Margret has often been ill or injured on or near her birthday. Everything from earaches to measles to broken bones. The year she turned eight Easter was three days before her birthday and according to her it was her worst Easter ever.
Margret reported that...
1)she was scared all night
2)when she woke up and found everyone's Easter bags hers was the only one without a nametag attached to it. Her name was written ON HER BAG
3)at church her sisters got candy in their classes and she did not
4)her shoe broke so she had to wear the shoes she was going to get as a birthday present and now they wouldn't be a surprise
5)her big sister made fun of her in the egg hunt
As we grow older life becomes more complicated. We have greater expectations and thus are more vulnerable to disappointment. Parents and presents are not the key ingredient. Who could have guessed that lack of a nametag on a bag would not be a welcome distinguishing feature and worse yet that the name would be written on the bag.
Children exist in a parallel universe to adults and even to all their siblings. We breathe the same air, occupy the same space (more or less) and yet we have no anticipation nor comprehension of what really matters to a child. And so the child learns to "deal". This is a good thing.
On her birthday she received at least 26 Gifts:
Applesauce & Art
Bunnies (the plush variety) & Balloons
Corn & Clothes
Drama
Easter surprise
Fashion show & Film
Gumdrops
a Hand (clap clap clap clap)
Icecream & Cake
the King & I
Lots of Love
Money
Nightgown & New shoes
Oreos
Pen
a Quarter
Races
Skating & Samantha outfits
Tea Party
Underwear
a Very busy day
Work
X o X o X o X o
Yoyo
Zooming around
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Piano Musings by an 8-yr-old
Saturday April 15, 2006 Julia is 8 years old (nearly 9)
I'm up in my room getting ready for the day. Downstairs Julia is plinking out on the piano the familiar song from The Sound of Music, "Do, A Deer" and as she gets to the end she sings at the top of her lungs, "that will bring us back to do!". She does this repeatedly, intermittently inserting the tune, "Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater." After awhile she shouts for all to hear, "those are the only two songs I know, but I play them pretty well."
I come downstairs to press my shirt. I see she has three plush bunnies perched on the piano. One is orange, "Carrots" (hers). One is blue and one is yellow. She is now into a repeat mode of "Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater." She casually announces she is "playing it in every key." She reaches the top of the scale and observes that "pianos should be longer."
She suggests we should relocate the piano to a more central location in the room because "music brings peace into the home and encourages conversation."
Now Julia is sorting the empty plastic eggs into categories (at my request). The first category she selected was by size. "Guess which pile will be the biggest," she says. "Medium size," I reply and she confirms it was the right choice.
I'm up in my room getting ready for the day. Downstairs Julia is plinking out on the piano the familiar song from The Sound of Music, "Do, A Deer" and as she gets to the end she sings at the top of her lungs, "that will bring us back to do!". She does this repeatedly, intermittently inserting the tune, "Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater." After awhile she shouts for all to hear, "those are the only two songs I know, but I play them pretty well."
I come downstairs to press my shirt. I see she has three plush bunnies perched on the piano. One is orange, "Carrots" (hers). One is blue and one is yellow. She is now into a repeat mode of "Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater." She casually announces she is "playing it in every key." She reaches the top of the scale and observes that "pianos should be longer."
She suggests we should relocate the piano to a more central location in the room because "music brings peace into the home and encourages conversation."
Now Julia is sorting the empty plastic eggs into categories (at my request). The first category she selected was by size. "Guess which pile will be the biggest," she says. "Medium size," I reply and she confirms it was the right choice.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Trade Secret
I have a confession to make.
On one stressful day I found myself carrying one pre-school aged daughter out of a Chuckie-Cheese Restaurant, kicking and screaming, over my shoulder like a bag of potatoes to install her in her carseat while I rushed back into the building to retrieve her younger sister from a kind bystander and do the same with her. We made quite a scene.
Later that week I reviewed the incident with a good friend who had a child the same age as my daughter. This friend was an only child and had just one child. I had been the eldest of six children and was now the mother of two children. I presumptiously thought I should know more about children than my friend due to the fact I'd had so much more exposure to them. Ha ha!
My friend suggested to me that I "brief" my children before going out with them. This seemed so laughably simple that I secretly doubted it would have any effect on children so young. However, I had nothing to lose in giving it a try.
This is how it worked. I would chat with my "captive audience" as I drove them to our destinations -- they in their carseats and me at the wheel. "Where are we going?" I would ask. They would tell me, "We are going to the store," or wherever it was we were going. I would then ask, "How do we behave at the store?" They would tell me how they thought they should behave. If needed, we would chat about why that behavior was expected or review the expected behavior or coach about the expected behavior. Before we disembarked from the car I would ask, "How will you know when it is time to leave?" and they would say that they would know it was time to go when I said it was time to go. Then I would ask, "What will happen if you don't come when I say we are leaving?" They would suggest a penalty that was so severe that I would never resort to its implementation. I would say, "I don't think we need to do that. Let's think of something else." They would then suggest something so lenient that it would not serve as sufficient incentive to cooperate. I would say, "That probably won't work. Let's think of something else." By now we would usually settle on something that was agreeable to us all.
It worked like magic.
On one stressful day I found myself carrying one pre-school aged daughter out of a Chuckie-Cheese Restaurant, kicking and screaming, over my shoulder like a bag of potatoes to install her in her carseat while I rushed back into the building to retrieve her younger sister from a kind bystander and do the same with her. We made quite a scene.
