On a day when I am uncommonly aware of noses...

My children are home from school today using an extraordinary amount of tissue to blow and wipe and sneeze. I don't usually think much about noses, but today, I thought this poem would be fun to read with my kids:


Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face

Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.

Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.

Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.

Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.

Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!

Jack Prelutsky

Poetry Wednesday: a hobbling start...

I scoured my poetry books for a favorite to initiate my entrance into this Poetry Wednesday circle. My children had been absently tucked into bed, shuffled off to read and fall asleep. And I settled myself into a comfy place to consider this post. I won't attempt a lengthy prose tonight. I am tired and stillness seems more fitting at this moment. But I will suffice to say that two sets of little girl feet incessently made their way down the steps steeling into my quiet space for their typical delay schemes. Waining patience was the theme of our discourse. And admittedly, I did not feel quite as set on high and lofty poetry after sending my girls off with short words and tears to wet their pillows. We are all in need of a fresh start, a new morning.

Tonight I'll share again a poem written by my daughter, Sophie, on a night similar to this one.

My Mother

My mother puts me
in her warm hands
and I smile.
I love her
more than the world.

She is the one
with the warm smile
always on her face.

She is the one
to smile deeply
until you
smile deeply too.

I hug her
and she hugs me back.
I feel as if
there was magic
in the air,
and there is;
it is the magic
of love

Sophia, age 8



Here's to teacher as student, mother as child. And tender, returning hearts.

Poetry Wednesday