William James

When I was a teenager, I was really interested in the performing arts.  I loved music.  I wrote songs, I played guitar, I acted in plays, I danced, but I did not have a very powerful singing voice.  My [...]]]> “I don’t sing because I’m happy; I’m happy because I sing.”

William James

When I was a teenager, I was really interested in the performing arts.  I loved music.  I wrote songs, I played guitar, I acted in plays, I danced, but I did not have a very powerful singing voice.  My ever-supportive parents arranged for me to have private vocal instruction with a lady named Joyce Court.  After several rather frustrating singing lessons, dear Mrs. Court said to my mom and I, “Have you thought about modeling, Karen?”  In other words, I was not going to make it as a singer.  I had a good ear, I could read music, and I could definitely carry a tune, but I just didn’t sound that great.

I moved on.  My experience with Mrs. Court definitely discouraged me from performing songs in a public forum, but it certainly didn’t stop me from singing for pure enjoyment.  I used to sing with my students when I was teaching, and now I literally sing ALL THE TIME with my daughters.  Singing soothes babies and older children alike.  If my daughters are cranky, I can always distract them with a little song.

The cool thing is, my daughters don’t give a damn whether or not I have a good singing voice, they call for encores all the time!  I sing kids’ songs, current songs, lullabies, Abba, soundtracks from musicals such as The Sound of Music, and I also make-up my own ‘running-commentary’ type songs.  These are the tunes that would probably be most irritating to any other adult within earshot, but they work.  I often pick showtunes like, “New York, New York,” and change up the lyrics… ‘Start getting your shoes,”  (instead of ‘Start spreading the news…’)   “and put on your socks, we’ll get our winter jackets on, and head outside.”   I’m sure I’m not the only one who does this.

I’m reminded of a former colleague of mine, who taught second grade, and used to sing and hum constantly.  Sometimes she’d even sing her responses to her students.  I thought she was rather loopy at the time, but I don’t anymore.  I get it.  Even my mom is a hummer.  I never recognize the songs she hums, and perhaps they are just a random collection of notes.  Maybe she just hums for humming’s sake, but that doesn’t matter, does it?

I’ve noticed recently that Pip and Fig also launch into operetta-style conversations very naturally, as though it’s just another acceptable form of communicating.  I’m thinking it might make difficult conversations go a lot smoother in the future.  Imagine if Pip confronted me one day and sang, “Mama Mia, Here I go again, My My, Can I get my tongue pierced?”

Bill Vaughn

When Fig is too quiet, it usually means trouble.  I was in Pip’s bedroom, assisting with her fifteenth costume-change of the [...]]]> “A three-year-old child is a being who gets almost as much fun out of a fifty-six dollar set of swings as it does out of finding a small green worm.”

Bill Vaughn

When Fig is too quiet, it usually means trouble.  I was in Pip’s bedroom, assisting with her fifteenth costume-change of the day, when I noticed that Fig wasn’t with us.  ”Where’s Fig?”  I asked Pip.

“I don’t know, Mama.”   I called Fig’s name.  There was no answer.

“It’s awfully quiet,” I said to Pip as I attached her butterfly wings.  ”Let’s see what your sister’s up to.”  I walked out of the bedroom calling Fig’s name.  No sign of her in the bathroom, nor in the master-bedroom.  She wasn’t in the kitchen.

“Here she is Mama!”  Pip yelled from the living room.  I turned the corner to find Fig carefully unwrapping her tenth tampon.

I did what any responsible disciplinarian would do; I grabbed my camera.  I also took some solace in the fact that these weren’t my favourite brand of feminine protection.  It was one of those emergency purchases at the Merville Store, where selection is limited.  The unused members of the box had sat under the bathroom sink for months, and I suspect they were quite thrilled to see the light of day and to realize that they were to be used as toys.

Fig quickly discovered that the cardboard tubes fit perfectly on her fingers.  ”Mama, Puppet!”  she proudly announced.

