Thursday, March 31, 2005
Sunday, March 27, 2005
The next thing we did
Was to go to the local petting zoo. They had a pony ride and they had painting and they had an easter egg hunt. It was the only easter egg hunt I could find, so off we went.
When you went through to the easter egg hunt area, they gave you a little card with an egg on it. Douwe's was green. Daan's was blue and yellow. We thought they were nice. My children then swept through the area finding eggs like little vultures, jumping up and down with glee at each find and so on. They had a great time. There were a lot of children and their parents wandering around apparently aimlessly, which seemed odd as the eggs were hidden for little kids, that is, not really very well. They were just sort of tossed out there, lying on the grass.
Um.
Turns out that you are only supposed to find the one egg which corresponds in color to your little card. Whoops. We had all the eggs those wandering kids were looking for in our baskets. Ahem.
While we were busy apologizing and everybody was laughing, the boys ran off suddenly back into the hunt area. I went after them, to find them re-hiding the eggs. One or the other figured it out.
So it had a happy ending, because everyone agrees that my kids are very good at hiding eggs. They should be, they practiced all morning.
Then we figured out that the eggs had things in them, also a surprise. Douwe won a pony ride, and Daan won an ice cream. It is good that it was not the other way around, becasue Daan is afraid of ponies and Douwe hates ice cream. What a coincidence, and how nice that it came out that way.
By the way, mom, and completely tangentially, thanks for the book on magic tricks and sleight of hand. I know it was for Douwe, but he can't read yet so I have to read it for him.
So anyway then we went to see the week-old chicks they have at the petting zoo. That was the end of the line for the boys; they stayed there probably an hour and a half. We did some other stuff, but the chicks were the big event for them.
Douwe took one look at the line for the pony ride and said he didn't want to ride a pony. "I already have" he said. Okay, so I guess he won't grow up a horseman.
When you went through to the easter egg hunt area, they gave you a little card with an egg on it. Douwe's was green. Daan's was blue and yellow. We thought they were nice. My children then swept through the area finding eggs like little vultures, jumping up and down with glee at each find and so on. They had a great time. There were a lot of children and their parents wandering around apparently aimlessly, which seemed odd as the eggs were hidden for little kids, that is, not really very well. They were just sort of tossed out there, lying on the grass.
Um.
Turns out that you are only supposed to find the one egg which corresponds in color to your little card. Whoops. We had all the eggs those wandering kids were looking for in our baskets. Ahem.
While we were busy apologizing and everybody was laughing, the boys ran off suddenly back into the hunt area. I went after them, to find them re-hiding the eggs. One or the other figured it out.
So it had a happy ending, because everyone agrees that my kids are very good at hiding eggs. They should be, they practiced all morning.
Then we figured out that the eggs had things in them, also a surprise. Douwe won a pony ride, and Daan won an ice cream. It is good that it was not the other way around, becasue Daan is afraid of ponies and Douwe hates ice cream. What a coincidence, and how nice that it came out that way.
By the way, mom, and completely tangentially, thanks for the book on magic tricks and sleight of hand. I know it was for Douwe, but he can't read yet so I have to read it for him.
So anyway then we went to see the week-old chicks they have at the petting zoo. That was the end of the line for the boys; they stayed there probably an hour and a half. We did some other stuff, but the chicks were the big event for them.
Douwe took one look at the line for the pony ride and said he didn't want to ride a pony. "I already have" he said. Okay, so I guess he won't grow up a horseman.
The last thing we did
Before everyone collapsed on their respective sofa corners to watch "Peter Pan" fro the rest of the afternoon was to take a nice walk back from the petting zoo to the house. A nice long walk, because Nel is in training for a several kilometer walk-o-rama or something in April, so we always take the long way around nowadays. Which, all things considered, was not a terrible idea. Nothing like a nice long walk to work off all that sugar and excitement.
what is that thing?
Hi, dad,
Look at this thing, what the heck is it? It looked for all the world like a common house parakeet, except that it was pink. Really pink, not a little pink. Easter Egg pink, except for some blue feathers by its tail and grey and white stripey wings.
Am I being haunted by the Spirit of Parakeets for sending Pukkie on extended vacation? Surely not, after all, Pukkie is back in his corner again, none the worse for wear.
Look at this thing, what the heck is it? It looked for all the world like a common house parakeet, except that it was pink. Really pink, not a little pink. Easter Egg pink, except for some blue feathers by its tail and grey and white stripey wings.
Am I being haunted by the Spirit of Parakeets for sending Pukkie on extended vacation? Surely not, after all, Pukkie is back in his corner again, none the worse for wear.
Ignore this entry, too
Hi, mom,
This is the bread, it came out pretty nicely. Damn, that stuff browns up really brown, does it not? I thought I had scorched it but it was fine.
I also made 2 loaves of the round kind with the egg in it, but here's a tip: do not bake your bread on the bottom part of a cake pan, it doesn't get hot enough and the bottom ends up not done when the top is done. Then you have to turn the loaf over and bake the bottom, which does nothing for the appearance of your loaf.*
It eats just fine, though. And if no one has ever seen the proud heights which a round loaf of pao doce is supposed to reach they don't know any better and eat it anyway.
*I will pinch the head off the first person who posts a joke involving the phrase half-baked.
This is the bread, it came out pretty nicely. Damn, that stuff browns up really brown, does it not? I thought I had scorched it but it was fine.
I also made 2 loaves of the round kind with the egg in it, but here's a tip: do not bake your bread on the bottom part of a cake pan, it doesn't get hot enough and the bottom ends up not done when the top is done. Then you have to turn the loaf over and bake the bottom, which does nothing for the appearance of your loaf.*
It eats just fine, though. And if no one has ever seen the proud heights which a round loaf of pao doce is supposed to reach they don't know any better and eat it anyway.
