Thursday, March 17, 2011
I've never met your mother, but I hear she's lovely. Two generous hands to scoop you up off your feet and remind you that you're beautiful. Never tired of the dirty laundry. Never tired of day-time television. It's not a crime to kiss your cheek, and you're never too old for lullabies. I put on a pot of coffee so I can evaluate your day. Put on a jacket to avoid bacteria. Put on your dress shoes because we're going to church. Put down the candy bar, the action figure, the television controller, the blinds so the neighbors can't see inside. I'm tired today. I got up early, fell asleep late, and missed all of your phone calls home. I ate Kraft dinner and ignored the day-old dishes. Wipe your feet at the door. I'll wait for you to fill me in.