One-Stapled Books; Fragments of Memory
Simple cardstock books for kids and the value of writing and recording our stories
I knew I had to have today's post done early. I work on these throughout the week, stealing time here and there, but Saturday is an all-day thing. That's become the routine. This week though, on Saturday, we will load the car and take a drive. A few days ahead of that, I'm haphazardly making lists and at the same time trying to just roll into the day. The one moving isn’t a packer, a planner, or a list maker. I really anticipate that we'll be tossing some things in the car Friday night to leave Saturday morning for the first trip. The distance isn't far, but this really feels like a turning page and a closing (and an opening) door.
Knowing that I wouldn't be here this weekend, I planned ahead. I wanted to share Samantha Dion Baker’s book on illustrated journaling for kids. I got that ready. I wrote notes on several other books by a favorite author. I planned ahead to make things a bit easier for myself, but I just couldn’t let it go. Something kept niggling at me.
I kept thinking about a little homemade cardstock book.... an image of a simple red cardstock cover, some folded white inside pages, a staple, and a bird. The image of the book itself was almost tangible, but I couldn't quite put it all together, especially the bird.
The image of that little book stuck in my head, I searched the podcast episode titles and site, thinking I might turn something up on "cardstock book" or "one-staple book" (not to be confused with the popular one-staple collages that Tammy of Daisy Yellow often includes as a warmup for the Index-Card-a-Day Challenge). I was going to link through to (or at least mention) whatever old episode had contained the story of those little books, whatever and whenever they were.
I had trouble finding what I was looking for. It always makes me wish for a better digital log of all these years. (Maybe this is the year to dig my heels in.) When I finally found the episode, one last-ditch search in Evernote, it seemed like it should have been easy: Episode 84: One Stapled Book at a Time (2008). (This show from way back then isn't available to listen to now.... I took all the old shows down.)
I started reading my notes for that show, and I was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed and so thankful that the notes exist, that the show exists and existed back then. I would never have recorded moments like this otherwise, and I would never have remembered. I read words like this now like an archaeologist. I read them from the outside, unable to put myself in the moment but somehow caught up in knowing this was us at the time.
I captured so much in those early years with the boys, and when a stray note surfaces, revealing bits and pieces that have been lost, I am grateful.
Oddly, when I see the words for Episode 84, I hear them, a bit flat, a bit stilted. Early podcast me. Today, I want to share some of the story, as it was written then.
Maybe this is an indulgence. Certainly it is sentimental. Seeing these words from 15 years ago is especially poignant to me right now, but I think there is something here for all of us. Some of us will remember and make our own connections. Some of us will maybe be newly inspired to make little books or create daily drawing and recording habits with the young people in our lives. Some of us will connect the larger dots and realize the importance of writing our own things down, making notes, keeping journals, and recording personal stories. Some will wonder about all the little details, the little stories, the small things that happen day by day, even now, and where they go.
I just had a conversation with one about strawberry lemonade. It's so small, so tiny. I wish I had a list of the drinks bought at gas stations and corner markets this summer.
Yesterday, a funny, unbelievable conversation with one about a crazy idea to bike a ridiculous distance with zero biking experience. A story with much laughter and so much layered history.
A walk at the botanical garden. It seemed so much smaller than I remember. Was that a striated heron? Another trip to the guitar store to try a parlor. (On the way out…. who knew electric guitars are so heavy!)
Our lives are full of the tiniest of moments. Writing them down, even with these few words, gives me some chance that I'll see them later and wonder about these everyday exchanges with my kids.
Write things down because the opportunity for these moments, for these quotidian, often funny, sometimes insightful, conversations evolves through the years. Our access to these stories changes, ebbs, and flows, and tapers or even ends. Pages turn. Pages are always in the process of turning.
Yes, maybe this is an indulgence. But when I was writing about Samantha's book, I mentioned that my kids, despite my best efforts (and plenty of little homemade books through the years), didn’t grow up to be list makers or journal keepers. Writing that brought that little red one-staple book to mind, a fragment of memory that wouldn't let go, the name or title on the tip of the tongue that bothers you until suddenly, hours or days later, it bursts free, in the middle of a completely different conversation or while you are doing something totally unrelated, and you are so relieved to finally have remembered.
Finding this note shows me that while it is true that the boys aren't (yet) journalers and don't have any interest in my illustrated journal habit, there is more to the story.
Jump to:
Quotes for the week:
Some favorites here. There is happenstance to my quote-finding each week, and I appreciate the process of finding and then reading and pondering in the context of now.
“We build too many walls and not enough bridges.” —Isaac Newton
“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined.” —Henry David Thoreau
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” —Søren Kierkegaard
One-Staple Books and a Stapler
Written notes from Episode 84 of the Creative Mom Podcast (what is now the Creativity Matters Podcast):
(Note: There are lots of ellipses.... I've left them. This isn't a grammatically cleaned up essay. I don't want to edit and shape this story. I don’t want to trample on the delicate authenticity of early-me words. These notes were a podcast outline, so they were written for me to use to talk out loud. The writing is a map for that. Red pens away.)
