The Poet Mom

A blog about the joys and frustrations of being a mom.

Month: August, 2011

Fashion Statement

A quick scan of my closet

Reveals the dismal truth.

The stained T’s and cropped yoga pants

Have replaced the haute couture of my youth.

How did this happen?

And why didn’t anyone shout,

“Hey, you, Lady!

Back away from the discount T-shirt rack.”

I have a good idea when I went astray.

It was the day I made the discovery

That the one who loves all things dirty, grimy, and buggy

Meant more to me than any finery.

My garments are comfy and practical.

They reliably stay the course.

And when they finally cave under the pressure,

It’s into the rubbish bin with no remorse.

I take heart knowing the day will come

When I can again look my best

Someday all too soon

When those filthy angels finally flee the nest

Until that day arrives,

I’ll wear my uniform with pride.

For every sticky fingered hug

Makes me feel like a super model inside.


My day starts with a bang and ends with a muted wail.

Every sound in between is of equal scale.

TV voices rattle on at all levels.

Music blares at rock concert decibels.

Doors  slam, phones ring,  batteried gizmos squawk, beep and drone.

Voices cry my name in all manners of tone.

I patiently carry on amid the unrelenting clamor

And try to remain sane until the kids begin to slumber.

When at last all the noises suddenly abate

And my mind has a chance to acclimate,

I realize the insane cacophony

Has become my cherished symphony.

The Toilet

I clean it and care for it because I must

But make no mistake it is my enemy.

The odor makes my nose wriggle in disgust.

Its maintenance requires advanced alchemy.

The oozing drips and yellow puddles

Fill my heart with dismay.

The state of it befuddles.

How could it look like this every day?

My roomies seem not to notice my frustration

As they continually manage to miss the mark.

For them there is no mitigation

It is my task alone on which to embark.

I purchase the latest in cleaning absurdities

And diligently perform my recalcitrant duties.

However, I alone cannot sustain the neatness I desire.

So, it is a maid I will very soon hire.

Ode to the Weeknight Meal

It starts with the list and the shopping.

I drop everything each night to begin the chopping.

I wisk, I strain, I gently stir and simmer.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and call the family to dinner.

The kids don’t like it.  It looks funny.

They want mac n’ cheese, gooey and runny.

The husband calls to say he’s working late.

Sorry, but the client just cannot wait.

I eat in relative solitude.

And take heart, for there is one who desires my food.

I give him a nod and we meet in the kitchen.

I fill his bowl with the evening’s selection.

He gobbles it up in one giant bite

And licks his chops in delight.