Someone woke up grumpy.

I think it is always on a slope. An 'up slope' and a 'down slope'. Lots of slopes.

(And, I don't think you really forgot. I think you took a little break, and maybe they were all on the up slope for a bit.)

What waking said. Also, remember the lesson of George Bailey: they were spared worse. And that's besides the "they need to grow up too" issue.

But such talk is fix-it talk, and I suspect that what you need right nowe is "Poor baby" talk. Hugs to you, scupper. Hugs.

As I said on Stellaa's poetry post the other day, I'm a naif when it comes to verse, and unless something knocks me down and jumps up and down on my heart, as theglasscharacter's did yesterday, I'm hesitant to try to comment intelligently on a poem. But this one does speak to me. Two of our three are out of the nest, and it's left a jangle between the liberation and the worry. You've captured this perfectly. There's probly more in here, as well. I sense that there is. But not knowing doesn't detract, it's a glint that enhances the angst.

So, without the thinnest thread of qualification, I dare to say this is a powerful poem. (r)

I can so relate to this poem with having six kids of my own.

Ah, chica . . . good questions, all. Powerful work, and speaks to all parents, I think. Have I told you lately how glad I am that you write here?

Oh don't I know it ... live it ...

I really love this.

Oh...such good questions...

When things go well, we always think OK thank goodness, it's all settled now. Then it all changes. Watching our loved ones handle change is hard and frustrating. heartfelt poem, Scupper.

one thing leads to another and before we know it we're all dead.

love this:

"Wasn't it just last year
it seemed like an easy breath?"

You have every right to be grumpy. I'm grumpy too.

When will they be independent?

I have empty nest syndrome. Can you write me a poem for that?

' Why did one stick ?
How can one sleep ? '
The hows and why's and whens
and must I's, I'm thinking, turn on your answer,
so beautifully expressed.
We forget, and we remember - if you want to help a child,
love their mother. Cliched for good reason, I'm thinking.

I wake up many mornings feeling just this way, then something good happens. Something goes well. Little arms wrap around me and I think in those moments, that just maybe everything will turn out all right in the end. We just keep going, keep trying, keep guiding and loving and hoping for the best.

I love your writing.