Getting out of bed

Most mornings I wake up one of the children a little before six and we make breakfast together. Waffles were supposed to be on the menu this morning; however, when I went to wake Miss M (who is one of my true larks) she let me know that she was too tired to wake up and make breakfast. I stumbled back to my bed for twenty minutes more.

I had a good chuckle at the girls expense too. Lucy had her head on Miss M's chest like she was a pillow.

Unfortunately, I did miss my normal time with Miss M. With six kids you don't get a whole lotta 1 0n 1 time with each kid.

So... Here's a short poem for my Miss M

Bleary eyed and incoherant
Not a good time
to make a decision
I head back to bed

So looking forward
when opportunity returns
I'll let my convictions win
and some sleep be lost.

The Construction Gang

My grandfather Barlow was a prolific poet. When he died my grandmother spent more than a year compiling and editing his poetry. She gave a copy to all of her children and grandchildren. My favorite poem of his is this one:

A good thing to remember
A better thing to do
Is be part of the construction gang
And not the wrecking crew.

I've been thinking about it a lot lately.
Since I have a propensity to procrastinate I've decided that the poem needs a second stanza. I hope my grandpa would approve.

One builds it up
One tears it down
One more does nothing
Only one is renowned.

I can remember as a child, teaching myself how to braid by playing with a pine needle. When I had finished the braid I felt like I had created something wonderful. Not that the braid was fantastic, the point was: I had created. That feeling of accomplishment was/is so wonderful. I love being part of the construction gang.

What makes you feel that way?