In Particular

Little_girl_drawing_with_blue_pencil Daniel Foy

Photo: Daniel Foy

 

She is deliberate. She takes her time.

Each line is drawn with distinct goal. Each color chosen with remarkable concentration. Each curve labored on in exact determination.

After all, the letters aren’t ‘just’ a prelude to a word expressed. It is none of it ‘just’ idle practice …

It is her name she’s working on, a profound soul-expression.

 

 

For The Daily Post

A Cookie Riff

happy cookies AtaraKatz

Photo: Atara Katz

 

He shook his head

At jam and bread

Objected to any other

Kind of spread

And lectured mommy

From his seat

That cookie’s the only

Thing to eat.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Another Peek

peeking

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

Knock-knock, who’s there, inside this hole?

Who dug a circle in the wall?

Does someone live inside this space?

Is it a little fairy’s place?

Knock-knock, who’s there? I want to know.

Will you come out before I go?

I’m sorry that I’ve come to peek

But oh, I do love hide-and-seek!

 

 

 

2nd helping of this week’s Photo Challenge

Educate

alma in class

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

Any space

Will do

If you take time

To teach

Yourself

Your doll

Or anyone

Who will sit

Long enough

To listen …

But mostly

Yourself

Again,

Because what you

Choose

To replicate

Is what you teach

Today,

And what

Becomes

Your tomorrow.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Magnetized

alma sees pool

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

Like fish to water she is drawn.

The sparkling blue calls,

Its promise

An irresistible

Invite.

She rushes,

Determinedly

Entranced.

 

Her mother after

Hurries,

Magnetized,

To stop

The captivated

Little one

Before she falls.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

In the Buff

 

He is an avid little streaker.

The first skills he had learned, a peanut little newborn, was how to shake off hats and kick off socks. These followed soon by talents for wriggling out of diapers, twisting out of bottoms, and shrugging off his tops.

He is a master of no-clothing.

An expert a-la-nude.

He chortles as you chase him.

He protests when he’s clothed.

He’s beaming when his skin meets air.

He’s glowing in the buff.

His mama is exasperated.

His da is not amused.

Grandpa laughs and names the child “Dote gan a stitch”

Grandma, “mo Stoirin (shore-een) Selkie.”

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Cranky Monkey

 

CrankyPants Etsy.com

Photo: Etsy.com

 

 

He didn’t want to put on shoes. He didn’t want a sweater. He didn’t want to read a book. He didn’t like the weather.

He didn’t want to go outside. He didn’t want to play.

He didn’t want to take a walk. He didn’t want to stay.

He didn’t want to sit on lap. He didn’t want his chair. He didn’t want to play with blocks. He didn’t want his bear.

He never liked this yogurt. He never liked bananas. He never even wore this shirt. He hated these pajamas.

He didn’t want to take a bath. He hated Yellow Ducky. He didn’t want to wash his hands. The shampoo smelled yucky.

He didn’t like his bedroom. He didn’t like this bed.

He didn’t like this towel. The brush bothered his head.

A Cranky Monkey day to be

In Mama’s arms instead.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Mini Picasso

 

“This is a big big big mountain and it have a train and it go ‘choo-CHOOOO!’ round and round and also flowers but you see them fast because it a train and rainbow and my name.” (J.N, age 3:4)

 

mini picasso

 

 

For The Daily Post

I Mean It!

 

He plopped himself on the rug and pulled his sock on, tugging on the elastic till the fabric stretched to his knees. He gazed down at a bump. Scrunched his forehead, patted the bump down. It flattened but not all the way.

The furrows in his forehead grew. The bumpy bit was connected to the sock … like always … but something still seemed wrong.

He twisted his foot. Examined the sole. No bump there.

He pulled harder on the elastic. Re-examined. No change.

He shrugged.

Somehow when mommy or daddy did this, the sock looked different. No bump on the bottom. No bump on top.

He stood, took a step and stopped. Another step. Stopped.

The bump bunched. It felt funny when he walked.

He sat back down. Stared at his feet. Wiggled his toes.

It felt funny again. He bent his foot. No good.

Maybe the sock was broken.

He pulled it off.

Took a look.

The sock appeared completely normal now. Just like always.

He pursed his lips, pointed his toes into the sock and tried again.

The fabric bunched. A bump.

He moved his foot, paused, narrowed his eyes, and sighed. Tugged the sock off and held it between thumb and finger.

“Be good boy, Sock,” he admonished. “No more no-sense. I mean it!”

 

toddler-putting-on-socks-wearing-winter-water-factory

Photo by: agirlnamedpj.com

 

For The Daily Post

“I can, but I can!”

“I can, but I can!”

His small face ablaze

Part conviction, part plan.

He can go to the park on his own (in the rain, in the dark).

He can tie his laces (with shoes on wrong feet and socks turned around …).

He can eat three big slices of pizza (before finishing one).

He can drive the car (“the real one, with the key!”).

He can take a bath on his own (“Mommy help me get in …”).

He can dress himself (two legs in one pant, head wedged in a sleeve).

He can use a phone (especially “Delete” …).

And he certainly can, he is sure

Stay awake

All night long.

He’s not sleepy.

He won’t even be tired

Tomorrow.

Or ever.

Till he is “really big.”

He can stay up.

And not sleep.

Even as eyes flutter closed … and he yawns and he yawns and he ….

makingmotherhoodmatter-com

 

For The Daily Prompt