‘Twas a few weeks before Christmas. Not a creature was stirring, except for the mother. There were clothes to be folded, parties to plan, stores to be shopped for 52 people, plus the school bus driver and kind widow next door.
Though the world was all nestled knee-deep in the snow, nightmarish to-do lists danced ’round in my head.
My pillow, cold and lonely, was waiting for my long winter’s nap, but there was, quite simply, no rest to be found.
Deprived of sleep, my brain went all wonky, my temper was shrinking, while my waistline expanded, and I’m dead certain it was torture.
Cookies to bake, but my brain’s on log sawing. Was that one cup or two? One and a half will do.
I’m waiting for St. Nick to pop from the chimney all jolly and droll. But I’m afraid he’s not coming and I’m all on my own.
I may have to rethink the ban on his shelf elf’s patrol…if only it means he’ll help fill the stockings.
I can’t keep my eyes open.
My head falls to the counter with a jerk. And I turn with a lurch, while laying fingers aside my noggin, I fall into my bed, eyes closed in an instant.
Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night.
May you find a smidgen of peace…
and perhaps a nice nap.