Under the Haystack, Fast Asleep

Tomorrow,

I'm all yours.

It's ok if the sink is full and the laundry is wet (and souring)
in a basket.

You can bring all the blankets and pillows you want and spread them any way you please,
as long as I am still the guest of honor.

All stuffed toys are welcomed in the car and to any tea parties.

When you excitedly retell your story about how you've given new names to everyone in your class because your brother is challenging you to say them all again (to see if you just made all of it up on the spot), I will listen just as attentively as if it were the first time.

We'll dance, we'll sing, we'll make the brownies we've talked about all week.

This week,  I will try desperately to remember my own childhood as I'm more fully enjoying yours. I will imagine looking out of your eyes. What expression will I see looking back at me?


Tonight while you sleep,

I will wonder,

at what age do kids stop wishing they could fly?

and I'll reflect

on your sincere, innocent nighttime prayers...

and how many times you weren't able to finish your sentence because of interruptions.

I'm going to forever remember that this morning,
as I tried to gently prepare you for the possibility of failing,
you looked at me and asked, "Do you think I can do it?"

I believe you can do anything and will be there for the times
when you forget you can.



Just do me a favor,


if in the morning,

your special wish comes true,

don't fly away too soon

or too far,

because you and I...

we have a lot of playing left to do.