The first grader brought home his second completed journal for the year. His first journal came home in the fall, and I remember looking through it and finding myself in tears seeing certain things and events reflected through his eyes, and in his words and in his print and with his illustrations, the innocence coming through, and certain moments striking me with such poignancy as I understood how they had struck him, and understood in a different way, an unexpected way, which things and moments amid all the day-to-day and week-to-week things and moments stand out for him as subjects to talk about when faced with the blank page in his journal.
That first time, I was unprepared for that. The sudden realization and awareness that he’s at a point where he can autonomously record his own hurt and disappointment and excitement and frustration and hope…. It overwhelmed me and disarmed me. It was a strange experience reading that journal… Everything I read was a moment I already knew, and yet seeing it through his words… it was like seeing it from a completely different angle, completely outside of myself…. In his own words… his own sentence structure… It was a powerful thing, holding that first journal… A powerful moment where you suddenly realize… they really will grow up… and they ARE growing up.
When he proudly handed me his newly finished journal last week, I knew what to expect. I braced myself internally as I opened it up, flipped through noticing, immediately, that he has filled this entire journal with his own words and sentences and paragraphs, and a healthy sprinkling of apostrophes to go along with all the commas and periods… and no drawings. I noticed that… without even really thinking about it… and then, seeing that his final entry spilled over onto the back cover, key words caught my eye, and focusing in, I realized he had written about playing chess and… specifically… a recent game.
As I read his words, his presentation of “chess” as it exists right now for him… and between us… I was reminded, again, that he’s six, soon to be seven. I smiled as I read his words and his excitement over a recent win… Chess right now sits in a precarious place in our house… it's a hinge… a turning point… it's the elephant in the room… it's the game that right now every game seems to be, the last game that will ever be played… until the next one rolls around. And then… it’s the rainy season here in the Bay Area, so there’s also a lot of chess going on at school on days they do recess indoors. Chess between two who are… well… still learning the rules. Chess… it’s tricky. But then, at three, Candy Land was tricky. I remember well the tears and frustration when the Rainbow Trail was missed on the first roll, or the Gumdrop Pass a bit farther down the colorful path…
So… chess… and in a book… a journal… a simple construction paper cover with lined pages stapled inside… his own non-fiction, his own record, his own understanding in each entry of beginning, middle, and end. His own developing trust in his own voice…
And the other one, at three, told me a week or so ago with excitement that a little girl at school had made a book… she’d used a stapler. And then, when we got to school one day last week, the parent teacher outside was setting up a table where they were going to do exactly that… make books… narrate and illustrate a story… be authors.
He was first in line for the project… his excitement over the presence of the stapler… paramount. I could barely get his attention long enough to kiss him goodbye. But right as I started to leave, I heard the parent say something to him about being an author… and he protested… no… he didn't want to do that… he wanted to use THAT… the stapler. He knew that with that stapler… a book would come into being. And when I picked him up, it was with a book in hand… a slim little story, for sure… and a tearful tale of a second book he’d made that day that somehow hadn’t found its way home with us.
So… books all around… and a perfect fit today. Last month… or maybe even in November… I followed a link from Sarah’s blog to an entry of Soule Mama’s … an entry where she talked about a few special handmade books… a few of many… and she showed a great photo of the book making station she keeps stocked for her family. A little area full of everything you need to sit down and … make a book… At the heart of that station, of course, are small folded-paper books with cardstock or construction paper covers…. Stapled in the middle. Plenty of them. You can see from the photo that there are plenty… I like that.
I love that there are enough there and at the ready so that picking up one to write a book when inspiration strikes is a fluid process… something taken for granted… second nature… have an idea… got a story running through your head? Grab a book, find a chair or a spot on the floor, and write it down. Did something wonderful happen today? Write it down. Did you bring home a shell or a rock or a leaf? Draw a picture and make a note. With so many blank books at hand, sitting silently ready and waiting, there’s no fear in the blank page, no worry about messing up… you can always grab another blank book and start again.
Such a simple idea… to create such a book making center… an area, a basket, a corner, a nook, a place they know they can go where the supplies are always there… a simple idea, and yet so empowering… so wonderful to put the tools there at hand so that they’re ready… post nature walk, post trip to the beach, or for a cozy day indoors while the snow falls outside. Hot chocolate, yes. And a story, yes. Fiction… yes… encourage their stories. But nonfiction, too.
