Little m Long a

There’s something to be said for Sleep Late Sundays.  The kids anticipate it’s arrival almost as eagerly as I.  A lazy day with no schedule.  No practices or agendas.  Just sleep in and go where the day leads us.  We normally begin our day with my now world famous from scratch pancakes.  It’s kind of morphed into a whole experience.

The kids will often help with the ingredients and pancake mixing.  Sausage sizzles and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee lifts everyone’s spirits.  Jazz plays softly in the background.  It has become one of my favorite family experiences.  Ah yes.  Sleep Late Sunday.

Today’s Sunday Sonnet (penned just moments ago) was inspired by the unexpected.  I really slept in this morning.  It felt good.

Waking in a Dream

Something surreal about sleeping in,
Like waking in a time warp, groggy.
Stumbling towards the bedroom door
Hesitant, unsure of what lies beyond.

It’s quiet.  Did the kids sleep, too?
Giggles.  Footsteps.  Twins are up.
Laughter and squeals and warm
Good morning hugs.  Nothing compares.

But three are missing.  Beds are empty
(Unmade, of course, but empty)
Silence.  No sign of them upstairs.
I hear them, voices calm, agreeable.

In the living room.  Playing chess?
Surreal indeed!

*As I typed this, the calm agreeable voices of children that appear to love each other and get along transformed into the screaming, crying, arguing children that normally dwell in this place.  That’s more like it.

Sleepy time is over!

My kids get frightened during thunderstorms.  The lightning startles them and the claps of thunder elicit screams.  I could watch it rain all night.  I love the way night time is broken by momentary flashes of brilliant white light and I could listen to the rolling thunder on an endless replay loop.  Raindrops on a metal surface somehow soothe me.  And nothing compares to the exhilaration of watching a storm cross a body of water making its way to the screened porch where you safely can absorb it’s power and beauty.

It rained last Wednesday night.  A good rain, hard with plenty of lightning and rolling thunder.  I sat, alone in my living room as the family slept and I enjoyed every bit of it.  Images of my youth flashed with each bolt of lightning and the booming thunder turned the pages as I watched the storm.  And I listened.  It was pretty cool.

This week’s Sunday Sonnet was inspired by last Wednesday’s thunderstorm.

A Refreshing Shower

There’s something soothing, calming
About watching a springtime thunderstorm.
Lightning flashes and I count…
One, two, three, four.

And the crash of thunder lets me know
The center of the storm is not far.
The rain pelts the air conditioner.
My clogged gutters are useless.

As the water pours down I take solace
Knowing that one more chore has been done
My plants won’t need the hose tomorrow
And it’ll be far to wet to mow.

And bonus:  the car is getting a free rinse….

Oh, Crap!  I left the windows down!

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’ve got a bird in my attic.
Damn thing flew in there
Couldn’t find his way out.
He died.

I left him there
As a warning
To any other birds
Wanting in……..

I’ve got flies in my attic……

And a rotting bird carcass.