Don't you want to squish that itsy bitsy spider? I mean, seriously, how many times is it going up the water spout and do we have to sing a song about it every single freaking time? "Patty Cake" is cute, I'll give you that. But "mark it with a B"? How about we chocolate-frost it, mark it with an M for Mommy, and I wolf it down over the kitchen sink the minute the kids are in bed?
Moms, we need our own nursery rhymes. They should be catchy, but make actual sense -- unlike, say, "Hey Diddle Diddle." (WTH, little dog laughing?) Because when you feel yourself starting to crack like Humpty Dumpty, you may as well crack yourself up instead.
One, two. Put on your #%*@ shoes.
Three, four. They're right by the door.
Five, six. What did you lick?
Seven, eight. No snack. You just ate!
Nine, ten. Sigh. Late again.
Hickory dickory dock
Can you please stop touching your %^&*?
You went number one
but now you're all done.
Hickory dickory %^&*.
LITTLE BO PEEP
Little Bo Peep can't fall asleep
and doesn't know how to stop crying.
Just leave her alone.
She'll nod off on her own.
They call it Ferberizing.
HERE IS THE CHURCH
This is the church.
This is the steeple.
Duck down in your seat.
We know all those people.
OLD MOTHER HUBBARD
Old Mother Hubbard
went to the cupboard
the second she was alone.
But when she got there,
she tore out her hair.
The Luna bars were all gone!
HUSH LITTLE BABY
Hush, little baby, don't say a word,
and I'll let you play some Angry Birds.
And if that stupid pig won't die
give it your brother and he can try.
Peyton Price is the author of Suburban Haiku: Poetic Dispatches From Behind The Picket Fence. You can find her @suburbanhaiku. A version of these rhymes first appeared on Scary Mommy.