*I will pinch the head off the first person who posts a joke involving the phrase half-baked.
Too much
I am beginning to hate holidays. And, despite much moaning about them in my wayward youth, I have to say that in general I actually quite like them. My kids are a good age for them; they still believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny and they don't peer around very suspiciously about it. Which may also be fun in its own way. But I haven't had it yet.
However, I am beginning to see a new trend. It goes like this. I say "So, what do you guys do for >fill in holiday here<"?". The answer is generally, "Nothing, just the usual,". I point out that I have not the tiniest clue what the usual might be. Everyone looks surprised, like it is news to my nearest and dearest that I am not Dutch, did not grow up in Holland, and well, have not the tiniest clue. Then everyone says, "Oh, well, you know, we eat,". Good. You eat. Mostly, I eat several times a day. So, I ask, what do you eat for >insert holiday here<? And what do I hear? Yep, got it in one: "Oh, nothing, the usual,".
Uh huh. Being a persistent kind of person, I continue this conversation for some time, and the end result boils down to "Don't go to any trouble, do what you always do, why do you always make things so hard?". Some day, y'all, I am actually going to take their word for it and do nothing and won't everybody be surprised when we actually do nothing?
Whereupon I of course go shopping. I dislike shopping in general, but shopping for holidays is pretty good fun. So I come home with my purchases whereupon everyone says it is too much. Far too much. Too many sweets are not good and too many toys are a threat to all that is good. Must be an American thing, this buying of too much.
So I put away my too much where the children cannot find it. On the eve of the holiday, I bring the too much out (or what is left of it since both of the adult parties involved have surreptitiously been giving bits of it to my children in the mean time, which I firmly Do Not Notice) and say, "You know, since this is obviously too much and I lack a really good sense of what is appropriate why don't you guys sort through this stuff and show me what would be about right?"
Whereupon everyone brings out all the other stuff they have bought in the mean time and my kids end up with three times more than too much. Everyone then heartily agrees that it was much better back in the day when all the children got was an extra measure of butter in their gruel for holidays and so on. My Spouse pretends not to remember anything about holidays when he was a child (whether this is because they also had too much and he doesn't want to admit it or whether this is because the absence of too much is the reason it was not memorable, I have no idea and have no plans to speculate. Out loud.)
The the holiday comes and everybody has a really great time with the too much stuff. everybody talks about how great it was. The children go to bed sated and exhausted. We all sit happily round the family room while Dearly Beloved brings out a bottle of red wine or sherry, whichever you like.
The one voice (never you mind who, nosy) speaks into the companiable quiet: "It just all seems like too much. But I guess *sigh* everyone has to do it their own way,".
As answering there might be impolitic, I shall answer here, then:
Well, my sister always said I was too much.
However, I am beginning to see a new trend. It goes like this. I say "So, what do you guys do for >fill in holiday here<"?". The answer is generally, "Nothing, just the usual,". I point out that I have not the tiniest clue what the usual might be. Everyone looks surprised, like it is news to my nearest and dearest that I am not Dutch, did not grow up in Holland, and well, have not the tiniest clue. Then everyone says, "Oh, well, you know, we eat,". Good. You eat. Mostly, I eat several times a day. So, I ask, what do you eat for >insert holiday here<? And what do I hear? Yep, got it in one: "Oh, nothing, the usual,".
Uh huh. Being a persistent kind of person, I continue this conversation for some time, and the end result boils down to "Don't go to any trouble, do what you always do, why do you always make things so hard?". Some day, y'all, I am actually going to take their word for it and do nothing and won't everybody be surprised when we actually do nothing?
Whereupon I of course go shopping. I dislike shopping in general, but shopping for holidays is pretty good fun. So I come home with my purchases whereupon everyone says it is too much. Far too much. Too many sweets are not good and too many toys are a threat to all that is good. Must be an American thing, this buying of too much.
So I put away my too much where the children cannot find it. On the eve of the holiday, I bring the too much out (or what is left of it since both of the adult parties involved have surreptitiously been giving bits of it to my children in the mean time, which I firmly Do Not Notice) and say, "You know, since this is obviously too much and I lack a really good sense of what is appropriate why don't you guys sort through this stuff and show me what would be about right?"
Whereupon everyone brings out all the other stuff they have bought in the mean time and my kids end up with three times more than too much. Everyone then heartily agrees that it was much better back in the day when all the children got was an extra measure of butter in their gruel for holidays and so on. My Spouse pretends not to remember anything about holidays when he was a child (whether this is because they also had too much and he doesn't want to admit it or whether this is because the absence of too much is the reason it was not memorable, I have no idea and have no plans to speculate. Out loud.)
The the holiday comes and everybody has a really great time with the too much stuff. everybody talks about how great it was. The children go to bed sated and exhausted. We all sit happily round the family room while Dearly Beloved brings out a bottle of red wine or sherry, whichever you like.
The one voice (never you mind who, nosy) speaks into the companiable quiet: "It just all seems like too much. But I guess *sigh* everyone has to do it their own way,".
As answering there might be impolitic, I shall answer here, then:
Well, my sister always said I was too much.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Doctor's reports
Thing One and Thing Two went to the doctors today. Thing Two has grown 7 centimeters since his birthday if you believe the ridiculous measurement they made last time and about 4 centimeters if you do not. This puts him in the bottom 3% in height for his age, but he is on the growth chart so they have laid off talking about hormone tests and bone scans and god knows what all. In other words, he is a regular sized child from my family's perspective.
Thing Two has also lost some weight in that time, though not much. Since he has been barfing on and off with the flu, I am not really surprised. Today however he is eating every two hours, enough for any six children put together, so I expect he weighed more at the end of the day than at its begining.
