A handful of those conversations

I.

Ender: Mama-mama-mama! I peed-peed-peed on the floo-ooor!

Jane: Oh, Ender, I’m going to cry. Why? Again?

Ender: Oh, don’t cry my-mama-mama. I love you! And pee easy to clean up. Not like poopie bum.

II.

Cinder: Mom, [X] needs a secret name for the blog for when you write about him and me. Hey, dude, what do you want your name to be?

[X]: Umm… Farty McFarty.

(This is how you know [X] is a nine-year-old boy.)

Jane: Seriously, you want me to call you Farty McFarty?

(I’m rethinking the strategy of letting the kids pick their own aliases. Flora is pushing Emerald for one of her friends. “Um… how about Emma? Or Emmy?” I counter-offer. No. Emerald or nothing. Fortunately, “Emerald” doesn’t figure in most of my stories. She doesn’t talk much… And if I have to call her Emerald, she won’t ever say anything memorable. It just won’t happen. I try to explain this to Flora. Meanwhile, in the far back seat of the van:)

[X]: What’re you called?

Cinder: Cinder.

[X]: Huh. That’s cool. Cinder. Hmmm. OK, I know. I’ll be Creeper.

Cinder: Yes! Cinder and Creeper! Those are epic!

Epic.

III.

Sean: Jesus, Ender, what are you doing with Mommy’s razor?

Ender: Shaving the whales.

I could explain… but I think you’ll have more fun trying to guess the context.

Shave the Whales

IV.

Why we can’t ever give strangers’ rides in our van:

Cinder: I have a weenie. I have a weenie. Oooh-oooh-oooh, I have a weenie…

Sean: Cinder, I’m very easily annoyed today, and that song is beyond annoying me right now. You have to stop.

Cinder: Just one more time?

Sean: Fine. Just one more time. And then–silence.

Cinder:  I have a weenie. I have a weenie. Oooh-oooh-oooh, I have a weenie… tooooo-niiiiiiiteeeee…

Ender (waking up from a nap and immediately bursting into): I have a weenie. I have a weenie. Oooh-oooh-oooh, I have a weenie… tooooo-niiiiiiiteeeee…

Cinder and Ender in tandem: I have a weenie. I have a weenie. Oooh-oooh-oooh, I have a weenie… tooooo-niiiiiiiteeeee…

Sean: Wow, did Ender ever just save you.

Flora: Why is cute when Ender does it and just obnoxious when Cinder does it?

Jane: Evolutionary survival mechanism.

Flora: What?

Cinder: She means toddlers have to be cute no matter what they do so their parents don’t kill them. One more time, Ender?

Ender: I have a weenie…

V.

No place is safe. Not even Ikea.

Cinder: Hey, Mom? What do you get when you take the “I” out of “AS IS”?

Jane: What do you get when you take the I… Cinder!

Cinder: Aren’t you going to say it?

Jane: No.

Cinder: But the whole purpose of me reading that sign and telling you I could read it was so that you would say “ASS” really loud in a public place. All that reading, for nothing.

Jane: You read four bloody letters.

Cinder: Just say it. Or would you rather I said it, in my loudest voice ever?

What would you do?

Beyond The Magic School Bus: best science resources for pre-schoolers

Children are born true scientists. They spontaneously experiment and experience and re-experience again. They select, combine, and test, seeking to find order in their experiences – “which is the mostest? which is the leastest?” They smell, taste, bite, and touch-test for hardness, softness, springiness, roughness, smoothness, coldness, warmness: they heft, shake, punch, squeeze, push, crush, rub, and try to pull things apart.

R. Buckminster Fuller

My friend Sara has a budding scientist in the house, and she asked me how to continue feeding her preschooler’s burgeoning science enthusiasm–fueled in no small part by his love for The Magic School Bus books. Well–you can’t do better than to start with letting Ms. Frizzle be your preschooler’s guide. Cinder was three and Flora five or six months when we started reading Joanna Cole’s marvellous books together, and I don’t think we’ve ever stopped. Flora’s reading them on her own now–I’m reading them again to Ender–and even Cinder will drop what he’s doing for a while to peek over my shoulder when I’m magic school-bussing with Ender and sigh and say, “I used to love those books.”

