The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

~X~

The wee one got water in her ear yesterday after a playful bathtub romp. She came down to see me afterward, sparkling and shiny, and I smoothed her long hair as I watched the t.v in front of us. She mentioned that her ear hurt, that she had water in it, but she's small and often dramatizes things so I gave her the motherly 'Let me see', kissed her on the head and decided it was better. An hour later she was frantic with the pain, wringing her hands and babbling incoherently while sobbing so hard that I was covered in her tears. I nearly broke down myself, because it's a mother's worst nightmare, to witness her child in any sort of pain. We tried a variety of things, like trying to absorb the water with cotton, getting her to shake her head back and forth, having her blow her nose hard so that her head might feel as though it were exploding. None of it worked. Just when I was ready to bundle her up and cart her off to the hospital, she drifted into sleep, but not without unconcious moans and wails which would rouse me every hour, on the hour. This morning, though, she claimed she was healed, and wanted to go to school. Though she looked quite pale, and was red around the eyes, she seemed okay in every other respect, so off we went. I am anticipating a very tired little girl in a few hours who may have burst into inexplicable tears a few times during the day. I really hope the teacher doesn't consider me daft for sending her. I can't imagine what it must be like taking care of sixteen three to four-year-olds for an entire day, particularly when they haven't slept properly.

God, it's gorgeous out there. I should be doing yard work really, because last year the snow came early and we were caught with our leaves down. As a result, I currently have about ten bags of last year's leaves in the garage because this city doesn't have 'green' pick up more than twice a year. We missed it last year because most of the leaves were covered in snow by the time pick up was meant to happen. You would think the city would do more to encourage environmentally friendly practices, rather than have people hide their leaves in green garbage bags just so they can make sure their waste is hauled away. Not that I did that.

It's a morning for love, I think. If I were able, as in not currently experiencing one of the lowlights of the feminine experience, I would be wishing for M. to get back into bed with me, both of us naked and warm under the covers, while listening to the leaves rustle on the trees in the yard. I have been seduced by afternoon sex, it would seem. Much better in many ways than nighttime sex, in that we can see one another, and the energy is still there. When she's at school, there is no chance of a little head bobbing into the room, rounding the bed until she meets up with the surprised looks of her parents. So far, mercifully, we've never been discovered in flagrante delicto by her, but as she advances in age, I am certain that it's only a matter of time. Also, there is something decadent about passion in the daylight. When you're young and in the beginnings of a new relationship, without the bother of shared bills and household chores, or the neverending intrusion of children, you do it whenever and wherever possible. You don't realize how amazing that freedom is, and a lot of people take it for granted. Then, you have a mortgage, and an almost four-year-old, and you argue about things like putting too much coffee in the coffeemaker which leads to a pouty afternoon that bleeds into evening, and suddenly any kind of sex seems distant at best. The other day, when I suggested he join me in the bedroom if he 'wasn't busy or anything', I was surprised when he ran into the room and jumped on the bed. It started off with guilty giggles, before quieting to gentle kissing, and moving on to the kind of exploration which is more exciting in the light. I am hopeful that this might be more than a one-time thing. I might like to make it semi-regular.

I have taken it upon myself to write a short story. Don't ask me why, because I haven't a clue. I think one of the reasons I stick to poetry is because it doesn't feel like as much of a commitment as a story does. I can get my ideas out quickly, and by stringing a few simple words together to form an idea, a flash of colour emerges without the tediousness of writing something longer, more involved. Then, it occurred to me that I should give it a whirl, because poetry is my thing, sure, but why not stretch a bit? I wrote it, it seems average, but I've learned that there's such a thing as a first draft, and I've decided to refer to this work as such.

I am very tired, and though I have more things on my mind, it seems best to leave off here --->X