Here are each of the poems I wrote about my kids &
My little silly Lily!
Petite miniature of mine.
Round and plump and chubby.
A smile on her ruddy cheeks.
A twinkle in her eyes.
And dimples on her fingers,
Elbows, knees, cheeks and thighs.
Her dimpled little arms
Reach out to catch a hug.
She leaves me full of wonder
Accomplishment and love.
All the wisdom of the ages
In her face from time to time.
With delight, discovery, innocence
And affection in her eyes.
The Creator’s flawless masterpiece
Grows more perfect every day.
She has no fault, defect or gaffe.
Ideal in every way.
What great accountability
She brings into my being.
How significant this innocent
Makes the act of living!
A miniature man with a swaggering walk
A mischievous smile and giggling talk
Who can’t go five minutes without getting a hug
Or a kiss or a snuggle or affirmation of love.
A charitable soul, generous to a fault
Over welling with kindness without being taught
Who shares his last toy or sip or bite
And enjoys just being with all of his might
A middle child but never jealous
With an outlook on life that is zesty and zealous.
He finds fascination with the smallest of things
Like how a kite flies though it doesn’t have wings.
There are so many things that he wants to be.
When he grows up. Says he’ll be like Daddy
Or the president or a dinosaur, or big rig truck driver
Or a policeman or zookeeper or heroic firefighter.
There’s not a piece of him that is bitter or cruel
His joy is contagious, delirious and full.
Everything he touches and sees is exciting
And new, wonderful, blessed and delighting
He gives me inspiration, purpose and meaning
And laughter, and joy and importance for being
He’s taught me the path to truly being alive
And living to the fullest though he’s not even five.
How like your father you can be!
How like yourself!
How much like me!
Not a thing about you we do not love.
The way you smile,
Think, speak and move.
The deep smiling dimples in your cheek.
The way you love baseball,
Play dough, hide ‘n seek.
The way you analyze and question it all
How serious you can be
When you’re being intellectual
Always explaining the world to your brother and sis
Which things are what way
And why that one does this
Your delight with books and letters and numbers
How much you hate carrots,
Peppers, onions, cucumbers!
Your deep blue eyes framed by velveteen lashes,
That are so lengthy
You can’t wear sunglasses!
That cleft in your chin is just like your father’s
Your frame and your skin
Well, those are your mother’s!
Your is hair so thick it could be a mane
With a spiral so rampant
We’ve named it Hair-icanne.
The point is, my son, that we’re so proud of you,
For the way that you are,
And the things that you do.
We know you’ll grow and change - you’re doing it now!
We’ll be there to support you.
To guide you, show you how.
You’ll make all kinds of choices and even mistakes
You’ll have triumphs and happiness
And inevitable heartbreaks
Through all of these trials you’ll become who you are
You’ll be stronger and better
And wiser by far
No matter where you go or what you say or do
You’ll always be our beloved son.
We’re thankful we have you !
He drives a big truck.
He drives on a team.
Works his butt off for the American dream.
Trying to stay legal.
Trying to stay awake.
Pushing the limits of what his body can take.
Cell phone rings; he’s got to take it.
A backhaul in Jersey.
He can just barely make it.
A call from the boss.
A call to his wife.
“I’m coming home late, but I‘ll be home tonight”
One more run.
One more drop.
One more cup of coffee gets him to the next stop.
He’s all out of hours.
One last call on the phone.
“Baby, your Daddy’s on his way home!”
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