Little Bedlamites

“So if you are trying to do the best you can—if, for example, 

you keep trying to hold family home evening in spite of the 

bedlam that sometimes reigns in a houseful of little 

bedlamites—then give yourself high marks”

--Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

Sometimes as I wade through the cacauphony and chaos that characterize life with a young family, I remember Elder Holland's quote. "Little bedlamites. I am surrounded by little bedlamites," I think to myself. Then one day the title to this poem popped into my head, and I had to write a poem to match :) 

Good Night Sleep Tight Little Bedlamite

                   The darkness comes so slowly on evenings such as this,

           When I am all too eager to bestow a goodnight kiss

           And move on with my evening, put up my feet and read,

           Forget my frantic, daytime, care-for-kids-each-moment speed.

           I hit the couch and heave a sigh, I’m starting to unwind
            When from the doorway down the hall my children start to whine:
           “I need a drink! I’m thirsty!” I hear their voices call.

           I fill a cup, deliver it, then head back down the hall.

           Sweet dreams, don’t let the bed bugs bite.

           Good night, sleep tight little bedlamite.

           I glance into the kitchen, with dishes everywhere.

           Why clean them up tonight? I don’t have energy to spare.

           Tomorrow will come soon enough, right now it’s time for me.

           I get a snack and sit back down, then hear another plea.

          “I need to use the bathroom!” my little one insists.

           She meant to make the potty—it's too bad for me she missed.

            It’s just another clean-up job to top a lovely day.

           I send her back to bed and hope that this time she will stay.

           Sweet dreams, don’t let the bed bugs bite.

           Good night, sleep tight little bedlamite.

           I find a cozy spot and settle in to rest once more

           (With just a little effort I ignore my spotted floor).

           “This is my time,” from way deep down I feel like I could scream.

          My kids don’t think that they should drift off to the land of dreams.

          “I think I see the big bad wolf! He’s underneath my bed.

           “I’m pretty sure the dark spot that I see there is his head.”

            In no time flat I show them that the dark spot is a shirt.

           “I think you’re safe. Just go to sleep. You’re not going to get hurt.”

            Sweet dreams, don’t let the bed bugs bite.

           Good night, sleep tight little bedlamite.

            Just one more time I dare to put my feet up and relax.

            I wearily lean down to pick a book up from my stack.

            The words start to go blurry and my head begins to bob.

            I’m dreaming of my little energetic, sleepless mob.

            They might peek out to check on me, but I will never know.

            I’m out too cold to answer one more urgent bedtime woe.

            Tomorrow I’ll be wise and feign fatigue at 7:10;

            They’ll go to sleep and I will have some time for me again.

            Sweet dreams, don’t let the bedbugs bite.

            Good night, sleep tight little bedlamite.