Whimsy With the Written Word

Around Valentine's Day, my kiddo and I spotted this pink metal mailbox. It was in the dollar section at Target.

Q loved it at first sight. I saw it as the perfect opportunity to inspire both of us to write more. It invited me especially to work on holding onto whimsy, to keep a spark of creativity in our relationship. So I bought it. For Q. But for me, too. Of course, once we had the mailbox, Q wanted to actually use it. And I kept forgetting about it.


Until finally she wrote me a note asking me to please write her a note and leave it in the mailbox.


It says:


"Please write a note to me and put it in my mailbox! I love you.

P.S. Can you put it in there when I'm asleep and put the flag up so in the morning I can see it!"


So I finally remembered to write a little note, which was a sappy little I love you sweetie-pie kind of thing. She liked that there was a note in there. But I think we need to graduate beyond simple little I-love-you notes.

To that end, I have decided to write her a poem. I decided that whatever I write, it cannot take a lot of time. So, we're going for quantity over quality, I'm afraid. Here's my first attempt, which took me about ten minutes to write, and you can totally tell, 'cause it blows:
(Once upon a time
I needed a dime
So I sold lemonaid
So I could get paid.

I earned enough money
to buy milk and honey
So I went to the store
And bought groceries galore.

When I got home
I tripped on a comb
And was in a bad mood
'Cause I'd dropped all the food!

Now the house is a mess
And I've torn my dress.
The food is all gone
And this poem's a yawn.)

I'm going to be away most of next week on a business trip (to New Orleans...woooooo!) and I've decided to ask Leo to place a note from mommy in the mailbox every morning of my absence. He has grudgingly agreed to do so (but don't be surprised if this turns out badly...I've been burned by him before on this kind of thing).

So now I am faced with the challenge of writing five days' worth of cute stuff. Why do I do this to myself?! And for that matter, what did Q ever do to deserve such awful poetry?

Is this a bad idea?