number 5

i found this poem when my good friend found out she was pregnant with number 5.
means even more now.

Song for a Fifth Child
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

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.

cooking

some things shouldn't be shared, but oh well.
molly and i were playing scrabble at the kitchen table. maggie kept coming up to me and feeding me little pretzel goldfish crackers. she said, i cooked dis just for you mama. molly says, i wouldn't trust anything she cooks mom.
then i hear maggie in the living room singing some song about booty cookin.
yep.
she was putting goldfish down her britches and bending over in front of the space heater until her booty got hot. then she pulled out the cracker and came to me.
vomit.