For a little boy

You.

All of you –

Your chunky thighs that kick when you’re surprised

Or enraged

Or ecstatic.

Your three-almost-four-toothed smile that flows into your eyes

That squint in a way that makes me think maybe

maybe a person could really burst from joy

or a really good secret.

You.

You and your arms that flap when you’re excited

And it’s as if you’re going to fly away;

right out of my arms and become

One of the dancing snowflakes out the window.

You and your soft forehead that touches mine

When you need the kind of assurance that can only come

From a nice meaningful forehead touch.

You.

Your tiny mouth that says mama and so many non-words

Only you don’t just say them but yell them

and whisper them and try them out in every part of your mouth so that you savor the sensation of speech.

And that mouth opens wide now for airplanes and choo-choo trains that carry rainbows for cargo –

a spectrum of flavors and textures that elicit an “mmm” and a grin every single time.

You.

You who are unafraid of failure

Unafraid to laugh until your whole body aches

You who forgive in an instant

And love unconditionally

For whom I would do any crazy chicken dance that I’ve never done for anyone else

At any time of the day

just to see your toothy smile for another instant.

You who breaks my heart with a cry or a cough

And mends it again with a laugh.

You came from me. And sometimes I do a double take just remembering

There was ever a time when you weren’t.

But I feel like a bigger person in the world knowing that because I am

You are

And because you are

I am

whole. 

Summer son

We walked tonight, the dog and I, while a little person we haven’t met rode along inside.

A distant baseball game and the sound of backyard sprinklers are clearer than ever on this cloudless evening.

And I hum as I stroll and dream about holding his hand – tomorrow? Next week?  Surely, God, no more than that?

And it’s as though my little passenger is reading my mind. A determined hand reaches up, up, pushing against the wall of his small world.

An invisible hand with five tiny fingers – so close yet so frustratingly unkissable just yet.

So for now I playfully push back and swallow some night air

and I wonder if my son can taste it the same way I can -

If he can appreciate the smell of wet wood chips and the freshness of a summer night and the rhythm of a tiny dog yanking eagerly on her leash.

His hand nudges the barrier between us once again, and I stop wondering.

He’s a son of summer, this one.  

July and I will be his first loves.

It's time you met me. (a guest post by Buttons Bagley)

Hello. 

I am Buttons.

Let me tell you about myself. 

Some formalities when you come to my house: 

• I will stand up and hug you.
• You must pet me behind my ears.
• I believe we are friends now. Please do sit down so we can snuggle.

Some facts about myself:

• I am gentle, unless you are a grasshopper or chew toy. Then you must watch out for me.

• I will still like you after a bath, but please allow me 15 minutes to not be your friend.
• I will still like you when you put me in my cage. But when you return, can we hug and snuggle? 
• I know I am not allowed on the bed at night.  This is a rule I choose to ignore.

• Walks are my favorite activity.
• If I cannot go for a walk, please do at least open the blinds so I can sit in the windowsill and stare at the cat across the street.

• I will get embarrassed and walk away if you catch me eating from my bowl.  
• Belly rubs make me forget all my troubles.

Nice to meet you. I love you. And you and you and you.  Can we please snuggle now? 

P.S. I do not like snow boots. Please watch this video of the saddest winter day.

On puppies

My brother got a puppy for his 16th birthday.  I find that puppies are one of those few things that can turn even the most serious grown-up adult kind of person into a carefree childish child kind of person, regardless of how serious and grown up the years have made them. The same applies to ice cream cones and helium balloons.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Tasha.

She eats duck food.  (Not to be confused with eating ducks as food.)

She’s absolutely the most difficult moving object to photograph in the world. (This was perhaps my 37th try.)

Sometimes she just rolls around in the grass for no good reason.

And when she falls asleep next to me in my parents’ farm truck snuggled up to an old leather glove my heart absolutely melts.

Sigh. They grow up so fast.