The Bathroom goes BOOM.

Inspired by the confetti flying on Mott Street, P requested a sparkly shooter. But once he had it in his hot little hands, he had no interest in exploding it in the street. He wanted to enjoy it at home.

This is sooo P. We haven't bothered to join parades for the last few years because the throngs overwhelm him and he doesn't enjoy himself. At All. But he's finally found a fab way to be peaceful in this mobbed metropolis: he ignores it ;) (We were serenaded on the sub the other day, the singer attempting to get a high five from the Little Man, who sat, tight lipped and unmoving. After the moment passed, I mentioned that it was ok for him to say hey, or even just smile, to strangers, if he wanted - wondering if it was his stranger danger issue at play. To this midwesterner, the thought of not responding to someone still seems so... un-doable! I've gotten better about ignoring total crazies, but it still isn't natural for me. While I'm thinking about this, a lady sitting to my left asked me if I was born in NYC. No... She smiled and said she was. And then warmly reminded me that P was a local kid - like she had been, and that this is how kids deal, surrounded by strangers (who often try to claim a kid's interaction.) It was an eye opening point. Other than possibly the checkout girl at the supermarket, there were hardly any unknown adults in my young life. My folk's friends, my preschool teacher, the neighbors. I knew them alll. And happily ensconced in the car, I interacted with strange adults next to never. Sure, there was an occasional trip to the zoo or the mall, but that was rare in comparison to P's daily foot-filled forays with uncountable unknowns. Of course it would make a difference! As I thanked the nice native, I wondered how I'll honor my little New Yorker's need to claim some semblance of privacy in this city while simultaneously appeasing my people pleasing personality...)

But where was I... Oh, yes, we headed home with the dragon decorated bomb. I assured E it would be easy-peasy. We'd cover the bathtub with sheets, and explode the thing while enclosed. Then the Little man could toss and tumble it till he was done. Slide out the bottom sheet and whalah. No muss, no fuss.

Ha. (hahahaha) E, being the good sport he is, climbed into the tub with the tube and the kid. E hates to get messy. Though he had just had hundreds of tubes rain down on him during the parade, he felt fresh picked, confetti free, and wasn't too excited to preen again. But I so wanted a picture of the boom :) And he kinda likes me ;)

Needless to say, the best laid plans and all that... I (seriously) underestimated the size of the boom. I clicked the camera as i automatically clamped my eyes shut to the enormous bam... only to feel the explosion. land. on. me.

Yup, it shot right out the top, dusting E and P with a few tiny shreds in the process. It blew open the sheet - and barfed onto me - and the rest of the bathroom. After a shocked second, we all died of laughter. Especially the karmically clean Ethan :) It only took a few shakes for him to brush clean. The bathroom is a while nuther story...

P, very excited:


The boom:


P and E, surprisingly clean after the explosion:


The bathroom, surprisingly not clean after the explosion (the pic does it No Justice. Trust me. :)

Shwanky digs at Union Square

P's long adored the ancient playground (featuring, basically, sand and a 70's style jungle gym) across from E's office. The surrounding area is vibrant, typically packed with the Green Market (the big sister to our Saturday morning grocery run at Grand Army Plaza) and throngs of New Yorkers dog walking and bench sitting. But the Little Man never even bothered to enter the modern playground just across the sidewalk. Raised walkways bordered by ladders and poles having lost his interest before he turned three (way too safe, apparently;)...

Then they demolished the boring modern monstrosity. P was worried his beloved pyramid would follow suit, but some smart suit has preserved that tiny space (so far.) Now, after months and months of work, the new Union Square playground is open... and it rocks.

Granted, it isn't everyone's cup of tea. We met in mass on Friday, homeschoolers swirling around the swingless space. Some moms seemed thrilled, some not so much. P, however, was unequivocally jazzed.

I only got one (the above) shot that day. The strange stainless steel dome, rising above one end of the playground for no apparent reason, had P and I giggling with glee. Scooching up the smooth surface was entertaining, standing on top of the precarious center point was exhilarating, and sliding down was just plain fun. Even more, there were so many climbing doodads spread across the new playspace, the LIttle Man didn't know which way to turn.

Until he found what his friend called "a modern day one of those old things that go round and round." Yah, that's another term for newfangled merry go round. A suspended soft circle surrounded by a flush stainless steel bar floated above the playground on a tilted shaft. Kiddie crack for sure. Children piled on as one father twirled and twirled and twirled the writhing heap. P flew off, did a flip and landed with a thud. Up he bounced (as the twirling father almost had a heart attack) and bounded back to the rotating wheel. This time he gripped the stainless steel edge a bit better. No matter though, he flipped off twice more, both times garnering alarmed squeeks from the other adult viewers. But P typically bounces when he flies, especially if he's enjoying himself, and the surface tiles under the ride were purposefully squishy... so I laughed at the hilarity of him flying through the air each time. I'm not particularly sure I won any friends that day... But the Little Man was in heaven (and unscathed;)!

We're so excited to go back when its warm... and the sun stays up late - that playground is vacant after dinner! Though, for the record, Mr. Social seemed nonplussed seeing so many fellow homeschoolers. In fact, I think he actually enjoyed it. Despite the fact that his favorite new "friend" from the day was Diego, the dad P introduced himself to :)

Kids and Concoctions

I don't know what it is about kids and concoctions, but its a solid relationship for sure. I remember the boys in my class making all sorts of unmentionables during lunch. Turns out, P likes this too. Since I have innate issues with waste in this weary world, we've done lots of colored water. But now he's getting into chemical reactions. Becoming a big fan of vinegar and baking soda. Vanilla. Oil and water. And now, the hand crank.

He's had the hand mixer high on his list for a long time, and that time finally came this week. After torturing the pink monster, he cooked it up in the kitchen, cleaned the crank and then headed to the bath to churn some bubbles. Five is fun :)

More on our exciting week of snow play later...

Pass the Paczki, please

P, carrying Chomper, his dino/fish/mouth that grabs stuff. Today, snow.


It's true. E and I aren't exactly, umm, plugged in. A friend mentioned the Super Bowl Sunday evening.... and it was the first time E and I had thought about it since someone mentioned it... a year ago :) (P's Aunt D and B instinctively play translator for me when in a group setting, defining pop culture trivia whenever it arises, knowing I'm clueless.) But, thanks to our location, the Little Man's life is brimming with cultural fun, pop or otherwise, despite his parents.

For example, our last craft at the library was to celebrate February 14th. As Susie, P's sweet librarian, introduced her newest craft, she asked the tableful of faces if anyone knew what we would celebrate on the 14th? Each and every smiling mug trilled "Chinese New Year!" "Yes!" Susie beamed. "And we're going to make paper lanterns with dragons on them!" P was delighted.

