I spent last Saturday afternoon with the grandkids. This time I brought a selection of art supplies for my grandson, Bubba. He was delighted to find green kid's scissors and a green plastic box to hold his new treasured art supplies. "Nana, you know that green is my favorite color," he said. "I know sweetie, that's why I bought you green scissors and a green art box."
When I'd gone to Bubba's PreK4 class the week before last for Grandparents' Day, his teacher had said Bubba needed more practice cutting with scissors and with coloring. Well, since I'm "into art" that's right in my line. So, in addition, I'd bought a new box of crayons (new ones are always better than old) and new watercolor markers, plus an art workbook that had lots of colored pages with lines, squares, circles, triangles, etc. for him to cut and paste.
The twins, not to be left out on anything, were put in their chairs and pushed up to the big dining room table. They were given coloring books and crayons and were instantly into their art projects. Amazing that at only 19 month olds they were very intense about coloring. Our art time went on for a full two hours. Whoever said little ones only have a three minute attention span? These three have a longer attention span than me when it comes to art.
Well, halfway through our art projects, Baby1 (they both still call each other Baby) switched from her chair to my lap, which put us between Bubba and Baby2 at the dining table. Bubba would cut out a colored shape and hand it to Baby1. I'd say the word for that color and Baby1 would smile and repeat the word. Then she'd hand the colored piece of paper to Baby2 and I'd say the color and she would repeat the word. When we got to yellow, both girls beamed and sang out, "Yellow, yellow, yellow." They did the same with blue. "Blue, blue, blue," they repeated in their little sing-song voices. I pointed out to Baby2 that the blue circle matched her blue t-shirt. You could see the wheels turning in her brain and then she reached into the crayon box and picked out a bright yellow crayon. She handed the crayon to me and said, "Yellow," with a big smile on her face.
I was bowled over. Not only were the twins repeating the words for the colors, but they understood the concept of color. And at only 19 months old? So the color game went on and on. Green and purple were a big hit too and the girls continued to sing out their colors. Funny thing, when I said, "white," they just looked at me with annoyance. Apparently white held no interest for them? I tried to get them to say the word "pink" but maybe that color was too ordinary? Their bedroom is in pinks, so that's a color they see all the time. So maybe they didn't care to put a name to it?
Bubba, at almost 4 1/2, was more interested in the variation of colors. He grouped the shades of blue together, the oranges and reds, the yellows and golds. Though he's learning his letters, he can't read yet. So he wanted me to read the name of the colors on the side of each crayon. Though he knows all his colors, he added "coral," "lavender" and other new word colors to his vocabulary. Anyway, the four of us had a grand afternoon doing art and learning colors.
Showing posts with label Grandkids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grandkids. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Barefoot and Autumn Leaves
The autumn leaves have started falling right on cue. For now it's just a handful of leaves gently floating to the grass. In no time it will be tons of leaves. You see, we have a yard full of oak trees: giant Naval Oaks, probably well over a hundred years old, and numerous White Oaks and Scrub Oaks. Though they generally drop most of their leaves the end of winter, they start dropping some of their leaves now. Then there's the next door neighbors' huge Tulip Poplar that drops most of its leaves into our backyard rather than into their pool. I think they've trained the tree to do that. However, since I love fallen leaves, I really don't mind.
To this day, I love walking barefoot in a pile of fallen leaves. I love the crunching sound under foot. And it always brings back fun childhood memories of collecting fall leaves on the way home from school and bringing home handfuls, which my mom probably threw out once I went to sleep. Also, as kids, we used to love to run and jump into a great big pile of leaves and scatter them every which way.
Even my grandson loves fallen leaves. He told me just the other, "You know, Nana, I love falling leaves." In his four short years he's already developed a love for piles of fallen leaves. He loves crunching them underfoot. It's one of his happy memories from visiting Nana and Grandpa's house. Though we don't live all that far apart, we live in a neighborhood with big old trees. As he tells his friends, "my Nana lives in the woods," and our grandson lives in a new neighborhood with only a few small trees.
I'm looking forward to introducing our twin granddaughters to the joys of playing in fallen leaves. At 19 months old, they've yet to have that experience. So this will be their first year of stomping through those crunchy leaves. Thankfully, the grandkids have inherited from their mom, who inherited from me, who inherited from my own mom, the love of being barefoot and of walking barefoot through the autumn leaves.
To this day, I love walking barefoot in a pile of fallen leaves. I love the crunching sound under foot. And it always brings back fun childhood memories of collecting fall leaves on the way home from school and bringing home handfuls, which my mom probably threw out once I went to sleep. Also, as kids, we used to love to run and jump into a great big pile of leaves and scatter them every which way.
