I wrote this when my two boys, who are now teenagers, were one and four. I loved and doted on them, but to escape for a weekend was BLISSFUL!
I was amazed when BBC Year of the Artist published this poem on their website.
I’m “mum”, and I’m rushing to get out on time
I’m wiping a nose as I run
I’m rubbing a bruise and making a drink
And trying to make it all fun
I’m “wife”, and I try hard to cook a nice meal
And listen to troubles and woes
His work shirts are ironed, as crisp as can be
I kiss him good-bye as he goes
I’m “char lady”, make sure the house is kept clean
I sweep and I dust and I mop
I hoover and sparkle, and just the next week
I have to re-do the whole lot!
I’m “housekeeper” too, and I have to make sure
I stock up with food to the brim
With fruit, veg and meat, with goodies and treats
I don’t quite know where to begin
I’m “cook”, so I bake, and I stir fry, and more
I’m trying to think of a meal
I’m tired of my repertoire, worn out by food
Can’t think of a dish to appeal
I feel so segmented in all of these roles
Together they fly in the air
There’s many more balls, to juggle as well
It all seems a little unfair . . .
In this whirlwind of duties, I’m hidden below
Swallowed up by the jobs that I do
And the ‘me’ that I am does not get a chance
I’m bursting to try and break through
I want to discover the freedom I had
To be known and addressed by my name
Discover the talents I know that I’ve got
And do what I want for a change
Exhausted and worn out by routine, demands
I’m sinking, I’m sinking, where’s ‘me’?
To shake off mundane, the slog and the rest
I’m needing, right now, to be free
So what will I do? That’s the pleasure, you see
To do as a whim in a breeze
Relax and read books, go shopping, have tea
With only one person to please
To put on some make-up and clothes which are nice
To walk without pram or a list
To swing in big circles and jump in the air
To get to know me, I insist . . .
To try on those clothes, which I cannot afford
To eat with a civilized air
To look through my sunglasses, stare at the world
To look like I haven’t a care
The weekend was short, and the time went so quick
I’m loaded with dread of return
I love both my children, my husband, it’s true
But time spent with me’s what I yearn
Goodbye to myself, say goodbye for a while
I’m hoping we’ll meet again, please
So back to the cleaner, the cook and the rest
Goodbye to my weekend of ease
© Nicky Clifford, October 2000