I speak, I hug, I yell, I kiss;
I reprimand; diffuse.
And yet, whene’er one polls my kids,
I’m constantly confused.
“I love you, Mom,” my son will say
All smiles of obed’ence.
His rate of working will increase
He’ll move with all exped’ence.
“I love you, Mom,” t’others claim;
“You’re the best we’ve ever had.”
Time earned, they sit to play their games,
While I think, It’s not so bad.
But just as sure as cluttered rooms,
Or “That’s not fair!” outbursts;
Once freed from Fortnite’s pleasing mood
They’re back to, “You’re the worst!”