The boys have a toy cell phone (kids these days!) from Japan that they'll pull out once a month or so. They were playing with it this morning when I overheard the following:
(Phone ringing)
Peter picks up.
P: Yes? Oh, yes. You can come. That's good.
Peter mentally hangs up.
(Phone ringing, because, of course, Peter pushed the ring button)
Peter (with exasperation): Oh! Who is it now?
Must remember: they are watching us, even when they aren't.
Related ethical question: the phone has four buttons instead of the usual nine. The buttons feature a dog and a cat on the top row and a duck and a cow on the bottom. The duck and cow buttons don't make any noise right now. When both boys expressed concern about this, demanding that I fix them, I told them the lines to the farm were probably down. Was that wrong?
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Monday, April 9, 2007
Sammy Sing-Song
I jotted down some of Sammy's words as he played with trains this evening:
"Oh me, oh my, oh me, oh my, OH ME, OH MY!"
"Buff, Buffer! Buff, Buffer! RrrrrrrRrrrrrRrrrrr…
"We did it, we did it, we did it!"
"Buffed the train!"
"That's Thomas."
"Green, green, orange, brown, red, blue!"
"Accidents happen, Accidents haaaappppeeen, ACCIDENTS HAAPPPEENN!"
"Nya, Nya, NYA, nya, nya, nya" (from a Japanese children's song about a lost kitten.)
"Puffer stop, PUFFER STOP, PUFFFFFFEEERRRRRRRR SSTTTOOOOOOOPPP!"
You may detect a pattern. Repetition is important. So is the addition of emphasis, which tends to grow with the repetition. But what I find utterly impossible to transcribe is the nascent musicality of much of his running monologue. Sometimes he's television theme song. Sometimes he's operatic. Sometimes he's punk. Actually, he's a lot of punk. But he loves to introduce a playful tonality and rhythm into all kinds of everyday communication, from "Chocolate!" to "No Baff!"
"Oh me, oh my, oh me, oh my, OH ME, OH MY!"
"Buff, Buffer! Buff, Buffer! RrrrrrrRrrrrrRrrrrr…
"We did it, we did it, we did it!"
"Buffed the train!"
"That's Thomas."
"Green, green, orange, brown, red, blue!"
"Accidents happen, Accidents haaaappppeeen, ACCIDENTS HAAPPPEENN!"
"Nya, Nya, NYA, nya, nya, nya" (from a Japanese children's song about a lost kitten.)
"Puffer stop, PUFFER STOP, PUFFFFFFEEERRRRRRRR SSTTTOOOOOOOPPP!"
You may detect a pattern. Repetition is important. So is the addition of emphasis, which tends to grow with the repetition. But what I find utterly impossible to transcribe is the nascent musicality of much of his running monologue. Sometimes he's television theme song. Sometimes he's operatic. Sometimes he's punk. Actually, he's a lot of punk. But he loves to introduce a playful tonality and rhythm into all kinds of everyday communication, from "Chocolate!" to "No Baff!"
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Chick Magnet
Peter wants a farm. This is not actually a new desire on his part. But it has emerged with fresh intensity of late because of the latest attraction in his kindergarten, better far than the leprechauns who left little footprints all over the classroom in March.
Chicks.
Mrs. Norman brought an incubator for chicken eggs to hatch them in the classroom. The children watched over them with anxious eyes for what seemed to be ages, but last week the eggs finally broke open. First one, then six, then a dozen or so. Baby chicks. In the classroom. You couldn't tear the kids away without exerting considerable force of will…and body. I know, I was volunteering on Wednesday and spent most of my time either watching over the children when they were allowed to hold the chicks, and steering them away when it was time to give the little peep-peep-peepers a bit of rest.
Peter was enthralled, gently stroking the chicks in teacher-approved fashion with one finger, carefully cupping the chicks in two hands…and letting out shrieks and whoops from the sheer thrill of it all.
So he thinks we need an incubator at home. As for the question of what to do with the chicks when they would get bigger, well, let's just say he's not convinced that's really a problem. Maybe moving to a bigger house wouldn't provide a lasting solution to our space problems after all…
Going on an Egg Hunt...
"Easter" didn't mean much to the boys before this weekend, but I expect next year the mere mention of the word will send them into a frenzy. Especially Sammy, chocoholic that he is…
Basically we are treating Easter as a celebration of the arrival of spring, not going into any detailed explanations. But we were treated to two opportunities for egg hunts, which the boys entered into with great enthusiasm. On Saturday, our colleague and friend Dana opened up her beautiful garden for the children to search for cleverly hidden treats. It took some time for even the older ones to find all of the eggs, which meant there were a few minutes here and there available for grown up to appreciate the lovely spring day and good companionship as well…
Easter morning was celebrated with the neighborhood egg hunt. Parents stash eggs in a meadow nearby, a dozen per child, and then kids are let loose at 9:00. The toddlers get a few minutes lead, thank goodness, as the hunt gets pretty intense once the whole crowd is involved. Peter focused quite intently on the task at hand, and (ahem) may have collected a couple more than the official dozen. Sammy did well, too, greatly assisted by the kindly angel in the form of Charles' and Jenny's oldest daughter, Meg, who kept an eye out for the little ones and placed treats in their paths.
