Tag: parenting

We Don’t Grill Babies

We Don’t Grill Babies

After stuffed animals and baby dolls were shown,
As exhibitions of my son’s playing.
It’s likely my voice contained a confused tone
At the wonder of what I was saying.

My son was grilling dinner on the ottoman, it
Took me a moment but I thought a minute
And after rationalizing “yeses”, “Nos” and “Maybes”,
I came up with, “we don’t grill babies.

You can grill animals ‘till your heart’s content
But a baby who does not consent
Cannot be cast on the flames of a grill.
To be disposed of at your will.

In fact, a baby who does consent cannot be killed
Simply because the two of you willed
It to be so.  Human life contains value.
So grill a tasty animal pal you’d
Like to eat instead
Of pretending the babies are dead.”

My wife gave me a smirkey smile from the other chair,
Loving me and the words I chose to share
With our three year-old who was grilling
Babies that no one should be killing.

Legally Killing My Son.

*I usually don’t preface poems with thoughts… but wanted to throw a couple things out there.  1). My wife is not currently pregnant.  This poem would prompt the question from some of my readers.    2). where this is coming from:  I was remembering the weirdness of this thought when Matthias (our youngest) was still in the womb.  My wife and I have had 3 kids thus far and with each one of them, it strikes me that the government gives us these “free passes” to kill our children up to a certain age.  Weirder still, if my wife and I weren’t on the same page, then she could kill my child without my permission.

Legally Killing My Son.

The government gives someone else permission to kill my child.
Isn’t that wild?
That my wife
Could go without my knowledge and take a life.
And not just any life, but that of my son.
My flesh and blood undone.
Unraveled, unwound.
Never found outside the womb by this father.
Never seen to be more than a memory
By me without a choice,
Left without a voice.

Black Friday

Black Friday

I see the same items wheel past me again and again
As if there was some strange force driving us
To wake up blurry eyed and ready to fend
For ourselves in a frenzied fuss

Over things that don’t matter,
Not as much as the patter
Of little feet
That come to greet us
After a Friday fuss.

Parental Superpowers: Bending Time

Parental Superpowers: Bending Time

The manipulation of minutes, hours
And the second hand ticks
Make up one of the powers
that God placed in the mix

When He made fathers into supermen
Who can bend time and then
Pander where the time went
When their free time was spent.

I marvel when I can make time slip
With my parental super powers.
Previously when I made this trip
It was less than four hours

But it’s more like six with kids in tow.
And since my time’s now bendable,
My schedule’s now expendable,
Everywhere I go I know
This power’s what’s dependable.

Diaper Change Logic

Diaper Change Logic

I realize this might sound incredibly strange.
But at one point in my life, overwhelmingly
I’d Hold out my hand, gleefully, cup the pee
That my son had been shooting off mid diaper change.

There was a joy that was released in his fountain,
A giving-up frustration I could laugh at.
Unsure of how I could combat that
Molehill that just became a mountain.

Me and my pee-covered hand of confusion
Gave hindsight to my logical conclusion
On preventing pee from getting everywhere.
I smiled though, overwhelmed without a care.

Garage Sale Superman

Garage Sale Superman

Nothing makes Matthias calm like a garage sale superman.
I imagine he’s making him fly as he passes from hand to hand
This tiny blue figure with red undies and boots,
But I doubt that flying’s something that his mind computes.

The toy is dated to be twenty six years old,
But his limbs are just the right shape to hold
In a five-month-old’s hands that find him intriguing enough
After a night of crying that was unceasingly rough.

The wrong toy is like kryptonite
Increasing the will to fight
Any calmness and relaxation,
Whereas the right toy relieves my frustration.

At some point I’ll be looking for a new super toy
To capture the mind of my little boy
Who only sees Clark Kent and then
Starts crying for superman again.

My Children’s Hero on Garbage Day

My Children’s Hero on Garbage Day

On a magical day of the week
My children come to take a peak
On the couch pressing the window
Where they watch our garbage go.

For little girls and little boys,
It’s more exciting than their toys.
They’re beckoned by the rumble,
A garbage trucking grumble.

Jumping on the cushions of the couch
Like they won an Oscar the Grouch.
Their excitement verbalizes, “I can’t see,
Where is it?”  Leaving my response to be,

“Be patient, the garbage truck will get here.”
Their delight is mixed with a whine of fear
That they might miss the garbage truck,
They’d blink and then be out of luck.

Sure enough the truck rolls into view
The heroes grab a can or two
And hurl contaminants inside
The truck they stand on when they ride.

And that was just the neighbor’s trash
That caused my children’s glee to thrash
In jumping motions looking out
To watch the garbage truck in route.

Now it was our trash’s turn.
The garbage that we made would earn
It’s rightful place in the unclean,
Massive, mystical machine.

My children were already big fans
When our hero one-handed the cans
As if they were filled with vapor.
He tossed the bags like Christmas paper,

And like empty shells from a good guy’s gun
The cans rolled on as witness, he was done.
Off to clear the streets another day,
While my children jumped inside singing “hooray!”


Play Money

Play Money

My son asked for some money
Pretend though it might be,
He thought that it was funny
When I suggested he

Pretend to earn his pay,
Play with money that he’s made.
“If that’s the game you want to play
Go work and then get paid.”