BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG CITY...SORRY TENNESSEE

These past couple weeks have been so busy I've barely had time to...well...do anything. What's busier than busy? I can't think of an example here so I'll just move on.

While I've got lots of things to write about, while Belle is in the bath I'll go ahead and take a minute to jot down what just happened so I don't forget it. Sorry Shelby...this is one story I do NOT want to forget and want you to remember forever.

I was doing laundry and she walked out of her room and to announce she was writing a song and will be in her room if I need her for anything.

A short while later, she emerged saying she had the first part done and asked if I would like to hear it.

"Of course!" I answered. Are you kidding me?

I read it and was honestly taken back a little. It was actually pretty good.

"You wrote this?"

"Yes mom!" she answered.

A few minutes later she adds another line to it. The line is "And let it sink into the river of love". Okay...so now I'm suspicious.

"What's a river a love? How did you come up with that?" I inquired.

"It's a river with love in it. Why?" she adamantly answered.

"You know Shelby, I think I need to teach you a word. It's called 'plagerism'. And that's when someone steals words or phrases someone else wrote. You can steal words just like you can steal gum from a store."

Immediately she starts crying. And not just crying...DRAMA CRYING.

(There's a big difference. You have no way of knowing this if you don't have a daughter.)

Finally, I quieted her in hopes of sparing what hearing was left of the neighborhood dogs from her high-pitched, monkey-hollering (I exaggerate a little here :-) ) and started telling her of ways to come up with her own ideas.

You know...a teaching moment. About writing. I can do this!

"Think of something you love or love to do," I told her.

"Okay..:::sniff sniff::: Horses. I love horses," she answered, still upset, but more ticked off now than sad.

"Perfect. So think of the horses. What do you like about them? What do you like to do with them? Do you understand? How do you feel when you're with them? What do you smell? What do you see?" I told her, feeling quite proud of how I turned the situation around.

She pauses briefly to think of the questions I just posed then says,"Good. Horse poop. Other horses. That's not a song!! You've never written a song mom, so you just don't know how it feels!"

"Neither have you, but I've written plenty of other things," I quipped.

"Yes I have written a song!"

"Really? When?"

"Just now! That one!"

"Noooooo. YOU didn't write that. Someone else did."

"Uggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!! I should've started writing when I was three, like Taylor Swift. Now I'm all washed up!"

Oh forget it...let's just take you to Hollywood. I see an Oscar, not a Grammy.