from the basement of the big yellow? house.

I have finished Andreas Eschbach’s The Carpet Makers; the book Sean talked about the other day.

I am working on my notes/response.



You know that advisement: Raise your children up in the way they should go.

Natalya was thoughtful to create home-made cards, a self-motivated craft, and purchased me a book for Mother’s Day: Sandra Cisneros’ The House on Mango Street. Isn’t she wonderful?–Natalya (well, and Cisneros)…

When I pluralize cards, some were Natalya’s on her own time, and then the one I picked out as one she must have done as a class writing project at school. I noticed, not because it was bad, it was just different. I asked her if it was a school-made card and you were to model your “poem” off of another.  She sighed: “there were instructions on how to write each line.” She apparently did not see the point, as she could do just fine on her own. Her distress was amusing.

The “poem” is not bad; just lacking the lyrical quality of her everyday voice; but I can still hear her voice; I can hear her sighing (near growling as she writes this):


She is bright, lovely, and sweet.

She is my mom.

She took a risk when she tried to bake a batch of cookies from scratch.

She felt fear, excitement, hope.

She was afraid the cookies would burn, be too soft or too hard,

but they were perfect.

She is accomplished at being a good mom, making wonderful food, and storytelling.

She wants me to be happy, educated, and successful.

She lives in a big yellow house on {address}


Published by L

I read, and I write. and until recently, I sold books.

3 thoughts on “from the basement of the big yellow? house.

  1. Cookies? Big yellow house? What kind of prompt were they working from?

    Love the daughter. Her writing is such a wonderful thing.

  2. I noticed your comment on Trey Morgan’s blog and clicked to come over here. I don’t normally leave a comment the first time I’m reading a new blog, but just had to – my son is in 3rd grade and I suppose he had the same prompts for his Mother’s Day poem, as it started with my first name, next came three adjectives, somewhere in there had what I feared, and concluded with my address and then my last name. Too funny! I had to marvel at some of the things he wrote, as they were things I might have mentioned off-handedly, not realizing he would really absorb what I was saying, yet they made it to the poem. And, yet, a couple of the things, like how important his grades are to me, for instance, were way off! Oh well. 🙂
    So I take it your house isn’t yellow? LOL

    1. Thanks for stopping by, Lisa. Your comment made me laugh.
      Yeah, our house isn’t yellow. I think oatmeal maybe?
      The cookies from scratch is “what?!” part of my 4th grader’s poem. Her dad does cookies from scratch. I buy the pre-made because I loathe mixing cookie dough, so really my “fear, excitement, [and] hope” is that the ingredients actually blend…

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