It's the small details:
rat's nest in his hair,
holes in her tights,
who is whose friend today at school,
making sure the right combo
of green & orange gets into their mouths,
being there at 3:45
to greet the loudmouth bus driver
& rescue my five year old from bumpy sleep.
No pay, long hours, no public recognition
yet in my heart a small voice says
cancel all job interviews
hold that resume in a file waiting, like
my high heels and work suits, in the cupboard,
let my degrees gather dust on the wall.
I want to be there when the first tooth falls,
a quiet rite of passage & mine
to revel in.
It means postponing ego strokes.
It means no time just for me,
but also not being split down the middle
working double shifts.
I can wait for the glory
of a pat on the back & a salaried job.
Right now there's some small things
I must attend to:
this three-year-old in pigtails,
this fragile boy in the schoolyard.