Even my grandson loves fallen leaves. He told me just the other, "You know, Nana, I love falling leaves." In his four short years he's already developed a love for piles of fallen leaves. He loves crunching them underfoot. It's one of his happy memories from visiting Nana and Grandpa's house. Though we don't live all that far apart, we live in a neighborhood with big old trees. As he tells his friends, "my Nana lives in the woods," and our grandson lives in a new neighborhood with only a few small trees.
I'm looking forward to introducing our twin granddaughters to the joys of playing in fallen leaves. At 19 months old, they've yet to have that experience. So this will be their first year of stomping through those crunchy leaves. Thankfully, the grandkids have inherited from their mom, who inherited from me, who inherited from my own mom, the love of being barefoot and of walking barefoot through the autumn leaves.
Monday, September 13, 2010
"My Nana lives in the Woods"
"My Nana lives in the woods." Those were my grandson's words when he introduced me to his PreK4 school friends on Grandparents' Day on Friday. His best friend added, "Do you really live in the woods?" Hey, what could I say? Apparently four year olds think it's cool to have a Nana/Grandma who lives in the woods. "Yes," I said.
Now I don't really live in the woods. I live near the tip of a long wooded peninsula that juts into Pensacola Bay on the Florida Panhandle. So I guess you could call it living in the woods. Just down the road is the Naval Live Oaks National Park, and since my yard has two of those ancient old Naval Live Oaks, plus bunches of other old oaks, then I'm sort of living in the woods. My grandson, you see, lives in a "new" three-years-old neighborhood of big modern brick houses on a circular street with very few trees. So in comparison, our house, built in 1971, is surrounded with huge trees, an assortment of ferns and palms, azaleas, gardenias, camellias, plus wisteria, jasmine and other flowering vines. So our brick house does sort of look like it's in the woods.
My grandson loves all the greenery and, when he does come to our house for a visit, he spends all of his time in our backyard looking at the trees, flowers, butterflies and birds. We move the patio table and a couple chairs into the shade of two tall White Oaks. My grandson asks me the names of the different birds: Cardinals, Doves, Robins, Sparrows, Wrens, Finches, Blue Jays, Mockingbirds, Hawks and an occasional Great Blue Heron who flies overhead now and then. He listens to the birds' melodious songs and "sings" the songs back to them. He loves when the birds respond. He also loves the hawks best because they swoop down out of the trees and chase the other birds.
Anyway, I was a hit on Grandparents' Day. In fact, several of the four year olds asked if I would be their Nana too. So, of course, I agreed. I could be a Nana to all of them. Their teacher asked if I would consider volunteering from time to time, helping with art projects, because Bubba's other Nanny/Grandma told the teacher that I like to do art. So I agreed to volunteer now and then, and Nanny did too.
On Saturday I spent all day with the grandkids at their house. The twins were little whirlwinds. I can't believe how much energy two 18 1/2 month olds can generate. Bubba refers to the girls as "wild babies." And they are definitely wild. They understand "No, no, no!" But does that stop them? No way! They smile sweetly and continue on with whatever they were doing. So you have to follow up the "No" by taking away whatever it was that they weren't supposed to put into their mouths, or bodily removing them from whatever you told them not to do. Because "No, don't do that" or "No, get down from there" doesn't stop them. These two are climbers and they scramble over the wooden arms of the futon couch in the playroom or climb to the back of the leather living room couch. They definitely inherited this climbing trait from their Mama.
On Saturday my grandson continued the green thing. He said, "Nana, you know how green is my favorite color?" I nodded, "Yes, darlin', I know." Then he asked, "So what I want to know is, what makes the grass green?" Oh, no, a science question! I explained something about how the sun and chlorophyll make the grass green. He repeated this newest word, "chlorophyll," and said he liked that. Then he asked, "Is that why the tops of the trees are green?" I assured him that's why all the trees and plants were green. Maybe this little guy, with all the questions, is going to be a botanist some day?
Bubba's next question was, "Nana, why do I have freckles on my nose?" I gave him the answer my Mom always gave me, "That's from the sun kissing you on your nose." That cracked him up. "Nana," he pointed out, "the sun doesn't have lips." I assured him the sun didn't need lips to kiss him. So then he said, "So why doesn't the sun kiss the babies?" I told him the sun usually waits until the babies turn into toddlers. He was satisfied with that answer. He hasn't yet commented on all my freckles, but I remember these same freckle questions when his Mama was about the same age. I also remember one day when my daughter was trailing her finger along my arm and out of curiosity I asked her what she was doing. "I'm connecting the dots," she said. So I'm wondering when the grandkids will decide "to connect the dots." Aren't freckles fun?
