Good morning....zzzzz.....! Man, it was really hard to get out of bed today. I had to pull the Mom Privelege and get the boys to bring me coffee in bed, so I could wake up enough to get up. I know, I'm just breaking your heart - Bea will probably print this picture off and draw devil horns and a beard on me. The herd came in and planted themselves on the bed, as you can see, which makes it even harder to get out of bed ("Help! I'm lazy and I can't get up!").

But didn't the Bohemian do a good job taking this picture? I really hope Santa brings me a new camera, so I can let him use the old one - he has a great sense of composition for an 8 year old. The Professor (my oldest son) might be an academic whiz kid, but the Bohemian is my artist (not to mention a tall drink of sugar - mmm! that boy is sweet!)

It's one of those short days at school today, so I'm going to be busy later today, cracking the housework whip over my minions, who have been quite remiss in their weekly chores - what would Santa say??? (Hey, whatever it takes to get them in gear, baby!)

Next week, I want to get back into the Family Dynamics groove and write about the stuff I normally eat, sleep and breathe - family history. I had done the grandmothers but, fearing that I was boring my potential audience, I stopped. Now that I realize I'm never going to have that much of an audience, I'm going to try and write more for myself, which was the point of blogging in the first place - not to try and get on the cheerleading team. In the words of my father, "I was never much of a joiner".

Oh yeah...I wanted to put up a poem that is the summation of how I feel in the winter; both about life in general, as well as about getting up in the morning (never my strong suit). This is actually a couple of poems I had written and then rewrote together for a class eons ago, but it still applies, every damn winter.

Flutter, honey, this is for you:

#1
Autumn blows in-
cold,
sharp
and bitter is the remembered taste
of autumns past-
the sure knowledge of loss
and sorrow.
How is it
I come to this season, always
empty-handed
and purposeless?
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#2
Bleary,
blurry,
watery-eyed November.
The days trickle away
without much effort
from me.
Cocooned in semi-hibernation
I lie in bed and smell winter
's dank breath, feel it
or something else, sniffing outside
waiting to prey on me, or
perhaps
it is from within.
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#3 Terza Rima

Paranoid Reflections

Autumn blows in, sharp and cold,
and bitter is the remembered taste
of autumns past, shrouded in mold.

I hide in my bed, I cannot face
a world turned gray by wind and rain-
sweet Summer's youth is laid to waste.

Wat'ry-eyed November, the days trickle away,
I lie abed, smelling Winter's dank breath
and hear his knife-like fingers rattling my windowpane.

A torturous game the seasons play, on me and on the earth.
I hear them now, outside my door, chuckling in their mirth.
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