It was nine feet high, six feet wide, soft as a downy chick
It was made from the feathers of forty-leven geese
Took a whole bolt of cloth for the tick
It could hold eight geese, four hound dogs,
and piggy-wiggy stole from the shed
We didn't get a lot of sleep but we had a lot of fun
In grandma's feather bed.
Did you sing this song in elementary school?
For sixth grade graduation, we sang a song to the tune of Grandma's Feather Bed that went like this:
It was K-6 rain or shine, some snow but we didn't mind
Mother always made us come to school
Unless we were about to die
Oak Grove, you have so many kids
And I was only one
We got a lot of work but we had a lot of fun
At Oak Grove, but now we're done.
I hate the tone of poems for kids. They annoy the shit out of me. Last night I was reciting some of my old poetry from when I was a kid to Morgan and it was annoying the shit out of me.
I hate fake wholesomeness, and I'm certain it's because I relished in it at the peak of my awkwardness at age 10.
During my Laura Ingalls Wilder obsession, I wore an apron around the house while I picked shit up off the floor. I also braided my hair and wore mismatched kneesocks while I played in the woods that I had named "Susanville." Before I went into Susanville, I had to hold my hands like Dr.Spock and swear that I would "Play hard and have a good time." At this point I tried out for a play that I didn't make and my only line would have been, "Mother the pudding is singing in the copper!"
Bless my heart.
In the Bay Area, folks put stuff out on their sidewalks instead of taking it to the goodwill. I have some art girl neighbors and I got a couple of yards of clean fabric that looks like matress ticking. I should make a jumper.