For all the mothers out there who will never live up to perfection,

perfection that got Martha into trouble. Perfection that is so tempting to slip into and so hard to break away from. Perfection that can tear us away from our children and cause anger towards them for marking up the "just scrubbed walls"...

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.


Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullaby, rockabye, lullaby loo.


Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peek-a-boo.


The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullaby, rockaby lullaby loo.


The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

- Ruth Hulbert Hamilton