Here’s wishing you a day that’s all about you
when someone else has to clean up the poo.
Hope that breakfast in bed doesn’t land on the rug
and the coffee is hot and arrives with a hug.
May you spend the whole day with your feet up, and rubbed.
May the dishes be done and the toilet be scrubbed.
I hope that your kids understand well enough
that this is your day, so no fighting, shut up.
That instead of petty disputes, for one day
they just pile in your lap, smile at you, and say,
“I love you mommy. So much more than you know.
More than cookies, or ice cream, or swimming, or snow.”
They won’t say that, of course, because—hello—they’re kids.
But when you soak in their snuggles, may you feel like they did.
When they kiss you with syrup faces, sticky and sweet,
they’re saying, “Thanks for cleaning up stuff I excrete.”
When they give you construction paper, scribbled and cut
They’re saying, “Thanks, mommy, for wiping my butt.”
And if hubby gives you a kiss, or a card, or some flowers,
That’s just a bonus. The real gift is the hours.
A few blessed hours when you’re allowed to say,
“Go ask your Daddy. Mommy’s resting today.”
© Pam Desmond 2011
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