Yankee Poodle

Chickie was singing "Yankee Doodle" today, at times making up her own lyrics. Then I decided to get in on the fun.

It's probably terribly hypocritical of me to teach my kids this song when I'm always telling them, "No potty talk!" But their giggles made it all worth it...and at dinnertime I laid down the law and told them this isn't a song to be sung at the table!

Here it is:

Yankee Poodle
by C. Beth, with regrets to whatever 18th-century lyricist wrote the original

Yankee Poodle is a dog
With lots of curly hair
When he tries to eat the trash,
We say, "Get out of there!"

Yankee Poodle is a dog,
And he is really naughty--
After he eats all the trash,
He drinks out of the potty.

Monday Micro: A Valentine's limerick

We had a fun event with church friends Saturday. The youth group watched our kids, while a bunch of us moms & dads went to breakfast together, then did a scavenger hunt. (My friend Ann did a great job organizing it!) One item we were instructed to bring back was a Valentine's poem written on a napkin.

Without further ado, here's mine:

My darling, we make quite a pair.
For Valentine's, please show me you care.
But my age is not two,
So whatever you do,
Don't give me a stupid plush bear.

Hope your Valentine's Day is full of love and laughter!

A happy haiku (and a picture too)

my kids bring me joy
but sometimes mom needs a break
at starbucks, alone

Ballad of a teething kid

Zoodle's cutting another tooth. At times like this, he undergoes a temporary personality change...particularly at bedtime and naptime. If normally-even-tempered babies and toddlers could put into words what they feel when they're teething, I think it would go something like this.

Ballad of a teething kid

Daddy, I've heard you,
I've heard you brag.
And Mama, you've smiled
From behind a diaper bag.
"Our child's so sweet,"
You tell one and all.
But I'm gonna throw you
A baby curve ball!

I gotta bad fee-eelin',
Just sends me ree-eelin'.
Don't know why I hurt,
Why I drool on my shirt,
All I know is I cry
And I just don't know why.
Will I ever feel better again?

From almost day one,
I slept through the night,
Went down for naps
With barely a fight
But Mama, that's past,
Like a beautiful dream.
Now every night,
I'm going to SCREAM!

I gotta bad fee-eelin',
Just sends me ree-eelin'.
Don't know why I hurt,
Why I drool on my shirt,
All I know is I cry
And I just don't know why.
Will I ever feel better again?

Daddy, you wonder,
Is your sweet baby gone,
Replaced by this monster
Who fusses 'til dawn?
I'd wonder too
If I wasn't so busy
Chewing my fingers,
In a terribly tizzy.

I gotta bad fee-eelin',
Just sends me ree-eelin'.
Don't know why I hurt,
Why I drool on my shirt,
All I know is I cry
And I just don't know why.
Maybe soon I'll feel better again.

Zoodle, you're 2! (Here's a poem about you.)

Two years ago today, I woke up at 2:30 in the morning to pain...quickly followed by excitement.

Just over five hours later, we'd grown into a family of four.

Zoodle's birth was an unmedicated water birth at a freestanding birthing center. To say it was an amazing experience is to trivialize it. Recently I wanted to write a poem about that life-changing day and what it meant to me. The poem is below. (This poem is structured as a villanelle, with its specific scheme of rhymes and repeating lines.)

Birth day
by C. Beth

From water to water, from womb to breast
Indignant young cries join jubilant tears
God’s newest creation, held to my chest

You journeyed on waves of pain, every crest
Nudged you closer—pain brings joy, it appears,
From water to water, from womb to breast

“I did it!” I cry. “I passed the test!”
I kiss my reward for conquering fears—
God’s newest creation, held to my chest

“This labor,” they say, “made you tired. Now rest.”
But my soul dances to the song that it hears!
From water to water, from womb to breast!

The hours pass quickly; the sun travels west
But I’ll grasp this day to my heart, all my years—
God’s newest creation, held to my chest

Sweet son, let’s go home, settle into our nest
Where I’ll whisper joy in your perfect new ears.
From water to water, from womb to breast,
God’s newest creation, held to my chest

Copyright 2010. All rights reserved.





Happy birthday, Zoodle. You bring me joy!

A limerick letter for 2010

I'm still loving the blog Seven Days Seven Answers, with its daily writing cues. Yesterday's cue was, "Write a letter giving yourself instructions for the new year."

Here is my response. I hope I can remember it throughout 2010!

Listening to a house

ClinkClinkClink
A cookie cutter
(for Play-Doh-turned-gray)
dropped by
still-small fingers
onto the tile floor

SkcchSkcchSkcch
Toenails (grown too long)
on the persistent dog
at the back door
ready to exchange prowling
for air conditioning

TickaTickaTicka
A toy being used
as a spoon in a plastic bowl
stirring imaginary food
stirring a toddler's
growing mind

And
Bang and
Clonk and
Hhhh and
Eeee! and
Aaah... and
Crinkle and
Tap and
Jing!

Children seen.
Children heard.
(Dog too.)

Happy home.

A little limerick

Nighttime wakings and daytime woe

Chewing sippy cup, finger, and toe

but my fine, strapping youth

finally got his first tooth--

It's too bad there's still nineteen to go!

(No photos yet--it's barely visible on the rare occasions he stays still enough for me to look in there!)

Monday Micro: Academy Award Poetry

I used to watch the Oscars,

And root for films I liked.

