The Best Of Intentions
Posted: Tue May 01, 2012 12:15 am
...
(Digging in the archives I found this. As I've been 'otherwise occupied' & somewhat AWOL I thought I'd redeem myself by sharing....)
This is a true story. Why, oh why do we fervently clean the house, & bring out all of our ‘special’ bits & pieces when ‘company’ is due to visit? Especially when the average height of said company is three foot three.
THE BEST OF INTENTIONS” © 2005 Glenny Palmer
We had worked just short of dropping, engineering cakes with topping—
all the trimmings for a party as the family was due.
We would make our celebrations rival all the league of nations,
with such awe inspiring features never seen before...yahoo!
There's a cubby house with lights, while more are dripping from the heights,
of a bloody great big Poinciana stooping from their weight.
And merry-go-round horses reinforced to bear the forces
from some forty kids all lined up waiting, brewing for a blue.
And a lovely campfire glowing, what’s this?—all the kids are going
to be set alight if they persist in poking sticks therein.
And a newly quarried wall of mud and dirt—a free-for-all,
as on their bellies forty kids go skiing down that sloping goo.
“Oh my goodness!” cried his mother with her skirts all in a bother,
“You are dirty and you’ve ruined all your brand new party clothes!”
So she dragged him by his ear to the thing that he would fear
for his lifetime—yes, a bathtub and a cake of soap…boo hoo.
There she scrubbed his skin red raw until the spalpeen begged,”No more”.
for which she clipped his other ear and started in on it with zest.
Then she ducked him one more time, and on my special towel the grime
was spread like butter, on a freshly baked and fluffy piece of bread.
With one last maternal sweep she gathered up the muddy heap,
whereupon a spray of soil embellished all my bathroom tiles.
So she wiped that with my mat, (the special flowered one, at that);
dressed the truant in my t-shirt that she found beside my bed.
The fact that it was new and one of only just a few,
she hadn’t noticed in her fervour, for her mission was complete.
And one squeaky clean grand-child escaped once more into the wild,
with complete indifference to what his mother did and said.
Skidding down that hill with glee, the child continued fervently
to chase his dreams, despite the threat of Grand-ma’s bathtub, (and his mum.)
And despite our best intention that which saw the most attention
wasn’t cubby houses, painted nags, or swings, or fairy bread.
Give a kid a fire and mud pile if you wish to see the kid smile,
and forget the grand embellishments, and all that ballyhoo.
Keep your drive and dough intact, and have some fun, 'cause it's a fact,
that the kids just might know more about such things, than adults do.
(Digging in the archives I found this. As I've been 'otherwise occupied' & somewhat AWOL I thought I'd redeem myself by sharing....)
This is a true story. Why, oh why do we fervently clean the house, & bring out all of our ‘special’ bits & pieces when ‘company’ is due to visit? Especially when the average height of said company is three foot three.
THE BEST OF INTENTIONS” © 2005 Glenny Palmer
We had worked just short of dropping, engineering cakes with topping—
all the trimmings for a party as the family was due.
We would make our celebrations rival all the league of nations,
with such awe inspiring features never seen before...yahoo!
There's a cubby house with lights, while more are dripping from the heights,
of a bloody great big Poinciana stooping from their weight.
And merry-go-round horses reinforced to bear the forces
from some forty kids all lined up waiting, brewing for a blue.
And a lovely campfire glowing, what’s this?—all the kids are going
to be set alight if they persist in poking sticks therein.
And a newly quarried wall of mud and dirt—a free-for-all,
as on their bellies forty kids go skiing down that sloping goo.
“Oh my goodness!” cried his mother with her skirts all in a bother,
“You are dirty and you’ve ruined all your brand new party clothes!”
So she dragged him by his ear to the thing that he would fear
for his lifetime—yes, a bathtub and a cake of soap…boo hoo.
There she scrubbed his skin red raw until the spalpeen begged,”No more”.
for which she clipped his other ear and started in on it with zest.
Then she ducked him one more time, and on my special towel the grime
was spread like butter, on a freshly baked and fluffy piece of bread.
With one last maternal sweep she gathered up the muddy heap,
whereupon a spray of soil embellished all my bathroom tiles.
So she wiped that with my mat, (the special flowered one, at that);
dressed the truant in my t-shirt that she found beside my bed.
The fact that it was new and one of only just a few,
she hadn’t noticed in her fervour, for her mission was complete.
And one squeaky clean grand-child escaped once more into the wild,
with complete indifference to what his mother did and said.
Skidding down that hill with glee, the child continued fervently
to chase his dreams, despite the threat of Grand-ma’s bathtub, (and his mum.)
And despite our best intention that which saw the most attention
wasn’t cubby houses, painted nags, or swings, or fairy bread.
Give a kid a fire and mud pile if you wish to see the kid smile,
and forget the grand embellishments, and all that ballyhoo.
Keep your drive and dough intact, and have some fun, 'cause it's a fact,
that the kids just might know more about such things, than adults do.
