Child of My Heart

   At last a chance to mother, or more precisely 
grandmother.

   I sing Irish lullabies to this wee one who does not share my Celtic blood.

    Before he can sit, I propped up in my arms,     and we read stories of a bear named Pooh, 
while counting colored  honeypots.

Then he learns to sit, and crawl and run.

   "Come on Gramma, get your truck!" he orders, and we spend Sunday afternoons under the dining room table.

   "Let's make bubbles, Gramma," he shouts, and we wave our wands like maestros conducting a symphony on the lawn.

   In his green dinosaur sleeper, he settles in beside me and I read softly to sleepy eyes.
 "Read bigger", Gramma protests a not so tired   boy. "Just don't get bigger too fast" I whisper, as he rests his head against my heart.

 

Biography

 

Professional Achievements

Literacy Beliefs