A new kind of ever after
Oct. 29, 2009
Owen loves the story of Snow White. We read it only one time–once when we were at the doctor’s office. Since we’ve spent an inordinate amount of time at the doctor’s office this month, he’s actually been requesting the room with Snow White. And since the doctor’s office doesn’t work like that, I have been “saying” (as he calls it) a version for him. It’s really much more fun than the book anyway. I embellish the parts he loves (the dwarfs whom he calls: Spotty, Righty, Beanie, Oogu, and Mef–I know, only five, but the rest devolved into random vowel sounds–the magical apple, and the evil queen) and gloss over the “blah” parts (handsome prince, white horse).
Tonight after lights were out, Owen requested the story again. I told it quickly, trying to speed him to sleep. As I neared the end and Snow White was alive and well, I said ,”And…” expecting Owen to fill in with “they lived happily ever after.” He did not. Instead he said:
“And Snow White lifted her magical wand and turned the evil queen into a bug.”
I think it is a much better ending and I told Owen as much. He informed me that it was the “best part” and that I should be careful not to forget it next time.
I have a feeling this story is just about to get very interesting. Especially if Oogu and Mef have anything to do with it.
Classic, with a dash of cheap
Oct. 26, 2009
I hope it isn’t a sign of fogey-ism that I am beginning to wax nostalgic about the “good old days” of toys. But in the past few months, our attempts to re-create sit and spin magic, hungry hippo action, and many other classic childhood experiences have been thwarted by cheap plastic and other so-called improvements.
Take the sit and spin, for example. The new one barely has the strength to sit, let alone spin. It also takes BATTERIES. Since when does a sit and spin need batteries? Since it plays seriously annoying music, apparently. We managed to find an old 1970s version on eBay, and the two seem like distant cousins rather than the same toy.
I also remember my hungry hippo game with great affection. Nothing like seeing hippos in a race to consume that classic hippo food, marbles. But I also remember having a place to put my hippo game when we were through. A big, sturdy box housed those hungry guys and gals until the next feeding time. In our new version, the hippos are somewhat handicapped by the fact that their mouths stick open, and of course, when we are through with it, the instructions suggest taking the game apart in order to store it. These people do not have children. Since we now have approximately 3 hippo marbles left, I cannot imagine how quickly the hippos themselves would go awol if they were disassembled.
I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised, and perhaps I shouldn’t expect so much out of toys that often travel continents to make it to our shelves. Maybe I should stick to games like Uno–surely cards are harder to mess up than hippos. But it is hard to resist the allure of reliving a moment from a different perspective. Just a few nights ago I saw the “Snoopy Snow Cone Machine” in a magazine. Owen doesn’t even know who Snoopy is, but for a brief moment, I imagined all the wondrous .5 ounce snow cones I (er, we) could make in my very own kitchen, which of course set me to looking for an easy-bake oven. And then, of course, I realized that I have an oven. A big one.
I have no doubt that Owen will have a list of his own “classic” toys when he grows up and no doubt that toy makers will keep (unnecessarily) reinventing the classics. We’ll keep that 1970 sit and spin around just in case they don’t make ‘em like they used to.
All that glitters… (or glisters)
Sept. 23, 2009
Growing up in the 21st century isn’t all that different, I suppose, than growing up in the late 20th century, except for the fact that Owen can wield a mouse, navigate nearly any computer screen, and knows more about technology at 3 than I did at 18. (Granted, much of his technology didn’t exist when I was 18. Oh my.)
Other than being technologically savvy, Owen is also environmentally savvy. He is a stickler for recycling, because as he says, “it makes the earth happy, and it makes God happy”. His commitment outstretches my own–in fact, he is a self-proclaimed cleaner of “glitter” (that would be litter). In every parking lot and park, I usually end up walking around with stray bits of paper and old cans (usually beer cans, which make me look like a real stand-up parent) until we can find an appropriate receptacle. Usually this means packing up all the trash we find and bringing it home to our own recycle bin.
A few months ago, on a park outing with his Grammy, he spent more time cleaning the playground than he did playing. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t rid the world of some glitter. I don’t even mind anymore when people look at me funny for carrying beer cans while playing at the park or walking around the block with Owen. The glitter itself might not be gold (as old Bob Frost and Shakespeare once wrote) but the motivation sure is.
More like sour grapes
Sept. 17, 2009
It’s been a bad couple of months for traffic citations in our house (okay, for me, really). With the university so close, the police have set up camp near our home. Subsequently, I have received a ticket for driving 32 mph in a 25 mph zone as well as a “rolling stop”. Owen is quite concerned about the police, as he believes (thanks, once again, to Word Girl) that the police exist solely to take people to jail.
These days, he offers me lots of advice about driving. If the traffic light is green, he helpfully yells “GO, Mama!” from the backseat. If we approach a red light, he begins warning me to “STOP” long before we get to the light. But most helpful are his warnings about the speed lemon.
These days, Owen’s main concern is that I don’t “go over the speed lemon”. The other day, he asked me if we “went over the speed lemon, what would happen to it?” Clearly, he has the right idea.
Given the number of points on my license after these traffic issues, I wonder if perhaps the JCPD would give me a break if I figured out a way to take my speed lemon and make speed lemon-ade. Probably not. I bet I could figure out a way to get a ticket for that, too.
The important things
It’s been a crazy few weeks here at our house, and I am a few weeks behind, but this story needs to be recorded because it is still making me laugh.
Sept. 9, 2009
On our way to get ice cream on Sept. 1, 2009, I asked Owen about his day at school. “Did you learn about the new month?” I asked. “You know, it’s not August anymore.”
Owen thought for a minute and said, “Yes! It’s Spet-tember.”
