‘Twas the night before Christmas, And all through the house,
Of course there was “stirring”, but it wasn’t the mouse,
(On a side note, we think there’s a mouse in the basement,
Because of the droppings in obvious placement).
The children won’t “nestle”, they don’t know that word,
They’re poking and squabbling like two angry birds,
The sir watching football and I with my wine glass,
Had just settled down to wrap gifts and relax…
When up in my head there arose such a clatter,
Of failed mother moments and Christmas disaster:
Like the time that my son squirted windex of blue,
On the floor and his brother and then sister too.
The moon shining bright on the trees bare and brown,
Remind me of Christmas tree needles knocked down,
And that sad small fir tree that I bought as a gift,
That promptly flopped over, it’s branches won’t lift.
The sound from the screen brought my mind to the games,
Where the players from each of the teams would be named,
Now Bengals! Now Texans! Then Broncos and Chiefs
Would be playing for all of our late Christmas feasts.
For a moment I breathed an unusual calm,
But then dash away, dash away, dash away all!
For then in a twinkling I heard on the “roof”,
The prancing and pawing of each little “hoof”.
Before I could act, as my head turned around,
Down the stairs came the kids with their least quiet sounds,
All dressed cute in their pjs, from heads to their feet,
They needed to pee or more drink or more heat.
They didn’t find Momma kissing “Santa Clause”,
Instead with arms crossed I laid down the house laws,
Their droll little mouths swiftly turned to a pout,
With no more excuses they turned and went out,
And I wondered if Santa, with his round little belly,
Could make my kids eat more than pb and jelly?
If perhaps he’d leave Rudolph with the kids just to play,
So they’d sleep from exhaustion at the end of the day.
But my husband he winked and then nodded his head,
At the sounds of the giggling up in their beds.
He spoke not a word, but I realized with joy,
That despite all the chaos, my girl and my boys
Are a gift, yes a blessing, an endless new wonder,
To hold and to love both in growing and blunder,
Then, snap! Went the football, the ref blew a whistle,
And we sat there in awe, our mirth now official.
And so I exclaim as we savor this night,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all…better sleep in the future.”