He happily built the tower of blocks he refused to build last time and then refused once more to do the eye test. They brought in about three nurses to try to talk him into it, and with every one little mister ham was having more and more fun. He was having a great time refusing to do the eye test. I tried to talk to him firmly and was immediately waved off with explanations about how he is far too young to be trying to distract them on purpose by showing how cleverly he can play with the educational toys and so on. Uh huh. Where have I heard this before? Could it have been when Thing One refused to take the eye test when he was three?
Is this a cultural faith or were my children just born with a very strong bloody mindedness gene? One of them is nice about it and the other one is not at all, but somehow they both end up getting out of whatever it is they don't want to do because they are too young to *not do it* on purpose.
Given my own history though (on both counts come to think of it), I am not willing to skip the eye test so we have to go back again in May.
Thing One was back to the dermatologist who said the rash is clearing up even though it still exists and then decided there is no problem. Thanks, doc, you're not the one whose kid now goes around telling everyone he sees that he has chicken pox. That makes sense to Thing One, so he has decided that is what it must be, in that five year old decisive way.
The bird came back from vacation today, dutifully de-bugged in the mean time. Hopefully this will not cause the rash to come back.
Thing Two has also lost some weight in that time, though not much. Since he has been barfing on and off with the flu, I am not really surprised. Today however he is eating every two hours, enough for any six children put together, so I expect he weighed more at the end of the day than at its begining.
He happily built the tower of blocks he refused to build last time and then refused once more to do the eye test. They brought in about three nurses to try to talk him into it, and with every one little mister ham was having more and more fun. He was having a great time refusing to do the eye test. I tried to talk to him firmly and was immediately waved off with explanations about how he is far too young to be trying to distract them on purpose by showing how cleverly he can play with the educational toys and so on. Uh huh. Where have I heard this before? Could it have been when Thing One refused to take the eye test when he was three?
Is this a cultural faith or were my children just born with a very strong bloody mindedness gene? One of them is nice about it and the other one is not at all, but somehow they both end up getting out of whatever it is they don't want to do because they are too young to *not do it* on purpose.
Given my own history though (on both counts come to think of it), I am not willing to skip the eye test so we have to go back again in May.
Thing One was back to the dermatologist who said the rash is clearing up even though it still exists and then decided there is no problem. Thanks, doc, you're not the one whose kid now goes around telling everyone he sees that he has chicken pox. That makes sense to Thing One, so he has decided that is what it must be, in that five year old decisive way.
The bird came back from vacation today, dutifully de-bugged in the mean time. Hopefully this will not cause the rash to come back.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Pao Doce
Okay, who's got the two loaf version of Nanny's sweet bread recept? (I have no plans to start with 10 pounds of flour and a granite washtub). Last I heard it was in the custody of Perfect Joey.
I have suddenly been struck by the need to make Easter bread; go figure, the whole family is sick and I am thinking about making bread.
I have this one:
7 cups flour
1 cup milk
1 cup sugar
4 eggs
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup water
2 pkgs yeast
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup warm water
Combine 2 cup flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. Dissolve yeast in the 1/4 cup warm water. Add to flour mixture. Place milk, butter, and 1/4 cup water in small pan. Heat on low heat until warm. Add to flour mixture. Beat 2 minutes. Add eggs and 3/4 cup flour. Beat 2 minutes. Add enough flour to make soft dough. Knead 8-10 minutes. Grease bowl and place dough inside. Cover and let rise until double. Punch down dough. Form into loaves. Cover and let rise until double. Bake 30 minutes at 350F.
Sound familiar to anyone? If this is it, I think I will be missing my Kitchenaid mixer pretty soon. I have no idea where it came from.
I found one on the Internet, but it involves evaporated milk so I know that's not it. And I found another one which involves nutmeg and melted chocolate; sounds like one of those *sniff* decadent hawaiian portuguese got ahold of it.
I have suddenly been struck by the need to make Easter bread; go figure, the whole family is sick and I am thinking about making bread.
I have this one:
7 cups flour
1 cup milk
1 cup sugar
4 eggs
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup water
2 pkgs yeast
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup warm water
Combine 2 cup flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. Dissolve yeast in the 1/4 cup warm water. Add to flour mixture. Place milk, butter, and 1/4 cup water in small pan. Heat on low heat until warm. Add to flour mixture. Beat 2 minutes. Add eggs and 3/4 cup flour. Beat 2 minutes. Add enough flour to make soft dough. Knead 8-10 minutes. Grease bowl and place dough inside. Cover and let rise until double. Punch down dough. Form into loaves. Cover and let rise until double. Bake 30 minutes at 350F.
Sound familiar to anyone? If this is it, I think I will be missing my Kitchenaid mixer pretty soon. I have no idea where it came from.
I found one on the Internet, but it involves evaporated milk so I know that's not it. And I found another one which involves nutmeg and melted chocolate; sounds like one of those *sniff* decadent hawaiian portuguese got ahold of it.
Friday, March 18, 2005
A Personal Note
I just wish to acknowlege here that, so long as I shall live, and however hard I try, I will never ever in a million billion years understand my children.
Just thought I would mention that.
Just thought I would mention that.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Monday, March 14, 2005
Update
We are dropping like flies over here. Looks like the flu. Nel went down yesterday, Paul has muscle aches, I don't feel so well myself. I thought Douwe could make it to school tomorrw -- no more fever for 24 hours -- but he plays for five minutes and then gets this horrible hacking cough and has to go lie down to rest. So I think not.
I have not left the house since before the weekend I think. So the days are all running together. I think the weather was nice today but I am not sure. I have to go to the store and buy food tomorrow, even if it means taking Thing One and Thing Two. So I sure hope the fact that I am freezing to death right now is because I have the window open and not because I am next.
Knock wood.
I have not left the house since before the weekend I think. So the days are all running together. I think the weather was nice today but I am not sure. I have to go to the store and buy food tomorrow, even if it means taking Thing One and Thing Two. So I sure hope the fact that I am freezing to death right now is because I have the window open and not because I am next.
