Beyond Bringing Up Boys

When Zachary’s slender hand grasps yours You lay aside your evening chores, Embarking out upon a pillowed sea. The books reclining on your knees (Yours motherhood; his history), Two spirits blend, his head leans on your arm. He doesn’t have to say, “I love you, Mom.” Seth’s plaintive cry splits pre-dawn’s calm Needing, it seems, your loving balm. His message, to the point: “Take me to Mom.” Setting the steaming mug aside You let him burrow deep, and hide, Enveloped in the solace of your warmth. He doesn’t have to say, “I love you, Mom.” Sam, snuggled in the upper bunk The drink of sleep not fully drunk Has no idea you’re already up. The mixing bowl, the flour and spice He’ll see, and lisp, “O Paradithe” And wrap two sturdy arms around your waist. He doesn’t have to say, “I love you, Mom.” Your husband rises every day And views – miraculous display – How shirts, once hampered, now hangers adorn. Somehow his bride has taught the boys, Delivered meals and picked up toys Each task accomp

Zachary’s thoughts kept drifting off toward the lake this morning during math. I knew he was excited about the middle school boy’s fishing trip this afternoon. Shortly after eleven, he ran to the garage to get his gear and I packed a lunch for him. He wanted me to pack the other boys a lunch too and come back to the lake in time to eat with everyone afterwards. I packed the other lunches but was dubious as to whether I would lunch at the lake; I had a headache that had lasted all night and was mounting in intensity again. As I pulled into the state park just about 5 minutes before noon, I was surprised to see that there were no other parents. I drove to the other side—unsure of exactly where we were to meet—no one was there. Zachary was visibly disappointed and so I, in a moment of weakness, suggested that we just stay and fish. I called David to tell him what I was going to do. “I am so proud of you,” he gushed, knowing full well what I was in for… Because a permit was required an