Today I took my four-year-old in for his early childhood screening. The interviewer began the assessment with some small talk. She stated that Christmas is coming up and asked my son what he wants from Santa.
“Santa’s fake!” he told her. She started laughing. “I’ve never heard that answer before,” she said, looking at me rather than my son.
“Okay, so what do you want for Christmas?” she tried again.
“A sketch pad,” he said.
“What else?” she prompted.
“A Bible,” he said. At this point I started wondering if my boy thought he was saying what his mommy wanted to hear. I also started wondering what sort of judgments the interviewer was making about our family.
“Oh, I’d want one of those too,” she said. “What else?” By then, I was getting tired of the question. What are we teaching our children in this country? That Christmas is all about getting? In our family, we try to spend a lot more time talking about what we’re giving for gifts than discussing our wants.
I think my son was tired of the question too. “A box,” he said. Thankfully she let it go at that and moved on to her scripted questions.
Despite this awkward beginning, he scored well above the average four year old. I expected that — since we live in a place “where all the children are above average.” Now, I’ve just got to teach him not to break the news about Santa to his classmates. Thankfully, we’ve still got some time to work on that.
I asked my boys for their input when I was selecting seeds for our garden in early spring. My older boy wanted carrots. Carrots seemed like a waste of precious garden space to me. I tried to talk him into something more interesting, but he didn’t waver. Carrots are his favorite vegetable. Raw only, thank you very much.
So we planted a short row of carrots. Our very prolific lemon cucumber vines almost covered them up, but we did have carrots to dig in late October.
The biggest one weighted nearly a pound, I think. It made its way into a batch of carrot soup not long after we picked this book up at the library:
Of the eleven books we checked out that week, my preschooler asked for this one to be reread the most. On the last page, there’s a recipe for rabbit’s favorite carrot soup. So we made a half a batch one day.
You know that theory about having your kids involved in growing and cooking their food? It seems to hold true somewhat – they do tend to be willing to try new things when they’re involved in the decision making process. Both boys ate a small serving of the soup. The older boy even asked for seconds. And he suggested I write the recipe down before we turn the book in.
But when I offered them carrot soup the following day, they were willing to let their mom eat all the leftovers. I didn’t mind. It was the best carrot soup I’d ever made. (The first as well.)
This year, our leaf collecting was spurred on by story time. The librarian was reading books about fall. (No surprise there – everyone seems to be on the topic these days so we’ve been reading books about the season at ExploraTots and Kids at the Castle too.) Anyway, what caught my eye that particular day was one of the books the librarian didn’t read but had set aside. I picked it up and added it to our check-out pile.
Since then my boys and I have been collecting leaves.
We pick them up off streets and sidewalks whenever we go walking, press them, and turn them into art.
Ehlert’s book gives lots of ideas of what to do with the leaves. For example you can make a butterfly, fish or turtle.
Buildings and jet planes are fair game too. (Use your imagination- that top of the building below looks like an onion dome, doesn’t it?) Also notice the bird in the lower right corner. My older son was most pleased with his bird.
One evening I took the book and some leaves to share with friends from Burma. The eight-year-old girl in the family studied the examples from the picture book and made some lovely art. So did her brother and neighbors. They filled both sides of their papers.
The next day she began collecting leaves herself. I think she agrees with Ehlert and me that autumn leaves are some of the finest art materials around.
My four-year-old and I both like to mess around in the kitchen. So I thought we’d give this “nutritious” version of a dessert a try one recent morning.
The day before, I had purposely soaked and cooked some extra black beans along with the beans that were destined for our chili. My son, who does not generally eat black beans of his own volition, pushed the button of our small food processor and watched those black beans turn into puree. He helped measure and add the vanilla, maple syrup, and other ingredients that we blended in. Then we baked the brownies and let them cool while we went to the library.
After lunch, we sampled them. His first reaction was, “Yum.” A moment later, “Why did you put black beans in the brownies?”
For the most part, I’m not a mom who resorts to hiding nutrient-dense ingredients in her children’s food. I think kids ought to learn to appreciate nutritious foods in a recognizable form, but at the same time I’m not averse to making homemade sweets a little bit better for them. So, I’ll probably make them again.