Knock wood.
Friday, March 11, 2005
With good reason
I have no scintillating prose today, nor even poetry. But I have a good reason, which is almost as good. It is:
Douwe is sick. Daan is not yet but about to be getting sick. And I am tired.
Don't worry, I expect it is just a cold -- snotty noses, coughs, and general malaise -- the Wild Boys spent their day alternating between watching DVDs in a trancelike state with little glassy eyes and being whiny and clingy and otherwise impossibly miserable with little glassy eyes.
Douwe decided to fight taking his medicine before bed (apparently preferring a spiking fever to grape flavor motrin) so I got to pour it in his mouth and hold his mouth closed. I haven't had to do that in two years, I think. Of course, I have been using chewables for two years, too. But I am out of them and they don't have kids chewables here or so I hear.
I hate doing that. I dislike myself after doing that. What kind of jerk holds a feverish 5 year old down, pours slimy stuff in his mouth, and then holds his mouth shut? And what kind of really big jerk says, when he spits it all back out, "Then we are going to do it again and again until you swallow your medicine"? Then does it again?
After two rounds of his best Mt. St. Helens imitation he decided I really meant it this time and sat up straight and drank it himself, sort of hiccuping and weeping all the way. Then said "See, Mama, that was clever of Douwe,". Which somehow made me feel worse.
Somebody remind me to put Motrin Chewables (grape) on my shopping list in May, would you? If I have to hold Daan down tomorrow I think my hands will shake right off. In the kitchen, afterwards, that is.
Douwe is sick. Daan is not yet but about to be getting sick. And I am tired.
Don't worry, I expect it is just a cold -- snotty noses, coughs, and general malaise -- the Wild Boys spent their day alternating between watching DVDs in a trancelike state with little glassy eyes and being whiny and clingy and otherwise impossibly miserable with little glassy eyes.
Douwe decided to fight taking his medicine before bed (apparently preferring a spiking fever to grape flavor motrin) so I got to pour it in his mouth and hold his mouth closed. I haven't had to do that in two years, I think. Of course, I have been using chewables for two years, too. But I am out of them and they don't have kids chewables here or so I hear.
I hate doing that. I dislike myself after doing that. What kind of jerk holds a feverish 5 year old down, pours slimy stuff in his mouth, and then holds his mouth shut? And what kind of really big jerk says, when he spits it all back out, "Then we are going to do it again and again until you swallow your medicine"? Then does it again?
After two rounds of his best Mt. St. Helens imitation he decided I really meant it this time and sat up straight and drank it himself, sort of hiccuping and weeping all the way. Then said "See, Mama, that was clever of Douwe,". Which somehow made me feel worse.
Somebody remind me to put Motrin Chewables (grape) on my shopping list in May, would you? If I have to hold Daan down tomorrow I think my hands will shake right off. In the kitchen, afterwards, that is.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Private and public
So I was reading today about the multi media center which is, apparently, now a child's bedroom. I would link the article but you have to register for it; it was in the New York Times. It took a sort of predictable slant, really; What Are Kids Coming To These Days or, I guess more accurately, What The Hell Are Parents Up To These Days. Their poitn was that some terrifyingly high number of children have TV/DVD/MP3/steros/computers/cell phones and other media objects in their bedrooms. As usual, in their numbers they didn't really distinguish between 6 year olds with a DVD/TV/MP3/laptop/what have you and 17 year olds with the same.
Seesm to me there might be a difference. In terms of what the hell their parents are thinking, anyway.
However, it seems to me that people's relationship with media, generally, changes. I have not decided whether I think this has more to do with age or with the generation of which the person is a part or maybe both.
Here is what I mean: When I was young, music was considered to be a vital part of private time by my peers. Indeed, it was as important as breathing. It was a link amoung us. As when a Catholic attends a Mass, the ritual is supposed to link us all, all Catholics all over the world, in the echoes of its measured rhythms, so was the music supposed to connect us (and also separate us from our impossible parents who never understood anything anyway). At least that was the general idea.
So everybody had a stereo set in their room. Everybody. Even if it was just a boom box. Heck, even when we had turntables, we had those little dinky turntables with the tinny speakers in our bedrooms. Well, I didn't. But that little girl who lived up on Abingdon Drive did, and played her Donny Osmond records on them, too.
My parents, I think, thought music was a public experience. In any event, their stereos were in the living room/dining room.
I guess for the kids now, music really is a private experience, because everybody has an MP3 in their pocket, do they not? (Somebody page Mary J for her insights on this).
Television on the other hand was considered by all and sundry to be a family event as I recall. At least, what I remember about television is watching Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom and Jacques Cousteau and Sunday Disney with the family and Speed Racer, George of the Jungle, Super Chicken, and Dudley DooRight on Saturday mornings with the sibs.
Now I think TV is much more a private kind of thing. Everybody seems to have "my" show.
Telephone. Well, heck, there was a public to private revolution. Party lines to cell phones in three generations. When I was young it was a very hip (or very privileged) child who got a phone in their room. Now I think regular middle class kids have phones in their pockets. Though may I point out, cell phones are really very easily monitored, and therefore may be more public than people like to think about.
Home video was certainly, for folks my age, a public event; in fact it often turned out to be date night back when you would go rent a video player along with your videos. Waaay Back When, I mean, like a couple ten years ago. Now it's how we watch television, isn't it? And the movie theaters (igloo shaped or not) are suffering.
Computers however were then entirely private and really pretty boring. I understand they now are much more public, that is, people are more likely to have them in their living rooms. And when we have guests over, maybe half the time some number of people wind up sitting in front of the comuter looking at something -- sometimes it is pictures someone brought along on a CD, sometimes it's even somebody's web site. I wonder when the first time will be that my mother calls up this blog at someone else's house to show off pictures of her grandchildren.
