I'm slicing with the Two Writing Teachers community today. It's the final Tuesday slice before next Tuesday, the MARCH SLICE OF LIFE CHALLENGE. Are you ready? Thank you Stacey, Tara, Anna, Betsy, Dana, Kathleen, Beth, and Deb.
Those of you who read my slices know that I have favorite topics. Family, teaching, writing, and nature take most of the room. Those are the topics that fill up my life, so they are the slices of the cake, or pie, however you imagine slices.
Here's a backseat slice, and those of you who have children or grandchildren, or other children who sometimes ride in the back of your car will understand. You will have similar moments. I've even written a poem about it, and that might be another post.
Each week my granddaughters visit me after school. Imogene is four and comes on Wednesdays; Ingrid is six and is with me on Fridays. They are with me from about 3:30 until I take them home about 7:30. In the dark, various things happen. During the Christmas season, I drive different streets so we can check out all the lights, and peek inside windows to see other Christmas trees. And we sing as many holiday songs as possible. Other times we just talk, but most of the times we sing. They both know so many songs. Their parents teach them, play songs on the radio, videos on television, etc. And they know different kinds: country, jazzy blues, and rap.
Children seem to lose inhibitions in the dark, in the backseat. I've experienced it with my own children. They try silly things, bring up serious questions, tell about worries. We settle into the moment. During these past few weeks, instead of singing the usual songs, Ingrid announces the "Ingrid and Grammy" song competition. She kind of runs the show, FYI! She chooses a topic, and we each have about a minute to think how we're going to create the song. It's not easy. For example, this recent week the subjects were "bricks" and "skyscrapers". Usually, she sings first, then I sing. Then we shout "hurrah", and Ingrid announces a winner. Mostly, she gives herself the prize. Remember she's six. But sometimes I win! And that feels very good.
Imogene sometimes sings, but she started a new thing last week. She says, "Let's play categories." And to her, that means, name all the fastest animals, which ones are the tallest, name all the fruits (you like and hate), the vegetables (same), and on.
It's only about twenty or twenty-five minutes to arrive at their house, but it's quite a silly ride. It's very quiet on my way back home.