The Poetry Of Being Four Years Old~

The greatest poem ever known
Is one all poets have outgrown:
The poetry, innate, untold,
Of being only four years old.
~Christopher Morley

A few days ago Handyman was helping me spade a small area of dirt where we planned to plant gladiolus bulbs. Our soil is virtually solid clay, so it takes a bit of elbow grease to break up the chunks, remove rocks, then mix in mulch and some nice bagged soil. We chatted as we dug, turned and examined the dirt. Handyman lifted something from the patch in front of his knees. What could possible be bright yellow this far down? He rubbed the object in his gloved hand.

Flounder from The Little Mermaid movie!

Handyman and I looked at each other; this 'artifact' was a reminder of our sweet daughter's childhood. She must have been playing with her Little Mermaid figurines in the backyard years ago. Somehow Flounder was left outside in what had been a patch of Lambs Ears. Perhaps younger College Girl thought it was a great place for him to 'swim' or take a nap.  

I have Flounder sitting on a shelf in the kitchen now. He makes me smile. Every time I see this colorful little toy I think of the small child who would climb on my lap for a story, hold my hand wherever we walked, and call me by her own affectionate nickname for me. I think Flounder is going to have a permanent spot in our display cabinet once he gets a bath - he still has a little bit of childhood playtime dirt clinging to him! Or, maybe I'll leave him just as he is~

College Girl as a child

 I made this scrapbook layout using eyelet, my sewing machine, and hand made 'lollipop' flowers. I doodled around the perimeter and cut the title out with my Cricut. 

 I'd give all wealth that years have piled,
The slow result of Life's decay,
To be once more a little child
For one bright summer day.
~Lewis Carroll

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