Loving August Greetings!

This month, I am sharing some of the poems I’ve written about my two grown daughters, Maggie and Mollie. The “Sisters” collection is an ongoing project where I am cherishing their childhood relationship in photos and verse. These are all from their pre-school period. Sharing life with our two daughters has brought Keith and me more joy and love than we could’ve ever imagined. I never believed I could love like this. These little girls gave me a ferocious purpose and cracked open my heart. Every night I would lay in bed before sleep noticing my cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so much. I still treasure every moment of them. I have no greater love, and no greater gratitude. — Mary May

P.S.
I needed to conjure some happiness in my soul, and I also needed to get my schedule on track after two big projects and some troubling news set things adrift. I decided to share these poems from my archive because they are among my favorites and beckoned me. Just reading them fills me with gratitude for life. I hope you enjoy these poems.

BACKSTORY: When Mollie was still in mommy’s tummy, Maggie nicknamed her “Pokey” because she always poked at Maggie (which is how Maggie interpreted the baby kicking). You might think “Pokey” is an awkward handle for a baby, but consider poor Maggie whom we called “Pickle.” 

At any rate, the name stuck and Pokey joined our family.  In this photo I am introducing Maggie to her new little sister. It has been an amazing privilege and adventure to be their mother. I am grateful for life with them and all the surprises they continue to help me find in myself. I love you Pickle and Pokey! 

BACKSTORY: I was humbled by motherhood. The responsibility I felt for these little people seemed enormous and overwhelming.  Literally, life and death!  Keith was the opposite. Aside from seeming sure-footed from the start, Keith shaped a lot of the way we parented these girls (yes, I blame him).   

Seriously, we would spend hours discussing how best to approach just about everything for decades. I had a crystal clear vision of “the perfect childhood” which I was passionately committed to giving them. Without Keith’s input on my relentless vision, however, things probably would have been disastrous. He helped me understand all children need skinned knees, lost pets, and broken hearts. They need falls and failures. God knows how hard this was for me. But I am so grateful.  As I said before, Keith shaped a lot of the way we parented these girls (yes, I thank him).

BACKSTORY: You may be wondering, “what is her obsession with matching outfits?” I also wonder where this comes from. What it is that makes me want to brand my family as a set? It seems very strange to me looking back on photos from this era. But I realize I still do this even now. I sometimes ask Keith what he’s wearing and try to color coordinate my clothes to his.  And despite his protests, I manage to cajole him every month into one “Matching Jammie Night” featuring identical T-shirts and pajama pants, popcorn, a movie, and a good cuddle on the couch. He acts irritated, but I know he secretly loves it. (On second thought, maybe not so much. But I know he loves me). 

BACKSTORY: Like many mothers, I saved selected samples of art projects, stories, and schoolwork that my children created over the span of almost two decades. Since they are both older now, I decided it was time to surprise them with a giant cache of memories. One Christmas, not too long ago, my heart melted as they unwrapped their huge bin of paper treasures. My favorite part of this photo is the watercolor picture my youngest daughter Mollie is painting. That very painting was in her box among those paper gifts. I love being their mother.

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.” - Pablo Picasso

BACKSTORY:  I wonder how many pounds of sand were transported into my house before I figured out, to prevent cosmic remnants all over, I should strategically time the sand play immediately before bath time. If I could manage it before swimming time, the clean-up was even easier.  

I accidentally stumbled upon another sandbox hack. One day, the sand toys were MIA and I had to improvise. I scavenged a piece of aluminum foil, a bag of mateless socks, a bucket of crayons, and a tray of ice cubes. It seems the universe can make planetary systems from anything. Who knew?

As much as I like to play in sand myself, I think it was loads more fun when I stayed out of the way and just watched. Amazing things happen in a sandbox. It’s an honor and a marvel to witness. Even the bickering parts. 

BACKSTORY: I remember this game so vividly. It strikes me how remembering the simplest of life’s moments brings me so much happiness, even to this day so many years later. There was a time I thought the big memories would be the pillars of my life’s stories - big trips, graduations, marriages. Instead it’s getting soaked and running for shelter in a rainstorm, a husband’s kiss on my feverish forehead, playing silly games with my babies. Life is so overwhelmingly beautiful. The more I pay attention to it, the more it fills me. Sometimes I feel like there’s no room in me for unhappiness. Love just washes it away.