At every age, they can capture something of what they are feeling and what they are thinking… at points you will need to write down what they tell you. And they have to be ready for that… At some ages, you writing on their page ruins it… it's as simple as that… even when they think they want you to write on it… as soon as you touch pen to the paper… tears abound… disaster has struck… you've destroyed their work… [At that stage… I recommend writing down the annotation later, on the back.] But… then, they reach a point where they want you to write the words. Before you know it, the words will be all theirs, in their own hand… and you… you… a reader. Whatever their interest or their hobby, whatever their evolving passion, encourage them to put it down on paper… between the pages of a book.
Facilitating that process… and nurturing it… and creating a comfortable relationship with authorship… it can be really easy. Just make everything available. Make the creation of a book and the recording of stories, both true and made up, something that simply “is” a part of life… not a chore or an assignment or something that involves a lot of fussy preparation. Make it easy.
Spend time sharing and reading the books they write.
And… down the road… what a library you will have.
I’ve talked many times about the oldest and his “books…” we have many stacks of stapled books from the last few years… there have been periods where the creation of the current book was something ongoing… something that spanned many many days, pages created here and there. And the books themselves were numbered… he was always working on pages of his “next” book. Those books… they tend to appear one sheet at a time… he’s often seen running down the hall with paper from my printer… ready to draw a new scene or, these days, a new page of statistics or facts or how-to information as he channels his interests right now… differently… but still into the pages of books… pages he at some point gathers and sorts and orders and stacks together… and we bind them together, turning all the hard work into one assembled piece… a book that he’s made at this… a certain point in time.
And… the other one… now hooked on this idea that a stapler holds some magical power… that a stapler means a book… and knowing that… well… we’re going to spend some quality time with the stapler. There have continued to be birds from him… every single day… “Can I draw a bird” has become a chant from him, appearing especially early in the morning, even as bird song begins out the window. And throughout the day, he’ll find me in an unexpected moment, my grandmother’s [bird] book in hand… “I want to paint THIS bird,” he’ll say, pointing. And then, at night, as he settles, he is drawing – and telling me what words to write… and then coloring birds.
And I smile.
A new kind of bird book… his bird book… is one ready to be drawn and colored… and treasured now… and someday.
We’re taking a quick trip to the snow next week… and I know a set of blank stapled books will be perfect to have on hand… who knows what stories might get told. And, today… during a playdate… I stapled stacks of index cards between covers, passed them out, and sat and smiled as they consulted their Pokedex… and began copying information into their books.
[This show went on to talk about a book about books….]
I teared up. Of course I did. I guess that's the indulgence. These words, this week. But I teared up again as I reached the end. I teared up for completely different reasons. There is a clip that became part of the intro sounds for the podcast along the way, a small segment of stacked voices… "Can I draw a bird, Mama." And here, in these notes, is the story, a forgotten story. That my youngest ever wanted to draw birds seems hard to believe now. I don’t remember that at all. That he was ever enchanted by a stapler seems impossible.
("My grandmother's book".... there was at least one show or more about that.... that little blue or aqua book of birds… my own memories of that book and her house and looking at birds.)
Reading this, I feel how much I've lost of who I was then. I’ve lost the spark that made me write things down. I’ve lost a life with stories unfolding day by day. Reading this, I see, again, how much I’ve forgotten of those days, of the parenting, of nurturing and observing and encouraging and delighting in their creative spirit. And now they are grown.
It is different to know, as a simple fact of history, that “we played chess” or “we went to coffee shops and drew” or “we made small cardstock books.” Those details, why true, are too flat. They mask the stories and the life within. Finding notes like the ones shared above flesh out a story, bring it back to life, fill in the gaps. I’m looking in from the outside, while knowing, at the same time, it is mine.
I do want to share Samantha's book. I will share my notes another day. I’m going to close quietly today and leave things softly, with echoes of tiny voices, markers, artist dates at the coffee shop, graphic novels and trucks and endless Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh! drawings swirling around as I watch the page turn.
Spinners and a “Pop”-Top Game
I’ve been doing another round of sorting and clearing out. There is a feeling of emptying. I uncovered a stack of art panels under a dresser. They used to hang in the boys’ room, a series of brightly colored paintings of vehicles. They are very cool. I didn’t remember them at all. (Neither did they.) I found a little police car with a “pop” top that has a small die inside. Press the clear domed top, and the die tumbles around until it lands, maybe, on a side with a star. I know it was from a Tonka game that had four different rescue vehicles. I know we loved that game, and I still think the car is super cool. (The pop top is similar to the device in the game Trouble.)
Little things like this, I keep. Someday, I’ll have to weed and winnow the many bags of small things, but I love to draw them. I did try to draw this little car. I always have trouble with cars, which is why I often return to them. There is a wonkiness I think at some point will even out, but it always means something, this recording of small cars, small game pieces, small toys.
