Entries Tagged 'Family' ↓

"Climb into bed, Daddy," said my 3yr old last night. "We're gonna make up a story."

Love it. Although I've heard her wandering around the house making up stories, I've never actually been a part of one. We've finished watching Barbie Fairytopia movie, and have just read Cinderella pop-up book. I climb into bed.

The props for this story are to be 3 things:

• a small rubber orange doll I know to be Sunburst, who is from the Fairytopia series of movies but was not in the actual movie we saw last night, whose name shall be Fairytopia. (In the movie, Fairytopia is actually the name of the place they live, not a character name.)
• A rubber Jasmine doll (from Aladdin), dressed in what appears to be Cinderell's wedding gown. Her name shall be Azura (who is like the boss of the Fairytopia world).
• A length of white ribbon, which currently is wrapped in Sunburst/Fairytopia's hair.

In this case, Sunburst/Fairytopia and Jasmine/Azura are to be sisters. "How do we play?" I ask.

I wish I could do justice to the response I got, because it seemed so crystal clear in her head, but without a tape recorder there's no way I could get it all down accurately. Basically it went a little something like this, "We take turns trying on the ribbon to see if it fits, and then the prince marries us, and we have the happiness ending."

Since the ribbon is already in S/F's hair, I wrap it around like a turban and say, "How's this? Does it fit?"

"No, it doesn't fit Fairytopia," says my daughter, who begins pulling it off. "Now her sister Azura tries." Deftly she begins wrapping the doll, head to foot, in ribbon. "Nope, doesn't fit Azura either."

"My turn again," I say, and this time I tie the ribbon in a bow on top of my doll's head. "How's that?"

"Too big!" the director says.

I make a smaller bow. "Hurray," I tell her, hurrying up the game because it's getting late. "The ribbon fits, does that mean the game is over?"

"Not yet, Daddy!" she tells me as I climb out of bed and begin tucking her in. "They didn't have the happiness ending!"

Something clicks.

"Do you mean, and they all lived happily ever after?"

She beams. "Yes! And they all lived happily ever after! Good night, Daddy."

I've mentioned that my son, much like my daughter did, pronounces many words with a Y on the front for some reason. This was particularly cute tonight after dinner when we had Yinkies for dessert.

He's at the phase where he wants to do everything himself. Which, of course, translates into screaming fits of "My yelf! My yelf!" Who's going to buckle the car seat? My elf! I like to imagine a little invisible elf doing his bidding.

Yesterday evening we're reading a book that shows a farm scene. Some pigs or something are having a race of some kind, and a bunch of animals are on the sidelines. "How many friends are watching the game?" read the text. "How many animals can you name?"

"How many animals are there?" I ask.

"One, two, three, four, five."

"Very good. And how many animals can you name?"

"That one is Ricky, and that's Emily, and Marsha, and Emma, and Max."

"…..Good job,sweetie."

While driving yesterday, my three year old suddenly asks from behind me, "Daddy, do you have at least one hand on the driving wheel?"

"Yes," I reply.

"Thanks," she says, and nothing more is said.

So I swing by Dunkin Donuts for lunch today, figuring that I will try one of their new "flatbread sandwiches". I see the offerings are Turkey/Bacon/Cheddar, Ham/Swiss, or Three Cheese.

"Could I get the Ham and Swiss sandwich please?" I ask.

"Sure," says the nice Chinese lady, coming over to the register. "What kind you like?"

"Ham and swiss," I repeat, thinking that she is just reconfirming my order.

She pauses. "Yes but what kind sandwich you like?"

"I'm sorry?" I ask now, generally confused.

"Sandwich. What kind sandwich?"

Now I'm thinking that maybe there's a choice of bread or something that I've missed. "What are my….choices?" I ask.

At this point the Chinese man filling the donuts turns around and says, "We have three kinds sandwich. Turkey bacon, ham swiss, and three cheese."

"Oh!" I say. "Ham and swiss."

"Ham and swiss," he tells the lady.

My fault for not being clear, I guess. Maybe, *maybe* giving her the benefit of the doubt, me saying "ham and swiss" sounds like "sandwich" and she thought I kept asking for a generic sandwich over and over again.