Anyway, as the day progressed, I fielded more of Bubba's numerous questions. "Nana, do your dogs drink out of the toilet?" Now where did that one come from? "No," I said, "I don't let them do that." It turns out one of Bubba's school friends has a dog who drinks out of the toilet and he thought that was pretty funny. He wanted to know if the dogs he had when he was a baby drank out of the toilet. "Nope." I explained they were Yorkies and too small to reach the toilet. Those Yorkies, by the way, found new homes when the twins came on the scene, because it was just too hard for them to have a household of three babies and four Yorkies. But all the Yorkies found good homes, one of them with Nanny and another with an Auntie and the other two to friends, so that worked out okay.
Anyway, Bubba had a lot more to say on Saturday. He was acting silly and making the twins laugh and giggle. Then he turned to his Mama and asked, "What do you think?" And she said, "I think you're a silly boy." So Bubba pondered that and announced, "Well, since God made all of us, I guess he made me a silly boy." What can you say to that?
I came back home late Saturday afternoon with lots of questions of my own. What makes little kids ask such profound questions at such a young age? And why do little kids have so much energy? I was exhausted and went to sleep early that night and wondering what questions I'll be asked next.
Now I don't really live in the woods. I live near the tip of a long wooded peninsula that juts into Pensacola Bay on the Florida Panhandle. So I guess you could call it living in the woods. Just down the road is the Naval Live Oaks National Park, and since my yard has two of those ancient old Naval Live Oaks, plus bunches of other old oaks, then I'm sort of living in the woods. My grandson, you see, lives in a "new" three-years-old neighborhood of big modern brick houses on a circular street with very few trees. So in comparison, our house, built in 1971, is surrounded with huge trees, an assortment of ferns and palms, azaleas, gardenias, camellias, plus wisteria, jasmine and other flowering vines. So our brick house does sort of look like it's in the woods.
My grandson loves all the greenery and, when he does come to our house for a visit, he spends all of his time in our backyard looking at the trees, flowers, butterflies and birds. We move the patio table and a couple chairs into the shade of two tall White Oaks. My grandson asks me the names of the different birds: Cardinals, Doves, Robins, Sparrows, Wrens, Finches, Blue Jays, Mockingbirds, Hawks and an occasional Great Blue Heron who flies overhead now and then. He listens to the birds' melodious songs and "sings" the songs back to them. He loves when the birds respond. He also loves the hawks best because they swoop down out of the trees and chase the other birds.
Anyway, I was a hit on Grandparents' Day. In fact, several of the four year olds asked if I would be their Nana too. So, of course, I agreed. I could be a Nana to all of them. Their teacher asked if I would consider volunteering from time to time, helping with art projects, because Bubba's other Nanny/Grandma told the teacher that I like to do art. So I agreed to volunteer now and then, and Nanny did too.
On Saturday I spent all day with the grandkids at their house. The twins were little whirlwinds. I can't believe how much energy two 18 1/2 month olds can generate. Bubba refers to the girls as "wild babies." And they are definitely wild. They understand "No, no, no!" But does that stop them? No way! They smile sweetly and continue on with whatever they were doing. So you have to follow up the "No" by taking away whatever it was that they weren't supposed to put into their mouths, or bodily removing them from whatever you told them not to do. Because "No, don't do that" or "No, get down from there" doesn't stop them. These two are climbers and they scramble over the wooden arms of the futon couch in the playroom or climb to the back of the leather living room couch. They definitely inherited this climbing trait from their Mama.
On Saturday my grandson continued the green thing. He said, "Nana, you know how green is my favorite color?" I nodded, "Yes, darlin', I know." Then he asked, "So what I want to know is, what makes the grass green?" Oh, no, a science question! I explained something about how the sun and chlorophyll make the grass green. He repeated this newest word, "chlorophyll," and said he liked that. Then he asked, "Is that why the tops of the trees are green?" I assured him that's why all the trees and plants were green. Maybe this little guy, with all the questions, is going to be a botanist some day?
Bubba's next question was, "Nana, why do I have freckles on my nose?" I gave him the answer my Mom always gave me, "That's from the sun kissing you on your nose." That cracked him up. "Nana," he pointed out, "the sun doesn't have lips." I assured him the sun didn't need lips to kiss him. So then he said, "So why doesn't the sun kiss the babies?" I told him the sun usually waits until the babies turn into toddlers. He was satisfied with that answer. He hasn't yet commented on all my freckles, but I remember these same freckle questions when his Mama was about the same age. I also remember one day when my daughter was trailing her finger along my arm and out of curiosity I asked her what she was doing. "I'm connecting the dots," she said. So I'm wondering when the grandkids will decide "to connect the dots." Aren't freckles fun?
Anyway, as the day progressed, I fielded more of Bubba's numerous questions. "Nana, do your dogs drink out of the toilet?" Now where did that one come from? "No," I said, "I don't let them do that." It turns out one of Bubba's school friends has a dog who drinks out of the toilet and he thought that was pretty funny. He wanted to know if the dogs he had when he was a baby drank out of the toilet. "Nope." I explained they were Yorkies and too small to reach the toilet. Those Yorkies, by the way, found new homes when the twins came on the scene, because it was just too hard for them to have a household of three babies and four Yorkies. But all the Yorkies found good homes, one of them with Nanny and another with an Auntie and the other two to friends, so that worked out okay.
