Resolve

 

This morning, my six-year-old daughter asked me “What’s a resolution?” My flip response was going to be, “Something Mommy never does because she always fails.” Instead, I told her, “It’s a promise you make to yourself to do something you should do, or to stop doing something you shouldn’t be doing.” I swear I saw the little light bulb over her head as she said “So, I should have a resolution to eat more healthy food?” I told her yes, in fact that’s something probably everyone should do. “It might be hard though,” she said, thinking. Then: “But I when you do something that’s hard to do, you feel really happy about it.”

This optimism and sound logic is just one of many reasons why my kids teach me as much (or probably more) than I teach them. I rarely make resolutions, because when I inevitably fail to achieve those lofty goals, made at the bright, hopeful dawn of each new year, I end up feeling pretty crappy. Why try if you’re going to fail, right? Except, this is a terrible lesson to teach my children. As the supposed adults in the house, my husband and I are constantly preaching the “it’s better to try and fail than to never try at all” philosophy. On firmer, Yoda-inspired days we might even give them the ol’ “Do or do not, there is no try.”

This week my daughters went from never wearing a pair of skates, to gliding around the ice rather confidently, in a matter of hours. They fell down many times. They got up. Their noses were red, their toes were cold, their elbows were bruised, and still they didn’t want to leave. They keep asking when they can go again. Yet there was me next to them on the ice…in my sturdy boots. Why? Because I can’t skate. I tried, feebly, when I was a kid and when I didn’t instantly succeed, I became soured on the whole experience. Now, here I am, with older knees and less resistance to the cold, watching my daughters learn to skate and wishing I could skate along beside them. Wanting to do things with, and for, your kids is pretty strong motivation. Maybe even reason to make a resolution or two.

2015 was an emotionally exhausting year for me. My Mom died in February, and though it wasn’t unexpected, it was still extremely difficult. But one of the many important lessons my Mom taught me, both through words and through action, is that you have to keep going. Keep trying. If my Mom had given up, or thought, “Hell, I’m dying anyway, so why try to live?” she never would have met her second grandchild, or seen her son get married. She never would’ve witnessed how the family she helped build could grow stronger and closer in the face of crisis. Every day she lived was a gift to us, but also a gift to herself. I believe my Mom died with the knowledge that she lived a good life. Of course, like everyone, she surely had regrets, but likely not too many. My Mom embodied the word resolve.

I am optimistic that 2016 will be a great year. Many aspects of 2015 were great too. Losing someone is the best reminder of just how important love is, and just how many people there are to be thankful for. This week, standing on the cold ice while my daughters learned to skate, I was flush with gratitude. I am inspired by them, and by my Mom, to do more. To be better. To try. For the first time in 15 years, I’m going to make a list of resolutions. Number 1, learn to skate. Number 2, tell everyone I love how important they are in my life. Number 3, don’t let fear stop me from trying…anything.

Poem: Apology To My Mom

Responding to the “apology poem” prompt on Poetic Asides today. Was surprised to have something so personal pour out, but I know well enough not to turn off the tap when something starts to flow.

Apology To My Mom

I’m sorry it’s been so hard
to find you in my poems
now that you’re gone.

I’m sorry that I can’t be more
sentimental or pay tribute
with sweet words.

I’m sorry that I noticed
last month, how I stopped
gnawing my nails after you died.

I’m sorry that I started biting
them again, once
I realized I’d stopped.

I’m not sorry that in daylight,
with my daughters,
I love to talk about you.

But I am sorry that at night,
I have to push you down, out
so that I can sleep.

I’m sorry I can’t slice an
apple without thinking of
making strudel with you.

Sorry because I might
never make strudel
again.

I’m sorry your last years
were your worst,
and you knew it.

I’m sorry that as much as
I miss you, need you,
I never wish you back.

 

Fun with PoemBot

I am having entirely too much fun this morning with BookThug’s PoemBot.

As the page explains, it’s a neat tool where you can collaborate with BookThug authors to create your own unique poem. You simply type a line of  text , choose your poem type and length and click “create poem.” Then watch as PoemBot magically conjures a poem using your text along with text taken from published BookThug authors.

Here are the 3-line, 4-line and 5-line poems generated from my line “cracked teacup.” I must admit, I do wish I had actually written the 4-line poem.

cracked teacup
as for the allowances of kings
all he could see was the sky and snow falling

cracked teacup
split skin
fantasy no matter
we’re just trying to see things

cracked teacup
retire when you’re ready, great fairs to tahiti
when did things begin to lose their cohesion?
when a soldier dies and i don’t care anymore
as different stages of imma-blow-yer-fkin-shack-down

While I would never use one of these poems in entirety of course, because plagiarism, I do think it could be a useful tool for experimentation when I’m stuck on a particular word or line . A great way to leave the familiar roads I travel in my own writing. So thanks for this BookThug! And did I mention it’s also really fun?

Poetry prompt unification

I decided to smoosh two prompts together this week. Below is what came of the Haiku Horizons prompt “over” and the Poetic Asides‘ “watching the world go by” poem.

waiting for her

another classic

over the radio

*****

over the radio

notes revive

fading memories

*****

fading memories

her red lips

smiling

*****

smiling

through their long walk

over the hill

Poem: This Morning

The prompt over at Poetic Asides today was to write a “little” poem. We’ve got some separation anxiety going on at my place this week, from the “littles” and the “bigs,” so this came to mind pretty quickly.

This Morning

 

You seem too small to be thrust into this swirling world,

when all I want is to carry you like a pebble in my palm.

 

As the school bus rumbles down our fog-heavy street

I wonder if it’s harder for you,

wiping your tears before the driver sees,

to act out this big-girl scene.

 

Or harder for me, to smile wide,

and shove my hands deeper in my pockets,

so I won’t hold you back.

Poem: Toy Pitch

A response inspired today by the prompt for “gripe” poems at Poetic Asides and an article I just read about gender labelled toys. This is something I rant about regularly to anyone who will listen. Makes me nostalgic for my own childhood play, when my Lego came in all colours and my Strawberry Shortcake miniatures rode around on Hot Wheels.

Toy Pitch

Imagine a voluptuous blonde

garbed in mean-business black boots

and a camouflage suit.

This Barbie is battle-ready, baby.

Hair flowing

Gun cocked

This collector’s edition

here for a limited time

to reinforce every myth

you’ve ever learned about

toys, toys for girls and boys.

Wrap her tight in two boxes:

bright pink for the little ladies,

dark blue for the men-in-training

and double our sales.

Don’t forget to shelve them

in the right spots,

designated by hue,

by gender,

by shame for any kid

who dares to venture

into the wrong aisle.