Just watched American Idol and dissected results with my friend Lia. My heart belongs to Taylor, although Lia and I spent many minutes oohing and ahhing over Chris and his yummy performance. After seeing American Dreamz I feel a little embarrassed to admit I watch Idol, just another American caught up in the hype and faux drama. But hell, I LOVE the show and watch every week, whatever that makes me.
Jack's results back from NYSMA and he did really well. Extraordinarily proud of him. Today he walked his sister to the babysitters after school, first time they walked home alone. Jack was quietly proud of himself, and Kate outraged she had to walk ten minutes. Burst through the sitter's door gasping, "Water! Water!" Indignant diva baby has also become raging, miserable psycho baby as of late. Outbursts are getting crazier and crazier. I think its time to find her somebody to talk to. It's as if she were 13 or 14 years old (instead of 8.) Am also taking her for a physical to see if we're dealing with early hormone release. Had to do math homework with her tonight and frankly, I'd rather eat broken glass.
It's late and I have to get them into bed. Expecting howling and begging from Kate. I have loved that child desperately from the moment I laid eyes on her, and have written several poems inspired by the determination and boldness of her spirit. Perhaps I have created a monster. I will probably post Kate poems here at some point. Feel more like posting something from Ruth Stone tonight:

The Ways of Daughters

My daughters are getting on.
They're in over their hips,
over their stretch marks.
Their debts are rising
and their faces are serious.

There are no great barns
or riding horses.
Only one of them has a washing machine.
Their old cars break
and are never fixed.

So what is this substance
that floods over them,
into which they wade
as if going out
to meet the Phoenicians?

And they have no nets
for those shifty looking sailors.
But when I look again,
my daughters are alone in their kitchens.
Each child sweats in its junior bed.

And my girls are painting their fingernails.
They are rubbing lotions
on their impatient hands. This year
they are staining their hands and feet with henna.
They lie in the sun with henna packs on their hair.

from Painted Bride Quarterly
Copyright © 2000 by Ruth Stone.