"But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo"

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

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

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo.
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 will wait till tomorrow,
For 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 Hulburt Hamilton

I especially love the last verse of that poem. 

Our life has been filled with so much joy (and zero cleaning! and plenty of hullaballo!) having sweet little Ollie around. 

We are trying to drink up every moment.