For this author, creative endeavors have been sorely tested by motherhood. But also transformed, and in ways she wouldn’t have imagined – couldn’t have, without her life “rewritten” as it has been, by her children. So linger here, to read all things weaverly, writerly and motherly.

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Friday, February 11, 2011

A Star Has Fallen



A star has fallen. Onto our floor and now it is STUCK there. The stars are part of solar system I bought at K-Mart, on a frustrating day when I had to miss my five-year-old’s kindergarten Christmas party, to take my mother to the doctor, an appointment we ultimately missed, anyway, because of the weather. So I was feeling guilty and disappointed, and I picked up two packs of these two-dollar stars, one for each of my boys (can’t give anything to one and not the other!)

What should I expect for two bucks? The plastic stars are the best part, really DO glow. But the planets are flimsy cardboard, with a just bit of glitter glow stuff sprinkled on them. Saturn is actually pretty cool. But the gummy stuff doesn’t hold, and one by one the planets are falling. Saturn, along with Jupiter and and Pluto were found lost amongst the dust bunnies under my son’s bed.


 While I was able to sweep out the planets with the dust mop, there’s this one star that adheres much better to the wood floor than to the painted wall. First reaction: irritation. I was vacuuming  and thinking what I usually think when I’m vacuuming: how much I HATE my vacuum.  An enormous heavy-duty monstrosity I’d invested  $300 in,  years ago, Ryan was first diagnosed with allergies. Back then, I thought it paramount to have a special filter system to suck up every tiny allergen particle. That was back when I was a newer mom, had to have everything just so. Now I know a little dust is not going to kill my son. But since it was such a monetary investment, I put up with the vacuum, as it bangs into our newly painted walls, maneuvering around corners like an old, blind lame dog.

Anyway. The star is stuck right in the doorway to our boys’ room. I thought about taking the time to go find a plastic paint scraper in the basement to scrape it up. But I haven’t – after a couple of weeks now, the star has grown on me.  

I’m not sure what now makes me like the star. Maybe because it does just that, wakes me up from my predictable I-hate-my-vacuum trance.  A trance that can mutate into the what-other-chores-I need-to-get-done trance. I started thinking about the fact that my children are still young enough to believe me if I were to tell them that real stars can fall from the sky like snowflakes, bright and sprinkling sidewalks and forests everywhere. As they are still young enough to believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny. I can imagine them hunting in the dark for trails of stars at their feet.

Or maybe it’s just that it’s not the first start to be stuck.  There are still the stars stuck to the window frames from before we moved here, that the painter gave up trying to remove and just painted over them. Maybe the stars are all history. And one day, when we move, when the boys are grown, someone else will be irritated by the star at first. But then finally choose to leave it alone. Let it lay where it has fallen.

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