Alabaster light.

first

she was not part of the perfect shell for long
she, separated form from being,
shone in the low light like the nostalgia of a porcelain sink
and still no one said a word. No one said
you did this. just look at what you did.
they worked like they do this every day,
like they do not wear crowns of cold gold
and serve divinity, like they do not
turn the cogs of a functioning miracle.

she said look, look, into the lights
and I brought her to my shoulder and saw --
that I did not know anything,
how to be or stay or where I had been
or where I was going

disoriented, she and I felt
how we were culled and cleaved
and brought back together

she slept and my chest split,
and alabaster light spilled out -- mine, mine, I murmured --
but it was not mine anymore.

But I'm a kid like everyone else.

I jumped right into a no good, very bad, horrible day today. I was in a mood, the kids were bickering, they weren't listening or getting ready when I told them to. I didn't sleep much last night, I was hungry, I had no coffee. There was a dead RAT on my bedroom floor and two lurking cats sniffing around it, looking proud and predatory, and that is not a pleasant thing to wake up to at all.

So when the kids started fighting over a BRUSH, when we have three other brushes they could use to brush their hair (not to mention that one kid had already brushed her hair, so what did she need the brush for?), I yell-roared "STOP IT!" And I did it on purpose. I actually wanted to see them freeze. I wanted to freak them out. Because it seemed like, at that moment, the only way to get them to stop fighting and actually listen to me.

It worked like a charm. Violet sat down and cried and Madeleine ran from the room, sobbing, "You shouldn't have done that! You shouldn't have yelled like that!" And she went to be in her room. And I felt that black cloud that was floating above my head descend and take firm hold and I haven't shaken it so far.

On the way to school in the dark, pouring rain, I played rain music. Damien Jurado's "Museum of Flight," Boxer Rebellion's "Diamonds," Bahama's "Lost in the Light," and Family of the Year's "Hero." And they all matched my mood so well:

From "Museum of Flight"
What did I learn/It's not that easy/When you get burned/And go on burning bright

From "Diamonds"
I'm no good next to diamonds/when they're too close I start to fade/Are you angry with me now/Are you angry 'cause I'm to blame?

From "Lost in the Light"
After so many words/Still nothing's heard/Don't know what we should do

And that brings me to "Hero," which not only matched my mood, it reduced me to the ugly cry. (Quiet and brief, so the girls didn't know.)
Let me go/I don't want to be your hero/I don't want to be the big man/I just want to fight like everyone else/Your masquerade/I don't want to be a part of your parade/Everyone deserves a chance to/Fight like everyone else

In the song, he's talking more about a man who's working at fulfilling the "American dream" for the sake of his family and about how hard that is -- but can't everyone relate to this? Responsibilities get hard and they weigh on you and you don't want to do it. You want to give up and just not care anymore.

And maybe you need that for yourself, just for a minute. Before you yell at your kids in the morning for fighting over a brush.

Three ways of climbing.

1.
You can go fast and mostly hands-free, running ahead from the group. On the more level services you will nearly fly, lean legs strong and confident, arms to your sides like you've forgotten about them. Sometimes you fall, and when you do, you take it as a personal affront. You trusted the ground and it betrayed you. Your knee is bloody. Stinkin' owie! You can't defeat me! you'll shout. Then you pick yourself up and you continue. When it's time to ascend, your feet will find purchase easily and you will pull yourself up, arms working in perfect tandem with your legs. The strength in those small arms will astound anyone watching. Up, up, up, you'll go. You'll disappear from sight. Where are you? you'll hear us call. And for a small second you won't answer, reveling in the distance between you and those voices. Right here, you'll finally answer, and wait for the footfall to tell you that we're getting closer. And then you're gone again.

2.
You can go slow, head down as you watch where your feet land. You will try to stick close to someone. On the more level surfaces, you'll run ahead in bursts of energy, your legs and arms flailing in an uncoordinated fashion but propelling you forward nonetheless. Your swiftness will astound us when you do this. Sometimes you fall, and when you do, you take it as a personal affront. Sometimes you will scream and cry, fat tears swelling from your eyes as you race to us for comfort. Sometimes you'll shake it off. You'll say to us in a wobbly voice, eyes bright and looking for approval, I didn't even cry! I just got right back up. When you do that, we'll high-five you. And when it's time to ascend you will consider every place your feet could go and sometimes you will pick the wrong place. You'll stand there, aware that your other foot has nowhere to go. You'll reconfigure. You'll try to pull yourself up, but sometimes you'll need help. I love climbing, you'll say to us. I'm glad, we'll say back, and we are: You are so determined and focused to do this thing that isn't so easy for you.

3.
You can walk behind everybody, head down, thinking of all the things you still have to do before the day is through. Your feet will hurt, so you will pause, then take wincing steps up and down the rocks. You can be hesitant in a climb, unsure, a little mad that you are doing this at all. When it's time to ascend, you can choose not to go the places everyone else is going because you've decided climbing is not for you. You don't like the feeling of heaving your weight up level after level. You can opt out of exploring that crevice, assuming you won't fit, dragging your sense of adventure limply behind you. You can give up before you even start. You can wilt in the heat. You can feel relieved that you are finally heading back to the car. You might as well not go at all.

I'll help you out.