I tell my husband about the fury
that pinched my mouth yesterday
like a cartoon person
red-faced
steam-eared.

I ask him if this makes me a bad mother
which we both know
is a clear request
for an itemized list
of all the ways
I am an excellent mother.

He takes our son up on his knee
and flips through the illustrated dictionary
pointing to each item
with great seriousness
calling it something else

look, there is grandpa eating a toad cupcake
and here is a monster napping in a sewer
what a sad and ambiguous ninja.

I laugh big and unruly laughs
like the way I use sad movies
to cry about other things
and I get it
wisdom can suffocate
in these strange parenting days
when what you need
is to stand
in the folly.