I think it is possible that by the time the kids are old enough for me to have to think about this much in practical terms, the technology will have reframed the question. Maybe we will have one big intranet in the house and just have docking stations in the rooms which wil cover all the media, visual and auditory. Maybe even telephones, too.
Seesm to me there might be a difference. In terms of what the hell their parents are thinking, anyway.
However, it seems to me that people's relationship with media, generally, changes. I have not decided whether I think this has more to do with age or with the generation of which the person is a part or maybe both.
Here is what I mean: When I was young, music was considered to be a vital part of private time by my peers. Indeed, it was as important as breathing. It was a link amoung us. As when a Catholic attends a Mass, the ritual is supposed to link us all, all Catholics all over the world, in the echoes of its measured rhythms, so was the music supposed to connect us (and also separate us from our impossible parents who never understood anything anyway). At least that was the general idea.
So everybody had a stereo set in their room. Everybody. Even if it was just a boom box. Heck, even when we had turntables, we had those little dinky turntables with the tinny speakers in our bedrooms. Well, I didn't. But that little girl who lived up on Abingdon Drive did, and played her Donny Osmond records on them, too.
My parents, I think, thought music was a public experience. In any event, their stereos were in the living room/dining room.
I guess for the kids now, music really is a private experience, because everybody has an MP3 in their pocket, do they not? (Somebody page Mary J for her insights on this).
Television on the other hand was considered by all and sundry to be a family event as I recall. At least, what I remember about television is watching Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom and Jacques Cousteau and Sunday Disney with the family and Speed Racer, George of the Jungle, Super Chicken, and Dudley DooRight on Saturday mornings with the sibs.
Now I think TV is much more a private kind of thing. Everybody seems to have "my" show.
Telephone. Well, heck, there was a public to private revolution. Party lines to cell phones in three generations. When I was young it was a very hip (or very privileged) child who got a phone in their room. Now I think regular middle class kids have phones in their pockets. Though may I point out, cell phones are really very easily monitored, and therefore may be more public than people like to think about.
Home video was certainly, for folks my age, a public event; in fact it often turned out to be date night back when you would go rent a video player along with your videos. Waaay Back When, I mean, like a couple ten years ago. Now it's how we watch television, isn't it? And the movie theaters (igloo shaped or not) are suffering.
Computers however were then entirely private and really pretty boring. I understand they now are much more public, that is, people are more likely to have them in their living rooms. And when we have guests over, maybe half the time some number of people wind up sitting in front of the comuter looking at something -- sometimes it is pictures someone brought along on a CD, sometimes it's even somebody's web site. I wonder when the first time will be that my mother calls up this blog at someone else's house to show off pictures of her grandchildren.
I think it is possible that by the time the kids are old enough for me to have to think about this much in practical terms, the technology will have reframed the question. Maybe we will have one big intranet in the house and just have docking stations in the rooms which wil cover all the media, visual and auditory. Maybe even telephones, too.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Did you ever have a day
When everyone you encounter thinks you are angry when in fact you are not; or you are, at best, mildly irritated?
Okay, not everyone. But enough people that I dare not write any further lest one of you decide that I am really very angry with you.
I am not. I am not dancing in the street scattering rose petals or anything, mind you. Perhaps it's just that I am so frequently the very embodiment of sweetness and light -- a veritable sunbeam blessing the ground everywhere I go -- that a normal state of mind makes people think I am really upset.
Sure, that must be it.
Okay, not everyone. But enough people that I dare not write any further lest one of you decide that I am really very angry with you.
I am not. I am not dancing in the street scattering rose petals or anything, mind you. Perhaps it's just that I am so frequently the very embodiment of sweetness and light -- a veritable sunbeam blessing the ground everywhere I go -- that a normal state of mind makes people think I am really upset.
Sure, that must be it.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Figures
I have announced to all and sundry at Douwe's school that Douwe is unlikley to return to his present school next year after the advice of the doc.
So of course everyone is coming up with all kinds of new ideas to work with him in the classroom.
Is it simple defensiveness, has it just been called to the forefront of everyone's attention, or is it simply that they want to get an aide of their own in the classroom?
That too, only the shadow knows. I am busy nodding and smiling.
So of course everyone is coming up with all kinds of new ideas to work with him in the classroom.
Is it simple defensiveness, has it just been called to the forefront of everyone's attention, or is it simply that they want to get an aide of their own in the classroom?
That too, only the shadow knows. I am busy nodding and smiling.
Time marches
There are at least two things which almost everyone thinks they have got, which in fact almost no one has. One is the ability to tell if someone is lying. The other is an accurate awareness of time passing.
After spending a lot of time with lying people and also with people who are suppsoed to figure out who is lying, I think I have a handle on this one. What people often do have is a sense of integrity, of seamlessness. I think most people can add up the nonverbal cues and add them to what is actually being said and make a fairly good determination of whether those things add up. I think most of us do this without even thinking about it.
Which of course gets one exactly no where with say, a sociopath. Or a person who really believes what they are saying even when it *coff* lacks that one-to-one mapping onto reality which we call the truth.
People who can also rapidly consider whose ox is being gored while watching someone talk are even more accurate. However, such people are few and far between; most of us are too occupied thinking about what we are going to say next or what we might have just said (damn, what was I thinking) or even the adult equivalent of What Am I Going to Do For My Science Fair Project to really give our attention to what is actually being said.
One of the things that always interests me is that most of us focus on visual cues when people are talking. Being an auditory person, I have found it most useful to instead pay attention to the sound of people's voices, their pace and pitch and breathing. Because no one ever actually bothers to disguise those things, so they? Ours is a very visual approach.
However, the time thing I am still chewing on.
