TWELVE DAYS OF HARD LABOUR
Posted: Fri Feb 25, 2011 8:27 pm
My wife & I have just completed 12 days of looking after three of our grandchildren while their parents had a well earned holiday in New Zealand (where they were very lucky to avoid the Christchurch earthquake). This poem is the tale of our experience
"Twelve Days of Hard Labour"
It must have been the wine I'd drunk that prompted me to say
to son in law and daughter "Go, have a holiday.
The kids will be all right with us, you'll not be long away",
so, off they tripped to Kiwi land, declaring hip hooray.
Thus, there started twelve huge days for me and Grandma too
with Kate aged seven, Oscar four and two year old Matthew.
Let me tell you, at no time did we have nought to do,
in fact, we thought that sometimes we were living in a zoo.
They get up with the chooks these kids, they're always on the go,
one hundred miles an hour it seems, they never travel slow
and try and tell them something, they likely say "I know",
yet, then they come for you to tell them how to tie a bow.
Toilet training is a task you simply can't ignore
though unlike golf, when danger lurks there's no one shouting "fore".
Young Matthew, he's adept at making puddles on the floor,
as for number twos don't ask, you'd rather live next door.
Meal times saw the need to have the patience of a saint
and while I may be many things, a saint is one I ain't.
There was a deal of praying done but, mainly for restraint,
while even Grandma's no soft touch when dealing with complaint.
Then there's school, both to and from for Oscar and for Kate,
make them look presentable, be there by half past eight.
Wrestle with the four wheel drives to park near the school gate,
be back by two forty PM and try not to be late.
Now, we had raised three kids ourselves and thought we'd seen it all
but, that was thirty years ago and now we've hit the wall.
I reckon this philanthropy might be our final call,
the days are gone when we'll be signing up for the long haul.
Finally, we've done the time, we're now out on parole,
the kids are back with Mum and Dad, delivered safe and whole.
At least the scoreboard shows we'd not kicked an own goal
but, do this for a living, I think I'd take the dole.
The moral of this tale stands out just like a neon sign
or gazing at the sky at night to watch the stars all shine.
Consider all your spoken words, every throw away line,
above all, more than ever when you're imbibing wine.
Jeff Thorpe, February 2011
"Twelve Days of Hard Labour"
It must have been the wine I'd drunk that prompted me to say
to son in law and daughter "Go, have a holiday.
The kids will be all right with us, you'll not be long away",
so, off they tripped to Kiwi land, declaring hip hooray.
Thus, there started twelve huge days for me and Grandma too
with Kate aged seven, Oscar four and two year old Matthew.
Let me tell you, at no time did we have nought to do,
in fact, we thought that sometimes we were living in a zoo.
They get up with the chooks these kids, they're always on the go,
one hundred miles an hour it seems, they never travel slow
and try and tell them something, they likely say "I know",
yet, then they come for you to tell them how to tie a bow.
Toilet training is a task you simply can't ignore
though unlike golf, when danger lurks there's no one shouting "fore".
Young Matthew, he's adept at making puddles on the floor,
as for number twos don't ask, you'd rather live next door.
Meal times saw the need to have the patience of a saint
and while I may be many things, a saint is one I ain't.
There was a deal of praying done but, mainly for restraint,
while even Grandma's no soft touch when dealing with complaint.
Then there's school, both to and from for Oscar and for Kate,
make them look presentable, be there by half past eight.
Wrestle with the four wheel drives to park near the school gate,
be back by two forty PM and try not to be late.
Now, we had raised three kids ourselves and thought we'd seen it all
but, that was thirty years ago and now we've hit the wall.
I reckon this philanthropy might be our final call,
the days are gone when we'll be signing up for the long haul.
Finally, we've done the time, we're now out on parole,
the kids are back with Mum and Dad, delivered safe and whole.
At least the scoreboard shows we'd not kicked an own goal
but, do this for a living, I think I'd take the dole.
The moral of this tale stands out just like a neon sign
or gazing at the sky at night to watch the stars all shine.
Consider all your spoken words, every throw away line,
above all, more than ever when you're imbibing wine.
Jeff Thorpe, February 2011