Today's Fat Tuesday, Pancake Day, or whatever you'd like to call your (originally pagan) pre lent ritual, would probably have slipped by us too, but for our fabulous Polish friends who invited us over for Paczki. The snowstorm brewing out our window had P reconsidering his excitement for friends and fried food, but then the snow loving gleam entered those baby blues and out we flew....

Right into much more snow than I had expected. Walking everywhere as we do, I religiously check the online weather before leaving the house. Sometimes, for insurance, I double up on my information and call my father, my favorite weather relay man (happily ensconced in warm, sunny, Sarasota, he's always more than chipper to tell me how cold my day will be:) Well, I should have called him today, because, as is often the case, the weather outside was much different than that typed on my screen.

Nevertheless, we eventually made it all the way across the park (which, come to find out, grows bigger when it snows) to visit our buddies. And we carnival'd in style on some delish donuts while racing cars and playing under quilts.

Feet stuffed in trash sacks and hoods worn low, we re-schlepped home, fat and happy this Tuesday. The park had grown, again, but gawd was it was gorgeous.

Toys, toys everywhere....

As I crossed the room to flick the lamp tonight, I finally noticed just how much floor space is devoted to BB's "property" (what Phoenix lovingly calls the general space filled by BB's treehouse, barn, stables and vehicles.) Its uncanny, really, especially in a little New York flat. Then I glanced around, thinking about how much of the space E and I typically occupy (the mat in front of the kitchen sink and perhaps a small spot on the couch). When we moved in, before The Little Man was yet two, his belongings fit into a tidy metal tub. The apartment was wide open, I'd daringly even say... spacious. Since that day, the child has collected every item he could get his hands on. The wood crate on the stoop next door? The perfect center island for his kitchen. The plastic pizza-box-lid-holder-upper-thingy noticed on the sidewalk? The ideal deck table for BB. The bandaid wrapper bound for the trashcan? A little velcro and they'll be perfect skis for little BB. The child keeps everything. Then, of course, there are the toys.

Despite my cynicism and role as chief picker-upper, I don't begrudge him his love of toys. Or strange baubles of junk. Really. He's a kid and he learns through manipulation, play, experimentation. (And he has the most beautiful trust in the universe that it will provide, always, it provides. I try to rectify this with the status of the world, without any luck whatsoever. But, quite seriously, if the kid is hoping for something, it always manifests.) I may occasionally swoon unstably at the thought of finding a spot for yet another treasure, but I secretly love a challenge, so....

And then I see how his play evolves and it is so exciting and fun. His sweet Uncles gave him this magnetic marble set a couple of years ago. In the beginning, he was merely experiencing how magnets work, how to line them up, how to pile them up, how to stick them all over the house. Then he really liked watching us build with them. Then he really liked building the same shape over and over. Then he pulled them out the other day and made a boat for BB (of course.) With a captain's wheel, a glass bottom area with fishing holes, a watch deck, upper and lower lights and a lookout spot on the back. Open-ended toys and bandaid wrappers rock. Really.

Sledding, sort of.

We met a couple fellow homeschoolers in the park yesterday to enjoy the deep snow. We only hoped for great sledding (and empty hills with all of the kids back in school, a total perk in busy Brooklyn ;) but were surprised with amazing snow sculptures all over the park. Apparently, some inspired (or bored) adults (or big kids) had a blast during the blizzard too. P and his bud deserted their sleds pretty quickly in lieu of the fun filled tunnel fort...



The Little Man walks much further these days, I don't think its been an actual energy/strength issue (he can run non-stop all day when playing:) - more that he's just becoming less bitter about growing up. After saying (for years) that he doesn't want to grow up, ever, this month he chose to age an entire year, just to match Eloise's age.

P happily hikes home:



The Little Man really liked this snowman:

The Blizzard

Promises of snowstorms have passed with mere dustings this winter. This one is a whole 'nuther story!

With school closed for the day, all of P's neighbor buddies powwowed last night and planned a snowball fight. For eight thirty. A.M.. For a child who burns the midnight oil, this seemed laughable, but he popped out of bed bright and early and zoomed downstairs to join the fray. The dads formed a team and fighting escalated. Snowballs whizzed everywhere, trash can lids (it is Brooklyn) were employed as defenses, snowball making tools were wildly wielded.

Soon enough, the wise fathers realized they had to shovel their walks (city ordinances) and told the kids it was time to make a fort. I was pretty impressed with their ingeniousness (they are all native New Yorkers.) All 8 kids grabbed their snowshovels (P included) and cleaned the walks into a big pile :) The bigger backs helped and packed and eventually a fort took shape. Then the gang split up for warmth, food and sledding, only to meet again a few hours later. The fort grew some more. The Little Man packed a zillion snowballs. Snowmen appeared everywhere. It was white and deep and cold and wet and beeeeautiful.

And its still snowing as we go to bed - late. Later than usual ;) Because, while I was dreamily looking out the window before bed, a huge tree gave way under its wet, snowy weight and cracked down, right onto a minivan... and all of the way across the street onto another car. This meant that our dark house was soon aglow with warm red lights from the police car below. And then filled with the faint sounds of a chain saw revving between wind whooshes as the fireman cut and hauled and cut and hauled... It was so cozy, sitting warmly above the radiator on the wide window ledge, looking out at the snow in the whirling lights and swirling snow. E left his sick bed (he had turned in early after a long day) to join us... because it was just too damn picturesque on his way back from the bathroom :) P, curled on my lap, yawned and leaned his (very tired) head onto my shoulder, sighing, "This is so lovely...."

Tomorrow: sledding :) I'm so excited!!!

Breakthrough, bigtime.

P, playing with Amazing Aunt and Uncles while E and I.... actually went out with our dearest friends. Yes, it was fabulous. And yes, we tried to ignore the thoughts of what P could be doing to his dearly beloveds while we were gone. More of that in the post below....


From "Eloise at the Plaza," P's current obsession:
"There is this Oak Room which is to the right if you want to have a broken mint or something like that..."

P looks at me and whispers, "Is that ok?" while pointing to the illustration of Eloise snagging a mint from a candy bowl. I use this to illustrate the general trust he has in us, his parents, to help him understand social customs and general life lessons. Before this post obliterates that idea, to bits....


There's a sliding scale, a long line of variation, in how adults deal with other people's kids. Everyone is somewhere on this line, anchored by two very different ends. I know (and love) people at both ends. This is not a judgement, just a description. At one end is the lady who is entirely comfortable correcting your child, reminding your child to say "please," despite the fact that you, the parent, are standing right there. These people have absolutely no qualms embracing a village like leadership role around all short pints. At the other end of the spectrum you have the lady that will chuckle uncomfortably, when licked, purposefully, by your child.

