A Baby Changes Everything

This is a poem I have been "laboring" over recently and I wanted to share it with you. Please don't think I am a kid-hater after you read it -- I'm definitely not. I don't have children, but I enjoy spending time with my nieces and nephews and my friends' kids when I have the chance.

A BABY CHANGES EVERYTHING

When a baby is born

The first thing it does is cry

It knows this is the day

Its innocence dies

It takes its first breath

And quickly takes another

Looks around the room

For its so-called mother

Who forces a smile

Then goes to sleep

And prays the lord

Her soul to keep

She isn’t much more

Than a baby herself

How’s she supposed to

Take care of someone else?

Her friends all told her

It’s cool to be a mom

But in her mind

A baby is like a bomb

‘Cause when it drops

Your life becomes a mess

And it never goes back

To normal-ness

When a baby is born

It opens its eyes and screams
Because it realizes

The futility of its dreams

Tall Tale

I've been thinking lately (okay, for the last few minutes) about how I feel about being a tall woman. I'm five feet eight and a half inches tall - not tall enough to model or play basketball, but taller than the average chick. Being taller than most of my peers has never really vexed me. It's something I've grown to accept if not celebrate, and it's a big (sorry!) part of what makes me who I am. But, having said that, I'll admit to occasionally wishing I were a more "normal" height. I'd like to know what it feels like to disappear into a crowd if I want to. It's embarrassing to feel like I'm making an entrance simply by entering a room. Oh, and if I'm wearing heels when I enter said room, I feel like I'm making an entrance on stilts. Not good. Maybe if I were tall and curvy, I'd like being five feet eight and a half -- then I'd be statuesque. But I'm 120 pounds soaking wet and I can get away with not wearing a bra most days, so from a distance I look a little bit like a lanky male teenager -- especially when I wear jeans and a t-shirt, which is most days of the week any more. I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me (unless you want to) for being tall, but I just thought I'd let you know that it can be a drag at times. But I won't be offended if you shorter ladies and gents need me to get something for you off the top shelf in the library or grocery store. Not only am I tall, but I've got really long arms too. But then, that's another blog post...

5 Reasons It Really Sucks To Be A. Weiner

1. Upon learning of his lewd tweets, Weiner's pregnant wife will be both hormonal AND furious. Run, Weiner, run!

2. Photos sent to Twitter fans make photos taken by paparazzi look like fine art by comparison.

3. Charlie Sheen is potential roommate in "treatment center."

4. Weiner action figure doll sold in a set with companion inflatable doll.

5. Duh -- the last name!

HOT KINDLING

Okay, so I FINALLY downloaded something to my Kindle (well, actually, my husband did it for me, but that's beside the point). I've had it for over a month now, so I guess it's time to start using the darned thing.. As with all new techie gadgets, I enter the fray with unease and a mild fear of the unknown. I also wonder if I'll be able to sustain my nurturing relationship with my television once I get Kindle-savvy. Dinosaur that I am, I still enjoy watching television, especially on the "big screen" in the living room. But I think I'm going to enjoy my Kindle once I get the hang of it. I'm really looking forward to reading magazines on it. In fact, the "something" I refer to in the first sentence of this post is the current issue of Reader's Digest (I told you I'm a dinosaur!)
I do have one burning question  for the Kindle-makers and marketers - why oh why did you decide to name it Kindle? I believe the word kindle is a verb, not a noun. It's like calling a car, um, driven or motorized instead of car. I admit that the competition didn't do very well naming its reader either, but hey, at least "Nook" is a noun!!

Poetry is Still Hot

I got on a subway train
To escape from the pouring rain
I rode it downtown
Through tunnels underground
Until my clothes were dry once again

A TIME TO CHILL

It must be Sunday, 'cause I'm tired and wanting to do as little as I can possibly get away with. Can't believe I'm saying this - I've always looked at every day as an opportunity to get things done. And I'm not a particularly religious person, so I don't subscribe to the whole "day of rest" concept.  But I am learning to enjoy a good day of relaxation here and there, and lately that day seems to occur most often on Sunday. It's probably middle-aged ennui or perimenopause kicking in, but whatever the reason, I find I need more "down time" now than I used to when I was in my 20s and 30s. A nap here, a couch potato day there -- it's all good. So go ahead, youngsters, and have fun running on fumes. Me, I'm gonna pull off the highway and refuel.

Hot Shit

There are few things like a weeklong case of diarrhea to humble a person. Take it from one who knows firsthand. I've been having "watery stools" (one of the ways it's described on web pages) for a little over a week now, and I'm getting a very harsh (and smelly) message from my bowels that I am not in charge of my body. True, I may own it and live in it 24/7, and  I can eat right, work out, and get a physical every year, but that doesn't guarantee that I'll stay healthy. It makes me think about those poor victims of the recent tornadoes in the U.S.,  just trying to live a decent life when a tornado comes along and blows it all to pieces. Don't get me wrong, I'm not equating having diarrhea for a week with losing a home, but you get my point: life will throw curve balls at you and sometimes you just can't hit them, no matter how hard you try. All you can really do is duck and hope you don't get beaned in the head by the ball.