33 weeks, 5 days, 4:58 PM

Oh! I am the most pregnant I have ever been! The boys were born at 33 weeks and 5 days, O at 4:50 and H and 4:57.

Weird!

unknown

Fleas
Adam
Had 'em

Happy Poetry Month!

Todd

A Haiku

Todd no like poem month.
Boys crying in big boy beds.
Must agree with Dad.

Jack Prelutsky

As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed

As soon as Fred gets out of bed,

his underwear goes on his head.

His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,

a head's no place for underwear!"

But near his ears, above his brains,

is where Fred's underwear remains.

At night when Fred goes back to bed,

he deftly plucks it off his head.

His mother switches off the light

and softly croons, "Good night! Good night!"

And then, for reasons no one knows,

Fred's underwear goes on his toes.

Anderson Cooper

I know, it's not a poem, or a poet. But I just loved this quote from Anderson's blog this morning!

"By the way, I know what you’re thinking: How can he write about the weather when the government has declared a public health crisis? To that I say, look, I know you’re afraid that we’re all going to die from Pig Flu. And, let’s face it, we probably are.

But all you can really do at this point is be prudent about traveling, be alert to symptoms you may be exhibiting and go to the doctor if you feel like you may be ill.

So, in the meantime, enjoy the nice weather. Otherwise you’re just letting the pigs win."

Maya Angelou

Another Silverstein

Messy Room

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine?
Oh, dear,I knew it looked familiar!

A little tidbit

My cuties singin' at breakfast a few weeks ago:

Owen REEEEALLY wanted to sing "EIEIO."

Elaine Magliaro

Giraffe

Giraffe is very tall—
but has a voice so small
you never hear him
bark or roar,
sneeze or snore,
screech or howl,
grunt or growl,
caterwaul…
or ever say a word at all.

Perhaps because his head’s so high,
his sounds get lost up in the sky.

Debora Greger

The Poetry of Bad Weather

Someone had propped a skateboard
by the door of the classroom,
to make quick his escape, come the bell.

For it was February in Florida,
the air of instruction thick with tanning butter.
Why, my students wondered,

did the great dead poets all live north of us?
Was there nothing to do all winter there
but pine for better weather?

Had we a window, the class could keep an eye
on the clock and yet watch the wild plum
nod with the absent grace of the young.

We could study the showy scatter of petals.
We could, for want of a better word, call it “snowy.”
The room filled with stillness, flake by flake.

Only the dull roar of air forced to spend its life indoors
could be heard. Not even the songbird
of a cell phone chirped. Go home,

I wanted to tell the horse on the page.
You know the way, even in snow
gone blue with cold.

Jane Kenyon

Biscuit

The dog has cleaned his bowl
and his reward is a biscuit,
which I put in his mouth
like a priest offering the host.

I can't bear that trusting face!
He asks for bread, expects
bread, and I in my power
might have given him a stone.