chow mama

so, here we go. at this moment i am sat at the table with an esspresso, the house is settling after sending thomas, 7, to school and grayson is still snug in his cocoon below. little elliott, 5, has grown tired of convincing me that mom put the video game on the top shelf in the kitchen because she wanted [him] to play with it and has resorted to helping me scrivre home.

(i have now poured myself a tea because the esspresso lasted no longer than it took to write the word down)

mom, margaret, having spent the morning running her hand through her short hair in unconditionally frustrated love, is now out feeding her kashmire goats and chasing the chickens out of her garden. echo's of this morning's chaos slowly fade as the chores wear on.

where's your homework, thomas? she asks the bedroom.

it responds in italian.

no, it isn't. i packed your bag. what did you do with it.

elliott smirks at me and i smirk at him. 

"come si dicie hi mom, elloitt?" 

"chow mama." 

"gracia. come si scrivre?" 

"c-i-a-o  m-a-m-m-a"

(the word for write and for spell are the same. i don't know why, but i have a theory. i'll ask around and find out more before i share this theory lest i sound like a babbling idiot)