Dedicated to Mothers of Seven

The oatmeal's running over,
The lunches still aren't made,
The shoes Pat wore the night before
They aren't where they were laid.
A button popped off Vicki's dress!
Theresa's hair is tangled!
While Steve and Mike just duked it out,
Their homework, of course, got mangled!
And now, Maria's crying,
"My tummy hurts!", she said!
Little Joey's in his high chair
And his face is turning red!
It's a typical morning at our house,
Yet despite all the clamor and fuss,
In an hour, like little tin soldiers,
Lunch in hand, they'll all board the bus.
And I smile, 'cause I know in the depths of my heart,
When my time comes and I go to Heaven,
There's a clean, well-organized, peaceful part
Reserved for Mother's of Seven!