magnetic poetry

It's my gift to Greta this year. It was the last thing opened, but now that it's out of the box, it is serving to amuse.

Poem One (in all honesty, it was destroyed before I had a chance to remember it, but it included a pink baby.)

Poem Two:

Imagine
bird dog flies home
to magic baby
eating

Poem Three:

Something dog is going on hold your
nose.

Poem Four:

hot pig family special see red is a cloud tiger bed window woman

All I want for Christmas

Greta has decided that she doesn't want to sit on Santa's lap this year. She doesn't want anything from him. It helps, of course, to have a birthday on December 14 when you are a child who is too shy to sit on an old man wearing a ridiculously insulated suit in the middle of suburban shopping mall. I suspect that she'll cave, but for now she has opted out of the Santa gift.

Graham told me that he too would like to stay away from Santa. Why? Because he only wants coal anyway. For what? To put in his special treasure box.

Greta was on to him and asked, "Graham, is it because TRAINS use coal?"

Yep.

feral cat

This is what Greta wants for Christmas. She spelled it on her Wishlist written at school:

ferrel cat

Do you see anything but feral cat there?

She means a FurReal Cat. It's a name brand, hot item: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001TMA03U/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_1?pf_rd_p=486539851&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=B00006782E&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=0HRETD95RCC94N9XVNMN

Note the price is over $70. Seriously kid? We have a for real, non-feral cat. Of course, she plans on asking Santa for it. Awesome.

I can not thank the Kindergarten teacher enough for having the kids write their wish lists at tables together. Greta had never heard of this item, but saw that Katie had it written on her paper. Apparently, she trusts Katie's judgement in the toy department because she put it right at the top of her own list. Yes, indeed, for a second time, the power of the Christmas marketers have managed to find me despite my attempts to steer clear of advertising with my children. I'm still hopeful that something like a marble run will be emitted on Santa's lap tomorrow, but I'd bet on the feral cat if I had to.

dinosaurs

Our family conversation has been taken over by dinosaurs for the last few months. Apparently, this is somewhat of a rite of passage for the 3-6 year old child. I thought that, perhaps, we had avoided it with Greta. And, I have to admit that I was sort of grateful for it. For good reason.

The dinosaurs may be long extinct, but they are still capable of evoking terror in my home. I don't know if you are aware of the fact or not, but scientist don't know the answers to many of the questions about the dinosaurs. They are shrouded in mystery. For Greta, this is troubling to no end. She would like to know much about the prehistoric beasts, but she is mostly interested in how and why they died. I know the theories, but went along with checking out multiple books about the dinosaurs at the library. When it came time to say that scientists just aren't sure how they died, Greta burst into tears. "But how did they die? HOW? HOW?"

I repeated, "Well. It could have been the asteroid. It was because there wasn't food. There might have been disease. It was along time ago. Scientists have theories, but they don't know for sure."

Hysteria. "But I want to know HOW THEY DIED."

I tried another tactic. Well, you'll just have to become a paleontologist and discover this someday.

No consolation. "But, why did they all just DIE?"

I switched gears again, picking up a book, "You know what? This one says that they are pretty much sure that it was the giant asteroid."

Through tears, "Are you sure?"

This conversation has been repeated multiple times, each time slightly less intense, thankfully. But, it left such a mark on young Graham that he has been known to bring it out as a chip to play whenever Greta cries. "Greta, I will be a pawentowogist and find out how the dinosaurs died for you." This would be fine and good and even cute if it weren't for the fact that he chimes in with this at times when we are not talking about dinosaurs, thus bringing the opportunity to lament yet again to the forefront. Thanks, Graham.

lip removal

Graham: Nanamom, can you take my lips off of me?

Me: What do you mean?

Graham: Take my lips off of my body so they're not there any more.

Me: Why would you want to do that?

Graham: Because my lips are pink and I don't like the color pink.

Me: (silent, supressing the urge to mention other certain body parts that are pink.)

tornadoes

Graham has had a whirlwind of a fall. He was thrust into daily montessori school despite his protests that he'd rather not go. And, he goes every day.

He's run the whole gamut of emotions: excited that he's a big boy, sad to be away from mommy, furious over the fact that we don't let him politley decline from this daily engagement, anxiety that mommy won't come back to get him, frustration that he is expected to use the toilet at school. The list goes on.

But, recently, finally, he has decided that school is a place that is fun. He can be himself. Last week I asked him what he did at school. He told me that he sang his tornado song for the kids. I was previously not familiar with this song, so of course, I took the bait to ask how that song goes. The lyrics are really quite stunning:

The tornado. The tornado.
It goes to get the guys. Then it dies.

And the tornado's guts go up to Heaven.

And its skin comes down to go to the place where the dinosaurs dieeeeed.

I had to ask, "Graham, do you know what a tornado is?"

"A big big wind."

I hope the kids were impressed.

I just don't want to forget this one.

Graham: Where is my baby?

Me: A dolly?

Graham: No, my baby that I'm the Daddy of.

Me: I don't that baby was born yet.

Graham: I know that. But, whose belly is that baby in the inside of?

Me: Um. I'm not sure.

Marc: All I can say is choose wisely, son.

Thankfully, Graham moved on to something else.