I will not eat them, either.

Every morning it’s the same thing.

I am awoken to a bonk on the head and over my eyes I see the same familiar thin hardcover.

“Wead oouss book.”

No hi, mommy.  Good morning, mommy.  I love you, mommy.  Not even a “please.”

“Op on pop.”

Growing up, I never had Dr. Seuss books in the house.
Don’t feel bad.  I had 4 Cabbage Patch Dolls.  A complete kitchen set. Barbies, Atari 2600 and ON-TV. You remember ON-TV. An extra descrambled cable channel before there was ever cable.

So I am excited the boy has taken to the books so much and we would never be able to have a proper birthday celebration for the author without this:

Well, I think the eggs turned out okay, anyway.

My plan eventually will be to make a calendar with all the cool events for crafting.
Fat Tuesday, Arbor Day and the rest of them that I can’t remember now and will probably forget later.

But in the meantime, here is my rhyming contribution for the day:

Little Mary, six years old, heard something at her school.
The boys were talking of a thing and said it was uncool.
‘Twas something she was not to do,
for she was never told.
About her little brother William,
a lad of four years old.
Why, pals they were and they had fun.
He was her bestest friend.
The riding bikes and snowball fights,
it all would have to end.
She thought of laughing and of songs,
a recent kick ball game.
To reject him and ignore him now,
well, that would be a shame.
She knew not when it was disallowed
or why it was so silly.
She could not fathom such a thought
and not play with her Willie.
“He needs me and we’re family!” “It’s awful and unkind.”
A protective sister, yes she was,
and gave them a piece of her mind.
“I can not do it! You can’t make me,
that thing you earlier said.”
“What’s that you say? It’s still okay.
It means something else instead?”

Probably not appropriate for children’s reading.