What the Sky Said

Teeth

Yesterday, she cut her third tooth, and today it rains and rains. (So sharp and white, the glare, the windows.) Years ago, I dreamed my teeth fell out while I was standing in line at the grocery store, that I coughed and when I looked into my hand I found them: shiny, bone-like. I remember feeling terribly embarrassed of them and shoving them deep into my pockets. These days my dreams are quick and panicked, and I seem to remember all of them because I never get past them in sleep: I hover at the edge, like I've rolled up my blue jeans and am just sitting by the shore; I don't go any further than that; too afraid, I guess, that I won't hear Eva if she cries. I've been thinking of her growing up, how she'll lose these teeth, how we'll joke about doorknobs and strings and taking bites of apples, how she'll have dreams that she could never recount to me, dreams she won't even recall. The rain will stop. (I think it already has.) But now this: more glare through the windows; my hand absentmindedly touching her forehead, forever checking for fever; my finger reaching into her mouth and pressing on her gums. Teeth, I say. Teeth.

What to Do this Saturday

Come to Prema Yoga
at 6 p.m.

Eat these:

Drink this:

Listen to these:

Original Fairy Tales
by

ADA LIMÓN

Sanjana Nair

Kristin Dombek

& me.

There will also be a raffle of manicures, Pilates sessions, massages, dresses, plants, toys,
Italian meals, books, and much, much more.
All to support:
this.

Hope to see you there!

How to Wile a Day Away II

First, forgive yourself for misspelling "wile" several days ago
(that should take until well after lunch).

Then, read someone else's love letters:
go here.

A Divine Afternoon

1 napping baby
1 scoop homemade egg salad
1 cold Diet Dr Pepper
the sun slanting (///) through the blinds
Miles on the stereo
first day of fall

Day 303

O Evabird, somehow Day 300 slipped by without a 1000 pink balloons to celebrate. I guess that's how it happens: the days get more and more slippery; fall keeps coming, year after year. All week I watched yellow school buses and knee-socked girls, and I imagined how, not so long from now, you'll be running to catch your own bus.

Already you're teaching me. Just yesterday, you fell backwards down a few stairs, and I picked you up, so sure that you were hurt, so sure that you needed me, only to have you wail more. Finally, I put you back on the steps, and you stopped crying. You were crying, I realized, not because you were scared or in pain, but because the stairs had been taken from you.

You, my little love, are funnier and smarter and sweeter every day; every day you become even more of who you've always been. Aw, 303, the day we saw a flock of white balloons flying through the blue. It's hard for me to imagine that 304 could be any better.

How to Wile a Day Away

Courtesy, unironically, of my brother.
It appears he's not really a (word) hater.
Go:
here.

11-384-2531