In 2012, both my dear cats died. Magic died of an illness, and Justice died in an accident. We took a break from pets after that (kind of enjoying leaving doors open and not having a litter box, if I can be honest). Grey, a seven year old, strongly remembers his cats as beloved. Since about Christmas, Grey has been on a full court press to get another cat. And I will confess, for all my logistical challenges with cats, I miss having a cat in the house.
So I sat Grey down in the dark of winter and told him he could have a cat if he could *Actually* prove to me that he would provide the daily care for the cat. This is not an easy bar. So often with kids we have pro forma promotion – if you just kind of do the work you get the pass. But in this case, it wasn’t just about him going through the motions… I actually needed to believe that he would (most of the time) take care of the cat.
We settled on a proof of responsibility, and Grey named the cat in his imagination. The cat is named Data. I’m not sure why he picked Data, but as a geek I have to love the name. I imagine a robotic but affectionate feline. Grey has spun stories and yarns about his future, to be cat, and talks about readying for Data.
We set a chore chart on the fridge. The deal was that at 170 checks (the target was selected by my son) I would get him a cat. The checks were a mix of easy and hard, dos and don’ts, which evolved over time. At first, I had trouble thinking of five or six chores that Grey could actually do. Now I have more chores than checkmarks on the board – several of them being actual things that make my life easier if he does them. He got up to about 120 and then decided to spend a bunch of his points on Skylanders (a video game). But he got right back up on the horse and worked on earning his checks.
The chore chart is great for setting expectations, reminding him of his chores and helping with long term planning and arithmetic.
Finally this week, with a marathon day of chores, Grey got his last check mark and reached the 170 mark. It was reality. Grey had earned Data.
Now, this is not actually the best time of year to bring home a new cat. Grey is headed off for Camp Gramp in two weeks (how does that happen, that summer flies so fast?) We have one more four day camping trip before school starts. I’d rather wait until we were here all the time. But somehow I found myself perusing the adoptable cats at the local shelter, and I stumbled across this guy:
Mud Pie- unfortunately he doesn’t have the right personality for our home
All together now, “Awwwwwww!”
He’s a little young for my tastes (I’d actually rather have a two year old cat), but he is SO DARN CUTE. Last night, Grey and I went to get the cat gear we’d need. Then we came home and filled out an application for adoption together. I’m waiting to hear back from the kitty’s foster parent to see if we can set up a time to meet some of their cats. I do want to make sure that proto-Data will be a personality match for our family.
I’m still at the “introduce your children to every possible hobby” phase of parenting – at least with my firstborn. There are so many wonderful and rewarding hobbies to be had, and so many of them are picked up as young children. Thane, my sweet little four year old, is already getting a little long in the tooth to ever be an ice skater or Olympic gymnast.
Anyway, you all remember me talking about sending Grey to basketball during the winter. Both boys have been doing aikido since their fourth birthday – sadly not past this summer. But I’ve also signed Grey up for: dance classes (the recital led the the worst picture ever and an intense desire never to go to a dance recital again, on my part), cooking classes, science classes, swim classes, basketball, soccer, guitar lessons and one single piano lesson.
Quite possibly the worst picture ever
No way no how is he doing anything that involves rink times on MY watch. So in an attempt to try yet one more sporty thingy, I signed him up this spring for a three day baseball skills camp. His teacher at school said that team sports might help him feel more like a participant instead of an onlooker at recess (I hated to let her know that reading at recess is a dominant trait and one that was passed down to Grey on both genetic lines – but I took her point). So in a fit of ambition, when a thick packet of summer camp sporty type things came home sometime mid spring I found one that was happening while my mother-in-law was here and blithely signed him up.
And forgot about it for a few months.
Now, for those of you who have not met him, Grey is a pretty sensitive guy. He dislikes physical pain and discomfort (as opposed to my youngest child who would probably keep on playing through broken bones if he was having fun). He really hates having people make fun of him. And periodically he has been known to display a bit of a persecution complex. These traits were particularly pronounced towards the end of school, so I was feeling particularly uneasy about this “Baseball skills camp” I had signed him up for.
