‘Twas the Weekend Before Christmas

‘Twas the Weekend Before Christmas

An original poem by me. And don’t tell me you can’t relate.

“‘Twas the Weekend Before Christmas”

By Robin Lewis Martens

‘Twas the weekend before Christmas, when all through my  home
a huge mess had appeared, and through it I’d roam;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
but with the pile of shoes in the floor, St Nicholas couldn’t get there;

The boys were all nestled, but not snug in their beds
‘cause the clothes were piled high, and they shuddered with dread
as their mamma would shout, “You MUST clean this room…
or Santa won’t come!” and my voice quaked with doom.

When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter.
The boys sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
The stack of dishes which had sat by the sink to be rinsed
now littered the floor, and the air became tense.

The lights from the tree cast a twinkling glow
on the dust that had settled from high to below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
but the dog, on the rug, scooting her rear.

My temper, it flared. My face became red.
My children and my dog all turned and they fled.
More rapid than eagles the shouting then came.
I clapped and I stomped and I called them by name;

“Now, HUNTER! Now, CLINT! Come here, MAGGIE GRACE!
Get in here this instant! Clean up this place!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Every inch of this house, you will clean it all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
the boys twisted and turned and looked up at the sky.
They begged and they pleaded and started to pout;
And I shouted, teeth clenched, “Can’t  you PLEASE help me out?”

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the yard
the singing of carolers trying real hard
to drown out my shouting and cursing and cries.
I peered out the window and widened my eyes.

Each was dressed in old clothes, from the bottom to top
and their clothes were all tarnished and each held a mop,
and polish and cleaners and a bunch of old rags.
They looked like a maid service opening their bags.

My eyes — how they twinkled! My laughter how merry!
Santa had delivered this night, my own cleaning fairies!
I laughed ‘til I cried and my boys stared with fright
at the spectacle of their mom going crazy that night.

“Cause the carolers were just that, not fairies at all
and they sang of a baby born in a stall.
I listened and knew my messy house didn’t count;
For the Savior that was born is what this season is about.

I hugged my sweet boys and told them with love,
that our Father, not Santa, was watching above.
Their deeds, they still mattered, and not just to me
but to a baby whose birthday was coming this week.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work
and washed all the dishes; then turned with a jerk,
to fold up the clothes and put them away,
and make a list of my chores to do the next day.

I then sat with my boys and spoke of an earth
that needs us to share the news of Christ’s birth.
My mind was at peace and my spirit was bright…