Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Taking A Pause with Peanut Butter Breath

Dinner’s done, dishes washed, laundry folded, bed sheets changed.

Jeb’s completed his assigned 15 minutes of silent reading. It’s twenty minutes til bedtime and we still have drills and study for tomorrow’s geography, spelling and math tests.

He’s taking a pause, stretched out on my big bed.

He looks at me and pats beside him, “Mom, just come here for a minute.”

Seeing the hesitation on my face, he says with more earnestness, “Come on, I need this.”

Skeptics may suspect he’s trying to wriggle out of the multiple choice questions about his map of Nebraska. I don’t care. He’s thirty days shy of eight, and Jeb’s not going to be asking to cuddle up with me forever. Maybe I need this too.

I settle in at his side and he wraps his arms around me, throwing one long leg over mine.

We’ve been curling up like this since that first day when he moved from my womb to rest his wet cheek on my heart. All the days and nights. Each time our bodies found this comfort spot between us, familiar and grooved.

Except that his shape just keeps changing. The plump toes that used to graze my belly button, now stretch out towards my ankles. And that koala-bear body I could scoop up with one arm to adhere upon my hip, is sixty-five pounds and gaining. Nowadays, if Jeb falls asleep in the car, I have to wake him and walk him up the stairs.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

He gave up on me fifteen pounds back, but these days even the big guys in his life repeat the mantras.

“You’re getting too big now!”

“You’re heavy, I can’t lift you up anymore!”

“Whoa, you’re getting strong…be careful when you wrestle!”

But tonight, there is no rough house. Tonight Jeb asked for pause with me. He’s sidled up in my arms and as I embrace his frame I am amazed to find him delicate. He seems so small. Long, thin arms are hinged toothpicks. His fingers that trace my forehead, feathers. It feels as if I squeeze him too tightly he could break.

His eyes keenly scan my skin, noticing freckles and a scratch on my shoulder.

I feel the shape and weight of him within my arms. I soak in the delicacy of his boyish precipice. I am entwined in his limbs, these appendages that grew within me, cell by cell. This will all soon disappear.

In this, I am alone. He will never know.

Because I smile the mother’s smile. The one that holds the bittersweet. That we love with all our hearts. Body. Soul. Give to let it grow. One day the children will not need us. And this is what we want.

“Can you choke when you’re learning to swallow vitamins?”

His random question is close to my face. His breath, warm and without boundaries, exhaling peanut butter and honey sandwich across my cheeks. For a moment, I think to turn away, but catch myself.  Then breathe it in a little deeper.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

In the Fold

Last night
there was a true Bohemian at my table
three mugs of ginger tea
my two eyes watching
four hands folding
aerospace creases
for origami flight

“It’s a brand new design”
he says
then returns to whistling.
I know that tune
at first I think it must be
“Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah”
but it soon segues
to “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

How did the Bohemian Lover
end up at my dinner table
eating macaroni and cheese
with me
and my seven-year old?

He folds paper airplanes
with such intent
that they glide
like a feather
in perfect spiral corkscrews
leaving a child to gape
and ask
“How’d you do that?!”

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Breadcrumbs

So the wee hours of yesterday were spent crafting words that swirled in the updraft of blossoming hearts and golden love.

This morning, I’m all mom.

For some unknown reason, Jeb wakes at 5:23am and never goes back to sleep. Though he knows this is my writing hour, he can’t help but interject his seven year old self as I type. There’s that dream he had last night with Harry Potter and the lightening bolt.

Or, “Just real fast mom,” he opens his palm full of 50 dimes, “do you have a five dollar bill to trade me.”

Counting coins before 6am (there’s a lot of jangling coming from his room) would be unnerving except that it’s buying me some time here at the keyboard.

The post that was brewing will most likely not be birthed here, as my living offspring – though being respectfully patient – will soon need breakfast.

Yes, the thread I was following, which I thought to share with you, was something on the topic of privacy. Ironically, this morning, here in the Archives, Jeb’s peripheral presence does not quite allow me the typical private space I rely on to express myself.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

It’s 6:20am now and the sun is rising to shine light on all things tender. Yesterday’s post, “Love with the Capital L” still stirs in me with all its vulnerability. There is no one on my small island with whom I have revealed this sacred sharing. What compels me to post a piece on the world-wide web announcing an affair with a character deemed the Bohemian Lover?

Perhaps all of this loving, sweet magic has gone to my head, simply clouding my discretion. Maybe.

If so, my current mood says, “so be it.” There seems to be gold in the sharing. Something rich in being this raw in uncharted territory. Maybe these words are survival instincts. Tossing breadcrumbs in my wake, hoping that if this trail leads to overwhelming places, I’ll have some lifeline to lead me back.

Oh how I wish there was the time to really articulate these thoughts, but breakfast calls. I am a woman putting lunch snacks in Tupperware, crafting poetry in my head over dirty dishes and sifting in the memory of strong arms around my waist as my son asks me “how do you spell ‘wizard’?”

These morning words from me, simply breadcrumbs, while I follow the thread.