I pulled back out the Xeroxed form, so terse. Here I was, handing my was-a-first-grader-yesterday over to this camp, and for requirements it said: “Bring a baseball glove, shoes or cleats and a refillable water bottle.” That’s it. What about lunch? I read the text at top “Blah blah blah Varsity baseball coach blah blah learn skills in small group settings with focused coaching blah blah six to twelve years old”.
Holy valhalla. What had I signed my kid up for? I imaged his last few complaints in the ears of the High School Varsity Baseball coach. And he’d be about the littlest kid there! He wouldn’t even get a day to chillax between school and baseball! And he’d never played baseball before! I took him to Target to pick out his glove.
“Mom, this glove is too tight! Mom, this one pinches! None of these (23 options of) gloves is going to fit my hands. My hands are a size 3.* These are all the wrong size! Mom, I don’t think I should do baseball tomorrow.”
Ah. Hm. There we had it. I almost agreed with him. Instead, I rang the help button and got the much-aggrieved-Target-guy (who had already not-sold me a stool that was displayed but not for sale) to size Grey up for a baseball glove. But I wondered… was it the stupidest idea ever to send my kid to a three day, five hour, all guy, all skills baseball camp in the sweltering heat when most of the kids there would truly be working on their swing or their fastball? Oh, did I mention not a single one of his friends was going?
I sent him anyway, counting on having my mother-in-law a mile away. I can’t say I didn’t spend the entire day waiting for the “Come pick your son up” call. But soon it was a quarter to two. It so happened I could pick him up that day, so not able to wait any longer I drove to the high school and after some mystery managed to locate my son. There he was, playing catch with one of the “assistant coaches” (read: members of the varsity baseball team).
“How did it go?”
“Great! I had a great time. I want to do this again next year! Hey, mom, I promised coach I’d clean up. Let me finish getting the gear.”
And that’s how it went, for three days. The second day, he was just coming in from the field as I drove up. One of the other kids sort of pushed him as he was going into the dugout, in that ambiguous way that boys have. Oh no, I thought. Is Grey stomping off the field? No, his team was just batting. He sat on the bench next to the other kids, easy in their company, until it was his turn. He was the last batter. He stepped up to the plate. Swing and miss. Swing and miss. Foul ball. (And this is the kind of baseball where three strikes actually means you’re out and you better go sit down.) Then he hit a grounder to first base and ran it out hard. He grabbed his gear and came out grinning.
The moment of the ground out
“I hit a single and a triple, mom!”
Well, I’ll be. He loved it. He wants to go back next year. He did three days of hard work, hard listening, hard skills. Things he didn’t know with people he doesn’t know. And there was ZERO whining. (This from a kid who will say he’s too tiiiiiiired to go alllll the way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and can’t he skip it for juuuust one night?)
I will say that this taught me a lot. Obviously, I had underestimated Grey badly when I stood in Target and wondered if I should even attempt this. It makes me wonder if his sensitivity might be because things are not challenging enough for him – if when presented with something that’s truly hard he revels and steps up. Maybe it’s the things that are repetitive and predictable that he finds difficult. Or maybe I should just stop stereotyping bald, muscular varsity baseball coaches as not in tune with the emotional needs of their pint-sized charges.
Whatever it was, I am so very glad that we tried this experiment. I don’t know if baseball will be Grey’s “thing” (I wouldn’t mind!). T-ball is unfortunately a really awful scheduling match for working parents, but if that is what he comes to love, I’ll make it happen. But I’m so grateful for three days that helped me see how strong and capable my rising-second-grader really is.
The news is always depressing, but it seems like it’s been even worse lately. On CNN yesterday, there were five stories above the fold about children who had been hurt, bodies found… horrible things. It makes me want to turn my eyes away from humanity.
Yesterday, a viral video of David Foster Wallace talking about the implacability of adult life crossed into my digital awareness. It is a good video, and it has some good insights about our choices, and the patterns of thought we fall into. But you can hear in it the overarching despair of someone struggling to see the good – even the made-up good – in humanity. It is hard to listen to this without remembering that David Foster Wallace died at his own hand, struggling to the end with a depression as implacable as a ninja assassin. He fought that suicide so long and so hard, and you can hear the fight in his words.
