With Little Pattering Feet

A little over a year ago I took a creative writing workshop at Jacobs University in Bremen, Germany, where my husband was working on his Ph.d.  The teacher was the Spanish/German poet Jose Oliver.  He gave us a series of short assignments that built upon each other.  The first assignment was just a word.  Each student chose one word as their focus and topic for the class, we then used that word in many different ways.  There was a huge variety words, in many languages.  Mine was "children."  And from that grew these other small pieces.

With Little Pattering Feet

It didn't take them long to realize I had walked into the room. Stomping loudly and pushing each other, my two small boys followed, as I pushed my squirming baby in the stroller.

"Excuse me," I said, "I was told you might help me make some copies." Both women just stare, from their separate but adjoined offices. I stand in the hall, waiting.

"What is it you want?" one asks, eying the boys.

"I need to copy this chapter, ...please."

"I can help," the other assistant says. I show her the pages. The restless boys begin to explore, climbing up a rickety old shelf. She watches nervously, "Climb down boys," I tell my young sons, they move out to the hall and start chasing each other, yelling as they run.

"I can't hear myself think," the first woman angrily exclaims, jumping to slam her door. I step back a foot, moving out of the doorway. I hand the assistant the book and thank her for her help. "Wow, you already have three children?"

"Yes!" I reply, smiling big. I know she really wants to ask: Do you know about birth control?

With little pattering feet behind me, I turn and walk down the hall, wanting to answer: Yes. I intentionally planned on having these children, and maybe more. While Powerpoint presentations and reports will eventually be discarded and forgotten, I am creating and nurturing something lasting.

Reward of Motherhood

It doesn't take long for him to realize that I've walked into the room. Arms pumping and giggling, he does his rudimentary half army crawl across the floor, just to get closer to me. His wish comes true when I pick up his warm, silky body. I kiss his squishy cheeks, he grabs a stray piece of my hair with his pudgy, pointy fingers. He looks at me and smiles: full face, no teeth, uninhibited, full of trust and joy. That smile feels like the moment the wind lifts a kite, his personal thank you note, meant just for me.

Biography

Mom's birthday is in September, she is 27 years old. Grandma and Grandpa live in Utah, we always see them when we go to America. We see lots of my aunts and uncles and cousins too, there are a lot. My Dad says the reason I'm so smart is because when I was still in my mommy's tummy I went to college with her, but she finished before I was born, so I don't remember it. When I was three we moved to Germany. We speak English at home and German at church. Sometimes it is hard for my mom and me to understand and speak German, but my Dad helps us. Next year, before I turn six, we're moving back to America. For now, I like to read and sing with my mom, sometimes I sit by her while she plays the piano. I like to look at the scrapbooks and blog she makes, she tells me all the funny stories she records and shows me all the pictures from our trips. She likes to travel, I do too because then I get to play my game boy in the car or on the airplane and I like to jump on the beds in hotels. We go running a lot as a family, when each of my little brothers were born my parents bought new jogging strollers so we could still all go running together. Mostly, I just like when my mom plays legos with me and scratches my back. I know she loves me.