At two years old,
Keira knows my number.
Calls me up, pleads,
" 'Ramma, you come over me house?"
Such a monkey, so rambunctious.
Does everything at a run.
Expecting me to follow
Right behind her.
"'Ramma! 'Ramma! Chase me!"
So, I do,
Why spoil her fun?
But, boy,
I confess
I am no longer young!

The year she's three,
I fall and break my knee.
"'Ramma have a bad boo boo?"
"I do! So today, I can't run with you."
So while we play some quiet games
She tests me every visit.
"'Ramma, chase me!
Come fine me, 'Ramma!
Me unner the table!"
Really, that fall cast a pall,
On things I'm able to do.
Still, I eventually answer her call.
On my crutches
I hobble down the hall!

When she's four
She's expecting more
As she's grown up
tall and strong.
But yet another accident,
This one more severe,
leaves her 'Ramma - now Gramma -
unable to run and have fun
With a wild little monkey child.
Even after mending a bit,
Chasing the wild child
Through the house and
Around the yard
Is not the fun
it was before;
In fact,
it's rather a chore!
For I'm not able
to dance and prance
as quick as she,
nor crawl around the table.
So, while she hides,
I sneak away
to snatch a little nap.
Snore! Snore! Snore!

"Gramma! Gramma!
Come find me! Gramma!"
I ignore her challenging roar
- Until she's right beside me.
"GET UP, GRAMMA!
PLAY WITH ME!
Play with me on the floor!"
[Have I mentioned that's a chore?]
Just two seconds after, she's up
And galloping out the door.
"Run, Gramma! Run!
Big Spiders will get us!
And dinosaurs too!
Run, run, Gramma!
Get under the table fast!"
By the time I'm able
To reach that table
The spiders are dead
The dinosaurs fed,
And I'm the one in their belly!
So I lay on the floor
Tuckered out once more . . .
Snore! Snore! Snore!
"GRAMMA!!!!!
GRAMMA! GET UP!!!!"

Now she's five,
so vitally alive;
Still doing things full gallop.
But the dinosaurs are gone
And the spiders are too.
For which I am so grateful,
Since I'm still not able
To dance and prance
As quick as she,
nor crawl around that table!
New games we play,
All by her rules;
But at least
they're more subdued.

"Let's play house, says she
I'm the mom, and you're the child.
Now get to bed, don't give me sass
Tomorrow you have school!"
I give her some lip,
Just to see her flip.
I don't want to go to school,
And I am not going to bed!
I'm not following that rule!
She gives me The Look,
Hands on hips.
"You have to go, and if you don't
You'll be in time out for 100 days!
200 days! So go! Right now!"
I whine and cry, but say, Ooookaaay!!
She tucks me in, shuts off the light
Then closes the bedroom door.
And, hey - I snore, snore, snore!

The night lasts but seconds;
The door bursts open,
And in a voice so clear, I hear:
"Sweetheart! it's time to get up!
You're gonna be late for school!"
She rips off the blanket and
drags on my arm.
So I fake a cough which
Causes poor momma alarm.
"Oh, honey, you have a cold!
Stay here! I'll call the doctor!"
The doctor comes; [who looks
Just like my mother!]
"You have a cold, you have to rest!
Here's a shot and medicine!
Goodbye!
I'll be back tomorrow!"
The doctor's gone, and momma says
"Sweetheart, come into the riving room!
Lay down now, I'll tuck you in,
And you can watch a show.
You gotta rest here for at least
100 days, you know!

100 days of Baby Boss
I think I can endure;
But if it's Shopkins
Or Cars Carwash
I'll die without a cure!
And if you don't mind
Little mommy of mine
I'll feed myself
Cookies and milk!
"No-oo, you're the baby
and I'm the mom!"
She shoves the
Straw at my face.
"Now open your mouth!
You're much too little
To do this yourself."
I beg to disagree!
After all, away to school
She had planned to send me!
She doesn't care.
She stands right there,
Until I drain the cup.

Finally, it's time to go.
Her face is full of woe.
I hug her and kiss her,
And say,
I'll be back next week, you know!
"But . . . Gramma, I want you to stay here
and play with me! Pleeeaaaase!"
I'd come more often but
We don't live near.
I've come to the conclusion,
Yes, it's clear;
I'm much afraid it's true .
I'm not an adult.
I'm just a kid!
A kid who is called
GRAMMA!