Tag: Vincent
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Snow. Falling. Down.
That’s how Vincent speaks, one word, full stop, then the next. And no more than three words in a row. But we understand each other, and that’s a constant revelation: we look at each other in utter astonishment several times every day. So it’s snowing again, very hard, much much snow. It’s been snowing since…
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FYI: Soap in mouth=yucky.
Vincent is much calmer this evening, sitting at the table eating his blueberry “ee-gurt” (i.e. yogurt), but last night was an entirely different story. Among another unspeakable acts, he decided to eat a chunk of soap — I guess it looked creamy & delicious to him — but oh, the reaction once it was in…
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The Accidental Pugilist.
Vincent and I decided to go for a walk today before the big storm arrived, and, as is customary, we ended by heading for the Glacial Potholes. Vincent was carrying a large chunk of frozen snow that he was keen to pitch into the rushing water, and I let him because, well, he looked so…
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Monday, Monday…
A day without drama or excitement or good/bad news, just Vincent & I hanging out. Vincent (aka My Little Petri Dish) has a cold, so he’s subdued and amenable to quiet reading & coloring time, which suits me perfectly any day (I have latent reclusive tendencies), but especially today — a poem’s been bubbling around…
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Friday Miscellany.
The Marine Honor Guard attended Uncle Joe’s funeral — “Taps” is the most devastating music — you respond viscerally, instantly. Even as we mourned, though, I was glad that they came, that they honored him, that he was remembered. Funerals, memorial services — they’re important. That kind of communal grief is comforting, the communal recognition…
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Enough to break a poor mother’s heart.
It’s taken me a few days to process, deal, & forgive, but the story is this: I came home from work on Sunday to find that my darling husband had given our precious son a haircut. And not just any haircut, but….a mullet! He cut my precious baby boy’s soft blond curls & transformed him…
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More & Less.
I celebrated prematurely, we are not through yet, but–I can see a break in the clouds–Vincent’s not well, yet, but he’s less unwell than he was. So that’s enough of that. * An interesting thing about submitting to Subtropics is that they only respond via email, whether you submit electronically or post, so no SASEs…
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Ode to Illness.
My shingles are improving, the rash receding, the pain lessening. But pale Vincent is still vomiting spectacularly whenever solid food hits his belly, so we’re trying to be nurturing and patient and insist on clear liquids though in between bouts he cries passionately to nurse. O it wrings our hearts. So lacking time or brainwaves…
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House of the Ill.
No rest for the weary. Poor Vincent has a yakking bug, and we must all be up at odd hours conducting clean-up and making soothing sounds. Nothing clenches my heart more than seeing his little frame doubled over and shuddering. But, to file under Amazing Resilience of Children: 3:35am, after copious display of stomach contents…
Marie Gauthier 