Tut Tut Tales

Three Second Rule

Marcus Mike Maximus Brown
I say it isn’t cool
How when your cake falls on the floor
You call 3 second rule

And when ice cream falls from your cone
Then for it you will dive
And then that old 3 second rule
Can become 4 or 5

But when your brussel sprouts fall down
Just bending is a chore
And it’s unfit for your mouth now
As it’s been on the floor.

Janey Jones

Janey Jones thought it’s be cool
To jump around while in the pool
She jumped and jumped with all her might
And reached the most impressive heights

And Janey she caused such a stir
That all did turn to look at her
And so she reached the water’s top
And even then she did not stop

Which would have been completely awesome
If not for her bikini bottoms
Which I’m quite sure she did not know
Floated somewhere down below.


A bit of a collection here…I wrote these over the weekend and thought they went together in a childlike way. I called the blog Tut Tut Tales after a book I read as a child by Marjorie Barrows, which I don’t exactly remember but the name seemed to fit.

I’d also like to thank Robin at Witless Dating After Fifty and Inchcock at, well, Inchcock for inspiration although I’m not sure they will recognize it’s source.



On high alert near dinner time
The children long to hear
Pop Goes the Weasel softly chimes
It is that time of year

The little kiddies drop their games
And stop dead in mid frolic
And pull their mothers hands and hair
Demanding them their wallet

Tears will come down from their eyes
They’re sure to make a scene
If their demands are not met to
Procure some cheap ice cream

A choco taco ice cream waffle
Sundae in a cup
A Creamsicle, a Popsicle
A Rocket Blast, Push Up

The children fidget, cry and pout
Threaten to kill and worse
As their parents hunt for cash
While muttering a curse

But in my house twas no such luck
My mother did believe
Unhealthy junk to make me fat
But first to rot my teeth

I’d watch a Spongebob disappear
Chipwich become no more
And pray that every flavored ice
Would end up on the floor

For every Drumstick licked to nought
And Dixie Cup’s dead end
But it was not enough for me
I had to have revenge

Yet nothing was so clever as
The fate that I had planned
A plot for ultimate control
I’d BE the ice cream man

And slow down in each neighborhood
As children sang and danced
All so anxious for their treats
With ants in their pants

And see the looks upon their face
As in my truck I’m slowing
I bite into a lemon cup
And then I just keep going


A Home Of One’s Own

I walk into the house today,
I can’t believe my eyes,
For once upon my entering,
I’m pleasantly surprised.

The boy sits at the work desk,
He’s all done for the day,
He proudly shows me his report,
All marked with red A’s.

The little girl is sitting there,
In her tiny play seat,
She talks to her dolls quietly,
Her room is nice and neat.

So with the kids behaving,
I decide I should go on,
With tomorrow’s preparations,
To find they have been done.

And dinner simmers on the stove,
It comes along just fine,
To be done to perfection at,
Precisely dinner time.

And with all going swimmingly,
I come to the deduction,
That I’m safe to have ‘Me Time’,
With little interruption.

When a dark foreboding shadow,
Disturbs me from my peace,
I look up to see a figure,
Looking less woman than beast.

From deep within my relaxed state,
With screaming she does rouse,
“I tell you for the last time,
Get the hell out of my house!!”


Frankincense and Murder

With Christmas coming their way soon,
All are getting frantic,
Making plans and assigning roles,
For the winter pageant.

But by and by the claws come out,
An ugly scene indeed,
As each mother becomes convinced,
Her child play the lead.

For it could not be Candy Lynn,
That would just be scary,
A girl who goes to second base,
To play Mother Mary?

They cast Joanne’s boy as Joseph,
Goodness what have they done?
Surely not for his acting but,
‘Cause he’s the pastor’s son.

Little Ron as Baby Jesus,
A strange choice for the savior,
At 6 foot 4 most really doubt,
He’ll fit into the manger.

So the day of the play arrives,
Parents mad and snobby,
Tension you can cut like a knife,
As they crowd the lobby.

Mrs. Smith and Winters argue,
And it ends bitterly,
In a fight where both nearly fall,
Over the balcony.

And Mrs. Adams is outraged,
Her feelings run amuck,
See if she brings her prized meatballs,
To the church’s potluck.

But the play goes off well enough,
Despite drama and doubt,
And the many props that fell and,
Mikes that kept going out.

The children had a lot of fun,
In their acting premier,
But most would never act again,
Or participate next year.

And though they will not admit it,
I think deep down they know,
It was the sheep and not the leads,
That really stole the show.

