Tag: parody

Mommy’s Night Before Christmas by Katie L. Carroll

December 21, 2020 / Katie L. Carroll

October 2022 Update: If you love this poem, check out the newly revised and illustrated picture book MOMMY’S NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS by Katie L. Carroll and illustrated by Phoebe Cho.

Available now from Bookshop, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and more! Find signed copies on the Purchase Books page.

I think we could all use a good laugh to end this year, so I’m breaking out my parody of Clement C. Moore’s “A Visit from St. Nicholas.” It has become something of a tradition to post this each year. I’ll be posting about my newest book, the picture book THE BEDTIME KNIGHT (you can find more about it on my picture book page), and a reading round-up when I return to blogging in 2021. In the meantime, Happy Holiday and wishing you all the best in the New Year!

‘Twas the night before Christmas, the kids were in bed
Anxiously awaiting the Big Man in Red;
The stockings weren’t hung (we don’t have a chimney),
We just set them down in front of the TV.

Who am I kidding? The kids weren’t sleeping,
The baby was teething, drooling, and weeping;
The preschooler was playing with a million toys,
Driving his cars and making lots of noise.

Half an hour later, the baby passed out,
His brother went to bed (not without a good pout);
I let out a great big sigh of relief,
Then I looked around and thought, “Oh, good grief!”

The house was a mess, the laundry never-ending,
And there was still that ornament that needed mending.
At least we were done hiding that stupid elf,
Went back where he came from, him and his shelf;

Hours passed, we thought we were finally done;
We found more gifts, the fun had just begun;
We were out of wrapping paper and tape,
Reused gift bags put us back in good shape;

I sat down to relax, put my feet up,
Snuggled into a blanket with my tea cup;
A bang outside roused me to my feet,
I peeked out the curtains, looked down the street.

“I don’t think it’s the neighbors,” Daddy said;
“What? You think it’s Santa in his big sled?”
He went to check it out, shot me a look,
And told me to go back to reading my book;

A minute later, I heard a great yell,
And said under my breath, “What the hell?”
I put on my shoes, grabbed the monitor,
Slipped into a coat, and stomped out the door;

The clear winter night brought no Christmas snow,
Instead moonlight washed the yard in a soft glow;
Daddy stood there staring up at the roof;
I hissed, “What are you doing, you big doof?”

He merely pointed, his face full of fear,
And gave a soft whisper, “It’s a reindeer.”
Now, I haven’t believed since I was six,
Thought surely his eyes must be playing tricks;

Then I heard a stomping and a nicker
That made my heart beat a little quicker;
Looking up, I saw the brown muzzle, red nose
The Fat Man himself, and I simply froze.

Daddy and I exchanged a look of wonder,
The shock could’ve put us six feet under;
I shook my head and came to my senses,
Glared at Santa, went on the offensive;

“Get off my roof, your reindeer too,” I hissed;
I glared at Santa, feeling really pissed;
He laughed, “Don’t end up on my naughty list.”
Clearly this guy wasn’t getting my gist.

“With all due respect, get the hell out of here;
If you wake my kids, you won’t see next year.”
Quiet as a shadow those reindeer took flight,
Santa whispered, “Merry Christmas and good night.”

Mommy’s Night Before Christmas

December 21, 2015 / Katie L. Carroll

October 2022 Update: If you love this poem, check out the newly revised and illustrated picture book MOMMY’S NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS by Katie L. Carroll and illustrated by Phoebe Cho.

Available now from Bookshop, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, Kobo, and more! Find signed copies on the Purchase Books page.

Mommy’s Night Before Christmas

by Katie L. Carroll

‘Twas the night before Christmas, the kids were in bed

Anxiously awaiting the Big Man in Red;

The stockings weren’t hung (we don’t have a chimney),

We just set them down in front of the TV.

Who am I kidding? The kids weren’t sleeping,

The baby was teething, drooling, and weeping;

The preschooler was playing with a million toys,

Driving his cars and making lots of noise.

Half an hour later, the baby passed out,

His brother went to bed (not without a good pout);

I let out a great big sigh of relief,

Then I looked around and thought, “Oh, good grief!”

The house was a mess, the laundry never-ending,

And there was still that ornament that needed mending.

