"Babies Don't Keep"

Mother, of Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockabye, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

-- Author Unknown

"A Mother's work is never done." True indeed. All the loving Mothers that I have ever known have at some point grappled with walking the fine line between balancing household responsibilities and spending quality time with her children. I am not advocating irresponsibility and a filthy house, but I have never heard an older Mother or GrandMother say that she wished she would have spent more time cleaning her house whenever her children were younger. On the other hand, one-hundred percent of the time I hear the Mother say that she wished she would have spent more time with her children whenever they were younger. Unfortunately, too many Mothers learn this foundational lesson later in life, if they ever learn it at all.

This poem is for my wife and all Mothers who are enjoying the time you do have with your sweet babies and wish you had even more time with them. Remember, as you have heard a thousand-and-one times, "Enjoy 'em while they're young because they grow up fast."

Sovereign Ruler

Sov’reign Ruler of the skies
Ever gracious, ever wise;
All my times are in thy hand,
All events at thy command.

His decree who form’d the earth
Fix’d my first and second birth;
Parents, native place, and time,
All appointed were by him.

He that form’d me in the womb,
He shall guide me to the tomb;
All my times shall ever be
Order’d by his wise decree.

Times of sickness; times of health;
Times of penury and wealth;
Times of trial and grief;
Times of triumph and relief;

Times the tempter’s power to prove;
Times to taste the Saviour’s love
All must come, and last, and end,
As shall please my heavenly Friend.

Plagues and deaths around me fly;
Till he bids, I cannot die;
Not a single shaft can hit,
Till the God of love sees fit.

--John Ryland (1753-1825)

Prayer for the Home

Lord, this humble house we’d keep
Sweet with play and calm with sleep.
Help us so that we may give
Beauty to the lives we live.
Let Thy love and let Thy grace
Shine upon our dwelling place.

—Edgar A. Guest

Watch Your Table Manners

One day at lunch time my four young children sounded like a gaggle of geese: "I want . . . !" "I want . . . !" "I want . . . !" "I want . . . !" Squawk. Of course, I am certain this happens only in my household and not in yours.

Therefore I wrote a little poem to help them learn (hopefully) what I have told them countless times about proper etiquette and table manners, etc.

"I want . . . !"
Doesn't get;
"May I please . . . ?"
Your needs are met.

May God imbed in the hearts of all my children this appealing principle.

How have you taught or are trying to teach your children good manners?