(With obvious apologies to Clement C. Moore)

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas and here at the Burks’,

any creature not stirring was put right to work:

“A hand-crafted Christmas!” I declared to them all,

“It’s simple! Its best! It’s the nicest of all!”

And I knew in a twinkling, I better get drinking,

(For mothers of toddlers are not known for clear thinking)

to accomplish it all…

The dining table was covered with a glorious array

of not one blessed thing to eat the next day;

There were gifts for the neighbors, and boxes and bags,

ribbons, and wrapping and trappings and tags.

There were last year’s broken ornaments, in great heaps of mail,

there was laundry–and Sophie’s Christmas Pageant cat tail.

While I in my hair dye and Bill off at church,

knew once again it was Christmas at the Burks!

The stockings would be hung, if only they were done

The fire–it would be hot, if our wood were chopped;

The feast would be sweet if the oven didn’t burn it–

(and everything else I tried baking, Gosh durn it!)

While here I was, finishing a stocking, stitching furiously in gold

the name of the boy who is now one-year-old!

And I, with my laundry piles and grocery lists was clear:

There’d be no sleep for the rest of the year.

So the children were all nestled and snug in their beds

while visions of whatever sold out on Amazon danced in their heads.

I had driven them long, and I’d driven them hard:

“On wrapping, On painting, On baking and making; 

It’s not Christmas yet till your craft hands are shaking!

The tree, it was radiant as its needles it shed,

like a poodle, just settling over its Christmas-gift bed,

and the color lights, how they sparkled–except for the green

(that color’s been out since we were married, it seems.)

And the decorations, how charming! They were several rows deep,

to hide all the dust bunnies and clutter we keep

and the gifts, they were all wrapped by Mamie with care,

most plucked off of eBay with seconds to spare.

For Christmas at our house is an extravagant affair,

of parties and games and merriment every minute–

and we all know, from eBay, it’s just better if you win it!

You’ll see from our photo the grown-ups look manic,

from all of the last-minute holiday hoopla and panic.

Our Ellie is seven, and with her growing comes “no-ing,”

and Oh! The knowing and no-ing, like a fountain fourth flowing…

While Sophie, who’s five, is quite nicely alive,

with a talker that just will not quit;

And if you admit that you missed a bit

from her saga that seems without end,

she’ll say, “Don’t worry Mommy, I’ll start again!”

Sweet William is one and he’s so much fun;

Seems he sorted his world into species and is going through one at a time:

(1) things he can eat and (2) things he can climb.

Once last week there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my afternoon coma to see what was the matter;

And there was my boy, like a spry little elf,

scaling the roll top to talk to a photo of himself.

So stay off the furniture and keep yourself well,

if Santa does ask then, of course, ask for that bell…

I hope your Christmas is happy; I hope you are rested

I hope you’re all slippered and perfumed and new sweater-vested;

for the New Year’s upon us and may it be bright:

Now to all a Merry Christmas, and to all a good-night!