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.