A Mother's Survival Prayer/ Spoken Word

A Mother’s Survival Prayer

Written by Meredith L. Teuber

He’s four.  

He has blonde hair that is turning brown though I don’t really want to admit that out loud and he has these brilliant blue eyes that make me want to kiss him all over.  

He’s doesn’t listen.

I can’t get him to listen no matter how much I bribe him.  Yep, I bribe him.  I know bribery is bad parenting, but I am still in survival mode.

I Pray.

I Breathe.

When he was a baby, and I felt ragged, I struggled trying to raise both my two year old and him.

I would stand at the stove cooking Macaroni and Cheese while my toddler

would be screaming for me, hands wrapped around my leg, and my newborn would be strapped to my chest.  

I breathe.

Don’t forget my phone would be ringing because my husband was on his way home from work.  He just wanted to talk, but I was feeling guilty because we were eating Kraft Mac n Cheese again.  And I would be praying.

Praying that the hot water from the mac n’ cheese wouldn’t boil over and scald either of my darling children.  

Praying my husband would understand why I am not answering the phone

Praying that my kids would forgive me for being a bad parent

Praying that my husband would forgive me for being a bad wife

And I would scald myself and put the kids down,

screaming...crying... praying

was it their tears or mine?

Please listen.

Pray.

Mommy guilt settling in because I wasn’t able to manage my work life and home life in time to give my daughter a proper meal while feeding my son to my breast.

My breast. The best thing I have done for him.  and her. and Yet today, there are some places that do not recognize a working mom’s right to feed her baby

Listen.

Pray.

I serve mac n’ cheese.

My mom despises mac n’ cheese.

She said, “Baby, that’s all they fed you in day care”

You got fat in day care

Praying that I don’t make my kids fat

I Breathe

He’s four

He has blond hair

And everywhere we go

He brings Roo Roo

Roo Roo a well loved kangaroo

whose ears rub up against my son’s ears when he needs comfort

The comfort a mother should be able to give him but sometimes can’t because well,

I’m a bad mom

I scald myself

Listen.

Pray.  

I love Roo Roo too

and when we walked into the library that fateful day

I had no idea when my son read the sign

no shooters here

a picture of a black gun with a red line through it

would startle me so.

Emmitt lost Roo Roo that day.  

I cried.  I realized when I was putting him to bed what had happened.

Roo Roo was dropped when I was providing life with more evidence of how I am a bad mom.

I stopped paying attention to Emmitt and Roo Roo as I was immersed in books. An escape.  An opportunity to read.

No mothers here

The sign should read

I dropped Emmitt off at school the next day

No shooters here he would say

I raced to the library

I cried when the librarian found Roo Roo in the lost and found.

I even kissed Roo Roo.  The librarian was happy I found him

I took Roo Roo’s first selfie

You are home.  I will never lose you again.

Did you listen?

Pray?

It wasn’t Roo Roo I lost that day.

Emmitt, I will never lose you again.

I will make mistakes

I am not perfect

I will not always be a good role model

But, I love you from the depth of everything that I have

I fed you from my breast

I lay with you when you sleep

I cover you in kisses

I want you safe

Listen,

Hold my hand when you cross the street

Don’t jump up and down in the bathtub

Don’t go near the hot stove

If a stranger talks to you, you run away, find mommy

Your body is private

No shooters here

I inhale

You exhale

Listen.

Pray.

A poem for my husband

"Oh Holy Night"

Written by Meredith Teuber

Martina Mc Bride’s Christmas album playing softly in the background

Candle light dancing against the beige wall of Jim’s apartment

Taking turns spooning homemade pasta sauce onto layers of lasagna noodles and ricotta cheese

A hip check, A slight ruffle of a tuft of thick hair along Jim’s neck

A warm hand playing softly on my shoulder

The last of the sauce lingers then dollops its way off the spoon into the pan

Together we feed the oven with our Anniversary Lasagna

We cuddle on the couch anticipating our anniversary date dinner

Enjoying each other’s company talking of the future

Dinner is almost ready

Jim hustles around the kitchen. Lasagna is bubbling.  

A plate of garlic bread fresh from the oven sits on the counter

A hint of garlic in the air

The sound of wine pouring into wine glasses

Candle light dancing against the beige wall of Jim’s apartment

Our eyes meet. The table is set.  Anticipation for our Anniversary dinner is bubbling inside me

Jim turns his head towards mine as we lay out the dinner plates on our table for two

“I’ll be back, I need to change my socks.” He darts into his bedroom.

A soft giggle rises in me.  Jim is so particular.  How cute that he wants clean socks for our nice dinner.

I run downstairs to the front hall closet where I hid my card for him.  

I take the steps to the living room quicker on the way back.

Dropping the card on the table near Jim’s plate.

He is back. I sit down.  Jim moves toward his seat but fumbles to his knees instead.

He opens his hand towards mine, “Will you marry me” his voice unsure of the answer

I am aware of a tiny movement wheeling one hand to the next.  A tiny black box opening

I don’t look at it. My breath caught in my stomach.  I am staring into Jim’s eyes.  I drop to my knees

Silent the word “Yes” screaming in my ears but fighting to get out.  I wriggle my arms around his sturdy shoulders

“yes” I whisper meekly into his ear  “yes” a bit more confidently

“Yes” my voice shaking excitement through my limbs

I embrace Jim a bit firmer

We rock from our knees mirroring each other

our bodies rising from the floor, standing, mingling, twirling, dancing as one

Martina Mc Bride’s “Oh Holy Night” lingers in the air

A poem for my father

“Where’d It Go?”

By Meredith L. Teuber

Tiny peach padded fingers

loosely holding on

to a frosted glass owl.

A knick knack for the dusty shelf.

Tiny fingers wiping away the dust

years of sitting on a wooden shelf

Dangling and dropping

the “lost thing”

from one small hand to another.

A pause

“where’d it go?”  

a glowing squeal erupts from the small girl.

the clever owl

wrapped in the tiny fingers

protrudes under the thumb and pinky.

“Hmm could it be that one?”

replies a tender man

whose love of life overflows

from  the center of his belly.

A hand worn,

rough with tiny wrinkles.

An ornament

imbedded into graying skin.

A giggle.

“ah Grandpa”

in a sing song voice

He shifts his weight on the floor

back creaking

sitting a little  smaller.

A smile escapes his eyes

gently grasping hugging tiny fingers.

The glass owl

now worn and smooth

whispering a grandfather’s lullaby.

A soft chuckle

a girlish giggle

“where’d it go?”

in a sing song voice

tiny fingers clasping

Warm hands grasping

fragile

falls

gently

A swoop of a grandfather’s hand

a palm clasped behind the back

“Where’d it go?”

A gentle grandfather’s lullaby.