Doll Salon
by Amy LV
On Friday, my friend Christyn wrote this note, "I have to believe that only Sarah would take scissors to the hair of an American Girl doll..."
Christyn's note got me thinking about the time that Georgia cut her own hair. And it got me thinking about the time I washed the hair of my Ballerina Barbie. It was wonderful to run my sudsy fingers through her long blond locks, but it was so frizzy and horrible an hour later. Poor Ballerina Barbie always looked strange hanging out with Skipper and regular Barbie after that. Oh well, such inspired moments of art and hair-creativity with dolls are not always easy to repair, but they certainly make good stories.
This poem is dedicated to Sarah...we have all been there! May your doll like her new haircut (I didn't hear she was bald, just that your mom found the hair and no doll.)
Students - did you ever have a time when you got "caught up", maybe doing something you shouldn't have? Usually, you're not the first one to have ever done such a thing, and for this reason, readers love reading such stories. They remind us of ourselves. Think way back and talk with someone about your own oops-memories. Then, add a few ideas to your writing ideas list. If you don't have any oops-memories, maybe you need to do more naughty things. Hee hee!
Yesterday I returned from Kidlit Con in Minneapolis. Not only did I have the privilege to take part in a panel about Poetry Friday, but a whole world of children's literature bloggers opened up before my eyes. Reviewers, authors, librarians, teachers, publishers...the list goes on. So many people live in this virtual world, writing daily about beautiful words for children. Over the next weeks, I will be building the blogroll here, so please keep an eye over there for changes. Also, The Poem Farm is going to get serious about twitter. I'm not exactly sure how yet, but I'm serious. So if you're on twitter, I welcome you to join me!
(Please click on COMMENTS below to share a thought.)
One of the only times I truly remember "being bad" when I was little, was when I convinced my friend that we should cut off her barbies' hair and then glue the hair to their bodies for a hair-dress fashion show...
ReplyDeleteAh, L! At dinner tonight, I shared your Barbie fashion fiasco, your one "being bad" moment. Georgia said, "Mom, I think you should write more naughty poems. Then, for each one, Aunt L. will probably write back, remembering another time SHE was bad!" We had a good giggle imagining the possibilities. You win the prize for this one, though another person wrote that her daughter cut the flowers out of her sheets! A.
ReplyDeleteAmy - Hopefully my parents won't read this. In second grade, my teacher showed us how sunlight and a magnifying glass could generate some serious heat. I had fun in my bedroom on a sunny day holding different objects under the white-hot dot, watching them smolder. Then, my eyes came to rest on my carpet. A few moments later, the carpet was on fire. I stomped on the little pile of flame, and, moving my foot aside, was horrified to see a three inch wide circle of charred carpet. I immediately decided to rearrange my room.
ReplyDeleteBill M
I love this poem, perhaps because I was a Barbie hairdresser three decades ago. My 8 year old daughter adores poetry. Your blog is her new favorite poetry "book."
ReplyDeleteBill! That is so funny...and so not surprising for a science-y guy like you. Do your parents really not know? (Ah, payback will come, my friend.) I'm glad you told me this, and we all had a good chuckle. A.
ReplyDelete-------------------------
Yvonne, We former-Barbie-hairdressers should all get together for a big party, don't you think? My greatest dream is to write poems that children like...and so your words mean the world to me. A merry "Hello!" to your daughter. Thank you. A.
Dear Mrs. Ludwig Vanderwater,
ReplyDeleteWe loved your poem. It was so funny. It made us all laugh. Some of us have done this to a doll too. Some of us have even done it to our own hair!!! Our parents didn't like that. We can't wait to meet you when you come to our classroom.
Peace,
Mr. Riccione's Class
I don't think your mom was happy after that.
ReplyDelete-Isabelle (along with her mom)