MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I didn't want to do a post a poetry post . Have a MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Running out of time...

My birthday is November 9th. Yikes! I don't think I am going to make all my goals.

• get back to my Saturday afternoon posts - I'll start next week. I forgot to yesterday.
  
• get puppies
• finish addition in rocket math- I'm close.
• start and try to teach puppies how to fetch and obey
• write eight letters to family members
• decorate my bedroom wall- Mom says we can do this on my birthday since she is going out of town.
• go on three hikes
• reread Black Stallion

Are you working on a list too?

8 Things

My Mom did a list of things to do before she turned 40. It inspired me to make one of my own. I'd better hurry, my birthday is on November 9th.

8 Things To Do Before I Turn 9

• get back to my Saturday Afternoon Poetry posts
• get puppies
• finish all my addition level in Rocket Math
• start and try to finish to teach my puppies how to fetch and obey
• write eight letters to family members
• decorate the walls in my bedroom
• go on three more hikes
• reread Black Stallion

Wish me luck!

God Bless America

Happy Fourth of July, everybody! God bless America!

Photo by my Mom.

Saturday Afternoon Poetry, Week 6

Medusa
Coil and hiss--writhe and twist--
My hairdo won’t get done.
‘Cause one hair hissing, “Ponytail,”
And one yells, “Simple bun,”
One whispers, “Cornrows,”
One screams, “Bangs.”
One shouts, “Just wash and dry it.”
One snaps, “No, curl and tie it,”
One hollers, “Bleach and dye it.”
And how am I to fix my hair
If my hair will not keep quiet?

~ Shel Silverstein

Saturday Afternoon Poetry, week 5

Making Light of Auntie
by X. J. Kennedy

I like to shuffle in my socks
across our scuffy carpet.
And touch Aunt Sue and give her shocks.
I gave her one so sharp it
caused her to shoot right out of her shoes
with WOW a big blue spark!
Now Auntie Sue's the bulb we use
to read by after dark.

Being a Good Steward

My family and I hate littering. Why do people think it's OK to throw their trash on the ground? We were on a hike today at the Roaring River State Park in Cassville, Missouri. We came to a very beautiful place. See?



Anyway, we got out of the car to take pictures and saw a TON of trash all over the place right above where this picture was taken. Including three tires, a garbage can, a case of beer bottles, an old sweatshirt, two dirty diapers, and a bunch more trash. (SUPER DISGUSTING!) I said, "I wish we had plastic bags to pick it up." Luckily, Mom keeps a thing of WalMart sacks in her trunk. Of course, we got them out and our family picked up trash. Look what we found.

We felt fantastic about helping a pretty place look better. After that we went for a hike up to a spring house. The spring house wasn't so great, but look at what pictures I took.


Missouri really is a beautiful place to live. I'm proud that we left the place nicer than we found it.


Please tell me you don't litter, do you?

Saturday Afternoon Poetry, week 4

Tummy Bubble

by Jack Prelutsky

A burp is just a bubble

that forms inside your tum.

But, if it goes the other way

say nothing, just play dumb.

Saturday Afternoon Poetry, week 3

One Inch Tall

by Shel Silverstein

If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.

The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.

A crumb of cake would be a feast

And last you seven days at least,

A flea would be a frightening beast

If you were one inch tall.

If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,

And it would take about a month to get down to the store.

A bit of fluff would be your bed,

You'd swing upon a spider's thread,

And wear a thimble on your head.

If you were one inch tall.

You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.

You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.

You'd run from people's feet in fright,

To move a pen would take all night,

(This poem took fourteen years to write--

'Cause I'm just one inch tall).

Saturday Afternoon Poetry, week 2

Boa Constrictor
by Shel Silverstein

Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .

Three American Girls

This is Kit Kittredge. She is from 1934. That's so old! That was during the Great Depression. Kit and her family really had to work together because there wasn't much money. She was robbed and everyone thought it was by a hobo, but it wasn't. Her father had already lost his job. They were going to loose the house, but then Kit's best friend Ruthie talked her father, the bank owner, into letting the Kittredge's keep their house for two extra months. Sterling, a boy from Kit's class, had to come and live with them when they took in borders. Kit saw a dog that no one could feed anymore and her mother let her keep it. The dog's name was Grace.

This is Josephina. She is from 1824. Her mother died and her father runs the family. Her aunt, Tia Delores, still lived in Mexico City. When she came to visit, the girls realized how much they needed a helper so they asked her to stay. She said yes. During a flood the Montoyas lost tons of their sheep. Tia Dolores had the idea to use all the wool to trade for more sheep. Josephina three sisters knew how to weave, but Jospehina didn't. Tia Dolores and her helper, Teresita, taught Josephina how to weave. They need to learn how to read and write, too. Tia Dolores to the rescue again.



Now that I have both American Girl dolls, they are best friends. We are three American girls.

Saturday Afternoon Poetry, week 1

Sick

'I cannot go to school today,'
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
'I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more-that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut-my eyes are blue-
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke-
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play! '

~ by Shel Silverstein ~

Sick girl art found here.