Supper Eats Mom

 "...if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.  The old has gone, the new has come!" (2Cor. 5:17)

You win, Supper.  You did it again.  You swallowed me up...even as I was cooking you.   I don't like who you make me become every M-F at 5PM.  My old self emerges.  I wonder how my kids view this ugly transformation...  


Mom was in the kitchen, cooking up a meal,

when my two little brothers started to squeal.

They squealed and they squawked and fell to the ground.

“I’m trying to cook,” mom said.  “Please stop that sound!”


They raced and they roared through the house on their bikes,

crashing into mom’s ankles as she shouted, ‘YIKES!’

Sam fell off his bike and he screamed ‘I NEED ICE!’

Mom ran to the fridge, but slipped on some dice.


“Pick up your toys,” she yelled with fists to the sky.

Then the phone rang; it was dad on the line.

“Dad will be late,” I announced to the crew.

“And I almost forgot, my school project is due.”


I practiced the piano, it was Bach number three.

The song was tricky because it was new to me.

Then Timmy, who’s two, climbed up on the bench

and he banged on the keys with his little toy wrench.


When I told him to stop, he reached for my face.

He tore off my glasses; a lens popped out of place.

I couldn’t see clearly, but I heard mom mutter,

“Witching hour is here,” she said with a stutter.


I peered through one lens to watch a strange scene.

It was 5:00 sharp and mom turned all green.

The green was not dark; it was pale and light.

Her nose grew a wart; what a terrible sight!


She stirred up her rice, or was it a stew?

Her spoon was a wand in a big witches brew.

Was this witching hour?  It must be the case!

Deep wrinkles took over mom’s beautiful face.


I had to do something and do it real fast.

5:00 supper, it just couldn’t last.

I yelled out a plan to make witching hour work:

“Supper in the morning…a big roasted pork!”


Mom turned to us boys and cackled a phrase,

“Come near me dear children; look into my gaze.”

We three couldn’t speak, there was nothing to say.

We inched our feet forward, holding hands all the way.


She stooped down real low and she reached out her arms,

to gobble us up like her own Chicken Parm.

But in her embrace we found warmth and delight.

Wrinkles, wart, wand were gone.  It was a beautiful sight.


She said, “Supper in the morning?  Let’s give it a try.

You boys are so calm in a bright morning sky.”

The next morning came and I raced out of bed.

The smell of roast beef, it was lodged in my head. 


Potatoes and broccoli, dripping with butter

Ice cream and brownies, my tummy did flutter.

The table was set and the meal was all done.

Mom cooked while we slept; she said it was fun!


We ate in our pjs and nobody fought.

Timmy was yawning while Sam smiled a lot.

Mom didn’t turn green and she wasn’t stressed out.

Supper in the morning was better, no doubt.


When 5:00 came, there was nothing to cook.

I practiced my piano and mom read a book.

My brothers they squawked and they screamed oh so loud.

So mom closed her book and she joined in the crowd.


She chased them and hugged them and laughed all the while.

Witching hour was here and mom had a smile!

Just toast on a napkin for dinner, you see.

No dishes to wash, there was nothing to clean.


Dad came through the door to a wild scene

and he was surprised that mom wasn’t green.

She asked, “How was your day?”  She wanted to know.

Dad said it was bad, ‘cause the traffic was slow.


A meeting went late and he had to miss lunch.

He also skipped breakfast, to beat the morning rush.

“I’m hungry,” he said.  “My tummy is rumbling.

What’s for supper?  My belly is grumbling.”


“What’s this on a napkin?  Is this buttered toast?

Toast is for breakfast!  And supper, a roast.”

I called out to dad and explained the appeal

of supper in the morning, the brand new deal.


But then something happened that made me step back.

My dad grew some fur on his arms and his back.

My ears opened wide and I started to hear

the growl in his tummy sounded just like a bear.


His hands grew enormous and changed into paws.

At the tips of his paws were gigantic claws.

I couldn’t believe how my parents could switch

to these secret identities, a bear and a witch.


I knew that I needed to do something soon.

The answer was clear:  “Let’s have supper at noon!”

Patricia Batten