Cranky Pants

When I was getting dressed today
By some unlucky chance,
Instead of choosing my blue jeans
I chose my cranky pants.

Perhaps I woke and got out
On the wrong side of the bed.
Or maybe it was lack of sleep
That muddled up my head.

Whatever was the reason,
Those pants messed up my day.
Every noise annoyed me,
Everyone got in my way.

The cranky pants were much too tight,
Too itchy and too hot.
They even made it hard to walk,
And so I stomped a lot.

I’m sorry that I snapped at you,
Like some old crocodile.
I can’t help but be snappy
With my pants cut in this style.

But don’t you worry dear one,
No need to fret and pout.
After this bad-tempered day,
I’m throwing those pants out.

And so tomorrow I’ll be back
Full of smiles! Unless…
Let’s just hope that I don’t find
That spotty grumpy dress.

Prose for Thought
http://www.reflectionsfromme.com
A Bit Of Everything
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To My Niece on Starting School

You started school last week
It doesn’t seem quite right.
Surely you’re a baby still –
Weren’t you born last night?

And yet so much has happened.
You’ve learned and you have grown.
And now you’re ready to explore
The big world on your own.

And the big wide world is lucky.
You surely are a star.
You don’t need to change at all
They’ll love you as you are.

And yet you will keep changing;
A bit more everyday.
Your shine will grow still brighter,
Through laughter, work, and play.

You’ll dazzle them with star shine
You’ll set the world alight.
Your time at school will be a joy
Because you shine so bright.

And though the day will come (too soon!)
When your school days will cease.
You’ll always be a shining star
My darling little niece.

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A Quite Convincing Mummy

It’s early on a Friday.
I wonder who I am.
On Monday I was Penny
To a tiny Fireman Sam.

On Tuesday I was Daddy.
On Wednesday I was Pa.
I’d come around with tools
So that I could fix the car.

On Thursday I was hopeful
When you said I was the cat.
I thought there would be napping,
But you wanted none of that.

So Friday’s rolled around
And I wonder who I’ll be.
Every brand new day
Seems to bring a brand new me.

But you wake up feeling sick;
Say you have an achey tummy.
At times like these I still can be
A quite convincing Mummy.

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Patience

christmas-presents-595850_1280

Over in the corner
Underneath the tree
There’s a shiny silver present
That’s been wrapped up just for me.

It’s been sitting over there
For more than a whole week.
If I unpick just the corner
I can take a little peek.

This sticky tape is tricky
I’ll pull a little more,
And then I’ll put it all right back
The way it was before.

On no! I pulled too hard.
There’s paper on the floor.
I can see my present now,
But Mum is at the door!

I think that she’ll be cross.
And Father Christmas too!
He’ll put me on the bad list
Although it isn’t true.

I really am a good kid.
(My Nan says I’m a joy!)
I only wanted just a peek
At my new Christmas toy.

The only thing to do
Is to hide behind a chair.
If I stay perfectly still
Mum won’t know I’m there.

She comes into the room
And cries out “You’re so silly!”
I think that I’ve been caught,
But she’s looking right at Millie.

Patience is a virtue?
I don’t agree with that.
Check all your presents early,
Then blame it on the cat!

A Bit Of Everything
http://www.reflectionsfromme.com
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What do you do all day?

I can’t understand parents like you.
If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do?

My face flushes red. I’m not really sure.
It’s certainly different from my life before.

I drive trains and buses, trucks and cars,
Build my own spaceships and fly to the stars.

I scrub and wipe and pick up blocks,
Wash shirts and pants and piles of socks.

I’m a tiger, a frog, a monkey, a goat.
I sail away in a pea green boat.

I make meals and snacks; most earnest of cooks.
Read hundreds and thousands and millions of books.

I sing and I dance and I play the drum,
I answer every “What’s this, Mum?”

I do the shopping, unpack it on shelves,
(With “help” from two mischievous elves!)

I walk to the park and push the swings,
And supervise all of the trickier things.

I’m a doctor with special first aid supplies;
Kisses and cuddles and drying of eyes.

I splash in water, make castles in sand,
My artistic skills are in high demand.

I clean and dress as little ones wriggle.
I smile and sigh and grumble and giggle.

And when night time falls after all of this;
I seal the day with a goodnight kiss.

Mummuddlingthrough
Prose for Thought
Happy Diaries
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A Study of Time

I spent a wonderful weekend at a Festival for Children’s and YA Book Creators. I will write more about it soon but one of the main highlights for me was a three hour workshop on Rhyme, Rhythm and Repetition with the inimitable Mem Fox.

The poem that follows is a first attempt to practise some of the things that we learnt during that workshop.

It’s a study of time.

The content looks at time, but it’s also an attempt to consider the timing and rhythm within the poetry. It’s not quite right because I’ve written it while the babies are napping so the required stomping and clapping to count out the beat had to be much quieter than optimal… I need a sound proof booth!

clock

Time

Where did the time go?
My angel, my dear.
Where did the time go?
My dear.
I thought time moved slow,
My angel, my dear.
But what did I know?
My dear.

