Sure, you love bacon, but do you know where it actually comes from?
Read Nicholas’s book, “All About Pigs,” and you’ll find out.
Besides being a terrific writer, Nicholas is also an outstanding illustrator, and you’ll see that he understands the value of a powerful, well-placed image to provide clarity for the reader.
This is about as clear as it gets.
Thanks to Nicholas and his mom Katie for sharing this “enlightening” kindergarten masterpiece with us.
And as school starts back up, please be on the lookout for funny stuff (intentional or otherwise) that kids write and send it to us at stuffkidswrite(at)gmail(dot)com.
DISCLAIMER: All characters appearing in this work by 8-year-old WP are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, particularly a Grammy Award-winning artist, his feline companion, or the caricature from Lucky Charms cereal, is purely coincidental.
How I Got Kidnapped by Minim
Hi my name is slame shady leperchuan. And this is my story about how I got kidnapped by a rapper. Hope you enjoy!
Once opon a time there was a leperchaun named slame shady leperchaun. I met a rapper named minim. For some reason he kidnapped me. And you know what he made me do? He made me sing his latest hit! And after that he let me go. And you know what happened? His cat ate me whole! Yep! I told this whole story from a cat’s belly. The End.
(Ps. The cat ate my left hand.)
Thanks to Jamie for submitting this awesome, imaginative story from her son. It’s the cat’s meow.
Please go check out Jamie’s blog at All Things Fnkybee and follow her on Twitter at @Fnkybee.
To the best of our knowledge, she does not write from the belly of a cat.
Any kid will tell you: summer goes fast.
Too fast. In June it seems summer will be endless. Long, lazy days without an agenda. You get up when you want, meander around, fiddle with this, faddle with that, no rush, no worries, thinking to yourself, “I’ve got all summer.”
Then all of a sudden August is breathing down your neck. You get a little panicky and realize you’d better revisit your summer game plan and prioritize what you’re going to do with the precious time you have left.
Maybe you even write an affirmation statement to remind yourself.
Last week I walked downstairs and found this on the couch. I guessed it was the 7-year-old’s handiwork, judging by the fact that he’d signed his name to it twice.
Good to know that in addition to playing Star Wars, jumping on the tramp, and riding his bike, he’s going to squeeze in some time to put a beatdown on his 4-year-old sister before summer gets away from him.
Before summer gets away from you, submit something funny that a kid wrote to Stuff Kids Write! Just email an image of the writing, an explanation (if necessary), the child’s name (or initials) and age to stuffkidswrite (at) gmail (dot) com.
The last thing we here at Stuff Kids Write want is for you, one of our terrific and loyal readers, to get injured while perusing a post. So if you’d please, follow along for some light stretching of the neck muscles.
First, chin to chest. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Hold it for a ten count. Beautiful.
Okay, now drape a tea towel over the back of your head, and using gentle resistance, pull your chin from your chest. Nice and easy. Don’t overdo it. That breathing is terrific. Well done.
Lastly, a couple of shoulder rolls. Five to the front. Wonderful. Now five to the back. Again, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Magnificent.
Are we limbered up?
Good. Now you can safely punk out to these lyrics co-written by AS, age 7, and MS, age 10.
So, we all feel better, right? And you didn’t pull anything? Everyone’s necks are okay?
Splendid. Now go jump off a cliff.
Oya. La. La.
Thanks to JM Randolph for this submission. Please go read her “adventures in half-assed step parenting” at Accidental Stepmom. You’ll see that she is a terrific writer and anything but a half-assed stepmom. She’s definitely full-assed.
As a parent, it’s sometimes hard to know if your kids are really listening to you. There is plenty of anecdotal evidence to suggest they aren’t.
So when Natalie would tell her 6-year-old “You could crack your head open!”, she wasn’t sure if her daughter was getting the message.
Now she’s sure. GN was definitely listening. And then some.
I should wear a helmet because: so I will not crack my head open & have brain surgery.
