Where did you get such a dirty face,
My darling dirty-faced child?
I got it from crawling along in the dirt
And biting two buttons off Jeremy's shirt.
I got it from chewing the roots of a rose
And digging for clams in the yard with my nose.
I got it from peeking into a dark cave
And painting myself like a Navajo brave.
I got it from playing with coal in the bin
And signing my name in cement with my chin.
I got it from rolling around on the rug
And giving the horrible dog a big hug.
I got it from finding a lost silver mine
And eating sweet blackberries right off the vine.
I got it from ice cream and wrestling and tears
And from having more fun than you've had in years.
(and in my case realizing one morning many, many years ago how quiet my little boy was when I was trying to fit much needed housework into a busy day. As mothers everywhere know, it only takes a few seconds for lovable mischief, and to make snow from a bag of flour. This is a photo I sent to his Dad who was away at sea at the time, before the first hair-cut. It is a repeat photo shared a few years back to go with this lovely poem.)