Tag Archives: mother

OF MOTHERS AND CHILDREN (pt. 3)

Children are a gift from the Lord.

2014-9 stone house lake naomi nathanael aidan liam judah gareth liam 2

MY CHILD
Mischief, wrapped in skin, and innocence,
fingers terrorizing dog and cat
hands tearing all apart, leaving
shreds of everything all through the house
feet that carry her to hiding places
far from searching mother’s eyes and ears
turning mother’s once-dark hair to gray.
Angel child, with auburn, bouncy curls
big brown eyes and smiles that light the dark
kisses bringing laughter through the clouds.
Mystery of life and love, asleep,
Cuddled in my arms, next to my heart.
(2005)

NEW BABY BROTHER
My sons, Aidan, four, and Gareth, age one,
Were soon to be joined by another.
One day I asked Aidan, “What do you think
Of having a new baby brother?”

He looked up at me with his bright cheery smile.
“That’s cool,” said my little blond son.
He paused for a moment, his eyebrows went up.
“Hey, Mom, can we keep the old one?”
(2004)

OF MOTHERS AND CHILDREN (pt 2)

Children are a gift from the Lord. 2014-9 stone house lake naomi nathanael aidan liam judah gareth liam

The poetry book continues.

JUDAH AND THE CHEERIOS
“Cheerios. They taste so good.
I’ll put them in my mouth.
And such a pretty box they’re in.”
So now, the box goes south.
And all the little Cheerios,
Which graced the rug they sat on
No longer round and whole,
They grace the rug they’re ground in.
(2005)

A DOLL FOR DARLA
Five dollars and 100 one-ounce Mr. Peanut bags
for a Mr. Peanut doll,
a cloth peanut with arms and legs
and just enough polyester
to make him little more than a pancake.
Black stove pipe hat perched on his head,
monacle over one eye,
the image of Mr. Peanut
just not as handsome—
a gift for eighteen month old Darla.
A toddler’s sparkling eyes, a quick hug,
and off to play with her new toy.

Proudly he rides Wonder Horse,
the golden plastic stallion,
pencil arms sticking out,
pencil legs straddling his mount,
head held high,
looking straight ahead with the face on his front
and behind with the face on his back
as Darla wheels them around the room

Bedtime, end of ride.
The most beautiful doll in the world
rests in the arms of his mama—
a deal for 100 one-ounce Mr. Peanut bags
and five dollars.
(2005)

Mama and friends at her 90th birthday celebration
Mama and friends at her 90th birthday celebration

My mama passed away May 14, 2014. I’ve been thinking about that for a few days now; that date is coming fast.  It hardly seems possible it has been almost two years! I am so thankful that I got to repay her in her last days in a small way for her care and love for me throughout my life.

We had an impromptu party for her 90th birthday and many friends came to the donut shop, her favorite place, to wish her happy birthday.  She loved it. She didn’t have the energy to do this the next year when she turned 91. I’m glad we did it when she could enjoy it! Here is a poem to honor this special lady in those last few months.

MAMA’S LAST MONTHS

She walks slower now,
unsteady unless she has her walker.
She forgets to use it;
I watch carefully so she won’t fall;
She talks more quietly,
so it is hard to follow her thoughts.
She doesn’t understand when I ask her
to clarify what she is telling me.
Her attention wanders more easily;
The Waltons doesn’t hold it as well.
Her favorite place to go is the donut shop.
She wants to order two donuts,
even though she doesn’t even finish one,
and only drinks a couple sips of her coffee,
even though they are favorite foods.
Arthritis pain assaults her neck;
it is her constant companion.
Time seems a blur to her–
who came and when, it puzzles her.
It seems it is time for her to go home,
but God hasn’t called her yet.
She feels her life has no purpose now,
I must admit I don’t understand either,
but God has His mysteries, dealt in wisdom.
And in His wisdom, He has me here,
caring for her, teaching me through the pain of love
that He does indeed care for her.

LOST!

Another prompt from Author S B Mazing for Blog Event #21. Thank you Author S B Mazing!

She checked again. It has to be in there! It was the third time she went through her purse.
“I really need to see your passport!”
She could hear how impatient he was getting. It has to be in here. It was when she left. And now it seemed to have disappeared.
Please continue…

She took a deep breath. Where to look next? And what could she do if she lost it. “I . . . I don’t know where it is,” she stammered. “It has disappeared.”

“Step over here, please,” the agent said in an angry voice.

She did as he said. Frustrated with herself and frightened, she plunged her free hand into the deep pocket of her jacket. Her fingers jammed against something hard. She frowned and pulled it out. My passport. She breathed a sigh of relief. I put it in my pocket in the rush and forgot it was there! How often have I told herself to be more careful. Memories of finding her driver’s license in her pocket flashed before her.

“Sir,” she called in a timid voice. “I found it.”

The agent turned and looked at her, then glowered. “You found it?”

“I was in a rush and stuck it in my pocket. I never keep it there, but things got away from me.” She held it out.

The agent took it from her hand. He examined it and then stamped it. His voice was harsh. “You are free to go, but I would suggest you use more care next time.”

She nodded. “Thank you.” She carefully opened her purse and put it in,  zippering the compartment carefully. As she left the line, she smiled and nodded. The agent rolled his eyes ane shook his head as he turned to the next person in line.

“My mother will never believe this,” she muttered as she went on her way. “Second thought, she probably would. It’s like that old saying, ‘The apple never falls far from the tree.’ ”