He is a bright star in my life.  He sparkles and shines and makes me smile and laugh every day.  He’s impulsive, creative, loud, happy, and passionate.

Lately he’s been freezing things in our freezer.  We have a fridge that has the freezer on the bottom–and it pulls out like a drawer–way too convenient for busy 4 1/2 year olds.  First he was freezing bowls of water.  Then we found water with fruit loops.  (mind you, I never see him put these things in!!)  Yesterday he came outside with his own glass of frozen orange juice.  When he was done with that, he appeared with frozen chocolate milk!   I did catch him the other day mixing chocolate chips into a big glass of water–no doubt it was about to be another frozen foods experiment.

The only thing that David is afraid of is bedtime.  Okay, and maybe bees.  (he got stung 2 times the other day).

He is the one who reminds me to keep my heart light and happy like a little child.

(don’t ask me why I’m pinching him in this 2nd picture–but, it makes me laugh and laugh–poor guy!)

There is a poem that I really like, I think because I have 3 brothers and 4 sons.  (I simply have a weakness for little boys!)   It’s a little on the long side, but I think you will like it, too.  Sometimes a line will run through my thoughts when I watch David play.  I added a couple pictures of lil’ Caleb at the end, too.  He was hanging around watching me take David’s pictures and didn’t want to be left out of the fun.

John Greenleaf Whittier
1807-1892

THE BAREFOOT BOY

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberrys on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,–
I was once a barefoot boy!

Prince thou art,–the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou more hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,–
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor’s rules,
Knowledge never learned in schools,
Of the wild bee’s morning chase,
Of the wild-flower’s time and place,
Fight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole’s nest is hung,
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine;
Of the black wasp’s cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy,–
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw and knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

Oh for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O’er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs’ orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire,
I was a monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-
mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat;
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prisons cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt’s for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

Have a wonderful weekend. . . . enjoy your loved ones. . .  By the way, here is our most recent family photo, taken with my self-timer on my camera on Labor Day (we had a picnic).  Speaking of David, he is the one who likes to do funny things as the timer goes off.  Then he jumps up and says, “Can I see it?  Can I see it?”

Thankful for you