After playing with the tampon puppets for a time, the inevitable happened…

but nothing prepared me for this:

I don’t think I’ll ever view feminine protection in quite the same way!

Sandra Boynton

Pip has always adored her belly-button.  It’s an impressive, round ‘outey,’ and she rubs it to soothe herself.  It came as no surprise, therefore, when Pip brought [...]]]> “We hippos love our belly-b’s, they’re round and cute and funny, and there’s a place we take them to when summer days are sunny.”

Sandra Boynton

Pip has always adored her belly-button.  It’s an impressive, round ‘outey,’ and she rubs it to soothe herself.  It came as no surprise, therefore, when Pip brought her first ‘family drawing’ over to me the other day and I noticed that we all had belly-buttons.  It seems that we’re destined to remain mouth-less for awhile, and poor Fig didn’t get arms, but at least we have our belly-b’s.

Lyman Abbott

Pip surprised me the other day by stomping her foot on the floor when she was frustrated.  It was a case of her not getting what she wanted, and instead of talking about it, she [...]]]> “Do not teach your children never to be angry; teach them how to be angry.”

Lyman Abbott

Pip surprised me the other day by stomping her foot on the floor when she was frustrated.  It was a case of her not getting what she wanted, and instead of talking about it, she stomped her foot.  My instinct was to tell her, “We don’t stomp our feet when we’re angry, we talk about it,” but I understand her impulse.  The other day we were playing at our cousins house and my niece got angry when her space was invaded.  She was instructed to take a time-out, and on the way to her bedroom, she took out her frustration on the piano keys.  It sounded marvelous; passionate and dark, and I thought to myself, “What a great way to express anger.”

My teacher-training and experience have provided me with many strategies for helping children deal with anger.  I always ‘taught’ anger management lessons to my homeroom class.  We’d talk about anger being a natural feeling that everyone experiences and I’d assure the kids that there was no shame in feeling angry.  I taught them that anger served to identify problems, but it wasn’t a good way to solve problems.  We’d brainstorm ways to control angry feelings so that we could get on with problem-solving.  Kids learned to do such things as take three deep breaths, take a step back, seek help, and find the humour in situations.  It occurs to me now, though, that the focus was on ‘controlling’ and ‘managing’ anger, but there wasn’t much literature on releasing anger in appropriate ways.

A few years ago I read an amazing book by Gabor Mate called, ‘When the Body Says No.’  One of the important messages I took away from the book was that our bodies suffer ‘dis-ease’ when we don’t deal with our emotions in a healthy manner.  Suppressing anger, for instance can be very dangerous to your health.  Reading the book changed the way I dealt with my emotions.  I used to swallow my anger in the name of peace-keeping.  I’m not a person who enjoys conflict or drama, (unless it’s scripted, of course,) so I used to avoid it like the plague, not realizing that I was actually doing damage to my body.  The more important issues would live inside of me for awhile and fester until I finally gave them a voice, and by that time they had grown to unwarranted  proportion.  Not healthy.

Now, I tend to express frustrations as soon as they come up.  That way, they are dealt with before they even become  a source of anger.  It’s as though the negative feelings are robbed of all of their power once they’re set free.  My husband and I both feel as though we’re in the healthiest relationship of our lives, and I think the way we deal with conflict has a lot to do with it.

So, not only do I want to arm my daughters with strategies for managing anger, I want them to be able to release their angry energy in a healthy way as well.  Of course it’s ideal if frustrations are identified early on, when it’s easy to problem-solve without anger or tears.  If that point has passed, though, and a child is really angry, there’s no point trying to rationalize with him or her.  It just does not work.  So why not encourage them to bang on a drum, play piano, do some jumping jacks, put on some music, dance, rip up some newspaper, or do something else that will set their ‘angries’ free?  Once they’ve calmed down it’s time to problem-solve.

I think it’s important to have an anger-plan.  Talk about strategies when everybody’s happy, and make sure your kids know what kind of behaviour is intolerable.  (For example, hitting is an automatic ‘time-out’ in our house.)

