mimsy and outgrabe

Hello. I have been a frenetic ball of stress this week, bouncing between my computer and my children in an attempt to keep the my course outlines clothed and fed and the children ready for my first day back at school next week.  Wait, that doesn't sound right. Between little sleep and little time to prep for classes I've been marvelously bitchy. It's poems like this one , which arrived in my email inbox this morning, that help me laugh a little and take a deep breath and realize I might be able to pull this thing off. This thing being, you know, adulthood. (Consequently, I like Jordan Davis' little note that accompanies his poem as well.) It's also a good reminder that I need to interact with my kids more, instead of trying to distract them with TV while I get shit done. I am one massive parenting #fail this month. Little Miss Talkalot and I are going to be writing our August Poetry Postcard Projects into September. But we'll finish the task! I

A windmill This poem might be my favorite.

That says "Niko" in the heart. Awww.

A devil, and the subject of today's poem Today's poem/flash fiction was a long one! Well, long for Little Miss Talkalot.

And now I'm fucking Hallmark. Well, I'm not FUCKING Hallmark, I'm WRITING Hallmark-like ver. . . you get the picture.

More drafts like Mama's. Love, love her drawings. Improved penmanship.

I'm really digging her artwork lately. Her penmanship, on the other hand, leaves something to be desired. School will take care of that, I think. (I'm too lazy to really go all Tiger Mom on her.) "Mom, look -- I did what you do when you write poems." Ohmygodsocute.

She asked for a topic; I gave her "the beach"; she decided on "seasons"

A stamp of a bird on a branch, but it's kinda difficult to tell. The Boy provided the artwork for my postcard. Just in case you couldn't tell.

  "Tree of Life" by Mark Ryden

This poem . And then I feel better. (Not less tired, but better.)

"California Brown Bear" by Mark Ryden

Little Miss Talkalot and I are now about 6 days behind schedule. We're moving slowly, but at least we're moving. And speaking of moving, I'm in the process of moving all of my stuff from my office on the central campus of Stuffolk to the eastern campus . . . as well as taking care of various responsibilities for our union's New Member program and the Creative Writing Festival. On the home front, we've been moving The Boy into his older sister's room, and turning it into a livable space for both little people. There are a LOT of toys and pieces of furniture to contend with. So my attention's a little divided these days. Also, I feel really ambivalent about my move to the new campus. Maybe it's because I've got so much going on that it's difficult for the realization to sink in  . . . but I think it's because I was really very happy working with everyone in my old department, and I'm finding it difficult to imagine NOT being a par

Why is it that the minute life slowed down (The Leadership Torture Camp Conference ended) things fell apart? And by "things fell apart," I mean that I caught a nasty cold -- WTF August? -- and our Poetry Postcard Project was derailed. We're still writing, but the post cards have to be sent. Here's what went in the mail over the weekend, that I didn't have time to put up on the blog until today: Mark Ryden's "Logging Truck" Little Miss Talkalot and Nana forgot to take a photo of her poem & postcard before they mailed it on Friday, while I was in the clutches of the last hours of Leadershipness. I tried finding the draft in her journal but there are also lyrics for pop songs in there, a la the Disney Radio machine, and it's tough to say what's intended for a poem and what's intended for a song. So I'm just going to let this one go and post my stuff.

Fun with stamps from, yet again, the fabulous Ms. L.M. (She really is the best gift-giver.) Don't let her fool you. She's really just excited about her back-to-school clothes. Also, let's work on her spelling of August, shall we? The Apology by Mark Ryden I'm not sure I have enough "wisdom" in me to keep up this conceit for all of August.

More creative spelling! But I like her similes. Um, disclaimer: We're not religious. "Goodbye Bear" by Mark Ryden