Last month I drove to Birmingham,
With two kids in the back.
You'd think that I had more
With all the stuff I'd had to pack.
I knew it would be tricky,
But with hindsight I can see-
I'd underestimated
Just how dreadful it would be.
By Winnersh things were going well.
My daughter was asleep.
My son was looking at a book,
And barely made a peep.
By Stokenchurch he'd dropped it,
(Which he didn't take too well,)
And irritating moaning
Soon crescendo'd to a yell-
Which woke my daughter suddenly
(A risky thing to do.)
And soon the loud cacophony
Was multiplied by two.
At first I tried to soothe them both,
With calming lullabies.
But I could hardly hear myself
Above their raucous cries.
And so I tried ignoring them,
Which also didn't work.
My silence made them madder still
And drove them quite berserk.
So then I tried a different tack-
Of which I'm quite ashamed.
I used reverse psychology.
"Scream LOUDER!" I exclaimed.
But none of this did anything
To quieten the din.
So somewhere close to Warwick,
I decided to join in!
And when I got to Birmingham,
All stressed and in a flap,
I'd aged by fifty years or more
And felt like utter crap.
If motherhood had been a job
I would've got the sack!
Which gladly I'd have welcomed
To avoid the journey back!