I think if all you did in the preschool/early school years for science is groove on The Magic School Bus–the books, the television series (available on DVD if you still own a drive, iTunes for download if you don’t), the chapter books as they get older, the games on the Scholastic website–your kids would get a fabulous grounding in science–and develop a love and affinity for it to boot. But yes, there are other resources. Bulging bookshelves and ever-proliferating websites of resources. Here are the five best ones, at least according to Cinder, Flora and Ender.

The Magic School Bus (TV series)

1. The Magic School Bus. A word about the books: the original books, written by Joanne Cole and illustrated by Bruce Degen, are much more meaty and detailed than the books based on the television episodes. (Here’s a great video interview with Cole, by the way, as well as links to her other books.) But read both. The original books cover more ground; the tv-based books are shorter and punchier. Both are fun. The DVDs are marvellous. Watch them together, rewatch them and rewatch them. And when you’re ready for some hands-on follow up, get some Magic School bus science kits. You can do it subscription-style through The Magic School Bus Science Club (The Homeschool Buyers’ Co-op often has group-buy discounts on these), or you can pick up individual kits for a testdrive through Amazon or many toy/educational stores.

Note about science kits and ages The Magic School Bus kits, like most science kits, claim they are targeted at 5-12 year olds. You will not find a 12 year old interested in doing these activities. My 10 year-old is bored to tears. But 4-7–the perfect age. Yes, they will need your help with pretty much every step. But they will love the process and the result.

Cover of "See Inside Science"

2. Usborne Books’ See Inside series. These are sturdy (and accordingly expensive) flap books. I recommend them as much for their content as for their sturdiness: they are the only flap books in our library to have made it intact down to the third child. Our favourites are See under the ground, See inside your body, and See inside science. Additional titles include See under the sea, See inside your head, See inside the world of dinosaurs, See inside Planet Earth, See inside recycling and rubbish, See inside inventions, See inside how things work (as I’m compiling this list, I’m thinking–hey, we don’t have that one! I should go get it!). The series isn’t just about science–there’s also See inside famous buildings, See inside castles (an awesome, awesome book), See inside Ancient Egypt and See inside Ancient Rome, and, for the princess in your life, See inside fairyland. Lovely, lovely books, and such fun to explore and re-explore. (“Hey, Ender! Want to read a book with Mama?”)

Cover of "The Big Bug Search (Great Searc...

3. More Usborne books. While you’re checking out the Usborne See Inside series… Usborne books just rock. On the science-for-young-children front, check out The Great Search Series–we have them all, but The Big Bug Search is the best test-drive of whether your children will love this series. The 1001 Things To Spot series is intended for even young children (2+)–it’s good as well, but if it’s a question of one or the other for your budget, go straight to The Great Search books. They will enthrall your family for longer.

When you’re done with those, go on to the experiment books and the encyclopedias and the “First Book Of…” series.  And then… well. You get the picture. Usborne books. They rock.

Cover of "Stunning Science Of Everything&...

4. The Stunning Science of Everything, by Nick Arnold, illustrated by Tony De Saulles, the original Horrible Science team. Yes, I get that your three-year-old isn’t ready for the Horrible Science series (the best book series ever, if you’re an 8-10 year old boy or grossness-loving girl). But they will probably love this condensed, hard-cover, full-colour look at the science of, well, everything. Each topic is presented in a two-page spread, with comics, goofy characters, as well as big info. Cinder and Flora read and re-read this book for years. It still gets pulled out.

5. The Uncover It series from Silver Dolphin Books. These are great books with a three-dimensional model inside. Our favourites are Uncover: T Rex and Uncover: Tarantula. There’s also Uncover: The Human Body, Shark, Tiger, Dog, Horse (hmmm, Flora’s really into horses now, maybe I should get that one?). When I look at them with Ender, we don’t do much reading–we mostly look at the model, lift up parts, and I occasionally manage to name something before he turns the page. As Flora and Cinder got older, we’d read more and more of each page. Or, they’d pull the book off the shelf and just spend time looking at the model. You’ll get a lot of use of these books if you get them for your preschooler.