Yesterday my oldest, while waiting to be driven to school, is trying to explain to me that if you're spelling cats, you don't need to put the line over the s.

I have no idea what she's talking about. It doesn't help that I'm trying to clean the kitchen before running her out the door to school. She tells me, "That's ok, I'll think about how to better explain it to you."

As we're driving she explains, "If you're talking about the cat's whiskers you use the line, Daddy, but if you're talking about two cats, you don't."

"Oh!" I say as it dawns on me. "You're talking about the apostrophe!"

"Yeah," she says shakily, not really sure if that's the right word.

"So like if I said K's backpack I use the line above the S, but if I said there are two Ks in your class, I don't."

"Right, Daddy. That's what I meant."

"Ok, now I get it. Know what that's called? That's called possessive and plural."

"What?"

"Did I lose you?"

"Yeah, you lost me."

"Don't worry about it. Know where else you use the line? In contractions. Have you learned contractions yet?"

"Contr…..no."

I have to remember not to fill the child's brain up too fast.

Today the 3yr old was all about the stories:

"Daddy, today at work my friend Jessica learned a new word: Protest. And my friend Courtney? Has a new book. The title is the Princess and the Princess and the Prince and the Mean Witch Who All Live In The Castle With The Dragon. The one princess's name is Belle and the other princess's name is Ariel. The prince's name is Max and the mean witch's name is Caliban. His helper with is named Sycorax."

Jessica and Courtney, I may have mentioned, are women where I work who she has borrowed as imaginary playmates. Caliban and Sycorax are characters from Shakespeare.

On an unrelated note, do all little kids go through a phase where most words start with the Y sound? I remember my oldest once telling me a story to the effect that, because of something the "yady" had told her she could not have, she "had a yiddle meltdown."

Well my youngest, my son, seems to be doing the same thing . The other day, playgroup father Kip was over. When I walked in the door after work, there was my son, very excitedly yelling "Yip! Yip!" When he can't find his mother he wanders around the house calling "Mommy! Yahyoo?" And in the morning he more often than not walks his "yoos", although whether he's asking for juice or shoes is very hard to distinquish.

This weekend I attended my 5yr old daughter's dance recital. Which means 3 hours of preparation followed by 1 hour of waiting to see her on stage for 5 minutes. But worth it, of course.

So there I am in the audience, having come prepared – iPod in pocket, one earbud in, so I can listen to something while waiting for mine to come on. Each group of kids comes up and all basically does the same thing, some moving the toes here and over there, some bouncing, some running, and then next. Each has its own sort of ballet-esque lullaby music.

Suddenly one particular group catches my attention. The music, although played on the same sort of xylophone chime as all the others, sounds familiar. Could it be..? No, it couldn't be. I nudge my father in law on my left and ask if the song sounds like what I'm thinking of. He agrees that it does sound like that. I grab a program. Sure enough, it is in fact the song I thought I was hearing.

The song? Stairway to Heaven, by Led Zeppelin.

I want to know how to get my kid in THAT class! Then I'd willingly go to these things :). Of course the only downside is that it's a monster on those little legs. "Daddy I've been dancing for 25 minutes!" "Keep going, baby, we're into the final guitar solo…."

(No, the kids did not dance the whole song, just a 5 minute snippet somewhere in the middle.)

Mark the date – my son can now say his own name. Unfortunately, you'd think his name is "Barney." If you listen close, though, you can tell that he's got the general idea of what his real name is supposed to sound like.

There's a morning ritual at my house. I get up to go take a shower, and in the middle of it, my not quite 2yr old son wakes up (at least, typically this is the timing). My wife gets him, and he walks into the shower to say hello. He also typically waits to hand me my towel, which generally involves me moving the towel to a place out of my reach, so that he can then hand it back to me.

Today there is a knock on the door before I ever even get in the shower. I open the door and there's my son who, without a word, pushes past me and walks over to the vanity, where he pulls a single tissue out of the box and leaves. I follow him down the hall, where he goes into our other bathroom, presumably where my wife is. "Ok, tell me you just sent him for a tissue, because that was pretty cool," I say.

"Actually," comes the voice, "I told him we're out of toilet paper."

Not bad, son. Not bad.