And make sure YOU have a way to release your anger.  It used to be jogging for me, but my back-health prevents me from enjoying that form of release any more.  Now I find that getting outdoors and going for a walk works wonders, and music also does the trick; just listening to it, dancing to it, or playing along with it is a cleansing experience for me.

Whatever you do, deal with your feelings.  Even if it means an uncomfortable conversation with your spouse, as long as you’re speaking respectfully to each other, it provides a great model for your kids.  They learn that conflict exists in even the most loving relationships, and problems can be solved by talking them through.

(Forgive me if I sounded too ‘preachy’ toward the end there; the ‘teacher hat’ appears from time to time.)

“Too bad that all the people who know how to run the country are busy driving taxicabs and cutting hair.”

George Burns

Do you remember Grassman?  Well, he’s still around.  He’s been hanging out on our kitchen counter with our jade plant, watching the fall storms blow through our yard.  Some of [...]]]>

“Too bad that all the people who know how to run the country are busy driving taxicabs and cutting hair.”

George Burns

Do you remember Grassman?  Well, he’s still around.  He’s been hanging out on our kitchen counter with our jade plant, watching the fall storms blow through our yard.  Some of his grass has turned brown from neglect, I’m afraid, and his facial features aren’t what they used to be, but he seems to be in good spirits nonetheless.  He has a certain wisdom in his eyes; it’s as though he knows that he was little more than ‘craft of the week’ to my daughter, but somehow he doesn’t mind.

The other day I was tempted to dispose of Grassman, (perish the thought,) but I realized that Pip had yet to give him a hair-cut.  I asked her if she was interested and, of course, she jumped at the chance.

I took a before photo:

Several photos during the haircut:

And of course, an ‘after’ photo:

Fig was very patient throughout the entire procedure, so she had earned some styling time.  It was the first time she had ever actually held scissors on her own, so she was delighted to simply pose with Grassman instead of attempting to make any cuts.

I was surprised at how naturally Pip assumed the role of ‘hairstylist.’  She didn’t take her eyes off of Grassman whilst trimming, she talked to him throughout the cut, and when it was all said and done, she asked to have her client back because she had spotted one long, stray piece of grass that she’d missed.  She had trouble cutting that last piece and sighed as she said, “We need an Elton.”

Elton cuts my husband’s hair.

Didier Cauwelaert

Pip’s obsession with ‘The Wizard of Oz’ hasn’t waned since she first saw the stage production last summer.  She constantly wears her  (purple) ruby red slippers, she frequently assumes the role of Dorothy, she likes to [...]]]> “It is our illusions that create the world.”

Didier Cauwelaert

Pip’s obsession with ‘The Wizard of Oz’ hasn’t waned since she first saw the stage production last summer.  She constantly wears her  (purple) ruby red slippers, she frequently assumes the role of Dorothy, she likes to have her hair braided in Garland-like pigtails, she’s going to be Dorothy for Hallowe’en and she has watched the Judy Garland version of The Wizard of Oz in its’ entirety more than once.  I was watching the, ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow,’ scene with her the other day when she complimented Judy Garland, “She sure is good Mama.  She is very talented.  She must be very proud of herself to do the whole thing like that.”

Needless to say, when my friend Fred, who is the father of the actress who played Dorothy this past summer, invited us to his home to meet Dorothy (Sydney), I accepted without hesitation.  I didn’t put much thought into how difficult it would be for Pip to process that Sydney was Dorothy.  After we had spent about fifteen minutes at Fred and Sydney’s home, Pip whispered to me, “Mama, Dorothy isn’t here.”  Ouch.

I thought I had prepared Pip.  Many times we had discussed the fact that ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ was ‘pretend.’ We had talked about the jobs of actors and actresses, and I had warned Pip that Sydney wouldn’t be wearing her costume when we met her, but Pip had still expected to meet Dorothy in all of her glory.  She was disappointed.

