I will smile with hope. 
Tomorrow is a new year. 
Today is the past.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Blustery Holiday

A windy day.

You didn't quite shut the door.

Two dogs got out and ran away.

A call that you're in jail

while at the in-laws Christmas Eve.

Tomorrow we will come with bail.

Those boys keep calling dad.

Why are you in jail, not them?

Both, for you, are very bad.

It has been some holiday.

The pound opens this morning.

The dogs are there, I hope and pray.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

I do because I care

I feel like I'm stuck on pause.

My husband is gone to work his 12 hour shift.

I don't want to think about the mess my daughter's in.

So I'm in bed playing a game on my phone I can't win.

I had cookie momentum going the other night,

but my awesome helper youngest daughter squashed it.

“Mom, we don't have to make them all tonight.”

She was right,

but now I've stopped and can't get going.

Christmas is going to be wrong this year.

The baby will be at her daddy's, not here.

The tree still needs to be set up.

Gift shopping will be last minute again.

Only half the cookies are baked.

I don't even have a Christmas day menu plan.

We are going to his mom's for Christmas Eve soup,

and to see my missionary/nurse (better than me)

sister-in-law, and her family.

I need to un-pause, suck it up, and start doing.

Everyone else is expecting. I will not disappoint.

Today will be a good day. It's all about what I make it.

I am a grown up, and I can control that.

I will put on a smile, and some Christmas music,

start the laundry, empty the dishwasher, and bake.

Christmas is coming, and even though we don't show it,

my family cares, and I love them,

and I think they all know it.

by:  Paula D. Nevison 

Frustrating

I did not create this mess.

Had my original advice been followed,

there would not be this trial and test.

Yet I am picked to deliver the bad news,

pick up the pieces, pay the bill, and fix the fallout.

Like with the puppy and promises years ago,

I am the one who has to clean up the shit.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

A Better Cook Than Me

My husband cooks on the weekends,

sometimes during the week.

He's a better cook than I am.

He doesn't worry about calories.

He uses salt and butter,

just like Paula Deen,

and even though that is my name,

I can't bring myself to do the same.

I like food the way it is.

It needs no extra flavoring.

Simple, fresh, and raw,

on this I am unwavering.

So when my children ask,

and I tell them what I'm going to cook,

their faces change from inquisitive.

They give me that disgusted look.

But when they see their dad

sharpening knives at the table,

they know that he's about to cook

(and meat and cheese are his staple).

But seriously,

I CAN follow a recipe.

Yet he can improvise, and make a delicious surprise.

He is a better cook than I.

by:  Paula D. Nevison 

Ultrasound

A little boy,

bundle of joy,

being shy,

almost a surprise.

by:  Paula D. Nevison