It started with a fever
That led to a thermometer
Inside an open mouth
That seemed too red
With white bumps in back,
Which led to the doctor
Who made us wait
In her greenhouse of germs
Where virus smears lurk
And love little bodies
Like the ones with strep,
So they climbed inside
And waited for some days
Before ‘sploding out a tush
And hurtling out a mouth
Into another
And another
And another
Until we all were bedded down
With sharts and shivers and Schweppes,
And then when things seemed better
And one went off to school
With a little weakened body,
Susceptible to germs,
We caught a cold.
Category: Silversteinery
Silverstein for Parents (from the Momplex Blog archives)
I’ve been writing Shel Siverstein-istic things for parents here and there, because I don’t have time to write the great American novel. Also, because I’m lost in parenthood land, I tend to think in raps and rhymes a lot. Anyway, I use his name liberally, because I think Shel would actually shudder at some of these. (I should probably call him Sheldon, since we’ve never met.) Here are some samples, on top of those that I’ve posted in the past (filed under Silversteinery):
NOTICE
I’ll do
The soothing,
He’ll suckle
Just me
As you surf
All the shows
On your flat-screen TV.
But if you play Wii
While I clean up this pee?
Bye, bye, divorcee!
***
LEGENDS
Miranda’s newborn sleeps all night,
Jane’s is diaper-free,
Debbie’s walked at just eight months,
Anne’s uses the potty,
Rosie’s baby learned to read,
Ann’s kid has never hit,
But I can say with confidence,
They all are full of shit.
***
FERTILITY CARE
Starting a family’s a wonderful choice,
And don’t try to tell us it’s not,
Our triplets are healthy and brilliant and cute,
It’s we who are going to rot.
***
IF I HAD A NANNY
If I had a nanny she’d be South Americanny,
And I’d probably call her mammy
When she pushed my baby’s prammy.
She could make my kids a sammy
While I sunbathe in Miami.
But if perhaps she didn’t nod
When I said, “Don’t spare the rod,”
Or if she had a rockin’ bod,
Or made me feel like a tightwad,
I’d take care of my own freaking kids and fire her ass.
Where the Sidecar Ends (from the Momplex Blog archives)
Come with me, to the bottom of the glass
Where you’re smart and you’re funny and you’ve got a great ass
Where you can’t smell the diapers and can hear your own thoughts
Where your shirt is not covered in spit-up or Mott’s.
Come with me, to the bottom of the glass,
Where there’s room for gray areas and space to be crass,
Where you no longer care what is stuck to your floor,
Be it beans, spuds, or remnants from last year’s Yom Kippur
Come with me, to the bottom of the glass
Where you don’t have to face off with bedhead or sass
And you’re light years away from today’s kinder din,
Come quick, though! Tomorrow’s today yet again.
The Second Magpie 