How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
I hate thee to the depth and breadth and height
Your piles can reach, when feeling out of sight
From the shoved-in-a-corner 3T clothes that fit no one.
I hate thee to the level of every day's
Most avoided chore, by sun and clock-radio-light.
I hate thee freely, as boxes clutter my basement and refuse to be closed.
I hate thee purely, as I can't remember whether that 4T shirt fits more like a 3T or a 5T.
I hate thee with a passion usually reserved
For sticky high chair trays and dried up meat.
I hate thee with a hate I used to save
For bushels of laundry overflowing the bins.
I hate thee with the breath, groans, grunts, of all my life - yet if God choose,
I shall only miss thee when my girls no longer need me
To sort their clothes and I long for the simple tasks I can do for them now.
(With my apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning for mangling her beautiful sonnet!)
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