At the Top of the Stairs
We get there with the kids asleep,
Too early for the sun.
We have some coffee quietly,
To not wake anyone.
When Hadley wakes, my husband goes
To scoop her if she cries.
I hear her giggle with delight
From tickles he supplies.
But Henry, ever since the time
He moved into a bed,
Gets up and lifts the shades to greet
The day that lies ahead.
He flips the light switch, turns the knob
And opens up his door,
Then sits himself right by the stairs
Upon the hallway floor.
He knows on Fridays I’ll be there
But doesn’t make a sound,
Just sits and waits most patiently
Until I come around.
Of course, I listen carefully
To hear a telltale clue,
So he’s not waiting long before
We both come into view.
His face lights up and so does mine;
I scamper up the stairs.
We share a great big hug-a-mug;
Nothing else compares.
The time will come, as Henry grows,
And much to my regret,
That he will tire of this routine
Though I will not forget.
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