Where did the summer go?

I found this poem online somewhere this morning and it totally sums up how I feel about the end of summer. My babies aren't really babies any more. With both kids home all summer, my house feels like it's in a constant state of messiness. I could have spent more time mopping and less time taking them to story times at the library. I could have spent more time knocking down cobwebs and less time taking them to the beach. I could have spent more time doing laundry and less time at the park. But, I didn't. And as summer vacation draws to a close, I'm okay with that.

Song For a Fith Child, by Ruth Hamilton. 1958

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
and out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
but I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.