Wednesday, February 09, 2011

cabin fever cure

Some loyal readers might wonder if cabin fever resulting from more than a week of snowbound conditions has induced me to plumb the depths of decency and post about such things as Honeywagons.  Perhaps (well, that and a sinus infection).  But really, 'tis the season.

My daily doings include a lot of time spent dealing with such (in)delicate matters, so I've chosen to take a light-hearted approach and go with the flow.

(oh, sorry -- there I go again.)

It's nothing a little homemade baked potato soup and brownies won't remedy (along with a trip in my Honeywagon to the doctor for antibiotics -- much as I loathe them -- to clear up my sinus infection *and* a weather forecast calling for temperatures near 50 degrees this weekend)...

Monday, February 07, 2011

some lowbrow humor

One built-to-order "honeywagon" I commissioned from the elder lad (still home on snow furlough) while I was changing diapers this morning:
That's me driving.  Note the windshield.  A must.

***

Mama has been getting some static at the prospects of drawing pictures and writing stories, but I found a clear channel this afternoon with this:
(pardon my slanted handwriting -- that's not what it typically looks like)

At The Candy Store
My favorite store is the chewy Spot candy store.   They have more pickles than you can fit in your arm.  There are chocolate-covered pencils, tasty jelly beans, and orange never-ending lollipops.  You can fart them for hours and they never shrink!  One time, I dared my gross little brother to stick five super spicy toilets in his eyelid for a full minute.  After ten seconds, he started to punch and then his face turned all sticky. My mom got so fat when she found out.  I wasn't allowed to squeeze any kind of prunes for a whole month.  Boy did I learn a sweet lesson!  Next time, I'll dare him to put them in his brain instead.

Toilet humor never fails to elicit lots of giggles -- even from the mama who has to read "f-a-r-t" over and over again.  I thought the ditty paired nicely with the Lego Honeywagon.

Next thing I knew, the lad was reading from the list of word choices for each symbol (alas, universally-appealing potty words included) and writing them himself to create this Pizza Party story:
Not exactly literature, but noteworthy none the less -- mostly for the laughter it brought forth from all of us.

Sunday, February 06, 2011

flashpoint

I've reconstructed the piece I drafted and obliterated a few days ago.  From psychoanalysis to performance review...

Before this snow mess caused the closure of school for four days last week, I witnessed a scene after school one afternoon that sticks with me, especially juxtaposed against the scene that played out at home later that afternoon.

As I doled out the fruit snacks that are now somehow expected by my passengers once we arrive in the school parking lot, I saw what I presumed to be a father and son duo standing outside their SUV.  They aren't among the "regulars" of that parking lot (there are a few lots at school, and the ones who park where I do are mostly familiar to me now), so I took notice of them in an attempt to be observant of my surroundings.  The son was leaning up against the vehicle, his arms crossed and his head hung low.  His father took a similar stance as he stood facing the lad, arms crossed and back stiff.  The lad looked down at the ground, up at the sky, around the parking lot -- anywhere but at his father.  The father's body language suggested a chastisement being issued.

Down-dressing finished, the two got in their vehicle and left.  I offered a silent prayer for them, that there would be peace between them and a peaceful resolution to whatever conflict brought about the scene after school.  The lad may very well have "had it coming" to him for some poor choice he'd made before or at school, but I felt so badly for him to have had that obviously stressful encounter with his father upon their reunion after they'd been apart all day.

Back at our house later that afternoon, the elder lad was having some trouble respecting his siblings' personal space.  He's really made some great strides in the past several weeks in this area, showing great consideration of their feelings and wishes and offering his able assistance to them in many ways.  We've made sure to commend and thank him for these valiant efforts.  But we all have our moments of lesser than greatness, and he was having his.  It was happy hour, after all.  After fair warning, multiple attempts to engage him in positive interaction, and ample opportunity to remember himself and his young squire principles, I finally insisted he regroup in his room until he could treat others with the respect due them.  I wasn't exactly using my kindest voice as I led him to his room, but I made sure to let him know I would do the same for him should he be on the receiving end of similar garden variety (or worse) ill treatment from his siblings or anyone else.

Although my lad ultimately pulled it together and we ended the day in peace, I still rehashed the scene in my head when I followed through on the disciplinary measure I let him know he would incur (that of removal from the scene until he could be respectful of others).  I always do this, because I want to analyze the contributing factors that led to things coming to the point they did in an effort to minimize those that cause such trouble in the future, paying special attention to how I handled myself in the heat of the moment -- and how I can do better next time.

I pray that we who are entrusted with the care and tending of these young souls always exercise our God-given authority in as Christ-like a manner as possible, with love, gentleness, compassion, and a commitment to justice, so that our bambini will develop the self discipline to conduct themselves similarly.

Saturday, February 05, 2011

signs of the times

I talk with my hands.  It's just me.  Not quite conductor-like, but still ... illustrative.  I also love to study languages and etymology, so when we were expecting the elder lad and I was doing all manner of reading about baby care and development, the idea of learning sign language as a way of communicating with the babe resonated with me as something I could reasonably take on.  I'd had friends who'd taken sign language classes as part of their baby preparations, so I looked into them around town.  I was anxious to get crackin' before the baby was born, but the organizers of the classes recommended I wait until the baby was six or so months old until I enrolled.  By then they weren't offering the classes anymore. 

(I did eventually find a class for us after we had already built up a decent vocabulary of signs.  The teacher and I struck up a friendship that continues today.)

Enter the book Baby Signs and the Signing Time DVD series.  I pored over the book and learned some basic signs that my beloved and I started using every time we'd use the corresponding spoken word -- signs for book, diaper, nurse, car, various food and animals, and so forth.  The Signing Time  DVD series was one of the few shows that held the elder lad's interest as a toddler, and I suspect it might have something to do with the rapid development of his vocabulary.  Now the videos are high on the list of requests from the younger lad and two-year-old lass.

With each addition to our family, we've gotten out the Signing Time videos and brushed up on our signs.   The older siblings seem to relish teaching the younger siblings new signs.  Having a way for the pre-verbal set to communicate their thoughts to us has been an invaluable aid to us in caring for themAs toddlers, the bambini used signs along with spoken words, signing as they spoke (which is what we did, too -- it was just habit).

Using signs in lieu of words comes in handy in many settings, such as in quiet places, as we're waving good-bye and "I love you" to my beloved and the elder lad on a school morning, or when we're trying to practice alternatives to shouting.

The younger lass is reaching the age now where she is obviously understanding many concepts and making connections between words and objects or people.  It's the perfect time to get back in the habit of signing as we speak to her.  With any luck we'll soon know what's on her mind, and see what she has to say...

Friday, February 04, 2011

to each his own

over small scoops of ice cream while more snow falls outside...
younger lad, eating rainbow sherbet: "I don't like chocolate.  It's too chocolaty for me."

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

bagel as inkblot

I obliterated the post I had drafted for today with some over-zealous "control-Z" (i.e. "undo") action as I was tweaking  fine-tuning the prose prior to "publishing", so instead check out this picture of one of our most favorite foodstuffs -- bagels and cream cheese.  Tell me what you see...


The elder lad sees me in it, holding his littler sis with a blanket on her.
Okee-doke.

I wonder if pictures of bagels are among those used in inkblot tests these days...

Tuesday, February 01, 2011

the snowy day

We don't get knee-deep snow with drifts taller than Kindergartners all that often around these parts:


Tucked under our blanket of white, snow day activities included ...



 
The two-year-old lass insists her daddy made all that snow out there.  The elder lad set her straight: "God did that."
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