Poetry time!

Tonight Henry had to write a poem for his school anthology. His assignment was to write about a living thing that was important to him, and he was apologetic as he told me that he would probably write about the dog or the cat. I assured him that in no way did I expect him to write about me. No self-respecting grade-schooler is going to write an ode to his mother in the school anthology.

Then, together, we composed the poem that would never be published:

Mother
Skin, so soft
Smells like lavender
Hours of cuddletime
Whispered secrets
Mother


I offered to pay him real money if he put that into the anthology. He laughed so hard he got the hiccups and then happily wrote the real poem he was stressed out about a few minutes before and I high-fived myself for being the best parent in the entire universe. Sorry, rest of you. It's me!

A few minutes later we got into a fight, somehow, in that magical horrible way you do when you're talking and then you're yelling and you can't remember how your mouth went from making normal sounds to angry ones. The pants on his Lego Minifigure were wrong and he was frustrated and I didn't want to hear it and he slammed his door and I said, "When you're ready to apologize I'M NOT GOING TO ACCEPT IT," which is the funniest thing I've ever said in my life although I was dead serious, of course. As if he would have come out a few minutes later and I'd hiss, too late. Take your Lego minifigure and his incorrect pants and go. Just…just go.

Although if I had done that, think of the poet he'd turn into. Not that he needs help, because his poem about Charlie was pretty much the best. This is my unbiased opinion.