  A surprised feminist tone saying” I have to do all that has to be done” ,I hear myself. Big Bear proves resistant to all my thoughts on  virtue and utility . As I look at him while he is ‘bearly’ awake trying to pursue another reverie, suddenly enlightened he tells me , ” we are here.” His laziness brings my brain respite, nourishes my perpetual poverty of rest. I wish to sip tea, stare blankly ,completely content void of all content , enlightened and still sipping. I begin to yearn to deliberately do nothing.

I shouldn’t be cross when I can learn to slow down. Some things can wait for tomorrow. Or the next day. Big Bear rescues me. Time to set time free.

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Around these parts

The breeze is broom-y as I type and, for aught I know, everything will be suspiciously still in a moment as if it never did stir. It is only slowly registering that this is home. It amazes me to recall, several times a day, “this is home.”

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I have been feverish , with all my muscles aching. It takes long to get familiar and what was I thinking? It will be laid back, piled pillows and rugs and flowers in vases. I have somehow missed that honeymoon period of affections and have been obsessively worrying over cleanly swept entry halls and a fully stocked kitchen.Only (thankfully) without a print gown and an apron.

The artist’s eye, as I know it, is a condition. It renders you slow. You sit staring into the depths of your new mahogany polished table , start to follow the valleys and rifts of the grain and position your cup of tea, just so you can see the flaming yellow flowers on it as if rising out of one of those crooked dales. Your kid tumbles at this moment ,with his cup of milk of course, and you have got reality to pay attention to, but a part of your mind is plagued if the contours of the cup are diffusing into the nature of wood just right. A few minutes later though , you’ll sweep the cup off the table, tea grown cold and dump it into the sink.

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A house of one’s own is a difficult possession, even if it has a linen closet and flowers to match the curtains. For it to be home, it needs a lot of coaxing. For it to be laid back, it needs a  lot of sweating and wearing out.  Its contours diffusing into the nature of our spaces just right. Morning light flushing sleep  out and waking up to jarring superhero stickers on a favorite cupboard and crayon and sticky hands on the mirror glass. It must start somewhere. It is starting to.

For me, it begins with the kitchen and the bathrooms. I need the assurance of sturdy plumbing and smooth flowing drains. With that out-of-the-way, my kitchen painted all white, cabinets and tile, is a striking contrast to my rustic wooden spoons and wicker baskets. I thought I was mature enough to be minimalist but the bohemian in me rises as I dump my cold tea into the sink for the third time. I need a colorful back splash. A Turkish blue and red or plum and indigo to wake me up!I need crystals and pompoms on my window!! I have got to cope with a thousand spills a day after all. I am adding a link in here to Plumb Tile , I was asked if I would do a sponsored post for them. I took it up only because I am in the thick of making the very romantic decisions of what color, what texture , what kind right now. I found that they have a number of designs and brands , even handcrafted tiles ,which are particularly delicious to me , in one place here : Glass tile and stone.

turkish-thoughts

OH! and I did land up on the fantastic idea of just changing the pulls and knobs of old furniture,  little silver baubles as pull-outs for the drawers of a distressed Manor blue painted baby cot would be precious , wouldn’t they? Knobs and pulls

And gold faucets contrasting with stone washed bathroom walls! Bathroom sinks .  A witty Norwegian touch for the times when I want to stay hidden forever.

I love it when I can recreate an expensive look that I have spent precious minutes admiring on Pinterest for much less. Making lifts me from merely eking out an existence. It is an affliction , indeed it is and I want to never be cured.

As I pursue the wistful dreams of an old brass knocker on my front door and a table beautifully laid out for luncheon, I move around with a duster in hand, which by the way stays in the right bottom cabinet of my kitchen, with toddler in tow and the eight year old aiming with my spray bottle at the vivid sunshine. I am grateful. This is home.

Only mommy

 

badcookHe’s here, always there

looking at me

into my nose

uncommonly interested-ly

What’s that? ,with a pat on my new zit

” Don’t worry mommy, you be fine in a bit.”

Time for tea just as I reckon

set in motion hysterics that deafen

rainy

How could you, how could you mommy?

bite into a cookie and keep it fromm-e?

You shouldn’t , you mustn’t ,it’s only propriety

now CARRY me ,ease my anxiety.

bring me juice in a glass with a straw

hurry mommy, no more of this hee -and- haw

Where are my shoes? find my shoes

No, not you daddy, it’s mommy I choose

MOMMY. ONLY MOMMY.

look at me .look into my eyes

says he with a bossy guidance

throws away my book and pretends it to be good ri-d-dance.

Makes a pout-y face, “uh! ridiculous”

a nice touch, just a bit pretentious.

he is an upheaval, a strong force in the universe

the eruption of deep feelings into silly verse

” I need a hug”

” A big hug” says he

from my mommy

ONLY MOMMY.

and then he calls me “pooh baby!”

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Keeping the home

toddler3

is how I spent all of last week. The sound you hear is the reverberating cacophony of doorbells and phones ringing, fragile marked cartons being thrown around as if what is fragile huh!,even relatively?

when does it start to feel like home?
when does it start to feel like home?

We moved in last week. Into our new house, and I can’t say yet , “I love it!”. Hear me out, loving is a process, both baffling and exasperating and in this time of little sleep and too much to do , all I want is to look at some familiar sights and eat a LOT of comfort food. Warming noodles in a cup sounds like punishment though the slurp and the slight fiery tang of cheap food will bring me life. Around here I feel utterly deprived of culinary amusements which is  leading to utter cooking apathy as a direct consequence.

busy-brows

I think deeply about how I should be planning menus and writing grocery lists when I should be sleeping instead, I am scared. I must admit to being completely stubborn , for outrageously opening all of our life packed in boxes all at once and not breathing till everything had its place. That was a most harebrained thing to do, I realize now that my mind is egregiously scattered. When you sit on a floor covered in boxes and kids who are threatening to start their meltdowns any moment now and know not where to start, it is easier to promptly ignore ,”don’t do it all at once” and just do it. If only I had come across short-term storage before, I would have lived more readily out of boxes and would be less overwhelmed. Anyway, more absurd than this is to answer the question ,” so you are all settled now?” I always do find myself saying ,”yes”. Oh! well!

Yet, I am not unhappy. A Mexican corn on the cob with feta and corn will make me happy to bits. A juicy lime on the side will make me roll on the floor, now that we have the space. I was wondering last week if we ll make it . We will, now that I have begun to use my paints and brushes, I know we will.

turkish designs in my bohemian home!

From house to home, it is a complex relationship. Imperfect, moody ,consummate even. That reminds me ,I must get dressed and meet Big Bear for lunch. I hope the kids will be nice and we can dig into a large platter of dumplings and cold beer. I know, I know we ll drink in the day. Just a little. We just shifted. We are excused. We ll take a cab back to this place we are learning to call home.

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