I watched that yesterday. Then I sat back and said to myself, “This is not my reality.” None of this incredibly depressing stuff is. Now, the bad parts of reality have gotten awfully close. The marathon bombings scattered pain to my right and to my left. There’s a guy who used to go to my son’s grade school who is fighting to keep one of his two legs. I’ve shared the story of my friend who ran towards the bombs. (In a surreal moment, she texted the other day asking if I wanted to go to the movies since she got some free tickets for being a first responder. Sadly, I couldn’t.)
But 98% of my life – perhaps more – is full of neat people who are nice, kind and friendly. That part of my reality crystallized for me the other day. Grey had a tough day at school, and I was working from home, so when I got a call saying that he had a tummy ache… well, I picked him up to let him have a quiet afternoon. The quiet bit lasted an hour or two, but then around 4:30 on a beautiful spring day, he decided he wanted to make a lemonade stand. He had done this last year, with varying degrees of success, but came back to the idea. He set up the table, made the signs, priced his offering (reasonably, as opposed to last year).
And they came. The mom in the van who said, “We have set up lemonade stands too, but we live on a cul-de-sac so they don’t usually go very well.” The older woman with lots of makeup and a nice car who talked to him with the yearning of a grandma who doesn’t see her grandkids often, and overpaid. The dad with his two boys in the car, on their way to go fishing. The neighbors, who see our sons as extensions of their own children. The young, tattooed couple walking by who were enthusiastically accosted, and who walked uphill two blocks to make a little kid’s day.
The kid netted $15 and grossed $10
This random suburban sampling of humanity was kind and friendly. Almost all gave what was in their pocket, even if it was rather more than the price of a cup. Moreover, they gave encouragement, a smile and their support. No one stops at a lemonade stand because they are thirsty and pining for a cup of lemonade (although in point of fact, the best lemonade I’ve ever had was at a lemonade stand in Seattle). But lemonade stands do well because people are kind, and interested in each other, and generous. That is just as much “reality” – likely more so – than anything CNN is covering today.
It is one of my more pleasant chores to go through the pictures on my camera to upload them. I usually notify that vast cadre of people (all four of them!) that may be interested in such things here. To that effect, hey guys! I got the April pictures up! And it’s only May!
9:45 pm. Dinner included escargot and duck confit. The waitress had trouble coming up with the right English words to describe the menu. Yes… I and my beloved and cherished husband are in Montreal for a week celebrating the fact that my parents are taking care of my children for a week. Bliss!!!
But although I could tell you about Montreal so far, I’ll save that for another day. Like maybe tomorrow. Instead, I’ve been using my lounging-around-in-leather-armchairs time to catch up on a few (hundred) pictures! I promise that I’ll include more verbiage, er, sometime this week. But for now, here are all the times in the last month I’ve bothered pulling out my nice camera, heavily influenced by wanting to play with the 35mm lens I got for Christmas!
So first, here are a bunch of pictures and videos, mostly of my boys playing games and with minis. (Mostly because the boys were sitting stillish, and I wanted to try out the focal ranges with the minis.) It also includes PIEMAS!
Then, we have Easter. The first set is a neighborhood egg hunt. The next set is the actual celebration of Easter in our church. (Well, to be precise, the leading up to the celebration of Easter. Once the service got started I was awfully busy with the trumpeting.)
My eldest son snitched the “Essential Calvin and Hobbes” from next to my bed when he was five years old. I caught him poring over the adventures of the older boy and his striped companion, and loomed over him with mixed feelings. On the one hand, yay love of reading! On the other hand, Calvin is not an ideal role model. On the third tail I’ve always promised myself that – like my parents – I would only make access harder to books that really do damage. I simply hadn’t planned on my non-censorious resolve being tested before my son started first grade.
But there was my spiky-haired son, putting on his best space alien accent and saying “Dat darn Kalfin! He stole ma space chip!” I forked over the complete collection.
He was quoting this tonight, and I swear I hadn’t mentioned it.
When you think about Calvin (as a grownup who may or may not spend too much time thinking about Calvin and Hobbes), you think of a kid who drives his parents nuts, does poorly in school and has behavior problems. But when you return with fresh eyes and see what Calvin DOES in the panorama of his time and tale, you begin to wish your son was – and could be – more like Calvin. Calvin has *time* and freedom. He wanders the woods with only a fearsome predator for company. He has long leisurely afternoons for the creation of mutant snow goons. He exercises his vast and untrammeled imagination in a whole panoply of joyful childish pursuits, many of which my poor son is forebarred from by shifting culture and a mother who works. There is no circumstance under which my seven year old would spend a whole afternoon playing with a little creek running through mud. He doesn’t have that much free time, and I am more constrained to periodically check on him.
