There is no time for writing
barely time to tie my shoes
my boy he runs me ragged
and the weather's got the blues.

I need me some alone time
it it wrong to ask for space
when my little man-child monster
gets that look upon his face?
the one that looks for mischief
with a wicked gleam in eye
that lets me know with half cocked grin
that trouble's standing by.

I often wish for boredom
I think it might be nice
to sit there, still, in silence
as the world passes me by.
I'd get on with some reading
do the garden, tidy up
I might even get to see the bottom of my coffee cup (never happens)

Now that I'm done complaining
about how this life's so hard
I realise that I've been dealt
one of life's finest cards...
His hair it smells of meadows,
though his feet may smell like cheese
(seriously, what is that?)
his eyes they melt me everytime
he lifts them up to me
so we'll chase around together
rowdy boys and mucky fights
and I will count the hours
till it's time to say goodnight.