I personally have almost no sense of time's passage. I have only one time related quirk: if I decide to wake up at a particular time, I always do. It doesn't matter what time it is; I just have to decide, and then go to sleep. Though I found out once that I also have to know what time it is when I go to sleep or it doesn't work. All events are shelved in my mid as: today, yesterday, the other day. Though if pressed I can usually remember what season it was.
Dearly Beloved has an eerily accurate sense of time. You can stop him at random and ask him how much time has passed since >event x< and he will tell you almost immediately. He is always right, even though he is not aware of keeping track. It's as though he has an internal atomic clock in there, just ticking away.
It seems to me that a lot of special effort is devoted to taming time, domesticating it. Most people have no real idea of how they spend their time, and if asked to say, they are almost always wrong. We hold one another accountable under a publicly evolved system. We are all connected all right, connected in an intricate, invisible webbing of clockwork relations that employ units of time.
After spending a lot of time with lying people and also with people who are suppsoed to figure out who is lying, I think I have a handle on this one. What people often do have is a sense of integrity, of seamlessness. I think most people can add up the nonverbal cues and add them to what is actually being said and make a fairly good determination of whether those things add up. I think most of us do this without even thinking about it.
Which of course gets one exactly no where with say, a sociopath. Or a person who really believes what they are saying even when it *coff* lacks that one-to-one mapping onto reality which we call the truth.
People who can also rapidly consider whose ox is being gored while watching someone talk are even more accurate. However, such people are few and far between; most of us are too occupied thinking about what we are going to say next or what we might have just said (damn, what was I thinking) or even the adult equivalent of What Am I Going to Do For My Science Fair Project to really give our attention to what is actually being said.
One of the things that always interests me is that most of us focus on visual cues when people are talking. Being an auditory person, I have found it most useful to instead pay attention to the sound of people's voices, their pace and pitch and breathing. Because no one ever actually bothers to disguise those things, so they? Ours is a very visual approach.
However, the time thing I am still chewing on.
I personally have almost no sense of time's passage. I have only one time related quirk: if I decide to wake up at a particular time, I always do. It doesn't matter what time it is; I just have to decide, and then go to sleep. Though I found out once that I also have to know what time it is when I go to sleep or it doesn't work. All events are shelved in my mid as: today, yesterday, the other day. Though if pressed I can usually remember what season it was.
Dearly Beloved has an eerily accurate sense of time. You can stop him at random and ask him how much time has passed since >event x< and he will tell you almost immediately. He is always right, even though he is not aware of keeping track. It's as though he has an internal atomic clock in there, just ticking away.
It seems to me that a lot of special effort is devoted to taming time, domesticating it. Most people have no real idea of how they spend their time, and if asked to say, they are almost always wrong. We hold one another accountable under a publicly evolved system. We are all connected all right, connected in an intricate, invisible webbing of clockwork relations that employ units of time.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Friday, March 04, 2005
Maternal Marginalia
During a conversation with Daan about his relatives and who they all are in relation to him. I actually have no idea now how we got around to noses.
Daan: Daan has Papa's nose. Uncle Ernest has Oma's nose. Mama has Grandmary's nose.
Mama: Whose nose does grandmary have?
Daan: Grandmary has Dina's nose.
Mama: Do you mean, Dina has Grandmary's nose?
Daan: No. Dina is bigger.
Mama: Dina is bigger?
Daan: Yes. Little one get noses from big ones.
Daan: Daan has Papa's nose. Uncle Ernest has Oma's nose. Mama has Grandmary's nose.
Mama: Whose nose does grandmary have?
Daan: Grandmary has Dina's nose.
Mama: Do you mean, Dina has Grandmary's nose?
Daan: No. Dina is bigger.
Mama: Dina is bigger?
Daan: Yes. Little one get noses from big ones.
Brain Waves
Dearly Beloved went to the neurologist with Douwe for the follow up. Please note who did not go. How did it happen that the most suspicious person on the whole planet, the original "show me" girl who believes nothing she has not personally witnessed and then really only about half of that, did not go along?
Please note who else did not go.
No car seat for Daan. Seriously, the car seats were in Nel's car, and Nel's car was with Nel at work. Yes, I know I made it through my childhood regularly sleeping above the back seat on that little shelf next to the rear windshield (what's that thing called, dad? I forget.) and despite no doubt blocking the view never got maimed even once. I know all that. And to be honest, illegal or not, I probably would have just strapped Daan's tiny self into the regular seat and gone and planned to tell the nice police officer that we were, after all, going to the hospital (isn't there a going to the hospital defense?) except for one small thing. There was snow on the ground everywhere. The temp was hovering just at freezing. And the news was all full of stories about how Holland, despite having had no snow or ice to speak of, was already running out of salt for the roads. (They gave it all to the deserving poor in Germany and Austria or some such thing).
I just couldn't do it. Douwe had to go, the doc wanted to see him again. And he is big enough anyway to be street legal without a seat. But Daan is not only young, he is a tiny child. He is tiny on the scale that his mother is tiny (though strangely, they say that he is expected to make it to somewhere between 5' 11 and 6' 1" based on what I have no idea. Joss sticks and Tarot cards, probably. He is not supposed to do it until he is in his late teens, though.) . I had visions of the car veering into or being veered into by another car. Most of my visions centered around the parking lot, to tell you the truth. The freeway I wasn't worried about.
So we stayed home and played games while the boys went off to the doc.*
The doc says that Douwe is a regular 5 year old with a speech disorder. His weird behavior is related to the speech disorder and is, all things considered, not all that weird. He said one rather odd thing: he says the EEG indicates that he has a very active imagination. Well, I agree, the child has designed an entire diving outfit and is swimming with Jacques Cousteau on a weekly basis. **
However, this sounds very medieval to me (what, his beta waves come out in patterns depicting Mickey Mouse and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? What?).
The Doc says that ideally he ought to go to the speech school in a nearby city, but that his problem may not be serious enough to qualify him to be enrolled there. In the alternative he suggests a Montessori program with some support to be provided by the same speech school -- which support can range from an aide in the classroom to additional clsses on the side.
