It's music to my ears

Sweet Girl is a poet. And she knows it. But, even though she writes poetry on every imaginable topic, from limericks about her sister to rhymes about her brother, to prose about trees, to songs about birds, she doesn't usually share them with me. I tend to stumble across them. I always get a kick out of them, and truly see talent there. (The spelling can make me laugh, too!)

So, the other day I was opening up Microsoft Word and in "my recent documents" I spied, "Mother". I personally didn't remember writing anything entitiled "Mother", so of course I opened it, because, "mine is not to reason why, mine is but to peek and pry". I found a poem to me. I had this brief fearful moment when I thought that she must had written it for me, printed it up, given it to me, and I had forgotten it. What sort of mother forgets a poem entitled "Mother" and written by her little daughter? (Well, me, but I didn't, and that's the point). I read it. For the first time. My eyes teared up. I thought, "She likes me, she really likes me". I called her into the room and pointed at the computer screen.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Oh, that", she shrugged. "I wrote that for you last year. For Mother's Day or your birthday. Can't remember which".

"But why haven't I seen it before?".

"Oh, I was going to type it and print it and frame it but the frame didn't fit and anyway, I bought you something else. That was way better. Remember?"

Kids don't get it. There is nothing she could have purchased for me that would have brought me greater joy than this:

MOTHER

Makes me giggle, and do a happy wiggle

Kiss and hugger, chocolate lover.

Candy buyer, makes me a tryer

Care-taker when I'm sick.

Always with me, thin or thick.

Homeschool teacher. High-up reacher

Goodie baker. Big breakfast maker. Movie taker

Main Street Walker. Fun plans talker.

Funny joke teller. Won't allow a yeller.

Won't let me be sad. Hard to make mad.

Soccer mom. Cookbook lover.

Out-loud reader. Gives me the beater.

Tea party planner. Teaches me manners.

Makes a garden. Shows a rainbow.

Tells me something good to know.

Who can it be? No one but my mommy!

As a herewegoagain sidenote to this wonderful little poem, I just have to say that there are not one or two or even three references to food...but, um, SEVEN. Yes, I love to eat candy. Make goodies. Have an egg or two or three (with bacon and potatoes) for breakfast. Read cookbooks. Plan tea parties. Share a beater full of cookie dough. Have I mentioned Hershey Kisses lately? That would be the chocolate lover part. They are sweet, but not as sweet as my little girl...who has got me pegged 100 percent.