Category: parenting

This Parent Rocks

Here’s a warning to those who don’t know,
That as a parent I might go
Back and forth from side to side.
I’m standing still, but still I glide

Back and forth as if at sea,
It’s slowly been ingrained in me.
It started around 2 or 3
Each morning and habitually

Has transformed how I now relate
With conversations everyday.
Be warned when we communicate,
My stance is now a sway.

Joys of Parenthood

On sleepless days from sleepless nights
I’m up and solving sibling fights.
Who’s Cheerios are on the ground?
Who gets to sweep the mess around?

The poopiest of all gets changed
While my shoes are rearranged
By the other dressing up
And spilling from her sippy cup.

Our newborn doesn’t need those toys
They’ve piled on, releasing noise
Competing with his little cry,
I pick him up but wonder why

I bring him to my shoulder, pat his back
And though my shirt was colder, once was black
My brilliant son performs as if on cue
And leaves a badge of honor there for you

To notice what I’ve probably forgotten
Amidst the other joys that I’ve been caught in.

Defining Normal: Advice to a newly married couple

You’ll establish your family’s spirit and generosity,
Welcome others to your home and show them love
Open up your hearts, include those people we
Pass by in grocery lines, but don’t think of.

Establish what it means to pray in married life
Creating habits that will form a life of prayer
A unifying constant for a husband and his wife,
That will welcome God and show his love is there.

It’s not unlikely you’ll find children on the way
And you’ll show them what it really means to live.
To love each other and those caught up in today
You’ll show them what it really means to give.

The way you live your lives will be recorded
By your children’s memories that they recall.
The way you live your life will be reported
In nonverbal actions on display for all.

You hold a choice inside the palm of your hand.
It can be stuck there, nailed straight through,
Or more like a post-it you don’t understand
You could drop it and not have a clue.

You are a living example of this life that we get
From God who lets two lives become combined.
For your children, who you haven’t even met,
Normal is still yet to be defined

Encouraging Ventriloquism

All of our children are sleeping.
while we’re stubbing our toes,
biting our fists, quickly creeping
around these furniture foes

That make me into a ventriloquist
Inflicted with a loud-noised injury.
I know that I can quietly resist,
But charming children wake to scream for me.

Depressed Lawn

Imprint of Matthias in the lawn.

I came home yesterday to find my lawn depressed
With an indent of my child, it seems to have regressed
To a time when that small infant took a nap out in the shade
Staring up at pinecones while the other kids had played.

Stepping over sweet Matthias and crashing near his head
They wheel’d their wagons, trucks and cars across his bed.
He’s in that adorably cute, but not too clingy phase
Where we can set him down and know he stays.

Unless he’s on a blanket being dragged somewhere
And that only happens once-ish, and then there
He stays while Gianna’s being punished for kid-dragging
And then changed into a diaper that’s not sagging.

All the while my oldest drives his little pickup truck
Through our basil and our peppers before he gets it stuck
caged between tomatoes, he parks against the wall
I pause conversing with a friend so that I can call

out “Hey Duncan, don’t drive into the garden.”
I take a lunch-break-look around the yard and
add “don’t kill the plants, let the bugs eat–em.,
After all, if it weren’t for us, who’d feed-em.”

All of this in a long day lunch break passed
while underneath my blanket had been cast
A grass angel image that will quickly fade
Left in recollection and poetic form relayed.

Before my Children get up

I could go back to sleep, but this silence rests in my open eyes
Slouched and couched I dream of turning the coffee on, to my surprise
I already did that, but it’s two rooms away smelling strongest.
This duration of listening to white noise could be my longest.

I let coffee make slurps in the other room rather than get up
In my final moments of solitude I’ll slowly fill my cup.
Until isolation’s interrupted by a child’s crying
I’ll be sitting on the couch with my feet up calmly denying

that my solitude runs clockwise ’till kids get up and out of bed.
Somedays this spitup covered boppy should stay lodged under my head.