i think straws make a house happier. i for sure know they make water more festive.
note: we've been silly sick with fevers and dizzy ideas for a few days, my esmé and me, so please forgive this post if it makes less sense than usual. i know you'll smile and assure me no no no! your posts always make sense. in some parts. and when you think about it. really think hard about it. you're funny like that.
everyone should have the chance to spend the night with an ailing esmé; the higher her fever, the more she tells you how much she loves you. but it's funny...she says it clear out of the blue when you're feeding her ice chips or putting a cold washcloth on her forehead or tickling her back.
she says i love you, too.
and you wonder for a second if you said it first and just don't remember saying it. and then you realize nope. she just must've heard your heart.
i'm reading st. lucy's home for girls raised by wolves, and each story makes me want to write better. simpler, but grander. i don't know how to explain it.
the most recent line that kind of gutted me is this one: The worst part is, I know that no matter what crimes we do to Petey, he'll always come back the following night. Being with Petey is like being with a dog, or a mother. There is nothing you can do to make him stop loving you.
in between short stories, i'm telling my own to the girlies three before bed. they beg me to tell stories from i was a sick kid. which is basically my entire childhood.
so i tell them how my mom would put fresh white sheets on my bed every night and light a romantic little lamp, and they say you do that for us, too! and i tell them how my brothers and sisters but mostly my sisters would sing me songs and act out plays and tell me stories until my eyes closed and listen to my nightmares that were devastating in my fevered head but somehow always sounded silly out loud.
and they say we do that for each other, too!
how many were you? esmé asks and instantly covers her eyes with her hands. she hates this story, but she always asks for it.
five. i answer. i hate this story, but i always tell it.
and how many are you now? esmé asks, moving her little hands to her ears.
four. i tell her. and it sounds silly in my head. but somehow sounds devastating out loud.
kira holgate's pins are delicious. i love bejeweled hands.
note: we've been silly sick with fevers and dizzy ideas for a few days, my esmé and me, so please forgive this post if it makes less sense than usual. i know you'll smile and assure me no no no! your posts always make sense. in some parts. and when you think about it. really think hard about it. you're funny like that.
everyone should have the chance to spend the night with an ailing esmé; the higher her fever, the more she tells you how much she loves you. but it's funny...she says it clear out of the blue when you're feeding her ice chips or putting a cold washcloth on her forehead or tickling her back.
she says i love you, too.
and you wonder for a second if you said it first and just don't remember saying it. and then you realize nope. she just must've heard your heart.
i'm reading st. lucy's home for girls raised by wolves, and each story makes me want to write better. simpler, but grander. i don't know how to explain it.
the most recent line that kind of gutted me is this one: The worst part is, I know that no matter what crimes we do to Petey, he'll always come back the following night. Being with Petey is like being with a dog, or a mother. There is nothing you can do to make him stop loving you.
in between short stories, i'm telling my own to the girlies three before bed. they beg me to tell stories from i was a sick kid. which is basically my entire childhood.
so i tell them how my mom would put fresh white sheets on my bed every night and light a romantic little lamp, and they say you do that for us, too! and i tell them how my brothers and sisters but mostly my sisters would sing me songs and act out plays and tell me stories until my eyes closed and listen to my nightmares that were devastating in my fevered head but somehow always sounded silly out loud.
and they say we do that for each other, too!
how many were you? esmé asks and instantly covers her eyes with her hands. she hates this story, but she always asks for it.
five. i answer. i hate this story, but i always tell it.
and how many are you now? esmé asks, moving her little hands to her ears.
four. i tell her. and it sounds silly in my head. but somehow sounds devastating out loud.
kira holgate's pins are delicious. i love bejeweled hands.
14 comments:
Oh my, as you've said... it does make sense, love your story/post:)
And those statement rings makes me want to collect some for myself ♥
A feverish Esmé sounds like a drunk me.
It's amazing how you can write just a few words that entertain and move people at the same time.
Have you ever read "We are seven" by William Wordsworth? It's a beautiful poem about a little girl - one of seven siblings, two of whom have passed away. It's one of my favorites.
your esme is a gem.
five may have become four, but all the love that was there is still there. and now you have a very special three. love always keeps growing.
Oh, man. I need to find a pearl ring exactly like the one in that bottom photo. xo
but in your heart & soul... you are still 5.
ann. yes to statement rings. and i told you that you were funny like that!
and. that cracked me up. she IS a little drunk!
mary. just revisited it and LOVED it. i'm trying to think of a better word for it but all i'm coming up with is hopeful. loved it. thank you.
brandi. i like you so much. hope your weekend is so whiskey wonderful!
my mary. hi. email you later.
c. bean. xoxoxo.
YOUR stories, fresh white sheets and a romantic little lamp ~ every night?
you take motherhood to new heights. my hero, you.
Me too, I love bejeweled hands & I adore you and your stories.....and I am with Mel, fresh white sheets and a romantic little lamp? hero. :)
xoxo
Melis
oh...ha! only when they're sick! or...when i'm sick?!
usually, bedtime ritual includes lots of screaming.
xoxo my two ms!
I might have to nab your new white sheets trick when my kidlets fall ill. We've got a little candle thing going every night which adds a little magic to our evenings. They're quite smitten with blowing it out just before bed. But fresh sheets? There's some magic.
How do you manage to link together seemingly unrelated snippets then make me cry? Every. single. time. I know it's the love. the sadness. and how they're inextricably connected.
I hope you're both on the mend.
I'm not sure how your writing could be any more, "better, simpler" or "grander"! Your words are just pure loveliness. Yes, I know my writing could be better!
I love your stories:)
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