London Eli Scout
What is now proved was once only imagined. - William Blake
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A little London then . . .
Every now and then I look into my archive of Posts I Forgot to Ever Publish. I’ve got journals filled with ideas and bits and pieces of article starts and story lines and sentences that go nowhere and words that have never seen the light of day. I fell across a sweet one tonight though. London is thirteen years old now. She has the recipe for her own specially curated potato soup inside of her head and she makes it spontaneously, no need to refer to to the original instructions any longer. She is capable of being an excellent map navigator and she is learning how to speak Spanish…
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Five Finds Friday (two videos & BBQ chicken & a full circle story)
At one point in this week I was like, “What?? It’s only Tuesday? No. I have lived more than two days already this week. It must be Friday.” So now here I am at Friday and I think this week took two weeks instead of one. What I’m saying is, friends, I don’t know how your house is faring, but it’s been a long week over at my house. I’m pulling into the weekend with an empty tank but hopeful for rest at the end of this week. FUNNY You might think I’m the funny one in my family. What? Someone might think that. I AM…
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scout. a poem to her.
She wears gray Chuck Taylors and dull colored hoodies. She’s always buttoned down and smoothed over and tidy, but she’s never showy, and the shiniest thing she’s ever owned are the brand new sparkling diamond earrings she’s only recently acquired. She laughs easily but seldom loudly or exuberantly. When you catch a glimpse of silly or tear-producing laughter from her, you know you’ve been handed a gift and if you’re wise, you’ll join in and embrace the joke. She’s deep and her thoughts are logical and creative and she’s beautiful in a pure and pleasing way. I’m so glad to call her Daughter. ___________________…
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A Love Poem About Birthdays, But Mostly About London Scout
This month I attended a really spectacular workshop on teaching poetry. Incredibly valuable and really inspiring actually. As attendees and students, we were walked through how we could teach our students poetry and we practiced all the games/ideas/talking points to help lead the kids to positive and meaningful experiences with poetry. (I hope to take this new knowledge and do something good with it this year.) In one exercise we ended up writing our own poem based on a famous poem by one of two poets. I chose Carl Sandburg, because he’s my guy you know. I was influenced by the birthday of London – thirteen. Such a significant…
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Hiking With Kids: John Rock Trail
Last week there was a funk permeating our home. The reasons were multiple and included but were not limited to strep throat for one, an infection for another, a handful of extra editing deadlines for me and a schedule with a bit too much Go and not enough Stay. Midweek we had a little Family Meeting (complete with The Rolling Pin That Allows The Holder To Speak) and we refocused our efforts, made a list of what we could Say No to, added in a Family Night of movies and pillows and pasta fagiole and we all left the table feeling a bit more hopeful with the promise of a restful…
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Five Finds Friday (eight)
I didn’t do one of these little gems two weeks ago because it was Christmas day – and last Friday found us on another holiday – New Year’s Day. But I think I’ll proceed as planned today. FUNNY My funny seldom comes from the internet. (But I want to laugh more so if you know some internet funny that would crack me up – I’m listening.) But my funny comes a lot from my kids and that’s pretty acceptable to me. Probably my favorite Christmas gift this year was made for me by London. You know how sometimes you just hear some songs wrong and then…
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initiative & love
I don’t know if we switched up his dog food or if he just had some freakish gut issue for a day or two, but last week our boy Ryder had some serious doggie diarrhea. (You know, I’ve written about kid poop and vomit and all the kinds of disgusting, why not dog diarrhea – eh?) It was so bad that my Google history will reveal some pretty bizarre searches on how to ease all of our suffering over here. At any rate, I think it was a day when everything was already kind of chaotic and when we walked into our home and smelled the horrific dog poop scent…
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listen.
We were walking down a street. London asked me, “Mom – did you see that sign back there?” I hadn’t, so she explained to me what the sign had said. “Mom. It was kind of cool. It said – No God. No peace. Know God. Know peace. I like that. Get it – no and know? I think that’s true – do you?” And you know what? Thoughts are funny things. My immediate thought was to think about how I’ve seen that little phrase written down dozens of times. I’ve read it before. So much that it feels cliche and church bulletin-ish. Maybe I even thought about making fun of…
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the birthday day.
What a wonderfully sweet twelfth birthday London Eli enjoyed. And I am so tired, somehow. Maybe because of the early rising to bake monkey bread and sausage per the birthday girl’s request. And to bake that extra cake that just didn’t get baked earlier. And to whip up the frosting. It was both quietly satisfying to bake a cake before eight a.m. and highly unusual for me to be productive at that time of the morning. But hey, it’s a birthday morning. You gotta do what you gotta do. We opened presents and enjoyed a lovely breakfast together as a family. For a really long time London has been pondering…
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happy birthday my twelve year old lovely.
It was the eve of my thirtieth birthday. I was scared. Terrified – actually. Afraid of giving birth. But you can’t stop what nature has started and late that evening, an incredibly beautiful and tiny London Elizabeth Scout was born into this crooked world to hopelessly flawed parents. She was magnificent. She was itty bitty and brand spankin’ new and gloriously perfect in our eyes. It was after midnight and I found myself somehow entirely alone in a hospital room in my hometown in Virginia, cradling this swaddled, wrinkly, smooshy-foreheaded newborn in my amateur arms and singing a quiet little whispery birthday song to the both of us. “Happy birthday to us.…
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says London Eli Scout
“If I married a potato chip, my potato chip husband wouldn’t last very long. Neither would our potato chip children.”
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Cooking Conversations
“Mommy, will you sit with me in the kitchen while I make the scones?” It’s after ten p.m. on a Friday night. She is eleven, but only for about three more months. Scout’s Scones has an order and we have a crowded schedule tomorrow so it’s baking time tonight for this young entrepreneur. I gather my supplies – blue ink pen, blank notebook, listening ears, sympathetic face. “Yes. I’ll sit in the kitchen with you.” And she mixes. Flour. Milk. Chocolate chips. She kneads. She talks. About cartoons. Tattoos. She hums. Tells me she cut her finger making her last batch of scones. I hadn’t known. She grins. Long hair…
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explanation required
London has a calendar hanging on her bedroom wall. She loves to cross off the days as they are done. Big X’s across every day. I think she likes the way it looks – but for me, it feels like all these days disappearing in giant Xs. Anyway. I looked at her calendar as I was braiding her hair during our nightly routine. And there it was. Written in bold blue ink. Every Sunday for the entire month. BS. So I think this calls for a chat. What kind of BS is happening up here in this bedroom every Sunday this month? BS. I ask, “Hey girls,” I point to…
