Icky Sicky

Isaac had a short-lived stomach bug yesterday.  If he had to be sick during Spring Break, he picked the best day -- it rained, sleeted and snowed.  He spent most of the day sleeping, then woke up this morning his usual  quirky self.

Here's a sick day poem for you, even though the sickness has passed.

Sick Day

I’m feeling sick and getting worse. 
I think I’d better see the nurse.
I’m sure I should go home today.
It could be fatal if I stay.
I’m nauseated, nearly ill.
I have a fever and a chill.
I have a cold. I have the flu.
I’m turning green and pink and blue.
I have the sweats. I have the shakes,
a stuffy nose, and bellyaches.
My knees are weak. My vision’s blurred.
My throat is sore. My voice is slurred.
I’m strewn with head lice, ticks, and mites.
I’m covered in mosquito bites.
I have a cough, a creak, a croak,
a reddish rash from poison oak,
a feeble head, a weakened heart.
I may just faint or fall apart.
I sprained my ankle, stubbed my toes,
and soon I’ll start to decompose.
And one more thing I have today
that makes me have to go away.
It’s just as bad as all the rest:
I also have a science test

by Ken Nesbitt,
from When the Teacher Isn't Looking

Lazy Day

The weather took a turn for the worse so Isaac and I voted for staying in our pajamas and watching TV on this gray Spring Break day.  What are you doing?

I Don't Know What to Do Today

I don't know what to do today.
Perhaps I'll go outside and play,
or stay indoors and watch TV,
or take a bath, or climb a tree.

Or maybe I'll go ride my bike,
or pick my nose, or take a hike,
or jump a rope, or scratch my head,
or play a game, or stay in bed,
or dance a jig, or pet the cat,
or drink some milk, or buy a hat,
or sing a song, or read a book,
or change my socks, or learn to cook,
or dig a hole, or eat a pear,
or call my friends, or brush my hair,
or hold my breath, or have a race,
or stand around and slap my face.

I'm so confused, and bored, and blue,
to not know what I ought to do.
I guess that I should just ask you.
So, what do you think I should do?

--Kenn Nesbitt, from My Hippo has the Hiccups

Do I Have To?

2013 is my year to try new recipes.  Matt and I have enjoyed the variety so far and discovered some new foods.  But Isaac is not so thrilled to be asked to eat something other than grilled cheese and apples.  I can sympathize because I was a picky eater, too.  I don't think I ever tried this, though.

Twenty Bucks
By Darren Sardelli

When I asked dad for twenty bucks,
he said, “Lets make a deal.
I’ll give you money only if
you eat a healthy meal.”
I found him sitting on the couch
before I went to bed.
I looked into his tired eyes
and this is what I said:

“I finished all my vegetables.
The carrots tasted great!
I ate the piece of celery
that mom put on my plate.
The eggplant was delicious
and the string beans were divine.
The peppers were fantastic
and the broccoli was fine.
The giant baked potato
was the highlight of my night.
The juicy red tomato
filled my belly with delight."

My dad said he was proud of me
and handed me the cash.
I hope he doesn't find out
all this food is in the trash!

Bouncing 'Round the Room

We went to Monkey Joe's today so this poem seemed appropriate.  Substitute "Easter" at the end and it is even more fitting for this week. Brownie points to the person who knows where the blog title comes from.

"Bouncing Off the Windows"

I'm bouncing off the windows.
I'm bouncing off the walls.
I'm feeling like my feet are made
of bouncing rubber balls.

I'm running like I'm crazy.
I'm running like I'm mad.
I might seem like a lunatic
but, boy, I'm feeling glad.

I'm jumping like a kangaroo
or like a jumping bean.
I act this way at least a week
right after Halloween.

--Kenn Nesbitt

Springing Up

It is the first day of April.  The first day of National Poetry Month.  The first day of our full week of spring break.  And Easter Monday.  It is also the first day of me getting back into the habit of posting.  I will start with a poem a day and then focus on books once April is over. For now, enjoy.  This is one of my favorites.

Morning Has Broken by Eleanor Farjeon

Morning has broken, like the first morning. 
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird. 
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning, 
Praise for them springing fresh from the Word. 

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlight from heaven. 
Like the first dew fall, on the first grass. 
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden, 
Sprung in completeness where His feet pass. 

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning. 
Born of the one light Eden saw play. 
Praise with elation, praise every morning; 
God's recreation of the new day. 

Morning has broken, like the first morning. 
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird. 
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning, 
Praise for them springing fresh from the Word.