Tip: Because of the models, these books are pricey new. Scour used book stores for them. They’re recommended for ages 8+, which means well-meaning friends and relatives buy them as gifts for too-cool-for-school 10 and 12 year-olds. And then, you can pick them up for $5 at Fair’s Fair. (Usborne books end up in used bookstores much less frequently, alas.)

YOU WILL ALSO NEED:

1. To stock your kitchen with baking soda, vinegar, corn starch, cheap salt, and either food colouring or powdered tempera paint. There are oodles of science-experiments-for-children books out; what it boils down to for the under-six crowd is a) Exploding Volcanoes, b) Oobleck, c) Growing Crystals. Also d) mixing random stuff together to see what happens (keep the ingredients down to vinegar, baking soda, salt, and powdered tempera paint and you won’t blow up the house, although they will make a mess). Your preschooler will do these experiments over and over and over and over again.  The other 97 experiments in the 101 Best Science Experiments Ever Book? Maybe you’ll do another three or four of them once each. And then back again to vinegar and baking soda…

2. A box (Flora has a fish tackle box; Ender an old lunch box) your kid can collect cool stuff in. Rocks, feathers, shells, bones (score!). They’re gonna do it anyway, especially after they read the Magic School Bus book about rocks, so give them a place for it so they can begin their museum. (Egg cartons make great tiny sorters/display cases.)

3. A library card, so you can take out the Magic School Bus books you don’t own, and the various science experiment books you don’t want to bother buying, because none of them are really worth it. (I’m happy to be proven wrong here, by the way: if you find the ultimate science experiment book for kids, please let me know, K?) Also, most libraries have really stellar nature documentary collections. Show those to your preschooler instead of Blue’s Clues or Dora. (Cinder and Flora recommend: BBC’s Planet Earth, The Blue Planet, and Walking with Dinosaurs.)

4. A local science centre membership if you can swing it. If you can’t–stay on top of what programmes your public library offers. Ours puts on at least a couple of Mad Science workshops (free!) a year, as well as presentations from the area humane societies, wildlife conservation and rehabilitation folks, rock enthusiasts, rocket enthusiasts, and others.

Happy exploring!

When weird unsocialized homeschoolers go to summer camp…

Jane: So, baby, report. How was it?

Flora: Well, it was ok. There were some good parts.

Uh-oh. We’re talking about dance camp, which she’s been looking forward to passionately. She loved drama camp. Cried when horse camp was over. “It was ok” for what she was expecting to be “the best camp ever” is a lukewarm review. What’s up?

Flora: But the teacher’s kind of mean.

Aha. My blood boils. A mean teacher. I’m ready to rise up and do battle on behalf of my little girl right now! But first, a little due diligence:

Jane: What did she do?

Flora: Well… like, she said we could only go to the bathroom on break. At 10:15, and at lunch, and at 2:30. And I was like, but how does a clock tell you it’s time to go to the bathroom? Shouldn’t your bladder tell you to go to bathroom? And what if you have to go pee at 10:45? Do you pee your leotard?

Um…

Flora: So another girl asked, what if we really have to go in-between breaks. And the teacher said, we have to raise our hand and ask permission. In front of everyone! How humiliating is that? I don’t want to whole class to know I have to pee or poop! Shouldn’t that be private?

Jane: Well, yeah,  but…

Flora: Anyway, I’ve got a plan. I’m going to pee right before I leave home, and then I’m not going to drink anything all day, and I should be okay until the end of camp. Cause that rule sucks.

Oh, my Flora.

Dancer

(The post title is a nod to the blog Weird Unsocialized Homeschoolers (first prize for “Best Name for Homeschooling Blog Ever,” right?), which I like to visit once in a while although blogger Kris’ life and learning approach is quite different from mine. But it’s good to “hang out,” virtually and in real life, with people who challenge your assumptions and make you stretch your horizons, right?)

World War II explained, by seven-year-old

or, why I’m a terrible history teacher…

Flora: OK, I think I finally get why you don’t think the Nazis are ever funny.

Jane: Good.

Flora: There’s just one problem.

Jane: What?

Flora: It’s the name. Nazi, Nazi, Nazi. Rhymes with Patsy… and Klutzy… and… Batzi… it’s just a really funny word. Why did they pick such a funny word for their organization of evil?

Jane: It’s short for National Socialists.

