Family Life Poems

December 8, 2017January 8, 2022

Let’s talk about schadmin

Schadmin… school related admin. Yet another thing they don’t tell you before you have children.

Aside from eating, breathing and sleeping (and of course, writing silly poetry), I could spend every minute of the day complying with the endless rounds of homework, reply slips, charity requests, baking, and last minute laundry which comes with having a school-age child. I also find it essential to schedule in some time for looking bewildered, shaking my head quietly in a corner, or simply wondering to myself where it all went wrong.

Oh, and by the way, this rhyme doesn’t even mention “creative homework”. THAT little baby deserves a rhyme all of its own…

Let’s talk about schadmin

Let’s talk about schadmin, the admin that comes,

Not for the schoolkids but for their poor mums,

Who some years ago, once exclaimed (the poor fools),

“Won’t life be easier once they’re at school?”

Let’s start with the homework – now that should be fine,

But hang on, what’s this? Got to do it online?

You can’t start your router, you’ve crashed your computer,

Smile Mummy! This is the digital future!

So while you untangle yourself from the cables,

You practise the reading, the spelling, times tables,

Oh yes, and tonight you must also produce,

A piece of research about Robert the Bruce,

The human anatomy labelled in braille,

A knitted giraffe (for the PTA sale),

And favourite of all, just found in the drawers is:

“Write fifteen lines with subordinate clauses”!

But it’s done. They’re in bed, and you start to feel better,

Best check the bags though. Hey presto! Six letters.

It seems that next week you’ve been asked to provide,

A “green” picnic lunch with no wrappers inside,

A world book day costume which celebrates Dickens,

(You’ve got a hen costume – did Dickens have chickens?)

Ten pounds for a school trip and warm outdoor clothes,

With waterproof trousers (whoever has THOSE?)

A tray full of cupcakes, all nice and enticing,

(“Why not let the children help out with the icing?”)

A pound for the book sale, a pound for the fair,

And a pound cos some teacher is shaving their hair.

Well after all that, you say “that’s it for me!”
“I’m off to my bed.” – but what’s THIS that you see?
A stinking PE kit thrown down in the hall,

It’s needed tomorrow – yes, washed, dried and all,

(There was once a spare kit but “Mummy, I lost it.”

– it’s probably still in the hedge where they tossed it.)

Some shoes and a coat which are utterly caked

(from commando crawls over the field at break)

And a jumper with mystery holes in the cuff,

Wasn’t the massive school dinner enough??

So as you load washing, and sew, half asleep,

You’re starting to babble and quietly weep.

Let’s talk about schadmin, the admin that comes,

Not for the schoolkids but for the poor mums,

Who are now fast asleep, with signs that say “Please,

Wake me up after the GCSEs.”

©️ Nina Parmenter 2017

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November 5, 2017January 8, 2022

The National Trust

I have a deep affection for the National Trust. With two energetic young boys, the weekend rule in our house is generally “anywhere but at home!” Our National Trust membership allows us to unleash them in some beautiful places, leaving our own house mostly unwrecked (although slightly more full of sticks) for one more precious day.

I think of the National Trust as a slightly eccentric great aunt, prone to lectures on the correct placement of cutlery, but also quite likely to slip me a boiled sweet or a couple of quid. So I hope this particular aunt doesn’t mind a bit of gentle ribbing.

The National Trust

The National Trust, The National Trust,

A mightier thing than all of us,

A fine institution, a positive force,

For a tenner a month, it can all be yours!

So we get in the car and head off for the day,

The brown signs of worthiness show us the way,

We head for the house – but I’ve got quite a thirst –

“Can we not go to the tearoom first?”

No – onwards! Past tapestries, teasets, a Titian,

A slightly tedious exhibition,

Cabinets, carpets and candelabras,

And a lovely lady, name of Barbara,

(A volunteer, reduced to tears,

By standing in one room for years)

She points at a pot! We all say “wow!

But can we go to the tearoom now?”

There are grounds all around, where there’s joy to be found,

In glorious nature, its sights and its sounds,

There are log piles to climb, and rope swings to hold on,

(It’s just like the park, only ten times more wholesome),

Rose gardens, rockeries, rippling rivers,

A small hairy man with his arrows and quiver,

Who gives us a go on his medieval bow –

But NOW is it time for the tearoom though?

Wait! Listen! YES! the clock strikes three,

The footsteps thunder – time for tea!

And mums, kids and grannies, all manners at bay,

Stampede for a spot in the Courtyard Café,

To toss back some tea, and scoff down some scones,

And snap up the shortbread before its all gone –

But where do we go once we’ve stuffed it all in?

LOOK! A shop full of chutney and artisan gin.

The National Trust, The National Trust,

A mightier thing than all of us,

A fine institution, a positive force,

For a tenner a month, this can all be yours.

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October 31, 2017January 8, 2022

Halloween Tat

I have to declare I’m not a lover of Halloween these days. I’m utterly depressed by the annual growth in disposable tat, and the increasing grisliness of the costumes. Call me super-sensitive, but I’m not a great fan of seeing my gorgeous, fresh-faced children dressed as corpses. Here they are in this year’s dreadful outfits; the only saving grace is that 90% of what you see here is re-used from previous occasions. You’re welcome, Mother Earth. You’re welcome, bank balance.

So I’ll say Bah Humbug, or whatever the Halloween equivalent is (Bah Special Edition Pumpkin-Themed Haribo, presumably), and leave the poem to say the rest…

Halloween Tat

There’s nothing more tatty than Halloween tat,

A bent plastic broomstick, a Styrofoam cat,

A bad rubber mask of Vlad the Impaler,

Get it all now from your nearest retailer!

Come on consumers! Now now, don’t be sceptical,

Buy all your crap for the Halloween festival,

Googly eyes, all squidgy and spherical,

Musical witch-hats (now they are hysterical),

Transform yourself to a fake plastic spectacle,

Bugs on your earlobes and bats on your testicles,

Let’s all make Poundland so much more investible,

What better use for our scarce petrochemicals?

So dress up your grandchildren as the undead,

Don’t they look cute with fake blood on their heads,

And as Halloween ends, and you turn out the light,

Have sweet dreams of landfill. How scary. Night night.

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