Bedtime, a poem

No matter the time
Or day
Or any old season
Except for Daylight’s Saving’s, the worst transition anyone without kids ever imagined
I cannot reason
Can’t say
Cannot even find

How to get them to sleep.

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Five More Minutes

Five more minutes to sleep alone,
To dress in peace,
To check a phone.

Five more minutes to eat my food,
To eat it warm,
To eat it chewed.

Five more minutes to sit right here,
To read a book,
To disappear.

Five more minutes is not that long,
To feel the guilt,
To feel the wrong;

When

Five more minutes is what I seek

Five more minutes is all I need

Five more minutes, or maybe three,

Is all I long for, to just be me.

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Found time to write this for The 2019 Bloggers Bash Competition.

 

Photo Credit:
Jordan Whitt

A Head Start on the Day?

After a few false starts and intentional ignorings of my alarm, I rose before the children needed to with the intent to get a head start on the day.

The idea sounded great last night -you know, during that time I looked over the laundry, paper bills and tax forms, dishes, laundry, to-do list, messy tables, dishes, incomplete homework, laundry, cluttered floors, dirty toilets, almost-sleeping children, and more laundry and dishes- and told myself that I could go to sleep and address it all tomorrow.

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An old picture, but somehow still applicable.

I neglected to recall how tired I am when I first rise.

So, yawning, here I sit, cursing my mental state, for not recalling that I’d need a day to fully wake. I can see why people drink coffee. I think. I’m actually not experiencing much clarity of thought yet.

True, I shouldn’t need much ‘clarity of thought’ to just do dishes or sort laundry. The problem with that is that I’ve pretty much run out of tricks. I’ve tried bribes, calm reasoning, yelling, and reverse psychology; but I just can’t convince myself to do the housework.

No matter what, I know two things: there will never be an end, and there will be more after that.

So, yawning, here I -oh, I already said that. Sorry; tired mom brain.

What’s a dead-brained mother to do? The toilets? Maybe after breakfast, I suppose. If nothing else gets done during this Magic Quiet Hour, I at least got some writing in.

And (don’t tell) some chocolate.

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Photo by Levi Bare on Unsplash