My House

"For this is my house.

This is my house.

It isn't much, but 

it is enough for me."

                    -Matilda the Musical

In my house, scuffs are going to be allowed.

We will always buy rainbow sprinkles and Shell chocolate sauce

like I did

so I can give my children my childhood.

We will get muddy in our bare feet.

Perfection won’t exist because we will learn how to live above it

together.

Flour will grace the noses of each of my children as I show them the picture and teach them how to play with their food.

We will not draw on walls but we will pin big pieces of paper up and draw all over them- scribbles that my son will tell me is a dog and I will think of that sacrament meeting and laugh and kiss his baby face.

My daughter will have knots in her hair after she plays like she’s supposed to-freely.

I will take them outside to play in the dirt and take them inside to play with the bath paint I always wanted to try while I wash them clean.

We will decorate our windows with happiness at Christmas.

I will teach them to cut paper snowflakes with safety scissors and will vacuum up all the paper bits that never did make it to the trash after they’re asleep.

I will never miss a day on the job as the Tooth Fairy, but my kids won’t get dollars. They’ll get quarters like I did.

Hitting will never be allowed, but hugging always will be-even if it’s in the middle of the exhausted night and sweaty from a bad dream.

There will always be an animal, because animals are therapy for me maybe more than them.

Our dog will be trained but it will be the most spoiled, loved dog in the whole wide world.

We will say prayer every night and teach those little hearts that God loves them no matter what they do.

My husband and I will not be slobs in public and we will never be fat.

We will go hiking on Sundays to teach our children about reverence for the trees and the bugs and the rocks-because God made it all. But later my husband will teach my son how to put salt on a snail and he will forget what I’ve said about not killing bugs for fun.

We will eat together, but it will never involve Cheez Whiz.

Music will be everywhere.

I will walk my children to the bus stop so they don’t have to go by themselves, and I’ll drive after the bus in my car when I get home to discover they’ve forgotten their lunch.

We will take bike rides, but before that, when I teach them to ride, I will let go and watch them fall. And I will dust them off and dry their tears and put a Superman or Barbie band-aid on and try to explain why it’s a good idea to do it again tomorrow.

I will pin their pictures and ribbons on the fridge even if it looks messy.

We will always, always have Goldfish. I’ll eat most of them.

We will have picnics inside on rainy days, and when it snows I will go out and sled with the best of them.

They won’t get a million toys every Christmas-they will get wonderful gifts, but just enough that they can actually play with them all. And they will be good toys, like blocks and trikes and art supplies, not iPods and video games.

We will read all the time. They will know that I read, and in our house reading will never be boring or stupid. It can be hard, but it will always be magic.

My children will never not know that Jesus is the reason for the season.

Our house will be the one with sidewalk chalk always out front.

College won’t be an option, but liking it will be. And they will be taught the difference.

Smiles will be abundant.

Love even more so.

My house will be somewhere we want to come home to.

Twenty

You don’t rhyme with spleen anymore.

But it’s ok; spleen’s an ugly word anyway.

Just so long as you still rhyme with Naked Juice

and Shakespeare and converse

Spiderman and Next to Normal and weak ankles.

And neither of us has rhymed with innocence for awhile

But I always will in my core.

And it will be no surprise that

I’ve recently rhymed with aching,

but I’ve also recently rhymed with Harry Potter,

How to Train Your Dragon,

and forgiveness.

But not everything has changed; some things never will.

I still rhyme with crunchy leaves

and crayons and ice cream with rainbow sprinkles

even though they taste like faintly sugared powder.

And you and I?

Well, we still rhyme with Lord of the Rings, and

races at midnight and toeing the verbal line.

We still rhyme with “play” and music and give and take.

We still rhyme with destiny and blessings

and the words 

best friends.

See -- Saw

Little girl-long hair flying.

Up, down.

Up, down.

High as you can go-but then it gets scary.

Goodnight, love.

All you want is to feel the solid

Smack.

Of your feet on the wood chips, dirty dust, hot rubber.

I’m not ready.

And then suddenly, flying feels like the best thing in the world.

I want that.

It’s the in-between that’s the worst.

Right after, coming down, all you want is

gravity again. Stable, predictable gravity.

It wasn’t               enough.

But even that gets old.

And sailing up, all you want is to get there

Finally be brave enough to stay in the sky instead of flying back down.

I’m ready.

But back down you come; always.

Because you haven’t learned to overcome the jolt in your stomach,

the way you always feel off-balanced.

You always ride the see-saw; you’re an expert.

I thought it wasn’t a problem the whole time,

but I think I just didn’t realize.