So our next step is to fill out more piles of paper from the speech school. At the speech school , they will test him again from top to toes (again, *sigh*) but will evidently use tests designed with speech problems in mind. So, for instance, if his intelligence is to be teted, they will use a nonverbal intelligence test. It is my understanding that there is more chance of actually gettign some result from the testing in this way (as a fair amount of testing of Douwe has resulted in complete failure because at some point he just decides he's done with this little game).
I have to say, I have been most impressed by Paul's organization of this latest undertaking, he was coordinating with the family doctor, the neurologist's office, both schools, and the speech therapist within twenty minutes of getting home from the doc. He has left the current school out of the loop because, well, apparently they are now out of the loop in his vision. But after all this time it is rather nice to watch someone else make all those phone calls and follow up and so on.
We are to tour the speech school in early April; Douwe is to have a tryout day at the Montessori in mid March. So off we go. But anyway, at least we have some direction to go.
* Anybody remember why Daan has the birthday he has despite being scheduled to be born by c section four days earlier? Yep, freak snow in Atlanta that year resulted in cancellation of all non emergency surgery and gave Daan time to be born on his own timetable. Though in the end all our plans were foiled and he was a c after all. So there you go. Daan is only 3, but snow keeps figuring into his life.
**The outfit consists of footie pajamas, a set of swim goggles, a mouthpiece removed from the pipe part from a snorkel, two of those washcloths which are sewn into a pocket on his feet for flippers, his Bob the Builder backpack for the aqualung and a set of suspenders to connect the aqualung and the mouthpiece.
Please note who else did not go.
No car seat for Daan. Seriously, the car seats were in Nel's car, and Nel's car was with Nel at work. Yes, I know I made it through my childhood regularly sleeping above the back seat on that little shelf next to the rear windshield (what's that thing called, dad? I forget.) and despite no doubt blocking the view never got maimed even once. I know all that. And to be honest, illegal or not, I probably would have just strapped Daan's tiny self into the regular seat and gone and planned to tell the nice police officer that we were, after all, going to the hospital (isn't there a going to the hospital defense?) except for one small thing. There was snow on the ground everywhere. The temp was hovering just at freezing. And the news was all full of stories about how Holland, despite having had no snow or ice to speak of, was already running out of salt for the roads. (They gave it all to the deserving poor in Germany and Austria or some such thing).
I just couldn't do it. Douwe had to go, the doc wanted to see him again. And he is big enough anyway to be street legal without a seat. But Daan is not only young, he is a tiny child. He is tiny on the scale that his mother is tiny (though strangely, they say that he is expected to make it to somewhere between 5' 11 and 6' 1" based on what I have no idea. Joss sticks and Tarot cards, probably. He is not supposed to do it until he is in his late teens, though.) . I had visions of the car veering into or being veered into by another car. Most of my visions centered around the parking lot, to tell you the truth. The freeway I wasn't worried about.
So we stayed home and played games while the boys went off to the doc.*
The doc says that Douwe is a regular 5 year old with a speech disorder. His weird behavior is related to the speech disorder and is, all things considered, not all that weird. He said one rather odd thing: he says the EEG indicates that he has a very active imagination. Well, I agree, the child has designed an entire diving outfit and is swimming with Jacques Cousteau on a weekly basis. **
However, this sounds very medieval to me (what, his beta waves come out in patterns depicting Mickey Mouse and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? What?).
The Doc says that ideally he ought to go to the speech school in a nearby city, but that his problem may not be serious enough to qualify him to be enrolled there. In the alternative he suggests a Montessori program with some support to be provided by the same speech school -- which support can range from an aide in the classroom to additional clsses on the side.
So our next step is to fill out more piles of paper from the speech school. At the speech school , they will test him again from top to toes (again, *sigh*) but will evidently use tests designed with speech problems in mind. So, for instance, if his intelligence is to be teted, they will use a nonverbal intelligence test. It is my understanding that there is more chance of actually gettign some result from the testing in this way (as a fair amount of testing of Douwe has resulted in complete failure because at some point he just decides he's done with this little game).
I have to say, I have been most impressed by Paul's organization of this latest undertaking, he was coordinating with the family doctor, the neurologist's office, both schools, and the speech therapist within twenty minutes of getting home from the doc. He has left the current school out of the loop because, well, apparently they are now out of the loop in his vision. But after all this time it is rather nice to watch someone else make all those phone calls and follow up and so on.
We are to tour the speech school in early April; Douwe is to have a tryout day at the Montessori in mid March. So off we go. But anyway, at least we have some direction to go.
* Anybody remember why Daan has the birthday he has despite being scheduled to be born by c section four days earlier? Yep, freak snow in Atlanta that year resulted in cancellation of all non emergency surgery and gave Daan time to be born on his own timetable. Though in the end all our plans were foiled and he was a c after all. So there you go. Daan is only 3, but snow keeps figuring into his life.
**The outfit consists of footie pajamas, a set of swim goggles, a mouthpiece removed from the pipe part from a snorkel, two of those washcloths which are sewn into a pocket on his feet for flippers, his Bob the Builder backpack for the aqualung and a set of suspenders to connect the aqualung and the mouthpiece.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Oh Dear
Today I was as usual waiting for Douwe outside of school when the class let out. Four of his classmates seperately came running up to me and said "You have to wait for the teacher,". One of them got a scolding on the spot from his mother, who thought she was supposed to wait for the teacher. Apparently "Wait for the teacher" means "Whoo boy did your kid do it now". The thing is, they were each of them giggling.
It seems Douwe pinched his teacher today.
