I cannot stand those days
When the husband calls and asks,
“What's going on at home today?
Have you accomplished any tasks?”
“Well, let me see,” I say at last
For surely there must be
Something accomplished, something done
By little 'ol homemaking me.
“Alas,” I sigh, I cannot think
Of anything worthy of sharing.
“I surely spent my time somehow.”
My ego is despairing.
For all I seem to be able to claim
As the day turns into night
Is that the children were somewhat meagerly fed
And didn't kill one other as they might.
No one died or broke out in hives
Or needed glue or stitches.
So all in all the day was great
And transpired with very few glitches.
How can hours and hours go by
And stress me to no end
And nothing get accomplished?
What does this portend?
Whoever said of summer
It's lazy days refresh
Has not lived inside my house
Or dwelled inside this flesh.
Well, excuse me if I'm prudish
But I really don't agree.
A fairly rigid schedule
Is just the thing for me.
You see, I have these little ducks
As many of you know.
And, boy, this mama's much more calm
When they're lined up in a row.
For lazy days are wonderful
Once or twice a year.
But give me days of structured work
And see me jump and cheer.
So bring it on: the school, the chores,
the grumblin' and complainin.'
I'd take it happily any day
Over these summer days of playin'.
I've bought stacks of paper for making lists
(Don't any of you summer-lovers scoff)
And eagerly anticipate the coming days
Of happily crossing things off!