But that little girl is growing up;

She’s getting too big for those childish games.

And nobody’s calling you love anymore.

Suffer the Little Children

Sometimes I forget.

It’s not that, when I think about it, I don’t feel that way.

There’s just so much adult around me that I feel it starting to fade.

When I come here, I remember that little girl, standing in the middle of a big, wide world.

And I remember why I’m scared and out of place and disturbed.

Because so is she.

And it’s not necessarily to make excuses.

But I see her with these burdens, not me, and somehow, it takes the stress away, for a moment.

And when I think of her, she is the only solid, defined thing there, and yet

Her eyes tell a story so much different.

There is nothing complicated about her, and yet

Her eyes give her exterior a complexity that projects the soul onto her being.

Her eyes don’t ask to be removed from this place, because she is completely aware of her constantly perturbed state.

Eventually, she thinks,

Eventually, I will figure this out.

But I didn’t figure it out today,

And I won’t figure it out tomorrow, but I can stand here and watch me.

It’s really quite a peaceful experience, watching me.

I am the most fascinating person around, she thinks.

Too bad people can’t see it.

But it’s not something you can boast about, she knows.

It’s the antithesis of promotion; it’s the glimmer you can only see when you tread softly, come kindly. And she catches fakes and phonies-every single one.

So you see, you have to want it. And most people don’t care enough. And some of them, some of them want it with all their heart, but they just don’t fit. And this girl revels in her uniqueness during those times, and feels, strangely, that someone had better deserve it, or she’ll shut the door forever.

But she knows, in her heart, that she’ll open it up one day, fling it wide open and take another soul by the hand, and lead them in, saying,

Come. Come see who I am.

And before that one soul, there will be others. Others that love the little girl, and the adult that she impersonates.

But for now, those girls down the hall might be ones that understand-my guess is that they are. But for now?

I can’t tell. And I’m standing in the middle of black-and-white and rushing grey, and I’m thinking,

I don’t think I belong here yet.

But I’m sure meant to.

Something About It Felt Right

I lay there
and wanted Switzerland.
I wanted the spot where we ate lunch;
bread and meat and cheese.
Oreos.
The richest earth that fell away under the wildflowers.
The little children on their European playground.
The boy and the dog that knew
wildness and what it is to be alive.
The snow and the screams of pure joy.
Hot, melted cheese and potatoes.
The hut just in case we were reminded
how small we truly are.
The fish and my dad's bit of German.
Edelweiss.
The bell that hangs on our wall.
Old leather and mountain air.
I want Switzerland.
I don't want musty air or textbooks or fluorescent lights.
I want Switzerland.
Monty the dog and cute little Daisy Mae.
Pink everywhere, and the tea that we couldn't drink.
The way the floor creaked and the adventure it was to share that bathroom with people from across the world.
The roundabouts, the sunflowers, the cows, the glaciers, waterfalls, hot, sweet, fresh smell of Switzerland.
The rivers that ran milky grey and blue under covered bridges garnished with flowers, both sides, and the paintings that got burned away.
The swans and chocolate and bicycles, everywhere.
The trains that always ran on time but when they didn't,
the duck that just wanted his mom.

The way w's sound like v's and j's sound like y's.
The fact that they didn't allow cars and there were sheep and miniature horses.
The water sparkled; the grass glowed.

The cold, cold water that washed my toes and
the blue and white door, and the dog in the fountain.
Everything was right. Everything was older and purer.
Everything about it.
Really, I just miss Switzerland.

They're Afraid of What They Can Become

An experiment in spoken word

They call me sunshine.

Because I bleed into their lives and, like it or not,

I leave them happy.

And here’s the beautiful thing about happy.

You can take it with you.

Think about it.

All those people I passed by today.

How many were the first to smile at me?

Not a single one.

I don’t blame them. They had stuff to do, boyfriends to break up with, tests to pass. Or fail. You know, whatever.

But me? I had a million things to do and nowhere to be and I just wanted some sunshine.

There’s so much joy in this life right now, and people just can’t see it.

And if they can see it, I sure as heck don’t know it.

Because if everyone lived with their sunshine streaming out of their faces, falling from their tongues every time they opened their mouths, can you imagine? 

Can you imagine?

But the world puts on their sunglasses and goes walking down the street so I can’t see its eyes. But I pulled my shades off awhile ago. I just decided, “It isn’t worth it.” 'Cause let me tell you something. You can’t get to someone’s heart with your shades on. You can’t heal their soul with sunglasses. So leave your shadows, leave your inhibitions behind and I'll call you 
sunshine.