I’ve written a poem.
For this, I sincerely apologize.
In an attempt to make it up to you, I’m turning this into a game. Read the poem, make a guess as to what/who the Ode is written to (either via the comments or email), and everyone who is correct will be entered into a drawing for a totally awesome prize that I’ll announce when I come back from vacation in Utah (read: I haven’t found it yet, but I definitely will!). I promise this prize will not be child- or mommy-centric, so you won’t have to be either to enjoy it.
Last day for guesses is July 31. One guess per poster, please! Want to earn extra guesses? Share this post via Twitter, Facebook, or any other social media platform, and post where you shared it along with your extra guess.
Please note, your guesses will have to be specific. Meaning a general guess such as “housework” (i.e. a category instead of a specific type of housework) will not count. Feel free to email with questions!
**PRIZE UPDATE!!** A prize has finally been selected. Should you win the drawing after correctly guessing the subject of my ode, you will have a choice between a $15 Amazon gift card or a $15 gift card to the restaurant of your choice. So go! Spread the word! Add your guesses and GET FREE STUFF!
Ode to ———
Lofty goals that mothers make
Include not eating too much cake
And keeping you, my dear old friend
A goal to send me ‘round the bend.
For you, my soul, are always near
Always present, always clear;
With need for me to take the time
A pile a mile high.
Methinks, at least just once or twice,
That to be done would be so nice.
But then I think, What would I do
If there was no you?
Fly to Paris, dance in Spain,
Maybe take some time rein
In my children, who like to scream
When’ere I try to keep you clean.
Not that they dislike, perhaps,
It’s just that washing and timely naps
Never seem to find a way
Alas, and curse the day.
My time with you is ever sweet
In torture and in triumph neat.
Water soothes the tortured soul
That a shower-less week takes its toll.
I hate you when you’re dirty, true;
And love it when you’re clean, I do.
I know alone I’ll never be
My children will dirty you just for me.