empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton
This verse seemed so applicable to me today. This has been a long 3 months of pregnancy so far. The house needs constant attention, this perpetual stomach flu is making me very narcissistic.
So today after breakfast I looked at my 4 precious children
So we went to the Arboretum.
They ran and played,
and balanced on fallen trees,
1 comment:
What a wonderful use of your time! I appreciated that poem when you kids were growing up, too. db
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