I get the goose!

Merry Go Round Days.

Those days where you feel like you're not getting things done, not making progress, and just moving around in circles as if on a never-ending Merry Go Round. Up and down, round and round. The same tinny melody in the carnival of life.

On my carousel a poopy diaper is a poopy diaper (unless, of course it is a redwood tree or Hawaii), Curious George always reconnects with the Man In The Yellow Hat, and my screams of "Turn off the water NOW" constantly fall on deaf ears. Even as the water sprays me in the face.

It's the constant ride of teaching, caring, clothing, consoling, cleaning and loving. Up and down. Round and round.

And then, a new day. And it's the exact same challenges, cuddles, cracker crumbs, and pjs still smelling like urine as they come out of the dryer.

But like a Merry Go Round -- a truly pointless mode of transport -- it's all about the ride. The ups. The downs. The sentimental music. The slightly queasy feeling in your stomach. The adorable and oddly frightening animals and characters you select and watch along the ride. The way that you hold on tight at first and then progress into freestyle with no hands while leaning across to touch the ring. The memories of carousels past and the hands that held you on your early journeys around the ring.

And it always ends too soon.

But, ahhhh, what a ride!

June 2008, Age 4


June 2007, Age 3


June 2006, Age 2






June 2008, Age 2


June 2007, 1 year old


June 2006, 1 month old


You Begin
By Margaret Atwood

You begin this way:
this is your hand,
this is your eye,
that is a fish, blue and flat
on the paper, almost
the shape of an eye.


This is your mouth, this is an O
or a moon, whichever
you like. This is yellow.


Outside the window
is the rain, green
because it is summer, and beyond that
the trees and then the world,
which is round and has only
the colors of these nine crayons.


This is the world, which is fuller
and more difficult to learn than I have said.
You are right to smudge it that way
with the red and then
the orange: the world burns.


Once you have learned these words
you will learn that there are more
words than you can ever learn.

The word hand floats above your hand
like a small cloud over a lake.
The word hand anchors
your hand to this table,
your hand is a warm stone
I hold between two words.


This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world,
which is round but not flat and has more colors
than we can see.

It begins, it has an end,
this is what you will
come back to, this is your hand.