Anyway, Bubba had a lot more to say on Saturday. He was acting silly and making the twins laugh and giggle. Then he turned to his Mama and asked, "What do you think?" And she said, "I think you're a silly boy." So Bubba pondered that and announced, "Well, since God made all of us, I guess he made me a silly boy." What can you say to that?
I came back home late Saturday afternoon with lots of questions of my own. What makes little kids ask such profound questions at such a young age? And why do little kids have so much energy? I was exhausted and went to sleep early that night and wondering what questions I'll be asked next.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Two to Tangle
To continue my Sunday with the grandkids, I can't forget to mention the twins. At 18 1/2 months old, the girls are growing by leaps and bounds. Already, the baby fat is starting to slip away. So they're a little taller and a little thinner and no longer look like babies. They too love art. I spend much of my time with the girls drawing for them on their drawing boards. Baby1 will say, "Here, draw." Baby2 will say "draw dog" or "draw car." Those are her favorites. I draw an assortment of things, dogs, cats, cars, houses, flowers, trees, birds, butterflies, an elephant. They repeat all the words except for butterfly and elephant. They'll save the harder words for later. The only new "big" word they learned on Sunday was "bubbles." And they danced around singing "bubbles, bubbles."
Now on to the "two to tangle" part of this story. It turns out the twins got in trouble at preschool earlier in the week. They got into a knock down, drag out, cat fight. Apparently both were kicking and scratching and each one ended up with a scratch, hence the "green slips" that were waiting for their parents when they came to pick them up at the end of the day.
In explanation, the twins are very competative with each other. If one has a treasured toy, the other pulls it away. Then the other pulls it back and that usually results with some shoving or maybe a kick or two. The tussel is pulled apart and a few words of "you need to learn to share" and "don't push or kick your sister." The response is always sweet little smiles and sparkling eyes. Yeah right, they'll pick up where they left off later. So this is a constant thing between the twins at home. After the tussel they end up patting each other on the head or hugging. The next thing you know the two have their heads together and they're working on the same puzzle or playing with their Little People or blocks together.
At school, the teacher says the girls are very nice to the other toddlers and never push or shove or kick anyone. They only fight with each other and only now and then. I imagine this sisterly competition will continue on through their school years and into adulthood. I have two aunts who are also identicle twins, and they say they're the best of friends, but still argue with each other to this day. Since I don't have a twin, I'm rather envious. I would really love to have a twin sister to argue with now and then.
Now on to the "two to tangle" part of this story. It turns out the twins got in trouble at preschool earlier in the week. They got into a knock down, drag out, cat fight. Apparently both were kicking and scratching and each one ended up with a scratch, hence the "green slips" that were waiting for their parents when they came to pick them up at the end of the day.
In explanation, the twins are very competative with each other. If one has a treasured toy, the other pulls it away. Then the other pulls it back and that usually results with some shoving or maybe a kick or two. The tussel is pulled apart and a few words of "you need to learn to share" and "don't push or kick your sister." The response is always sweet little smiles and sparkling eyes. Yeah right, they'll pick up where they left off later. So this is a constant thing between the twins at home. After the tussel they end up patting each other on the head or hugging. The next thing you know the two have their heads together and they're working on the same puzzle or playing with their Little People or blocks together.
At school, the teacher says the girls are very nice to the other toddlers and never push or shove or kick anyone. They only fight with each other and only now and then. I imagine this sisterly competition will continue on through their school years and into adulthood. I have two aunts who are also identicle twins, and they say they're the best of friends, but still argue with each other to this day. Since I don't have a twin, I'm rather envious. I would really love to have a twin sister to argue with now and then.
A Colorful World
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| Bubba's 1st Watercolor Painting |
At age four and in PreK4, Bubba is still working on the alphabet. He tells me, "Nana, I know almost all of my letters now." I'm sure he'll have the rest of them down in no time. He tells me that "U" is his current favorite letter. Bubba is also anxious to learn how to read, as he loves books and wants them read to him over and over again, just like his Mama did when she was little. When I read to him I'm supposed to point to all the words, so he can follow along. That's the way Bubba says I'm supposed to do it. He's a bossy little guy and things have to be done his way. Ah, another budding "Alpha Male" in the world. So I understand the rules. We have to do things his way. He'll learn to read, but only in his own time.
