Twas the mess before Christmas, and all through the house
not a thing was in order, not children, not spouse.
The stockings were thrown under beds and on chairs
in hopes that dear Mama would soon find them there.
The children all wrestled to find their warm beds
while remains of cracker crumbs danced on their spreads.
The closets were piled high with presents and more,
and when the door opened, they’d fall to the floor.
Over and over my spouse seemed to mutter:
“What in the world will we do with this clutter?”
On Comet, on Ajax, on Hoover, Dust Buster,
on soap and hot water; this place lacks some luster.
The sewing machine was constantly whirring
at night when nobody else was stirring.
I was making some crafts for my sweet little dears,
cursing Martha Stewart amidst all my tears.
When suddenly out in the hall, pitter, patter;
I ran to the door to see what was the matter.
There stood a toddler, so lively and quick,
and I knew right away that he couldn’t be sick.
He was toting the potty chair; what a relief!
And ten yards of Charmin; well, oh, good grief!
I put him to bed, and I pulled up the cover;
I gave a big kiss from a very tired mother.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my mess;
I finished the presents and cleaned—more or less.
I filled all the stockings and loaded the tree;
I shuffled my feet down the hall sleepily.
And these were my words as I switched off the light:
“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”
********(This was written before my empty nest.)