The National Council for Scaring Children into Practicing Healthy Habits has found its newest spokesperson, and, for a minimal appearance fee, GN is available to talk to your children about wearing their helmets, as well as other topics, such as eating their vegetables, toothbrushing, and crossing their eyes.
And you can’t imagine what she has to say about BB guns.
If you have stuff a kid wrote, please share it with us! Submit to:
Please include an image of the stuff, the kid’s name or initials, and the kid’s age. Also, if you have something linkable, we’ll be happy to link to it. Thanks!
For Father’s Day, I received three gifts from my children, in addition to their very being, of course, which is truly the gift that keeps on giving the whole year through. Oftentimes even in the middle of the night.
In no particular order of importance, I was given:
1. MY VERY OWN PILLOW PET!!! Snuggly Puppy in the house, y’all!
2. A delicious strawberry Father’s Day cake lovingly decorated with pink frosting, a 2-inch layer of sprinkles, and just under 150 candles that spelled out “DAD.” When lit, it was visible from the International Space Station.
3. This letter written by my 7-year-old son, Nolan.
Words are a special gift, especially from loved ones. And they don’t set off fire alarms.
But seriously, Snuggly Puppy!
Yeah, I know, I know.
The letter was the best thang of all.
Did you know that the Rorschach (pronounced EENK-blaut) test is being administered to kindergarten students these days?
Psychoanalysis of young children has come a long way since my days in the “K” when teacher comments (“A very nice boy. Eats a lot of boogers. You may want to consider velcro shoes. For life.”) were the only indicators parents had to reassure them that their kids were progressing (stagnating) on the correct developmental arc.
For those unfamiliar with the Rorschach, subjects are shown a series of images and asked to describe what they see in each. Here are some examples.
For instance, a person looking at this image will most likely identify two garden gnomes inexplicably high-fiving after having their lower legs sheared off by a lawnmower.
Most reasonable individuals will view this picture and immediately spot a unicorn tripped-out on peyote and dressed in drag.
When gazing at this slide, 87% of respondents describe two women with compound fractures of the femur dead-lifting a keg of beer while holding their handbags.
And if presented with this rendering, there is near-universal agreement on “mutated Chicken McNugget,” with “old man scrotum” coming in a close second.
Psychotherapists study individuals’ interpretations of these images and then draw conclusions, such as, “I can’t believe we actually get paid to do this!”
Five-year-old KM just might grow up to be one of those people who gets paid big bucks to tell others how crazy they are. She seems to have a pretty good handle on the analysis part.
“Sometimes it looks like (a) monsters kissing. But it wasn’t (a) monsters kissing. Wow!”
It’s not hard to imagine KM looking back at this 20 years from now and thinking, “Damn, my parents must have made-out in front of me a lot.”
Thanks to KM’s mom for submitting this piece, knowing full-well that I would bring up her and her husband’s tendency towards public displays of affection and the lasting efffect (scarring) it will likely cause on their daughter.
When I was young, I swore I’d never marry a farmer. Hearing my parents talk about “$10,000 rains” and having to “wait and see if we have a good crop” before I could get the hand-held Space Invaders game was too much for me. Plus, I didn’t want someone who knew the entire history of my family and our pets before he met me. I mean, what would we talk about on Date 6? Of course, I ended up dating a farmer, and a nice one at that, but I never married him. I had, after all, made a childhood pledge.
When M.E. was eight years old, she too made a promise about who she wouldn’t marry.
I’ll let her mom, Jennifer, tell the story.
In January, 2009 our family was in the throes of preparing for a move from Kingston, Ontario to the Netherlands. The kids had plenty of questions: Will we make new friends? Will you lose us in the move? Every piece of my rock collection will be packed, right? “Will I have to wear wooden shoes?” wailed our youngest. (Yes; No; Good Lord, I hope not; Only when Mummy is particularly grumpy with you.)
At one point some friends worked themselves into hysterics imagining the fashion affectations my husband (your basic khakis kind of guy) would be sporting the next time they saw him. Italian leather shoes! Over-gelled, highly tousled hair! A speedo! A man purse!