Well, back to Bubba's artwork. Since I'm an artist myself, or at least I like to think I am, then I'm elated that my grandson loves to draw and to paint. I remember last November when he wanted me to work on his school art project with him. He was to decorate a big "turkey feather." So we used markers, stickers, pipe-cleaners, feathers, etc. (all supplied by his Mama). His Mama helped out and used the glue gun on the feathers and pipe-cleaners for us. Anyway, Bubba was very proud of the end result. A few days later I was able to see his turkey feather, along with all the other turkey feathers done by his classmates, gracing a big wall art of a turkey in the school hallway which was festooned with turkeys from every classroom. Wow! What a cool concept. I never went to a school that did cool stuff like that.
On our refrigerator we have two earlier pieces of Bubba's artwork. One is the first watercolor he did with the paints I bought him last year. He did four watercolor paintings that first day. He was careful to paint just about every square inch of the paper and he had an interesting use of color. The other painting on our refrigerator was done sometime after Christmas, using a gel-paint set he'd received from Santa. The colors he used that time were more pastel. I'm going to have to get a bigger refrigerator, because I refuse to remove those two early works of art any time soon.
Monday, August 30, 2010
The Art of Being a Dreamer
I have always been a dreamer. There are many advantages to this and just as many disadvantages. I'm never bored, never alone in my thoughts. Sit me in the darkest corner somewhere, devoid of sound, and I can spin stories in my head and hear the very voices and dialogue. For that very reason, I spent hours as a child trying to write down my stories, which was much harder than creating them in my head. The stories went faster than my childish fingers could write. But I gave it a try.
I think only one or two of those stories still exist. Though in digging through my cedar chest last week, I've yet to find them. I remember one so well, about my Nana getting sick with polio at the age of 16 and her faithful Collie dying of a broken heart because they wouldn't let the dog into the sick room to see her. That story has always seemed such a tragedy to me. How simple it would have been for Nana's parents, my great-grandparents, to have let the Collie into her room every now and then. Such was not the case and so my story took on the sad realities of truth.
I like to think that most of the stories I created were happy ones. About trips to the beach or mountains, the tales liberally laced with mermaids and wood-faeries. But there were always monsters to fight in my stories too. I learned early that stories were often about the forces of good vs. evil. Alas, those lost stories only exist in my memory.
The disadvantages of being a dreamer and going to school are enormous. I was forever caught in mid-daydream with a teacher looming over me and one or more fellow students twittering nearby. The students thought it was funny for me to be "caught" unawares by our teacher. I was always embarrassed when, rudely jerked back to reality. I would quickly search my brain for some inane response like, "Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." Of course, not only did I not hear said teacher, I didn't even see him or her approach my desk. In fact, my brain was usually millions of miles away, maybe on some Scottish Isle or somewhere in the South Seas walking on a sun-lit beach.
As I got older, say by the time I reached high school age, I'd learned to keep my daydreaming at bay during class. So I rarely got caught unawares and my grades went from Bs to As more often than not. But the second the bell rang my brain was out of there and wandering some distant locale.
In my college days I wanted so badly to become a writer. But I realize now that if you want to really write, college is not the place to do so. The professors there did nothing but discourage me. I never found a one that took me by the hand and thought I had something to offer the world of literature. In fact, I remember one portly English professor telling me, "You're only here to find a husband." Huh? Rest assured, that was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to be a writer, remember?
Through the years I've daydreamed often and written when I found the time and inspiration. As I've mentioned, I have boxes of my starts and stops. Some are finished and some will never be much more than momentary dreams.
My grandson, at age four, is already showing signs of being a dreamer. One day he and I spent over an hour in his playhouse watching the birds and butterflies and clouds passing by overhead. He'd often stop and gaze out with those dreamy eyes I know so well. Not long ago, he asked me if California is in outer space, because he said, "I want to live in outer space." The way his story goes, he thought "California" had a nice sound, so it must be in outer space, because he wanted to get as far away from his K3 teacher as possible. It turned out his teacher had gotten mad at him for kicking sand at another kid and so he decided it would be best to get as far away from that teacher as possible. Well, he tells me now that he no longer kicks sand at other kids and he has a new teacher in his K4 Class, so he's once again a happy, daydreaming kid.
I like the concept of this blogging. It's a good outlet for a dreamer. A chance to send some words now and then out into space for someone else to "hear." I say "hear" because the sound of words is as important as the words themselves. Robert Louis Stevenson said in one of his many essays about some words being poetic, that the very word itself created pictures in the mind. So with that in mind, I conclude there is an art to being a dreamer. It's creating a beautiful painting in your mind, watching it unfold, seeing each new streak of color added to the canvas.
I think only one or two of those stories still exist. Though in digging through my cedar chest last week, I've yet to find them. I remember one so well, about my Nana getting sick with polio at the age of 16 and her faithful Collie dying of a broken heart because they wouldn't let the dog into the sick room to see her. That story has always seemed such a tragedy to me. How simple it would have been for Nana's parents, my great-grandparents, to have let the Collie into her room every now and then. Such was not the case and so my story took on the sad realities of truth.
