Children's Poems

This post is a part of Painted Maypole's Monday Mission. This week's mission is to write a children's style poem or story.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A Day In The Life Of K

It's a joy to be a pretty girl,
My golden locks I twist and twirl.
I love to paint my nails bright pink,
And act just like my poo don't stink.

When things aren't going quite my way
I whine and cry and wail all day.
My high pitched shrieks make parents crazy,
And makes their brains all kinds of hazy.

My brother makes me really mental
And with him I'm not always gentle.
I've been known to hit and fight
although I know it isn't right.

When I'm happy, I'm as sweet as can be
Honey and sugar has nothing on me.
My dulcet tones make birdies sing
My smile can cure most anything

To Hannah Montana I like to rock out,
Her music makes me scream and shout.
A rock star I will be someday
And all my mommie's bills I'll pay



A Day In The Life Of G

There are days when things are tough,
Expressing myself is pretty rough.
I ask the same questions again and again,
It's math books that I love to scan.

Star Wars is my greatest love,
From my sis I get a shove.
Food and I are enemies,
I don't even like most cheese.

Quiet and still, my affections are rare
But when I am sweet, I'm beyond compare.
My hugs are few, and kisses less,
But I'll give you love when you're under stress

I love my mom, I love my dad,
Even when they make me mad.
Though I may scream and I may shout
Of my true heart, there is no doubt

Brotherly Love

Me: (relating the story of K's birth to my Mother-In-Law)... and then they had to suction out her lungs as soon as she was out. She didn't make a sound for the longest time, and I was so scared.

G: Why were you scared mom? Is it bad for babies to be quiet?

Me: Well G, when babies are born, they usually cry.

G: Why do they cry?

Me: Because being born is pretty scary. It's cold, and it's bright, and babies don't understand what's going on.

G: And K didn't cry?

Me: No

G: (after a thoughtful pause) Wow mom, K must be really brave. (in awe) She's so brave she didn't even cry when she was born.


And now back to our regularly scheduled sibling bickering...

It's Sticky! It's Fun! It's Pure Evil!

When I came home the other night from work, I thought nothing of it to see K cruising around the house wearing a goofy hat. After all, K often wears a lot of strange things. It's part of being a fabulous princess/pop star with a unique sense of fashion.

After a bit, K resurfaced sans hat. As she turned around, I couldn't help but notice something wasn't quite right with the back of her head. After some squinting and head scratching, I called her over, and turned her around. This is the sight I was greeted by.



I gasped. I spluttered. I tipped my head.



Still there.

Now, I know what you're thinking: That's a whole lot of gum. But, here is where pure visuals lie, for, it wasn't gum, but Silly Putty.

Me: (trying to swallow my hysteria) K, where did you get Silly Putty?

K:I found it under the couch.

Me: (slowly turning 8 shades of purple while plucking at matted, sticky clumps of hair) And how did it get in your hair?

K: I put it there.

Ahh yes, because why on earth wouldn't you place a lump of Silly Putty on your head? Plugging my brain aneurysm with one finger, and plucking ineffectively at Silly Putty covered hair with the other, I shrieked for GH to bring me my computer, while in the same breath berating him for not noticing the Silly Putty covered head of our daughter, who informed me she had stuck it in her hair around lunch time.

After a quick Internet search, GH helpfully related to me that Silly Putty was a silicone based substance, so all we has to do was use something on her hair that broke down silicone. After screaming a few obscenities along the lines of "Who the hell knows what breaks down silicone!?!?" and ranting that I never took chemistry, GH proceeded to scroll down to where helpful mothers shared their own Silly-Putty-in-hair experiences.

After reading through the page, we decided that the hand sanitizer method sounded the most reasonable. Marching K up into the bathroom, I doused her putty covered locks in Purell, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and waited the suggested 20-60 minutes.


After 60 minutes (yeah, I waited the maximum just to be safe), I unwrapped K's hair and rinsed her head in the tub. And, miracle of miracles, the flesh colored goo came out of her hair.

Feeling relieved, I informed K just how lucky she was not to have had half of her hair cut off. I dried her hair, thanking the heavens for the Internet and web savvy moms. However, as the hair dried, I realized there was a problem. The place where the putty was was oddly sticky and greasy.

I doused her head with dish washing liquid. Shampoos, conditioners, even rubbing alcohol (another silicone destroying product- I swear I didn't invent that out of desperation) wouldn't take it away. After several days of washing, it's still oddly sticky and greasy in that one spot. I've made her wear her hair up to hide the remaining yuckiness.

