Tuesday, June 4, 2013

I Am Speechless And (Mostly) Wordless! A First, Or, My First Grader's Writings About Music - Am Both Giddy With Glee And Weeping With Joy, by Allison

So now is the end of the school year, children bring home Santa-sized sacks of all of their journals, workbooks, art, and detritus from their desks.

Is a lot, and I always feel like cruel evil monster for weeding out the things that cannot possibly be saved or our house will crumble to the ground due to giant tubs from Target full of kids' schoolwork.

I have a system:
(Granted, non-linear, no defined rules as I abhor restrictions I don't invent myself, is more a visceral, "this is a keeper, this is not.")
of what stays and what goes, and tonight I am sorting out M the seven year old stylists' giant pile of stuff.

Her pile is hysterical, because her yearlong journal is named "Lindsay" and she writes in it as if she is having a little chat with this journal Lindsay.  Her teacher does not edit or help, this is 100 percent M.

And gems like, she has to write in the voice of her big sister E, and imaginary E is giving M advice:

1. Don't wear Uggs in the rain, they will get messed up.

2. Don't play your drums too loud.

Very sage advice from E to M, and I am sure those tidbits of wisdom have been communicated, repeatedly, at varying levels of voice and tone.

It is still totally making me laugh and get teary-eyed.
(I am a SUCKER for these end of year journals.
Am Toast.
Will cry.)

But then, the bestest thing in the world ever ever:

More than when a rainstorm drives away dreaded sun,
Owls stop existing,
Every band I want to see ever comes to my house to play a show,
All the lip balm in the world is at my disposal -

Those things are fab.

But this journal entry is better than all of that.

And I do not say that lightly, as I covet and adore rain, hate owls, love music, and have a lip balm addiction issue.

But that stuff?

Totally junior varsity,  compared to this treasure I stumble upon in the pile she brings home, at end of first grade.

Journal Entry by my M, seven year old stylist:

Entitled "Me." With lovely colorful music notes scattered around as illustration along with her ME! as emphasis in case anyone was confused.

"Music to me is . .

A Wonderland of all my favorite stuff.

It's like a world of dreams.

Or a waterfall of memories.

Also a field of the prettiest flowers.

Possibly a forest of friends.

Maybe my best friend.

A rocket that goes all the way around the world and back again.

Like a rock and roll song that never stops."


Ok, reading that, written by my seven year old M, not only am I a weepy mess, but I am so damn proud -

I feel what she feels, and could not have written it better, painted a picture of what music means, I am gobsmacked by the awesome.

I mean, I know she has the music bug - she loves the concert T's I bring her, wears Black Keys shirt during a presentation to the class so she can be "loud and cool," and has a drum kit by her bed.

But still.

Life around here with the girls and the good and the bad dog and the constant rehearsals or swim meets or who has to be where when - we are whirling dervishes.

That she can absorb and communicate her feelings about music so absolutely gorgeously, at age seven, I am both astounded and giddy.

She had no idea I'd see this journal entry, or that anyone would -
She wrote it because it was in her head.

And I get to have her as my girl.

I am lucky.

And totally, completely psyched for years of music and concerts and drum solos from my beloved M.