I like to think that most of the stories I created were happy ones. About trips to the beach or mountains, the tales liberally laced with mermaids and wood-faeries. But there were always monsters to fight in my stories too. I learned early that stories were often about the forces of good vs. evil. Alas, those lost stories only exist in my memory.
The disadvantages of being a dreamer and going to school are enormous. I was forever caught in mid-daydream with a teacher looming over me and one or more fellow students twittering nearby. The students thought it was funny for me to be "caught" unawares by our teacher. I was always embarrassed when, rudely jerked back to reality. I would quickly search my brain for some inane response like, "Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." Of course, not only did I not hear said teacher, I didn't even see him or her approach my desk. In fact, my brain was usually millions of miles away, maybe on some Scottish Isle or somewhere in the South Seas walking on a sun-lit beach.
As I got older, say by the time I reached high school age, I'd learned to keep my daydreaming at bay during class. So I rarely got caught unawares and my grades went from Bs to As more often than not. But the second the bell rang my brain was out of there and wandering some distant locale.
In my college days I wanted so badly to become a writer. But I realize now that if you want to really write, college is not the place to do so. The professors there did nothing but discourage me. I never found a one that took me by the hand and thought I had something to offer the world of literature. In fact, I remember one portly English professor telling me, "You're only here to find a husband." Huh? Rest assured, that was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to be a writer, remember?
Through the years I've daydreamed often and written when I found the time and inspiration. As I've mentioned, I have boxes of my starts and stops. Some are finished and some will never be much more than momentary dreams.
My grandson, at age four, is already showing signs of being a dreamer. One day he and I spent over an hour in his playhouse watching the birds and butterflies and clouds passing by overhead. He'd often stop and gaze out with those dreamy eyes I know so well. Not long ago, he asked me if California is in outer space, because he said, "I want to live in outer space." The way his story goes, he thought "California" had a nice sound, so it must be in outer space, because he wanted to get as far away from his K3 teacher as possible. It turned out his teacher had gotten mad at him for kicking sand at another kid and so he decided it would be best to get as far away from that teacher as possible. Well, he tells me now that he no longer kicks sand at other kids and he has a new teacher in his K4 Class, so he's once again a happy, daydreaming kid.
I like the concept of this blogging. It's a good outlet for a dreamer. A chance to send some words now and then out into space for someone else to "hear." I say "hear" because the sound of words is as important as the words themselves. Robert Louis Stevenson said in one of his many essays about some words being poetic, that the very word itself created pictures in the mind. So with that in mind, I conclude there is an art to being a dreamer. It's creating a beautiful painting in your mind, watching it unfold, seeing each new streak of color added to the canvas.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Afternoons with the Grands
Most weekend afternoons I spend with my three grandkids. No one was sick this time, which is rare lately, so lots of energy all around. My grandson is four years old, has "spiky" blond hair (he used to be a strawberry blond, but now he's a beach blond), young "Brad Pitt" good looks and is already a computer and gamer "techie." On his 4th birthday he got his very own ipad and he can whiz through all his games (many are learning games) at record speed. He knows all the "techie" jargon and I listen to him in awe, because I don't know all that much about computers and gaming.
Whenever I visit, my grandson shows me his latest game (I think for ipad most games are only a couple dollars, so he has bunches of them). He often asks, "Nana, did you have this game when you were a kid?" "Nope," I always tell him. So he turns to his Mom (my daughter and only child) and asks her the same question. "No, sweetie," she says. "We didn't have those kind of games when I was a kid." My daughter was born in '77, so she remembers how primitive computers and computer games were during her childhood. Anyway, my grandson always looks at us with puzzlement, he can't imagine a world without ipads, cell phones, digital cameras, DVDs, CDs and Wii. So I sit there and watch his latest games, usually something about cooking, because he wants to be a Chef when he grows up. His Daddy and Grandpa are the cooks in their respective households, so he thinks Moms and Nanas don't know how to cook.
Today's game had something to do with making breakfast. Pancakes and toast and waffles and fruit and juice and everything you can imagine. Then he added, "But Nana, this is the best part, it's gross." Yep, the "gross part" is that he can add bugs, frogs, worms, spiders, just about any kind of creepy crawly to the digital breakfast. "And then Nana," he says, "you have to eat it." He proceeded to tell me that when he "cooked" breakfast for his Daddy this morning he put a frog on the pancakes and his Daddy ate it. Yep, there's a button you touch that says "Eat" and then you tap the screen with your finger and the food disappears while you listen to gobbling sounds. Ahhhhh!!!! So these are the kinds of games a four year old boy likes?
