when it’s time

our two-year-old runs
to me, her bare feet smacking
the hard floor. Smiling,
she asks me, “may I watch a show,
when it’s time?”

She runs away and runs back,
“May I have chocolate,
when it’s time?”

And again, “may I play on your phone,
when it’s time?”

I answer yes, yes, and yes,

and then I pray
to have her kind of
happy, confident faith
in the fullness of God’s time.

to be happy with

When my fourth baby is a few months old
I lie with my back on the floor,
fingers reaching one way, toes the other, and the hem of my shirt pulls away from the waistband of my pants.
My three-year-old daughter who kneels beside me asks,
“Why is your belly so wrinkly?”
My immediate shock and surprise fade, and I mentally leap into a readily available pit of despair. Then I offer her a cursory explanation of skin’s elasticity and the effects of multiple pregnancies,
and gravity.
And, as if she hasn’t listened to a word I’ve said,
“It’s Beautiful!”

That fourth little babe is now over a year old
and wouldn’t you know he blows the best raspberries on that wrinkly old skin there ever was.

Peeling Grapes

Who am I

to be blessed with a baby

who loves grapes;

and me, with legs and feet to stand,

hands and fingers to work,

eyes to watch and ears to listen?

The juice runs down between my fingers

as my knife works.  It drips from my wrist onto the white plate

where I wipe the purple skins and quarter the fruit.

Who am I to be blessed with the Time to stand here

peeling grapes?