Words Between Mom & Boy

TreeBetween22.5 or 3 years old
“Ditsy, ditsy spider went up the water spout.”

4 years old
From the backseat of the car
“Mom, you’re my Giving Tree,” the Tree in a children’s book who gives and gives of herself until she’s cut down to a stump.

5 years old
Zonkers over the rare treat of tapioca pudding, Tennyson happily volunteered to give thanks. “Dear Lord, thank you for…[spoon LICK.  Lonnng LICK….Silence. Prayer resumed when reminded.]

5 1/2 years old
To Daddy. “Your heart sounds like Samba. Bugga Bugga Boom.”

“Where does Barney live?”
(Anyone?)

Out of the blue, reflectively, like he was tasting the words
“Pine cone juice…”
Laughing, I asked where he got that.
Shrug. “I dunno.”

Another random thread out of literature
“This is a special day in the hundred-acre wood,” with the widest grin.

He walked in on Daddy in the bathroom who requested, “Uh, excuse me.”
Tennyson’s gleeful retort: “I already went this morning.  HA HA I win.”

“What do the other planets smell like?”
One of many questions Mom couldn’t answer.

6 years old
“Where is the Star Wars planet?”

Mom: “You wanna stop eating?”
“I wanna feel my stuffedness.”
*20 minutes later*
“Is your belly happily full?”
“My belly is happily ever after full.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I want to be a daddy.

Two weeks ago
“Mom, when I die, bury my ashes under the trees.”
Speechless. I realized it was his rendition of Daddy’s last wishes.

Yesterday
From the backseat
“Mom, I think you’re not a good driver.”
(She’s nOt.)

In bed, with a smile: “Mom, I feel Jesus’ love.”

The last thing he hears from me every night
“You are safe and loved.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

To my boy, when he’s old enough to understand:

“Be good to your friends. Life is relationship.”

“Whatever you do, be unique as you are skillful.”

“Onward and Upward.”
I love the pithy profundity that concludes the odyssey of Narnia, suggesting the journey’s only begun.

Sight

libbey-stemless-wine-glass

May my eyes, Lord, Never
stay set on what surrounds
but solely, wholly, Ever
on Thee be fixed and bound

Lest they stray the Giver –
in times my cup be sweet –
to the gift that Never
can be as sweet as Thee

Or in self-pity settle –
when my cup be bitter –
on my heart, there struggle
to dethrone its Ruler.

Touch my eyes, Lord, and lift
them daily Heavenward,
their sight also a gift
to see Thee more and more.

Lift them off the pages
of my earthly life
should I lose sight of Jesus
Who my hid story writes.

The poem was published in a University of Pennsylvania literary arts magazine while I was a student. Sight and Blue Champagne could not be more dissimilar in meter and form. Champagne is fluid.  This one is highly structured and draws in on itself.