All I want for Mother's Day
is Nothing.
Nothing to cook.
Nothing to clean.
Nothing to pick up.
Nothing to put away.
Nothing to buy.
Nothing to pay.
Nothing to fill out.
Nothing to file.
Nothing to throw away.
Nothing to sort.
Nothing to fold.
Nothing to sweep.
Nothing to mop.
Nothing to wake me.
Nothing to ache.
Nothing but calm,
contentment,
the smell of my children
as they hug me,
the smile of your satisfaction.
But I know I won't get that,
so please get me a table saw
and some new gardening gloves
instead.
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After much effort, we were able to give Jenise a week of vacation at a mountain retreat in July of 2012, about 3 months after this poem. So that kind of achieves the nothing part. While she was gone I got a pair of nice gardening gloves and embroidered Jenise's initials on them.
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