Pictures, Rambles, and Poetry

Tiernan really is growing up way too fast. He's 11 months now, walking everywhere and climbing on everything. I'm going to guess that not a lot of kids have gotten the 'You may not climb the stove' rule at 10 months. But he's awesome, and I adore being his mama.

He loves to play outside.

He also loves hanging out with his friends.

Here Kyra and Tiernan were playing the piano together, and then they took turns putting things inside the cup.

It's crazy to think that here in a few weeks, he's going to be a year old. My baby has turned into a toddler, and a strong-willed one at that. We've had to increase disciplinary measures recently...he started just laughing when I flicked his hand for touching something he shouldn't, so we had to move on to real spankings to get the point across. Our parents tell us that we were both the strongest-willed of our siblings, so I suppose it shouldn't be any surprise.

Time is a fickle thing. It moves so slowly yet flies by. Everybody tells me that the child-rearing years are notorious for being there and gone before they know it. I don't want to miss a moment. It's easy to get caught up in the daily grind, the frustrations of keeping up a house, and be annoyed by the interruption as Tiernan once again tests to see if he can touch the dishwasher. But the joy that lights up his face when I put my work aside and just play with him is so priceless. I'm scared that someday I will lose the closeness I feel towards him. I don't want that to happen.

I reminded myself of a poem I wrote in Creative Writing in college. I forget what the assignment was, but it succeeded in making me write a poem I probably wouldn't have otherwise. I don't think I usually use enjambment this much.


Time
A dim glow appeared in the east
as dawn silently, stealthily approached
amidst the chanting, singing birds
calling up the sun, while bats
and night-creatures found their roosts
and the tired people stretched and yawned,
until, breaking over the eastern trees
the brilliant sun sent great beams of light
across the waking world—and so the day
began its course, just like the day before,
passing ever so terribly slow, yet winking past,
as time drags through each minute
and races through years; or how
else is it that an hour is an eternity,
and a decade but a blink?