Inside me you grew,
My angel, my dear,
Inside me you grew,
My dear.
And how the time flew,
My angel, my dear,
If only I knew,
My dear.

And then you were small,
My angel, my dear,
And then you were small,
My dear.
I dreamed you were tall
My angel, my dear,
Knew nothing at all,
My dear.

And now you have grown,
My angel, my dear,
And now you have grown,
My dear.
I see that time’s flown,
My angel, my dear,
Could never have known,
My dear.

I can’t make time still,
My angel, my dear,
I can’t make time still,
My dear.
Time has its own will,
My angel, my dear,
It doesn’t refill,
My dear.

But we can slow down,
My angel, my dear,
But we can slow down,
My dear.
And I’ll tell you how,
My angel, my dear,
I’ll cuddle you now,
My dear.

For when you are near,
My angel, my dear,
For when you are near,
My dear.
Time’s nothing to fear,
My angel, my dear,
Forever’s right here,
My dear.

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Sleepless nights

You call for me at midnight,
You call for me at four.
Sometimes with a gurgle,
More often with a roar.

The night is big and lonely,
And you are oh so small.
You’d like to see your mummy.
And so, my love, you call.

It’s late and I am sleepy,
And so, my love, I grumble.
And as I pick you up again
You hear my tired mumble.

But nonetheless I hold you,
Rock you back to sleep.
I promised I’d be there for you;
A promise that I’ll keep.

Then maybe later down the track,
(In eighteen years or more!)
You’ll call me once again, my love,
At two, or three, or four.

And once again I’ll grumble,
I’ll moan that it is late.
But I’ll always come and find you,
I’ll never make you wait.

And there might come a day,
When you’re a parent too.
And in the middle of the night
Your child will call for you.

And then you’ll understand
That precious love so deep.
You wouldn’t trade it in
For a thousand nights of sleep.

Yet sometimes you’ll be tired,
You’ll think you’ve had enough.
Then you can call on me, my love;
Sleepless nights are tough.

Whether you’re a baby,
Or when you’re fully grown.
You can always call on me, my love,
You’ll never be alone.

And though there’ll come a day
When we will be apart.
You still can always call on me;
I’ll live on in your heart.


Prose for Thought
Mummuddlingthrough

 

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Unconditional love

Growing up together
Growing up together

This is a post for posterity. I know there will be times in their lives when they will fight and drive each other mad. But right now Pickles and Pords are the very greatest of friends.

From the moment Pords wakes up in the morning she waits for him. As soon as she hears movement from his room, her whole being lights up. Now that she is mobile, she follows him around constantly.

In turn, Pickles is as doting a big brother as you will ever find. He comforts her when she is crying, brings her toys, tells her stories, and sings her songs.

They also find one another hilarious. Already they share a secret sibling sense of humour. They constantly have each other in fits of laughter and no one else can quite understand why.

For me, unconditional love looks like Pords’ face when she hears Pickles coming. I wrote a poem to try and capture that moment so if they ever go through sibling rough patches, I can read to them of a time when they were very best of friends.

Siblings

A sound.
It could be anything but
You recognise it.
Friendly, happy,
Crashy sound.
You turn your head
Expectantly.

And there he is.

Your world.
He is everything that
You want to be.
Kind and funny,
Getting taller.
You love him so.
Your brother.

 

http://www.reflectionsfromme.com
Post Comment Love
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Bookends to My Day

A sleepy morning kiss,
A tiny-armed embrace.
No amount of coffee,
Could beat that little face.

And thus the day begins
With all its ups and downs.
The work, the rest, the play.
The laughter and the frowns.

But when the bold moon rises
To herald in the night.
A happy bedtime ritual
Makes everything just right.

Cuddles in the morning,
A big hug before bed.
A smattering of kisses,
Atop a tiny head.

Nothing else around,
Could make me feel this way.
Those perfect little moments;
Bookends to my day.

Prose for Thought

Mummascribbles

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Ode to a Library

Palace of books,
Oh how you shine.
You lend me your treasures
And, briefly, they’re mine.

Without getting up,
Or leaving my place,
I can travel the world,
Through time and through space.

I am old in the morning
And then very young.
I wake in the Winter
But then Spring has sprung.

I sail on the ocean,
A pirate at sea.
I’m snug in my bed
And yet wild and free.

I’m lost in a jungle,
A tiger is near.
But safe in my armchair
I’ve nothing to fear.

I’m a famous magician,
A queen on a throne.
I’m surrounded by people,
Right here on my own.

With every new story,
Every page that I turn,
I discover new wonders,
I grow and I learn.

No matter the cover,
No matter its looks,
There’ll always be beauty
In a palace of books.

 

Prose for Thought

A Bit Of Everything

 

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