From the Annamaniacs Files: This Day of Rest, I Am Most Stressed

I'm doing a mix today. This is from the Annamaniacs Files back when my baby was a baby (she's fifteen now) and I lived with all seven kids and a husband. You could also call this the Poetry Corner although there isn't much poetic about it. And I guess I should actually post this on Sunday, but you know, I'm kind of stressed and need a blog post.

This Day of Rest, I Am Most Stressed

By Anna Maria Junus

“It’s time! It’s time! To get out of bed.”

“I don’t want to get out of bed,” I said.

“My pillow won’t release my head,

I’d rather stay and sleep instead.”

“But Mom, but Mom, it’s church today,

We have to go to church and pray”

“Go away, just go away,”

 I say.

Yet still, I drag myself from beauty rest,

And struggle to get myself all dressed.

“I need a towel!” I hear a yell,

“I can’t go to church looking like h***

I need a shower, my hair feels gritty.”

“Face it,” brother said, “you’re just not pretty.”

“Well, you’re a moron with a little IQ

And lower than gum stuck on my shoe.”

“Now both of you, stop it,” I sweetly say,

“This is not how to behave, on the Lord’s day.”

“Mommy, the baby got chocolate on her new dress!”

“Who gave her chocolate?” I gaze at the mess.

Of course nobody did. No one will admit it.

Ida Know broke into the house and did it.

“I need some socks,” I hear a cry,

“Look in the socks box, give that a try,”

“The socks box has only mismatching socks,”

And mismatching socks won’t go with my docs.”

“Mom, I can’t tie my tie,

I can’t get it straight,”

“Hurry up everybody,

We’re going to be late!”

“Yeah, hurry up stupid!”

“Don’t call me stupid, you creep!”

“Well you’re as slow as a turtle,

Who’s fast asleep.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to, your blonde,”

“Can I help you? Can I get you,

Your broomstick and wand?”

“Now both of you stop it. Stop it I say,

This is not how to behave, on the Lord’s day.”

“MOM! He hit me!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Mom, I can’t find my black platform shoe.”

“Mom, I can’t find my hairbrush,”

“I need to iron my skirt,”

Mom, where’s my watch?”

“I spilled juice on my shirt,”

“Mom, I’m hungry, where is the bread?”

Where is my belt,”

“I need needle and thread”.

“MOM!” “MOM!” “MOM!” They all said.

And then I realized, I could no longer hold it,

Something deep inside breathed life and exploded.

“NOW LISTEN HERE!” I said with a shout,

“Listen hard and listen close, so that there is no doubt.”

And I glared at my children, as they solemnly stared,

At the wild woman who calmly declared,

“Deep in the dark recesses of this house you call home,

Deep in it’s belly, where little is known,

Is a large closet, a secret close kept,

Where shoes of all kinds and all sizes have crept,

This closet holds hairbrushes, combs and gloves,

And gorges itself on single socks, it so loves.

And you can go crazy searching around,

Trying to find something that cannot be found.

You’ll whine and you’ll snap, and you’ll be mean to others,

And say nasty things to your sisters and brothers,

All for the want of a sock or a shoe,

Or a piece of old string, or a dot of white glue.

And you’ll lose control,

And you’ll lose perspective,

And you’re wild searching

Will be ineffective.”

“SO THERE IS NO POINT!” I roared,

With this hallaballoo!

“THERE IS NO POINT!” I say,

To cry for a shoe.”

“From now on, you will quietly get ready for church,

You will quietly dress, and quietly search,

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find your lost stuff.

But in the meantime,

 ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

THIS DAY IS THE LORDS DAY

SO LET’S FEEL HIS SPIRIT AROUND HERE

I WANT NO MORE YELLING

DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!”

They all solemnly nodded,

And I’ll happily say,

That the rest of that Sunday,

Was the Lord’s Day.