A Compromise

"What do you mean she's your Valentine?"

"Okay, we'll share!"

A Valentine Tradition

For 27 seven years I assigned my students to complete a formatted love poem. Even my kindergarteners had wonderful ideas about love and dictated their feelings to fill in the blanks. Not one student ever complained about writing this poem.

Last year I received two hand made Valentines from Ashley and Tessa carrying on the traditional assignment. Let’s do it again. Fill in the blanks…


Love tastes like _________.
Love sounds like ________.
Love looks like _________.
Love feels like __________.
Love smells like _________.
Love is ________________.
Here's my completed assignment for 2011.

Love tastes like a soggy Cheerio after you tested it and decided it was good enough to share.
Love sounds like your surprised laughter after a gazillion rounds of Peek-a-Boo.
Love looks like a special crinkly wink just for me.
Love feels like your sleepy head resting against me as we rock.
Love smells like baby freshness after your bath.
Love is my grandson Alekzander.

New Friends

Sadie Mae

Yesterday I gave away my child.
Don’t judge me. She has a much better home with lots of friends and exciting interactions on a daily basis.

I was her only friend and let’s face it; I’m not the most exciting person in the world. She was lonely and cranky and bored hanging out with me. I arranged a field trip to the Oriental Pet Parlour. As soon as we got out of the car we were greeted by screams of welcome and barks of excitement. Prancing proud peacocks fanned their glorious feathers as we strolled down the path past their outdoor aviary. A rooster crowed about our arrival. Hens clucked and gossiped about the new chick on the block. The pink eyes of an albino peacock gazed curiously at us as we sauntered past their pen.

“Hello!” “What’cha doing?” “ Hi there!” A cacophony of salutations saturated our reception. Feathers flapped as Sadie’s eyes dilated. She bobbed her head up and down and whistled in amazement. Nine new friends! Kisses and whistles abounded. Sadie stepped willing to their mother who gushed over my pretty girl. Introductions were made one by one. Sadie decided to sleep over and promised to call if she felt uncomfortable.

Within 24 hours Sadie sent me two emails and a picture to assure me she is having the time of her life. She was too busy to talk when I called her today. She was engaged in deep conversation and a little bit of flirting with a conure.

Stick People

Did you draw stick people when you were but a wee tiny person?
Did you use a thick pencil or those fat crayons that contain 8 in a box and never wear out? Did you feel suicidal when one broke in half? Then exchange it for a whole one from the person who sat next to you when they weren’t looking? No? Neither did I. Never ever.

Do you still draw stick people?
Whenever I assigned my students to illustrate a picture to depict a story, they would ask if they were allowed to draw stick people. “Stick people are fine if you put some clothes on them.” I only had three rules in my class:

1. Be kind to others.
2. Put forth your best effort.
3. No naked stick people.

I have a forest full of sticks, baskets of yarn, boxes of cloth, containers of beads and apparently too much time on my hands.


Which one do you like the best?

What am I going to do with them?
Plant them and hope they grow into tree people, of course.

Tessa Bug

I have known you before you were even born.
And I loved you before I ever met you.
I watched you grow from shy to confident,
from chubby to perfectly proportioned
(except your head is a wee big),
from stubborn to stubborner.
Do you still put yourself in the corner?
I watched your love grow,
your independence grow,
and your bangs grow out several times.

I love you when you are sick and sassy and silly.
Sometimes you are seriously silly.
Don’t you love being an oxymoron?
That’s a definite maybe.
Ha ha! Pretty awful, right?
You make me laugh and you laugh at my jokes.
That’s why I love you. You are laughing at my jokes?

I love you because you forged notes to your first grade teacher.
I love you because you modeled seven layers of your big girl panties
wearing a turquoise bow in your hair.
I love you because you invented a toilet paper holder with dental floss.

As a child you wouldn’t let different kinds of food touch on your plate,
or anyone sign your snow white cast on your broken arm.
As a child you would swing up to the moon and back again,
And dance dance dance.
And I loved you for all your little idiosyncrasies.
As an adult
I love your more for all your big ones.
I love that you still dance dance dance!
And if you stumble or fall you make it part of the dance.

You tell me things sometimes more than a mother should know.
You whisper secrets even though you know I can’t keep
them locked inside my head.
You share your worries and joys and oh-nos with me.
“Oops, I just threw up!”
You describe chunks or liquid. Brown or yellow.
Sharing is caring. And I love you for that.

I love you because you are creative.
Homemade cards and gifts, your specialty, are especially special.

You hang your clothes arranged by color neatly in your closets.
I love that Amber resides in there wrapped snuggly in a tattered blanket.

I love you because you have a cat named Rex.
You let me call him Rex-a-roni and sometimes he writes letters to Tank.

So many reasons to love a Tessa Bug.
You really are an asset gub.
And that’s one more reason I love you.

I was a teacher. Dad was a teacher.
Yoursisterashelleigh is a teacher, too.
Now you will stand behind a pink podium and change the world.
That is why I love you!

I love you because you work hard.
You love to learn.
You set goals. You accomplish them.
Yet you take time to color and stay in the lines.
And you cry when you get a tiger for Christmas.
You make up songs (not as good as mine).
And you sing off-key in public places.

I have always loved you.
Before, when you were just a tickle in my belly.
In between, when you were a pain in my neck.
Now, when you are my shining star.
Tessa, I am so proud of you.
I love you up to the moon and back again
And wish your wish:
Live happily ever after.
Happy Valentine’s Month!
loveyourmother

A Poem for Ashelleigh

Once upon a time on April 24, 1982
you were born and changed my life.

Then…
You told me you were pregnant.
You were three.
You were going to have a duck and name him Snoopy.

My independent child was so “fashion”.
You dressed yourself in a bathing suit, a turtleneck,
and cowboy boots.

As a kindergartener my budding young author wrote:
“I have a sister named Tessa.
She is a pain but I would not trade her for a dog.”

Your best friends were Bessie and Pooh.
You insisted that Bessie keep me company in the hospital overnight.
How could a child show more love?

You loved the beach.
Building castles and making cookies and shoes out of wet sand.
You loved Dad’s Polish braids,
and his homemade pizza and ice cream cake on birthdays.
Do you still wear your number sweatshirt?

My practical girl asked Santa for books and pencils and paper.
Scotch tape was a prize in your stocking.
“I do believe in Santa! I do! I do!”

My Mary Poppins, practically perfect:
Straight A student, awards, Renaissance girl,
athlete, scholarships, Newsweek Magazine,
Somerville Scholar. Graduate.


Once upon a time…
You grew up. You put on your big girl panties.
Fell in love. Moved to Charlotte. Married.
Told me you were pregnant.
Gave birth to a son (not a duck).

Once upon a time…
your life changed forever.

Change is good,
but aren’t you glad...
cowboy boots are still in style,
and sisters are nontransferable?
Dad will still make you pizza upon request.
Bessie and Pooh have met Cyrus McCormick
and reside contently in Alekzander’s nursery.
Santa and Chester visit every year.
Alligators live under tables in restaurants
And I still love you up to the moon and back again.
(But much bigger, like 28 years bigger.)

loveyourmother
happy valentine's month