It was only days later when M.E.’s mom found this page from her eldest daughter’s diary on her desk. If you read nothing else, read the first six lines:
The man purse is a deal breaker. Part of me agrees. Does a woman want a man who spends more on accessories than she does? If her husband has his own purse, would he still offer to carry hers when she’s toting their baby around?
I also love M.E.’s exhortations about French near the end of her entry. She writes:
Oh, how I absolutely hate French. My, My French is absolutely boring. All you have to do is say French words and write them down. It is impossible to write them down if you don’t know how to write them.
M.E. is going places. She knows what she wants in a man, she can spot circular reasoning, and she can write.
And she’s 8.
Ode to clever kids with fashion sense.
Does this exchange look familiar?
Parental Unit: “Alright, it’s bed time.”
7YO: “Five more minutes?”
PU: “No. Let’s go.”
5YO: “Ten more minutes and then we’ll go right to sleep.”
PU: “You’re going right to sleep either way. Now let’s go!”
4YO: “If you let us stay up fifteen more minutes and give us ice cream, we promise to brush our teeth and stay in bed.”
PU: “What are you talking about? C’mon!”
And before you know it, they’ve worn you out like that downtrodden, heavily-stained carpet on the steps. You wake up on the couch to an episode of Phineas and Ferb blaring from the TV only to realize that the kids have hotwired the vehicle and made a run to town for Dairy Queen. And tattoos.
We’ve all been there.
Children pop out of the womb as master negotiators. This came as a real shocker to me as a parent. I didn’t figure kids would start haggling and brokering deals until they were in their teens, like Michael J. Fox did as Alex Keaton on Family Ties. But such is not the case.
Take this for instance.
Sweet, right? But hold on. I’ll let Cebee, who submitted this piece, explain:
I’d like to submit a note a good family friend wrote to our son. There is an 8 year age gap between the two, but they are chums. She (AS) was nine at the time she wrote this and he was just about to turn 2. To any old reader (Editor’s Note: On behalf of Stuff Kids Write, we apologize for this blatant ageist comment), this may not appear that funny, but let me point out a few reasons why I have kept this in his scrapbook and chuckle every time I read it.
1. The reference to pizza shows great empathy. Our son was very allergic to milk/dairy at the time and she was concerned that he was not going to be able to partake in the pizza we were planning to serve at his party. Very thoughtful.
2. “The table we gave you!” She may only be nine but she is a master negotiator. We paid $40 for that train table, and we settled on $40 after she came down $10 in price. She did throw in a thorough scrubbing, but no delivery.
With that combination of kind-heartedness and killer negotiation skills, can you imagine what AS’s bedtime must look like?
Cebee is a mother to two amazing little boys, and the younger sister of a charming, witty, funny, charismatic, benevolent, dashingly-handsome man who completely dominated her ass in Easter egg hunts on a yearly basis while growing up. You can read his blog at SomeSpeciesEatTheirYoung.com.
There are several common variations of “ha ha”:
- the happy “ha ha”
- the sad “ha ha”
- the flirty “ha ha”
- the courtesy “ha ha”
- the anxious “ha ha”
- the dirty “ha ha”
- the lethargic “ha ha”
- the Nelson “ha ha”
- the inebriated ha ha
- the relieved ha ha
- and, of course, the meen ha ha.
Angela submitted this beautifully hand-crafted note from her 5-year-old daughter F.M., who composed her inspired piece during a family road trip.
AFTER being told by her mother that she would have to put her shoes on to go in a restaurant.
It takes a high-quality, food-industry strength paper napkin to absorb that much spite.
And just to make sure there was no confusion regarding the tone of her “ha ha,” once the family was back in the vehicle F.M. wrote this note. And then immediately tore it up.
Hell hath no “ha ha” like a 5-year-old who has to put her shoes back on.
Thanks for sharing, Angela! And please go check out Angela’s website at slabcinema.com.