boy: n. a noise with dirt on it.

10:38 PM

Can I be honest with you about something? Is this a safe space?

I'm really tired of dirt.

Our backyard doesn't have winter grass, a thing in Arizona, so right now it's pretty much dirt, dust, and more dirt.

Michael attracts dirt.


He lays in it, plays with it, throws it, considers eating it, and when the day is done it's everywhere. 

I mean everywhere. 


It's underneath his fingernails, in between his fingers, behind his ears, and up his nose. It's in his shoes and all over his shirt, and without fail it walks into our house. 

Obviously. 

And when we are outside, even if I'm sitting on the concrete slab that south- westerners call a back porch, doing my best to steer clear, it gets all over me, too. 



It's not just becauae of Michael, but Luna, too. Luna, who likes to drop her slobbery, dirt-soaked ball at on my feet or rub it on my legs until I try to pull it from her. Or she likes to try and eat the few patches of grass and when I tell her not to she comes and wipes her mouth all over me because she wants some loving. 

Don't take this the wrong way. I love Luna, and clearly I love Michael. 


I love when Michael says, "Come on, Mama! Come play tractors with me," or, "Mama? Come on the train tracks, Mama!" 

(The train tracks are made of the stone that outlines our yard and separates it from rocks.)

My favorite is when he runs to me and says, "I hold you!" Because at the moment he thinks everything that flies is a bee, and they scare him. He locks his arms around my neck and buries his head into my shoulder until I assure him the bee (fly, gnat, dust) is gone. 

But I'm so tired of being covered in dirt. 

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