So Much Depends…

Ben in Basinette (C) Sarah Turner - All Rights Reserved

The Red Wheelbarrow

William Carlos Williams

so much depends

a red wheel

glazed with rain

beside the white


Poem written 2011

Sleeping Baby

Megan Oteri (memomuse)

So much depends


A sleeping, happy


Covered with

baby drool

Laying in

a basinette


“Blue Wheel Barrow” (c) Megan Oteri – All Rights Reserved

Light Sparkle

Megan Oteri (memomuse)

A circle of light pierced the room,

as if a sparkly star, pinned like a bull’s eye in Ben’s room,

has chosen his room to shine

Both of us lying down for nap time, my son twisted and continued to play

while my eyes

danced like merry-go-round

The intensity of this small luminary

on the periwinkle blue of his room wall

moved me

I stayed still though

engaged in this tiny fractured moment

this light still shines in memory

Poem (Light Sparkle) written 4/3/12

"Light" (c) Sarah Turner - All Rights Reserved

This is a photo of my son at ten days old. A good friend and wonderful photographer took these photos. Her website is  She is very reasonable and great to work with.  This photo appeared in Natural Living magazine with an article about home birth written by my good friend, Debi Elramey.  You can read all her wonderful writing at her blog, Pure and Simple.  You can also read the article, The Gentle Art of Birthing at Home and see my son’s magazine debut.

My friend, Debi is a writer and poet.  I just adore her.  She lifts my spirit and gives me comfort.  Some people are just walking poems.  She not only walks, she dances as a poem.  Who is your writer comfort friend?  Who in your life is your walking, breathing, dancing poem?


What image has struck your fancy today?  That could be the kernel of a poem.  Write about it and post it in the comments (if you’d like to share).

Or fill in the blank  — “So much depends…”

I will fill in mine:  So much depends upon a happy toddler engaged in an activity!

Happy National Poetry Month.

If you live in Wilson or near by, come on down to the Teen Poetry Slam at the Wilson Public Library today, April 3.  It starts at 7 pm and snacks and refreshments will be served.  Food and poetry — what more do you need!  I am a judge for the slam.  I think poetry is a great way to give teenagers a voice for expression.  They have so much to say.  Come on down and listen tonight! Here is the website for the Wilson Public Library.

The Baby Naps


Photo by Richard Oteri Copyright 2010

 The Baby Naps


            When this times arrives I almost don’t know what to do with it.  It is so peaceful.  He is not kicking at my keyboard while I try to check email and facebook.  I usually just give up because it is so frustrating and he just will not resist, even with my pleas –

            “I’ll trade you one status update and email for one nap on my shoulder where I don’t try to put you down in your crib.” 

            “No deal!” he says in kicks and squirms and baby curses. “You’re mine.”

            So nap time is such a precious time.  I wander through my mind as he falls into the deep oasis of sleep. 

            What should I do? 

            Well, actually I plan my get away first.  Position the baby so when he does fall deeply asleep, when he is drinking boobie juice in his sweet baby dreams, winking at the girl in the bassinette next to him, I am thinking about how to slide him onto the pillow underneath my arms and lift him quietly and tiptoe to the next room where his crib is.

            Or like today when he just wouldn’t give me up.  I tried to pull my body pacifier off his mouth and then the silent scream, where he opens his mouth to wail, but nothing comes out.  That is the worst because the expectation is a blood curling scream, but all that comes out is tiny whimpers the size of  millimeters. Poor sick baby can’t even scream. 

            I should stay here all day with him while he naps.  What are you freaking crazy?  You have laundry to do.  You have a house that needs to be cleaned.  Woman – you need your sanity.  Who are you kidding – you are be lining it for the computer room and you are going to write about all the things you have thought about today – remember all those moments of frustration, beauty, patience, lack of patience, calm, storm…what was I going to write about again?

            Well, the classical music is playing.  If he can’t have his mommy wrapped around him tightly, he can have Chopin and Mozart growing brain cells in his baby brain.  Replace emotional nourishment with enlightened culture, right!

            I am a selfish bastard.  I just want to get away sometimes.  Especially during our morning routine.  I wake up.  Well, actually this morning he woke me up – by scratching my face.  It worked.  I got out of bed.  I had slept in until 9 AM.  Heaven forbid.  I already have guilt about missing the morning shift of playtime so don’t even roll your *mommental eyes at me.  I can see you through the screen ya know!

