Archive Page 2
The Leprechauns are Coming…
This morning, over our house, for about 20 minutes…
Ella & Finn didn’t even miss the fact that there were no ponies in sight.
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Tags: rainbow
The important part of the apology read:
Sorry 100000099 80 +800+ 90
Maybe not that much depending what it =
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More Baby Keats
Coined terms are the province of modernists and gonzo journalists like Tom Wolfe, but once in a while, Finn’s creative language skills lead to something startling and fresh. (At least I like to think so.)
This morning at breakfast, he blurted out, “I cold, Mom! I really, really cold! I spilled some of my Weetabix on my pajamas”–which he had indeed, there was a big, soggy splotch of wheat cereal on his leg–”and it’s colding me.”
I am not in any hurry to correct him. There is not nearly enough poetry in everyday life. But sometimes, one brilliant word is all you need.
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Finn regularly substitutes the object pronoun for a subject pronoun, as in “Him not really the Headless Horseman! Him Brom Bones!” or “Her not being nice!”
But such grammatical hijinks belies a linguistic intelligence that’s nearly poetic. Last week, he had a dream (he has a lot of dreams, actually) that made a big impression on him. Kory called it his first “movie” dream for its vividness, its narrative energy, and its watching-yourself-in-third-person qualities.
I never found out exactly what the story of the dream was, but Finley told me, “Daddy told me the story, and then the story got in my head, and then it went in my dream bones, and then, just I dreamed it!” And he threw up his hands, as if dream bones were the most natural thing in the world. Which they might be if we didn’t worry all the time about things like proper sytnax. And in case you were wondering, dream bones are located somewhere in your belly.
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The dubious influence, also my favorite dance clip of all time:
The result:
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4-Year-Old Economics
Finn is addicted to catalogues. He’ll sit with one for close to 45 minutes, pouring over the pictures. When I step outside to fetch the mail, he calls out before I’m even fully back inside, “You have new catalogue for me?”
I don’t mind so much, and I’m completely spellbound by his ability to figure out what a new toy is and how it works simply by observing a diagram. He is absolutely spatially gifted, and it’s sort of a marvel to watch.
But he has also caught on to value. He asked recently, “How many dollars this cost?” pointing to, say, a glow-in-the-dark-motorized marble run.
“A lot,” I answered.
“I get it for Christmas, then,” he concluded. “It cost a lot of dollars, Santa bring it. It cost one or two dollars, we just get it now!”
I think he must be living in a different family from the rest of us.
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Ella, age 6: “Mom, do you know about Saint Nicholas?”
Mom: “Yes.”
Ella: “Saint Nicholas was Santa Claus. He gave presents to people. He was a saint.”
Mom: “That’s right.”
Ella: “And Saint Nicholas is dead. That means Santa is dead. That means there isn’t any Santa Claus.”
Mom: “Then where do all your presents on Christmas morning come from?”
Ella: “Your grandparent go out at night and buy all the presents and wrap them and that’s that.”
So at least her dad & I are not responsible this year.
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Tags: saint nicholas, santa claus
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