The month after Christmas

There’s nothing harder after two weeks of Christmas fun than getting back to work. With the holidays behind us, the jet lag that comes from all those long days and late nights is starting to set in. We’ve overindulged, and under heavy assault, have given in to all the requests for cookies and candy canes and ice cream before bed. And now we’re under attack.

In our first moments “alone”, the boys and I went through challenges I thought we’d already conquered. “I want candy for breakfast.” “Get me some milk.” “Hey Mom, he’s touching me!” And on and on and on. From fighting me at naptime to laughing at my discipline, by nightfall, I was ready to start thumbing through the classifieds.
But in a moment of grace, after the 17th hug and the 14th “I love you, Mommy”, before bedtime, I decided to take my sorrows to song. And this is what happened.

“Twas the Month after Christmas” 
 
Twas the month after Christmas
And all through the house
My children are screaming,
And where is my spouse!
 
The stockings are gone,
The turkey’s been eaten
But nothing will calm them,
Not even a beatin’.

Their manners forgotten
And without a care
They demand and they order
And pull at my hair.
 
“Play with me, Mommy!”
The oldest one shouts.
“I want some more candy!”
The youngest does pout.
 
Too cold to go out,
Too wired to stay in,
Too bad these two boys
Are too old for a pen.

At naptime they cry
And they wallow and wail.
They jump on the bed
And they laugh and they flail.

I try to hold steady.
Be nice. Talk calm.
But they will not cooperate
So I drop the big bomb.

“When your father gets home
You’re gonna be sorry!”
But they looked at me cockeyed and
Went on with their party.

So I went to my dresser
And picked up my belt.
I snapped it and shook it…
And started to melt.

The oldest one watched as I
Started to wane.
His behavior continued;
It drove me insane!

But he made the mistake of
Taking for granted
That Mom is a softie and
That’s when I planted

One barely a whisper-
A tickle of a lick-
Across his fair backside
With my own whipping stick.

He cried and he whimpered
And his sweet little brother
Lay still as a dead man
Under those covers.

When they finally closed
Those tired little eyes
I vowed to avoid
Another reprise.

So I prayed and I promised
And swore to myself
That I’d develop more patience.
Start asking for help.

And I heard them both whisper
As I moved out of their sight,
“That was better than a spanking
From Daddy tonight!”

And that’s All in a day’s work!