I received a sheet with this poem when I was in the New Choices-New Options program in Altoona before I returned to IUP, and it has been under a plastic blotter on my desk to remind me every time I see it how much my son means to me and even though I have so much school work to do, my son is more important than anything. Which reminds me–I need to go wake up my son for school, and return to this after the school bus has taken my baby away from me yet again.

Tick, tick, tick . . .

I’ve returned, but it appears that today is going to be an all-day cuddle day, because my son says he isn’t feeling well and refuses to go to school. Scraping his foot against something didn’t help matters, even beyond the usual “I don’t wanna go to school!” routine. So, it looks like we have all day together. I don’t really mind that at all. 🙂 I’ve already sent him on days he fussed like that only to have him throw up at school a few hours in and have to go get him, so we’ll just bypass that part and stay home now.

By the way, I was inspired to post this poem by this blog that I found on TagSurfer: Hey Dad!

If anyone knows where this poem comes from, please let me know! There is no attribution listed on the sheet I was given.

My hands were busy through the day,
I didn’t have much time to play
The little games you asked me to.
I didn’t have much time for you.
I’d wash your clothes, I’d sew and cook,
But when you’d bring your picture book
And ask me, please, to share your fun,
I’d say “A little later, Son.”
I’d tuck you in all safe at night,
And hear your prayers and turn out the light,
Then tiptoe softly to the door.
I wish I’d stayed a minute more.
For life is short, and years rush past,
A little boy grows up so fast.
No longer is he at your side.
His precious secrets to confide.
The picture books are put away,
There are no children’s games to play,
No good night kiss, no prayers to hear.
That all belongs to yesteryear.
My hands once busy now lie still.
My days are long and hard to fill.
I wish I might go back and do
The little things you asked me to.

I hope you enjoyed the poem! Remember, I did not write it and I would love to acknowledge and thank whoever did! I must go–my son is here and he deserves my attention . . .

 

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