These are the Days

A worthwhile ditty IMO (I think, I hope! 🙏Let me know!)

Dear reader,

I have no idea where these ditties are taking me but I’m enjoying sharing with you my daily interactions with life. I keep these “ditty notes” on my phone throughout the day and night as I wake with a (“genius!” thought…that’s usually mediocre and only makes sense to me and people who know me best). For months, I’ve had a big ominous gray cloud following me around with lightening bolts overhead making me feel like I haven’t even started a race that others have finished—how would I have time to sit down and write, officially, something legible and writerly, if the mere act of sitting to write was 20 checklist items below the fire alarms of necessary things I need to accomplish on my motherly to-do list?

So, I thought, well, I’ll probably lose a bunch of email subscribers if I start sending out my mediocre daily ditties. But, I may gain some loyal friendships in the meantime! Maybe I’ll never get back to official writing and just become a dittiest. I’m enjoying the imperfection and confuzzling style of dittying I’m sharing because it’s my own, and it makes sense to me, and it’s all so Emily, and I hope, just maybe(?) that’s why you’re here. (Or the guilt of leaving me after you’ve already subscribed.) Whichever it may be, I’m so grateful to share my life with you. It is a true honor and pleasure to spam your inbox with little ditties—short and long. Thank you. Thank you!

With love,

Emily

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My son has the stomach flu

and made his own bath

twice today.

It was pitiful.

I put the baby in the crib

with a toy

and walked over to the tub

and rubbed oil on his back

and his feet

and legs

and hands

and arms.

I sang to him

prayed over him

and wanted him to feel

that I’m not afraid to be near him.

That’s he’s not alone fighting this virus.

There is a special healing power

I believe

that people give you

when they love and touch you

when you’re sick.

People who aren’t afraid to be around you

are doing God’s work.

Jesus healed.

(The last line should be:

May regret later...)

…

I made this mercy meal.

We were supposed to have steak

But despite all the self-talk tonight

That “I’m worth cooking for”

and “self care”—

in the same way

I took an extra minute

to indulge myself with lotion

on my hands and feet

before bed

in the dark

only to wake in the morning

and discover I had used baby soap…

and I wasn’t sure

if I should be shocked

or impressed (eczema approved)

or terrified

that I didn’t notice

until I saw the bottle

twelve hours later

in daylight—

on the eve of the flu bug itis

I dumped all the leftovers

in our fridge

the baby’s green beans included

(Scoundrel!)

on top of the only half eaten bag of spinach

that wasn’t soured or wilted.

I then cubed and added our son’s lunchbox salami.

Who puts uncured salami in a kind-of-Cobb salad

except the girl

who doesn’t enjoy eating salami

usually

except in Switzerland

with butter on a crusty seeded sandwich

in the shape of a triangle

so you get three bites

that taste

like the warm crusty nubs of a soft pretzel

which we all know

are the best bites.

It was a terrible addition

to my mercy meal.

I ate it anyway.

…

These are the days!!!

They say.

…

I see a mom with three children

spill out of a public bus

at three o’clock

on a day she likely

had to leave work early

to get her children

and take them home

from school.

She holds their hands tightly

as she crosses the street

into a neighborhood where

I turn my engagement ring

upside down

and keep my head on a swivel

and smile but not too much

and become so aware

that even my baby’s carriage

is a luxury.

I pray for the mother

and her children

crossing the street

and I think

I’m so lucky.

These are the days.