The
Death of Me
These
kids will be the death of me
While
one cries, the other destroys
While
I clean one end of the house
They’re
making a mess in the other
Their
noise overpowers a rock band
I
play doctor, maid, umpire, cook
While
they torment me all day long
I’d
much rather sit and read a book.
These
kids will be the death of me
I
must run them to all their games
Teachers
conferences, recitals,
Plays.
Don’t forget their costumes.
Where
are their shin guards?
Why
can’t mismatched socks be in style?
Why
can’t I ever be anywhere on time?
Can’t
we just do nothing for awhile?
These
kids will be the death of me
One
minute ecstatic, the next they’re morose
Past
midnight and they’re still not home
I
worry, then ground them. I’m the bad guy.
They’re
rooms are messy and posted “Keep out”
Dare
I go in there and see what they’re up to?
I
wonder if they’ll survive their teen years.
Aren't there things in this life more fun to do?
These
kids will be the death of me.
Their
grown now, but need my support.
Will
they call? Are they okay? They’re on their own.
I
survived young adulthood despite my stupidity.
Surely
they will do fine. But what if they don’t?
It’s
not up to me to meet their every need
I’ll
just entrust them to the Lord, and what?
I
have about five hundred books to read.
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