Maybe it’s hormones. Maybe it’s stress. Maybe it’s age.
Lately, though, I’ve been feeling a combination of sentimental, hopeful, despairing, enthusiastic, frightened, in control, overwhelmed.
You get the picture.
It really is all about the boys.
Specifically, my three boys. Like any mom, I worry about them. My mom once told me that worrying was a mother’s job. Life has been happening lately in our family, and I’ve been spending an extra bit of time worrying about two of my three kiddos.
One time when I try not to worry is when I put Little Darth down to sleep. I rock him and sing to him (in between him popping up and trying to escape). Sometimes I sing real songs and sometimes I sing nonsense. Sometimes I just hum.
Occasionally something from my own childhood will float by and I’ll remember bits and pieces. A song my mom used to sing to us (“You Are My Sunshine”) or a little bouncing rhyme (“Trot, trot to Boston. Trot, trot to Lynn. Look out baby so you don’t fall in!”).
One of the things that I’ve been remembering (only bits so I finally just looked the darn thing up online….I love the interwebz!) is a poem called “Wynken, Blynken and Nod”. I loved it as a child, love it more now, and think I might have to memorize the whole thing (not just bits) so I can “sing” it to Little Darth.
Or maybe I’ll just close my eyes and hear my mom reading it to me.
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,–
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,”
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
That lived in the beautiful sea.
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish,–
Never afraid are we!”
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam,–
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home:
‘Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
As if it could not be;
And some folk thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea;
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one’s trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:–