Sneaky Jonah

 Guess how sneaky I am?  Whenever Mom is making dinner and has her back turned, I can sprint past the pantry, grab a packet of fruit snacks and make a dash for my favorite little niche in the mud room.  Mom doesn't suspect a thing!  She can't even hear the wrapper crinkling or my satisfied eating noises. Most of the time I forget to throw away the small pile of garbage I make back here, but somehow it mysteriously disappears.  And if she does come looking for me, I just flash my charming smile to which she rolls her eyes and lets me finish my fruit snacks anyway.  Yep, I've got a good thing going.  I'm sure I can keep this jig up for at least a year or two until I lose my "cute factor."

Babies Don't Keep

"Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth, Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

Hang out the washing and butter the bread,

Sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew

And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo

But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

For children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."

I love this poem.  My sister just posted it on her blog.  The words echoed through my mind the other day when I had a unique quiet moment with Nathan.  Jacob was at school, Sarah was playing at a friend's house and Jonah was asleep.  I thought of the piles of bills waiting to be paid on my counter, the piles of dirty dishes in the sink, the piles of laundry upstairs in my room waiting to be folded, and the piles of dust on every surface and in every corner I glanced at.  Instead of tackling those chores, I looked at my darling baby, held him in my arms, kissed his soft cheeks, smelled his sweet breath, basked in the twinkle of his big, brown eyes, enjoyed every ticklish giggle, loved every slobbery, wet kiss he gave me, laughed at his toothy grin, and marveled at his strength as he grabbed my fingers with his chubby little fist.  I kept wanting to take pictures in my mind so that when he's older and pushing my buttons I'll remember that precious moment.  Because just like the poem says those chores will always be there waiting for me but for right now "I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."