Birthday kidnapping

Be patient with this pathetic rhyme.

I didn't have abundant time

To sit and think, through my language sift.

My time was spent preparing this gift.

Your trusty car was long neglected.

I thought, "It's time this was corrected!"

I drove it to my favorite lube shop

Where attendants laughed and shouted, "Stop!

"This car is four thousand miles o'verdue!

Don't you know what could happen to you?

We'll change the oil and inspect the brakes."

The good news is those both look great.

However the tires are much too bare.

We don't have a choice, they must be repaired.

If we drive much longer they will explode.

Then what would happen? Your head may implode!

I've ordered new tires after worry and fuss,

Tomorrow they'll arrive and be waiting for us.

I know you don't have a lot of spare time,

That's why this gift is especially fine.

I included a vanilla-scented tree

So each time you drive you'll remember me.

Happy Birthday!

This was the poem I left in Nathan's car for his birthday as one of his gifts. Sarah and I kidnapped it from the train station parking lot. We cleaned it completely out, vacuumed the carpets, and had maintenance work done. He never has enough time after work to work on his personal projects (like building a winch to remotely open the gate across our driveway), so we took care of these tasks as a way to free up some extra time for him.

Adoration

Blissfully content when I kiss his dark, velvety hair.
Love fills my soul as I gaze into his innocent eyes.
His fingers: impossibly small, yet grip my hand so tightly.
I love to kiss his soft, tender cheeks.

He laughs and grins in his sleep. I am delighted.
His sweet smell is intoxicating. I crave it.
The world can pass in its frenzied pace. I don't care for it.
I am perfectly happy to rock my baby for hours.

I adore him.

Good for a laugh

Here is some fantastic poetry a friend shared with me:


The Hokey Pokey, as told by William Shakespeare:

"O proud left foot, that ventures quick within
Then soon upon a backward journey lithe.
Anon, once more the gesture, then begin:
Command sinistral pedestal to writhe.
Commence thou then the fervid Hokey-Poke,
A mad gyration, hips in wanton swirl.
To spin! A wilde release from Heavens yoke.
Blessed dervish! Surely canst go, girl.
The Hoke, the poke -- banish now thy doubt
Verily, I say, 'tis what it's all about."