Tuesday Musings #6

Here's Claire's first blog topic. I think she likes to keep things interesting and challenging, which is one of the reasons I like her so much. That being said, I groaned inwardly when I first read it. She even altered it a bit when I complained (alright, so all my groaning did not remain inward). It took a little more preparation than Tuesday Musings has in the past. I researched on the internet, I agonized, I learned what iambic pentameter is. All in all, to quote P.G. Wodehouse, I could identify with Bertie Wooster when he said, about a writing assignment, "A deuce of a job it had been, taxing the physique to the utmost. I don't wonder now that all these author blokes have bald heads and faces like birds who have suffered."

Welcome to blog boot camp! No more of this free verse. This week I want a sonnet about one of the worst messes one or all of your children made.

So, here we go -

Michael is my darling son, and is three.
He loves to play with dirty, messy things.
He wants to play in mud and run scot-free.
When to a bath his feet I try to bring.

He likes his play dough, so maybe I'll sing,
Of fewer baths, less mess and cleaner rooms.
But life is not so good; it kind of stinks.
Play dough, indeed, is made to foster gloom.

He takes it out and thinks it might go, "Vroom!"
If thrown at baby, door or painted wall.
It's smeared on tables, chairs and very soon,
It's stuck to shoes, a chicken and a doll.

Whereas, before, my dirt was hard to find,
Dough stuff shows up for now and for all time.

P. S. I can hear some of you already complaining about how that is not a gross enough, bad enough mess, and all of you who were thinking that are invited over to clean it up off of everything next time Stan and I try to get something done and stop paying attention to Mr. Play Dough! You know who you are.