Julie Pippert: Using My Words

In the morning when they crawl into bed with you, half asleep still, warm and scented so poignantly of themselves, when they stretch their ever longer bodies alongside you, give a wiggle to snuggle in, when you wrap your arm around them and by habit they lift their heads a little, when you bury your nose in their hair and your mouth reflexively kisses the crown of their heads, when the sky outside is shifting from navy to a dense gray, the time before the pinkening...you feel a contentment so deep and perfect it feels like a quiet joy. It feels like a joy so marvelous it is near silent, with no need to trumpet itself. Your hope rises with the dawn, glowing with the yellowing sun. You think it's good, this is good, and it's okay, it will all be okay. That's important because you---those of you who mother---know that every day somewhere in at least one corner of your heart is the fear that your child will be hurt (or worse) in this life, and you can't get rid of it becaus

Ed is making me do a "six odd things about myself" post. Ed can't really make me do things, but then again, clearly he can compel me since (a) I like Ed and (b) I'm avoiding the laundry (again). Also I've lost track of times I've been tagged in the last six months and I thought maybe if I did this and sent it out with due respect to everyone who has tagged me and was utterly, rudely ignored by me, you might forgive me. Just a little. The meme originally asked for six random things, but I don't believe there are random characteristics, only odd or quirky ones that perhaps you don't know. So here we go: 1. If you are driving on the road with me I PROBABLY HATE YOU. Most likely, you annoy me and your driving sucks and I will say so through my words and hand gestures, which have, in fact, come back to haunt me on those occasions when we pull into the same parking lot and I discover you are my daughter's classmate's parent, a coworker, a buddy, or

"And I'm a Canadian!" said my four-year-old niece from the back of the minivan. The three adults in the car---me, my husband, and my mother---had a laugh that we quickly tried to cover and convert into a pleased sort of "that's right, you're right" sort of chuckle. My niece Sonsie is a sensitive sort, and we all knew that if she felt laughed at, her pride would quickly evaporate into confused shame and hurt feelings. "You are!" said my mother, "You are a Canadian!" Later we repeated this story to my sister, who allowed herself one quick laugh and said, "Yes, the Canadian thing comes up pretty frequently these days. It's her Thing. Pretty much everything goes back to her being a Canadian." "I had no idea it was such a big deal to her, being Canadian," I said. "Oh no, not Canadian, a Canadian," my sister said, "Yeah, it's funny. She'll get a compliment, like nice outfit or good job and sh