The Scribe is eleven years old today! I can hardly believe it. So today I thought I'd repost the most popular story I ever wrote about her--back when she was nine.
The Scribe's Blog Backfired!
If you've been reading my blog, then you know my oldest daughter, The Scribe, has a "blog" too. Well, not really, but that's what she calls it. For weeks she's been writing one note a day and then putting them into the same locker at school--too bad she doesn't know who the locker belongs to. It's actually been a good thing though because every time she writes a "blog," she writes two copies, one to drop in the locker and one to keep so she'll remember what she wrote.
I've been quite impressed by this whole thing. It shows a lot of determination for a little nine-year-old. Plus, it's been fun reading things she wouldn't tell me and doesn't know I'm reading.
Anyway, here are the back stories if you're interested:
So, here's the story of how The Scribe's Blog Backfired!
I picked these two pictures because The Scribe reminds me of a cross between this:
This is really the Scribe.
Yesterday, after I brought the girls to school, I sneaked into The Scribe's bedroom and read the new blog entry.
I am going to talk more about my life. Yesterday, a guy was mowing the lawn. I like that guy. He's cute and nice. Someday, I will marry that guy. When he mows the lawn it is a good day.
I gasped as I read it. Could she be in love? She's nine!
I turned the page and read on.
I paused. It was addressed to me? Really?
You've been looking at my blogs!
That last blog wasn't true. It was a joke. A very funny joke. It was fals fals I tell you. I know what you've been doing.
And that's exactly how she spelled "false" as "fals, fals." So, she wasn't in love with the lawn mower boy. That made me stop. If I didn't have the correct blog, then what had she brought to school?
My phone rang just after noon. I'll give you one guess who it was . . . Every time my phone rings, EVERY TIME The Scribe is at school--and my phone rings--it's always her or her teacher!
"Mama?" The Scribe whispered urgently. I knew it was bad because she usually only calls me "Mom."
"What, honey? What's wrong?"
"Can you come to the school for a minute. I . . ." she broke into a sob. "I'm having a bad day. I don't want to go home though, I don't want you or my class thinking I'm a pansy . . . I just need to talk to you about my blog. I'll meet you by the front doors."
I rushed over to the school. The Scribe waited, squatting by the front bushes which was odd in itself, but especially strange since they usually make the kids wait in the office.
She ran out after seeing me. She looked from side to side as she ran, like she'd been hired as a secret spy or something. "I'm supposed to be in lunch," she whispered. "But I snuck a call on the phone and met you here instead."
"Won't they wonder where you are?" I asked, whispering too for some dumb reason.
"Well, I checked in with the lunch people and then left when the ladies weren't looking. Anyway we don't have much time. I just had to tell you, 'I'm sorry.' You were right. I never want to tell a boy that I like him again. I didn't listen to you, Mom," she went on. "I put a note in that locker . . ." She suddenly looked toward the door and pulled me behind a tree. "Have you ever had a weird feeling?" she asked. "Have you ever just known something?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"Well, yesterday when I was writing my blog, I got this strange feeling that I knew who my blogs were going to . . . I just knew they were going to Kobe."
"But how did you know? Have you seen him by that locker."
"No," she looked sad, "I just had this feeling. So, last night, I wrote a blog and I told him that I love him."
"You did what!" I nearly screamed.
"Shhhh." She put her pointer finger to her mouth. "Do you want to hear this story or not?"
"Fine," I whispered, playing along even though I knew we wouldn't get in trouble since I was there with her.
"I wrote the love blog and put it in his locker. I wrote my name at the bottom and everything. I just didn't put his name on it, in case it wasn't his locker and it was Dylan's or something."
I could have laughed, but I tried keeping a straight face.
"Anyway, after the bell rang, I walked into the classroom and guess who had my blog."
"Who?" I asked breathlessly.
"Ryan--the kid who always pretends he's a baby."
"The same kid who walks around calling you Mama?"
She nodded and tears filled her cherub-like eyes. "He thinks I love him, Mom. He's so stink'n happy. It was harder to sneak away from him than it was to get away from the lunch lady! But that isn't the worst part." She really cried then and actually threw her arms around my waist. "The school bully saw Ryan reading the note," The Scribe said. "She saw him reading that note . . . and she took it from him . . . and read it to the whole class. Everyone thinks I like that baby!"
I hugged her as deep cries racked her dramatic little soul. I patted her on the back and I know it's horrible, but as I patted her I thought, I can blog this . . . this will make for a great follow-up blog.
Needless to say, The Scribe doesn't want to go to school for "forever" as she put it. She did finish the day out yesterday and I nearly busted with amusement when Ryan walked her to our van, opened the door and as he shut it he said, "I'll see you on Monday . . . Mama."
So, The Scribe won't be writing any more love letters for a long time. Last night I asked her how she was doing.
"I'm not good," she replied. "Now I can see why some of your friends hate blogging. It can make things go all wrong."
Or all right, I thought. I know she'll laugh about this when she's older. She's always getting herself into these crazy situations where she meets the strangest children and then has amazing stories to tell me about them. She's a hoot and I love every minute!
Have a great day! And remember when you blog, sometimes public love letters aren't the best way to go.