Tag: parenting

Morning Routine

Too early for the sun

Your lips sprinkle my cheek and jaw

Whispered word penetrates sleep —

“I look upon you with great favor.”

A groggy mental eye roll, yet

my heart lifts, reaching toward

but my grasp is frail.

Grace slips away as you slip out the door.

I turn over, curling up

under blankets,

searching my darkness.

Your words play hide-and-seek,

until I fully awaken and remember,

my whole self wraps tightly around

your benediction, holding me together.

See, I do hear you sometimes.

Even when you don’t make sense.

Even when I find you hard to believe.

I get up, wondering what I will

say today.

 

 

 

Almost, not yet

My eldest son

16 years and 9 months old

you ask if I have my cell phone as I

rush to the door

“Of course.  I would not leave my children home alone with

no way to reach me”

My hand secretly searches my bag and finds my deVICE.

You smile smug.

“Or maybe, mom, you have a responsible son who charges your phone and puts it in your pocketbook”

You lean your cheek down, down into my kiss-giving range.

 

Yesterday, you inspected my truck before a trip,

testing the engine light — thoughtful.

I have raised you and trained you

Perhaps you are ready for release.

 

Then I remember opening a kitchen drawer

and finding a block of cheddar cheese

beside the potato masher and ice cream scoop

while you stand at the counter,

a rectangle of cheese on its way to your mouth.

 

And I remember last week,

your little sister met me at the door,

serious face, big eyes, head tipped to side

revealing a bruise under her jaw

marked by your big clumsy foot.

It was a fun wrestling match until

it was not fun anymore.

 

Maybe you are not quite ready after all.

I sigh

In Relief.

Conversation snatches

Centering myself in the present moment and feeling gratitude does not come naturally to me.  Too often, my mind is replaying past conversations or planning future obligations.  Pen and paper help me fight my way back to the present.  Purposely listening to conversations in this house with the object of writing them down grounds me in the here and now.

I often find these scraps of conversation I have penned  laying around the kitchen counter, my bedside table, the foyer dresser.

Just today, I found some hoarded words, saved and then forgotten from FOUR years ago.

11 yo Sidney —– “Dad, do you remember that night I got sick and threw up on the floor?  And you wiped the floor with your socked foot?”

6 yo Rachel — “Mama, the potty is eating.  It eats  . . . . . . . “

11 yo Sidney  — “Mom, the icons on your computer have been moved around, but it isn’t my fault.  It is Bill Gates’ fault.”

And upon hearing me brag about how I fit all the garden produce in the freezer, 9 yo Lincoln — “Mom, you are ORGANISM woman.”

 

Four years — a breath, a lifetime.

The 11 yo boy who ratted on his Dad’s cleaning methods and messed with his Mama’s computer icons is today a 15 yo boy who sits at my kitchen table taking apart a nonfunctioning LED light bulb and talking to himself, “MAN, it is nice to have a voltmeter in the house.”

A walk to the mailbox

I had forgotten

how good it felt to walk

outside, breathing in the November sun.

I had forgotten

the sound of contentment

until it reached my ears

and delved into my heart

with laughter

as two teenage boys raced backward

down the driveway slope,

their sisters doing the same

at a slower pace.

I had forgotten

how happy I am to trade

the stale space in front of the computer,

the research and hard decisions tensing my shoulders

for the space between you and me that lets me breathe.

.

We used to make this walk together often

when you were all little and held my hands and skirts,

little chicks huddled around mother hen.

I had forgotten.

But I remembered when I saw how far ahead of me you run now.

.

.

**** A few days later, I revised this poem and posted the revision on this link, Even Mama Needs to Revise.