Dinner Prep: A poem that can be a rap

last week it was the 2-year-old's poop stuck to the bottom of my shoe (hurrah, potty). today, it's getting over a stomach bug (hurrah, potty). it's a case of the Mondays people. and that is my disgusting introduction to the first post from our latest contributor and supermom, Pavette! (a round of groans, please!) learn more about Pavette—and a new approach for this blog—tomorrow... once i'm back on some semblance of a schedule. for now, i'm mentally preparing for tonight's dinner to simply be edible. (last week, my kids got broccoli... just broccoli... at least it was the veggie!)

by Pavette

It’s 5:30, you better be aware,
The atmosphere has changed, there’s a shift in the air
Daddy sends a text, he will not be expedient
That’s a real bummer, since he’s bringing the main ingredient.

You start the rest of dinner thinking all will be well,
When it’s 5:45—thus begins the hell.

The 2-year-old has to potty, you say “Run, hurry, fast”
But alas she doesn’t make it, her bladder did not last.
So you pull out the carpet cleaner while she sits on the pot.
Is this fun yet? Oh no, I think not.

Back in the kitchen working on dinner some more
Holding onto the baby, she was fussing on the floor.
Something doesn’t smell right, you take a big whiff.
The baby’s dirty—off to change her in a spiff.

What’s this? A blow out, oh no!
Poop up her back, but dinner was almost a go.
Finally she’s changed, you preheat the oven.
When into the kitchen come your 5-year-old of lovin’.

He’s looking for attention, and picks up the oil
He pretends to drink it—making a foil
You freak out worried that it will spill
He pouts and cries, breaking his will.

At 6:15 Daddy sashays in
And you open with “Darling, where have you been?”



"Don't Worry!" image provided via pressurechief_redux