Song of Six & Eight
How shall I treat our house more like a garbage pail?
Let me count the ways.
With dirty socks and underwear tossed to the depth and breadth and height
A hamper? What? Pff. Please. I’ve got stuff to do tonight.
Like (for example) I’ve got to take these sticky double Popsicle sticks
and set them down on the coffee table next to the half-eaten string cheese
THAT ISN’T MINE, IT’S PATRICK’S.
Stop wait! Don’t throw that stack of crumpled construction paper away!
Those are our <Tickets/ Posters/Bail Bonds/Pirate Maps>. For our play!
And this skateboard? And this toolbox? Hammer? Glue? Who left these in the hallway?
GAWD MOM. We’re trying to have fun. It’s not all about YOU.
EXCUSE ME? Oh no. You don’t talk to me like that. Twenty minutes. In your room. Stat.
I can’t go up there. It’s too—
It's too what?
Too messy. Will you help me clean it up?
“I dreamt my whole life about being a mother,” says Heidi Jellison. “I never dreamt about a big wedding, honestly never even dreamt about the husband part.” Jellison, a 35-year-old concert harpist and harp teacher, laughs at this last bit, but then her face settles into a quiet solemnity.
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