Abby's Alley

Often injury is where no harm was meant Unlike Saul’s pursuit or God’s fiery judgements. Without rulers to order earth’s wild filaments, The world is amiss—apart from evil intent.
And had we kept faith with that power long ago, Abided with Wisdom to learn how to grow, We could tell the waters to stop their flow And bid raging winds to cease their blow.
No fatal events would sweep life away. No disease would waste nor animals prey, And our babies alive in the womb would stay As three within mine have not to this day.
Think not of what was or what could’ve been. Nor cast it aside as common among women. And to guess at the cause will wear a soul thin.  The world is not right, and we are akin.
Liquid glass slipping through my fingers exhausts. I have seen the unseen, the spiritual, the lost, And trembled on footsteps of shadows and frost For the world is amiss at heaven’s own cost.
So weep for the buds that dropped before bloom. And weep for the ones without a marked tomb.  And weep when another announces full…

A 24-hour-day is filled with details. Wondrously vivid details that liven this otherwise dull canvas.

The luster of chocolate glaze on Lee's mini donut at pre-school. The brown sleeves of mud that could be mistaken for boots and gloves on my children's hands and feet. The downy fluff of rabbit fur pressed into my face. The sticky dampness in the bathroom that drips down the walls and mirror after I run a hot water shower for breathing treatments. The tartness of my ginger-lemon tea sprinkled with Vitamin C powder. The blistering bubbles in the paint on the door of the children's closet because we've run the humidifier for five nights in a row. The fall of a misting rain on the rooftop that sounds so much like little feet creeping out of their rooms during quiet time. The stiff resistance of the Cotija cheese against my fingers as I crumble it over pasta shells for dinner. The shrill scream of three-year-old frustration that throws off my equilibrium. The ruffled over-l…

Over the last six months, routines have altered. And what once was an ordeal comes with ease. The children buckle their own seat belts and know that after errands, they're responsible to carry their own belongings inside. They take themselves to the restroom and sometimes wash their hands. They dress themselves in the morning, and Rose even puts on her own diaper at night. They bus their places after meals and put on their shoes for departure. And on laundry days they take their pile of clothes to their room, "fold" them, and put them in their drawers.

The physical strain of this job is decreasing as Rose can climb in and out of her own pack-and-play at nap time, and they both can crawl into their car seats unaided. Lee shuts the alley gate, and Rose empties the silverware drawer. In the evenings they pick up their toys to have dessert and they always seem happy to put on their pajamas at bedtime.

They play in relative peace while I take a shower, and eagerly set the tab…