The book was next to my bed, which explains the odd lighting.
But Calvin is teaching Grey what it could mean to be a little boy, and fires his imagination. Grey considers his circumstance, and finds his own way to be, well, an Evil Mastermind (of the amusing, kind, relatively-well-behaved type).
This Calvinic mischief was brought to mind the other night. Grey has a tremendous advantage over Calvin. Although entirely lacking in feline company, Grey has instead a little brother who is his willing and eager minion in acts of creative mischief. How joyful are those two boys in their shared universe! Anyway, the other night the boys were doing their usual delaying song and dance regarding sleep. Basically, it was part of our intricate tradition of them not going to sleep when I’ve told them to go to sleep already. At one point they came downstairs and demanded that I set up a tent for them to sleep in. (In truth, my actual challenges getting Grey to sleep are worthy of a serious post. But it’s funny in small moments.) This demand arrived at the point at which I had HAD ENOUGH ALREADY JUST GO TO BED AND IF YOU DON’T YOU’LL BE SLEEPING IN THE BASEMENT NEXT TO THE WORM BIN!
There was thumping upstairs after my chastened (so I thought) sons went back, but no more demands were lobbied by the prepubescent set, so I declared myself satisfied.
When we went in to kiss them good night, however, an astonishing feat of architecture met our eyes. Sadly, I could find no angle of photography that would take in the full glory but imagine this.
You walk into the room, and the wall appears suddenly several feet nearer, and covered in blue stars. You realize that blessed children have stood Thane’s mattress on it’s side. (I swear this is why I won’t buy either of them a proper bed.) Wall of bed
You are convinced that shortly your children will be squashed by said mattress and tiptoeing up you check out the situation. The brothers – the Lego Mastermind and his brother the Builder Minion, have used the kiddie chairs in the room to ensure their sleep remains unsquished. They lie in opposite sides of the “fort”, in a stuffed-animal-and-blanket filled enclosure.
The Minion, in Scooby Doo PJs, protected by the Green IKEA chair
Isn’t this what childhood is all about, my friends? The problem solving? The rule-breaking ingenuity? The ability to sleep on a pile of stuffed animals right next to your brother? Perhaps Calvin taught my son a bit of what was possible. I can’t regret it. And I can’t wait until Thane is old enough to read it too.
The Mastermind, with fuzzy dinosaur blanket and Puppy on a white chair.
I find it very difficult to believe that Thane turned four today. Not because it’s impossible that my little guy is so grown up! No, but because it seems implausible that he hasn’t been four for quite some time. Thane is so big, so capable, and so unbabyish that you could say he was turning five and not bat an eyelash. Fortunately for me, four it is.
Thane’s life has been marked by series of obsessions. I wrote about this when he turned three:
One of the key attributes of Thane is his sequential obsessions. They started, I think, with cars. Following cars were stickers. Then we went to dinosaurs. Dinosaurs were replaced by puzzles (my favorite – he spent long periods quiet and was a puzzle-savant doing 60 piece puzzles at two and a half years old). Puzzles promptly fell out of favor, to be replaced by Scooby Doo. I sense Scooby Doo is waning, but have no idea what will replace it – awkward timing what with the birthday and Christmas buying spree forthcoming.
This year’s Halloween Costume
I was wrong, by the way. Scooby Doo is still one of the great joys of his life. But it has been added to by, oh joy! LEGOS! The sun rises on Legos and sets on Legos. Thane patiently coaxes his fingers into practicing the fine-motor gestures required, rebuilding over and over again what his chubby digits break. He clutches the instruction manuals to his chest in his sleep, surrounding his bed with crinkled booklets like votive offerings. He stares at the instructions, willing himself to learn to read so he can master them. (Seriously, Grey is a wizard, but I have to work HARD to put together the kits!) But you have never seen a kid, on the day of his fourth birthday, spend as many happy hours with tiny plastic blocks as Thane did today. (If you gave him something else at his birthday, have no fear! He also had a blast with a bunch of the other things! I think I’m jealous of some of that great loot!) Legos and Mythbusters
Of course, this mono-maniacal intensity comes with a downside. I wanted him to, you know, play with his friends at his birthday instead of demanding to know whether they’d brought little Legos. (Ah birthday boy etiquette! So hard to teach! So important!) And getting him to do things like brush his teeth often get barricaded behind a never-ending litany of “Just let me fix this first”. (Hint: it will NEVER be fixed to satisfaction. That’s the fun.)
