How many more miles?How many more minutes?
How many more mess-ups?
How many more moments?
How many more mimbulus mimbletonia?
(This silly little “poem” was inspired by Vi, who asked several times during today’s mandatory 20-minute trombone practice session: “How many more minutes?” It reminded me of childhood family trips to Michigan to visit my paternal grandparents—our repetitious, sing-song refrain was: “How many more miiiiiilllles?”)
1 comment:
We are awful parents and have taught our kids that the first one who says "are we there yet?" is the first one to get out and walk the rest of the way!. Seriously, they gasp whenever they hear someone else say it. They will probably be in therapy for the things that we have done to them.
Post a Comment