Flora: Well that’s just utterly ridiculous. OK, National, whatever, but socialists? They so clearly weren’t properly socialized. I mean, if they were, they wouldn’t just go around killing people. And I bet that they never even said hello or anything before killing people. They just killed them. Socialists. Ha.

Jane: (Speechless.)

Cinder: Would it make it better, Flora, if they said hello before they killed people?

Flora: I guess not. Nothing would make it better. Not even if they offered cookies.

Cinder: Especially if they were poisoned cookies.

Help.

English: Plateful of Christmas Cookies

“Why do we have new toothbrushes again?”

English: This is used to pee in the bathroom.

I.

The toilet is plugged, and my contact lens case is missing. We suspect the two items are related.

II.

Sean: Jeezus Kee-rist, there is a ton of Lego in this sink drain? What the hell?

Cinder: You have to ask?

Sean: And where’s the little drain protector I put in here to keep this type of thing from happening?

Ender: I put in the toilet this morning. Weee!

III.

I stand in the bathroom, which looks clean, but smells terribly, terribly like pee. I wish I had one of those hi-tech tools for examining the walls. Where is the secret pee spot now? I remember three-year-old Cinder’s glee when he learned that streams of urine could be used to hit targets (“Mom! Look! When I press my penis like this, I hit the top of the garbage can!”) Where is Ender doing target practice? The boy himself wanders in. Plops down on the potty. Then picks it up and dumps it into the garbage can.

“Oops,” he says. “I put pee in garbage can not toilet. Better luck next time.”

Well. One mystery solved.

IV.

Flora: Why do we all have new toothbrushes again?

Jane: You have to ask?

Flora: Oh, Ender! (pause) Mom? You know, at Mimi’s house, they have this thing on the toilet seat to keep it down, so their new baby won’t throw things in the toilet. Why don’t we get one of those?

Jane: We had one of those, briefly.

Flora: We did?

Jane: Yes. It was awful. You and Cinder didn’t know how to work it, so every time you had to use the bathroom, I had to run upstairs and take it off.

Flora: Oh. So you took it off? Where is it now?

Jane: Um… well, I didn’t actually take it off. Ender wrenched it off.

Flora: And flushed it down the toilet?

Yup.

Sunshine of our lives, or, how toddlers survive

Sunshine, morning, so slow, so lazy… do we get out of bed or not? I guess we should. I tousle the toddler’s head.

Jane: Ready to get out of bed, little Ender?

Ender: Ready. Not ready. Ready. OK. Let’s go, Big Mama.

And we roll out, slowly, and fat sweaty hands wrap around my neck, and we gallop down the hallway. Everyone else is up already. I poke my head into the Lego/Computer Room/Sean’s office, where Cinder is already hard at work… er, play.

Jane: Good morning, little love.

Ender: Good morning, little love.

Cinder: Yo, Ender, how are you doing this morning?

Ender: Me happy, little love. But me need to pee.

And we gallop down the hallway the last two feet to the bathroom. Make it. Relief. We poke our heads in through another door. See the Sean.

Jane: Good morning…

Ender: Good morning, our big love.

And kisses and tousles and sunshine. And Ender is ready for a day of action and destruction. There are things to shove down sink drains and toys to put in toilets, there are pictures to scribble on and books to tear up, there are milk jugs in the fridge that need to be poured onto the floor, pots to bang and rearrange, boxes to squash, a dog to terrorize, a fish tank that desperately needs a bar of soap added to it, a sister’s hair to pull, a brother’s Lego creations to destroy, food to smear on walls and throw on the floor, bathwater to drink and pour down the stairs… Oh, it’s a full, full day for an Ender and he lives each minute as fully as possible, and at day’s end, everyone exhausted to bed goes, exhausted by the pace of life set by the Ender.

And Ender falls asleep, exhausted too and so happy and so fulfilled, and already, I can tell from the cast of his eyes and lips as they close, planning the next day’s mischief. And so we all fall asleep too, so we can keep pace with him.

We yell at him, you know. Snap. Complain. Sometimes, run away and hide (even me). But, boy oh boy, we love him. And when he wakes up the next morning, sunshine of our lives, we forget all the “I want to throttle Ender!” moments and just drown in his sunshiney love.

