I’m grateful for a slice of time,
that slippery, elusive commodity,
to be with our kids and their kids.

For Carson,
whose little bum I wiped,
offering me pointers on the art of diapering.

  We take pleasure in watching this man
giving baby-baths and piggy-backs.

For Levi, who at three weeks’ age
has the visage of an octogenarian.
His furrowed forehead seems to say,
“I reserve the right to withhold my opinion
until more data is in.”

For family extended,
our daughter-in-law’s parents,
whose lives are braided with ours
through our mutual grandsons.

Last night they taught us Hand & Foot,
soundly defeating our novice hands
and awakening that competitive urge for a rematch.

The joy of cooking is magnified
in a large kitchen with a common goal:
chopping vegetables,
gathering rosemary,
mixing biscuits,
slipping skin off peaches,
blending pastry,
stirring soup,
watching the pie.

Noah!
We wait for you to wake up,
to hear your happy vocals.
You repeat the sounding joy,
a face tilted back in laughter,
trying out every word you hear;
every word but one,
that ponderous word no.

I bless the day that Taryn entered Carson’s life.
She enriches those around her,
bringing beauty, depth, laughter and grace.
Feet pitter patter,
toys toggle between shelf and floor,
hungry stomachs growl.

Sleep deprivation can’t stifle
the aroma of this home,
 wafting up from contented souls.
The fragrance of good memories remains.