Personally, I fall waaaay towards the latter end of this continuum. I chuckle and divert, dodge and duck. (Unless I need to stand up for my kid, and then I try to be as careful with my language as possible.) This is not "the right way," this is merely what makes me, the social scaredy-cat, comfy. E falls into this same role. We understand it too well. This is all background for the upcoming breakthrough in our house.

I've mentioned before that P adores his Uncles a lot (The Aunts are included in this nomenclature, there are just so many that this has become our verbal shorthand) . But as of last night, E was ready to hang up the Phoenix-family towel. Sure, he was tired (E;) and coming down with a cold (yes, E, and it'll be our first this winter! Holy moly compared to the last two virus infested cold seasons!). Regardless of the grumps, he was right. Phoenix and family can be a crazy combo.

I've gone on and on about how great it is that P listens to us, respects us, so much. How I actually have to take care when speaking that I don't over-influence him. How he listens to our needs, his friend's needs, and responds willingly and beautifully to those needs. Yah, there has been a lot of fabulous Phoenix talk.

There hasn't been a lot of talk about how psychotic he gets around his Uncles. How he completely disregards anything his aforementioned mentors say. E and I have spent many a late night brainstorming ways to help his interactions be something slightly representative of who he usually is. To no avail. We've tried removing him from situations. Giving exit strategies and suggestions before get togethers. Whispering reminders to him during get togethers. Redirecting. Relaxing. Yelling "Stop!!!" And, honestly, the list of attempts goes steeply downhill and away from all of our highfalutin philosophies from there. Nothing "works" and E often has to remove himself from the situation (the dishes are his sanity saver) so he doesn't blow a gasket. Meanwhile, I keep a calm demeanor and then obsessively replay every yucky moment for the remainder of my insomniac filled night.

So, after an evening of silent seething last night, E whispered to me that we best do something, NOW, or he wasn't doing a family get together again.

What could be so bad, you ask? What could my adorable, loving, sweet little son possibly ever do to upset us so? Ha. Hahahahahahaahahahahahaha.

He might pretend to endlessly puke, loudly, in your guest's soup, all evening. While crawling all over them while they try to eat said soup. After reaching into their soup with his grubby fingers to take their prized Romanesco Cauliflowers. Then he just might mix a concoction of his backwashed milk and half drunk water into a cup, plug it with another cup and unceremoniously dangle it precariously over your guest's partially eaten, pirated soup. Then he could bring out an array of chapsticks and repeatedly shove them into your guest's faces (who are, by the way, still trying to finish their dinners), insisting that they wear some, despite their very sweet "No thanks." This, of course, would all occur before he pulls his pants off to wag his bare bottom (and other unmentionable body parts) at them and then spit on them to say goodbye....

Or something like that. I can hear you already. Why don't you just, couldn't you just, haven't you tried just??? Yah. We've done it. We've tried it. We've thought it. We even become the parents we don't want to be on these evenings. Trust me. (Well, except for beating, spanking, shaming, threatening or yelling (though the word "Stop" has certainly reached higher decibels than we'd prefer). This may seem like a simple child training moment to many (and to them I graciously say, choose a different blog to waste your time on :) I don't want to solve one problem by creating a new one... despite how horrified I was last night...

So, completely drained, embarrassed and exasperated, I sent E to bed and sunk onto the bathroom floor with P. He, usually the infinitely in tune child, is unbelievably clueless when it comes to this subject. When we've discussed ways to keep the Uncles comfortable in the past, he's seemed genuinely stumped that they wouldn't be. How could one not enjoy being jumped? Unexpectedly, while relaxing? From behind? He seems quite sure they do like it.

Which makes it a really tough conversation. Because it feels like stealing joy. Like he has this unadulterated joy and peace with these people, and the thought that he could do something unappealing to them is unfathomable to the child. After all, kids commonly equate doing something someone dislikes with someone disliking the person doing the doing. At this age, they are their actions.

So we chatted, carefully and quietly, forever. He was infinitely interested, a little crushed, but mostly confused. And then it all came out. Apparently, he doesn't believe me.

He informed me he was fairly certain I was wrong. That his loves do, indeed, like their soup puked in. "But Mama, they laugh!" They don't mind him hitting them, they never ask him to stop! They don't mind being climbed on when they are eating, no sir! I assured him that this was a standard for grown-ups, and I, as a standard grown-up, know these things :) When the small sage said, "Mama. You, are you. You are not Seth or Alicia. You can only know you. You can't know what Seth and Alicia think."

That's right folks, he didn't believe me. Me, the one formerly known to sway the moon, I have met my match :) It was late. I pathetically yammered about social customs, comparing them to library running rules (stuff everybody just does for the population's maximum comfort - nothing we haven't covered before) He pointed out that different houses follow different customs and we weren't in the library. Me:0. Kid, 2 points.

(I realize as I write this, its sounding more like we were lobbing arguments back and forth than chatting, but that's the shortcoming of my writing, not actually representative of the bathroom floor powwow:) The kid was really trying to understand the intricacies of my babble, and to help me understand his thinking.)

So we made up a scenario. Plot: P is at someone else's house and begins spitting on the floor, repeatedly. Then we went through family members, imagining how they would respond. This is where that spectrum comes in. While no one in our families falls into the "uber-bossy" end, there are plenty that land in the middle. These would respond with various, clear no thank you's ;) Then we landed on a number of family members who P knew would.... just laugh. He said he thought this meant they liked it. And he certainly likes to make people laugh. So, step two in this scenario? Head nod, he would spit again. Definitely. Probably laughing maniacally himself.

I told him I often laugh when I don't necessarily like something. I told him it was just my way of being uncomfortable, what I do when I don't know what to do. Or sometimes I would just rather a kid's parents correct them, it doesn't feel like my place if it isn't my kid. And there are other's like me in the family, like Papa. True, we aren't that way with the Little Man, because we're comfortable with him, we know what to do (er, kinda:). But we feel that way around lots of other kids. (This all seemed strange to the child, understandably :) and reminded me of a point Naomi Aldort (parenting "expert") espoused years ago. If her child was endlessly talking to a stranger in a restaurant, even if Aldort believed the stranger preferred otherwise, she would not attempt to change her child's direction. The child would only see the mother as an adversary, since the stranger hadn't professed discomfort, and would believe the mother wrong and interfering. The point irritated me because it disregards the stranger's needs, in lieu of the child's. However, I have to admit she was spot on in describing how the child would handle the situation. Apparently, children typically tell it just how it is and it is endlessly confusing when the rest of us don't. )

I could see a small light over his head. More a nightlight than lightbulb at this point. Then he thought a bit and got there and had a solution. He figures he should ask his Uncles. Since he doesn't necessarily think his mother or father can really know what these loves are thinking, but he really doesn't want them to be uncomfortable.... "Why don't you tell me when you're uncomfortable, Mama, and then I"ll ask them if they're uncomfortable too!"

