Mother's Day

Some houses try to hide the fact that children shelter there.

Ours boasts of it quite openly; the signs are everywhere.

For smears are on the windows, little smudges on the doors--

I should apologize, I guess, for the toys strewn on the floor.

But I sat down with the children

and we played and laughed and read.

And if the doorbell doesn't shine

their eyes will shine instead.

For when at times I'm forced to choose the one job or the other,

I want to be a housewife,

but first I'll be a mother.

as applicable as this poem is to me, you'd think I wrote it.

But I didn't. 

 The author is unknown.

But she obviously knows me pretty well.