And in the end we’re all left with,
Those few bitter mothers,
Now just a bunch of old ladies,
Who still hate each other.

Thank you to Bright Spots and her post The Christmas Pageant Rat Race for the inspiration!


What Halloween Means To Me

Halloween comes once a year,
It’s not getting a fright I fear,
But rather the awful chore,
Of knocking on strange people’s doors.

Missing a warm home’s shelter,
Battling swarms of Annas and Elsas,
My kid’s costumes barely worn,
Yet cheaply made, already torn.

And what’s more, what really sucks,
I’m down about 100 bucks,
But to complain is crappy,
When my children are so happy.

And it will all be dandy,
If when they divide the candy,
They’re careful to oversee,
That all the chocolate goes to me.


Passing The Torch

She picks among discarded frocks,
Old clothes found in the dress-up box,
And laughs at what may well provide,
Makings of a princess or bride.

Boas, sequins, a joyous game,
Of what hangs off her tiny frame,
As you look on quite bemused,
She clomps around in high heeled shoes.

You think of how it is so sweet,
Barely they stay on her feet,
‘Til that day that she walks in,
And so innocently grins.

Seeing that she has created,
An outfit so coordinated,
And incredulous you’re staring,
At attire you would not mind wearing.

Sexy, subtle, innovative,
Simple yet sophisticated,
Envy the look she put together,
And rue the day she wore it better.


The S**t Eating Grin

Whenever I come home from work,
After a hard day’s done,
My husband’s the barometer,
For what is going on.

But if depressed or lamenting,
Over some random thing,
Nothing could be worse than the curse,
Of the shit eating grin.

Which is exactly what he wears,
When I come home today,
I fear as he blocks the bedroom door,
And stands in my way.

My mind thinks of the options,
My ears are blowing smoke,
As I consider a dreadful mess,
A valuable that he broke.

Do the children lie there bleeding?
Are there dog hairs on the sheets?
Is there a porn in the VCR,
That’s playing on repeat?

But time wears on and by some,
strange prompt he moves away,
I open the door to gaze upon,
What his nervousness betrayed.

But nothing could prepare me,
For what waits for me instead,
As I see the open window,
And the unmade bed.


Becoming That Person

It seems that Los Angeles,
is not a 24 hour town,
When we moved here from NY,
neighbors told us to turn it down.

They didn’t like our high heels,
clomping up and down the stairs,
And when I played my bass guitar,
It so did offend their ears.

And though we thought they were uptight,
and we scoffed at their restrictions,
It seemed our rebelliousness,
could lead to an eviction.

Now I have a job and kids,
and do not mean to complain,
But it sure is difficult
to wake up at 6 am.

And though the neighbors are lovely,
they sometimes party at night,
So am I hypocritical,
when I ask them to be quiet?


Genius Misguided

imgresHe waited for an hour,
And then an hour more,
Resolutely he decided,
The selection of his chore.

The handwriting must be impeccable,
The spelling must be correct,
Grammar to the letter,
So that no one would suspect.

The excuse would be bulletproof,
The alibi watertight,
As time ticked away into,
The better part of the night.

And when finally he was done,
Almost beyond belief,
The pride he took in admiring,
His fraudulent masterpiece.

He kissed the very paper,
Wearing a self satisfied smirk,
At the pains he would take to get out of,
Doing his homework.


Wonder Twin Powers

Her and me, me and her,
Walked down the streets causing a stir,
Hot pants and Doc Martens, we were quite a sight,
With me on the left and her on the right.

And though our attitudes were nearly the same,
Perhaps they represented another part of the brain,
With fanciful visions her ideas gave birth,
To an extravagant world that I brought down to earth.

And perhaps we were witches, super heroes, rock stars,
Who slummed with lowlifes outside elegant bars,
Making up a youth so sentimental,
Of teenage years, to say the least, experimental.

And nothing could stop determination or fate,
As our Wonder Twin Powers would activate,
To make a plan somewhat diabolical,
Which rendered us no less than unstoppable.

And though our rock star dreams might be one in a million,
Perhaps we’d clone ourselves in our rock n’ roll children,
Who would take off where our story ends,
And themselves become the best of friends.

But something happened and today,
Although she lives only a few miles away,
The baggage piles up to mountains,
Making those few miles feel like thousands.

And even a phone call could make me see,
She’s not the girl she used to be,
Although perhaps a glimpse or glance is made,
The vision then does quickly fade.
But after all is said and done,
I sure do miss my Tweedledum.