"I am President of the Monday Morning Club," my mother once told me. I didn't get it then. Doesn't everyone hate Mondays? But now I understand--she (herself a mother of eight) relished the back to school season when everybody left on Monday mornings. Going through an old journal this week, I came across this poem I wrote ten years ago, shortly after her death. Don't take it too seriously. I do love summer--why, we were all in a friend's pool just this morning. And after home schooling for four years, I am well aware that home educators have no such luxury. Ditto for moms who work outside the home. When I found it, though, it made me smile. What's more, the kids got a chuckle out of it, too. Thanks, Mom, for passing the Presidency down to me. Your sense of humor still inpires me. School starts soon, and I will do my best to serve the office well. The Monday Morning Club There is a club I am President of. It isn't to discuss how grand my garden grows Or unearth dark, rich soil to bury seed I'll sow. It isn't a club of the literary sect. (But only because I haven't penned a masterpiece--yet.) This club is not for charity Except, maybe, for me. It doesn't meet On holidays or summer's heat. But when color comes to trees And football's in the breeze My club meets And, oh, what ease I feel As one by one I peel My children from their beds And straighten hair on sleepy heads. Then as they exit Off to school With faces washed And tummies full The house grows still (as my house gets-- Save an occasional toddler's frets.) Then my club meets After weekend's din I pour another cup and then Rejoice! The table's turning And I'm so glad At last It's Monday morning. |
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CategoriesFaithFamily Fan (Book Reviews) Friends Fun Fundamentals |
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