Twas the Night Before Christmas....

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Every creature was stirring, including a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
But only lumped coal will be found in there.

The children refuse to stay in their beds,
And visions of candy float through their heads.
Dad’s still at work and the baby’s in my lap,
But what I long is to take a long nap.

With all of these cookies I seem to be fatter,
But honestly, really, does it even matter?
Away to the kitchen, I fly like a flash,
To put all these cookies and sweets in the trash!

The moon is so bright and I am still hot,
For it’s 80 degrees, believe it or not.
When all of the sudden it hits me real fast,
They need to sleep, how long will they last?

With so little time and so much to do,
I’m in need of coffee to make me feel new.
Dad is now home so let us begin,
We both have a task, but who will win?

The doll house will surely be finished first,
The tricycle direction’s in German, the worst!
I sit and I laugh as the tools going flying,
Probably not nice, I would be crying.

Why can’t there really be a fat man in red,
To put this together then I’d be in bed.
But oh we continue to hammer and screw,
The trike for the child who is only two.

The kids are asleep all snuggled and warm,
We need to regroup, we need to brainstorm.
For how will we finish these daunting toy tasks,
Perhaps in my coffee the stuff from the flasks.

We’re now on a roll and moving along,
Thought it’d be easy and boy was I was wrong.
Why do we torture ourselves on this night,
Staying up late and into daylight.

If we’d just stayed ahead and started last week,
Perhaps we would already be fast asleep.
But what fun would that be, to be all caught up,
I much prefer running around and amuck.

As I pull out the cookies, oreos no less,
Which actually is easier and causes no stress,
I think to myself my parents did this?
I guess I enjoyed my ignorant bliss.

Six in the morning comes fast and comes quick,
The girls will coming running and me I’ll feel sick.
For too much “hot cocoa” will sure do me in,
But no time to waste, we must reach the end.

As we screw that last screw and toss the last box,
I’m thankful I somehow became a nighthawk.
We turn off the lights and tuck into bed,
I know this exhaustion is probably widespread.

I wish and I hope that maybe next year,
The fat man named Santa will visit us here.
Until then we’ll keep up with this fun charade
Because we’re all Santa, at home I’m afraid.