To be completely and perfectly and horribly honest... I'd rather he just listen to me without hesitation, much like he does the rest of his life :) But since blind devotion and automaton production aren't really on my parenting goal checklist, I agreed we had a great solution. (I think the consummate optimist is really banking on nothing bugging his beloveds, so we'll see how this all plays out:)

BB, are you falling?

Last weekend was cold, sure, but this weekend blew it all to hell. The wind gusts felt downright Kansan :) (While paying for our weekly dairies, the tent above became briefly air-born... but was quickly foiled by the two cream connoisseurs behind the makeshift counter. They didn't even blink. I was impressed :)

I was also impressed with the Little Man's determination. He focused on wiping the stone border-wall clean of the light snow dusting... for the better part of the eleven blocks. Being much shorter than said wall, I was shocked he held his arm up for so long. Especially since snow was plummeting... right into the crack between his glove and his jacket - cuuuumfy ;) But his intense attempt to continuously knock Imaginary BB off of the wall with the snow kept him going :)

Don't homeschool if....

We spent yesterday afternoon at the aquarium with a prospective homeschooler. Her mum is interested, but is a little nervous to take the plunge and give up playschool. She hoped an afternoon of chatting over sea lion tricks would give her some answers. I probably should have suggested she asks someone else... with well edited, inspiring answers :) But P and I had fun....

The Little Man had agreed to this visit weeks ago (I ran it by him - knowing it would make for a slightly different experience than our typical Phoenix focused aquarium visits.) He was excited to meet V and her mama, and doubly excited to see the walrus again. But, the Little Man has been in a mood for the last few days. A week, maybe. I'm not sure what's going on (fighting off a cold? Needing more sleep? Growing pains? Growth spurt? On the edge of something developmentally? Have I been lackluster? Is he not getting the right.... something?? Or just irritated:) Nothing seems awry. He's eating great, sleeping per usual. But the grumps are obvious and, in the last three days, getting more pronounced.

So, despite talking about our plans every day for the last four days (he doesn't like surprises), and being fine with our plans when we woke up, he was bereft when it came time to go. Drat! Our unknown friends were below ground, subbing their way there, so canceling was impossible (and would have been exceptionally rude to boot...) I validated his doldrums, his wants, his frustration, suggested he kick the bed rather than the door (a strange re-occurrence making the grumps truly obvious - he hadn't been physical when frustrated for a really long time and then it started popping up a couple of weeks ago....)

Where was I? Oh, door jamb. He said he understood we had to go, but he would not be happy :) He had such a good point - that he could choose to be happy or not. So I agreed, that it was his choice whether he enjoyed our outing or not, I'd love him either way.

I got dressed. He climbed onto the bed and rolled around, quietly. Then he sat up. Then he started smiling slightly. He jumped down and got ready and we went. It was crazy to watch him process through it.

He was beyond happy all afternoon - obviously having made the choice and really dedicating himself to it :) He adored our new playmates, adored every eel, jellyfish and shark. He held his new friends' hands and chatted with them gleefully. I occasionally looked around to find Mr. Hyde, but he was gone. (He's reappeared again since then, so the mood has yet to magically lift permanently...)

Anyway! I'm boring myself again as I ramble. The point of this post: The fence-riding mom had a common question: how do you spend all of your time with your kid? Is this difficult?

Such an interesting question to me. But so loaded with the pervasiveness of school as norm. Its like assuming a baby should be fed a bottle (a fact wee me never questioned with my dollies). Its so culturally entrenched. And culturally twisted. We're (humans in general, not just P and I;) so far from our original inclinations its insane. Moms (or dads;), shuttered away for the day with their wee ones or sending the wee ones off to school to be with other wee ones the same age. The extended family, the tribe, our natural family formation, is non-existent. And as much as I adore spending my life with P, there's no questioning the fact that the intensity of hearing his voice for 14 hours a day, only broken by the sound of my voice answering his is, well, absurd from a vastly historical point:) Much like his little voice (ok, big voice) and movements being censured in a classroom of equally censored kids' sounds and stirrings is unbelievably, unnaturally absurd. Our society is, well, fucked up. (Sorry Cash - I'll start watching that, starting tomorrow? ;)

What am I babbling about?! The question itself assumes that its normal to not see your kid, for your kid to be in a distant box for the duration of the day. And while I recognize that as the cultural "norm" of our time, I've been on the outside of that while parenting, so I can't fathom answering it in an understandable fashion. I've been too busy feeling crazy-lucky that I'm able to be on the outside of this norm to bemoan it. Not that its all jolly ranchers and Xmas mornings around here. No, no, no. But I do know moms that claim every second spent homeschooling is exhilarating. (I'm fairly certain their children talk less than mine...) And I know moms homeschooling that regularly feel they are a hair's-breadth away from loosing it. But you could take out the "homeschooling" bit from that last sentence and it would still be true. Word dat:)

I'm pretty sure I failed to help the nice lady lean toward a decision. After all, one can't tell a stranger how much they like spending time with their kid without it sounding like a cross judgement.. or like a loon song. Likewise, one can't tell a stranger (while in front of said child to boot) that sometimes you have to imagine walking down a vacant, dark, snow covered sidewalk... just to retain your sanity for a second. So I told her the most honest (and probably unhelpful) thing possible: "I love it. And I'd imagine either decision would have difficulties for different reasons...." Yah, I told you she should have met with someone else!

However, our fun day did remind me of a funny list a friend sent me. Now, keep in mind, I know next to nothing about blogging. I'm please with myself every time I get a video uploaded. So if I'm incorrectly citing this, please forgive me... and correct me in the comment section for future reference! Tammy Takahashi has a great list of 10 reasons not to homeschool on her blog. I've copied her list below for your enjoyment.


10 Reasons Not to Homeschool: By Tammy Takahashi
October 28, 2006

1. There is no “how to”. You have to make your own decisions about what is important in education. You have to read lots of books and do lots of research to ultimately to figure out who you are, and you will soon learn, there is no “right” way to educate.

2. People will always ask you why you homeschool. Then you have to deal with their questions somehow. This. Never. Ends.

3. It is very likely that someone you love will absolutely hate the fact that you are homeschooling, and will make it clear. Wouldn’t it just be easier to do things the way your family expects you to? You’d get along better with them if you do.

4. You have to create your own social networks and be able to make friends without the constructs of a school setting. And the kids have to learn how to get along with people in the real world. The real world is scary sometimes, and it’s not always easy to know how to meet people.

5. You will have to answer all of your kids’ questions. And sometimes, (ok, maybe often), you’ll have to admit that you don’t know something. And you can’t say, “Ask your teacher tomorrow.” Instead, you will have to say, “Let’s look it up.”

