Twas the week before Christmas, and we live in the South,
So instead of snow cream, I had iced coffee in my mouth.
The sun it was shining on the front door that day,
And the 70 degree weather drew me outside to stay.
The boys, they were quiet, off outside to play,
And the babies were sleeping, but not on the hay.
I could hear a faint giggle come wafting inside;
I assumed that the brothers had taken bikes for a ride,
Then out in the driveway arose such a clatter,
I sprung up from the porch to see what was the matter!
Away down the stairway I flew like a flash,
Just in time to see chaos, and the hose make a splash.
The water was spraying all over their bikes
And Banyan was hiding behind a bush out of sight,
Noa was laughing, and Banyan just wept
Because his short were all wet and his hair was unkept.
The mud from their tires was puddling beneath them,
And the spokes on the wheels sent mud flying between them.
I said to my oldest, “Son what are you thinking?!?!”
To which he replied, “The hose must be leaking!”
Alas, I gave up, since boys will be boys,
And they cleaned up their bikes and put away all the toys.
They were finally clean and I turned for a minute
And then they saw a big puddle and proceeded to sit in it.
Their shorts, they were filthy, their boots filled with water
It was 70 degrees, but they must have thought it was hotter.
Because the next thing I knew they were covered in filth,
If mud could make money, they’d be dripping in wealth.
So instead of chiding or stressing the messes,
I took out my camera to capture these blessings.
Yes, mud means laundry, and wet boots, and showers
But it also means laughter, and they were occupied for hours.
So in closing this poem, a gentle reminder
To let children be children, because what could be finer?
Than spring in December, or love between brothers
And the sweet gift that comes from being their mother.
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