Lemonade

"I wanna help!" he says,

and without waiting for a response,

he comes running.

Wrestling a chair from the table,

he pushes it

(like I hate)

across the soft wood floor.

I hold my critical breath

and watch.

Smiling at his earnest determination,

I grit my teeth at the screeching (and scraping)

coming toward me.

Banging into the cabinets,

he parks the heavy piece of metal 

against the counter.

He scrambles up, looks down,

and surveys the lemons already sliced

in two.

Despite his prop

I still stand taller
and cannot resist
kissing
his blond little head.

"Which one can I do?" he asks.

I give him half a lemon

and he presses down

with all his strength,

and peers over the side,

to watch it happen.

Voila!

Proud,

he sticks his finger in the juice he made,
licks it,
and shudders.

"Silly!" I say. "It needs sugar!"
His smile twinkles,
as if he knew that.

I lean over
and smooch
his swirl of blond
again.

(see all that sweet hair!)

And again.

And again.

It is often in the unexpected,
simple moments of life
when I notice
the sweetest blessings.