a river of words

Sometimes I feel the need to apologize for dreaming big for my kids. After all, my child is no more special than your child, except to me. But, I guess I should say that to me dreaming big doesn't have anything to do with how much education he will have or how much money he will make as an adult, instead it has to do with how kind he is and to what extent he has made use of his gifts. And I don't think that those desires of mine warrant any apologies. I just have this innate thing with humility I guess. Does any of this make sense?

While I was ordering my books for school, I ran across a gem of a children's book. I decided I would order a book or two for Henry's birthday in February. Yes, we have lots of books. I am a book whore, it could be worse. This book by Jen Bryant and Melissa Sweet spoke to me when I saw it. It is about William Carlos WIlliams. Ever since Henry declared that he was going to be a writer and artist, I have thought about how I could foster that in him. What better way than to support that verve for creating than to provide him with a beautiful book about a writer who wrote about ordinary things in his own distinct way. And the book describes his life and work in such a lovely way. I have always admired his poetry and love to see it presented alongside his life story in a children's book.

Complaint

(an excerpt)

They call me and I go.

It is a frozen road

past midnight, a dust

of snow caught

in the rigid wheeltracks.

The door opens.

I smile, enter and

shake off the cold.