I will sing to the Lord, for he hath dealt bountifully with me.
Yea, he hath delivered my soul from the cries of the infant in the night; from sleeplessness hath he (mostly) redeemed me. From the toddler’s dangerous curiosity and the three-year-old’s “why” and the five-year-old’s bedwetting he has raised me up.
Therefore I will give thanks unto God among the heathen, in the playgroup will I shew forth his praises.
Remember, O Lord, thy tender mercies and thy lovingkindnesses, for they have been ever of old. Turn thee unto me and have mercy, for I am brought low, I am made the mother of tweens.
Be merciful unto me, O God; for their mood swings would daily swallow me up. They are carried away as with a flood, they are like grass that groweth up. On Tuesday they are green and flourish, for Lindsay loveth them, but on Wednesday they are cut down and wither, for Chelsea layeth a snare for them.
Their mouths are as the tongue of the heathen, for they do say “like” and “whatever” all the day long. Their tongues are loosed at the rising of the sun, and at noon their words are as the sands of the sea. In the evening, they talk without cease, and by night they plead for the instruments of speaking through the air, yea, even the phones without wires, that their speaking may be forever.
They laugh me to scorn. Yea, at the rising of the sun they do roll their eyes, and in the evening they do roll their eyes. Of the rolling of the eyes there is no end.
Their instruments of war are compassed against me: the round tyres of Taylor Swift’s singing, the book of the fashions of Delia’s, the moving pictures of Zack and Cody; yea all these are arrayed against me, and my soul is pained within me.
And when I would make my defence, they do smite me with their giggling; yea, their laughter is sweeter than honey, and my bones melt within me. Of the sweetness of their kisses when no one is looking, no tongue can tell, nor can any man say how precious are their gawky embraces.
Yea, their thoughts are delightsome, and their spirits within them beautiful as the young hart. Their joy springeth up speedily and filleth the whole house.
In the night shall I watch tenderly over their sleeping; O Lord, make me to forget the agony of making them arise before the noon of the day.
So teach me to number their days, that I may apply my heart to wisdom. In thy mercy, O God, let their tween-ness endure a long season. O prepare mercy and truth, which may preserve them. So will I sing praise unto thy name forever.