Within minutes the girls are up from their nap. They're 18 month old identical twins, strawberry blonds with big blue eyes and award winning smiles. Their eyes lite up when they see the ipad and their little fingers join in the game and start tapping the screen. My guess is these two will be little "techies" too. Daddy is a CIS Engineer, so I guess the kids come by it naturally. As the digital food gets gobbled up the twins shriek in delight and my grandson laughs at the girls' antics.
For now, the girls call their brother "Lolo" or "Bubba." They absolutely will not say his real name although it's a pretty easy one. So he tells the girls, "Follow Bubba" and they take off after him into the playroom. Yep, these kids have an actual playroom with every toy imaginable, including a wii and a wooden train table set. The girls, I'll just call them Baby1 and Baby2, because we all call both of them "Baby." They know their own names, but the girls call each other "Baby" too so we all just follow suit. First off, the Kids Bop music CDs come on. Bubba loves to dance. He says, "Nana, I have to dance, I have dancing feet." So I pretty much have him pegged to grow up and be a "Dancing Chef" who has all his gourmet recipes available on the ipad-of-the-future. The girls have dancing feet too.
Hmm! Now what are the girls going to be? They jabber away non-stop in a mixture of "twin talk" and real words, the important words like, "read book" (I read them lots and lots of books), "draw car" (they love to have me draw pictures for them on their drawing pads), "wait for me" (one is always rushing ahead of the other to get somewhere fast), "outside" (outside is always better than inside), "dinosaur" (Bubba has dinosaurs and some of their favorite books are about dinosaurs) and "bye-bye." They each hoist a Disney purse over their shoulders, grab up whatever baby doll or stuffed animal is nearby, pick up a drawing pad with the other hand and say "Bye-bye" as they're heading for the front door. The girls have a darling southern accent and award-winning smiles, so I'm thinking their career of choice will be "Southern Belles." Their "Mom-Mom" (not "Mommy") was a quiet, serious child and is now a CPA, so no, the twins don't take after her. They got their strawberry blond hair from me, their dimples from their other grandmother, but their "wild-child" shrieks of laughter and winning smiles are all their own.
On my visits I pretty much just sit on the playroom floor and let the action go on around me. I had back surgery a few years ago and have osteoarthritis and a degenerative back disease, so it's best that I don't pick up those heavy babies all that often. But what can I do when they raise their arms and say "Nanaaaaa..." Which of course is a plea for me to pick up a baby (I think about 24 lbs each right now). The girls are little whirlwinds. They move so fast and can leave a wake of destruction (a genuine mess) in their path. Until recently, Bubba referred to the girls as "Destructo Babies." But the girls are learning to be more careful with Bubba's books and puzzles and other things now, so they're no longer "Destructo Babies." Bubba tells each of them in turn, "You are an adorable baby" and, of course, each baby just beams.
Well, now I'm reclining on the couch with my feet propped on a pillow and the laptop in my lap. I took a pain pill (Vicodin, like "House" takes on TV) a couple hours ago, so I'm doing okay. All day Monday I'll need more pain pills and possibly into Tuesday. So I'll have to take it easy for two days and rest my back. By the weekend I'll be ready for more "Afternoons with the Grands."
Whenever I visit, my grandson shows me his latest game (I think for ipad most games are only a couple dollars, so he has bunches of them). He often asks, "Nana, did you have this game when you were a kid?" "Nope," I always tell him. So he turns to his Mom (my daughter and only child) and asks her the same question. "No, sweetie," she says. "We didn't have those kind of games when I was a kid." My daughter was born in '77, so she remembers how primitive computers and computer games were during her childhood. Anyway, my grandson always looks at us with puzzlement, he can't imagine a world without ipads, cell phones, digital cameras, DVDs, CDs and Wii. So I sit there and watch his latest games, usually something about cooking, because he wants to be a Chef when he grows up. His Daddy and Grandpa are the cooks in their respective households, so he thinks Moms and Nanas don't know how to cook.
Today's game had something to do with making breakfast. Pancakes and toast and waffles and fruit and juice and everything you can imagine. Then he added, "But Nana, this is the best part, it's gross." Yep, the "gross part" is that he can add bugs, frogs, worms, spiders, just about any kind of creepy crawly to the digital breakfast. "And then Nana," he says, "you have to eat it." He proceeded to tell me that when he "cooked" breakfast for his Daddy this morning he put a frog on the pancakes and his Daddy ate it. Yep, there's a button you touch that says "Eat" and then you tap the screen with your finger and the food disappears while you listen to gobbling sounds. Ahhhhh!!!! So these are the kinds of games a four year old boy likes?
Within minutes the girls are up from their nap. They're 18 month old identical twins, strawberry blonds with big blue eyes and award winning smiles. Their eyes lite up when they see the ipad and their little fingers join in the game and start tapping the screen. My guess is these two will be little "techies" too. Daddy is a CIS Engineer, so I guess the kids come by it naturally. As the digital food gets gobbled up the twins shriek in delight and my grandson laughs at the girls' antics.
