Tuesday, January 21, 2014


  It is 2 a.m.
Our feet hit the floor
We think we just can’t do this anymore
    we try to open our eyes
While a child’s cry
    disturbs the night

What can it be, now?
  Through the years
    we have awoken to
  Monsters under a bed
  Upset tummies and achy heads
  Late night feedings
            And just random eyes at the side of our bed

2 a.m. has seen us
  cleaning carpets
  shining flashlights
            While they watch with frighten eyes
  tiptoeing out of a room
    only to hear our child cry
     as we sigh to return
             to sway them back to sleep
   praying we make it past the threshold
            tiptoeing again

We, as fathers, set the home right
  checked locked doors
  Nightlights switched
  Closet lights off
And we see the clock move to morning
   so we debate
   If we should just brew the coffee
     to start our day

We know moms make the world a better place
  With hugs and kisses
But in the darkest hours
It is in our arms they feel the safest

This poem was inspired by Tim Berndt and I tweeting early this morning as we were dealing with sick kids.  

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