I like gummy bear | i love gummy bear | gummy bear song english

We have a largely finished basement but there is a portion (it's actually under the garage) that is still unfinished and we call it the dungeon. The dungeon is where all of J's music equipment is - you might remember that he plays in a band from this post or this post . The kids are only allowed back there when one of us is with them - so it's a big treat. All four of them like to play the electronic drums. The bigger ones are showing some interest in learning to play the guitar. Here is a glimpse into some family time in the dungeon: J on the Drums on Vimeo . My 39-year-old playing the drums - and a few other folks. The tricycle that H is riding? Was mine as a toddler. And I didn't realize how anti-paparazzi C is. M was there (you saw her briefly) but I think G was reading a book somewhere. Shortly after this was recorded, we left for Red Lobster . (And if you enjoyed reading about Red Lobster, you might need to check out the Red Lobster Server blog . Oh. My. God.)

Today was the last day of school. Kindergarten? Done. First Grade? Done. Any hope of me regaining my sanity in, say...the next 80 days? Nada. J and I decided to take the kids to dinner to celebrate the beginning of summer break. At Red Lobster. I don't know why. J didn't think he'd been to Red Lobster in 20 years. Since a double date in college. Yep, that's my man - taking girls to Red Lobster. Smoooooth, that one. I haven't been since a co-worker's craving for cheddar biscuits took us there more than 10 years ago (and hadn't been before that in probably another 10+ years). But Red Lobster was always my favorite as a child - so I thought my kids would love it. Fried everything. What's not to love? My love for Red Lobster, though, is gone. A moment that has passed. A piece of nostalgia that cannot be created. Two reasons. First, the food. I'm sure it was never particularly great - but breaded and fried popcorn shrimp dredged in cocktail sauce and/or

It's Memorial Day Weekend, which for many means an annual trip to the cemetery to honor lost relatives and friends. But I'd never done that before today. My mother invited my grandmother to church this morning and then offered to take her to the gravesite of her (my grandmother's) parents because she hadn't been in quite some time. So, my two older kids and I tagged along after Mass. I'm a history major and a genealogy buff so cemetery visits are really right up my alley, as morbid as that sounds. And an old cemetery? All the better. My great-grandparents are buried in a Kansas City cemetery, a portion of which dates to the Civil War (most of it was "populated" after the 1920's though). We visited them as well as the graves of my great-great aunt and her son - all gone since the '40s and '50s. The kids and I walked a good bit inside the cemetery grounds, talking about graves and names and soldiers and cemeteries. And a little bit about death an

I've been watching women bloggers (some mommybloggers and some not) fight on Twitter and in their blogs over the last few weeks about product reviews* and transparency and advertising and whatnot. I get it. I understand the positions. I'm tired of reading about it. I'm hoping we're about done with the whole topic. Move on. The thing is, though, there will just be a new topic to fight about a few weeks from now. Another reason for us to decide to rip into each other, get offended and pissed off, write angry posts and fire off insulting Tweets. Why is it that some women on the internet (and, I know, in real life) just can't get along? Why the constant tearing-down of others? Does it really make you feel that much better about yourself? I was talking last weekend with a writer who writes for a prominent national political blog and she mentioned that their commenters are often very clique-y and territorial. And I get that. It's politics. Positions, debates and passi

M had her third dance recital on Friday night. Hard to believe she's been doing this for three years! Her class danced to "Workin' at the Car Wash". It was darling. She was wonderful. There's not much more to say except... Can you believe I actually got in a picture?!

Yesterday, for the first time since I left the practice of law almost three years ago, I attended a professional conference. I spent the day at Chicks Who Click/Kansas City with a room full of fun, cool and very interesting women. (There were four or five men there at different points during the day - a speaker, a conference organizer, a product presenter and a husband or two.) The conference was a full day of speakers, conversations and networking - all centered around social media - blogs, Facebook, Twitter and other online social marketing tools. I feel like I learned a good bit and I'm most excited about meeting so many fabulous people. I'm really glad I went. The resounding - if unintended - theme of the day was the importance of authenticity in your (or your client's) participation in online social media. Be yourself. Trying to be someone else will never ring true, will never gain someone's attention or admiration, will never inspire readers to return, will never

I finished it early! That means I do studio work all day tomorrow. AND I learned that it takes about 5 times longer for me to color in Photoshop than it does in Flash or with marker. No more Photoshop coloring until I learn how to do it the easy way. Anyway this comic is a true story! Em swears she didn't say "I'm not responsible for this!!!" but I totally remember hearing it, and since it's funny to me I kept it in. I'm sure she'll chew me out later. Some more fun: here is the photo taken of Em, 6 seconds before she got yelled at and fell off of the poo barrel. I wish I'd taken one of the aftermath, but I was pretty flustered. Don't kill me, highschool friends!! I'm tired...goodnight! U__U ~~~~~ z z z z

So, my six-year-old is probably not all that familiar with the Paul McCartney-Stevie Wonder '80's duet "Ebony and Ivory." And maybe you're not either. If you're not, then...well...suck it. That means you're way younger than me. M wrote a "song" that I found this morning on her father's desk. It is written on copy paper with yellow highlighter, otherwise I would have photographed it. Without further ado, here's her opus: "You are Black and I am Whiet But sumtimes we wok together! You are the baist I am the Best You are por and I am rich"* And there you have it. No idea where it came from or what it means. *All spelling is hers.