6. The first step to successful homeschooling is to let go of everything you ever knew about education, and to start from scratch. If you really like how school works, you may be surprised at how different homeschooling is from that version of reality. Sometimes, that causes smoke to rise from the ears as two sets of gears try to go in opposite directions.

7. There are a million things to buy out there. It’s easy to get sucked into the “it’s for our kids’ education” trap. And beware homeschool conferences. They are like going to an endless mall of educational materials and ideas. If you go to too many of them, you may even be coerced into speaking at one.

8. Even if millions of parents have homeschooled before, nobody will be able to tell you what to expect. Homeschooling is like being a parent – every family is different and you’re going to have to become your own expert and do a lot of research. Sure, it’s possible to homeschool without research, but that’s like parenting without thinking about why you make our choices. So, once you’ve decided to homeschool, you will be spending just as much time as your kids with your nose in a book, or doing on-site research (park days and info nights). In fact, in the beginning, you’ll probably be learning a lot more than your kids are. That is a very tiring.

9. You run the risk of filling your house with books, magazines, science projects and pencils. You may need to convert part of the bathroom into a library. And what’s worse, is that whenever someone starts talking about a topic, you won’t be able to stop yourself from saying, “We have a book on that! Here, let me go get it.” People will either stay away from you to keep from being told all the nuts and bolts about taking a radio apart, or they will always be bugging you for help on their school science projects because they know you have all the books and info (and experience).

10. You are free. Completely and totally free. Do you really want to be free?

Green Market and a few of his favorite things

So, since E flew the co-op, we've tried a number of ways to get food on the table. Whole Foods after work kinda sucks. The brilliant grocery delivery service here (Fresh Direct) is sorely lacking in fab organic produce and leaves a bigger footprint than I'd prefer. And we've had a few mishaps with Fairway Market, just a hop, skip and jump from our house....were you to have a car. (If you're interested in the woes of big city living (I know, I know, woe is us ;) read on for the two biggest Fairway drats (or skip ahead - actually, the whole post is pretty boring, so ;)

One can scoot (a 45 minutes scoot, mostly downhill), or on cold days, take the bus (which takes just as long :) to reach this urban mecca. After piling our cart too full for arms (or scooter or even bus:) we typically catch a car service home (which runs just a few bucks more than a bus ride.) Unfortunately, the car services in that neighborhood are less than reliable... and left P and I sitting on the curb for over (way over) 2 hours last fall! Yup, a four year old, an overly full cart of groceries and no way home - I know, it seems preposterous - in NYC of all places! But uphill, through the projects, in the dark and cold, with a stolen, full grocery cart, a four year old, a scooter and a booster seat, well, it just wasn't happening :)

Then, I got smart (or so I thought ;) My landlady told me Fairway delivers big orders. Wahooo! P and I super shopped, getting multiples of everything, and went to check out. Then, we're told we should carry our milk etc, home ourselves because they don't refrigerate while the groceries await delivery ... possibly a few hours later. I groaned when I saw those damn multiple milks and yogurts :) Off we schlepped to the bus, clambered off 45 minutes later to trudge up avenue after avenue to our flat. When my cell rang moments later to tell me my groceries were at my house, I ruefully realized, I was not. )

So, we've been enjoying the Green Market (at the plaza just north of us - an easy walk) this winter. Something we'd tried a couple of times before, but never with much luck. It finally fits, for whatever reason, and we all seem to enjoy shopping al fresco on Saturday mornings (even yesterday - 16 degrees!) While the produce isn't all organic, it is local, which thrills me. And, according to E and P, the milk (barely pasteurized, just the way we like it, and non-homogenized, just the way our hearts like it;) is ridiculously scrumptious. We've fallen in love with the raw cheeses, the freshly ground grains and just dried beans, adore the whole wheat sourdough and just laid eggs and marvel at the produce selection - even mid-winter. Its keeping my cooking much more seasonal, which requires creativity (for me, at least. Fitting our dining to what's available is proving to be vastly different than creating a menu each week and then shopping, regardless of how "seasonal" I tried to be before ;)

Which is all perfect for P. No crowded shopping aisles or work shifts; open air and chatty vendors suit the kid. And, he does not thrive on repetition in the kitchen. The more novel, the better he eats. So he was deeeelighted when we found this Romanesco Cauliflower (seen above) yesterday. And equally pleased with it tonight for dinner.

Which reminds me, I've been meaning to do occasional updates on the Little Man's favorite things.... the type of stuff baby books usually include. Better late than never ;)

Faves this month:

Food: Eggs - especially sunny side up. Kale chips (the new variety from today - Sea Salt and Balsamic Vinegar - was his recipe - and surprisingly yummy.) Oatmeal with maple syrup. Chocolate. Cheese (jarlsberg, fresh mozzerella, black label gouda and parmigian, the kid likes cheese ;) And tomatoes, always tomatoes... thus begging the obvious combo: Caprese Salads. He requests these almost every other day.

Music: Come on Eileen (Dexy's Midnight Runners), Dum Di Da Di Da (Aqua), anything by Queen, Clocks (Coldplay),The Loquat Tree (Indigo Girls), Itchy Itchy Chicken Bone (Kathy Bollinger), Itty Bitty Kitty In New York City (Wendy Gelsanliter), The Polar Express, and House Party Time (Dan Zanes).

Play: BB, Sock Monkey and Froggy. (duh) Any possible variation of imaginative play with these characters. And Bb's treehouse and anything with stuffed animals, though cars/trucks still feature prominently into the animal play...

Place: Home

Books: anything Seuss, the Mercy Watson series, the Cricket in Times Square series, anything by Syd Hoff or Dick King-Smith.

Oh boy. This is feeling like the world's most boring post :) I've actually become tired of it myself! So I'll stop there....

BB's Book

P made BB books for everyone at his birthday party. He carefully picked various shades of green felt to be seamed with gold (of course) thread. In the middle of each cover was a fleece BB. I'll try and remember to post a pic.

He started to fill his book a few weeks later, but it has since laid dormant. Today, he pulled it out and first illustrated, then narrated, the stories. For posterity's sake:

Page 1:
This is BB's apartment building. He lives on the top floor. Here is the street below. He wishes he lived on the bottom floor because he is scared he will fall to the bottom and die and get droven over by cars that are going really fast on the highway. (This is accompanied by a drawing of BB's building, a highway and some blurry fast cars.)

Page 2:
BB is looking out the window and he is looking down at the street below, wishing he was at the bottom floor with his friend, Bonjour Vet. And while he was looking out he fell out the window! He was fine.

And, he gone right back up. He went up 1 stairway, 2 stairway, 3 stairway, 4 stairway , 5 stairway , 6 stairway , 7 stairway , 8 stairway , 9 stairway .

