Happy Birthday, Mr. Grouch.

Happy birthday to you, and to many years more!
You say it’s just a day, no need for decor,
but I say let’s eat some cake (and then let’s eat some more!),
because why not celebrate the man I adore?

While we should never take for granted those we would die for,
we know those fairy tale scenarios are nothing but lore.
So when given then chance to do something more,
I say take it. Go crazy. Buy presents galore.

Today I celebrate you, a man kind in his core,
a man bearded and brawny, one I only have eyes for.
Cheers to a man who always opens my door,
who shows it’s our family that he looks out for.

Hip! Hip! to the man who works, and then works some more,
hammer, shovel, mow, plumb, wage dandelion war.
Bang, sand, lift, hold, surf the internet shore,
for another rental house you’re in the market for.

So just in case you’re not sure, I must really implore
you to notice there’s so much I give you credit for,
and when push comes to shove, it’s you I go to bat for.
It’s with you, and just you, this Earth I want to explore.

So today I celebrate. I shout, “You’re top drawer!”
Do you hear me? You listening? Hello? Ten four?
You’re stuck with me forever, until we’re at death’s door,
And each year on this day HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I’ll roar.

The amount you get on my nerves, I love you that much, times four,
You complement me, do things well, that I deplore.
You turn off lights, double-check that I locked the front door.
You calculate, and invest, to make sure we won’t end up too poor.

Even when you constantly tell me to shut the pantry drawer,
or make other such comments you know I abhor,
know that loving you still is never a chore,
and always remember, I love you more.

Don’t Forget.

Don’t forget.

Where you put the keys.

To get the milk.

To turn off the lights.



Don’t forget.

To say words that are true.

And kind.

And to say them often.



Don’t forget.

To focus.

On what’s important.

On who’s important.



Don’t forget.

That inside, somewhere,

Could be the monster

that will erase the past.



Know today, that I love you.

Delight in you.

And etched in my brain, right now,

Is every bit of you.



In case I can’t say it tomorrow,

Or the next day.

It’s important, this.

Please honey, don’t forget.

Alzheimer's takes away the past.  Please honey, don't forget.
Alzheimer’s takes away the past. Please honey, don’t forget.

3 a.m. Feedings

3 a.m. feedings

are more than feedings.

They are snuggles and safety and softly sung songs.

They are cozy and comfortable and contented.


Or discontented.


They are waffle printed and lavender scented.

They are sniveling and sweating and shushing,

and are viewed through puffy eyes, crusted with sleep.

They are restless and fatiguing and short.


Or long.


And they are beautiful.

It feels good to be needed

and good to be comforted.

And this won’t last forever.


It won’t be long until I drive you crazy

and you drive me mad

and you’re old enough to drive away.


It won’t be long until you aren’t so joyful.

So transparent.

So dependent.

Or free.


But for now, you are.

And bellies and hearts are full. 

English: A sleeping male baby with his arm ext...
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
  • A Song (velvetnovels.wordpress.com)

An Open Valentine to Mr. Grouch

I thought I had already completed my obligatory Valentine’s Day post, when I wrote a love letter to my nasal irrigation system.  But, then I thought there was no reason to disregard my OTHER lovey-dovey.  No need to mention which or whom I love more.

Mr. Grouch, you are a man apart,
You wake me with your Good Morning fart.

We met in the year Nineteen Ninety Seven,
According to you, we’re a match made in Heaven.

It is true that sometimes I want to give your head a punch,
And hear the bones in your nose go crunch.

But I am often reminded of your positive traits,
Your brains, your balls, your beautiful face.

You'll call customer service and be firm, yet nice,
You can get anyone selling to come down to your price.

You're a man! A strong man! You demand lots of power,
(yet I find it endearing, how bats and mice make you cower).

Your handyman projects save us so much dough,
That it’s okay the bathroom trim looks only so-so.

You're an incredible father, at parenting you're top rate,
Good luck with your plan though, to never let her date.

You rub my back and pull out my chair, 
And do not care that I need vats of Nair. 

You put up with me during my times of despair,
And my panic while camping - of attack by black bear. 

If I asked, you’d make me coffee in the morning, 
Except I no longer trust you, you made decaf once, without warning.

You are a manly man, a work of art, 
And I love everything about you, for the most part.
Early 20th century Valentine's Day card, showi...
Early 20th century Valentine’s Day card, showing woman holding heart shaped decoration and flowers, scanned from period card from ca. 1910 with no notice of copyright. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

An Ode To My Nasal Irrigation System

An Ode To My Nasal Irrigation System

I threw it on the ground and burst into tears,
A green-snotty tissue, one of my worst fears!

An ode to you, my nasal rinse,
Even if you sometimes make me wince.

Some may balk at the suggestion, 
But you help me to prevent congestion.

You save the day with your salty brine,
I’m oh-so-happy you are mine.

My nasal passages, stuffed to the brim,
Oh my, do my nose hairs need a trim?

Whether the hairs are long or shorn,
I use you, rinse, e’ry night and morn.

You keep the nasty germs at bay,
You always seem to save the day.

You help me to prevent rhinitis,
I really don’t want sinusitis!

After I use your salty breeze,
I am able to blow my nose with ease.

You’re always there, through thin and thick,
Don’t leave me, or I’ll end up sick.

Even though it might seem gross,
It is you that I love the most.

I linked up this week with Yeah Write's Speakeasy! Check the 
submissions and vote for your faves.



A Bit Of Gray Peeking Out

Don’t you hate?

Heavy lids, dull eyes, jealous heart.

Hateful thoughts, ugly lies escaping.

The stifling cocoon of inadequacy.

Slumping shoulders, curved spine, bent knees.

Longing for the all-consuming comfort of open wounds.

The weight of exhaustion.



Don’t you love?

A bit of release.

A full intake of breath, balanced with a paired exhale.

A bit of gray peeking out, from behind the black.

Illumination, far ahead.



Don’t you hope?

For grace.

For even lighter shades of gray.

A better person is waiting for you, ahead.

Dark Night 2
Dark Night 2 (Photo credit: skinner08)

This post is linked up to Love Links #28 – if you like what you see here, vote for me on Thursday.

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