Words

What I Eat in a Day (Hypervigilant Homeschool Mom Edition)

A Mini-Anthology of Poetry, Prose, and Pontification

By Rebecca Peacock Dragon

1. “Breakfast” 

When I broke the hand-thrown mug 

Because it slipped from my fingers

Wet from washing dishes

And the thickly glazed handle 

Shaped like a snake

Shot across the floor

Disturbing the cat

Who was sleeping by the floor vent blowing hot air,

I never imagined it here:

On the back of the toilet in the recently renovated half-bath

Ready to catch my first morning pee.

Before husband is awake

But after children have been handed bowls of sprouted millet porridge,

I hold the handle-less cup 

In between my legs

And only get a little on my hands.

I check for clarity

The first item on the checklist of 

Am-I-Dying checklist checkity-checks.

Inhale, 

The bow of my lip resting on the rim of the cup,

Faintly sulphuric. Non-offensive.

Check.

I dip my finger in, just the tip

Rub my thumb against it

Eyes closed for focus.

Viscosity thicker than usual. 

Dehydration or Diphtheria or Deus Absconditus,

Imminent Death?

Check.

The final point of evidence:

A giant swig

From the handle-less mug

That I dropped on the floor

Disturbing the cat

Before it became the vessel from which

I taste my first morning urine

To measure the volatile balance of wang and salt 

Against what I remember from yesterday’s pee

And Tuesday’s before that.

2. “Mid-Morning Snack”

Meat consumption is killing us

According to a particular niche of vegetable enthusiasts

Who don’t want to ingest the adrenaline and cortisol laden

Flesh of the sacrificed

And sentient

Doe-eyed bovine and porcine creatures

Part and Parceled onto Styrofoam flats

Wrapped in cellophane

In the refrigerator section

Of the local Shop-Rite.

So, we eat apple muffins

Made with organic hard red wheat 

And a scant amount of potato starch for egg-less binding.

I don’t think about the millions of mice and lesser life forms

That met their end

At the tip of the thresher’s blade.

Fuck those mice, I guess.

3. “Lacto-Fermented Sauerkraut”

Ingredients:

  • 4-5 head-sized organic and locally sourced cabbages

  • Pickling salt (Grey Celtic Sea preferred)

  • 3 pounds carrots

  • 2 pounds onions

  • Seeds of choice (caraway, fennel, anise, cumin)

  • 5-gallon food-grade bucket with lid

There is magic that happens

When mixing salt and shredded cabbage

And leaving it 

Undisturbed 

While it becomes fertile ground

Blooming bacteria and yeast

And if you keep the bucket in your kitchen

When guests come over for lunch,

After “hello” 

You will need to tell them 

That what they are smelling is alchemy,

Not farts.

4. “Tea and Placenta”

I hold my daughter’s hand as the boys run the length of the dirt road 

And pull the wild bergamot at their roots.

The catnip from the horse paddock

Already bunched and tied with brown twine

Hanging from the rafters of the sheepfold

That when dried will go into the row of Ball jars

In the pantry next to the

Nettle for lady-problems

Red Clover for imbalance of bile

Yellow mullein flower in oil for earaches

When we return from our daily constitutional

The kettle whistles on the stove

I take the jar of mint from the shelf 

A plate of dehydrated crackers

Made from carrot pulp and flax

And raw goat’s milk cheese

That finished draining its whey that very morning

Tied to the kitchen faucet

Suspended over the sink like a piñata

And set the table for afternoon tea.

My smart phone 

Hidden in my pocket

Lest it destroy this provincial mirage,

Sounds an alarm

Reminding me to get the amber bottle 

Labeled with a reproduction of a wood block print

Of the Tree of Life

Filled with the freeze dried remains 

Of the afterbirth of my youngest

That was vacuum sealed and mailed overnight

To a team of hippies in Colorado

Who have dedicated their lives 

To the drying, grinding, and encapsulating of placenta

For those of us too squeamish to cook it like a steak,

Which they returned to me in a rough linen pouch

And a note of heartfelt thanks on handmade paper.

I put the recommended daily dose into the palm of my hand

Two veg caps

Taken with tea.

5. “Potluck Dinner”

On the first Thursday of every month 

The co-op families trickle in

With pots of venison stew

Sourdough made with spelt

Roasted brussels sprouts

And cookies sweetened with black strap molasses

Their children in felted wool

And muck boots

Carrying sticks like swords

Pocket knives 

Hooked to their belt loops.

But on this Thursday,

I committed the cardinal sin

Putting two whole bags of frozen corn 

Into my minestrone

Where it floated to the top 

In a golden slick

Before I served it to all of the children 

Seated around the wide plank farm table

And Vanessa walked by the steaming pot

As her boy ate the soup just steps away

And asked where the corn was sourced from

I could not tell a lie 

Gestured to the discarded bags on the counter

Corn sourced from Dollar General in a pinch

She picked up the flaccid bags in shaking hands

Panic taking over her face

Clenched teeth

Rabid eyes

She leaped like a gazelle

Crying to her boy to stop eating the Corn

PUT YOUR SPOON DOWN NOW

Lucifer comes as an angel of light

And barring the evidence on the counter,

Dollar General corn

Floating in soup

Appears to be a twin to the organic 

7-dollar bag from Whole Foods

But looks are deceiving

And non-organic corn 

Might disrupt the scales of health and vitality.

At our next co-op day

Vanessa requested third party mediation 

Before being willing to allow her son

To share space with me again.

And I found myself thinking about women who kill,

How their preferred method is poison

And how, in this neurotic world of our own making,

Poison is subjective.

6. “Midnight Snack”

When my body won’t let go

Of its wound-up vicious tangle of 

Muscle fiber 

And ebb and flow of filling and draining breasts

And the babies are asleep

And husband is supine and snoring 

With slack jaw

A metronome of irritation,

I finally give in to the plaguing dirty thoughts

And make the 20-minute drive to Bennington

(In my pajamas)

Where the golden arches have a 24-hour drive thru.

I make one pass for a box of 10 nuggets

And eat them in my car.

When the box is empty, I think,

“Fuck it.”

I have defiled myself 

So might as well go all in.

I make a second pass for another box

Add in a fudge Sundae,

Remember when I was a child

When the Sundae only brought pleasure

Not self-debasing guilt.

In the three-row mini van

Sits this mother of three 

Unaware that the guilt cuts a wound much deeper than the

Sugars

Vegetable Gums

Emulsifiers

And

“Flavoring.”

Rebecca Peacock Dragon was born, adopted and raised in inner-city Washington DC. She lives in Western MA with her husband and three teenagers. Aside from being a recovering hypervigilant homeschool mom, she is a prolific writer of persuasive and personal essay, where she explores the lived experience of being adopted and raised in genetic isolation. Her work is featured on her platform Adoption: Myths, Misgivings, and Madness, where she also hosts the work of other adopted people. Her essays, creative works, and op-eds have been published in Selkie Zine, Assignment Magazine, Bennington Banner, and VT Digger. She also creates short satirical and informational videos about the adoption industrial complex on her platform Guaranteed Happy Adoptee TM (TikTok).

She earned her MFA in Creative Writing Fiction from the Mountainview MFA program at Southern New Hampshire University. She also holds a BA in Theater (Performance) and French, which she prefers to call “a degree in Charm School.” She currently works as an adjunct professor (comp, public speaking, acting, and publishing) at Franklin Pierce University where she also serves as Editor of their literary magazine, Northern New England Review. You can find more about her work here: https://rebeccapeacockdragon.com/