And gone upstairs and he played with his toys. He had a truck, a digger, a robot, a Hess truck, 2 bottles of wine and a muffin. Those are all his toys. And he broke his robot and he, BB, glued it! Why he had to glue it was this: he had to glue it because he was flying it around and crashed it in the wall. Mhmm. (This is accompanied by a picture of BB's building with many, many stairs.)

Page 3:
He, BB, did this. He gone downstairs and he gone in a room. And know what? He visited his big brother, Phoenix! And that's all on this page, so go on to the next! (Drawing: BB, with his aforementioned toys, the robot careening off of the wall and BB's building too.)

Page 4:
One rainy day, when he was out and about with his umbrella, named Bessie, he stubbed his toe. He just kept walking. He didn't break it though. That's good!
And know what happened? A big T-Rex came bounding down the sidewalk. Bam, bam, boom, boom bam! And you know what? He stepped on BB's toe... that he'd stubbed! Then BB went straight home. (Drawing: BB, with umbrella, outside many buildings, stacked together, with huge clouds above and rain streaking down.)

Page 5:
BB was going on a hike in Colorado and, know what? He almost got eaten by a mountain lion! Know what? And then he got washed away in the waterfall! And then he almost gone on a path, but know what? The path was blocked off by caution cones and a sign that said, "Keep out, Danger. Bears, mountain lions and snakes, porcupines... are all over the place." And know what? That is the first on this page.

And then what happened is this. He almost got eaten by a bear! (P then reads the book to BB and amends the ending to this particular story with:)

He did! He got eaten by it! (Drawing: Little BB, huuuuuge bear.)



Love and torture, two sides to the same coin in this relationship :)

Following the leader

P, pretty young.


P did the funniest thing on the way home from the library today. We were waiting for the F, slightly before rush hour, when a full train pulled into the station. I quickly considered skipping the overly stuffed subway (as my crowd averse, ironically NYC living hubby typically does) while I watched more people push their way off of the platform. Perhaps the next train would be comfier... In that brief moment of hesitation, P gently pulled me towards a different door that seemed slightly less crowded. There was no drama to it, no "follow Me, mama", no distinct arm tug, he just saw a better option and wordlessly steered us that direction. It was funny to be led by a five year old :)

I often marvel at the immense differences between P and I. I never worried about details when I was a kid. If I was with my folks, I followed them without looking where we were going. P tries to be a part of every conversation, every solution, every decision. When we landed at JFK, post Florida wedding, he turned to me and asked, "Did you call a car service or do we catch a cab?" Um, you're very short, shouldn't you just follow me aimlessly?

Of course, the whole subject translates to me, the one narcissistically figuring it must be my fault, somehow, as: is this because we've "given" him so much choice, so much freedom, so much say in his existence? Or do we somehow seem incapable, less than reliable? Or is it just his personality.... Nature, nurture, nature nurture, nature, nurture. I guess if I could let go of the self-blame issue, it wouldn't matter a hoot (after all, P's not complaining, he tells me daily how wonderful I am).... Nah, ah, well, nature, nurture, nature, nurture.... :)

(Hopefully not) thin ice

(Before anyone (mom:) hyperventilates: that is a puddle on top of the frozen pond, not a watery patch....)

Those icy acoustics called us back across the park to the frozen pond. We met P's pals there and played tag, climbed trees and then listened to the rocks echo and skid over the ice. The warmer winter day had been a hiccup, replaced with air that was strikingly cold. Much too soon and to my dismay, P missed the muddy bank and plunked through the icy edge up to his knee. His galoshes (at home on the radiator) were still wet from the (much warmer) day before, leaving his wooly boot a frosty soaker. Needless to say, he had no interest in returning home. Especially once his buddies migrated onto the ice.

Suddenly, a childhood story of woe floated just outside my reach, washing fear of pond ice my way (I'm typically classified as being too laissez-faire in the child/adventure category, and it was strange to be on the high alert end of the spectrum this time.) I noticed that the other adults seemed completely mellow with the activity, and the chunks of ice that they pulled out were a couple of inches thick... P sensed my apprehension but slid out to scoot around with his buddies and their folks. What was worrying me? What was that memory? After all, the icy water below wasn't that deep right there and it all seemed solid....

So, aside from my inner conflict, the afternoon was beautiful. P had a blast. But the protect vs respect issue has been gnawing at me ever since my fingers finally stopped stinging, post playdate. And that subject is only going to get more slippery as time passes. What about when he wants to ride a motorcycle... without a helmet? Or any of the other million things that are fabulously fun and equally dangerous in this world? Growing up, I really felt no fear (well, there was the dark, my parents, the supernatural, and snakes, but that's different ;) I wasn't scared of bike tricks, riding my motorcycle, public speaking, crazy heights, hitching or being lost, alone, in a foreign city or the woods. I even remember my daredevil little brother trying to talk some sense into me occasionally. So, I distinctly remember the first time this carefree pattern changed and I was scared. And I was doing something I had done (fearlessly, enjoyably) before. But this time, Ethan was there (love changes everything, right?) And it suddenly hit me that he could die, that I could die, that we could die. I remember that moment of mortality smacking me in the face. I was 19 (I've mentioned I'm slow, no?). P's already had that moment. He had it when he was 3. So I'm hell bent on keeping my mouth shut and preserving as much fear free fun for him as possible. Sigh. Hopefully, that doesn't leave us skating on thin ice.

The Cat (P wishes there was a hat)

My parents have dogs. Have always had a dog. I like animals (hulloh, PETA?), but had never done googoo talk about them with P. Then a friend mentioned how differently kids react to pets, based on how their parents react to pets. That her kid always points out pups, just like she does. And that her gal pal's kids' eyes just passed right past the pooches. Hmmm, it was time for a little experiment.

So, the next time I noticed a cute dog (I do looooove cute dogs, I just hadn't voiced it before), I voiced it. It took about, oh, two times, before P followed suit. Of course, my curiosity concerning the case of mentoring has backfired wildly. The child now wants a dog.

But we have a cat. The Little Man's long suffering companion. She should, if sane, seriously dislike the child. But she adores him. Has since the day he popped into her life, screaming. It drove me mad. Every time the child wailed, and he wailed A Lot, she would slink into the room and yowl her empathy. As loudly as she could. And the cat has pipes like no other.

Since her early days of devotion, she has let the Little Man chase her, while growling, carry her, while gloating, and box her, while grinning. And she seems. to. like. it. She could quite easily hide, outrun him. But she rarely does. She sprints off and slides to a stop, smiling. Sometimes she yowls at him and he recognizes this as her sign, too much, too fast, too rough. But nary a hiss or a swipe. Were it another cat, he would be scarred for sure.

He's returning the love these days. He feeds her a few times a week, talking to her sweetly. Drags strings for her when she doesn't want to be chased. Pets her while he plays. But mostly, his new trick is to carry her.

