My Kindergartner has been writing poems in school. Like, actual poems. I don’t think I could write my name at that age.
Her first poem was about Spring, and it blew my mind. We had just gone to see the Cherry Blossoms in East Potomac park, and they obviously made an impression.
Oh Spring, Oh Spring
Oh the blossoms in the wind
As white as snow, they sparkle and shake
And shake in the wind
Seriously. She wrote that without any help!
So when I saw that her assignment was to write a poem about her mom and one about her dad, I was excited. I couldn’t wait to see our mini Maya Angelou came up with. Are you as excited as I am?!
Ok, here goes…
My mom has a purse
It is filled with her stuff
A brush, her phone
I was so right about it bringing a tear to my eye. Why is she talking about my purse, of all things? Hasn’t she seen all my shoes??? I also have socks. Lots of them.
“Um Lira… is that what you think of when you think of Mommy? Not all our special times together? Just my purse?”
“No, I talked about your phone too.”
Good point; she did. Maybe the Spring poem was a fluke? Perhaps she’s less Maya Angelou and more Joan Rivers?
But her poem about dad proved otherwise:
I love my dad
When I go to bed he lays down with me
I love my dad
And he loves me
There you go. All love and snuggles. Not a single mention of his wallet or phone.
So I asked “Lira, do you think you can write another poem about Mommy? One that talks about something else?”
“You don’t get do-overs when it comes to homework, Mom.”
I think there’s only one way to cope with this type of thing. When she and Daddy are snuggling and reading bedtime stories, I’m going purse shopping… unless y’all have any better suggestions?