I love listening to him while he plays. He tells these lovely little stories. Sometimes he sings – sweetly – to himself. The worlds he builds in his mind are vast and beautiful.
Best brothers
Lest you start to wonder if he’s an autistic savant, I’m here to reassure you that in his non-Lego-obsessed moments (granted, a minority this month), he continues to be a very fun and engaging kid. He has some great friends at school, about whom we often hear. He and Grey have been bound tightly by their shared interest. The difference between the kid brother who breaks your Legos and a brother who looks at you with hero-worship in his eyes while he asks you to assemble his birthday Legos for him is the difference between a rocky relationship and a very solid one. I find them often, heads together, in shared conquest. (Not that they’re never fighting and tattling on each other… just less often.)
Last night as a three year old
Thane likes granola cereal, yogurt (he still eats his first-ever solid food, whole yogurt mixed with unsweetened applesauce, nearly every day), bananas, cheese sticks, and macaroni and cheese. This would be his entire dietary intake if it were left up to him. He likes to lead off our dinner prayers, often starting us on the Doxology. He is determined to capture your attention, and will often persevere gallantly to get it, but isn’t so good about doing anything useful with your attention once he’s gotten it.
Thane is also a goof-ball, in case you were curious
Thane is now 42.5 inches tall, which is about three and a half feet. He’s a solid (but unknown) weight. He’s extremely physically durable. When he falls down, he picks himself up again and moves on – sometimes even when he probably should get a bandage or something. He dresses himself, takes care of his own toileting (alleluia!), carries his dirty dishes to the counter, and feeds himself unending supplies of bananas when he’s hungry.
Thankfully, he learned a reasonable caution around water this summer. Kind of.
Thane is completely fearless. He is not afraid of the dark. He is not afraid of the high swings. Rarely does he cling or shy away. It’s almost a bad thing, how bold and confident he is. His balance, for example, is well behind his belief that he can safely walk on a wall like his brother does. He’s also very emotionally durable. He rarely “breaks down” and holds himself on a relatively even emotional swing. This is not to say that he takes thwarting well, but rather that he is steadfast in his desires and emotions.
Preparing for his journey to Uranus
There are still some small traces of my baby left there. He has not foresworn cuddling, and is possible cuddlier than he was this time last year. He gives me sweet kisses and hugs. He still sleeps with his best friend Puppy close at hand, and sucks his thumb. He will sit still in my lap for hours if I am reading to him (although we argue about the books: he wants Scooby Doo and super heroes, I want anything OTHER than Scooby Doo or super heroes). Tonight, he laid his tired, curly blond head on my lap while we watched a movie together, and laced his fingers in between mine. He grows up so quickly, and so well, that I treasure these times we share.
It has come to my attention that a certain young man of my acquaintance turned seven today. Seven. Do you remember when I announced I was pregnant? (And that brilliant April Fools Day joke when I announced he was a twin – one of my finest moments!) Do you remember that infant? That burbling, drooly baby? That pudgy toddler? That captivating preschooler? That wide-eyed Kindergartner? They have all faded into memory, history, and the pictures I still intend to scrapbook. Maybe. Someday. And in their place stands a shoulder-high, clear-headed, compassionate child: closer to puberty than birth.