It appears that Douwe took a matchbox car to school today. One of his teachers does not allow this; the other one does but only to be played with at recess. This was the one who does allow it, and it was at recess. However, evidently it kept falling out of his pocket and was otherwise a problem regarding the other children wanting to play with it. As I understand it, she told him to give it to her. He said no and said he would put it away in his coat pocket (which closes with velcro and is in fact where I put toys in toy timeout when we are out somewhere). She was then annoyed and told him to give it to her. He put it in his pocket and walked away.
This was a bad move, because she then got angry and went after him to bring him back to talk about it. She grabbed his arm to stop him and he turned around and pinched her.
The walking away thing is probably my fault; I allow Douwe to walk away when he is too angry to discuss things as long as he comes back when he is more in possession of himself. Because when he is angry his language skills really just leave him and frustration about this fact is likely to escalate both the problem and his anger and leave him either furious or weeping. However, the walking away thing bothers a lot of people for reasons I am not really clear on.
In any event. If he does it again she will call me to come take him home. (Which, if he figures it out, may well lead to more of the behavior and not less. So I am glad he was not in earshot when she said that). So I spoke to Douwe of course and he lost out on going swimming today. I may be sympathetic to his motives but his means are not ok. No fighting, no biting is the rule around here, however angry you may be.
For the balance of the afternoon he was very, very deep in his fantasy world of play and it was very difficult to get his attention at all. So at some point I asked him "Douwe, where are you today?". It was sort of a rhetorical question, it isn't as though he was being naughty or anything.
He said, ">The teacher< was angry. She grabbed me. She took my car. But I was bad. She was not bad?". Hoo Boy.
Thus ensued a five year old level conversation about the nature and operations of power and justice and how these things relate to one another. After which at least he was much more like himslef again. (May I quietly celebrate with you this small thing: that Douwe can now talk about his feelings?) About an hour later he came up to me though and said "I didn't hit her. We don't hit,".
Nice try kid, I said. But we don't pinch either. He said, "I know. But I didn't hit,".
What, he wants credit?
It seems Douwe pinched his teacher today.
It appears that Douwe took a matchbox car to school today. One of his teachers does not allow this; the other one does but only to be played with at recess. This was the one who does allow it, and it was at recess. However, evidently it kept falling out of his pocket and was otherwise a problem regarding the other children wanting to play with it. As I understand it, she told him to give it to her. He said no and said he would put it away in his coat pocket (which closes with velcro and is in fact where I put toys in toy timeout when we are out somewhere). She was then annoyed and told him to give it to her. He put it in his pocket and walked away.
This was a bad move, because she then got angry and went after him to bring him back to talk about it. She grabbed his arm to stop him and he turned around and pinched her.
The walking away thing is probably my fault; I allow Douwe to walk away when he is too angry to discuss things as long as he comes back when he is more in possession of himself. Because when he is angry his language skills really just leave him and frustration about this fact is likely to escalate both the problem and his anger and leave him either furious or weeping. However, the walking away thing bothers a lot of people for reasons I am not really clear on.
In any event. If he does it again she will call me to come take him home. (Which, if he figures it out, may well lead to more of the behavior and not less. So I am glad he was not in earshot when she said that). So I spoke to Douwe of course and he lost out on going swimming today. I may be sympathetic to his motives but his means are not ok. No fighting, no biting is the rule around here, however angry you may be.
For the balance of the afternoon he was very, very deep in his fantasy world of play and it was very difficult to get his attention at all. So at some point I asked him "Douwe, where are you today?". It was sort of a rhetorical question, it isn't as though he was being naughty or anything.
He said, ">The teacher< was angry. She grabbed me. She took my car. But I was bad. She was not bad?". Hoo Boy.
Thus ensued a five year old level conversation about the nature and operations of power and justice and how these things relate to one another. After which at least he was much more like himslef again. (May I quietly celebrate with you this small thing: that Douwe can now talk about his feelings?) About an hour later he came up to me though and said "I didn't hit her. We don't hit,".
Nice try kid, I said. But we don't pinch either. He said, "I know. But I didn't hit,".
What, he wants credit?
Snow
This time the forecasters got it right, it is snowing and the snow is staying. It has been snowing for 4 days actually, but it has melted every time as the weather was in the upper thirties to low forties. The temps dropped at around 6 pm and it is still snowing.
The boys were an hour late for dinner because Nel took them out for a sleigh ride to celebrate.
Sledding here is a little different than I am used to because of course it is entirely flat. So when they say sledding they do not mean riding down a hill at the risk to your neck, they mean somebody pulling you around on a sled.
They threw snow balls (Daan was thrilled to be able to make a snow ball -- he has finally worked out that if you actually put your thumb in that little thumb thingie in your mittens, you can hold a snow ball and also throw it) and they made snow angels and generally rolled around in the dark in the snow. It was even more exciting because it was after dark.
So they came inside with many plans for tomorrow. They hung their jackets, hats, gloves, scarves and etc on the radiator and ate dinner. They had to hear "The Snowy Day" three times before going to sleep.
And when I came up tonight I discovered that they have put their ice skates under the bed. Guess I know what they want to do tomorrow.
The boys were an hour late for dinner because Nel took them out for a sleigh ride to celebrate.
Sledding here is a little different than I am used to because of course it is entirely flat. So when they say sledding they do not mean riding down a hill at the risk to your neck, they mean somebody pulling you around on a sled.
They threw snow balls (Daan was thrilled to be able to make a snow ball -- he has finally worked out that if you actually put your thumb in that little thumb thingie in your mittens, you can hold a snow ball and also throw it) and they made snow angels and generally rolled around in the dark in the snow. It was even more exciting because it was after dark.
So they came inside with many plans for tomorrow. They hung their jackets, hats, gloves, scarves and etc on the radiator and ate dinner. They had to hear "The Snowy Day" three times before going to sleep.
And when I came up tonight I discovered that they have put their ice skates under the bed. Guess I know what they want to do tomorrow.
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