'Twas the time before kidness, when all through my house
My stuff stayed in place like a starched, ruffled blouse.
My stockings stayed put in their place in my drawer,
And no slick, sticky substances covered my floor.
My children had grown and struck out on their own:
I could now have a bathroom and now use the phone!
My nest, it was empty, and so was my lap,
And whenever I wanted, I just took a nap.
The house was serene, with no noise and no clatter,
No drama, no trauma, and nothing the matter;
No schedules to juggle like Bozo the Clown,
No car pools to haul children all over town.
So I got accustomed to living in peace:
No stinky, wet gym shoes or bluejeans with grease;
No fundraiser pizzas to sell door-to-door;
No talks with the teachers at school anymore.
Then college and weddings went by in a flash;
In came the in-laws, and out went the cash.
But soon the dust settled, and so did my nerves,
So I started to line dance and worked out at Curves.
Things perked along just this way for while
'Til some news came my way that would cause me to smile:
"We're having a baby, and 'Googie' you'll be"--
Then four years flew by and the kids numbered three.
First Sooby, then Pooh, and then Bootsie we had,
With our family tree sprouting branches like mad!
And now that their ages are four, two, and one,
Well, I never expected to have this much fun.
When they come for a visit, I jump and I cheer
When the sound of the car doors announces they're here.
They bounce in like Tiggers, and Googie well knows
That they'll have the effect of a whirlwind that blows.
They'll drag out the toys and demolish their room.
The picturesque fruit bowl will suffer its doom.
They'll all through the house leave a cookie-crumb trail,
And chaos and clutter and noise will prevail.
But then in a twinkling bedtime will come.
They'll get their toothbrushes and spit out their gum.
They'll put on their jammies and pick out a book,
And we'll read about Peter and cruel Captain Hook.
They'll ask me to sing every song that I know:
Maybe "Sweet Baby James" or perhaps "Old Black Joe";
Perhaps "This Old Man" or "My Grandfather's Clock";
And when I try to leave, they will still want to talk.
I'll tell them "Sleep well," and "To all a good night,"
Then I'll pull their door shut and I'll turn out the light.
I'll collapse on the couch and consider my fate:
The time before kidness was--not all that great.