Oh, my son Grey. My brilliant and beloved child. How to capture at this point in time who you are? You can play complex games using strategy. You go totally emo whenever you’re tired or thwarted. Today you did not blow out all the candles on your birthday cake. You left one for each other child who came to the party – so they could blow some out too. You let your brother open your birthday presents because he is three. Every day when we pick you up, you say in a sing-song voice, “What’s for DIN-er?” And, tired from a hard day and hard learning, you will melt down into complete grumpitude if the answer is not to your liking. You listen to Kiss 108 whenever you can, and know all the words to all the top 20 hits. At night, when I ask you what you want to ask God for, you answer, “Peace, no war, kindness, compassion, responsibility, respect and citizenship.” You eat all the marshmallows out of Lucky Charms and eat none of the charms. You love to read Order of the Stick and Calvin and Hobbes. You try to do your homework fast instead of well. You wept bitter, wracking tears when your cat died. You always try to talk me into staying in your room and snuggling you when I put you to bed. Often you are successful by opening up the black box of your day and telling me about the rich, complex life you live at school and afterschool. You label anyone who wrongs you a bully. You love your brother and help and tolerate him far more than an older sibling should be expected to – even when he steps on your toys and bothers the bejeesus out of you.
Brothers in Legos
And man, do you love Legos. Screens are losing their hold on you (kind of) as Legos and books take more of your mindshare. All you wanted for this birthday, with your allowance, in general was Legos and more Legos. You are – without a doubt – better at assembling Legos than I am. One of the key ways you’ve been getting in trouble lately is by bringing Legos to school because you are desperate to share with your fellow afficionados. Today, you made one small Lego set in twenty minutes. Right now you are in your room doing a massive set intended for kids twice your age. It was the set you picked out. After long and careful thought, you did not choose Lego Monster, or Lego Star Wars, or Lego Castle, or Lego Super Heroes (which your brother did pick), or Lego Ninjago (which I thought you would), or even Lego City. You picked
Lego Winter Village
You said it was because it had girl mini-figs and you didn’t have any girl mini-figs. It’s hard to tell a story without girls in it. I never, in all the things in the store, never would have guessed that you wanted this one.
Oh, my Grey. You are full of surprises. You’re no perfect child – by any means. But the goodness and kindness of your heart make me the proudest parent I could be. The keenness of your mind and your surprising emotional insights make you an interesting person to be around, even at seven. I love you. I can’t wait to see who you grow to be, my Grey.
My eldest son is going to his first day of first grade today.
The traditional first day of school picture
The other night I had the mother of a kindergartener at my son’s school over for dinner. She was asking me how it all worked. “Did you pack a drink?” “Do they have microwaves?” “Do you walk the kids into the school?” “Have they ever forgotten to pick your kids up from afterschool?” For many of the questions I know the answers “No, they’ve never once forgotten my kids” but for others… “Grey!” I called. “What do you drink during snack time?” With the cool confidence of one who sees Kindergarten in the rear-view-mirror, he gave us the lowdown on how things were supposed to work, how things actually worked and how to optimize the Kindergarten snack-drink experience.
Grey’s new “Back to school” wardrobe, which he picked himself
I suppose I should have few qualms sending him to first grade He’s academically prepared (hey, we even know where the over-the-summer homework is and it’s even done and it wasn’t all done this week! WIN!). He’s socially prepared, although he’s bummed that many of his friends are in the other first grade class. He’s confident. He’s looking forward to returning to school.
And oh, my friends, he is so very big and grown.
Those of you who have been reading for a long time remember me talking about being pregnant with little Alpha. You remember the “holy cow are they really letting me go home with this baby?!”. The toddler phase. The barfing phase. The preschool phase. Becoming a big brother. Reading. Becoming a fully fleshed person. Now I find myself gobsmacked by my son’s capability and confidence. When and how did he learn to do all these marvelous things he does?
For example, Grey earned $32 this summer feeding neighbors’ cats, watering plants, weeding gardens and bringing in the mail. I will confess that I still had a role to play (what can I say… he is too short to reach one mail box and one key is too hard for him to turn). But I sat on the porch and let him do his work for the most part. He and I had long conversations about this money he earned. I played payday lender and threatened to charge him a 10% daily interest rate if he really wanted to spend the money before he’d gotten it. He opted not to. We talked about giving a portion to the church. He owed his brother a portion for helping with the weeding. And finally, I took him down this week to create his very own savings account at the bank.*
The earner/saver/checkbook holder
We went camping this weekend, and Grey was a marvellous help. He helped his brother play Legos. He swam (head underwater and everything!) in the lake. He was reliable and dependable. He (GASP!) went to the bathroom all by himself. In possibly the most astonishing evolution of all, he also announced every night that he was tired and was heading to bed now, thankyouverymuch. And then… he did!
