I used to think I was a good speller.
But then I started blogging on a self-imposed deadline that usually gets squeezed in just before 10 am and recently realized the word, mochila, only has one L.
And it’s an “o”, not a “u”.
And for whatever reason, my brain refuses to accept the correct spelling for the word commitment. How hard is to remember it has two m’s and one t? I get red-lined on that one repeatedly when I type.
One of my favorite things to do as both a kid and as a mother of kids were studying for spelling tests.
We all love music and learn best when the letters are spoken in a rhythmic beat. I still hear my girls reciting back to me ORA-NGE. My mom taught them how to spell their colors on the midnight walks they took when it was barely dark and we’d just moved to Texas.
Last night, also barely before dark, I took the dogs out for a walk, not because I love to exercise so much, but because I can’t wait to get to the next chapter of my Audible book. Cecilia is really in a quandary with her husband’s secret and I want to know if Tess is going to forgive Will for falling in love with someone else.
I have to try and keep the stories straight because I’m also reading, or just finished a book called Margot and started In the Great Green Room about children’s author extraordinaire, Margaret Wise Brown.
New books are popping up everywhere and I’ve also put myself on a self-imposed timed television restriction. It was becoming too much non-activity and every single time I watched House Hunter’s International, I wanted to run away and harvest my own coconuts.
Anyway, last night I was walking with a trash filled poop bag, and Charlie and Mr. Riley were pulling me to walk over towards the garage where the black cat sits in the driveway. They were quickly disappointed to find the meow cat was missing so we moved on.
That’s when I spotted the spelling bee graffiti.
I refrained from ringing the door bell like the lunatic I can be sometimes. I imagined it would go about like this;
The screen door, barely cracked, “Can I help you?” she asks curiously while praying to God I don’t have a bible tract in my hand.
Far more excited and louder than a grown girl should be, I reply in squealed delight, “Oh my gosh! I saw the multicolored letters! I love that! Who wrote those words? What a super fun, great idea!”
The busy mother, cleaning up after dinner, would stand there staring at me like I surely must have just eaten the last two handfuls of last year’s Halloween candy. She quickly excuses herself before closing the door and hugging her child to safety.
A few weeks ago, I helped Saydee Grace learn to spell her name. We had a ton of fun screaming it in the car at the top of our lungs.
She was in a mood and so that helped let off a little steam. For both of us. We also learned to spell her favorite color and the giant letters that adorn most of her mother’s casual wear. P-I-N-K.
One question has lingered in my head since 8 o’clock last night.
Who wrote those words?
I thought of how you could mix those words around to make different stories.
Sometimes it takes sidewalk chalk in every color to get our attention.