I asked Sydney if she had her ruby red slippers, and she brought them out to show us.  Pip examined them; she even put them on her feet, but she still wasn’t convinced that she was in the presence of Dorothy.  ”I wonder if you could say a few of your lines, Sydney.”  I knew I was asking a lot, but Sydney seemed like a good sport.

Sydney asked Pip what her favourite parts of the show were.  Pip wasn’t ready to talk, she just nestled into my side.  I responded for her, “Pip loves saying lines about Toto.”  In a matter of seconds, Sydney clutched her little dog to her chest and launched into one of her monologues about Toto.

When she had finished, Pip looked at me and smiled a gigantic ‘it’s-really-Dorothy!!!!’ grin.  That’s what I was waiting for.

Nice work, Sydney; you had  a tough little critic on your hands but you melted her heart for a second time.

Rebecca Krook

I was inspired by my sister yesterday.  (It’s not unusual, I’m frequently inspired by her!)  She’s home-schooling my five-year-old niece as well as working part-time and mothering [...]]]> “When kids play they remember, they may not be aware that they are learning, but they sure are aware that they are having fun.”

Rebecca Krook

I was inspired by my sister yesterday.  (It’s not unusual, I’m frequently inspired by her!)  She’s home-schooling my five-year-old niece as well as working part-time and mothering a younger son!  She has always been extremely organized, so I wasn’t surprised when I saw a timetable of children’s activities on her kitchen bulletin-board.  She schedules physical activity time, unstructured play-time, structured learning time, and off-campus lessons into her days with the kids, so that all bases are covered.

I thought of her schedule yesterday when I woke up to a wet and grey morning and was faced with the prospect of surviving a full day indoors with two sick children.   At 8:00 am, when both girls are usually in top-form, they were already melting down into a pool of discomfort.  What on earth were we going to do for the next nine hours?

When I was a teacher, I’d write an agenda on the board each day and call it, ‘The Shape of the Day.’  That’s exactly what our day needed: some shape!

After breakfast, I brought out the massive box of play-doh and assorted plastic accessories.  Pip and I taught Fig a few colours and shapes and we showed her how to roll the play-doh into a long snake.

Pip opened up a play-doh restaurant and prepared yellow and black spaghetti for us, then she made me a big black heart and said, “Here Mama, this is a big heart for all of your love.”  (I didn’t let Pip’s colour choice alarm me.)

The girls were happily occupied for almost an hour, and I enjoyed being their full-time facilitator.  Cleaning-up was great because Fig spotted the feather-duster and Pip wanted to use the broom, so there was some impromptu house-cleaning that took at least thirty minutes!

Next we got moving.  I put Peter Gabriel on the stereo, (he is one of Pip’s favourites,) got the ‘musical instrument basket’ out, and we danced for about fifteen minutes.  The girls then paraded around the house with their drums while I cooked lunch.

After lunch it was reading time.  The three of us cuddled on the couch and read a few books, then it was time for Fig’s nap.

Yay!  It was HALF-TIME , and everyone was in great spirits.

I won’t bore you with our afternoon activities, but I will say that structuring the day worked brilliantly.  I set aside housework, phone-calls and errands to create a completely child-centered day, and on THIS particular day, it was a wise choice.

It did feel a little bit like my days in the classroom, however, as a teacher, you dismiss your kids at 3:00 and have time to catch up on marking, prepping, making phone-calls, putting up displays and organizing the classroom!  Big difference.

It’s all one big balancing act, isn’t it?

A.A. Milne

Last Christmas we bought a gorgeous, second-hand Plan dollhouse for the girls.  It was in mint condition when we bought it, and our daughters have kept it in wonderful shape until this past week when Pip [...]]]> “One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making new discoveries.”

A.A. Milne

Last Christmas we bought a gorgeous, second-hand Plan dollhouse for the girls.  It was in mint condition when we bought it, and our daughters have kept it in wonderful shape until this past week when Pip decided to do some interior decorating.  She felt that it needed some lovely blue scribbles on the trim.

