Who Am I Really?

When I grow up, I want to be a mommy—

The best mommy in the whole wide world.

I’ll rock my babies in a chair,

And sing them to sleep every night.


I’ll hold them, and cuddle them,

And keep them safe always.

I’ll tell them I love them and teach them to pray.

My babies will learn right from wrong.


I’ll nourish their hunger for food and for learning.

They’ll drink in the sunshine and thrive.

My children will speak kindly and in quiet voices,

No anger or fighting will be in my home.


I’ve had my babies and I am a mommy,

I’m NOT the best mom in the world.

It’s not what I pictured in my youthful imagination,

But it’s a good life all the same.


My babies are rocked and lullabies are sung.

Children are cuddled and loved all the time.

We are teaching them all that we know and love,

They are learning and growing and thriving.


I’m learning to cope with my foibles and faults,

My children don’t need them, you see.

They’re teaching me patience as they quarrel and argue,

I’m learning to tune out the fights.


When I’m not refereeing the battlefield at home,

My titles are youth leader, chauffeur, and classroom assistant.

Camp Fire candy fills our garage; closets stuffed full with crafts,

And our weekends are centered on kid friendly things.


The kids need new coats and their shoes have worn thin,

So my sweater will last me another winter.

The car is in the shop, television on the blink,

And checkbook is in the red.


My children are grown now, and I’m a granny.

Life is much more to my liking each day.

As the kids raise their own children,

The cycle is becoming complete.


Their families are young yet, but they’re beginning to learn,

That neither life nor children come with manuals.

Though they still don’t remember the rocking and lullabies,

Nor the fun times we had in the park.


They’re stuck on the everyday quarrels and battles;

Still thinking therapy is in order for all.

As the grandchildren get older, there’s hope for the future;

They are showing my children the truth.


I don’t think I was a bad mommy, but not the best either,

I just did the best that I could.

My children will learn, as their children mature,

Life isn’t as easy as it looks.


So who am I really?

The rocker and cuddler?

The referee and chauffeur?

The granny with all the charm?


Someone above will answer that question.

I hope I’m not here when He does.


The Wave

I sit in the chair enjoying the stillness of the night,

A gentle breeze blowing through the open doors and windows.

It’s been a good day, and all is well.


A wave hits, and I feel heat from the top of my head to my toes.

I begin to curse middle age — but this isn’t a flash; it’s a wave.

I force a smile and voice aloud that no wave can get me tonight,

It’s been a great day, and nothing can destroy it.


The second wave hits with the force of a Tsunami

Destroying every good memory in it’s path.

If I just go to bed, I know it will be better in the morning,

But my hindquarters are paralyzed and glued to the chair.


My hand sits on the TV remote.

I force my fingers to punch in a “happy” channel,

But my eyes and brain can’t process happy

And I stare blindly at the screen.


Earlier I penned blessings for which I have gratitude.

I try to recall those blessings,

But they were washed away with the wave.


Prayer will help, I think, and I try to pray.

No thoughts or words are formed.

Doubt, fear, and gloom continue to linger.

Paralysis persists, and I can’t move my body.


At long last muscles in my legs begin to twitch

And beg to be moved.

I’m able to stand.

If I can just go to bed, all will be well.


I lay on my pillow, but melancholy hangs in the air,

And sleep is nonexistent.

Words still won’t form a prayer.

Darkness looms.

Silent tears fall with no emotion.

And finally sleep.

It Ends Well

The world has gone mad

The stench of evil all around

At least it seems.

Bombs, fires, tornadoes

Hurricanes, oil spills, earthquakes

Locusts, killer bees, spiders

Missiles, atomic weapons

Automatic rifles inside schools.


Children — mere babies cursing

Parents and family abusing

Families torn apart.

Children born without families

Worse, those who were never born.


Where is the peace?  We cry.

Why do we suffer?

How long will the evil last?

Where is God?


Lilacs blossom, roses bloom

A child hugs another.

The fragrance of tiny orange blossoms

Fill the air.

A baby is born

The family dog guards the cradle.

A toddler takes first steps

Smoking BBQ sauce wafts in the crisp spring air.


Gentle rain falls on the window

The old couple cuddles under the warm quilt.

Soft music sets the mood as

A single candle flickers.

The words of the scriptures

Fill my mind.

“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you:  not as the world giveth, give I unto you.  Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”  John 14:27

The end may be in sight;

But it ends well.


A Writer’s Night

Warm, quiet night.

Only the chirp of the old table fan as it oscillates disturbs the silence.

Man’s best friend asleep at my feet.

His loyalty does not go unnoticed.

I tap the computer keys a bit slower than in days past.

Arthritis has taken its toll.

The wonder of the evening quiet fills my heart.

Problems of the day fade as my fantasy world is entered.

Words transport me to lands far away from worries and cares.

Fingers race to catch up with ideas and plots

Running wild through my brain.

The clock ticks away undetected.

Dragons and giant flowers replace cobwebs in my mind.

Wild horses and spotted deer leap

Fences between real and imaginary

Until exhaustion sets in.

Regretfully, sleep is inevitable

And I awake to 16 hours of reality

Before I can again cross over to lands far away.