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

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

My great-aunt* retired a few weeks ago after working at the same job for 30 years (I think it was about 30 years. Coulda been 25...). Anyway, my mom hosted a party to celebrate the retirement. I took the big kids and they made cards. Here is M's card for Aunt Donna. Made without any prompting as to what it should say. I absolutely love it. Call Hallmark. Gragelashin's! Graglashin's! You have wrct vary hard. Now you can stae home. Love, M *Although she is my great-aunt, she is only 11 years older than my mom.

Really. Is there anyone out there that doesn't love these little poppers? I have no earthly idea why I still think they're so fun - but when I saw the display at Target yesterday, I had to buy four boxes. The kids hadn't even seen them yet when I squeeeee'd and ran to put them in our cart. Weird, I know.

I'm sitting at my kitchen table working, a slight breeze blowing in the back door. Babies are napping. Husband is at his own computer. Kids are watching some piece-of-crap cartoon on TV in the basement. The quiet is tremendously satisfying. And then... Up the stairs comes my 7-year-old son, panting, near tears and in a panic. "Mom! Mom!" "What?" "Did you really say that if I tooted one more time, I'd have to go to my room for ten hours?!" [His voice cracking with palpable anxiety.] "WHAT?!" "Did you tell me if I tooted one more time, I'd have to go to my room for ten hours?!" "Did your sister tell you that?" "YES?!" [Voice still registering whiny panic.]

The freckles are really coming out on my older kids' faces this summer. They were simply unavoidable. My husband and I are both freckle-faced and -shouldered. We can slather as much sunscreen on as we want - still freckles. I embraced mine early on - and my kids like theirs. I'm glad. I like them too. At the Browne's Market Irish Street Fair, June 2009 And then there's these two. Their freckles will come, I'm sure. Probably not for another year or two. But as much as these little guys make me mad/crazy/tired/crazy/frustrated/anddidImentioncrazy, look at these faces. Sigh. I can't get enough of these faces. At the playground, May 2009

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.)

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?!

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.

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.

I had the pleasure of having two six-year-old girls in my car for a little while this afternoon. I dropped G at his soccer practice and was on my way to take M and her friend Leah to their soccer practice. But they forgot their water bottles. So, I drove through McDonald's and bought them each a bottle of Dasani water. While in the line, they tried to get me to order them sodas. No such luck, ladies. Their failure launched the following discussion: M: I really like Dr. Pepper. L: I usually get Sprite. Well, sometimes chocolate milk. But usually Sprite. M: Oooh, I like Sprite too. And root beard. L: I like beard. M: YOU drink BEARD?!?! L: Yes. M: REALLY? L: Yes. Well, kid beard. M: Which is Dr. Pepper.

Those who know me know that I'm not an artsy-craftsy mom. Sometimes I wish I was. But most of the time, I like being able to get the kids started on a project and let them complete it on their own. More quiet for me! But I do like building things with them. Lego Harry Potter Hogwarts Castle? Yep. Three hours later, it was built. 500 piece jigsaw puzzles? Yep. Usually finish them on my own after the kids have given up, gotten bored and wandered away. (Come to think of it, that's what happens with Legos too.) And this. Not a gingerbread house for Christmas - a sugar cookie house for Easter. Weird. But $7 at Target. They loved it. And it required no baking.

Thank God for my mom. If I didn't have her, my kids would never dye Easter eggs. Ever. Also? What the hell am I going to do with all of these freaking hard-boiled eggs now?

I took G and M to see Disney on Ice last night. They were thrilled to say the least. During the Lion King portion of the performance, the grown Simba and Nala skated to " Can You Feel the Love Tonight " in a romantic duet. M was apparently disturbed. M: "Oh! That is so gross. When people fall in love and have kids, that is so DISGUSTING!"

My six-year old came home from dance class this evening, dropped off by her BFF's mom. (Yes, she actually uses the term "BFF".) The mom called me out to the car and asked me if there was anything I needed to tell her. Any news? "No," I answered quizzically. She then relayed the following story - originally told to her by my darling daughter: My mom is going to have another baby. At Easter. My mom has a baby every Easter. This one is going to be a girl though. I know because the nurse told me. The same nurse that told me all about my little brothers before they were born. I'm so excited for Easter to come so I can have a sister. That would indeed be big news. As my husband has been fixed. I'd have a lot of 'splainin' to do...

Gimme a head with hair Long beautiful hair Shining, gleaming, Streaming, flaxen, waxen Give me down to there hair Shoulder length or longer Here baby, there mama Everywhere daddy daddy Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair Flow it, show it Long as God can grow it My hair Did you know that my older two used to be able to sing the song "Hair" from the Broadway musical of the same name? Way funny. Courtesy of the Broadway Kids CDs. One of my two-year-olds has been perfecting a David Cassidy as Keith Partridge coif lately. I loved it. It was awesome. You can't see the flowy-ness of the back in this picture. Be assured that it was flowy. Today? Not so flowy. The littlest one got his hairs did too. And so did the girl. She's just so stinkin' pretty it makes my heart ache sometimes.

So, you know how my kids are obsessed with infomercials? The Space Bag , the Buxton Organizer, the Craft-Lite Cutter , Mighty Putty? (Current favorite is, of course, the Snuggie.) Today, C dumped someone's leftover milk off the kitchen counter. All over the floor, cabinets, counter stool. J started wiping it up. I grabbed a rag and was running it under the faucet to follow behind, when M came into the kitchen. "Wait! I'll get the Shamwow!" she said as she ran to the laundry room. Yes, Internets. We are proud owners of the Shamwow . (And also, Debbie Meyer's Green Bags, which Santa brought for G's stocking. Heh.) In my defense (a weak one, I'll admit), I didn't order the Shamwow from Tony on TV. I bought them at Target from an As Seen on TV endcap. Because I'm a sucker.

When I was One, I had just begun. When I was Two, I was nearly new. When I was Three I was hardly me. When I was Four, I was not much more. When I was Five , I was just alive. But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever, So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

It is 60 degrees here today. My husband wore shorts and a T-shirt while he worked on another home improvement project in the driveway. The neighbor was just outside, walking the dog, in shorts and flip-flops. And my three favorite people who can speak in intelligible, complete sentences (...most of the time - I'm looking at you, J) are downstairs on the patio, hanging out. The temperature is dropping a little bit, so they've got a blanket. I wish every day could be like this one. ******** In other news, my almost 6 year old told me that our house is "kinda rich." I asked her what she meant and she told me "You know, it's pretty fancy." We do have a nice house in a nice neighborhood but I was appalled. We had to have a quick and dirty talk about bragging, showing off and the like. Here's hoping some of it sticks.