Monday, January 12, 2004 :::
 

Family
(or Extended Family Christmas)

It’s hard to hear
For the silence in-between
That screams valiantly in the face of good intentions

Yes, there is no malice here.
We hate everyone equally.

Acrimonious uprisings.
Surreptitious one-fingered salutes.
Grinning countenance.
Subterfuge.

But the crimson bonds unite
Untie
And are born anew.
It’s the little ones, now, ruling the roost.

And we don’t want to play anymore.

Bedtime

It's been incorporated into the winding down ritual most evenings. Rae and I each get some floss, hop on "MamaPapa's bed" and sit quietly for a bit flossing our teeth. Then we get down, head to "her" bathroom and brush her teeth before retiring to her bedroom for sitting in "rockingchair" with Baby, Other Baby and Silk for story time. Music goes on, light goes off and we do several progressions of kisses: Angel kisses (once over each eye), Eskimos (rubbing noses) and a smooch on the lips. She touches at each of my ears in turn, "Daddy's ears." And I touch hers, "Rae's ears." Then, sometimes, she moves to daddy's chin, teeth, eyes - touching all - whatever suits her fancy really. We'll repeat this kiss progression a couple of times usually (she likes to prolong the inevitable). She'll ask for milk, for more kisses, a book to take to bed with her, to tie her silk, to untie her silk, bandaids, to take her temperature - whatever the mind that is fighting off the slow, inexorable march to sleep can manage to conjure. Then we blow kisses goodnight and say "goodnight, sleep tight, I love you." Then that's pretty much it. Except for the nights when she wails a bit. But that's a story for another time.

Bedtime
(for a 2-year-old daughter)

It's been incorporated into the winding down ritual most evenings.
We each get some floss,
hop on "MamaPapa's bed" and sit quietly for a bit flossing our teeth.
Then we get down, head to "her" bathroom and brush her teeth before retiring to her bedroom, sitting in "rockingchair"
where Baby, Other Baby and Silk join us for story time.
Two books (yes, this limit is breeched at times)
Music goes on, she helps me turn the light off.
On to several progressions of kisses: Angel kisses
(once over each eye),
Eskimos
(rubbing noses),
and a smooch
(on the lips).
She touches at each of my ears in turn,
"Daddy's ears."
I touch hers,
"Rae's ears."
Then, sometimes, she touches
(forefinger pointed knowingly)
daddy's chin, teeth, eyes …
We repeat the kiss progression several times
(She likes to prolong the inevitable).
She'll ask for milk, for more kisses, a book to take to bed with her, to tie her silk, to untie her silk, bandaids for inumerable imaginary owies, to take her temperature
- whatever the mind that is fighting off the slow,
inexorable march to sleep can manage to conjure.
We blow kisses and say, "goodnight, sleep tight, I love you."
I close the door and she chats herself to sleep.
Except for the nights when she wails a bit.
But that's a story for another time.

::: posted by Jeremy at 11:28 AM

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Thursday, January 08, 2004 :::
 

A prolonged absence means I'll have to buck up and post as much stuff over the next few days as possible, I suppose ...

For Lynn (Given that Valentine's Day is coming up):

Write Me A Poem

She said write me a poem,
Tell me you love me,
And Lord, you'd better be true,

I looked at her then,
Scrunched my nose, grabbed a pen,
And set out with nary a clue.

I wrote about atoms,
I wrote about sunshine,
I wrote about flowers and chocolates
And colors in her hair.

I wrote about airplanes,
I wrote about oceans,
I wrote about planets and moonlight
And sharing her air.

But all I came up with
Didn't have enough wit,
Or left me sad, lonely and blue.

Then I thought, "Man, I'm a twit!"
Keep it simple, go with it,
And then maybe you'll catch a clue.

So I wrote you a poem,
To show my true feelings -
My love for the indescribable, unforgettable, undeniable,
You.

Cheese? Perhaps. But we're trying to score a trip to renew our vows. So there.

More to come ... (heh, heh)

::: posted by Jeremy at 8:59 PM

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