Pumpkin Fest!

Our lovely little city has a Pumpkin Fest every year.  We made the shirts that we wore to the pumpkin patch specifically for the Fest!  It didn't escape my notice that we have five people in our family and after hearing the "Five Little Pumpkins" poem for the last three years we decided to do a snapshot poem.

 Five little pumpkins sitting on the gate.

 The first one said "Oh my it's getting late!"

 The second one said "There is frost in the air."

 The third one said "But we don't care!"

 The fourth one said "Lets run and run and run."

 The fifth on said "I really need some fun."

 Oooo went the wind. 

 Out went the light.

 Then the five little pumpkins rolled out of sight!

 At Pumpkin Fest!!!

 These "scarecrows" were all around.  They would sit as still as they could in random places.

 Ready for the parade!  

Kayda won a prize for her age group.  Dillon didn't.  He was really upset so I was carrying him to the car.  The pirates came and cheered him up by giving him some "treasure".  The kids had a great time!  Next year I think I want us all to be scarecrows because that just looks like fun!

The Perfect Philosophy

Those of you who read Kirsten's blog have already seen this. Those of you who don't here it is. Unfortunately for Brian this is the philosophy I have adopted for the sake of our children.

"Babies Don't Keep":
Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth

Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

Hang out the washing and butter the bread,

Sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(lullaby, rock-a-bye, Lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek-peek-a-boo).

The shopping is not done and there's nothing for stew

And out in the yard there is a hullabaloo.

But I'm playing "Kanga" and this is my "Roo."

Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?

(lullaby, rock-a-bye, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

For children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

Ruth Hulburt Hamilton, 1958