Cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow,
For babies grow up, we’ve learned to our sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs! Dust, go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby, and babies don’t keep.

———–

Mine are grown up now, but this plaque is still hanging on my kitchen wall. Another one with this same poem is hanging over the washing machine.

Sometimes, I think the best mothers are the ones with the messiest houses. It tells me they’re too busy being mommies, to bother being a maid.

Besides, what fun can a child have if a house must be kept pristine at all times? Poor little things. Who cares if there’s a little crayon on the walls? A few Big Red stains on the carpet?

Obviously not me. Ask anyone.