Little m Long a

In an effort to stimulate stagnating brain cells and hopefully spawn some creativity, I am working on a little thing I think I shall call SUNDAY SONNETS.  Essentially, Sunday Sonnets will be a brief collection, quite random, of events or happenings around here in a loose verse form.  And no, I will not adhere to the truest definition of a sonnet as being a verse or song of 14 lines of iambic pentameter.  I’m not a poet–hell, I’m not even a writer–but then again you already know that, don’t you.  My initial offering, though not labeled as such, would have to be last week’s “That’ll Teach Em“.

This week’s Sonnet addresses the ever dwindling rodent population around Casa de Ed.  For discussion purposes let’s just assume that rabbits are rodents, OK?  I’m a dad not a zoologist.  Though zoo keeper would not be too far from an apt job description.

RODENTS BEWARE

Rodents, beware.
Though extremely cute and cuddly, your safety
Can not be assured in this place.

Yesterday’s offering
By our feline warriors was a most
Adorable (and assuredly dead) bunny.

The kids cringed
With horror and repulsion at the feasting
Yet would not look away.

Then Rusty
Availed himself
To the spoils.

And the feline feast was done.

Note to self:  Get cat food!

I file them in like little ducks.  Everywhere.  It’s a scene of repetition, an endless replay loop of loading and unloading, filing in and out from car to door and back again.  I’m kind of used to it now.  It’s commonplace.  This morning I had some information to pick up from the church office.  I’ve been conned into leading the 3-4 year old class at this year’s Vacation Bible School.  (God bless my mother-in-law!)  And so each morning next week I’ll be leading a group of 3 and 4 year old children in their daily Bible School activities for St. Mary’s Catholic Church.  It’s kind of funny.  My sister-in-law said, “Wait.  Aren’t you Methodist?”  “It’s worse than that,” I replied.  “I’m Baptist.”

So as I pick up my information packet this morning the woman at the church office proclaims, “My, don’t you have a lot of helpers.” To which came the following responses:

Zoë:  I help a lot.  I made Daddy’s coffee this morning.  (She did.  And it was great.  Irish cream–freshly ground beans.)

Zane:  I help, too.  Sometimes I make the coffee.

Zia (speaking in her loudest outside voice that begs to be heard above the clamor or four siblings):  I don’t do anything.  I’m just cuteness!

She’s got a point.

Vince is playing upstairs, songs familiar, forty years familiar, yet timeless and with each play exciting and new.  Above the calming melodies children are laughing.  Mischievous squeals followed by “sshhhes” and “be quiets”.  The chandelier in the dining room occasionally rattles, jarred from the playful bouncing upstairs.  Baths were skipped fatigue having won out over model parenting.  Teeth were brushed.  I take solace in that.

Not so very long ago the iced tea I’m enjoying would taste salty and of olives, burning ever so sweetly as I swallowed.  I’d have finished two (or three) and be heading to the deck for some fresh air.  I’m content this evening to listen to the music and the laughter of children who should be sleeping.

Yeah.  I’m OK with that.

Father’s day.  Dad’s all across the country will be heading out to the golf courses and ball parks, lakes and rivers, or just to the living room to veg out in the Lazy Boy with a frosty adult beverage sporting that new paisley necktie because–well it’s dad’s day and that’s what dads get to do on their day, right?   I’ve got other things that need tendin’ cause well, I just do.  So I thought I’d repost from last year my thoughts on Father’s Day.  I think it still rings pretty true and it captures what I really feel about Father’s Day.Happy Father’s Day.  (originally posted June 16, 2007–Thanks for the Warning, Andy)

Warhol once said, “In the future, everyone will be world famous for 15 minutes.”  I’ve spent my entire life trying to figure out how I was going to leave my mark, my signature.  How will the world know that I was here?  What will be the Legacy of Ed?  I’m nominal, at best when it comes to sports. I can barely hold a tune in a bucket. I don’t play an instrument. I don’t have a best selling novel floating around in my head. Forget business ideas, and I’m not really all that altruistic, so servitude is out.

Six years ago this January, I finally got it.  I realized in a single moment on a snowy winter day, how I would be shaping the future, changing the world around me.  My epiphany.

January 18, 2001 at 3:54pm I became a father.

“And the clouds parted to cast a true shadow.”  My idiotic quest for personal glorification died that day as I then came to realize it’s no longer about me.  My life now has purpose, focus and meaning.  My children are my world, they mean everything to me.  And I know now that my legacy, my signature is them.

Father’s Day is supposed to be about honoring dad, recognizing his sacrifices and his greatness.  I think it should be about the kids.  You guys are my reason, my purpose and my joy.  And let’s face it, without you, Father’s Day would really be just another Sunday in June.

Happy Father’s Day, guys.  I love you.

It’s O-Tay little skirrell.  It’s O-Tay.  Aww, what a koot little skirrell.

Zella, what are you talking about?

What do you have there?

Aww, Zella!  (exasperated)  That’s not a squirrell.  It’s a chipmunk.

And it’s dead!

Would you please stop hugging it!