She's a full bodied feline. We call it big boned here, despite her delicate paws. So the child has had to grow into the challenge. He used to just hoist her under her front arms and let her dangle along the front of him. His height (or lack thereof) meant that her back paws paddled across the floor, trying to match his stumbling pace. Then he grew a bit, in height and strength, and now grunts as he grabs her belly in both arms. She seems happy, just pleased to be noticed by the object of her affection. P's mentioned in passing how he'd like to dress her, but I think that may be pushing our luck :)

Hibernatory Reprieve

Notice the little reddish package in P's pocket? Its the Paris Metro Map our neighbors gave him. He's in love with our neighbors (who claim to love the noise we inflict upon their ceiling!) and carries the sweet treasures they leave for him everywhere he goes...


We've been having so much fun playing indoors this month that I didn't even notice the weather change yesterday afternoon. Leaving bed in the morning, the flat was dark despite the daylight, the windows banged in their frames and the rain blew sideways through the tree tops. It was winter-bleak perfection :)

Hours later, a friend called to invite us to the park. Surely she must be kidding. Still ensconced in our jammies, we looked out the window... and saw the sun! We were too knee deep in BB's visit to the American Museum of Natural History (P was reconstructing it on the couch for BB to visit) to leave right then... but her call planted the seeds of change...

After BB wandered the hallowed halls, I encouraged the Little Man to feel the windows. They were warm(ish;) I mentioned the awesome puddles that must be awaiting us and whalah! He was ready to run out the door.

We streaked our wheels through the puddles, then ran through them , then jumped through them, then wandered further and further into the park. P was all adventure, taking the lead, thrilled to be in total charge of our direction. He wound us as far from home as humanly possible... and there we bumped into his friends! More mud hopping ensued and we parted ways as the sun slid low and behind some more clouds.



Clouds I should have been paying better attention to, but we had just found a frozen pond with a pile of rocks. So all we noticed was the amazing sound of the rocks careening off of the ice as we chucked them into the thick fog. The tinklings were mini versions of the vast cracking sounds you hear in an IMAX on Antartica. It was way cool. And then the rain returned, and we hustled our wet butts home, P doing his darndest to ride his bike uphill across the huge park. I love watching his little legs pump :) At one point my scooter got a bit ahead of him and he yelled out for me to wait, he didn't want to get lost in the fog :) I'm waiting. I'm just sure that someday, the kid will trust that I'd never leave him behind....

Five is fab...

Papa, Poppy, Froggy, Friends...

E listens intently to the Little Man tell an early morning story


E has learned (the hard way;) the fine art of defensive playing....

Fortunately for P, Papa adds some spice to the Little Man's hibernatory vibe. He is an amazing playmate and Froggy is, well, learning how to be a good playmate. Because the frog, as mentioned before, is a bit of a fuck. So the Little Man has taken it upon himself to help Froggy figure out the ways of world and score some social skills... through setting an exemplary example (he announced this lightbulb one day:) Its comical to watch. P tries to keep his cool, to explain things with patience, but the frog is difficult. E's had a couple of chats with P to determine the acceptable ornery-ness level of the frog. If Froggy is too nice, P starts stuff. If the frog is too argumentative or aggressive, P can become overly-exasperated, slamming doors and stomping off in a huff. But the Little Man's been clear that he wants to be a little exasperated. He wants Froggy to be a little ornery. A little argumentative. Apparently, P likes the challenge. Here's a video of them chatting. Froggy is, I must admit, on his bestest behavior here... (If you want to see it in a larger window, check it out on youtube)

Dreamweaver

The ever elusive issue of sleep deserves a quick update, for the sake of posterity: The Little Man is steadily becoming a stellar sleeper. Sure, he requires an hour or two less than the average five year old, but the lack of drama evens it all out :) Typically, bedtime is simple. Occasionally, he'll stay up waaaaay too late with his Uncles and Aunt and melt down, but that has become a real rarity (vs the standard when he was little. No matter how gently or timely we moved towards sleep, those first few years found the Little Man flailing either when he was falling to, or waking from, sleep. Often both. Damn those transitions!). The bedroom no longer has to be pitch black and whooshing with womb noises (though I'm now addicted to our sound machine, so...) Now he falls asleep after his book, while I quietly read mine beside him. Its so lovely, after numerous years of laying silently in the dark, waiting for the tell tale twitches to release me to the laundry.

And once he's asleep, he generally sleeps all night. Sure, there are nightmares on occasion. Or thirst or boogers or whatever. But, really, he doesn't even wake when I lift him from his screwball sleeping position and seat him for his midnight pee. I would have called you a liar had you told me this last year.

But perhaps the biggest change is his location. Or, rather, mine. I'm sleeping in the loft bed that hovers over his, while he cuddles next to E. ( I may have mentioned this little experiment when it started? ) He was really reticent to recline so very far from me (hehe) for the first few months (and, initially, his sleep steadily declined due to the change. Every night meant multiple trips up and down the ladder to reassure him I was still around :) But he understood that Papa's creaking in our crappy loft woke me from my highly sensitive slumbers, making me even more highly sensitive the next day (read: grumpy). So, sweet kid, he gave it his best go. And now, he's totally cool with it. Every once in a while he requests that I sleep down below "like you used to, Mama," and I snuggle up tight for the night. But that seems to satiate him for another month or so. And so, post laundry, I find him curled into E's chest, or flung across E's back, with my rock like husband comfortably unaware. I think P secretly enjoys being able to snuggle all night again (having required body contact to sleep since he was born) because once he stopped night nursing, I always ended up shoving a big ol' pillow between us to protect my light sleep. Now, after patiently waiting for years for his kid to cuddle him, E is only too happy to let his boy burrow in for the night. Its been a good change. In fact, P's even requested E put him to sleep some nights. And, honestly, there really is nothing sweeter than climbing into the loft late at night and looking down on them all piled together, both lightly snoring (and thus, the sound machine stays... ;)

Pepper in my Poppycosh..

P is the consummate host. He adores sharing food with friends, almost to the point of force feeding them ;) Combine this trait with his wholehearted devotion to his little wooden kitchen (and the shiny new stainless steel cups and saucers from Solstice) and whalah - you have a very devoted waiter. This means E and I drink our tea in truly tiny teacups with frequent refills (and frequent spills....) And the Little Man, he takes it all very seriously.

