Our kids and their kids are coming,
Here for the holiday.
And soon we will all be chumming,
Watching the children play.
Our kids and their kids are slumming.
On beds, couches, and floors.
The crowd is straining the plumbing.
Please! Stop slamming the doors.
At mealtime, the baby is gumming,
Grandma’s doing the same.
The mashed potatoes are coming,
Billy! Put down that game.
Later, the guitar she is strumming,
Ah! She rests for a while.
But then, her brother starts drumming,
Through gritted teeth, I smile.
Who knew toys could make such a noise?
Am I just getting old?
Is this normal for girls and boys?
Yes, is what I am told.
The kids and their kids are leaving,
After the holiday.
The wife and I are a grieving,
Watching them on their way.
After goodbye-ing and waving,
Before they go a mile,
The both of us are collapsing,
Relaxing with a smile.
The mess can wait ‘til tomorrow.
The pots and pans will stay
In the sink without a sorrow.
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