Poss has always been creative. She likes to draw and make things. Throughout her life she has consistently come up with ideas and songs and stories that boggle my mind. She just has a whole ‘other’ sense of reality to anyone I’ve ever met. I can’t describe it, in any concise and concrete way, only that she is either brilliant or teetering on the brink (not entirely sure that’s a thing a mother should say about her littlun, hehe).
It’s a running joke between Beefcake and I that she will be a bag lady or one of those crazy old ladies that fills their house with old newspapers and bottles and bits of fluff and dried flowers and buttons (you know, and they end up with rooms that they can’t go in and floors covered with a foot of detritus and cats). Mainly because, if you go into her room, that’s what you’ll find. Whenever she goes anywhere, even the back yard, she gathers things in her pockets to bring home for “making”. Has done ever since she was about 3 or 4. She once collected shoe boxes from all over the place (friends, family etc) and made a tower of shoe boxes in her room. There were about twenty. We were tolerant until some, ummm, unsavory things began to be stored in them. That’s a whole ‘nother story though!
The other day, she asked Beefcake to photograph some figures she had made to accompany a story. She fully intends to have this published. Being ten, she doesn’t grasp all that this would entail. When I asked her about it she said she thought it would be cool cos she could buy her own book in a shop.
When I tried to (gently) discuss, what I see as some potential plot and character development flaws with Poss, I received the response “You’re not a publisher, Mum”.
I’m not a publisher. This is just a sweet, innocent story by my sweet little girl, who has such a sarcastic mouth on her tweeny self, that I’m sure “my sweet little girl” will not oft be used in years to come to refer to her.
“I’m not good at this game” said Poppy, “let’s play something else.”
“Don’t worry” said Oliver, “everyone has something they’re good at.”
First they tried skipping, but it didn’t go so well.
“Remember, jump when the rope hits the ground” said Oliver
“I can’t do this” said Poppy, “but everyone else in the class can click their fingers”.
When Poppy tried to click her fingers it was hard to get her spirits up.
“You put your middle finger and your thumb together and you click!”, said Oliver
“It’s hopeless,”, said Poppy “I give up.”
“Don’t quit now,” said Oliver “there is lots more things to try.”
They tried lots of things but Poppy was good at none of them.
“You see” said Poppy, “I’m good at nothing.”
“There is one thing you’re go
od at.” said Oliver,
“What?!” said Poppy
“Being my friend!” said Oliver.