sweetbriarpoet
Flower Fortune- Sweetbriar: Poetry and fragrance.
familyI haven't been a sore loser in a long time.
Not since that long ago football game when a girl blindsided me
and tripped me face first into the salty mud and grass.
I've been so bogged down with work. Work with the children, of course, which doesn't exhaust me so much as these papers I've been having to write. Paper after paper on evolutionary theories, on anthropoligical theory, and one fun one on the nature and common themes in Russian literature. I've also been trying to study French on the side: though wonderful with English, other languages seem unable to take hold within me. I've been learning with Chris and Tuck, who both decided they wanted to learn French when they heard the man on the CD recite fluent and flawless prose. They're learning numbers and the alphabet now, but at only five, they are having trouble with it. I don't want them to confuse the english alphabet with French, so perhaps I'll take a different approach and just speak French to them and teach them the answers.
Harry thinks this is all a big mistake. Their teacher will hate this, Paige, he rolls his eyes at me, but I can secretely see he is proud of our boys. Already learning another language? And because they wanted to themselves! I become increasingly more surprised with them. Rev brings Trinity over to see if she'll take an interest in learning (she's been having problems at school lately.) But she only sits with my son Oliver and pretends that they are playing house. I promise Rev that children are different, and he shouldn't compare. But little Biddy (my pet name for her) keeps popping up for dinner every night.
I've seen my "Edward" today, but pleaded exhaustion. I don't have the strength for you right now, I said after our class together. Don't tell me, he answered laughing, you've finally taken an interest in housework. I, too, laughed at that. Harry asks that you come over for supper, sometime, I pulled the door open to exit. I'm not doing anything tonight, "Edward" said, though I detected a malicious gleam in his eye. He didn't expect me to accept this proposal. All right, come at seven if you like. And here we are. 1:19, sitting with the children while they nap, writing in my blog, and waiting to have time to go to the market. I suppose I'll have to make this meal.
When I told Harry that "Edward" had accepted his invitation he said, Good, we can go over our golf game. And I noticed no insinuations behind his madness. Are you sure? I asked. We are still good friends, Harry answered. I could detect no lie or uncomfortableness in his voice.
And still I sit here, wondering what I've done.
At least it will be an adventure, I hear my mother-in-law saying to me in the back of my head.
Quite, though stodgy and grey,
a certain calmness takes over a period room.
Perfectly taken away and shoved around like cups of milk and
cookie crumbs.
Not since that long ago football game when a girl blindsided me
and tripped me face first into the salty mud and grass.
I've been so bogged down with work. Work with the children, of course, which doesn't exhaust me so much as these papers I've been having to write. Paper after paper on evolutionary theories, on anthropoligical theory, and one fun one on the nature and common themes in Russian literature. I've also been trying to study French on the side: though wonderful with English, other languages seem unable to take hold within me. I've been learning with Chris and Tuck, who both decided they wanted to learn French when they heard the man on the CD recite fluent and flawless prose. They're learning numbers and the alphabet now, but at only five, they are having trouble with it. I don't want them to confuse the english alphabet with French, so perhaps I'll take a different approach and just speak French to them and teach them the answers.
Harry thinks this is all a big mistake. Their teacher will hate this, Paige, he rolls his eyes at me, but I can secretely see he is proud of our boys. Already learning another language? And because they wanted to themselves! I become increasingly more surprised with them. Rev brings Trinity over to see if she'll take an interest in learning (she's been having problems at school lately.) But she only sits with my son Oliver and pretends that they are playing house. I promise Rev that children are different, and he shouldn't compare. But little Biddy (my pet name for her) keeps popping up for dinner every night.
I've seen my "Edward" today, but pleaded exhaustion. I don't have the strength for you right now, I said after our class together. Don't tell me, he answered laughing, you've finally taken an interest in housework. I, too, laughed at that. Harry asks that you come over for supper, sometime, I pulled the door open to exit. I'm not doing anything tonight, "Edward" said, though I detected a malicious gleam in his eye. He didn't expect me to accept this proposal. All right, come at seven if you like. And here we are. 1:19, sitting with the children while they nap, writing in my blog, and waiting to have time to go to the market. I suppose I'll have to make this meal.
When I told Harry that "Edward" had accepted his invitation he said, Good, we can go over our golf game. And I noticed no insinuations behind his madness. Are you sure? I asked. We are still good friends, Harry answered. I could detect no lie or uncomfortableness in his voice.
And still I sit here, wondering what I've done.
At least it will be an adventure, I hear my mother-in-law saying to me in the back of my head.
Quite, though stodgy and grey,
a certain calmness takes over a period room.
Perfectly taken away and shoved around like cups of milk and
cookie crumbs.
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