Though my older son said he likes ‘real’ brownies better, he never refused one of these.
One of my favorite back-to-school activities is getting the supplies. Back in the day, my elementary school supply list included new crayons, water color paints and a “Big Chief tablet” among other items. I loved the potential of the unsharpened pencils and empty notebooks, the promise of a school year’s worth of learning ahead of us. But I can remember resenting my parents’ choice not to buy certain items on the list if they didn’t think they were necessary. I didn’t like it either when they ignored the specified size or quantity of an item and bought what they thought was a better deal.
I always thought I could do better. But this year, my son ended up with an orange folder instead of a yellow one. The list specified sturdy plastic folders in red, yellow, blue and green. The store we were at didn’t have sturdy yellow folders so I told him orange was close enough. I didn’t want to go to another store to look for one when we’d already gotten everything else – except the one item I never could find. I looked at several stores for the Elmer’s X-treme glue stick the art teacher requested, but never found one. I was planning to ask about this at the open house. I completely forgot. It wasn’t until after the open house was over that I also realized I forgot to include the most perplexing item on the school supplies list: 1 old clean sock.
School hasn’t started yet, so there’s still a chance to rectify two out of my three failures. Perhaps I should order that glue stick for “bigger, tougher projects” online and scrounge up an old clean sock. Imagine the potential!
Lots of people have been commenting on how tall our kids are getting, but they are growing in other ways too. Sometimes it’s the smallest things that happen in an average day of parenting that remind us of this. For example, on the day our older son returned from camp he started calling me “mom.” Before that it had always been “mommy.”
And sometimes their attempts to sound grown up leave us stifling a laugh. “You look handsome,” I told my younger boy as I helped him button up his shirt on Sunday.
“Handsome is not cool; it’s wimpy,” he informed me.
I start wondering whether I’ll have to change my tactics because my tried-and-true strategy for making owies feel better does not work either. Our soon-to-be first grader slammed his finger earlier this week when he was fiddling with a shopping cart. He let out a loud howl and so I attempted to distract him by saying “Let me kiss it.”
After I did he said, “That didn’t help at all.”
Then there’s the endless, “Let me help” or “I can do it.” They’re feeling the need to assert more independence. They want to be helpful. I get it. But I’m usually just thinking about being efficient, a word that even my three-year-old knows and uses. And it does take a lot more time to let a child stuff the money in the machine when we’re in the self-check out line at the grocery store. Or to buckle himself into his car seat, knead the bread, open the door with the key, wash the produce, or roll out tortillas. I’m left to supervise. Sometimes to redo it after they are “done.”
I guess I’m often so busy rushing to the next thing that I forget to pay attention to what is right in front of me. So yesterday when we were making homemade tortillas for dinner I ignored the clock and shifted my attention to the cute three-year-old hands holding the rolling pin. They have probably nearly tripled in size since we first became acquainted. The rolling pin seems a bit unwieldy in those hands, but they’re determined to make it work. So I hover – and offer to sprinkle flour as needed. The boy takes delight in using his hands to help make dinner. And I take delight in his delight.
Right now my older son is away at Camp Clair, the annual summer event my sister holds at her home for all her school-aged nieces and nephews.
“We’re going to miss you when you’re at camp,” I told our older son the day before he left.
“You’re going to miss me more than I’m going to miss you,” he said.
But by bed time he asked, “Is three days and three nights a long time?” This is how long Camp Clair will be this year.
“Not such a long time,” I said. “And you’ll be with your cousins.”
“I’m going to miss you. Are you going to miss me?” he asked yesterday on our drive up there.
“Yes, we’ll miss you, but Aunt Clair will take good care of you and you’ll have a good time.”
Now the house seems a little too quiet. Our younger son knew it would be. On the drive back home, he suggested we go somewhere else. There was no giggling at the dinner table. No one to compete with him for wrestle time with daddy. No one to ride around the parking lot with after dinner. He has asked several times about his big brother. For him, three days and three nights is a long time.