Age 39

I just turned age 39 last Wednesday.
I am happy to realize that I can make a mess in my own house.
I can get paint on the floor or the furniture.
My son drew a picture on my closet door w/ a black crayon.
I know why he did it.

There is no reason.

I drew my face on my shadow on the wall in my bedroom.
I was almost his age.
I made up a lie and said the paper moved.
The stuffed alligators watched from the ledge.
My son just said he did it, no reason.

There is progress and change.

My cats ripped the couch.  
My kids pulled out red yarn from my friend's afghan to use with their toys.
I remember painting with dolls' hair.
I stuffed spitballs into the TV.
My bedroom is supposed to be a living room.

What the hell is a living room?

My kids play on my bed.
They go in my drawers and pull out my outfit to wear for Halloween.
I can smell the rhythm of their breathing.
The toilet leaks, but the floor isn't rotten, yet.
Give me a couple months we just replaced the computer.

I'm embroidering trees where someday I will walk.