‘Tis the day before Christmas, the gang is all here.
Any more, and the house may explode, I do fear.

Seven people, including a one-year-old tot,
Two dogs and one cat, though she’s hiding a lot.

The house, which is normally neat as a pin,
Now shows that a baby indeed has moved in.

A high chair has taken its place by the table,
While the stroller just fits in wherever it’s able.

The toys are all scattered wherever I go,
And it all takes me back to a time long ago,

When my own precious children were learning to walk,
And just on the verge of beginning to talk,

And wondering where that big tree had come from,
And who was this “Santa” I said would soon come.

Those days were two short generations ago;
Where those years have vanished, I never will know.

But the memories still linger, some better than others,
Which is always the way with us fathers and mothers.

So we look at the high chair, the stroller, the clutter,
And stifle the instinct to grumble and mutter,

Because it all means, though our end may be near,
We’re leaving the world to the ones we hold dear.

And that little one-year-old soon will be grown,
To fashion a future for kids of her own.

I wish her good luck, endless joy and good health,
And just for her comfort, a measure of wealth.

She’ll need it, for surely the mess that she brought
Isn’t half the disaster we adults have wrought!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/24/25