Intimations of future laundry

My heart does flips when I behold

The peas and carrots fly:

So was it when I first began;

So is it with each little man;

Shall it be so ’til I grow old?

I heave a sigh!

The Child is father of the Man;

But now, I find my days to be

Filled to the brim with piles of stained laun-der-y.

* * *

Forgive me Mr. Wordsworth, wherever you are. While chatting with my brother on the phone this weekend, I paused to bellow gently at the children: “Stop eating like The Cookie Monster! I am tired of cleaning up the mess!” My brother laughed wickedly; but I forgive him because he has small children too and suffers similar things.

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