What I Signed On For

My hair is sticking out
at odd angles.
Not shiny or sweet-smelling.
The Pantene glow eludes me.
My mom would say
a rat's nest...
I imagine tiny, clawed feet
dancing in my hair.
Does this happen while
I'm sleeping?

My glasses are foggy
from baking
from baby sneezes
from kisses
and cuddles.
No make-up to be seen
from here to Timbuktu.
Which is funny because
I've never been.

I'm still in my pajamas
And it's almost time for Oprah.
Not that I watch it...
I'm curled around my baby
sleeping snorily in my arms.
And I doze off, too,
while Rod Decker yells
something incoherent
like the darling loony he is.
Only to be awoken by
the five year old diving under the bed
in eager anticipation of Daddy's arrival,
heralded by the click of the lock.

Children of my Soul

To preface this it is only in rough draft form so any suggestions are, obviously, welcome. I wanted to write something dedicated to my Seminary students so here is my attempt.

Children of my soul

I may not have children of my own
Running on small bare feet in golden sunshine
Laughter filling up my home

The children in my life were not born to me
But belong, instead, to Thee

I teach them gospel truths in the early hours of the day
To help them find the path and love them on their way

My heart fills up with pride and joy
As they grown in testimony each girl and each boy

These children may not be children of my own
These children are the children of my soul

My eternal crown is full with these,
the children of my soul.