Ender: Good morning, Big Love Mama.

Jane: Good morning, love of my life.

Ender: No. I not love of your life.

Jane: No? What are you then?

Ender: I littlest love in the house.

Jane: Good morning, littlest love in the house.

Ender: Let’s go play. Outside?

Jane: Let’s pee and have breakfast first.

Ender: Let’s pee. Then me put something in toilet. Maybe Lego. Maybe car. Maybe… pee! Hee hee hee hee.

And the day begins anew.

Sun

The problem with environmental education

A trail at Jacobsburg Environmental Education ...

Wondering why your uber-environmentally aware kids don’t like to play in dirty. Read Look, Don’t Touch: The problem with environmental education, by David Sobel in Orion Magazine.

“FOR SPECIAL PLACES TO WORK their magic on kids,” wrote lepidopterist Robert Michael Pyle, “they need to be able to do some clamber and damage. They need to be free to climb trees, muck about, catch things, and get wet—above all, to leave the trail.”

…and then take your kids to some wild, wild spot where they can climb, run, catch things, get wet and dirty… and fall in love with our planet.

via my lovely friend Brooke and her awesome “leave the trail” family.

Photo: A trail at Jacobsburg Environmental Education Center (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sarcasm, lawn darts and toilets

Lawn Dart - Value Village, Vancouver, BC

 

Cinder: Mom! Ender put the lawn darts in the toilet!

Jane: Oh, great.

Ender: Great!

Cinder: Mom? Did you forget that two-year-olds don’t understand sarcasm? Cause he now thinks that you think that him putting the lawn darts in the toilet was great.

Jane: Oh, great.

Cinder: You know I understand sarcasm, right?

Jane: Yup.

Cinder: Do you think it’s appropriate to be sarcastic with your loving son who’s only trying to be helpful?

Oh, great.

Cinder: Mom? I think Ender just put your contacts in the toilet. No, false alarm, he put your contact lens case in the toilet. He put your contact lenses down the sink drain. Jeezus, this drain is disgusting. Oh, he’s shoved a bunch of Lego in here too…

Jane: Cinder? I asked you to watch Ender, why are you just standing there, letting Ender put things in the toilet?

Cinder: You asked me to watch him, you didn’t ask me to stop him from doing stuff.

Jane: Oh, great.

Cinder: Isn’t it?

Great. Just great. Where’s my sarcasm sign?

PS, they weren’t the *illegal* lawn darts as featured above. They were the perfectly safe–unless you flush them down the toilet–bean-bag bottomed lawn darts. Just so you don’t think I’m totally negligent.

Photo credit: HeyRocker, Lawn Dart – Value Village, Vancouver, BC

The sacrifices mothers make for their children

Cinder: Mom? There’s something really gross that you probably don’t want to hear that I really want to tell you.

Jane: These are the sacrifice we mothers make for our children.

Cinder: Does that mean I can tell you?

Jane: Yes. Shoot.

Cinder: You’re kind of weird.

Jane (under her breath): People in glass houses… (outloud) That’s what you wanted to tell me?

Cinder: No. You distracted me.

Jane: Shoot. Gross me out.

Cinder: OK, here goes. First, you have to start with throw-up. You know? Vomit? Puke?

Jane: Uh-ha…

Cinder: Then you need a hollow poop.

Jane: A hollow poop?

Cinder: Yes, to put the vomit into. What’s the matter? Are you going to throw up?

Jane: No, I’m just… trying NOT to visualize a hollow poop. Go on.

Cinder: OK, so you put the throw-up in the hollow poop, and then you cover it all with mucus. Like, nose mucus and snot, that kind of thing.

Jane: Ugh.

Cinder: And then you need a container. Like a yoghurt container, or, you know, that French Vanilla ice cream container we have? That would be perfect.

Jane: You need a container…

Cinder: Yeah. To put the mucus-covered poop ball into.

Jane: Of course.

Cinder: And then… ok, this is the gross part…

Jane: The gross part is just coming now?

Cinder: Yeah. Ok, so where was I? Throw-up–in hollow poop–mucus–in a container. Yeah?

Jane: Yeah…

Cinder: OK, and then you pee on it. And then you cover it up, and leave it for a year.

