Take Me to Your Moon

by Hazel Holland

Let me relish this day
As we eat our English muffins,
And drink our morning juice.
Let me revel in the clatter
Of spoons on cereal bowls,
And knives in half-empty jam jars.
Let the streak of peanut butter
Remain on the edge of your chin.
Don’t let this morning
Be any different from all the others…

As you butter your muffins,
Please wipe no jam
From the sticky counter.
Leave behind you
The customary crumbs
Of your childish forgetfulness.

There are eight minutes left
Before the end of breakfast
And the trip to school.
There are three hundred and
Seventy-two breakfasts left
Before the end of childhood,
And the beginning of adolescence.
How many more breakfasts
Before you will be licking
From your fingers
The strawberry jam
Of growing independence?

Sunday mornings are different.
They’re gifts of time
Because there is no hurry.
So tell me before it’s too late,
"What did you dream
About last night?
What do you want to be
When the world grows up?"
Take me on another
Trip to your moon…

It’s Sunday morning now,
Soon it will be Friday afternoon,
And you will no longer
Be sitting within my reach
Making roads in your
Bowl of applesauce—
Lost in a fantasy
Of your imagination.
Instead you’ll be driving
The freeways of life
Lost in the romance of youth.

We have lived four
Thousand days together.
I wish I could remember
Several hundred.
Where have they all gone?
We have eaten twelve
Thousand meals together.
I can remember so few...
What has been the rush?

When I first saw you,
You were a squirming
Bundle of perfection,
And I was a heap of
Perfection exhaustion!
I still hear the rhythmic
Creaking of the crib,
And the gurgles
Of satisfied contentment
After early morning feedings.

I pale when I recall
The morning you leaned
Forward in your bassinet
And tumbled headfirst
Onto the kitchen floor!
At three months you were
Far tougher than I imagined.

As a baby you were
Too pretty to be a boy.
But I’m glad you were!
It wasn’t until you lost
Your curls after your
First haircut that people
Started calling you, “he”.

I remember how
You loved to make “music”.
Whether it was the jangle
Of stainless steel bowls
Grating saucepan lids,
Or a catchy tune on the radio
That you pretended to "conduct".
You were full of life and laughter,
And I borrowed your sunshine
On many rainy days…

The first step you took,
The first tooth you cut,
The first smile you gave,
The first word you spoke,
The first temper tantrum
You threw are “firsts”
That you will never remember.
Just like the first day
I left you at nursery school—
Your fears and tears
We both shared,
But only I remember
When you were three.

There have been mountains
And there have been valleys,
But what happened
To all the plains?

Thanks for your childhood.
I’m glad we still have
Many days left to share.
I will try not to let
The rest of them slide by
With music lessons,
Homework assignments,
House chores,
And lost Sunday afternoons…
We will take many
More trips to your moon.

Let’s celebrate your joys...
However small.
Let’s share your disappointments,
However large.
Let’s hope that the sadness
You feel at times
Will be swallowed up
By all the fun-loving times
We have spent together.

I will always be there for you.
I will continue to enter
The world of your imagination
Before you pass from childhood,
And enter the unexpected
Upheavals of adolescence.

Someday you will leave behind
The comfortable pleasures
Of home-cooked tenderness,
And face the harsh world of reality.
I wonder how much of me
You'll be able to afford to
Remember in your future?

Although your presence
Will be missed
And your place empty
Across the breakfast table,
I will remember you
With love and thankfulness.
I will remember the
Many close times we had,
The laughter we enjoyed,
Even the tears we shed,
And the many, many trips
We took to your moon.

______________________________
I sat down at the breakfast table one morning after I had taken my eleven-year old son, Rob, to school, and wrote this poem.