Later that week I reviewed the incident with a good friend who had a child the same age as my daughter. This friend was an only child and had just one child. I had been the eldest of six children and was now the mother of two children. I presumptiously thought I should know more about children than my friend due to the fact I'd had so much more exposure to them. Ha ha!
My friend suggested to me that I "brief" my children before going out with them. This seemed so laughably simple that I secretly doubted it would have any effect on children so young. However, I had nothing to lose in giving it a try.
This is how it worked. I would chat with my "captive audience" as I drove them to our destinations -- they in their carseats and me at the wheel. "Where are we going?" I would ask. They would tell me, "We are going to the store," or wherever it was we were going. I would then ask, "How do we behave at the store?" They would tell me how they thought they should behave. If needed, we would chat about why that behavior was expected or review the expected behavior or coach about the expected behavior. Before we disembarked from the car I would ask, "How will you know when it is time to leave?" and they would say that they would know it was time to go when I said it was time to go. Then I would ask, "What will happen if you don't come when I say we are leaving?" They would suggest a penalty that was so severe that I would never resort to its implementation. I would say, "I don't think we need to do that. Let's think of something else." They would then suggest something so lenient that it would not serve as sufficient incentive to cooperate. I would say, "That probably won't work. Let's think of something else." By now we would usually settle on something that was agreeable to us all.
It worked like magic.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Santa Logic
Dear Santa, December 1989
I am wondering how you manage to get into homes all over the world on Christmas Eve. There are so many stories about you and we see so many of you through the holiday season. Do you come around on the "polar express" or on a horse or in a sleigh drawn by flying reindeer?
My daughters Laura (5) and Jasmine (4) are absolutely convinced you come down the chimney. I tried pointing out to them that our chimney is much too narrow--and not only that, last year since we didn't have a stovepipe we pushed the stove back and set up the tree directly under the chimney AND the chimney was blocked with foam core insulation. "HOW did Santa manage to come in without knocking the tree over," I asked. The girls absolute faith in your ability to overcome all obstacles was undaunted.
I suggested some plausable alternatives. "Suppose Santa is really the milkman. He comes twice a week all year while we're still in bed. We never see him but we know he has come because we find milk in the box. He knows where our house is and he could have a key that works only on Christmas and come right in through the door!"
This possibility was rejected by the girls. They wouldn't hear of it. Then I speculated that Santa may be the mailman. They again flatly refused to consider it.
"Then maybe Santa can walk through walls," I tried. "No Mom," from Laura. "He's not invisible. You have to be invisible to walk through walls." "Well," I try again, "maybe he's invisible while coming through the wall and turns visible again once he's inside."
At last in frustration Laura offered to draw me a picture of Santa and end the debate once and for all.
But when we finally installed a pipe from our wood-burning stove to the chimney opening and Laura could see how narrow the pipe is she conceeded that perhaps Santa indeed could come through the walls.
Somehow or other, Santa, I know you will manage to visit our home this year. We have been sending wishes to you all through the year via the Christmas-wish-fairy. And it is my guess the wish-fairy has been making secret visits through the year and stashing surprises somewhere in our house to be gathered together quickly by you, Santa, on Christmas Eve. Maybe all you will have to do is step inside, wiggle your nose, and all the gifts will be drawn together by a magical magnetism under your direction. Who knows?
I am wondering how you manage to get into homes all over the world on Christmas Eve. There are so many stories about you and we see so many of you through the holiday season. Do you come around on the "polar express" or on a horse or in a sleigh drawn by flying reindeer?
My daughters Laura (5) and Jasmine (4) are absolutely convinced you come down the chimney. I tried pointing out to them that our chimney is much too narrow--and not only that, last year since we didn't have a stovepipe we pushed the stove back and set up the tree directly under the chimney AND the chimney was blocked with foam core insulation. "HOW did Santa manage to come in without knocking the tree over," I asked. The girls absolute faith in your ability to overcome all obstacles was undaunted.
I suggested some plausable alternatives. "Suppose Santa is really the milkman. He comes twice a week all year while we're still in bed. We never see him but we know he has come because we find milk in the box. He knows where our house is and he could have a key that works only on Christmas and come right in through the door!"
This possibility was rejected by the girls. They wouldn't hear of it. Then I speculated that Santa may be the mailman. They again flatly refused to consider it.
"Then maybe Santa can walk through walls," I tried. "No Mom," from Laura. "He's not invisible. You have to be invisible to walk through walls." "Well," I try again, "maybe he's invisible while coming through the wall and turns visible again once he's inside."
At last in frustration Laura offered to draw me a picture of Santa and end the debate once and for all.
But when we finally installed a pipe from our wood-burning stove to the chimney opening and Laura could see how narrow the pipe is she conceeded that perhaps Santa indeed could come through the walls.
Somehow or other, Santa, I know you will manage to visit our home this year. We have been sending wishes to you all through the year via the Christmas-wish-fairy. And it is my guess the wish-fairy has been making secret visits through the year and stashing surprises somewhere in our house to be gathered together quickly by you, Santa, on Christmas Eve. Maybe all you will have to do is step inside, wiggle your nose, and all the gifts will be drawn together by a magical magnetism under your direction. Who knows?
Saturday, January 1, 2011
1/1/11 11:11 p.m.
I sat down at 11:11 p.m. to make this post on 1/1/11.
I've spent the day putting Christmas away and cooking and addressing and packaging my Christmas letters and Christmas cards.
I've spent the day putting Christmas away and cooking and addressing and packaging my Christmas letters and Christmas cards.
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