PAD Day 29: On Grandparenting, and Happy Belated Brithday to Me

Two poems today!  The prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo are (1) Write a poem entitled "_____ Again", and (2) write a "meditation" poem; that is, in Maureen Thorson's words, "a poem that meditates, from a position of tranquility, on an emotion you have felt powerfully." I'm not sure how successful I was with the latter prompt, but here's what came out of it:

Attempted Meditation While Parenting Again

I really don't have time for reflection -

One has a poopy diaper,

the other has alphabet homework.

I 'm not sure where I expected

to be at this juncture of my life,

but raising kids again wasn't part

of the plan. Yet, I still seem to do okay

despite some stress, those moments

when patience is thin and time is thinner. 

I know it's not twenty-four-seven,

this grand-parenting, but for me it's at least

eleven-four. Don't get me wrong -

I love them dearly, and as "Pop-pop"

I have license to spoil. But I still have

regrets for mistakes I made when I raised

my own, like the times I lost my temper.

Did they turn out fine because of me

or in spite of me? Maybe a little of both.

Yet somehow they trust me with theirs,

and for that I am grateful.

Besides, that's what family are supposed to do -

take care of each other.

My wife's parents helped watch over our boys,

and my sisters and I took shelter and guidance

with our grandparents too.

Another afternoon. I put them both in for a nap,

those two beautiful granddaughters,

ornery and loveable, smart and willful.

I am exhausted, but instead of taking a catnap

myself on the couch, I clean up toys, do the dishes,

put in some laundry, and write this poem.

Almost every year during Poetry Month I've written a poem for my birthday, on my birthday (the 27th) but this year I missed it, having caught myself up in writing two sonnets that day. So here is my belated birthday present to myself. I guess it's a meditation too, in its own way.

17 Again

This is my fourth 17th birthday,

and each one has been radically different.

                        

My first seventeen, I was a skinny dork,

pegged as a "smart kid", getting a driver's license,

trying to figure out girls,

and the Beatles sang "Hey Jude".

My second seventeen, I was a dad twice over,

with a third on the way,

and a civil service career in full swing,

Everybody and their brother

wanted to help Africa, so they sang

 "We Are the World".

My third seventeen, I was starting to feel

the effects of job burnout, had a fourth

soon-to-be-son in our home, and had just

navigated some marital speed bumps.

9/11 was still fresh in my mind

when Springsteen sang "The Rising".

Now on my fourth seventeen, I'm hardly

winding down, retired but busier than ever,

with two grandchildren in my weekday charge,

four grown kids of my own, a wife

who's stuck with me for the duration,

and everyone still wails on American Idol.

If I get to my next seventeen,

it will be a doozy,

and so will the soundtrack.