When I discovered Pip’s decorations, I felt disappointed, which is odd because it’s not my dollhouse.  Why should I feel attached to it?  Buddha says that all suffering stems from attachment.  Was that why I was upset?  Hard to say.  I am happy to report that I had the presence of mind to calmly ask Pip why she scribbled on the house.

“I decorated the house Mama, isn’t it pretty?” Pip explained.  My daughter and I were looking at the same little dollhouse, but where she saw creativity, I saw destruction.

“Pip, you made some lovely scribbles, but we only draw and colour on paper.”  As I said the words I realized that I was a hypocrite.  A mere twenty-four hours earlier, Pip had been allowed to draw all over the living-room windows.  That’s right.  She received  some ‘window-writers’ at a birthday party and had a glorious time creating window-art.

When Big Daddy-O saw the windows he said, “Whoa.  How many kids are allowed to do that?”

You can understand why I quickly revised my ’scribbling rule’ for Pip.  ”Please do not draw on your toys, Pip.”

“But they’re my toys, Mama.”

Good point.  ”Well, this doll-house was given to you and your sister to share and Fig may not want the house to be decorated.”

“Okay, Mama.”

My explanation would suffice for now, but I was going to have to put some thought into this.  Wasn’t there a successful artist whose parents allowed him to draw on his bedroom walls?  Are we stifling children’s creativity by creating too many rules around art?  I’m not talking about letting kids paint and draw all over the walls of a home, but if a child has been given something, shouldn’t  they be permitted to ‘decorate’ it?  If a bedroom is intended to be ‘their space’ shouldn’t they be allowed to decorate it according to their taste?

Pip ran off to play while I fretted about the potential permanence of the blue scribbles.

“Why don’t you try that special sponge?” my husband suggested as he wandered in to survey the damage.  I’d forgotten about my, ‘Mr.Clean,’ sponge that was supposed to lift crayon off of any surface effortlessly.  This wasn’t crayon, this was ink, but I gave it a try.  At this point I can put my friend Heather, who sold us the beautiful doll-house, out of her misery and announce that the scribbles washed-off beautifully.

As I was scrubbing, Pip ran into the room, put her hand on my shoulder and asked, “How’s the cleaning going, Mama?”

Oh my.

Ludwig van Beethoven

We’re a musical family.  Big Daddy-O and I both play guitar, I play the djembe, and our daughters already play a plethora of instruments.  If we’re not parading around the [...]]]> “Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life.”

Ludwig van Beethoven

We’re a musical family.  Big Daddy-O and I both play guitar, I play the djembe, and our daughters already play a plethora of instruments.  If we’re not parading around the house making the music ourselves, we’re listening to it on the stereo.  The girls are exposed to many different genres but, I have to admit, we don’t listen to a lot of ‘Kids’ music.  It would be more likely for Pip to launch into, “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,” than, “Old MacDonald,” any day of the week.

Pip recognizes many of the artists by name, and the other day we were making dinner together when she asked, “Mama, is this Buzz?”

“What Sweetie?”

“Is this Buzz who is singing this song?  Is it Buzz?”

It was Sting.

John Maxwell

Okay, it’s time for The Grassman Update!  Prepare yourself…

I have to report a rather unfortunate development in the area of Grassman’s [...]]]> “If we’re growing, we’re always going to be out of our comfort zone.”

John Maxwell

Okay, it’s time for The Grassman Update!  Prepare yourself…

I have to report a rather unfortunate development in the area of Grassman’s eye-grass growth.  It seems that some ill-placed grass-seed has grown behind Grassman’s left eye and is fiercely pushing his googley-eye off of his face.

I know; ouch.

I’m sure that Grassman isn’t alone in his discomfort.  Perhaps you or someone you love suffers from FCD : follicle cornea displacement.  If you have any treatment suggestions, I’d love to hear them.  Otherwise, we may be forced to remove the eye and stick it somewhere else.