A Parody of Clement Clarke Moore’s beloved The Night Before Christmas. Written, in solidarity, for exhausted mamas everywhere.

‘Twas a day ordinary; nothing seemed amiss.
It started off sweetly with a hug and a kiss.
Then the stench of their diapers filled me with dread,
And I yearned to just slither back into my bed.

But I pulled out the wet wipes to fulfill my duty—
Gasped one last fresh breath, and then wiped me some booty.
The thanks I received? Why, a kick in the face!
So now blood and poop had splattered the place.

But I kept my composure and moved on to the kitchen,
Thinking that they’d eat nicely, ’cause my cookin’ is b*****n’!
The breakfast was crafted with great love and care—
Lump-free cream of wheat, and thoroughly-peeled pear.

When I said it was ready, each boy ran to his seat.
Then their fists banged the table, to the chorus of “EAT!”
And what, with my mothering ears, did I hear?
Why, the stir of rebellion; it filled me with fear.

“How do we ask?” I said with a frown.
And they proceeded to flip the table upside-down.
“Boys!” I then scolded, “No need to be rude!”
But I righted the table and gave them their food.

And where did it end up? Why, of course, on the floor.
But that didn’t stop them from screaming for “MORE!”:

More pancake! More fruit! More milk and more candy!
They were asking for things I didn’t even have handy.
“No more!” I responded. My temper was rising.
(Even though this behavior was nothing surprising.)

So back to the toy room they ran in a flash.
I was sweeping up food when I heard a loud crash:
Their toy kitchen knocked over, the oven door snapped,
And one tiny toddler splayed underneath, trapped.

I freed the poor child with a pull of his leg,
And saw, on his head, a giant goose egg.
Then, “Books! Books!” Oh the shrieking! Like monkeys in cages!
So I grabbed Pete the Cat, and they ripped out three pages.

“Color!” they shouted, poor Pete now in scraps.
So I grabbed the Crayolas and tried not to collapse.
I left to fetch paper (a rookie mistake)—
’Cause the best thing about crayons? “Hey, Mama, they break!”

I returned to find crayon shards strewn in the hall,
And an abstract wax mural spanned ’cross the wall.
“We’re done with the crayons. How ‘bout toy cars instead?”
And in two seconds time, a Hot Wheels hit my head.

“Let’s put on our shoes and go for a walk!”
But on our way out, they passed by the chalk.
So out to our patio, we all went to draw;
All was fine…’til the chalk became something to gnaw.

So with powder-caked teeth, they marched back through the door,
And they left muddy footprints on the just-vacuumed floor.
Exhausted, and dirty, coughing up chalky phlegm,
I looked at the clock, and it said ten . . . A.M.

My resolve was dissolving, my final straw drawn,
When the TV called to me; so I put the thing on.
“How ’bout a movie? Maybe make popcorn later?”
But one wanted “Elmo”; the other one, “Mater.”

They finally settled for ol’ Mickey Mouse,
And I had a rare moment of peace in the house.
In this odd bout of quiet, I attempted to nap.
But with lips like a fishy, one hopped in my lap.

He wanted a kiss? Surely that couldn’t go south.
So I puckered my lips, and he sneezed in my mouth.
I gave a small laugh as I spit out the snot,
Because life’s never boring when you live with a tot (or two!).

Originally published on Between the Monkey Bars

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About the Author

Samantha Wassel is a Stay-At-Home Mama to the cutest twin toddlers in the history of all Toddlerdom. When she’s not running herborderline-offensive mouth, she’s running masochistically long distances, oftenwith the aforementioned toddlers in tow. She enjoys reading, writing, baking, marathoning, complaining, photographing, playgrounding, and Ghirardelli Midnight Reverie chocolate bars. Her writing has been featured on Scary Mommy, TheMid, In thePowder Room, Bluntmoms,and Mamalode.Follow her on Facebook and check out her personal blog, Between The Monkey Bars.