Tomorrow will be different…

Tomorrow will be different:
A home of peace and love.
No worn-out cries “for pity’s sake”,
Raised eyes to Lord above.

Tomorrow will be different:
I’ll have no need to yell.
They’ll get their shoes on speedily,
We’ll make that school run bell.

Tomorrow will be different:
Their pants will stay all clean.
Won’t have to scrub poonamis,
That make my face turn green.

Tomorrow will be different:
I’ll sip hot cups of tea.
Go to the toilet on my own;
Blissful tranquility.

Tomorrow will be different:
There’ll be no fights or scraps.
No embarrassing behaviour,
Or toddler tantrum flaps.

Tomorrow will be different:
I’ll be in complete control.
No winding up, or losing plots,
No bribes of Paw Patrol.

Tomorrow will be different:
On myself, won’t be so tough.
I’ll acknowledge that I’ve tried my best.
I’ll accept that that’s enough.

Good food? “DISGUSTING”

As every Mum knows,
The more effort you make,
To cook wholesome food,
There’s more chance they will hate.

Slaved over for hours,
And crafted with love?
You bet, on the floor,
It soon will be shoved.

“Tonight, lovely soup.
Great for your 5 A DAY.”
“Well, this tastes disgusting”
You’ll soon hear them say.

How about casseroles?
Veg pasta sauces?
Dream on, there’s no way
They’ll eat three hearty courses.

Nutritious meals equal
“Bleurghh, urghhh” and “Yuck!”
Looks of repulsion;
Response: “What’s this muck?”

Try as you might,
To teach them what’s good,
They long for the junk,
And a “Yum” chocolate pud.

You’d make them so happy,
If you could just fix it,
To serve up a menu,
Of burgers and biscuits.

One day they’ll be foodies;
Love flavour adventure.
No frowning or moaning,
No meltdowns or censure.

So, if meal after meal,
All week you’ve been binning,
Resort to fish fingers
And feel like you’re winning.

When all around they run amok.
You feel you’re going mad.
Threat levels reaching “critical”.
Rampaging worse than bad.

Unruly, messy anarchy,
Descent to pure corruption.
Your crazy, little rebels,
They’re weapons of mass destruction.

No negotiation, diplomacy,
Or sweet-talking seems to work.
You try to quell the mutiny,
But they still all go berserk.

A tantrum ticking time bomb,
“You’ve put sweetcorn with the tuna?”
WARNING! Meltdown high alert,
Imploding sense of humour.

You’re the queen of biscuit bribery,
The ambassador of calm.
In a twist of contradiction,
They’re purveyors of smooth charm.

With your wild things on the warpath,
Voice of reason they’ll resist.
But a secret weapon’s up your sleeve –
A cuddle and a kiss.

So, no matter what, keep smiling,
Don’t give up, you’ve got this covered.
Ride out the tantrum terror phase,
Of your dear, extreme beloved.