My weeks before Christmas

'Twas 19 days before Christmas and all through the Yates' house,
I was busy sanding and painting the doll house. 
The presents were all wrapped in the spare bedroom with care,
In hopes that the little ones wouldn't venture in there.
The girls brushed their teeth and then went to bed,
With hopes that St. Nicholas would come in his sled. 
And Jon with his twitch and I with my Prozac
Were hoping to settle down for a long winter's nap.

When up in the loft there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter. 
Away to the stairs I ran to take a look,
Tripped over the Little People, the play food, and the books. 
The glow from our Christmas lights out on the wall,
Somehow did not prevent my graceful fall.

When what to my wandering eyes should appear,
But a tiny little head with eyes full of fear. 
"Mommy, I need one more story,
Please tell me the one that isn't so boring."
With rage in my mind from that one painful trip,
I begged her to go to bed before I lost my grip.
"One more song then, with a sweet, gentle strain?"
I swear a blood vessel burst in my brain.

More rapid than eagles, my cursings, they came,
And I whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, you listen and ponder, my 4 year old child!
Of how much you love my sweet, lovely smile!
You won't be seeing it in the morning if I
Don't get my down time, my "me" time tonight."

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to her bedroom the toddler ran,
Lest her mother follow her and trip again.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard her sweet cries,
Saying, "Mommy, please won't you come dry my eyes?"
With a sigh most unpleasant and a grunt as I stood,
I tripped again and swore at my foot.

She was laying in bed, with her beluga whale, Starie,
She proceeded to tell me, "Mommy, I'm sorry.
You see, my sweet mother, I love you so much.
I only wanted to hug you a bunch."
She rubbed her big eyes and wiped the boogers away,
How I wish that I had bought Kleenex today.
Her eyes -- how they twinkled, her kind little heart!
Holy cow how much do I love this little fart?

Her cheeks were so soft, her nose still so runny!
Why don't they use Kleenex to make children's jammies?
Her droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
Oh yes, she was working it, this I know;
But I couldn't resist this sweet little child,
So I walked to her bed, and then saw her smile.

She said, "Mommy did you see the 'Elf on the Shelf?'"
And I laughed when she said that, in spite of myself;
"Why yes, I did see him and he looked very happy.
I think he will tell Santa that you are a good little lassie."

So I went back downstairs, Jon playing "Call of Duty."
I proceeded to sit right back down on my booty.
We sat there together, not a word was said.
That let Jon know he had nothing to dread;
His wife had not lost it, his daughter not crying,
Everyone was at peace, there was no conspiring.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
Wrote out this long poem; then turned with a jerk,

And kissing my husband a sweet, peaceful night,
Giving a nod, up the stairs, again I took flight.
"You know, you should really try not to do that."
"Thanks, Jon, I really hadn't thought of that fact!"

I checked on the girls, they were dreaming so peaceful,
I am really so blessed to have my two little miracles.
I sprang to my bed, pulled the covers over my feet,
Got cuddled by Jon, and once more our lips did meet.
And away we all drifted into our deep, nocturnal slumber.
I thought about tomorrow and its' Christmas-y number.
"I have 18 days left before Christmas is here...
Holy crap, do I have to do this again next year?!"