‘Twas Late Sunday Teatime…

‘Twas late Sunday teatime, and all through the house
Every creature was stirring, from children to spouse.
There were books to be read, there was homework to do, 
There was tea to be made, there was hair to shampoo.
Apparently no one could do this themselves,
And help was sought out from the fictional elves
Who apparently take care of the washing, the cleaning,
The tidying of clothes and the beds they have been in.

This Sunday night though, there was something awry.
The tea was not made and there was no reply
To the shouts of ‘I’m hungry’, ‘I’m thirsty’, ‘I’m stuck’.
The family that evening were clean out of luck.

It transpired that the Mother had gone into hiding,
And without her around to be nagging and chiding
The household had started to disintegrate,
And as a result – well, this was their fate.

No diaries were signed and no homework was done.
‘My teacher will hate me’ bemoanéd her son.
No forms were sent back and no washing was cleaned,
Chaos abounded as everyone keened.

Meanwhile: Oh that Mother, just where had she gone?
Why has she left them, let it all go so wrong?
Didn’t she know that they needed her there?
How else would they get all their clean underwear?

Turned out…she was in the bath, drinking wine. ‘Fuck them all’, she thought. ‘Let them sort their own bloody homework diaries and book bags out for once.’*

Cheers 😊👍

*Obviously maternal guilt wouldn’t let her take this stance for long, and by 9pm she was in the kitchen, slightly tipsy, frantically organising book bags and uniforms…but it was nice while it lasted.

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