Grey still has his faults, for sure. There are still many things we have to teach him, beyond a doubt. But I am so proud of the person he is and the person he is becoming.
Grey learning to type
*As an aside, I am offended on his behalf about the kind of account we set up. Perhaps I should have done more investigation. He isn’t allowed to withdraw money from his own account until he is 21. What’s up with that? He could be drafted by the army to be sent to war when he’s 18. He can vote for our leaders. He would be convicted as an adult of any crime. But he can’t touch the money that he himself earned? That’s… shameful. I wanted to go to the bank we walk past all the time to give him a concrete connection to his money, but I dislike the account we set up immensely. I was also disappointed that they didn’t have any children’s financial literacy documents or anything.
I know, I didn’t post the end of Camp Gramp. It is like a roller coaster — things get to happening so fast! We did have a good end to Camp Gramp. Our last activity was Smallwood Park in Eatonville followed by ice cream cones. The kids now think I know everyone in Eatonville since I met 5 former students, and one from next year.
So many wonderful things happened. I can’t thank my children enough for sharing.
Jello — none of the kids had ever had Jello. They think it is wonderful! (They also like Kraft Mac and Cheese and S’mores — so what can I say?) How can you understand Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs if you haven’t eaten Jello. I am only sorry I didn’t have the time to do a proper Jello mold. I am not even sure I still have one.
Merry Go Round — Almost everyone has taken those out of their parks, but there was one in Seattle. There is so much to learn about physics from a Merry Go Round. The kids really enjoyed this. Baz and Grey also celebrated tree climbing at our picnic!
Dreams and nightmares were a topic of discussion. We all have them. Why? We talked about our brain doing housekeeping! Inquiring minds want to know!
Conversations with Baz about destiny and leprosy only vaguely related. He really listened to Sunday’s sermon. He even told his mother the opening joke, and told it well. He is growing to be quite a gentleman. I appreciated his leadership and tolerance with being oldest — therefore asked to participate in activities beneath his dignity! He was a big help!
Kay’s imaginative play and care of Thane was awesome. She always had an eye on him, making sure he was safe. Poor Kay, the only girl, but not intimidated by the rough and tumble boys. She adds to the ideas about what to play. I love her stuffy stories. She is developing quite a fashion sense!
It is such fun to watch Grey enjoying the land of the literate. He likes his books! (Although I don’t know about books called “Stinky” — this is literature?) Grey is a real competitor, and wants to do everything Baz does. How frustrating to be younger, therefore smaller. He practiced after the Olympic Games and got really good at jumping out of the swings.
Thane is at such a cute age. He has sooooo much to tell you. “You know what Gramama….” I can’t imagine, Thane! Tell me. He is passionate about Lego men — and don’t try to foist off on him the big legos because they are insulting to his ability! I mean really, they are.
They are grandchildren to be proud of, and I am proud of them, and of the children who are raising them. Good luck kids. Dad and I are dead after just a week. May the force be with you!
Today is Olympics day. We are going to watch the opening ceremonies tonight so decided to have some competitions this afternoon for the kids. Mistake. It is very difficult to handicap a competition between three so divergent ages. Therefore, only Sebastian escaped tears.
We had a torch parade — 3 of the 4 glow sticks failed to work. Perhaps this is because they are about 5 years old. Thane won that one! His glowed. it is currently residing in his suitcase where he is convinced it will still be glowing when he gets home.
Thane lacks the competitive spirit — or more accurately, doesn’t understand hide and seek. He dropped out when he and I were the seekers and he noticed the Scooby Doo DVD paused on the downstairs TV. That was probably a good thing.
Grey was upset because he got found in hide and seek. They looked in his place. He didn’t want to participate in the outside competition, but was eventually lured out and did very well in jump out of the swing contest!
Kay hated soccer, which was the competition she asked for. When she kicked the ball, it went crooked. Also, she hated the legos competition to build the tallest tower. The blocks kept falling apart. Baz won that one too with an improbable creation.
The final competition was a team sport. Go to Dick’s store together and get as many nutritious snacks as possible with $1.25 each. What?! Candy provides nutrition! They started this competition happy. We will see how they come home.
My Truant Pen 