Tuesday, May 17

Ode to A Busy Mom

     Once upon a time, before I became aware that there was "good" and "bad" poetry (and that "good" poetry typically did not rhyme, had very deep truths to convey, and often read like cryptic riddles),  I could often be found scribbling away in notebooks to create my own bits of rhyming verse that I would bestow on family members or use to fill the pages of homemade books.

     I LOVED writing those "poems"...there was fun in the game of finding phrases that sang and words that rhymed. It wasn't always metered correctly and there usually was no deeper meaning or mystery to figure out...it was just me, having fun with words and trying to capture some of the joy of life in the process.

     In celebration of those days when my ignorance allowed me to believe that there were no "rules" to writing poems, that it was just about having fun, I have written a little poem for all of my fellow mommas.

 Ode to the Busy Mom
By Lisa Littlewood

Perhaps you think you've gone plain crazy, 
Or if not mad, than simply lazy
For you used to keep a house so clean,
And now a polished floor, well that's a dream. 

There are crumbs that cover every piece
Of linoleum floor and then there is grease
Stuck to the burners upon the stove
and Cheerio dust that will stick to your toes.

Laundry piles near the washer so high
that it shocks your own mother, she responds with "Oh My!"
"Are you sick?" she asks. "Is everything alright?
You should never have more laundry than you can do in one night."

"Oh mother," you say, as you roll your eyes.
"It's about the quality of life not the laundry pile size."
But even as you say it you wonder inside, 
Am I doing enough? Am I doing it right?

Motherhood is a journey wrought with doubt
Whether all you are doing will ever amount
To anything important, to anything dear
Or will we all just end up in a therapist's chair?!

Chin up fellow mommas, sisters in life
My house is also a mess, my children, they fight. 
It is simply a part of the road me must travel
Even though it can feel like it all might unravel. 

For when you love and serve from a place that cares
Does it really matter if your sink prompts stares?
Does it really matter if your shelves are dusty 
Or if your refrigerator smells just a little musty?

A day will come when your floor will be clean. 
Your dishes put away, your house again pristine. 
When that day comes it will be quiet inside
For your children will be off living their lives. 

Lives of their own and their mess you will miss. 
So for now ignore the laundry and give them a kiss. 

p.s. My own dear mother would never say that to me about the laundry (she'd jump right in and get it done) but I know some mothers of mommas my age who would say such things!!! So to you all, just roll your eyes and laugh...no condemnation allowed! Besides, my pile is probably higher than yours!

p.p.s This is the poem that I burned the meatballs for! Scott said it was worthwhile because he likes the poem so much (thanks honey!) so I think that means I'm forgiven! 


  1. I'm glad you burnt the meatballs too. (c; Great poem—thank you for the encouragement!

  2. I think that poem was DEFINITELY worth the burned meatballs! :)

  3. Love it! (Besides the poets who made all the rules are probably dead now.)

  4. I love it! I agree worth the burnt meatballs!

  5. Is it possible to use your cartoon image?


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