Tag Archives: Children’s Stories

Blue Magic

We are moving.

So instead of writing, or blogging, or even just being, I have been decluttering, packing, and donating many carloads of memorabilia.

Mom probably thought she was doing me a favor by giving me boxes upon boxes of old photos, notebooks, report cards and train stubs. But it’s been an emotional few weeks going through closets full of who I used to be.

Today I found a couple of old stories. One was written at the tender age of 8, in which I imagined (a tad over-enthusiastically) that my sister had been eaten by a tiger at the zoo.

Another, written at age 10, had me envisioning a poor helpless witch who discovers a blue potion and snoops around to find out how its creator activated it. She says the magic words and finds her home transformed into a cute, clean cottage, and transported to a much nicer village “where everyone knows each other and says hello to one another.”

It’s good to know I am still that 10 year old girl. Loves blue. Loves magic. Dreams of a cute, clean, small home in a friendly neighborhood.

This was in my drafts folder from May 2014. Not sure why I never hit publish then! But it makes me happy that I was a writer even way back when I didn’t know it yet.

FYI, we ended up not moving. How’s that for an anticlimactic ending? =)


Kid Lit cage match

Two picture books.
Two teachers standing at chalkboards.
Two sets of directions on how to write a story.
Who said it best?

Arthur Writes a Story, Marc Brown
Arthur Writes a Story, by Marc Brown
Little Red Writing, by Joan Holub, pictures by Melissa Sweet
Little Red Writing, by Joan Holub, pictures by Melissa Sweet


Sherman Crunchley

ShermanCrunchleyCall me Sherma.

That’s how much I identify with Sherman Crunchley, the protagonist of the 2003 children’s book by Laura Numeroff and Nate Evans.

Sherman is a police officer. Only he doesn’t like being a police officer. He likes hats.

But Sherman is afraid to tell his dad, the latest in a long, long, long (you get the idea) line of Crunchleys to hold office as Biscuit City Chief of Police, that he doesn’t want the job.

Sherman checks out "How to Say No"
Sherman checks out “How to Say No”

When Sherman finds out he’s next in line to wear the Chief of Police badge, he naturally heads to his local library to find a solution.

Will he be able to say no?

Will he follow his passion and do what he was born to do?

Find out! Don’t say no to this agreeable book.

Positively therapeutic for any people-pleasing child or codependent adult who fears saying “No.”

The Truth of Me

TruthOfMeAnd then it comes to me. What I don’t hear is the sound of music. What I don’t hear is the faraway sound of my mother’s sweet, sad violin, the solid sound of my father playing out a melody on the piano over and over, and the sudden silence when I know he is writing it down. All that music that comes out of the night.

I close my eyes.

It is kind of nice to miss something of my mother and father.

I quickly open my eyes, surprised.

I wonder if this is a small truth.

A small truth about me.

The Truth of Me
Patricia MacLachlan

This quiet little story is aimed at upper elementary age kids, but I loved it. I loved Robert, his dog Ellie, his grandma Maddy, the “truths” he discovers about himself and those he loves.

Robert is a regular kid. He even hates being called Robert. And just like all regular kids, there is far more understanding and wisdom beneath the surface than we realize. More reading between the lines than we think they’re capable of. There is also far more grace and forgiveness than we screwed up adults often offer each other.

It’s kind of sad. Robert wants to love his parents. He just doesn’t have a lot to go on. It got me wondering about how my kids view me. Do they ever even see my pain, or fear, let alone wonder where it comes from? Do they notice when I’m on the verge of tears? If they do, is it respect or embarrassment, or something else entirely, telling them to turn away and pretend they don’t see? Something tells me they are more aware of my emotions than I give them credit for. They might just understand me better than I do them.

Yesterday I opened a box of Christmas decorations. My favorite ornament is a paper chain my firstborn made me a couple of years ago. On each link in the chain he wrote something he loved or was thankful for about me. There are the usual things you’d expect: “that you make food for us” and “for giving us things that are nice for Christmas.” But how about this one?

“That whether you’re sick, sad, sleepy, or just plain angry, you still love us.”

Those tears I try to hide come spilling out every time I read it. He’s a little boy, and he notices. He sees the sick, the sad, the sleepy, even the angry. Thankfully, he sees the love, too.

Back to the book. The one sentence non-spoiler plot summary: Robert’s mother has always been distant, and in the middle of a somewhat mystical experience with Maddy, he learns why.

Robert’s tenderhearted response in the last two pages had me in tears. I know; there’s a lot of that in this post. I guess another “small truth about me” is that I’m a sucker for sweet little boys. I think I’ll go hug mine now.

Ghost Post 21: six word story + bonus jokes


Mom upstairs. Mom downstairs? Which one?

—by Oddsley, age 12

What do you call a monster who works in finance?

What do you call a monster who slaps you around?
Count Smackula.

What does a baby monster call his parents?
Mummy and Deady.

What do you call a monster the month after Halloween?

What do you call a monster who breaks into your computer?
Count Hackula.

What do you call a monster made out of rock?

What did the cyclops say to the troll?
I’ve got my eye on you.

What do you call a monster who just let one rip outside the Monster Mexican Restaurant?

What do you call a monster who works as a plumber?
Count Crackula.

What do you call a monster who gives wedgies?

What do you call a monster who loves to go on trips?
Count Packula.

Why did the skeleton cross the road?
He didn’t. He didn’t have the guts.

Why did the other skeleton cross the road?
There was no body else to do it.

What do you call a monster in the army?

What do you call a monster who never does his work?
Count Slackula.

What do you call two monsters who come up on either side of you?

What do you call a monster who goes on and on and on…
Count Yackula.

What do you call a monster who’s been dieting?

What do you call a monster who loves to eat?
Count Snackula.

What do you call a monster who loves hot dogs?

What goes ha, ha, ha…BONK!
A monster laughing its head off.

What do you call a monster who can’t think of any more jokes?

—Count Feetula, age 11

For bios of the kid authors, check out Somefing to cewebwate.