I know it will wear out, eventually. Until then, I will continue to keep Silly Putty on my growing list of hated substances.

I Want To Be Hannah Montana When I Grow Up

Thanks to watching repetitious hours of the Disney channel due to winter storms and below zero temps, my 5-year-old K is madly in love with Hannah Montana.


(This poster actually lives on K's wall)

But what little girl isn't? I mean, you can't avoid Hannah Montana these days- she is everywhere! Hannah Montana shampoo, Hanna Montana sheets, Hannah Montana snacks. Seriously, if I see Hannah Montana toilet paper, I'm leaving the country.



Hannah Montana is in the the news constantly. Her tickets sell for thousands of dollars, and her concerts have been likened to Beetle mania. And yesterday? One of her songs was on my radio station! It's bad enough that I catch myself humming Hannah Montana tunes while fixing dinner, but now she's officially invaded my grown-up air waves.

When all is said and done though, I guess I find myself wishing I could be Hannah Montana. I mean, the girl has everything! Fame, popularity, more money than she could spend in a lifetime, and the adoration of little girls all over the country. The adoration of my little girl! (I bet if Hannah Montana told K she wasn't allowed to have a candy bar before dinner she wouldn't burst into tears and storm out of the room. But, I digress...)Grown-ups appreciate her too for her wholesome image and inspiring songs about girl power, and so on. Plus? Being 15 again would be great. I mean, that was ages before things stared traveling south. If I was my 15-year-old self again, I would definitely be rocking it on stage. So keep on rocking it Hannah. Before you're old. And fat. It will happen. (Please let me be alive to see it).

So Hannah, though I may lament your cheery beats as they pop around in my brain, my daughter loves you, which means I guess I do a little too. Just please stay off my grown-up air waves- it's one of my few adult sanctuaries. Oh, and please don't get pregnant. I really don't want to have to try to explain that one to my 5-year-old.....

I Did It!!

Yesterday I took my Praxis exam. I was so nervous I was shaking and nodding like a complete idiot when I got to the testing site, and I think the test administer thought I was a bit off.

After 4.5 (see my stellar new mathematical skills?) of staring at a computer screen and fighting anxiety induced stomach cramps, I hit the button to finish, and waited as two out of my three scores were computed instantly. I needed a 175 on each part in order to be accepted into the program I'm applying for.

The Results:
Reading- 185
Math-180

Yeah me!!!! After several years of not taking any kind of test, or performing any math functions outside of basic adding and subtracting, I still passed.

Last night I packaged up all of my application materials, and this morning sent them out first thing. Now I wait. For up to two months. Wait, and imagine all of the applications, better than mine, piling up in the college admissions office. Waiting, and hoping a call will come. Waiting...

At least I can feel good knowing that I tried. Now at least I'll know if I was good enough to get into the program. I'll be keeping my fingers crossed, praying that I am.

I Love My Children But.....

I love both of my children. Dearly. But sometimes, sometimes, I'd really like send them both off to military school. Just for a little while. Just long enough for them to absorb enough discipline to keep them from terrorizing each other. For the concept of honor to sink in just far enough to keep them from ratting each other out for every imagined indiscretion. To be self-sufficient enough that they can get their own glass of water while I'm on the toilet.

In an effort to make up for lost quality time with the kids, I took vacation time from work while they were out of school for Christmas break. I imagined cuddle time, story time, loads of backing, and fun craft projects. What I got instead were two stir crazy children. Even though we took them to the movies, traveled to the world's best sledding hill, and had parades of seldom seen, exotic family members tramping through the house, it just wasn't enough. We build gingerbread houses, baked sugar cookies, and cut out snowflakes. Still, nothing compared to the sheer joy of constant whining, and sibling bickering.

Yesterday was the kid's first day back at school, and my first day back at work. I was ashamed at the relief I felt at the calm, steady murmur of adult voices. GH reclaimed the house with glee, and I suspect he snuck in a nap and some computer gaming time (ass). With the welcome break from each other, I thought the evening would be a breeze. Sometimes I can be a real dumb-ass. Instead of happy children, pleasantly tired from a fun day of friends and stimulating learning, I arrived home to a temper tantrum from G, and two over-tired, hungry, crabby insane little midgets. And GH? I expected a relaxed, calm, house husband with dinner on the table. Instead, I was greeted with a hubby frazzled by the assault of the children,battling raging temper tantrums, and fighting over after-school snacks. Dinner was a over an hour late, lending its self to the general crankiness.

Hopefully today will be a bit more on track. In the meantime, I fantasize about military school. Perhaps they would let me send GH as well.....