A Mother's Morning

Back-to-school is definitely in the air, and for some reason I've been walking around for the last few days composing this little ditty:
A Mother's Morning
When I get up in the morning, I can't just walk out the door
There's kids to cajole, a dog to be fed, wet towels all over the floor
I'd love to have a long shower, to blow dry and play with my hair
Instead I just throw on the first things I see hanging over the back of the chair
Before I get down to the kitchen I put in a big load of whites
I pick up the back packs and gym shoes and books and usually turn off a few lights
Of course we've run out of cereal so I nip to the corner store
I'm sure that will be but the first trip of many as other needs come to the fore
And then I bark like a sergeant, "Brush your teeth" "Where's your socks?" and the like"It's not my job to keep track of your shoes" and "No, we cannot take your bike."
"Will someone please empty the dishwasher" I cry trying not to sound mean
"Oh, whoops, were they clean?" comes a voice in return; and yes, you know what that means.
I try not to think of the panic and mayhem that goes on each day
"Tonight I'll be a good mother, make lists, write instructions" I say
But really I'm flogging a dead horse, my kids leave school notes in their pockets
How on earth can I know what they don't always tell me? Instead I drink tea and think "*%*# it".