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This Old House Has Children
By Lisa Barker
My house is old, it creaks and moans
Like my aging body and aching bones.
It needs new cabinets, paint and flooring.
It's not the house to come adoring.
But yet my house is like my soul,
Aged and accented by life's toll.
What seems 'not new' to some who look
Is really just a sacred book.
Nicks and scratches and carpet stains
Are just clear proof of labor pains.
Just like stretch marks on my abdomen,
My house has borne my chil-der-ren.
There's more than toys sprawled on the floor,
There's creaking, crooked, screen-less doors.
Weeds grow in the garden, too,
Our little house is no longer new.
It'll never show in magazines
With fresh painted walls and color schemes.
Here and there a hole or two,
A sagging sofa that once was blue
But now is covered with a throw,
The very first thing to go
When in come the children to bounce, bounce, bounce.
It's not a museum it's a house.
Bikes out on the patchy lawn,
Hopscotch in the driveway drawn.
A basketball hoop and one crushed rose.
I told those kids to be careful with those!
Fingerprints on all the doors,
A leak or two when it pours.
Windows wiggled off the track,
Artwork on the wall is tacked.
Read the full column: This Old House Has Children
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Jelly Mom was written by Lisa Barker and syndicated through Martin-Ola
Press /Parent To Parent, and Lisa has since retired from writing new Jelly Mom columns. However, since we love her so much, we will continue a rotation of her column on C'moms.
For more information and details, please contact
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