Halloween preview

All Hallow's Eve is coming...are you ready?

Slander!

There's a backlog of blog posting to be done, but in the four minutes before I teach my next class, this tidbit for the girls' fans. Yesterday Mr. Allan reported a conversation he'd had with Edith during school.

Edith: This is my last day at school for a long time.

Mr. Allan: Really? Why?

Edith: My mommy is drinking a lot. I need to take care of her.

***

For the record, I donated blood Sunday and got woozy, so the attendants stressed my drinking a lot in the subsequent days. But even though Edith likes to take charge of the Britta pitcher, we're not keeping her out of school to pour for me.

Wordsmiths

Alice is "talking."

I recall that with Edith, determining what counted as first words wasn't easy: was it the first time she clearly repeated sounds that corresponded to English words? that she produced such sounds voluntarily? that she used some sound that didn't necessarily correspond to an English word in a nevertheless consistent way to communicate a definite concept?

Well, it's the same kind of fuzzy with Alice, but within the last few weeks various people have come independently to the conclusion that she is trying to communicate verbally and that in certain circumstances, it seems clear what she's trying to communicate. We'll call it talking.

As we'd predicted long ago, one of her first words appears to be Edie. She has started crawling around the house trying to keep pace with her big sister, calling out loudly when she falls behind--Eh-dee! It's half-amusing, half-wrenching to see her set out after Edith into another room, only to have Edith come back into the first room, upon which Alice does an about-face, only to watch Edith dash back to the other room again, at which point Alice corrects course once more. Were she distraught by it, it would tug on the heartstrings more. As it is, she continues to smile and to call out her sister's name, determined to catch up.

She enjoys pointing to photographs in books and asking, "Dis?" She rarely seems to ask about objects outside books. So the other day we moved back and forth between the photograph of a ball in a book and an actual ball, which she loved trying to throw. Then this morning she crawled over to the shelf of photo albums, pulled one out, got it open to the first page, pointed quite deliberately to a photo of me at my Boston bridal shower, and said, Eh-dee. No, we told her, that's Mommy. Eh-dee, she repeated. No, Mommy. She may have been wrong, but it was a fascinating window into her brain. (And should I take this to mean that 26-year-old me looks more like a four year old than like haggard old 33-year-old me?)

Given her accomplishments, not to mention her adoration of big sis, you would think Alice merited respect from her sibling. But although Edith hugs Alice, laughs with her, and declares her love for her baby, she also composed the following poem a few days ago (transcribed by Mor-mor, on a weekend visit):

"Why Alice Can't Drink Cow's Milk"

If Alice drank cow's milk she would throw up on the floor,
And the door,
And what's more,
She would have big poops and pees,
And then little bees,
Would sting her small bum,
And she would be glum,
And feel dumb,
And her stomach would ache,
So for goodness sake,
Alice,
DON'T DRINK COW'S MILK!

Photos of Mor-mor's visit to come.

Community organizer

A couple of weeks ago, just a few days into the new schoolyear, Edith reported with excitement that her class would be holding a Sports Day. We asked when, and she said that the date hadn't been set, but that they were definitely doing it, and that we needed to bring in popsicles and lemonade as our contribution to the gala event. Usually parents sign up on a sheet at school when goodies are needed for a school celebration, but we respected that Edith knew what she wanted to bring and agreed. A few days later she prompted Tom to secure the goods, even though the date for Sports Day was still undetermined, and the two of them came home from a store run with the popsicles and lemonade.

For the next week or so we heard frequently about Sports Day in her report about the schoolday. The kids and Mr. Allan were planning which events to include--Edith said she'd suggested tug of war. They were practicing. They decided on a date. By way of confirmation, we got an email invitation from Mr. Allan a few days later, featuring a full-color Sports Day flyer. The competition would pit the kids' team against the parents' team in every event--tug of war, sack races, soccer, bowling, etc. Tom and I were sorry to see Sports Day was scheduled for Thursday morning, when he would be out of town and I would be teaching. But when we broke this to Edith, she cheerfully nodded that Mr. Allan had told them some parents would be able to come and some would not. She seemed more excited about the event than about the prospect of our coming, which was a relief.

Thursday dawned warm and sunny, Edith headed off with lemonade and popsicles, and late that afternoon an email from Mr. Allan popped up in my inbox, featuring a PDF file of Sports Day pictures. (The teachers often send the parents photos in the afternoon while the kids are napping, especially when they've had special events.)

The photos made it all look like great fun. But most surprising to me was the brief description in the email itself. Everyone had had a great time, it said, and the kids handily beat the parents in every event. Then, "Special thank you goes out to Edith, who thought this would be a fun activity to do as well as bringing in a special snack for all her friends." It turned out she designed the flyer, too. We'd had no idea that the whole thing was her brainchild. Well, her brainchild after listening to a story in which there was a Sports Day. She'd been the impetus behind turning the story into a full-scale class event. It seems as though her love for acting out scenarios she has picked up from stories and her tendency to try to direct others in joining in were channeled to good effect this time. Our community organizer.

Just a small jump from here to a Nobel Peace Prize.

A mother's failure

So Edith and I are reading Circus by Peter Spier, and we're looking at the page on which eleven young men have spilled out of the tiny little clown car. Most of them wear plain clothes, but one has on a crimson shirt with an "H" on it; another has on a dark blue shirt with a "Y" on it.

"What's that for?" Edith asks, pointing to the "H."

"I think it stands for a school called Harvard."

"Oh yeah! Harvard University?"

"Yes, Harvard University."

"What is that for?" (pointing to the "Y")

"That one is for mommy's school. You know its name."

"Y-M-C-A!"

"Ha ha. The YMCA is where you take ballet. No, it's Y- Y- Y- "

"Urine!"

Last week I had a conference in New Haven, and at the last minute we decided against the whole family tagging along in favor of stability on the homefront. Never again making that mistake. This kid needs educating.

October

It's gotta be pumpkin time.


Because I think of the Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas season as one continuous rush of festivities sliding into the year's end, and because Alice was around for Christmas last year (and was very much on our minds at Thanksgiving as well), I forget that she hasn't had a Halloween season yet. First de rigeuer pumpkin shots taken yesterday at Terhune Orchards--where it was so nice to meet up with good college friends relocated to New Jersey after eleven years on the West Coast.


An advantage of having stayed put for so many years is the opportunity for some then-and-now shots. Remember these?

Practicing being the scariest witch in the world...

...when not being her own sweet self

Finally, a few more glimpses into life in pre-K:

And a recent bedtime: