Lists as Poetry

As I was reading back over some of my posts I've realized a few things.
1) What I find funny one moment isn't so hilarious the next.
2)  No wonder people give me funny looks when I open my mouth.
3)  My kids have given me LOTS to write about.
I started making a list of things I'd never thought I would say.  Having kids has made me say plenty of things to make that list.  Recently I've become part of the North Star of Texas Writing Project and have been required to do some writing that could be shared. The list of "Things I Never Thought I'd Say" was something I wanted to write about, but I just wasn't sure how.  Then I remembered the wonderful genre of poetry; words just put together to the author's liking in whatever way he/she chooses.  And it can't be judged "wrong", it's poetry after all! Well here's my list, now a poem, sadly I'd forgotten about the dead armadillo on the jeep when I was writing, but enjoy.

Perfect

I would say I was a great parent.

Perfect in fact.  

Knowing what each child needed.

A stern word for one, a hug for another.

That one over there?

A spanking would solve all those problems.

And then I had kids.

I was aware a new chapter

was about to ensue.

But what never crossed my mind,

Are all the things

I now find myself saying.

About siblings:

Don’t drown your brother.

Don’t make me stop this car

And make you two walk home again.

Get your toe out of your brother’s mouth.

Those arrows are to be shot at the target,

And your sister is not the target!

About animals

Don’t bite the dog.

Take the chicken out of the house.

Get that snake out of my room.

Goats do not come inside.

Didn’t I tell you already?

That chicken does not belong in here!

Personal safety:

Don’t lick that pole/shoe/shelf.

We don’t play on the roof.

Yes, you can jump off the trampoline into the pool.

Use that machete properly.

No, you can’t mow, I want to.

We don’t jump out of a moving trailer,  

I don’t care what your daddy does.

While I am no longer a perfect parent,

My house is perfectly chaotic,

My kids are perfectly rotten,

And I love my imperfect life.

Just Wondering...

I actually had an hour to myself the other day.  What did I do?  Went to Wallyworld to do some shopping.  Sadly, going there by myself is something I look forward to nowadays.  Don't judge me, you try taking 4 kids who love to aggravate and are afraid of nothing out in public.  If they're not screaming so the entire store can hear them, they're hugging strangers and trying to talk them into taking them home to their house.
It was nice to walk through the aisles, pushing my cart around, without having to keep up with who was where, or who was putting random items in may cart.  I was in no hurry.  I didn't mind waiting to go around the family that chose to bring all 6 kids, 3 cousins and 2 sets of aunts and uncles.  As I thought about their mode of transportation, I wondered if they all rode in the same vehicle.  I then became concerned that if they did, where were they going to put all the groceries on the way home?  I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and reminded myself to "live in the moment" as a good friend taught me.  That really wasn't my problem, was it? Eventually the family sea parted and I was able to continue my perusing of cleaning supplies.  Why?  Who the hell knows, I just love to buy cleaning supplies.  As my husband would point out, I don't actually use them.  Maybe I like the idea of having options should the urge to clean ever overcome me.  Think of it as being prepared, kind of like a survivalist is ready for Armageddon.  Easy comparison for me, because it would probably be the end of the world should I have the desire to use any of these products.
Continuing my leisurely stroll through the store, I eventually came up behind an older lady doing her shopping.  Well it was like hitting California traffic during rush hour. She wasn't exactly stopped, but she sure as heck wasn't moving, at least as far as the eye could see without time lapse photography. Pulling something off the shelf and gently placing it in her cart, I began to wonder...
Why are old people so slow?  It's as if they don't mind that time is ticking away.  If someone should be hurrying through the store, should it be old people?  I mean, it's not like they have a lot of time left.
"Come on, Velma! Grab the Metamucil and let's go!"  Shouldn't they be hurrying to get through their list, just in case their time runs out that day? Just sayin'.