I tried my very best To get out the door But it’s quite hard to hurry A daughter who’s four
She’s not the only one Her sister is just two Rushing out the door Is more than she can do
We fight about jackets We fight about shoes We fight about headbands And wearing tutus
We bring all the books We bring all the snacks And for the baby dolls We even turn back
So sorry I’m late And I’ll never be early But you see I have two Highly sensitive girlies
Perhaps one day Will quietly arrive That I say put on shoes And nobody cries
There’ll be no more diapers No blanket or lovey By then they might even Ask me for a car key
Maybe then I’ll be early No little hand to hold I’ll walk in the door wondering Why we have to grow old
I’ll help a young mom Her son’s shoes aren’t a pair I’ll hold the door open I’m proud that she’s there
Because I remember when I walked in those shoes And I’ll always remember When mine were just two
[ Written at red lights on the way to something, quite late, of course. ]