For now, the girls call their brother "Lolo" or "Bubba." They absolutely will not say his real name although it's a pretty easy one. So he tells the girls, "Follow Bubba" and they take off after him into the playroom. Yep, these kids have an actual playroom with every toy imaginable, including a wii and a wooden train table set. The girls, I'll just call them Baby1 and Baby2, because we all call both of them "Baby." They know their own names, but the girls call each other "Baby" too so we all just follow suit. First off, the Kids Bop music CDs come on. Bubba loves to dance. He says, "Nana, I have to dance, I have dancing feet." So I pretty much have him pegged to grow up and be a "Dancing Chef" who has all his gourmet recipes available on the ipad-of-the-future. The girls have dancing feet too.
Hmm! Now what are the girls going to be? They jabber away non-stop in a mixture of "twin talk" and real words, the important words like, "read book" (I read them lots and lots of books), "draw car" (they love to have me draw pictures for them on their drawing pads), "wait for me" (one is always rushing ahead of the other to get somewhere fast), "outside" (outside is always better than inside), "dinosaur" (Bubba has dinosaurs and some of their favorite books are about dinosaurs) and "bye-bye." They each hoist a Disney purse over their shoulders, grab up whatever baby doll or stuffed animal is nearby, pick up a drawing pad with the other hand and say "Bye-bye" as they're heading for the front door. The girls have a darling southern accent and award-winning smiles, so I'm thinking their career of choice will be "Southern Belles." Their "Mom-Mom" (not "Mommy") was a quiet, serious child and is now a CPA, so no, the twins don't take after her. They got their strawberry blond hair from me, their dimples from their other grandmother, but their "wild-child" shrieks of laughter and winning smiles are all their own.
On my visits I pretty much just sit on the playroom floor and let the action go on around me. I had back surgery a few years ago and have osteoarthritis and a degenerative back disease, so it's best that I don't pick up those heavy babies all that often. But what can I do when they raise their arms and say "Nanaaaaa..." Which of course is a plea for me to pick up a baby (I think about 24 lbs each right now). The girls are little whirlwinds. They move so fast and can leave a wake of destruction (a genuine mess) in their path. Until recently, Bubba referred to the girls as "Destructo Babies." But the girls are learning to be more careful with Bubba's books and puzzles and other things now, so they're no longer "Destructo Babies." Bubba tells each of them in turn, "You are an adorable baby" and, of course, each baby just beams.
Well, now I'm reclining on the couch with my feet propped on a pillow and the laptop in my lap. I took a pain pill (Vicodin, like "House" takes on TV) a couple hours ago, so I'm doing okay. All day Monday I'll need more pain pills and possibly into Tuesday. So I'll have to take it easy for two days and rest my back. By the weekend I'll be ready for more "Afternoons with the Grands."
Sunday, August 15, 2010
The Frog in the Shower
On Friday night I had a visitor while I was taking a shower - a frog. Now don't get me wrong, I like frogs, particularly the little ones. They're cute. When I was a kid I used to collect small frogs and put them in a paper bag to carry them to their new home in my backyard. Afterwards I'd frequently find the frogs swimming in our pool. So I liked frogs back then. Here in Florida we live close to wetlands, so it's Frogs-R-Us at night around here. Just open up the back door at night and their croaking is almost a roar. In fact, it's so loud at night that my dogs are hesitant to go outside when the frogs are singing.
So as I said, I like frogs in general. But I didn't much care for the tiny frog that tried jumping in our bed the other night. Nor did I care for the one who ended up in the shower with me. Now I know my grandson tells me, "Frogs can't hurt you, Nana." So I wasn't worried about getting hurt by that little green/brown frog. However, when the frog landed with a plop in the shower-water at my feet, well, I let out a holler that sent my dogs and husband running. So my husband had to catch the intruder and put him back outside.
This is the third frog visitor in a week. Now I've always loved the story of "The Frog Prince." But I'm too old to be interested in "kissing a frog." I already have my own "Prince Charming" though he's getting a bit gray and worn, I'll stick with the one I've got. Those frogs need to find someone younger and single.
So as I said, I like frogs in general. But I didn't much care for the tiny frog that tried jumping in our bed the other night. Nor did I care for the one who ended up in the shower with me. Now I know my grandson tells me, "Frogs can't hurt you, Nana." So I wasn't worried about getting hurt by that little green/brown frog. However, when the frog landed with a plop in the shower-water at my feet, well, I let out a holler that sent my dogs and husband running. So my husband had to catch the intruder and put him back outside.
This is the third frog visitor in a week. Now I've always loved the story of "The Frog Prince." But I'm too old to be interested in "kissing a frog." I already have my own "Prince Charming" though he's getting a bit gray and worn, I'll stick with the one I've got. Those frogs need to find someone younger and single.
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