Archive for the 'Parenting' Category

18
Mar
16

Made it

Well,

You made it

Another year,

Around the sun

As the earth spun,

And the tides

Rose and fell,

Seasons changed

From Spring,

To Summer,

To Fall,

To Winter,

And back

To Spring

For another birthday.

It wasn’t pretty-

It still isn’t-

And won’t be

For a while

Longer.

The voices

Of doubt,

And fear,

And anxiety,

And loneliness

Are louder

Than ever

In your head-

Don’t expect it to get any quieter any time soon, either.

But you’re here,

Still,

Somehow,

Against the odds,

And the best efforts

Of others,

And yourself,

To prevent that

From happening.

You’re here.

Here.

Your daughters

Still love you,

And really don’t

Give a shit

About the voices

In your head,

But only

That you

Keep getting up

Each morning

To make breakfast

And rush them

Out the door

To school,

Complaining

Each step of the way,

And that

You

Continue

To read books

At bedtime,

Or tell funny stories

Of your awkward

And relatable

Youth,

Or sit on the floor

To play cards,

Or snap the tiny Legos® together

When smaller fingers

Don’t have the strength

Or coordination

To do it

On their own.

They see you

Hurt,

But still love

You,

Even when

You don’t.

You’re still

Here,

So stay

Here,

And be

Here

A little longer at least

For them-

For you.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

March 18, 2016

17
Mar
13

Eleven, going on…

She’s only eleven,

She’ll be twelve

In the blink

Of my teary eye.

She’s growing up

Too fast

And too far

Away

From me.

I never knew

Exactly

What unconditional love was

Until she arrived

And let me be

Her father.

Now

I am blessed

To also have her

And her sister

To show me

What it means

To love

And be loved.

Even though

We now have

A state line

Between us,

She will always be

My “punkin”

And my first

Daughter,

Even as she crawls

Into her bed,

In her mother’s house-

Not mine.

In my mind,

I still

Tuck her in

Each night,

And kiss her

Cheek,

Brushing the curls

Off her face.

Sleep well baby girl,

Daddy will see you

In the morning.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

March 17, 2013

02
Nov
12

as a father

She is curled up,

In her mother’s arms,

Squirming and twisting,

In a spastic ballet

Where she is

The only one

Who knows

The choreography.

Her blonde hair,

A deception

Of her

Asian heritage,

Thanks to her father,

Sticks

To her

Sweaty, round face

And boogery nose.

Her grunts

And jerks,

Briefly waken

Her mother,

But only for a moment-

She’s learned to sleep

With one eye open, one arm around her child and the other protecting her face.

The combined jumble

Of arms and legs,

Tangled hair,

Alternating grunts and groans,

And competing breaths,

Has become

The soundtrack and landscape

Of my imperfect

World.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

November 2, 2012

16
Sep
12

Tiny Little Sleepers

Her tiny

Dark

Eyes,

And perfect

Tiny

Lips-

Curled

Into a smile

Or

Puckered

Into a kiss,

“Fishy lips”,

For Daddy-

Just like

Her

Older sister.

Hot

And sweaty-

“She runs hot like her Daddy”-

Pulling

The blankets

Off

With every turn

Of her tiny

Body,

Just to shiver

In the cool

Night breeze

Coming through

The open window,

Beneath

The ceiling fan,

In a late summer

Heat wave.

Muttering,

Grinding teeth,

Shuffling legs,

Flailing arms-

Also like her Daddy-

In an active sleep,

Of sorts.

“Grunty little pig”,

Chasing

Dreams,

And invisible

Friends-

Up and down

Slides,

And steps

Up to excitement,

Unseen

Within her

Dreams.

 

Thank God,

For tiny

Little sleepers.

Timothy Vance Jackson

September 16, 2012

22
Dec
11

the couch

Most nights

Before I fall

Asleep

On the couch,

I wander

To my daughter’s room,

To make sure

Her blanket

Is covering

Her

And that she

Is

Warm enough-

And still

Breathing.

Then,

I carefully

Walk

Into my own room

To make sure

That my wife

And the baby

Are both covered

And both breathing.

Each rise and fall of their chests, a blessing to me, keeping them here with me a little longer.

Then

I shuffle off

To the couch

To rest,

Before

Stumbling sleepily

Back to bed,

And the restless sleep

Of two tiny feet

And hands

Thrashing

In her sleep

And my restlessness.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

December 22, 2011

22
Dec
11

reasons

As I fumble

In the dark

To find

The bed

Without

Waking

The baby,

Clinging

To her mother,

Top of head

Barely

Protruding

From beneath

The blanket

Pulled up tight

To my wife’s

Chin,

I remember

Why.

I remember why,

At least

Until morning

Arrives.

Timothy Vance Jackson

December 22, 2011

16
Oct
11

Two daughters

They both sleep

Unknowing

Of my love

For them

And the fear

That only a

Father

Can have

Or understand.

They are

Blissfully

Unaware

Of my sleepless

Nights

And haunted

Daydreams,

Worrying

About the world

They will inherit

And my inability to wrap them in a shroud of protection and keep them away from harm.

They sleep,

In their

Separate beds,

Twitching

And snorting,

Wrapped in blankets

Between their limbs-

Chasing their dreams

And hurtling

Into the world

That awaits them

With open arms.

And I will

Stare blankly

At the ceiling

For hours

Again,

Trying

To figure it all out-

Hunting

(and aching)

For answers.

Before

I brush my teeth

And go to

Bed,

I will

Stand

At their beds,

While they sleep,

Kiss their sweaty little faces

And silently pray

That I have not failed

Them-

Will not

Fail them.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

October 16, 2011




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