At least we were done hiding that stupid elf,

Went back where he came from, him and his shelf;

Hours passed, we thought we were finally done;

We found more gifts, the fun had just begun;

We were out of wrapping paper and tape,

Reused gift bags put us back in good shape;

I sat down to relax, put my feet up,

Snuggled into a blanket with my tea cup;

A bang outside roused me to my feet,

I peeked out the curtains, looked down the street.

“I don’t think it’s the neighbors,” Daddy said;

“What? You think it’s Santa in his big sled?”

He went to check it out, shot me a look,

And told me to go back to reading my book;

A minute later, I heard a great yell,

And said under my breath, “What the hell?”

I put on my shoes, grabbed the monitor,

Slipped into a coat, and stomped out the door;

The clear winter night brought no Christmas snow,

Instead moonlight washed the yard in a soft glow;

Daddy stood there staring up at the roof;

I hissed, “What are you doing, you big doof?”

He merely pointed, his face full of fear,

And gave a soft whisper, “It’s a reindeer.”

Now, I haven’t believed since I was six,

Thought surely his eyes must be playing tricks;

Then I heard a stomping and a nicker

That made my heart beat a little quicker;

Looking up, I saw the brown muzzle, red nose,

The Fat Man himself, and I simply froze.

Daddy and I exchanged a look of wonder,

The shock could’ve put us six feet under;

I shook my head and came to my senses,

Glared at Santa, went on the offensive;

“Get off my roof, your reindeer too,” I hissed;

I glared at Santa, feeling really pissed;

He laughed, “Don’t end up on my naughty list.”

Clearly this guy wasn’t getting my gist.

“With all due respect, get the hell out of here;

If you wake my kids, you won’t see next year.”

Quiet as a shadow those reindeer took flight,

Santa whispered, “Merry Christmas and good night.”

“The Rewrite Before Christmas” by Beth Overmyer Author of In a Pickle

July 12, 2013 / Katie L. Carroll

Today (ahem, on my birthday…and, yes, I’ve stopped counting how many I’ve celebrated) I have a unique poem from Beth Overmyer, author of the middle grade novella In a Pickle. Be prepared to laugh as Beth takes over the blog!

Just in time for Christmas in July…I present:

The Rewrite Before Christmas

(Parody of Clement C. Moore’s The Night Before Christmas)

‘Twas the first draft of my novel and all through the book

There were typos and blunders, not even a hook;

The scenes were all tied together by a hair,

All hoping the editors soon would repair;

The characters were voiceless, all bland and cardboard,

They talked and they rambled, no sense in their words;

And my alphas and my betas put on thinking caps,

“How do I keep reading? I want a long nap!”

And out of my prose there arose such a clutter

Of dialogue tags such as “murmured” and “muttered;”

“Away,” “through” and “of” all ended each sentence;

I misspelled all words without a hint of repentance;

All adverbs were abused shamelessly;

The luster and shine was very much lacking.

When pressing my brain on to make this thing better,

There appeared on my desk an over-sized shredder.

With a clunky old hard drive, so ancient and sick,

I rigged up old Bob with the help of a fork lift.

More vapid than prairies my stories I shredded,

Lit them with a match, doused with unleaded,

“Now burn, you! Now, die, you!

Now shred, burn and fry, you!

No ands ifs or buts:

I’ll burn short stories too!

To the top of the shredder, to the top of the wall!

No dashes, m-dashes, n-dashes; away, all!”

As dry as leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

I watched the smoke drifting up, up to the sky;

So shiny and lovely, the ashes, they flew,

With smell of burnt plastic and toxic waste too.

And then I’d an inkling, a nudge in my head,

The itching and clawing, as that of the undead.

And I drew in my head an outline so sound

For a shiny new novel, and then went to town!

So, hear me exclaim as I drop out of sight:

“A novel isn’t written; thou must rewrite!”

In a Pickle blurb:

Charlie Pickle can’t stay put in the year 1920, due to an annoying habit of time-traveling. On a trip back to 1910, he meets a man with a secret. Murder makes the headlines that day, and Charlie’s new friend knows who the guilty party is. Now, not only does Charlie have bullies and murderers to contend with, he’s got some history to fix.

Find In a Pickle at the MuseItUp bookstore, Amazon, and other ebook retailers.

About the Author: CC Pic Beth Overmyer: writer of kidlit, penner of prose, petter of cats.