And, thinking of my brother’s upcoming birthday, I asked, “Do you know whose birthday is in this month?”
After only a tiny pause, Owen said, “YES! It’s Connnnnway Twitty’s Birf-day!”
Sure enough, Mr. Twitty was born on Sept. 1, 1933.
I’m glad to know our pre-school dollars aren’t being solely spent on things like colors and numbers.
What’s next, Invisible Facebook?
Sept. 8, 2009
So far at our house, we’ve had Penny (the invisible friend who lives in Florida and drives a pink scooter), Yellow (a race car driver who always ties with Owen at Big Wheel races), and Susie/Sissy (a doppleganger duo who ride invisible horses–named Brent and Sunt and who often require glasses of water or band-aids). Lately, they have been joined by a big dinosaur named Sano-Teddy, and a baby dinosaur who lives in a cage (Sano-Teddy-Book-in-a-Box. I can’t make this stuff up).
Owen keeps track of all his friends, and he politely tells us when they are coming and when they are leaving. They play with him for hours at the train table or in the yard “working” on the lawn. Yellow has died several times, and Penny sometimes leaves without notice, but they keep coming back, and they are always up for a good game of “rearrange the train track,” which, if you ask me, seem to be great qualities in a friend. Yesterday, they all invited me to the invisible stables to help take care of Brent and Sunt (in case you aren’t keeping track, those are the invisible horses). I am happy to report that a good time was had by all.
Most of my best friends are in other places–scattered by jobs and marriage and just life. And though I rarely ride invisible horses with them, they still feel pretty close. I can hope the same for Owen in time. But for now, it’s all I can do to feed Sano-Teddy-Book-in-a-box. Preparing imaginary food for an invisible baby dinosaur is harder than you might think.
Geography Lessons
August 6, 2009
On our way to Indiana this past week, Owen entertained us by asking us, approximately every 2 minutes, if we were still in Tennessee. He knows the big landmarks–the big bridge over the Ohio river, the tunnel at Grimstead drive in Louisville, and even the “big blue sign with the K” that says “welcome to Kentucky”.
And though we’ve been to Indy dozens of times, and Owen knows the routine pretty well (TN, KY, IN, Grammy’s house!), he asked thoughtfully from the backseat:
“Are we going through Re Hamster?”
It took only a few seconds for us to guess that he meant New Hampshire, and several more to explain that “Re Hamster” was not on our agenda for the drive.
It set me to thinking, though. The state slogan, “Live Free or Die” makes a lot more sense coming from the state of Re Hamster. I can only imagine what the state flag would look like.
Man’s best friend
July 30, 2009
One of our favorite bedtime books is Little Boy by Alison McGhee. Ms. McGhee must have a little boy, because she seems to know exactly what is important to little boys everywhere: special sippy cups, bugs, water, cardboard boxes. It’s hard to read that book without thinking that it was written especially for Owen.
During last night’s reading, however, we paused at “that wet dog smell.” Owen wanted to know what that boy was doing:
Me: He is loving his doggy.
Owen: He is hugging him?
Me: Yes. You love Grendel (our 10-year old, 90 lb. dog). Do you ever hug on him?
Owen: Nope. He’s a big hairy beast and he stinks.
Well, so much for that. Given Owen’s distaste for all things stinky, I’m not surprised that this is the only page that doesn’t really resonate with him. Poor old Grendel. He can’t help his stink. (Though any animal that would roll with pleasure in stinky stuff, e.g. dead other animals, feces, etc., probably doesn’t mind).
In our own private version of Little Boy, we will have to change the words to: “That just-washed smell”. And then we will probably actually have to wash the dog. Poor old Grendel.
Pre-School Surgeon General
July 28, 2009
The other day Owen demanded my attention from the front seat of the car. As is often the case, he “had something to show me.” I looked back to find him “smoking” a lollipop stick. He said “Look. I have a steam stick like mans do.”
Now, I have no earthly idea where he learned about smoking. We don’t smoke, and we don’t know anyone who does. Since his television diet consists of Curious George and Word Girl, I doubt he learned it there, either.
Appalled, I explained that “steam sticks” were no good, that they make it hard to breathe, they are stinky, and (the kicker for Owen) that they could “make you dead”. Owen is not at all a fan of anything that can make a person dead. (Thank goodness). I thought I did a pretty good job of covering the topic, but I should have known…
On Sunday, we went to the final walk-through of our new farm. The owner came out to talk and, you guessed it, was smoking a cigarette. In his most polite way, Owen said:
Excuse me, Mama. That steam stick is gonna KILL HER. (the caps here are to emphasize how loudly he said this).
And while I talked louder and tried to distract him, he continued with my lecture: That steam stick is stinky. It will KILL her. She can’t breathe bery well.
Oh yeah, that about covers it. The good news is that I don’t think he is interested in playing “steam stick” anymore. The bad news is that I don’t think three year olds come with “filters”.
I love you, or a side of breakfast meat.
July 26, 2009
A few days ago, my aunt and uncle were visiting from Indiana. We spent a lovely day hiking and visiting, and capped off the visit with some swim time in the backyard. That is, we watched while Owen and R jumped off the dive and performed various aquatic feats.
Just as they were about to leave, Aunt C leaned down to Owen and asked if they could take any “special messages” back to Grammy, who also lives in Indy. I’m sure she thought a nice “I WUV GWAMMY” would make my mom’s day. But without missing a beat, Owen said, “Sure! Sausage.”
Nothing says I love you like sausage. Just for good measure, I sent “Eggs.” and R sent “Bacon.”
Together, we made sure she got the “Grand slam” I love you. And hey, this is about the most figure-friendly sausage anybody is ever going to get.
