Pacing the floor
To soothe
That neurotic itch
To get a few steps more
For the FitBit lift

But the floor is a maze
A Labyrinth worth pacing
A veritable field
Of footballs, frogs, and dinos galore
Of ponies, pandas, batmen and foam swords
And so very many meaningful things more

There are the puppy dog pals
(The living lumps and toys alike)
Rodies for riding
And even a trike?

Who cares about rules?
About cleaning up after?
And do you leave them there
A parenting tool
To say the next morning
“Look at this mess!
Did we forget our manners?
This is madness!
Our home is our manor
Or did you forget?”
But looking at those cherubic expressions
I know this is just one of those lessons
That they truly will not get.
(Yet.)

The dino’s in a fight, to save the Labrador
The Elmo chair’s a launch pad
To who knows where,
some distant planet
To come to evil Kermit’s aid
There’s no reason too mad
For this four-year-old maid.
So I simply sigh
And walk on by,
Getting my steps in
Any way I can.

For who cares about rules?
A mother’s house
Is a messy house
And also den of fools,
Where we dream that some day
There’ll be some picking up after
And not this walking disaster.