I'm sitting here, scrolling through my Google Reader with my littlest child. As he sees photos, he remarks on them. A photo of a sleeping child on a mommyblog? "Wook! A girl sweeping!" (It was a boy.) A photo of Taylor Swift, 16 year old country singer/ex-girlfriend to a Jonas Brother? "Wook! Is Gwandma!" (My mom will now probably anoint him her favorite grandchild.) A photo of Jon Stewart, short Jewish comedian? "Wook! Is Daddy!" (Who is actually a 6'4" non-Jewish guy.) Farrah Fawcett? Also Grandma. Jessica Simpson? Grandma. Miss California? Grandma. Such a thoughtful child. No?

Today on the way home from piano lessons, my seven-year-old said - out of the blue - "I wish we were rich." We live a comfortable life. I am able to stay home with my kids. We drive newer cars. My children have never wanted for anything (although we do try to teach them the value of money and try not to overindulge them). Other than the fact that my husband is currently out of a job (Oh! Have I not mentioned that? Well, let's just call that a story for another day. And there is a good deal of severance, so we're fine. Thanks.), we're doing just fine for ourselves. So, I'm wondering what it is that the seven-year-old mind thinks about being rich. So....I ask him why he wishes we were rich. G: So we could have a robot that does all of our cooking and cleaning and laundry. Me: Oh. Well, then what would I do? G: You could just relax and watch every TV show you want to watch. Or even just play on the computer. Me: Wouldn't I be bored? G: No. Mom, you just don&

I read Karen's post this morning at Chookooloonks about the reasons she left her law career and changed her life. It is titled "the reveal". I have nothing quite so eloquent or dramatic to disclose about my own decision to leave the practice of law after 10 years but I still saw much of myself in the her words. These in particular: Why I practiced law for as long as I did : After working that hard on both making it through law school and passing the bar exam, it seemed a shame not to use the degree and the license. Despite the bad rep lawyers have, I liked that people assumed I was smart because I was a attorney. I'm not proud of this, but there it is. I also liked proving that not all lawyers are jerks, and would often find myself going out of my way to do so. I loved drafting deals. I really loved it. I didn't so much like reading contracts, and I could take or leave the negotiation part of a deal, but the crafting of a document that was easy to understa

Lesson: Don't make fun of the seven-year-old for having sore muscles before you've fully woken up. Because when you get moving and realize that your right arm from forearm to shoulder is achy and your lower back is stiff, you'll realize that you don't even have a cool excuse like Wii Boxing. Just five fucking rose bushes that needed pruning. And that, my friends, is when you come to accept that you're old. Rose bushes kick my ass in one afternoon.

When G came down from his room this morning, my husband asked the usual, "How are ya, buddy?" The answer: "Not so good." J: Why not? G: My legs, arms, back and neck are not feeling very good. J and I looked at each other quizzically. Then... J: Hey! Bud, remember all of that Wii Boxing heavy bag punching you did yesterday? G: Yes. J: You're sore from that. Remember how hard you were working? (He was sweating like a little pig, he was punching so hard...) Me: That's what happens when you use muscles a whole lot that you don't use very often. My kid who plays sports three times a week and rides his bike CONSTANTLY went to school this morning with sore shoulders from punching a virtual heavy bag. Which is at least more honorable and impressive than the few days after Christmas that I couldn't move because of Wii bowling.

Me (in the car, after Mass last night): Alright, which one of you was tooting all through Mass? G: Oh, that was me... Me: Okay. I know that sometimes you just can't help it. But if you can possibly help it, it is best to NOT toot when you're in a group of people, like at church. G: Okay, sorry. M: You know, Mom. If nobody ever tooted, that would be really helpful. Me: Yes, it would be very helpful. G: But no one would feel very good. The conversation was capped off, I shit you not, by this: Me: OKAY! Who just tooted in the CAR?! M: Oops. That was me...sorry. Not exactly the parental-type lessons I envisioned teaching my kids before I became a parent.

It has rained every weekend since the beginning of April. The kids have played two of their regularly-scheduled six soccer games thus far. Rain-out make-up games have been rained out. Practices have been rained out. Fields are swishy and muddy and nasty. But all of the cancellations have freed up my schedule a bit and that's been nice. Today, though, we were supposed to have an 8am softball practice, a 9:30 soccer game, an 11am baseball practice and a 2pm soccer game. The first soccer game got called last night because of soggy, messy fields. M and J left for the softball practice at 7:55 with droopy eyes and sweatshirts. A few minutes later, J called and asked me to confirm the practice location. I hopped onto my email and replied that practice was at the middle school. The one he was standing at. Alone. Ultimately, no practice. We still don't know why. G and I left at 10:45 for baseball practice. We got the the elementary school ball fields and saw only one team of pre-k kids