Monday, April 30, 2012

Poems, Socks, and Getting Older

April was National Poetry Month, and in belated honor of it I bought Where the Sidewalk Ends with a little over a week to spare.  I dig Dr. Seuss and all, but Shel Silverstein knows what's up.  I dogeared two poems that I'm going to put in my "motherly advice" drawer for use down the motivational/be a good kid line:


Listen to the MUSTN'TS child,
Listen to the DON'TS
Listen to the SHOULDN'TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me --
Anything can happen, child,

(I love poems that work for everyone, just like Pixar movies)


Please don't tell me I should hug,
Don't tell me I should care.
Don't tell me just how grand I'd feel
If I just learned to share.
Don't say, "It's all right to cry,"
"Be kind," "Be fair," "Be true."
Just let me see YOU do it,
Then I just might do it too.

There are plenty of people, regardless of age, who could benefit from DON'T TELL ME, myself included.  Shelly, you were a wise, wise man.

Today when we picked up 'Rad I got the strangest feeling a split second before Amy handed him over to me - I felt like I was looking at a big kid.  He was smiling and trying to jump in mid-air, and he just looked older.  Not toddler older, but just...older.  It was nice that my initial feeling was one of excitement and not complete internal meltdown, but it was so unexpected.  I see it now, though.  I see it in how when he looks at things you can see the wheels turning.  I can see it in how he tries so hard to get those Cheerios from the tray table to his hand to his mouth.  I can see it in how he is starting to have wants and not just needs, and how he wants those wants fulfilled as ferverently as we try to fulfill his needs.  I can see it in how he is.  It's amazing and it feels a little like riding a motorcycle without a helmet or going down the biggest hill on a rollercoaster - unsafe, breathtaking, and full of uncertainty. 

In random news, we are cleaning out our bedroom and Z came up with a handful of used, widowed socks.  The strange feeling that comes with throwing out completely unusable clothes apparently applies to socks too, so I went to almighty google for other uses for old socks.  This is what they had to offer: 30 Uses For Old Socks.  Needless to say, after suggestions like using old used - and in our case - nasty socks as a baby bath mitt, that handful of socks went in the trash.  I would like to save money and humanity as much as the next joe schmoe, but I don't think washing Connor in old foot stank (the kind that can't get washed out) is going to help anyone.

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