Pitter-Patter (Chapters 1 & 2)

730a
Grey skies loom out my windowed-view, yet the pitter-patter of little bare feet on the hard wood floor tickle my tummy. I’ve been awake for some time although I am snuggled here.
Instead of jolting into the normal routine of the day-to-day, hitting snooze one too many times, I have luxuriated in a fragrant haze, that luscious delicacy of a Saturday morning at home.
I hear the thud-thud as your pads turn the corner, and the sneaky tip-toe as you sneak to see if I am still snoozing. Surprising you from under the heap of down cover, I am ear-to-ear-good-morning-ing you and your eyes, bright as chocolate pie, flicker with a light source all its own.
Looking at your tall, lanky frame this morning, I still see the pig-tailed-toddler and the familiar Saturday morning refrain, during visits north, ‘can we go to the bak-ew-ee jenn?’
Today the same refrain, and a sure smile, I know we are both wondering if the grey skies outside might allow us the added treat of a puddle-jumping tramp to our Main Street haunt.

Roost
Perched atop the leather-topped, padded barstool, swiveling back and forth waiting on a peach smoothie, I listen as you tell me about your friend’s birthday party plans for later today. I like the way you look deeply into my eyes, seeing me listening to you. You are a natural storyteller.
Listening, I am reminded of how lovely your raconteur-skills have evolved. A favorite past time is rifling through the lined-paper-pages of stories, poems, and imagery we have collected since you began school.
I delight in the flowering maturation of your penmanship—your fertile use of phonics to articulate the vocabulary of your painter’s palette. Sometimes we giggle deep, with the cleverly crafted spelling.
I am so proud of how very quickly you went from listener to reader and it sends shivers of joy into my center to know that you are a seven-year-old bibliophile.

Sippy

Canter on out, into the swish and wish of a mid day
sun
rise.

Swirl and whirl
your hips
undulate into the unknown
mercurial
oblivion
of another’s universe.

Make it your own.

Sip it silly (long, sippy draws).
into the deep-belly-depth of your center.
Inhale something wicked fierce.
Let it tickle your fancy.