Filed under: Poems
He makes all sorts of trouble, things I wouldn’t even try.
He cut my baby sister’s hair, cut it right down to the nubs!
But always hides behind the drapes, or in my box of toys.
I tell her that it’s Bigfoot, but she says, “Not one more peep!”
And then he stole my piece of pie, it really isn’t fair!
He even drew a Bigfoot mural up and down the hall.
and drew a beard (in purple ink!) while Daddy took a snooze.
Hid a mouse in mommy’s shopping bag, and a frog in her chest-of-drawers.
I wish someone’d prove that he is real, ‘cause I’m grounded for a year!

An ode to Gracie’s favorite word…
Wassat?
Wassat? It’s the sunshine.
Wassat? It’s a drawer.
Wassat? It’s your Mommy.
Wassat? It’s a door.
Wassat? It’s your Daddy
Wassat? It’s a bear.
Wassat? It’s a bottle.
Wassat? It’s your chair.
Wassat? It’s your oatmeal.
Wassat? It’s your toast.
Wassat? It’s my coffee.
Wassat? It’s MY toast.
Wassat? It’s a washcloth
Wassat? It’s a show.
Wassat? It’s my laptop,
(And yes, that’s a no.)
Wassat? It’s your barnyard.
Wassat? It’s a cow.
Wassat? It’s your sandals,
well, one…anyhow.
Wassat? It’s the sidewalk
Wassat? It’s a tree.
Wassat? It’s a puppy.
Wassat? It’s my knee.
Wassat? It’s a bagel.
Wassat? It’s your head.
Wassat? It’s your peaches, don’t fling them, I said!
Wassat? It’s your naptime.
Wassat? It’s my grin.
Three quiet hours ‘till Wassat time again.
- Gracie’s Daddy
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