Good morning!  Due to technical difficulties (translation: my son wasn't home to help me) I was without internet for most of yesterday (and yes, I did try jiggling the cords in back of the computer!) so I didn't have a chance to post anything.  Today, however, I am up bright and early because it's a special day.  My second son has a birthday today, and all his siblings are coming home to celebrate with him.  This means a day filled with laughter, joy, and for me, some serious cooking in the kitchen.  I always serve the birthday 'child' their favorite dishes, so today it's meatloaf swirls (meatloaf with a layer of seasoned croutons, green pepper, cheese, tomato sauce and cheese, rolled like a cake roll and cut into round slices), company mashed potatoes (I will make five pounds of potatoes mashed with cream cheese and sour cream and I can guarantee you there won't be any leftovers--my boys love their mashed potatoes!), broccoli/cheese casserole, coleslaw, iced tea, and funfetti cake for dessert.  What more can a mother ask for than to have all her children home for a joyful family dinner? 

Today I have a special poem to share with you.  It may not be one of the 'best' poems I've shared with you so far, but it is from the heart and very dear to me.  My mother recently passed down to me a book called Birthday Greetings, a hand-bound collection of verses penned by my great-grandmother Mary Belle Cowen Badger.  There was a picture of Mary Belle that hung in my grandparents' bedroom and her stern and disapproving visage used to frighten me and all my cousins (and maybe some of my aunts and uncles as well!).  I could never look past her picture to imagine a woman with a heart.  Her collection of poems changed all that for me--her verses are filled with love and pride and the strong religion that sustained her through difficult times.  In honor of my son, Jason, here is a lovely poem Mary Belle wrote to her son Ozro Bruce, who was born on May 8, 1887.  The poem was penned in 1911 to celebrate his 24th birthday.

On the eighth day of May

Eighteen and eighty seven

A precious baby boy

To his parents was given.

He arrived at the close 

Of a bright Sabbath day

And was so sweet adn winsome

We could not tell him nay.

We took him to our hearts

And loved him with a zeal

I am sure none other

But parents hearts could feel.

A roguish little lad was he

From the time that he could walk

We had to curb and chasten

Ere he began to talk.

It took a lot of patience

A lot of grit and grace

But amply feel repaid

When we see his manly face.

Now he is helping boys

Their niche in life to find

By teaching and training

And developing their mind.

May  Christ our great example

His model always be

Who taught with love and patience

By the sea of Galilee.

Bruce, my son, be careful

Of what you say and do

For those lads are watching 

And taking note of you.

Oceans of love, Mother

And if the poem wasn't sweet enough, here is a picture of my son on his first birthday!

May your day be filled with love.