Tuesday, June 9, 2009

The neverending story

If you thought the epic poem was dead, you're wrong. I am a soldier in an epic battle. And be thee not mistaken, this battle is truly epic. Behold, today's chapter in this tale:

A note came home from daycare yesterday.
"Tomorrow will be mix and match day."
My girls said, "Yay! We want to play!"

They wore the craziest outfits to daycare today.


My big girl wore a
halter dress
Backless
, with diagonal stripes
Under which she stuffed a
bright red shirt
The way my grandmother stuffed her sleeves with slightly used wipes.


The red shirt was covered in white apples and stars.

The dress: its stripes were of thick and thin bars.

The socks: one brown, and one pink and white,

Because, she said, we need a dark and a light.


(And then, of course, because this is my E,

She wore two different
Crocs, from among her pairs three.
The left, solid purple, with no holes to be found,

The right, a lavender, poked through all around.)

My little girl wore shorts and a tank

In two different colorways that clashed mightily

The top, blues and greens, soft to behold

The shorts, orange and yellow that you can't help but see.


Her socks, further clashing,

Were even two different heights.

A purple flowered anklet adorned the left
And on the right, tall pink hid mosquito bites.


She insisted on sandals,
The ones that don't fit

Over socks. I suggested others

But she wouldn't submit.

So in went my girls

To the school they adore

Dressed like cute homeless clowns

To the usual calls ("Have fun! Listen!")

I always implore.


And home we returned
At the end of the day

And they sat on the couch
To strip down for some play.

And here's where I lament

The day's fun dressing game:
It's doubled the number
Of sock pairs they have stained.

I try so hard in the summer
To keep socks off their feet.
It's my joy for this season:
Less sock matching is sweet.

Because my epic battle is
To conquer the laundry pile.
But the socks seeking mates are so plentiful
They could stretch across a mile.

I face my enemies
I match and I toil

On this modern mama's battlefield:
Rainbow-colored cotton soil.

June 9, 2009
Still life with instruments of war
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4 comments:

Stephanie said...

"Rainbow-colored cotton soil." - LOL! Funny story and I love the photo too! Thanks for sharing your epic tale today. I hope you'll join us again in July! :)

Anonymous said...

In the daycare, mix and match day
On the playground, pitch and catch day
In the springtime wren’s nest, hatch day
So what did newbie birdie see?
A fair maid in gown of brown
Flashing clashing sashing: hue of blue
And orbs arcing hand to hand
Without wings, without tree.

Maid wore sock of brightest yellow
Thrower popped other fellow
With a spheroid, hollow, airy
On the backside of the head
For catcher wasn’t watcher of
The orb he would be botcher
‘stead, he gaped at maiden fair
Adorned by second sock of fiery red.

On her left sleeve there were stripes
But on her right sleeve there were dots
And in her hair there were lots
Of purple ribbons and green bows
On her left knee there was, yipes,
A cartooned band-aid that reflected
Favored character who detected
Odd shodding coddling stubby toes.

For the left foot wore a sneaker
And the right foot wore a Croc
And the sneaker had a green lace
In the place of usual white
And the Croc strap had a pin
Sparkling, proclaimed a mighty win
Of a game, that brought acclaim,
And gave her much delight.

But the fellow was dressed regular
Re: mix and match, he was secular
And his gaze upon the maiden
Left him dazzled and confused
But the ball that rudely struck him
As it sailed and would not duck him
Was of type tennis and benign,
Leaving him not even bruised.

But the birdie, seeing so
Was befuddled, did not know
That people, by convention
Don’t by intention match and mix
Thus the fowl flies into windows
And diets upon insects
And does strange and yucky acts
Guess that’s how birdies get their kicks!

Love, Gramps

musingwoman said...

Well, sink me. The lady's a poet. :)

Megan@SortaCrunchy said...

LOVE this. The rainbow-colored cotton soil line is perfection. SO glad you played along with the poetry! What a delight.