A Mother's Prayer

All mothers,
Who art down the road, in the house next door, all around the world,
Hallowed be thy names,
Thy time will come, thy work will be done.
You give this day the daily bread - endless sandwiches (with crusts off, and cut the right way), wraps and pittas, with hummous or ham, jam or peanut butter, with butter or without, that will be left half-eaten.
Forgive us our shouting and lack of patience,
As we forgive those grubby fingered little sods who drew on the walls with our lipstick, sat on their sister, spat out their dinner and said mean things to their brother, and decided he'd prefer another mama.
And lead us not into temptation - three slices of cake is enough for a mama, and the grass is not always greener despite what you might think.
But deliver us from repeating cycles of abuse, hurt and destruction upon our precious charges,
For theirs is the future,
The power and the glory are not apparent right now,
Forever, and ever, and ever they seem to take to go to sleep, and it all seems a blur,
But one day we will see the results of this daily drudge and give thanks for our part in this miracle.
Ah men, don't know how good they've got it, or what they're missing.