(Titanic disappointed me;

When Crash won I was psyched.)

Now, bringing kids to cinemas

Elicits groans and frowns.

But I don't need to see the films--

I watch the Oscars for the gowns.

(And wasn't Marissa Tomei's fabulous?)

Poetry

While I enjoy writing poetry about silly things like the Funky Fairy and my great old Honda, there was a day when I actually used to sit and write more, well, seriously. I really liked doing that, and I think I need to get back into it. I remember loving the creative writing class I took my senior year of college (nine years ago), and tonight I dug out the poems I wrote for it. Here are two of them.

King of Phoenix

He enters on tiptoe
Coming, going, teasing
Until he invades with
        Massive.
                Dense.
                        Boulder-heavy steps.
He oppresses us
Gleefully,
Never sleeping
Sneaking through
Sturdy, sealed windows,
Briefly opened doors,
Arrogantly brushing by pink and timid insulation
Which bows in surrender
Upon his attack.
He feeds on the lengthening days,
Unsated,
His ravenous hunger accelerating
Until he becomes violent,
Leaving red slap marks
On noses and sandaled feet.
He hides in my car,
Waiting until I open the door
To reach out smoky fingers
And taunt me--
"Stay outside. This is my place.
You could never force me out"
(Maliciously daring me to enter
So he can smother me.)
Those he can't intimidate into fleeing
Cannot hide for long.
Four months
From his golden throne
He rules.

***

Grandma's Dinners

Grandma's dinners were
Fall-apart roast,
Cloudy, whipped potatoes,
Golden, steaming rolls,
Whole strawberry preserves,
Fresh-squeezed milk,
Churned ice cream
Oozing off cobbler.
Family members chatted
With customers from
Grandpa's auto repair--
Guests as varied
And savory as Grandma's vegetables.

Only one visitor
Sneaked in, unwelcome.
Cancer invaded Grandpa.
Long short waiting
For the inevitable
Was more pleasant
(Or more bearable)
For both with
Grandma's bountiful meals.
Smiling and afraid,
She continued cooking,
And, later, feeding,
Until Grandpa slept at last.

Grandma's dinners are
Pasteurized milk over
Kellogg's Corn Flakes,
Or Chunky Jif
And Smucker's smashed
In Wonder Bread.
How and Why,
I wondered initially,
Can my grandma,
Whose potent chili
Kicks tastebuds, shouting,
"STAND!" and "saLUTE!"
Exist on cereal and sandwiches?

Now I grasp
(More, yet shallowly)
Grandma's rare philanthropy.
She lavishly shares
Riches of herself.
Her full house
Is now Her.
She eats cereal
And peanut butter,
Because for Grandma,
Roast isn't filling
Without anyone to
Cook for, to share with.

The Funky Fairy

The moon is out, the lights are down,
And everyone’s asleep.
The Funky Fairy comes to town--
That crazy little creep.

He flies right past the neighbors' homes,
A smirk upon his face.
There’s nothing random when he roams—
He’s headed for my place.

Tonight my house is just his toy,
And enter it he must.
Once in, he sprinkles girl and boy
With Funky Fairy Dust.

We all awake with happy grins,
No sign of frown or sob—
‘Til Funky Fairy Dust begins
To do its evil job.

Chickie just can’t have her way,
And so she starts to cry
Zoodle’s naps are kept at bay,
No matter what I try.

The Funky Fairy’s potion
Overwhelms my tots
With Zoodle’s strong emotion,
And Chickie’s “I will NOT”s!

So think upon this tale tonight
As you are laying down—
Because that Funky Fairy might
Be headed to your town.

A love poem

Ode to My Honda

I purchased you six years ago
Your miles were 50K
Your engine is six cylinder,
Your paint a silver-gray

I loved your soft tan leather
Caressed your clean dashboard
Showed off that flippy-open thing
Where sunglasses are stored

I've watched the digital odometer
Creep higher every year
When we hit 150K
I rejoiced, my dear

Your seats have scratches now
Your engine makes some noise
And underneath two carseats
Are crackers, crumbs, and toys

But we live in sweet Accord
Although your paint is dull
Why are you so adored?
My dear, you're paid in full.

About Me--vote for your favorite poem!

If you'll scroll down the page, you'll see a little "About Me" blurb on the right hand side of the page. Unfortunately, my "About Me" section is nauseatingly boring. So I've decided to replace it...and you get to help me choose what to replace it with! I've written three poems in various styles. Read them, then vote for your favorite in the Comments section below.

1. About Me: A Haiku

Chickie and Zoodle
daily convincing Mommy
it's fun to go mad

2. About Me: A Limerick

With my toddler, and infant, and dog,
No wonder my brain's in a fog.
So do you have the guts
To come see me go nuts?
Take a seat, get online, C. Beth Blog!

3. About Me: A Shakespearean Sonnet
My Mommy resume' is long and dense.
It's filled with all my schooling and degrees--
A Master's in Detecting Poopy Scents,
A Doctorate in Making Great Grilled Cheese.
And then peruse the list of skills I've got,
For I can read a board book upside down.
I can't yet get my tot to use the pot,
But sometimes I can take away her frown!
My reference list is short, but all you need,
And you can contact both if you so choose.
You'll hear a lot from Chickie, yes, indeed;
Good luck translating all of Zoodle's coos!
I guess this mommy job was made for me--
I only wish the pay was more than...free.