Eyeball Bum-Bum

Tags

funny, imagination, three year old

This is an Eyeball Bum-Bum. It’s way bigger than a grown up bum-bum. Grown up bum-bums are THIS big. But an Eyeball Bum-Bum is THIS! BIG!

The Eyeball Bum-Bum goes like “lakakargahs” and they fight eyeballs. They eat your eyeballs ALL UP.

That’s what they do.

When I Close My Eyes – by Owl.

Tags

bad guys, development, insomnia, Stories, three year old

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I go to a bad guy place.

So I go out the window.

And I go up up up.

And I get into the bed.

And I hide under the blankets.

And the bad guy can’t find me.

That’s all.

Airplane – By Owl

Tags

development, imagination, story telling, three year old

One time, there was an airplane and a little boy.

And I was on the airplane.

And you weren’t on the airplane.

And Mommy wasn’t on the airplane.

It was just me.

I was all by myself.

And you had to get the airplane.

And you didn’t have a car.

And I went to a lot of airports.

And I sat down all by myself.

And then I came home.

And then you saw me.

And then we had breakfast.

The end.

Baby Ducky – By Owl

Tags

bear, duck, imagination, mommy, Stories, storytelling, three year old

One time, there was a baby ducky, and a bear.

And they fought each other!

And he hit him!

And he was like “aaaaaaaah!”

And then the Mommy duck came?

And she ATE THE BABY DUCK ALL UP.

Not the bear.

And then he broke the mommy and came out!

And then he fell down.

Bad Guy – by Owl

Tags

bad guy, eyes, imagination, Stories, storytelling, three year old

One time, there was a BAD GUY.

And we fought him!

And he hit our eyes!

And then Mommy came?

And she hit our eyes!

And then Mommy? Went to the bad guy, and he HIT OUR EYES.

And then the nice bad guy ate all the popcorn at the market.

Spider, By Owl

Tags

imagination, preschooler, spiders, Stories, storytelling, three year old

The following is an original story told to me by my three year old, minus the occasional “and then what happened?” from me. As previously mentioned, he’s going to be telling the stories on this blog for a bit, because I’m broken somehow.

One time, there was a spider.

And he crawled out of a hole!

And he fell down.

And he said “aahhhh!”

And then he went up on his web, and he fell down.

And he caught his Mama.

And his Mama said, “don’t fall down any more, ok?”

And the spider said “I like to fall down.”

And then he fell down again and he broke our window!

He fell into the garbage.

Then he crawled up and he broke my picture.

And then he fell in Elmo’s mouth and Elmo ATE HIM ALL UP.

That’s not the end.

The end is in five minutes.

Then his Mama came in and said “where’s my little boy spider?”

And then he crawled out of Elmo’s mouth.

And he caught his mama!

And they fell in the garbage.

And they went up, up, up, up!

And they went to the ceiling and they made a web.

…
…
…
…
And they fell down.

Chapter One: One Busy Day

The following are excepts from the first chapter of my elementary school masterpiece, Follow the Animals Home. I am sure you will be overawed by my amazing writing ability. By which I mean, my ten year old self almost makes Stephenie Meyer look good.

I have transcribed it exactly as it was written, typos and all. I cannot recreate the MS Write dot matrix printer look of the font, though.

so here's a screen shot.

Valentine had a red fox named Rusty she had acquired on a trip to England one year, a brown and white guinea pig that you won’t hear enough of to get to know (but that is just as well, because all it did was shriek), a border collie named Zippy, her father owned a large black Newfoundland dog called Splash, two cats, a gray tabby and an orange tabby named Cloudy and Marmalade, five horses, a welsh pony and a shetland pony (actually, to be accurate, it was an old one of hers but her family was waiting for her baby brother Mathew to grow old enough to ride it), and her favourite, a young mare that was called Gray Ghost.

Gray Ghost’s mother was an Arab and her father a thoroughbred, who was expecting a happy event; nevertheless, because Valentine loved her, she decided to bring her.

