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

I received a not-so-subtle email this morning, lodging an "OFFICIAL COMPLAINT" that this blog hasn't been updated since August. Thanks for the kick in the ass, friend who used to clean the popcorn machine and rewind VHS tapes with me at the video store we worked at in high school. (And that, dear readers, will tell you approximately how old I am. I worked at a video store that rented VHS tapes - and had a creepy porn section in the back corner and no one apparently thought it was weird that high school kids stocked, rewound and sold from that section daily. And remember that time when we had to pull all of the Traci Lords tapes because it came out that she was underage? Okay, enough about the video store.) I would say sorry for the digression but it's actually frighteningly on-topic. You'll see. Earlier this school year, I gifted my 10-year-old son with my trusty Merriam-Webster dictionary. The edition that saw me through late elementary, junior high, high school

My older kids discovered YouTube a few weeks ago. Or, I guess, they discovered that they could search YouTube and watch cartoons, movie parodies, bloopers and music videos. I've been trying to keep an eye and ear out for inappropriate videos, which are, of course, abundant on YouTube. Apparently, I haven't been doing too good of a job. This past Saturday, we took the kids and some out-of-town friends to Lawrence for the afternoon. It was a beautiful day after weeks of bitter cold and snow. We were excited to get out of the house and enjoy a brisk, sunny walk down Massachusetts Street and then through campus. We sat down to eat lunch at Free State Brewery on Mass and G - my 9-year-old - started to tell my friend about this funny show he had been watching on YouTube. "It's about this Jamaican Spongebob. He's called Spongebong Hemppants." "WHAT?!" (That was me.) "Spongebong Hemppants. He's really funny." "No. You cannot watch that any

Scene: Sunday night. Mother putting away clean laundry in oldest son's bedroom at bedtime. Son brushing his teeth, then putting on pajamas. ----------------------------------------- Son: Mom, what if you were a spy? Mother: How do you know I'm not? (Brief silence while son ponders the possibility.) Son: Well, you're not agile or flexible enough. Mother (trying not to laugh out loud): How do you know? A good spy hides her special skills. (Another brief silence while son again ponders the possibility.) Son: Do a backbend. (Brief silence while mother remembers a time she could do a backbend.) Mother: Gotta keep some secrets to myself...Good night, small friend.

A month or so ago, I opened the Time Warner bill to find about $30 in pay-per-view movies listed. I pop for an On Demand movie from time to time but none of these were "Hot Tub Time Machine" (don't judge). The list looked a bit more like "Pokemon 4, Pokemon 4, Pokemon 4, Pokemon 4 and Pokemon 4". There was really only one likely suspect. My nine-year-old. Who promptly confessed. And got a good talking-to. The next morning, I found this note on my bedside table: With a single cherry Mike & Ike lying on top of the paper. The boy knows the surefire way to my heart.

My oldest child had his First Communion last weekend. It was rather anti-climactic - especially after they were able to taste unconsecrated bread and wine the week before (so there would be no gagging faces at the altar on Sunday). He specifically requested a bowtie - and so he wore a bowtie. I even learned how to tie it. Thank you, YouTube... Not much of a story to tell (much less entertaining than his First Confession ) but I'll share my favorite picture from the entire day. Our parish is overwhelmingly Hispanic. When I taught 1st grade CCD last year, the kids were named Tino, Isabel, Alicia (pronounced A-LEE-see-uh), Angelina, Yessenia, Oscar, Diego, etc. And Hispanic mothers and daughters really like First Communion (much like the Italian mothers and daughters in the town where I grew up). The dresses, veils, gloves, tiaras and satin purses were over-the-top. And many of the little boys were in head-to-toe white suits, white shirts, white shoes. So, my little Irishman looked a

Back in the day (for the uninitiated, "the day" was circa 1981/1982 for purposes of this post), I was known to attend the school skating parties at my local roller skating rink. Which one of my elementary school friends on Facebook so helpfully pointed out was The Great American Skate on the Berlin Turnpike in Connecticut (was it in Berlin or Newington?). I can still see that rink in my mind's eye. Everything about it. It wasn't in our town so we didn't hang out there per se - just birthday parties and the occasional school skate. But I remember it with excitement. A purely social co-ed activity when there were few others. Fifth and sixth grades were the height of roller rink excitement for me. (Which coincided with the general discovery of boys as cute, giggle-inducing entertainment.) My big kids are first and second graders. Their school has a few after-school skates every year - but we've never attended. Until this month. On a whim, I decided that we'd

This is my church. I was married here. My children were baptized here. I taught CCD (religion classes) here last year to first graders. A lot of lovely memories. Tonight, we made a new one. G made his first confession this evening. Officially called "First Reconciliation", this is an 8-year-old's first chance to say "Bless me Father for I have sinned..." and later rattle off the freshly-memorized Act of Contrition before bolting the confessional. Oh, and to be absolved his sins. He had three choices of confessional priest tonight. Two sat in chairs in far-off niches of the church and took confessions face-to-face (or really shoulder-to-shoulder so the kids wouldn't have to actually confess their heinous second-grade sins while looking a priest in the eye). One sat in a traditional screened confessional behind the red velvet curtains. (Not our church but the confessional looks basically like this one.) G picked Priest #3 behind the curtains. Of course. For th

I think I'm actually going to shut down the ole innernets for the holidays now...here's a pic of my blessed angels. (I'm currently hiding in the office, trying not to kill each and every friggin one of the "angels" before Santa can get here. Day FOUR of winter break, people. Day FOUR. OMG.) This is the photo on my Christmas cards, which were just mailed yesterday. Oh, do I ever have my shit together this year... Anyway, Merry Christmas. I hope that yours is happy and peaceful and whatever you wish it to be.

