From the Annals of Juvenile Observation (by Alan)

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?

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!"

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...)

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.

"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.

First Girlfriend

Peter's been inundated lately with pictures drawn by one of his classmates, Emily U. They're really pretty cool.

Campbell Crazy

Sammy has recently discovered chicken soup with meatballs. He mostly eats the meatballs, ignoring the pasta. But he also loves the Campbell soup cans for building tall tall towers. My suspicion that he likes the cans almost more than the soup was confirmed today when he insisted on clutching two cans all the way to daycare, only to burst into tears when I had to take them home. I actually asked Lote, his teacher, if Sammy could keep them with him for a while longer, but she seemed to sense potential catastrophe. I guess the cans are rather heavy. She has considerably more experience with two-year-olds in group settings…

Cleaning Up

Petey has always been very firm on the point that loving vehicles with wheels is not the same as wanting to drive them. If someone would ask him, "Would you like to drive a tractor someday?" he'd chuckle and say, "Noooo" with an intonation that indicated "What a crazy person you are!" But the other day, he finally announced his plans for the future. He would like to drive a garbage truck. An awesome garbage truck that would "pick up all sorts of things" and compact them. He even elaborated on this plan by saying that he might be so busy that Mommy and Daddy might have to help him on occasion. He even developed a weekly schedule!

Right? Right!

Peter and Qun-Qun have come up with a call and response that has once again shaped our community. One will come up with a statement that is either abstract, like "sea anemones as big as whales like to eat plankton," or instrumental, like "popcorn makes you stronger," following it with a "Right?" The other with decisively answer, "Right!" The two are usually in sync, but if there is too long a pause, the first will repeat, "Right?!" and the second will be recalled to his role and answer, "Right!" It's like a comedy duo. Next thing you know, Mabel and Jamie, roommates who are the primary babysitters for the two at present, are jokingly reproducing this dynamic. Then, Qun-Qun and Peter are insisting that parents participate. Now Sammy is pitch-perfectly demanding support for his various, strongly held, opinions by saying, "Right?" Heaven help us if we miss our cue. The only acceptable answer is: "Right!"

Bubble Time

Last night's bath was one of the good ones: the final half hour was spent blowing bubbles over the tub with Sammy clapping them, catching them, covering himself with them. Peter was drawn back to the tub scene after exiting earlier to transform the counter sink into an aquarium (an elaborate process involving soap, colors when available, and many, many sea creatures and insects). Peter offered to blow bubbles for Sammy as well, and soon the two of them were giggling, then shouting, and finally shrieking with glee. Given the acoustics of the bathroom, my ear drums were ringing, but it was all in a very good cause.

Fighting Words

Both Peter and Sammy have built up a repertoire of words and phrases that signal that one or both are spoiling for a fight. They range from the obvious "It's MY turn" to the more idiosyncratic "No, I say that!" Interjected into a moment of apparent calm, these words cause them to immediately square off, launching into a round of claims to priority, followed by a clench that will have Peter encircling Sammy's neck and Sammy kicking furiously.

Toys For Us

Just recording for posterity that while others may think of that mega-toy store as "Toys R Us," Peter knows better.

Bubbling Over

Peter has recently rediscovered his love for long baths, largely because it offers the perfect staging area for his elaborate tales featuring sea creatures. We pile the multitude of sea creatures we now have on hand in the water and watch as they get woven into stories of love, loss, and revenge. Oh yes, and Good and Evil. So involving are these imaginative journeys that Sammy will sometimes be drawn into the spell in spite of himself, for at all other times he holds fast to the principle of "No Baff!" Despite already being in his pajamas, Sammy will stand in front of the tub, entranced. A couple, or twenty, minutes later, he'll exuberantly demand to be stripped and jump right in. Then, the games begin…

Chocolate

This morning, Sammy was telling me very earnestly, "I WUV chocolate cake." I naturally agreed with him, but added that carrot cake was very tasty, too. He laughed uproariously at my foolishness. We discussed the merits of chocolate cake some more, then I ventured that I was also fond of vanilla cake. "Nooo…" he chuckled. "I wuv chocolate." Sammy has been working very hard lately on describing his tastes: not a day goes by without him carefully enunciating, "I wike" or "I wuv" something or other, from cars to rice to who knows what else. I'm happy to report that many things meet with his approval. Not carrots, though.

How About...Turtle Meat?

Game played in the car: the boys call out menu options to gross out Mom and Dad. Peter comes up with an amazing variety of things, and Sammy does his bit with style. His vocabulary is still a bit limited, however, so with big blue eyes sparkling, hands waving and voice raised in triumph, Sammy makes frequent resort to his trump card: "How about…Turtle Meat!"

Superheroes

Alan got "The Tick" animated series for Christmas, but the boys quickly took it over for their own. Peter can scat the theme song in great style, while Sammy hums along. The other night, Peter wanted us to playact "The Tick" but floored me with his first choice of persona: Sewer Urchin. I was to be the Tick, and Sammy was Arthur (Tick's sidekick or his only tenuous link to "reality"). Now, the Sewer Urchin is neither a central nor a peripheral character, but I admit to having had to clamp my tongue between my teeth before I succumbed to prompting him to choose being the Tick instead. OK, I worry a bit about the potential implications regarding self-esteem. But I really love the off-kilter brilliance that led Peter to choose the Sewer Urchin. Moreover, Peter's impersonation was rocking. He had the muttered soliloquies pitch- and cadence-perfect. As for the storyline he developed, well, it built upon the sewer theme most logically: we eventually battled villains on the Island of Poo. And, laying to rest my aforementioned anxieties, in the next round we all switched characters, and Peter played the Tick.

New Hamster

I suppose I should begin with an Introduction, Begin at the Beginning, and All That. But if I do, I will never Start. So…

New Hamster
Family jokes can take root for decades or fade within months. I'm not sure what the ultimate fate of "New Hamster" will be, but I have desperately wanted to record this invention of Peter's, because I love it. When we were talking to the boys about going back East for Christmas, Peter heard "New Hampshire" as "New Hamster" and it has stuck. It has even spread to friends and relatives! "Hamster" itself is a relatively new word for Peter, but it has assumed a prominent position in his list of desired pets (from dog and cat to crocodiles) in part because his best friend's sister has a lively hamster named "Chessie." Speaking of fixed ideas, it seems that Peter is also under the impression that all hamsters are properly known as Chessie.