No Sappy Poem for Mother's Day
By Cassie Memmer
There are many poems which tell of the joys of being a mother,
But if a sappy one is what you want, youíll have to read another.
For my poem is a bit different and tells of many things,
But is not one of corny, mushy verse, or one that pulls heart strings.
This day we remember mothers is very much over done,
For if the truth be known, seeing us coming, she'd like to run.
For she remembers all the hard times when we were little kids,
We fussed, fought, and caused her trouble, till she nearly flipped her lid.
Oh how those midnight feedings really endeared us to her heart,
Finding there was no formula, having to dash to the local mart.
Oh the colicky kicking and crying that went on throughout the night,
And the spitting up on her Sunday best, just when the time was right.
She hasnít forgotten my toddler years--oh those terrible twos,
When she chased me round, all day long, and I discovered her very short fuse.
Yes, she remembers fingerprints, she found on everything,
The scattered toys she tripped on, till my neck she wanted to ring.
Cooking meals, doing laundry, work never seeming to end,
Iíd see that hysterical look in her eyes and hear, "Go spend a night with a friend!"
A favorite game with us kids was called "The Battle of the Wills,"
It never failed from Mom to bring, "Fetch me that bottle of pills!"
She hasnít forgotten the tracked-in mud on freshly mopped, clean floors,
The screaming, yelling and pushing--not to mention the slamming doors.
Oh, the broken windows, as the baseballs missed their mark,
And the stray dogs brought home often, which of course all loved to bark.
She survived our Driverís Ed., though it was nearly the very last straw,
I remember her frozen panic; the blood on the windows she clawed.
Then there was my wedding, when she hugged me and said Iíd be missed,
But I caught the gleam of joy in her eyes at the thought of me gone, as we kissed.
Yes, the day we honor mothers, is sorely overrated,
And although once very much cherished, itís now very outdated.
I think that she would want to forget all the hard work and lean times,
But every year we bring it up, with dinners, songs, and rhymes.
And yet I would like to think those remembered thoughts of old,
Are cherished and are precious to her--memories of gold.
Finding nickels for the ice-cream man, and eating the chickenís back,
Our mothers often did without, so we would never lack.
So although I didnít want this sappy, I guess it has to be,
For thereís nothing in the world quite like a motherís love, you see.
© May 5 1994
Cassie Memmer lives in a small town in Indiana with her husband of 36 years, Ed, and their daughter, Katie. She enjoys writing, reading, and singing. She is active in her church's praise and worship team. Cassie is currently serving in an elected position as trustee of her township. She has been published in Hoosier Parent magazine, Riders & Reapers on-line magazine, Cross-Times newspaper, and the soon-to-be-released FaithWritersí Anthology, "Come Away with Me." You can write to Cassie through the Letters page of this magazine.