My oldest is on day three of five days of an oral steroid. He's battling a barky, croupy cough. The steroid is supposed to help. And it also makes him a bit hyper and squirrely. He won't stop talking. Our conversations go a little something like this: What if my name was Eugene? - Okay... I guess I would live on a ship. - What? Because I like sailing and throwing up. - Huh. Remember Stuart Little. - Yeah. It's about a mouse. If I were a mouse, I would scare you. - Okay. Now, I will do a coin trick. Annnnnnnnnnd, scene.

Just picked my kids up at school (first and second grade). Without further ado, here's what they had to say about the hubbub: M: I saw Obama at school. Me: What did he talk about? M: You should never let down your country. Me: What does that mean? M: Letting down your country is bad. Me: But what does that mean? M: Quitting stuff. Like school. G: And there was a senior president there. Named Tim Spicer. It was at Wakefield High School.* M: In Virginia. Me: What else did he talk about? G: Responsibility. M: And compassion. Me: What is compassion? M: Working together. I learned that from the counselor. Not Mrs. Frank though. We have a new counselor named Mrs. Graves. I'm scared of her puppets. And that was that. Totally brainwashed, I tell you. *This kid can't remember to brush his teeth thirty seconds after I tell him to brush his teeth, but he correctly remembered the name of the teenager who introduced the president and the name of the freaking venu

My two-year-olds to each other: Rock, Paper, nuh, nuh, GO! (with rochambeau hand movements) ******* My six-year-old, during a gourmet sloppy joe dinner last night: I have a sesame seed bun. My seven-year-old: I have a delicious and nutritious whole wheat bun. My six-year-old: If I plant these seeds, will it grow bread? ******* My two-year-old at his very first movie last week (very loudly, as the prehistoric squirrel in the Ice Age movies appeared on the screen to start the film): OHMYGOD! WHAT IS THAT? ******* And, I'll leave you with this. What my six-year-old does to her brother when left unattended.

I won't re-tell the Omaha story here. I posted pics and words over at KCKidsFun - click here to read Weekend Family Getaway from Kansas City: Omaha . And we'll be headed back next summer for sure. I've only been asked about it every day since we got back. A big hit.

And...school started this morning. I think I may have been the only asshole who didn't walk her kids in. Dude. It was raining. I had two toddlers in pajamas. Here they are in all of their grown-up glory. Remember what they looked like last year? The year before? Me neither. All I know is that my daughter, who is really not a tomboy, totally looks like one in the outfit she chose for today. The t-shirt does have rhinestones. If you're Beadazzled, you're kinda girly, right?

Those faces. I could eat them with a spoon. So awesome. I love them.

Over the years, I have come to realize that I express myself better on paper or in email than in person. This is true in daily conversation to some extent but it is very true when I'm angry or upset. I can collect my thoughts and say what I really mean. And, I think, it allows my husband to consider my perspective in a similarly contemplative manner before responding. Our most constructive disagreements often involve an exchange of emails. I found this on my husband's desk this evening. The big kids had been playing on his computer earlier in the day. Apparently, big brother wasn't giving little sister her way. There was no written response from G to be found. My guess? He probably just ignored her drama, hoping that it would pass. Like father, like son? :)

My children in their pajamas* playing poker with my husband at the kitchen table. With betting. I'm not even sure what to say about that. Except that it made me laugh and get the camera. They're obsessed. *G is wearing long flannel pajamas. It is July in Kansas. I have no idea what that's all about. It makes me sweaty just to look at him.

I took my big kids to Union Station today to see the Narnia exhibit. I posted about the exhibit over at KCKidsFun - click here to see some cute video of the kids. We had lunch at the Harvey House Diner, with milkshakes of course. Then we walked The Link from Union Station to Crown Center to see the LEGO exhibit, which was pretty cool (though smaller than I expected). And then we stopped at the toy store. Didn't buy anything but I enjoyed watching them roam the store more than anything else we did all day.

About a week or so ago, my two older kids and I went for a walk. It was mostly just to kill time and get out of the house before bed. I grabbed my camera and asked the kids to tell what to take pictures of. There wasn't much happening on our wooded walking trail that evening, so we got lots of pics of flowers and foliage. And we brought some daisies home with us and deposited them into a bud vase and a tall shot glass on the kitchen windowsill. A few days later, I noticed we brought home a little bit more than plant matter. A tiny green inchworm had taken up residence on one of the daisies. I showed him to G - who promptly adopted the little creature. And named him Mark. Mark is dead now. But he was a good worm. We will miss him.

Seven-year-old boys are kinda weird. Let's just get it out there. I said it. It's true. Actually, boys in general are kinda weird from age five until age...well, whatever. Boys are weird. Here's G showing me how tough he is with the pseudo-mohawk he had for five minutes while his father buzzed him. He couldn't even keep a straight face. I love this kid. And,yes, mother, it's gone now.

My people. A whole afternoon with just my five favorite people. (And the animals and other freaks at the zoo.)