Jane: Yeah?

Cinder: Yeah. So, anyway, if I did all that, do you think after a year, it would sprout Life?

Pause. This, you all of course know, is a parenting test. Is there an answer to this question with which a) I do not squash his scientific enthusiasm and penchant for asking bizarre questions but yet b) do not end up with an ice cream container containing vomit, shit, snot and urine stored somewhere in our house for 365 days. Can she do it, ladies and gentlemen, can she do it?

Jane: It would stink to high heaven. Would you keep it in your bedroom?

Cinder: That’s it! Cinder’s patented stink bombs! We’re going to be rich!

Jane: Dude! Where are you going?

Cinder: To eat the ice cream.

Oh, hell.

Flourless chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream

Cinder: But I probably won’t do the experiment.

Oh, good. Oh, wait. Did I just get played?

Between the carrot (cake) and the fork

The stream from the watergun catches me under my skirt and I holler. And then the little bum shoots again. “Cinder!” I yell, tossing my own empty water gun far, far away from me. “Look, no weapon! I’m out!” He blasts me again.

“Dude! Remember that carrot cake we’re planning to get when we go to Eau Claire? There are two distinct futures ahead of you. One of them involves eating a delicious carrot cake. The other has me poking you in the bohunkus with a fork. Which one are you going to choose?”

My friend Neela, skirting the edges of the water gun fight, laughs. “That’s an interesting parenting technique,” she says, half-serious. “You should blog about it.”

“And call it what, how to disguise threats, punishments and rewards with words?” I ask. I’m soaking wet. Cinder’s backed off; he’s chasing Flora and her friend Jenny now. They’re still fully armed and firing back.

Neela gives my flippant statement serious thought. “Words are powerful,” she says. “Syntax, semantics, all that matters. I’d never say, ‘If you get into your pajamas, girls, I’ll get you ice cream.’ But I do say…” she thinks for a moment… “Oh, ‘Girls in pajamas who report to the kitchen will get ice cream.’” She laughs. “Because, you know, ice cream before bed is a routine snack in my house.” (I leave it up to you to determine if she’s joking or not… or if it matters.)

Neela and I round up the combatants and take them to Eau Claire. The moms get coffee; the kids sweets. Cinder gets carrot cake, not a fork in the bohunkus. Flora gets a lecture about gratitude, and Neela and I talk about … gratitude, entitlement, and the too-easy-too-cross line between coercive discipline and … what? we’re not quite sure what to call it. Words, words, words. But as Neela said before, and says again, words are important.

Cinder’s running around, stealing Jenny’s shoes in order to lure her off the blanket where she’s chatting with Flora and get her to chase him. Then he plays Frisbee with Ender. Then returns to “annoying the girls.” Later, he’ll tell me, “Well, the trip wasn’t a total loss. I got to annoy the girls.” “D’you have to do that?” I’ll sigh. “It’s sort of my job,” he’ll retort.

And my job, as Cinder’s mother, is to… well, to make sure that the “annoying the girls” doesn’t cross a certain line. To encourage peace and harmony when possible, and to minimize the bloodshed (usually metaphorical) and help negotiate truces and separations when necessary.

And to muddle along that path the best way I can, on any given day, in any given moment. And yeah, sometimes it means waving the carrot (cake).

(You know I’d never really poke him in the bohunkus with a fork, right? He knows I’d never do it. I’m pretty sure he knows… hold on. “Cinder? Do you think I’d ever poke you in the butt with a fork?” Pause. “Probably not. Um… Well, you might.” “Really? You think I’d…” “I think if I poked you first, you might.” “But you’re not gonna, right?” “Well…” Fuck. Not exactly the reassurance I was looking for…)

The muddling continues.

English: Carrot cake Deutsch: Rüeblitorte, Kar...

For “Neela.” Based on events of August 1, 2012.

Quote this: Peggy O’Mara on “inner voice”

The way we talk to our children becomes their inner voice.

– Peggy O’Mara

via Facebook (what else) from The Silver Pen

My children’s inner voice has been short-tempered and prone to lectures lately. Just so you know.

Your Inner Voice is Wrong

Your Inner Voice is Wrong (Photo credit: Thomas Hawk)