BACKSTORY:  How could nature allow a 20-something idiot like me to be responsible for the moral and ethical education of little human beings when my  own views were still in flux? I can’t believe I actually taught my child to deliberately hurt someone - someone she loves no less!  As I recount this story, I am struck by how horrified my 3-year old was at the prospect. How her moral compass was so true compared to my reliance on child-rearing folklore and pseudo-science. It was an important life lesson for me. Being a mom teaches you so much about yourself, and, in my case, it’s seldom a proud moment.

BACKSTORY: It was the early 70’s. The basket in our bathroom offered National Geographic, Science News, and assorted hot rod magazines. It was also home to Ms. magazine, a feminist publication from the phenomenal Gloria Steinem. My husband started reading it. As the father of two girls, he became increasingly concerned the world would be a challenging place for them. The more he read Ms., the more he understood just how challenging.  “You need to learn to take care of yourself by the time you’re grown up,” he’d explain.  “You need to be your own person - not garnish on some man’s plate.”  In this snapshot, Maggie and Mollie are sanding the rear quarter-panel of our 1969 Ford Thunderbird. 

BACKSTORY: The photo is of our daughters in the midst of some sort of reconciliation. Aside from evoking memories of the occasional sisterly spats which punctuated their childhood, I am tugged by another element of the image - the sweater vest. I crocheted it many years ago. Admittedly, I am somewhat obsessed by the missing yarn hole at the back of her waist. 

I lie to myself when I notice it, “Holes in sweaters used to bother me. Somehow, flaws are my favorite part of everything - a reminder of the beauty of entropy and imperfection.”  Ya, right.  

And as I ponder this unsightly, yet beautiful, sweater hole, I have to laugh at myself.  If the opportunity presented itself, there is not a doubt in my mind I would fix that irritating, yet beautiful, hole.  So much for all my philosophizing about the beauty of flaws. I suspect only the flaws attached to other people are beautiful.

BACKSTORY: They call them “old wives’ tales.” They may not actually work, but they certainly bring a degree of comfort when delivered with confidence and conviction by the wife who tells the tale. Such is one tale I learned from my mother many years ago: All sore throats require a lathering of Vicks Vaporub and fastening a wool sock around your neck for 12 hours minimum.  If the sock is used, all the better.  

Yes, you heard it right. When my siblings and I were children, we would dig through the dirty laundry looking for one of dad’s stinky wool socks as a form of medical treatment.  I often wondered if my mother actually believed in this remedy or if she secretly laughed to herself.  When I managed to persuade my husband to try it, I secretly laughed. It’s good to be the wife.

BACKSTORY: Keith and I love all things “railroad.” I am always delighted when my car is stopped by a train. Even on the coldest days of winter, I will crack open the car windows so I can better hear the sound of it. 

We listen for “bad orders,” admire the graffiti, and watch for the FRED (Flashing Rear-End Device). Most of all we love the texture and feel of the 1800’s.  Rail, ties, spikes, metal, rust. We love it all. 

The derailments were the downside. Mistakes are deadly when you are dealing with huge objects like box cars. 

Fathers have always taken risks like this to make life better for their children. It is such a great story if there is a happy ending. Moving from a dishpan to a luxurious blue pool was the highlight of the summer.

“Hey Everyone! Watch this…” - Maggie and Mollie all day long

BACKSTORY: I have no particular fondness for hats so was surprised when my very young daughters insisted on wearing scarves, bonnets, and beanies. They could not be deterred. 

My husband, on the other hand, likes the 8-piece hats that look like they are from the 1930’s. He has about 20 of them along with assorted caps and cowboy hats. 

Could such a preference for head coverings be encoded in our genes?

BACKSTORY: Yes, my husband and I have clown costumes and an array of clown gags and tricks. Yes, we taught our children and grandchildren to be clowns and periodically offer Clown School for the little ones. And I always keep two red clown noses in my purse just in case.

Over the years, starting with Stephen King, I think, the concept of clowns has changed. We live next to a grade school.  When my daughters were little, I wore my clown costume over to the school to be a featured guest in their classrooms. Kids mobbed me and delighted in my every antic. 

Last year, I walked my grandchildren to school in my clown costume and the kids on the playground screamed in horror and ran away.

No matter how you look at it, being a clown has amazing power.

BACKSTORY:  So much of our life has been, on some level, imaginary.  We pretend to travel to other countries, pretend to meet famous people, pretend to be animals, monsters, magical, cursed, and pretend to be storybook characters.  We pretend a talking skeleton lives in the basement, a Viking named Blunder manages to involve us in each of his quests, and a witch named Ugly Bugly stalks me frequently.  Pretending is part of our family legacy. I endorse this message.

“Good things come to those who bait.” - Grandpa Bob

Zen in the Art of Fishing by Maggie and Mollie