These Are Our Children

The XANAX Approach to Parenting Confessions of a Scary Mommy: An Honest and Irreverent Look at Motherhood by Jill Smokler

 

Scribbled portraits with a Picasso edge blanket the hallway walls

And the house is your own obstacle course

Designed by mini bipolar demons

With their own language built with why and no

These are our children

Tasmanian devils spinning and spiraling out of control

And in their wake are remnants of freedom, R-rate movies in the middle of the afternoon, and sobriety

Sleeping in is a distant memory

So faint it is almost a dream that you keep wishing for

These are our children

Howling out their complaints

Each scratch has to be handle with bomb squad care

Each altercation requires a meeting at Camp David

Each broken toy is accompanied with big eyes and a whimpering fix it

These are our children

You find yourself exhausted at the moment the alarm blares

And wishing for more hours when the clock strikes midnight

Miniature walking disasters requiring their own specialized path

Filling it with encouragement, love, and patience… tons of patience

These are our children

We find ourselves waiting for the light to be clicked off followed

By the words bedtime

So the world will be silent again and maybe we can complete something

Or at least enjoy a glass of wine and a bottle depending on the night

These are our children

No matter the increasing number of gray hair or the slight twitching of your right eye

These walking forces of nature are our tangled and messy achievements

Each one a new chapter, they become our painters, doctors or lawyers

With every scribble on the wall and every stain on the carpet

These are our childrenThese