an icon that symbolizes hope

My freshmen are writing papers about icons and I told them that the icons have to symbolize something; they can't just be celebrities, but must have some deeper meaning that reflects the values of our society. I was expecting: My icon symbolizes the deep ironic sexual longing of the post-punk feminists. I got: Barack Obama symbolizes change. Ok, sure he does.

So, today, I symbolize hope. Here's a list, just for brevity's sake: i am becoming stronger, unafraid to set limits, unafraid of consequences of following what i know to be true, unafraid to ask for not just what i need but what i want. i have a new job for the spring. i am about to sit down and write a really cool grant letter. my son likes to play hide and seek, float in the bathtub, sing old macdonald, and covered my face with kisses this evening. I ate a lot of vegetables for dinner and loads of fiber. Now i can have ice cream. there is a good chance i won't fail my comp exam and i think my portfolio might be alright. i just submitted a story to a contest. there is some fleeting chance that my house might approach clean this weekend. my sister is coming to visit, i am hosting a party, and i am hosting thanksgiving. my research is so interesting t me.

all of this despite the fact that i've thrown my back out, i can't stop coughing, my car got broken into (and now we have to fix it even though we were about to sell it) and my cell phone was stolen. oh yeah, and, after an exhausting day, i dragged dylan down to old navy to buy a winter coat during thier half off sale (almost over) and they were closed. but hey, we got to listen to his baby music there and back -- hooray! You can never get enough Look at the Monkey.

Fall

This blog is where i get to be banal and cliche, right?

The wind blows and the leaves create ana aerial circus outside the window. Dylan and I watch from the bathroom window of my parents' house and he is more captivated by this than by Sesame Street. We go outside. "Airplane," he says, "Up dere." He points towards the bare trees. We watch a leaf helicopter down. "Fall," I tell him. "Fall," he repeats.

We sit on the carpeted landing of my parents' steps. "Uh-oh!" I tell him, sounding ominous. He squeels, starts to back away. "Uh-oh, uh-oh," I reach towards him, "I have to Squeeeze you!" We grab each other in a tight hug, giggling. He puts his head on my shoulder. We sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I leave out words. He fills them in. We rock back and forth. The leaves whisper to and fro outside, settling, settling. We watch them through the windows by the front door. We rock, we watch, we don't let go of each other. Fall.