I must delay updating you on my project for one more day, as I am super pooped today. Up in the night for 2 hours with a little sick one. Here is a little poem I wrote about my baby and our sometime explorings while little girl is in dance. I wanted to edit it some more, but I can always do that later. And sorry, its kind of like an epic poem, as it describes an hour in detail. :)
Do you ever do this? Let the little one direct the activity? What was your experience? I would like to do it more.
Exploring the Woods
I let you explore the woods today,
I followed you like a bear cub momma in
Reverse.
When you'd stop,
I'd stop.
Out a glass door
With a plastic VW bug
In one hand
And an orange shoe in the other.
I could see the top of your soft
Ginger head,
Toddling up and down,
Calculating,
Then going.
First down the ramp.
Time to smell the flowers.
You bent at the waist,
Sniffing loudly
Inches away from
A red prickly bush.
Then out into the parking lot,
Between two cars,
Then back again.
Then out again,
Across a crumbly
Blacktop
With bright yellow
Painted lines
And empty cars.
Head to the right,
And the left,
Deciding,
Not delaying.
Making lots of decisions in
Nanoseconds.
We've neared an office building
Flower bed,
Strewn with brightly colored poppies,
Strung like beads on a child's
Necklace.
Now you've got it,
Sniffing a quarter inch from
a bare yellow
pollinator.
Then off
To try your first
Revolving door,
Air compressing around us,
Like astronauts
In a cosmonaut.
Then decompressing.
I wonder if anyone will wonder why we're in here.
You wander down a black alien
zig-zag carpet corridor
to the left,
Smelling of papers and coffee and work.
Then back out the door,
As the outside rushes in to greet us,
Then back in,
Then back out.
Off to smell one more flower,
Then marching off,
Occasional head turning to make sure
Momma bear is following.
You turn at the big road,
Noticing a grumbling
school bus
Make its way down the road.
Then you turn toward a tree,
examining something,
But recoil when I run my
Finger down its bark,
Making a dry
Scrraaaaatch.
You're not touching that.
Off you go again.
On the homestretch,
You leave the path to try
out an army green
Plastic
Cover
Recessed in the growing grass.
Bump, a hollow sound--
Then again.
You were leary of the blue one,
another tree's bark (not touching that either),
and not sure you want to go back.
Inside,
I sat on the green velvet couch,
Sunk in,
Beckoned, entreated, invited you
To try a book with me.
The sun was pouring lines around
A tangerine velvet button couch
And bright carpet flowers.
You looked, squoze
Between a pillar and the window
And then looked at me
from the circles
under the stairs,
Your face like a little spy
Who'd discovered a secret world,
And then got discovered himself.
Giggled.
Eyes looking at me through
Different holes,
Wondering if the result would be the same.
"I SEE YOU!"
Baby laugh.
The most musical sound in the world.
(Baby delight=
My delight!)
Then you decided Christopher Columbus
had not had enough,
Following wafting sounds
Into another room.
When I caught up,
You were framed in the doorway,
There was a stage.
A blonde in short exercise clothes and tan muscles
Was building a set with another man.
They were putting up some gauzy-curtains
By a big French clock.
There was a guillotine with a
big red half-polka dot
Blood-stain on a lifted blade.
Michael Jackson was floating
on the breeze.
Little Moby Dick was having a day.
