Oh happy days!

Well hello there! Remember me? I’m the girl who used to actually write stuff on here. Unfortunately, I seem to have thrown too many balls up into the air and something had to give.

I was going to write a post today about what’s been happening for me – about the exciting year I’ve had and why I’ve neglected this blog amongst other things. But the sun is shining (yes, honestly!) and the happy sound of kids in the back garden reminded me of a poem I wrote. So today I’ll give you a poem – over the next few weeks, I’ll regale you with tales of my exciting year so far… wait… come back… I’ll try to keep it short… and I said I’d do it another day…!

I’m very aware of two things you’ll be thinking when you read this:

1. I sound like my mother. Now I know most of you don’t know her, but she’s the quintessential Irish Mammy.
2. I must be a lot older than my thirty… ahem… something years.

I’m also aware that my kids will roll their eyes when they read it. They’ll shake their heads at my antiquated view on life and go back to their X-Box/Play Station/Wii! But maybe some of you will read it and remember those delicious summer days when the world was such an exciting place and the most important thing in the world to us was getting caught by a boy (or girl) during kiss-chasing!

“Get on with it!” I hear you cry. So here it is – enjoy.

Oh happy days!

My memories of childhood warm
the cockles of my heart.
Those lazy ways and hazy days
when Summer sun would start.

From morn to night we’d play outside,
old games like Blind Man’s Buff.
We’d always peek for Hide ‘n’ Seek;
our play was often rough.

We’d eat our lunch with mucky hands;
it mattered not a bit.
We’d graze our knees from climbing trees.
It wouldn’t make us quit.

We didn’t need computer games
to occupy our minds.
A thousand ways to fill our days
were of the simple kind.

We’d chalk out squares for Hopscotch games
with shrieks of sheer delight.
For hours we’d run, all burnt from sun,
’till starlight signalled night.

At eight or nine our Mams would call
to get us in for bed.
We’d then implore for minutes more
to end our game instead.

We’d eat our supper fighting sleep
from energy we’d spent.
And down we’d sit for ‘lick and spit’
to bed we’d all be sent.

Then Mam would come into our room
and tell us tales of yore.
Then come the dawn, with stretch and yawn,
the fun would start once more!

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