I have supermom ears when it comes to the sound of a child that needs to throw up. The slightest groan or stirring will jolt me out of sleep into a hyper-alert state – ready to grab said child and fly him/her to the bathroom. Last night I jumped up a few times… Ready ready ready. I told myself I was being paranoid because after throwing up a few days ago, he’s been fine, eating normally, and playing like usual.
By the fourth time I jumped up, he already knew what I was going to ask him before I even asked, “Mom, I don’t need to barf!” So I laid back down and then…
Yes, those capital letters are the sound of him suddenly vomiting all over the bed. I lept up, grabbed him, and aimed the rest on the rug-less floor – much easier to clean. Then mom power-mode kicked in to override the sleepiness. I washed him up, scrubbed our sleeping area, disinfected everything, laundered the bedding, showered, dragged the spare bed into the living room, and carried sleeping children to their new spots. As I wiped up the mess of half-digested black beans, I was tempted to cry for comfort to the sleeping Brahma bear, but instead I did all of the above like a ninja so he could get adequate sleep for work, my expression of love. Lastly, I opened a window in the bedroom to air it out, and exhaled a sigh of relief.
Finally, at 3:00am, I climbed into our new bed on the living room floor and cozied up with my little “bubbadubs”. As I drifted to dreamland, I thought about getting up to go outside and peek at the blood moon, but instead I yawned and closed my eyes, absorbing the last hours left before my alarm.
“Nor, I fancy, has he ever had much time for thinking, never had time to let reflection drip its poison into his wine.”
- From Doktor Glas by Söderberg
To everyone who keeps parading around the hallmark-esque internet-sensation quote that Einstein supposedly said about living life as if everything is a miracle – this contains what he REALLY said: Continue reading
It’s the autumn of “love”. My hands unfold.
The surprise inside – it wraps and holds,
Bending the curve and style of your smile.
You gave me a meter… and I stole a mile.
by Radhika Ramana
“…that would be like blaming the yummy ice cream for being so tasty that you had to eat it.” -Anonymous [On shifting responsibility for one's actions.]
“One wants to be loved, in lack thereof admired, in lack thereof feared, in lack thereof loathed and despised. One wants to instill some sort of emotion in people. The soul trembles before emptiness and desires contact at any price.”
- From Doktor Glas by Söderberg
In soap I use to wash my face
Is where they etched their fading trace.
My tainted hands, now clean and free-
I rubbed away their hold on me.
The dirt, it clings onto the soap,
And that is how I cut their rope.
Worn away with every layer
The lines are almost no-more there.
[But you, I see you, in the dark.
In stone, is where you left your mark.]
Dew drops beading on the stem.
Lemmings diving off the end.
Separating at the seams-
Like milk of youth, stripped of cream.
Fly entangled in my web-
Writhe and struggle. Soon you’re dead.
I really only liked your taste.
But couldn’t carry all your waste.
I see that look there on your face-
The way your eyes are changing pace.
Credits empty. Nearly spent.
Sink it right into my gut-
I’m tired of this endless rut.
Let me listen one more time?
Self-inflicted death by rhyme.
I’ve found, from pain and ponders, long,
Words, seldom weak, are often strong.
They may, in certain situations,
Win her love, or crumble nations.
Sharpened arrows, scented flowers-
Two among their varied powers.
Mind your tongue’s end destination,
Cold or soothing end sensation.
Wisely use these lettered foes,
Or be they friends, if well it goes.
Say her name, but lie, do not.
Succeed in truth….. or don’t get caught.
She could feel the scarlet tinge consuming her pallid face and taste the bitter residue of disdain. Like a waif lost in winter’s icy palm, she shivered. Her scattered curls of raven’s breast shook first with frustration, then twice as liquid madness filled her veins. And at last, her eyelids lifted, long lashes licking the sky, and all who stood within her magnificent gaze, were left a smoldering heap of ash.