            *mommental – mom judgement from other moms

            Can I have an amen from the mommentals on my side! Oh yeah.  Take that you judgmental moms out there that just do everything so damn perfectly and sacrifice your soul for your children.  I want a little soul for me – memama.  Mama of me!

            Mommental is my new word for mom judgment that goes on.  I think mostly the judgment comes from ourselves.  I think all moms out there have compassion for each other.  We are in it together.

            I was at Wal-mart solo the other day doing last minute Christmas shopping while my beautiful wonderful mother-in-law watched my B Man. I saw a baby and what did I do – yes – you know.  I went over and oohed and aahed at it.  Daddy was holding the baby all proud. 

            I asked, “How old is the baby?” and raised my voice all funny and goofy.

            He said, “5 weeks.”

            I looked at mama, who was pretty young.  Well, young to me because I am an old geezer (36).  She must have been in her early twenties and that is being generous.  She easily could have been 18. 

            I asked her, “How is mama doing?”
            She gave me a dirty look and continued making the bottle. 

            I wanted to say, “I know your pain.  I get it.  You are crazy sleep deprived and…”

            But I smiled and walked away.  I’ve been there.  I don’t even remember those people that did exactly what I did.  It is just a blur the first 2 months.  In fact, the first four months were a blur.

            So as 2010 dwindles down to the curb of 2011, I pretend to reflect on 2010.  I am just happy I became a mom.  Something I wanted for a very long time.  Something I endured unsuccessful infertility treatments, a diagnosis and surgical correction of a uterus septum, one so extreme that the doctor said I could be in a medical textbook, a miscarriage, acupuncture, and many tears and heartbreaks.  So I guess I am just happy to be a mom.  A mom that is by no means perfect, but the mom guilt wants me to be.  A mom that is trying her best, and thinking someone else is doing it better than me.  A mom that loves nap time so much she wants to make it a national holiday.  It is my mini holiday where I am me again.  No babe on my arm.  No babe in my lap.  No babe to entertain.  Just mama – just me.

             Happy New Year 2011!  I am looking forward to more nap times…

 memomuse is a new mom and although there are moments of utter craziness being a new mom, she is utterly inflated with pure joy.  memomuse writes during her baby’s brief naps.  She is pretty interesting, they say.  She is looking forward to going out to dinner with her friend tonight because she has been cooped up inside her house all week with a sick baby.



Photo by Rebecca of Millie Holloman photography

I have a Wednesday night ritual after my graduate class.  I get a Krispy Kreme cup of coffee (cream and sugar) and glazed donuts – hot, of course. I drive home and call whoever will pick up and talk on the 45 minute drive home.  I am charged with electric writer energy from my class and usually end up talking to my writer friend, Debra Elramey

When I get home I nurse my boy to sleep, holding him on my lap, while I watch Parenthood, which I DVR from Tuesday night.  And I thank God I get to be a parent.  The coupling of the beauty of the characters and the beauty of my sleeping son with toes curled on my lap makes me pause – thankful and full.

Photo by Sara Turner

As I try to start my ritual of writing, my son breaks into pieces – crying and awake after trying to lay him down in bed to sleep, as I attempt to tiptoe off to write.  I stop, console.  I change my ritual as soon as I can to accommodate him – he wakes up as I place him in our bed to sleep next to my sleeping husband.

Baby wakes

I change him

(which I am surprised to see his first turd

what a terrifically word unterrific

how I miss the breast-feeding poopies)

he cries

I nurture

he calms

I carry him

We are in bed again

He nurses

his ritual


pop off

roll over on his side



pop off

turn on his side




until patience has me writing this longhand in bed

I am patient as I have my small notebook and pen

I write as he nurses

his comfort

this is his ritual of comfort

much as my ritual to write comforts me

We dance

in this rhythm

until well past my bedtime

My Krispie Kreme coffee keeping me awake, but I should be asleep

I am restless.  I want to write

this down

publish this

to my blog

a perfect ending to a ritual

but I fall asleep without teeth brushed, snuggled in his arms.

memomuse has been published in This Day: Diaries of American Women, Mamalode, Cowgirl, Rodeo News, Old Mountain Press, and many other publications.  She has recently converted from Dunkin Donuts to Krispy Kreme.  She thinks she may have a little Southern Belle in her, but she will always consider herself a Wyoming cowgirl.  She lives in Eastern North Carolina with her husband, son, two dogs, and lots of paper based clutter.  You can view her photos of sexy cowboys and rodeo still lifes at