I Love to Be With You

I love to be with you. I love to wake up in the morning and see your happy face . . . to see eyes peeking out from under pink blankets and know that a smile hides beneath.

I love to be with you. I love to make you breakfast in the morning . . . buttery pancakes and syrup. You taste and smell each sweet bite. Your sticky little fingers and face are sweeter than the nummies you enjoy.

I love to be with you. I love how you are my little helper . . . how I turn around and you are there . . . how you follow me everywhere. Tripping on my heels, tugging on my dress . . . wanting to be near me . . . as close as you can get.

I love to be with you. You help me wash the windows. I see your face in the glass . . . a reflection of me that I hope will last, the child. I am reluctant to wipe away little finger prints . . . precious reminders that there is no one just like you.

I love to be with you. I love to play with you in the sun . . . to see the brilliance of the light shining on your head like a crown of gold. I see the pink of your cheeks and the windies blowing in your hair. I tell you God is whispering. You blow a ripe dandelion and send your prayers heavenward.

I love to be with you. I love to hear your chatter, like the buzzing of a bee. Your words and gibberish stick to me like honey. They echo in my ear even while you sleep. Such a sweet voice and sound recorded in my mind.

I love to be with you. I love to see you dance. I love to dance with you. The music plays and I hold your hands. Your little feet move to something between a waltz and a jig. You whirly-twirl, fall down and get up again. Its part of your performance and you play it well.

I love to be with you. I love to play with you. You are so good to your babies, careful to cover them when they are cold, and feed them when they are hungry. You pat them and rock them as you whisper," oooh," just like you hear me say. I tell you that you will be a good mommy someday because you are so kind to your babies.

I love to be with you. I love to catch you watching me. You do everything I do and I thank God that I am there. I pray that you watch carefully and that I teach you well.

- I wrote this poem when Michaela was about three. So glad that I recorded these thoughts. They could be applied to any one of our children. I often think of some of these lines even still on pancake mornings or as I wipe a hand-streaked mirror.