Ella's Notebook, My Pen

After Ella wrote 2 poems, drew 5 trees, and played 4 games of tic tac toe in her journal, she lost the pen she was using. My pen. It sank under a pile of snow in the forest at the New York Botanical Garden. It wasn't a fancy pen, but it had a nice weight to it.
For the past week, I've kept that pen and a few small notebooks in my jacket pocket. My continuing ed writing teacher at NYU suggested we write down any thoughts and observations we make throughout the day. She was very clear she didn't want us using our iPhones to take notes. It's too easy to edit yourself on your devices, she said. The act of writing on paper is suppose to free me up from over editing.

I bought the pen from the gift shop at the Met last Saturday in hope of writing down something so amazing that I would get into NYU's masters program, which would lead to me write the great American novel, and I would eventually die in faculty housing at Cambridge University. This pen gave me hope. Maybe my life wouldn't turn out to be so bland. Then I let my kid use it.
After it disappeared beneath all the slug and ice, Ella turned to me and said in her cheerful voice, "Yikes. I just dropped the pen! It's nowhere to be found." And skipped off.
I was furious. The forest felt empty, so I yelled as loud as I wanted without any restraint, "You lost my pen! How could you lose my pen? Where is it? You constantly complain about the brothers ruining your things, but you do the same to me. This is the second pen of mine that you lost. I should have never let you use it. See this pen here?" I pulled out another pen out of my pocket, "This is the shitty pen you should've been using. Now I'm stuck with it. I hate this pen. It totally sucks. I'm taking the $2 the tooth fairly gave you and buying myself a new pen."
She pushed her notebook into me and told me to keep it. Her eyes were red, her arms were folded in front of her, and she kept her distance as we walked over a gorgeous footbridge and down to the waterfall. I let her feel bad for way longer than was necessary.

I wanted to go home.

Then Oscar started jabbering on about something, "At church I learned about a girl who woke up in a bad mood. She kept poking her brother. And then her mom made her breakfast she didn't like. She kept being grumpy. She didn't eat it. And then her teacher at church told her she had a choice to be happy. She kept poking her brother. The next week, her mom made her that same breakfast she didn't like. But she ate it. She stopped poking her brother. I don't know the rest, something about choice . . ."

"I think what you're trying to say is that I have a choice right now to be angry at Ella. And I'm choosing to be angry."

"Yeah."

Ugh. 6-year-olds and their bounty of wisdom. I went up to Ella and gave her a giant hug and told her I was sorry. It's just a pen. I over reacted. I was wrong. She starting crying and telling me how bad she felt for losing it. And in that way that kids are so good at, she forgave me. We moved on to other things like following animals tracks in the snow, throwing snow balls into streams, and watering the indoor plants on the Children's Garden.

But she never asked for notebook back. Or for that sucky pen in my pocket. There were no more poems, no more trees, no more tic tac toe games for the rest of the day. The fear of losing another one of my sacred pens out weighed the joy of creating something. Here's the 2 poems she wrote before I messed up. They are terrible. Truly terrible. Not as terrible as all the blank pages in her notebook though.

Snowfalls
It may not be pretty
when snow falls but
It's pretty after it
is fallen and fun
Once you bundle your
self up
________________________________________

Spring has
the flowers
But winter
has snow
But fall has
leaves falling
But summer
has sun
But winter
is the best

I'm guessing the pen flew out during one of the tumbles she had with her brothers pictured here. If someone ever finds my pen, I hope they throw it away. It's not lucky. It's not filled with hope. It's probably broken anyway. And besides, it isn't going to make life less bland. I don't know the rest exactly, but I'm sure it has something to do with choice . . .