it all muddles together

up & being silly with jonah & noah at 430 this morning, waking matthew up so we can take him to work today. feeling good, feeling Very Pregnant in every way, feel sort of productive even though my day seems to have slipped from me & i barely accomplished the things i wanted to. i put ruby's carseat in the car, and boy it is snug but the boys will just have to adjust. trying to feather my nest a little bit, get more mentally focused for the coming of this little girl. the thunderstorms bring on contractions, and so do the late nights at work. ((well, i guess 8 o'clock really isn't Late, but when you've been up for 14+ hours and you're just about 37 weeks pregnant it definitely feels late.)) curious why brita doesn't make a glass pitcher, why my aunt doesn't want me to use a rocking chair that's been sitting downstairs since we moved in, why anything i drink gives me heartburn, if dreadlocks would really work in my hair... i could go on & on & on. it's an intense time of year, we are in the middle of lent, & a day doesn't pass that i don't feel the pulling, the darkness that comes before the Light, & that these are the final days of this pregnancy, & that there is so much work to do. inside, outside, Inside, Outside.

& how i've come to the conclusion that my all-time favorite flower is the peony. & suddenly i want to plant my entire front yard in them.

PEONIES
by mary oliver

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open ---
pools of lace,
white and pink ---
and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities ---
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again ---
beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?