Monthly Archives: June 2016

Father’s Day 2016

Dear Son,

Your Daddy loves you more
than mountains love spring rain.
You pull his world around
like the moon pulls the tide.
And when your tears flow
he feels your anger and your pain.
When you ask to get on his shoulders
he never refuses giving the ride.

Daddy will be your rock when life
throws you this way and that.
He’ll teach you what’s what:
like how to build, how to fix,
how to fish and how to hunt.
He’ll show by example how to be a man.
And you can be sure, if you’ve earned it,
you’ll also get your licks.

Your Daddy loves you the whole world
and then some.


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Posted by on June 16, 2016 in Letters To My Son, Poetry, Uncategorized


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Big Boys Whiz Outside

Dear Hunter,

I thought you were going to use diapers forever. In fact, last month, I ordered the next size up for the diaper delivery and gasped when I saw it was the last size available for diapers. They didn’t get any bigger than size six. What was going to happen if you outgrew the size sixes and STILL wanted nothing to do with the potty?

When you learned your friends were going to preschool in the fall, however, and that you would not be going because you peed and pooped in a diaper rather than the potty, you decided it was time to try.   Since dad is a boy he was able to help you figure out how to pee outside, how to pee sitting down, how to pee standing up… all without getting any pee on you. Well, you are still getting the hang of that….peeing without getting pee on you.

Pooping was another matter. Literally and figuratively.  If it wasn’t happening by the time you sat down on the potty, you were off and playing again. I got worried.  You didn’t poop for two days. Even after all the water and fruit I got into you.

We went camping. You met other kids and played. You whipped out that water hose of yours in front of everyone and let it rip as you were saying, “Mommy I have to potty.” What could I say or do? I shrugged my shoulders, looked at the fellow campers and said, “He just learned.” I received smiles and nods of understanding as I strolled over to help you pull up your pants.

Later that evening when it was just us in our camp, you stood out by the road and said, “Mama! Big boys whiz outside!” Dad joined you. Then you turned around and looked at me. I knew that look. I knew we wouldn’t make it into the camper in time to get on the toilet. I knew I didn’t want to clean poop out of your pants. I asked you if you were pooping and you said, “No. Um. Yes.” I ran over and said, “That’s AWESOME. Bend your knees a little and the poop will come right out and miss your pants.”

When your business was done, and dad had cleaned up the evidence, you said, “Mama, big boys whiz AND POOP outside!” I could only agree.  The next morning, you easily transitioned to the potty. And ever since, you’ve been going in the potty, just like a big boy.   Now, what to do with those size sixes?

I love you, son.

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Posted by on June 13, 2016 in Uncategorized

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