When We Were Nine...

Today my youngest brother turns nine. Nine! How time does fly. It seems like just yesterday he was a tiny 6 lb. baby coming home from the hospital. Now he's almost to double digits. I don't want that to happen. I don't want him to become a surly teenager. If only I could freeze time and he would stay little forever. But right now he's still my cute (don't tell him I said that) baby brother who tells me not to be afraid of the rooster and still likes to snuggle and give me kisses and tells me he loves me. He's also my Godson, so he's more than just my cute baby brother.

When he was a baby I wrote a poem about his nap time, or, rather, the travails of keeping a baby asleep in a large family. In honor of Hansie's ninth birthday, here it is.

A Hansie never shuts his eyes

Until the sun is in the skies.

And even then he does not sleep

For long; you see, we cannot keep

Our noisy little Ephrem still.

(Sweet Ephrem is a little pill.)

And, of course, it does not help

When Adelaide gives a loud yelp,

For Mechi’s come and sat beside

The house she’s made, where she must hide

From Nazi’s which do not exsist –

‘Tis long before, she will insist.

Then Mechi sings and runs about,

While Dietrich sorts his legos out

With lots of noise, to make a boat

Or some such thing that will not float.

So Cloe yells, “Be quiet, all!

“Hans can hear you through the wall.”

Now Augustin plays some modern piece

Upon the piano, and will not cease.

So Hansie wakes and starts to cry,

And Cloe heaves a heavy sigh.

It’s hard to keep a baby quiet

In a house that’s full of riot.

Ah, the days. I wish Hansie a very happy birthday and many more years to come. May he never lose his weirdness. And in closing, I quote the birthday boy:

"If we ever are out in the wild and it started to rain and I had a raincoat and you didn't, I'd be willing to give you my raincoat. It probably wouldn't fit you, but you could hold it over your head."