My husband Hank is a sentimental sort, but even so, I was touched to read this little poem he’d clipped and saved many years ago. He shares it to remind mothers everywhere that they have the most important job in the world.
Come in. But don’t expect to find all dishes done;
all floors ashine.
Observe the crumpled rug, the toys galore.
The smudgy fingerprinted door.
The little ones we shelter here
Don’t thrive on spotless atmosphere.
They’re more inclined to disarray
And carefree, even messy play.
Their needs are great, their patience small.
All day I’m at their beck and call
It’s “Mommie come! Mommie see!”
Wiggly worms and red-scraped knee.
Painted pictures, blocks piled high.
My floors unshined, the days go by.
Some future day they’ll flee this nest.
And I, at last, will have a rest.
And which really matters more?
A happy child or a polished floor?