(Oh! This is reminding me of my folk's party in November!!! They had many guests over for dinner and the Little Man spent the evening working his way out of his shell. By the time dessert rolled around, he was best pals with everyone there, feeding them piles of pistachios (see force-feeding comment above.) When Grams announced dessert, waiter P whooshed to action. He took all of the orders (pumpkin or pecan please?) and then ran to the kitchen to retrieve the proper pie piece. After one or two tasties were accidentally flung to the floor (in his great rush of gusto), Grams and I took to encouraging with the words "Both hands? Try using both hands!" He happily acquiesced... until he reached the dining room, where he would dramatically throw his left arm behind himself and swagger onward with his tray of treats. Oy . Well, the kids been to a few restaurants and he has yet to see a waiter clutching our plates with both hands :)

Learning and Forgetting

I finally started Frank Smith's "The Book of Learning and Forgetting" last month. I don't agree with everything he writes (and wish his research base was better annotated) but I'm finding myself pleasantly surprised at the novelty of some of his theories and how I see them play out in our house. In fact, his thoughts on learning to read smacked me in the face yesterday...

A month ago, P and I read the book "Gimme cracked corn and I will share". Despite seriously adoring the illustrations, the book was, well, seriously annoying. Every page was a pun, which flew right over the Little Man's head. The story was sweet enough, the pictures beautiful, but I just couldn't stop myself from making the "ta da da da" sound after every page. Have you ever tried to explain multiple puns to a five year old who's sense of humor rarely extends beyond torturing a small pink monster? Its not for the sleep deprived, let me tell you.

After reading it, we moved on and I buried it beneath better books. Yesterday, while preparing to return said books to the library today, the Little Man laid eyes on the dancing corn and requested I read it again. I zoomed through the book, the past month's rest unable to magically morph it, and started to shove it back into our bag. "Wait, Mama. Doesn't the pig think they grow on eggplants? You didn't read that part."

I looked back through the book and, lo and behold, the pig has a quote about eggplants. It had been thirty days since I read this book and I had only retained a vague recollection that I didn't enjoy it (in fact, I even snuffled at the egg roll joke like I'd never heard it before....)

But it did make me remember Frank Smith. His theory on reading (pitifully watered down) is that first you are reading for the child (the baby is looking at you, watching you read). Then you are reading with the child (the child is looking at the book with you.) And then, finally, "As British educator Margeret Meek would say, children at that point are no longer relying on a nearby adult for reading; they have trusted themselves to authors... the child knows the words and the author shows the child how to read them - as effortlessly and inconspicuously as the child learns 20 words a day of spoken language."

In case my short summary is, um, too short ;) he's not saying that the third step is suddenly the kid kicking it with Mo Willems over cocoa, just that the child eventually trusts the flow of the book, knows the words, even if an adult is still doing the "reading," which will naturally become unnecessary. Its a totally "unschooly" approach to reading, and so far, seemingly supported by the evidence in this one household :) The Little Man heard the book a month ago, remembered the funny line the author created for him, and was looking for it in the book yesterday. He couldn't read it, in the official sense, yet he was "reading" the book, as Smith points out, in a classical sense; he was translating a puzzle. The pictures, the story line, the juxtaposition of the two and how they formed new understandings in his wee brain, its a type of reading, like reading the stars, reading someone's expression, reading a map. I was reading with him, and he was trusting the author. I don't know if this is making any sense :) but it was a fun lightbulb moment for me :)

Tuesday

More super fast blogging, iphone style! I love how P doesn't even notice me snapping a shot with the slim device. I'm feeling very Bond today...


BB in a costume P made for his favorite monster


BB, flying around the "forest," aka, ficus tree. (Following the flight, P buried treasure in the ficus base and then provided BB with a shovel... We'll see how the fickle ficus responds to all of the attention in a few weeks...


P pulled out his Halloween candy so BB could go grocery shopping. M&Ms became pancakes, Gumballs, beach balls. Hard mints, pretty birthday cakes etc. The feast was so great, BB's relatives arrived, along with the T-rex and penguin, who are currently holed up in the Magic Tree House, and a party ensued...



It happens every time we leave town. We spend the following, oh, week or so, ensconced in our jammies, melting into the floor. Its especially true this time, leaving so soon after the holidays. Too many toys not yet properly played with, too many new scenarios for BB to live through.... ;) These endless days of role playing can eventually veer towards torture for me, but P was a very graceful companion today; he's really starting to recognize my needs and honor them with joy. And I, in turn, (feeling compatriot rather than floor captive) reveled in another day of play. I love his growing empathy. His quick yet thoughtful solutions. His immense excitement for life. His enormous giggle and endless bounding. Yah, living with a five year old rocks :)

Our day

My sister in law's fabulous blog has inspired me! She's been raving about an iphone app that makes the typical shoddy quality shot stylish (especially hers!). And I've been wanting a way to snap shots and post quickly... the camera usually seems like one step too many, requiring more tick tock than I've got. So when our floor play found me wishing my digital was on hand, I grabbed my phone and shook it instead. Fun and fast. A mother's dream...


This could be us, every day, actually. Most of P's holiday wants centered around BB's home. The monster has dishes, a bathroom, a garden and a barn now, necessitating daily watering, daily cooking, daily potty humor and daily hay feeds. A T-rex moved in today, along with a penguin. Life is never dull at the Treehouse...



Wondering which was heavier, this shark tooth or this shark tooth, P requested we build a scale. Chopsticks, a couple of forklift palletes, some twine and a crane base later and whalah - we were weighing fossils and crystals and, of course, eventually BB and the T-rex...



P's other favorite toy: his kitchen. We spend hours here. Shopping, organizing, cooking, ordering, playing cafe, cleaning, repeat, ad nauseum :) He is constantly on the watch for items to add to his well stocked abode and last week he scored a bag of coffee beans. Stale beyond brewing (apparently that store doesn't sell enough fair trade organic...) P suggested he have them rather than the worms. And I tell you what. Better than a brown cardboard box. Seriously. Those beans have been everything. BB even enjoyed them for a while as his own personal sandbox and then fossil finding dig spot. Then, yesterday, P accompanied Papa to Starbucks and scored the eventually empty coffee cup. He filled his cup with his coffee beans, taped on the top and drank with pride. Today, as we played shop, he shocked me by ordering, not just a coffee, but a "Grande coffee, please. With space for the cream." Teaching smeaching, nothing gets past a five year old...

Ahhh, a quick little blog! Does this make up for not getting a call to you today, mom? ;) (Our power is out, btw!)

Tree Hugger

There's something magical about climbing a tree. The tree in my front yard was my best friend when I was really little. I loved it dearly and told it everything. Seriously. When I broke my arm and was scared to tell my folks, I climbed my tree and whispered my teary secret to it. Later, when E and I were dating in high school, our favorite Friday spot was the top of a tree in College Hill Park. Twenty feet up, the branches all stopped going up and grew out instead, creating a crater for cozy chats.

Poor P, he, too, loves climbing (anything, but especially) trees. And we've deprived him of that yard tree, living a few stories up. Ahh, well, he's become exceptionally talented at finding something to climb, wherever he is ;) And in Florida, on that one warm day, there were trees!