Surreptitious dawdling. Secret sanctuary. Mothers everywhere know this technique – lingering a little long in the bathroom, carefully evaluating each pasta sauce option in the grocery aisle, slowing down a bit on the drive home – snatching small bits of peace in an otherwise frantically paced life. Not that we don’t like our lives, or that we’d change anything about them if we could, but when the prospect of quiet lies nine hours in the distance, we seize these moments of sanity wherever we can. As I was grabbing green beans today at Target, already ten minutes later than my scheduled departure time, I wondered if this is our rebellion, our way of refusing to be completely controlled by the events of the day. Because, I hate to be late, but the regularity with which I take foreeeeever at the grocery or Super-whatever makes me think that there must be something behind it. I’d never use the term passive-aggressive, however I’m guessing that my solitary sojourns function as a bit of a release-valve, my proof that the demands placed on me (by me) are impossible to meet. How many more opportunities for irresponsibility can there be while whisking toilet paper and milk into a cold metal cart?
Love that Boy – Walter Dean Myers January 6, 2004
I found this bit of poem when Ben and I co-read Love That Dog by Sharon Creech. It still hasn’t lost it’s hold on me, and I had to check the book out from the library again so that I could jot it down.
Love that boy,
like a rabbit loves to run
I said I love that boy
like a rabbit loves to run
Love to call him in the morning
love to call him
“Hey there, son!”
This is only the first stanza – must find the rest.
