Poem by a tired mom

Nearly a decade has passed since I wrote this poem.  I miss those little bodies and faces I shared dinner with way back when.  

Dinner looks a bit different these days, than it did when I wrote these words:


A rest for the weary at the end of the day;

a time to replenish what’s been taken away.

Energy drained, stomach growling,

kids are crying, dog is howling.

Then the fun begins…


A rush to prepare a fast and healthy meal,

one that tastes good…with kids on my heel.

The food’s in the oven, the table is set.

This is when I begin to fret.

“Do you smell something burning?”…


Always burning garlic bread, it never fails.

After the timer rings, my memory ails.

It bakes in the oven until it gets black.

Only the bottom of my socks are darker than that.

To the table we go…


The plates are filled; the cups are too.

A disgusted noise; “This looks like poo!”

That’s all it takes to get things started.

Now giggles all around.  And, “Who passed gas farted?”

Mom the waitress is on duty…


“I don’t like this…I want more…

Gimme this, Gimme that.  Service here is poor.”

“More milk please, dear. (Smile)

You’re nearest the fridge door.”

We’re in the home stretch now…


Now I sit down to eat my dinner.

A bit cold, but to me it’s a winner.

Why all the complaints and lackluster reviews?

This is certainly better than last week’s stew.

Oh, no!  Grab some towels…


Finally, everyone has eaten.  By force or by choice.

“Time to clean up”, says my tired voice.

Most nights it’s a family affair to clean when dinner is done.

Other nights I enjoy a quiet kitchen shared with no one.

Soon it’s time for bed…


Another dinner is over; we’ve survived one more meal.

Looking back I wonder why I made it a big deal.

Aside from orders, spills, cold food, lots to clean,

And conversations from, “I said no!” to “Where is my spleen?”

No awkward silences like many a first date…


As the years pass, familiarity grows like a weed.

I embrace and enjoy this comfort seed.

The love still remains if I let my hair down.

They still care if all I can do is frown.

But a smile on my face I’ll wear to our next dinner.


2 thoughts on “Poem by a tired mom

  1. Oh, dinners… At my house, I’m a short-order cook, making 2-3 meals a night! Sometimes it runs smooth, like last night, and I had everyone at the table at the same time! ☺️That NEVER happens.


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