I was very excited to get a poem yesterday from a friend of mine, who wrote about her boys in the same style as these simple verses I’ve been doing. It’s a nice way to get a snapshot in time! Try it!

You get out of bed in the morning with great purpose,
close the bedroom door behind you with a snap,
and stride down the hall to our room.
You have that early morning beauty that women covet–
your lips are rosier than usual, your skin still pale from sleep, your hair cutely disheveled.
When you don’t get what you want,
you will use every tool at your disposal to influence the powers that be–
reason, tears, stomping, crossing your arms over your chest with a “hmmph!”,
sticking your tongue out.
Sooner or later, you end up laughing about it.
In recent weeks it’s been later rather than sooner.
You’re willing to try something and do it badly. You do not need to be perfect.
Consequently, you are already adroit at writing your name.
L tells us you know all your letters so she might start you on sight words.
We have mixed feelings about this.
We love to see you learn…
But we anticipate parent-teacher conferences in kindergarten, still almost two years away:
“M is a very bright child, but she is a pistol. When she’s bored she finds mischief.”
You love to play with C and are bonded with her because you’re both girls.
You love to play with J and are bonded with him because you’re less than two years apart.
You will do almost anything to make your brother or sister happy.
We’ve had to curb this with C because she can cajole you into giving her your things.
We’re learning how to affirm your generosity while teaching you to honor your own needs.
When J is unhappy, you will sing to him, songs of your own devising.
A teacher at your preschool last year said,
“I enjoy hearing M’s ideas.”
The phrase captivated me and I now listen more carefully for your many ideas too.
It’s hard not to laugh at your earnest gestures and the crystal clear logic of the three year old.
When we ask you to do something you say “Sure,” and it kills me.
You wear everything well–pants, skirts, dresses, sandals, boots, hats.
You would rather die than wear pants though.
You refused to go underwater during swimming lessons.
No amount of persuasion or bribery on the part of the teachers would make you do it.
I didn’t participate in the persuasion much.
I knew that the time would come when you chose, that you would go underwater and come up, bangs flat against your forehead, eyelashes heavy with water, glistening smile.
You’re getting a bike for Christmas.
You either won’t notice that it’s gently used, or won’t care.
You may outgrow the training wheels before C does.
I always thought I would have a girl and a boy, one of each.
That makes you, not J, our bonus baby.