Babies Don't Keep

                                                                Mother, oh Mother,

come shake out your cloth,

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......

~Author Unknown ~

Is this poem beautiful or what? It brings tears to my eyes every time I read it. Nevermind that I have no idea what it means to "poison your moth" and I haven't a clue what a hullabaloo is. I'll google that later. Yeah right. 

This poem is such a great reminder to cherish the moments. It is so easy to get overwhelmed by all the things there are to do in a day. Unless my house is progressing toward being an episode of "Hoarding: Buried Alive," my kids won't care how well I kept the house, they will remember how I spent my time with them.

Cheers, to savoring the "little" things!