This morning, I put on a sweatshirt before Emma and I took our walk to preschool. She asked for her pink jacket and told me to zip it up before I’d opened the door. Needs rain boots, but then I do too. On our street, she stopped to examine the pumpkins on a neighbors front steps; she’s done that every morning this week. Emma wants to be a butterfly for Halloween, only she doesn’t call it Halloween; Emma wants to be a butterfly, “for the pumkins.” Somewhere, she found a pair of fairy-wings, and she likes to wear them. She twirls and crows, “I so pretty!!”
Emma’s getting ready for Autumn, and the house is too. I can hear the rain ping-pinging on the slats of the air-conditioner. That air conditioner will probably go into the basement this weekend, but today it’s ringing with rain. The sound of one hand clapping is the same as the sound the rain makes as it falls but before it hits anything. I'm not making that up, there is an answer to the question, "what is the sound of one hand clapping?" and that's it. I can't remember how I learned it.
In the next few days, the warm air will start floating up through the vents in the floor. For a day or two it will smell like burning dust. Our biggest blanket will come up from the basement and rest on the couch like the dog only slightly less fuzzy.
Liam’s soccer team has won the three games they have played. Issaiah has scored once in each game, and Alex has kicked it in once. Liam is a defender, always has been. From the first time he stepped on the field and heard that the other team’s job was to get the ball into his goal, he’s been driven to stop that ball before it does. I want our boys to win tomorrow, but I also want it to be a close game. I want Liam to get out there and stop something. I want him to stop the ball and turn it around. I’d love to see Issaiah kick it in, but I also want Liam to have the chance to do what he loves. I want him to save the game. Jack and Youssef can carry it upfield, darling Isaiah can send it in, but Liam deserves the chance to show off too.
Spring soccer Saturdays, Son-Days
mothers form a united wall on the sidelines, or
lap around the field, like we did in gym class
but slower, holding coffees growing colder.
Rain mists.
Soaks canvas sneakers. Our sons
are our heroes, and we cheer louder
than any high-school girlfriend
ever could
ever will.
Wrote that in May. It still works.