The last egg hunt (so far) was orchestrated by Peter, who wanted his own turn at being the one to hide eggs. He and I tucked eggs in and around our backyard, with Peter delighting equally in figuring out unusual places to place eggs and complementing me on my own stratagems. Since Sammy was still taking his nap, it fell to Alan to hunt for the eggs, which he did with great good humor.
(Hopefully, pictures will follow...)
Basically we are treating Easter as a celebration of the arrival of spring, not going into any detailed explanations. But we were treated to two opportunities for egg hunts, which the boys entered into with great enthusiasm. On Saturday, our colleague and friend Dana opened up her beautiful garden for the children to search for cleverly hidden treats. It took some time for even the older ones to find all of the eggs, which meant there were a few minutes here and there available for grown up to appreciate the lovely spring day and good companionship as well…
Easter morning was celebrated with the neighborhood egg hunt. Parents stash eggs in a meadow nearby, a dozen per child, and then kids are let loose at 9:00. The toddlers get a few minutes lead, thank goodness, as the hunt gets pretty intense once the whole crowd is involved. Peter focused quite intently on the task at hand, and (ahem) may have collected a couple more than the official dozen. Sammy did well, too, greatly assisted by the kindly angel in the form of Charles' and Jenny's oldest daughter, Meg, who kept an eye out for the little ones and placed treats in their paths.
The last egg hunt (so far) was orchestrated by Peter, who wanted his own turn at being the one to hide eggs. He and I tucked eggs in and around our backyard, with Peter delighting equally in figuring out unusual places to place eggs and complementing me on my own stratagems. Since Sammy was still taking his nap, it fell to Alan to hunt for the eggs, which he did with great good humor.
(Hopefully, pictures will follow...)
Opposites
Peter has been having a great time lately with listing all kinds of opposites. One he came up with this evening particularly tickled me: "work" and "death." Don't ask me where that came from, or if even he quite understood what he saying. All I know is that Omama would approve.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
"Where the Women are Strong" from Alan
Alan and Barbara have arrived in Oslo after a grueling trans-continental (Alan) and trans-Atlantic (Alan and Barbara) flight.
Alan flew across to New York in two planes without sufficient leg room. So when he arrived at the gate for the flight to Brussels, he was particularly downcast about Barbara's earlier failed attempt to upgrade them to Business class (rebuffed in January because, American Airlines insisted, the upgrades for the flight were already sold out). So as they went through the ticket gate, Alan suggested to the nice ticket-taker that he upgrade his cane-reliant mother to Business Class like a good man should. Amazingly, the ticket-taker suggested he ask at the check-in counter. So they took three steps to the side and asked. And, lo and behold, after many minutes and phone calls, Alan and Barbara got upgraded! Thank goodness!
Their Norwegian ancestors, with their likely grim view of life and its inevitable dark periods, would not have been surprised, therefore, to find that their good fortune in New York would be counter-balanced with bad luck in Brussels. Their arrival gate at the Brussels airport was apparently in Amsterdam (at least it felt like they walked all the way from Amsterdam). After a 30 minute walk (not joking) they arrived at a security checkpoint where they were determined to be risky types. Barbara's carry-on luggage was completely unpacked (by a woman who then re-packed it more efficiently than Barbara had; Barbara and Alan now consider the Flemish to be phlegm-ish and efficient) and Alan's boots were carried off for an extra x-ray by a man who no doubt suffered from the 15 hour odorizing Alan's feet had performed upon them. Released from suspician, Alan and Barbara continued the further two miles (slight exagerration) to their gate only to find that their flight to Oslo was "Afgelast," "Anullé," "CANCELLED"! A kindly woman took their boarding passes and disappeared for long enough for them to suspect that she was now taking a friend with her to Oslo (vacation destination of the cooler Flemish, no doubt), eventually returning with new boarding passes on a different airline, vouchers for two free drinks and a wheelchair for a very stiff Barbara.
They were met at the airplane door in Oslo by a strong looking Norwegian woman (Garrison Keilor now appears to Alan and Barbara to be a clear-eyed journalist). She loaded Barbara into the chair and scooted off to baggage claim, leaving Alan trailing in her dust. Once their baggage had been collected and piled onto a luggage cart, this woman drove Barbara with one hand and the luggage cart with the other and dashed off through the crowded airport barreling through some crowds, but dodging around most (that was where her strength really showed: in her ability to turn two wheeled vehicles simultaneously with one hand each without slowing down). She helped them purchase their train tickets to downtown Oslo and whisked them off to the platform.
Before she left them, Alan got this photo of two strong Norwegian women.
The women are strong indeed.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
First Girlfriend
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