Teach a kid to write – and then wonder why you took the trouble…
Someday, the coffee table might be for holding coffee rather than hiding diaper boxes.
Someday, the toilet paper roll won’t be empty every single time. And I won’t find it unrolled down the stairs.
Someday, forks will be considered mindless utensils, not deadly weapons.
Someday, I won’t find rocks and legos in the bottom of the washing machine. Or underfoot in the middle of the night.
Someday, I won’t be wiping footprints – off the walls.
Someday, there won’t be crayons in the tupperware drawer.
Someday, I’ll have a phone conversation, beginning to end, without being interrupted by a side discussion on the life cycle of octopuses.
The last role
Someday, there will not be fingerprints in the sticks of butter. Or teeth marks.
Someday, used tissues won’t be put back into the tissue box.
Someday, my houseplants won’t be home to plastic beetles.
Someday, every sock will be monogamous with its mate. (In theory).
Someday, I won’t find plastic army men frozen in the ice cube tray.
Someday, I might have to pay workers in a currency other than Skittles.
Someday, my coat pocket won’t have someone else’s used gum wrapped up in it. And my sleeves won’t wear someone else’s snot.
Someday, I won’t dig up little plastic treasure boxes when I go to the garden to pull some carrots.
Someday, transformers won’t live in my purse.
Someday, pet rocks won’t live on the piano.
Someday, the doorknob won’t be sticky. And no one will lick the screen door.
Someday, every library book borrowed will have more than 20 pages. And fewer than 20 pictures.
Someday, I won’t fish someone else’s toenail clipping out of my own eye. (Ouch!)
Someday, my descendants won’t all fit in one bedroom; they may not all fit under one roof!
Someday, I won’t feel like crying over spilled milk. And cheerios. All over my cell phone.
Someday, I might be lonely.
Someday, I might think it’s too quiet.
Someday, I might even feel bored.
Someday, the days will seem shorter and the years will stretch longer behind me.
But perhaps someday will eventually remind me that all my yesterdays were worth every minute.
Some days, though, I can’t wait.
At least it was washable
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