How’s that for a Meyer-worthy run-on sentence? Not to mention a good comma splice. It goes on like that for a while. Then it says,

They had stopped for breakfast at a restaurant and then they got back into the car. Lizzy and Valentine chatted, talking about funny (or gross) experiences at other people’s houses, telling jokes and playing a car game called cattle and cemeteries: when they passed a herd of cattle, the person on that side counted quickly as they passed. The amount they counted was how many points they got (you needed to be honest to play- both Lizzy and Valentine were!) When they passed a cemetery, no matter what side it was on, the person who saw it first yelled “cemetery!” And that person won.

The chapter concludes with:

Although it was August, the nights were cold and the dew plentiful. Lizzy and Valentine sat down on the wet grass.

“What should we do?” asked Lizzy.

“Well we can’t just sit here on drenched grass like total jerks, that’s for sure,” affirmed Valentine.

“Why don’t we plan our day tomorrow?” suggested Lizzy.

“Yeah! Uh let’s see……. I know tomorrow the very first thing we’ll do is wake up!” Lizzy joked. They laughed.

“Yeah, then get dressed and have breakfast….”

“Feed the animals, brush the horses then…” Lizzy trailed off.

“I know!” exclaimed Valentine, “look for orphaned animals!”

“I was just thinking that!” said Lizzy.

“Yeah, right.”

Just then Lizzy came up with a brainwave. “Why don’t we go picking after? That was if we don’t find any animals the berries will soothe our feelings”

“Good idea.” Then they entered the tent and, despite the wet pyjamas, promptly fell asleep. It had been one busy day.

Move over, Ms. Meyer.

My poetry was pretty profusful back then.

Are you ready for the depth of staggering genius displayed in the following poem?

Get ready to have your mind BLOWN.

I am lost like a boat at sea

the Carol now never used to be,

well, that’s not true really.

I always have talked and been a boss,

but never before did I feel so at loss

well, actually:

I’ve felt longing for a friend. But that feeling did end.

Well, what I mean is:

I need someone  can count’n

though Shadow’s* friendship is profusful like a fountain…

Well, he’s not always there.

I am lost like a boat at sea, 

the Carol now never used to be.

Well, that’s not true really.

-Me, age 11

* my childhood dog

That’s right, folk. PROFUSFUL.

In Which If By Yes The Blog has a birthday, and Carol thankfully does NOT

Tags

blogs, time, writing

This blog is officially two years old today.

Is it just me or does it feel like a lot longer? And yet, the time has flown by between then an now. It’s very strange.

When If By Yes began I was renting, working, depressed, and whining about how I wanted a baby.

Now I’m a home owner (albeit of a musty, small, falling-down townhouse), looking for a job, anxious but happy, and whining about how I don’t want to leave my baby.

I’ve fancied up my blog theme a bit. Feel free to complain. If you all hate it I can always change it back. I”m still tweaking the background and such. How is it loading, for you?

As another part of my celebration of Two Years of Blogging On My Ass, I’m introducing a new segment to If By Yes:

The Early Writings of Carol The Genius

While I was home, I dug out some of “books” that I wrote as a child.

The first, written when I was in grade 4, is called Follow The Animals Home and chronicles the adventures of two Mary Sue characters who own a ridiculous number of pets and end up wandering around the wilderness around the Niagra Escarpment. The second, All That Glitters is a slightly better effort about a motley assortment of kittens, puppies, and a horse who go tramping all over the countryside looking for the “perfect owner”, only to be continually disappointed.

Both are hysterically funny, although I don’t think I was trying to be at the time.

I also found a book of my early poems.

Now you, too, can enjoy selected segments from these early efforts! Marvel in the genius!

Or laugh uncontrollably.

Whichever seems appropriate.

Shall I start you off with a poem? 

Canadians

there isn’t a Canadian that doesn’t feel for creatures,

not even one, I’m not kidding it’s really quite a feature.

Even people that start out shooting as a child,

soon realise there doing and become gentle  and mild,

with animals,

why?

– Me, age 11