I have a pile of EXIT games that I’ve finally admitted I need to just dump. They are designed as single-use games because, inevitably, you have to tear or cut something in order to solve a puzzle. I think they could potentially have play value still, and I hate to get rid of them. They represent something. They were, ironically, the last games somehow, games from the pandemic years, too. I opened the box lids one night this week, one by one, trying to decide what to do, and I was enchanted by the simple cardboard spinners. Each one has a similar spinner, decorated for that specific game. These are simple, flat, cardboard wheels with multiple windows, like a decoder device. Maybe I should just keep the wheels and recycle the rest. But it did cross my mind to just photograph the spinners and then get rid of the games. Maybe I'll draw the spinners someday. Maybe not. I don't think I really need them.
The police car with the pop top? I need that.
Write It Down
I hope you have a wonderful week. I hope you write something down. I hope you make writing things down a part of your everyday life, whether that means writing by hand or typing or both.
I think there is something beautiful in the idea of a simple folded paper book, a single staple. They are so imperfect that they are perfect because they highlight the function, not the overthinking of form. They are humble. Sure, you have to “crease” or fold the paper to turn the page, pressing to make a hard edge. Our adult mentalities have trouble with that messiness, but it’s okay. Just take the edge of your hand, give it a fold, and go on. My favorite of these small books, at least what I think of when I envision that one with the red cover, had the staple at the top. So the pages opened like a small memo pad. (Other books were larger and folded the other way.) These simple, always available, books are so perfect for children, magical in some ways. They encourage children to write, draw, and record. They help kids develop habits of observation, detail, description, and recall. They foster a sense of voice and authorship.
These homemade books tell kids that filling a book is something anyone can do.
I’m grateful for the typed notes I found. I would never have had the same record in long form notes. That’s true to me. I’m really grateful I found Episode 84.
I don’t manage to record as much these days. I think I hold off from recording the weight that seems to be a part of the present.
Have a good week.
Write something.
Draw something.
Draw a bird.
Or draw a child’s toy.
Or draw something you are giving away.
Donate something.
Organize something.
Look through some old notes or flip through an old journal.
What do you see?
What do you remember?
All of these are pieces of a puzzle, your own puzzle, as much detail and color and nuance and layering and meaning and symbolism as you capture in the making of each tiny piece.
Book/Miscellaneous Notes
I will post my review separately, but for those interested, Samantha Dion Baker’s book for kids is: Draw Your Day for Kids: How to Sketch and Paint Your Amazing Life.
Reviewed in Episode 84, The Book Book by Sophie Benini Pietromarchi.
In what I shared today, there is reference to a SouleMama post (from 2008). SouleMama (Amanda Blake Soule) went on to publish The Creative Family Manifesto (in 2017).
If you are interested in cultivating a daily writing habit or exploring Morning Pages, you might enjoy the chapter-by-chapter summary notes from reading Julia Cameron’s Write for Life earlier this year.
Some talk about EXIT games—we really enjoy them.
A child drawing on index card at a restaurant, an “out-to-eat” habit when the boys were young. A Cowen
Made It?
Thank you for being here today and spending some time reading. I see people talk about the hundreds of readers and subscribers they get each day, and I laugh because that isn’t my experience. I am grateful for the few of you here who are reading and giving me a chance.
Comment stapler below if you have memories of little homemade blank books.
Comment key if you ever had a little diary with a key.
Comment waffle if you are just enjoying reading along.
Comment pop if you remember Trouble or another “pop” game.
Comment cereal if that previous sentence made it impossible for you to not think about Rice Krispies.
Comment golden if you know the small blue book.
Comment rustling wind if you really just want to comment.
What to do if several are true? Stack and string and weave them together of course, embellished as you wish.
(It’s true. I had to stop myself from adding bowl and milk and making it possible to create some ridiculous breakfast sentence. Leprechauns and stars and captains and crunch and cocoa and puff would all have come traipsing through. But this wasn’t a post about cereal, you think. So very true.)
Thank you for reading. I hope you will share. I hope you will go back and listen to some of the podcasts from years past, too.
Illustrate Your Week — Week 36
The new prompts for Week 36 have been posted.
Thank you for reading the Illustrated Life substack. Please consider subscribing (for free) to receive the weekly email. Writers need readers, and I am grateful for every reader! Please comment and share with someone else who might enjoy it.
Paid options are available for those who can and want to support the substack, the podcast, and #illustrateyourweek. I am trying to keep things free because I want people who can’t pay to be able to read this newsletter. But there are realities to this project, the work involved, my life, and how much hope I am pinning on this space. Subscriptions not your thing? One-time donations are also appreciated.
(Links to books or tools referenced in posts are Amazon affiliate links that help support these projects.)
Key! This is full of such lovely memories, thank you for sharing all of it.
Staple, key, waffle, pop...ALL the things in today’s post resonate with me. Sending you good vibes for this change you’re going through. ❤️