There are two kinds of people in this world -- people who like to color, and people who don't. As a child, I totally fell into the latter category. In fact, I failed just about every coloring assignment I received. Yes, failed. (Luckily, teachers don't assign coloring after elementary school, so my academic career was spared.) For awhile, though, I was particularly sensitive to my lack of artistic skills. I'd heard many times about my great-grandfather who had an art gallery named after him, and I appreciated art and knew about some different artists, but I just didn't feel I had the skillz. I could never stay in the lines, and I hated that it took SO LONG.
I also hated (still hate) choosing colors. People would ask me my favorite color, and I just got all tongue tied. What do you mean? Favorite color? I don't know? But for some people, this is really important. One girl spent half of a day going through my crayon box, coloring with every crayon, inventing some sort of elimination scheme in order to help me find my favorite color (and to figure out if her own favorite color had changed from the previous week.) I still don't know what my favorite color is. I'd rather figure out my taxes than choose paint colors.
However, when I was five, someone (my mother) made the mistake of teaching me how to cut snowflakes. No choosing colors, no gluing, and so, in my newfound confetti-creating delight, I made about a hundred of them. Now, to give myself some credit, I wasn't really making them just to make them. Yes, there was the consoling repetition beautifully masking its monotony by the creativity of the varying designs -- but despite the nearly autistic nature of cutting a hundred snowflakes, I had a plan. I was going to give them to my bus driver to decorate our bus for Christmas.
But, um, yeah. That part never happened. In truth, I cannot remember why my precious masterpieces never graced the yellow behemoth I called a bus. I kind of suspect that my mom talked me out of it so that I wouldn't get my feelings hurt when the bus driver laughed in my face. But somehow, the snowflakes garnished our own house and tree instead.
The strange thing is that as an adult, I am slowly discovering that I don't mind coloring so much. In 9th grade, I took an art class at school, and didn't even fail it. I even framed a few of the things I did because I liked them so much. A few years later, as a freshman in college, one of my first non-required purchases was a coloring book and crayons. And later, as my children have discovered painting and gluing, I have to admit that it isn't nearly as revolting as it once was. (All praise the inventor of the glue stick!)
So, why bring that up now?
Well, my 5 year old daughter has a new hobby. She colors. A lot. She makes "beautiful" pictures, carefully folds them, places them in envelopes, and delivers them to, well, everyone. If you have been to my house in the past month, you've probably received one. If you live anywhere on my end of the street, you've probably received one. If you're lucky, you even got one with money in it because she has decided that if she gives all of her money away then she'll be rich. ( The "rich" girl was bewildered, though, when one neighbor tried to give the money back, telling her she should save it for college.)
Anyway, I don't even bother putting the markers and paper away anymore. Coloring just makes her so happy. And I can almost say that I understand that pure joy. I look at her letters, and my memory sees snowflakes. I watch her excitement, and my heart remembers the glory of creating something beautiful, giving it away, and seeing how happy it makes someone else.
(One day when I gave her permission to deliver her letters to the neighbors, I even got the "you're the best mom ever" compliment. Wow! Is that all it takes?)
Last night I had a profound idea. What would she think if she woke up and found a letter addressed to her. So I decided to make one. I had a lot of fun making a letter for her, telling her all the things I love about her. Even the coloring wasn't so bad as I thought about how happy it would make her. In fact, my creativity went wild, drawing flowers, ladybugs, butterflies, and rainbows for my girly girl. The culmination, though, was that I decided to fold it. You know, fold it, like a note, like the hundreds of notes that get passed in middle school. A self-contained package of mystery, folded to conceal its very beauty.
And I couldn't remember how to do it. Guess I didn't pass enough notes. My sweet husband had to remind me (with some help from the internet -- do you realize how amazing it is to be able to look up something as petty as how to fold a note? What did our ancestors ever do when they couldn't remember how to fold a note? Now there is art -- computers!) Actually, origami in general, is really quite amazing. Did you know you can fold a note into the shape of a heart?
So, how do you feel about coloring, cutting, gluing, woodworking, computers, paper-folding, embellishing, jewelry-making, drawing comics, machining, writing with funky colors of ink, or using bubble letters? What kind of art makes you smile? Is it the art itself? or the thought of what you will do with it? Is traditional art more amazing to you? Or is it the beauty of well-organized mathematical proof?
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
A Wordy Post
We like words at our house. Long words are particularly fun. When I was a kid, I loved participating in the spelling bee, and the longest, weirdest words were my favorite ones. One of the first words I remember loving was antidisestablishmentarianism. It was just beautiful in all of its prefix-suffix glory.
Well, my son has inherited my passion, and we've been talking about long words for the past day or two. It all started when my in-laws called after their visit to Hawaii. They happened to mention that the name of the state fish in Hawaii is the humuhumunukunukuapua'a, which essentially means "triggerfish with a snout like a pig." (also called the Reef Triggerfish) Upon hearing this, he immediately said, "Hey, that's like the song in High School Musical 2!" Yep, he's ten years old.
So then he was saying humuhumunukunukuapua'a over and over again, just because, well, he could. It's an amazing thing when you can say a word that has more letters than the number of years you've been alive.
For those of you over age 21, though, that one isn't quite as impressive. Here's one you can try though. It is the name of a lake in Connecticut, about halfway between Boston and Hartford. Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg. There was actually a dispute a few years back that the signage for the lake was spelled wrong. I'm not sure who it was that noticed or who claims to be the official speller of the 45-letter lake name, but there you have it.
So all night last night, he was practicing saying Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg. He did finally get it down, but was having a hard time remembering that the lake was in Connecticut instead of Kentucky.
Also, you've probably heard of synonyms and antonyms, but have you heard of contronyms? It's a whole classification for words that are their own antonyms -- like
* cleave (which means to hold to, or to cut apart), or
* strike (which means to miss, or to hit) or
* dust (which means to remove dust from, or to apply a light layer to). Fascinating.
What are YOUR favorite words? Queue? Parallelepiped? Xanthosis?
Well, my son has inherited my passion, and we've been talking about long words for the past day or two. It all started when my in-laws called after their visit to Hawaii. They happened to mention that the name of the state fish in Hawaii is the humuhumunukunukuapua'a, which essentially means "triggerfish with a snout like a pig." (also called the Reef Triggerfish) Upon hearing this, he immediately said, "Hey, that's like the song in High School Musical 2!" Yep, he's ten years old.
So then he was saying humuhumunukunukuapua'a over and over again, just because, well, he could. It's an amazing thing when you can say a word that has more letters than the number of years you've been alive.
For those of you over age 21, though, that one isn't quite as impressive. Here's one you can try though. It is the name of a lake in Connecticut, about halfway between Boston and Hartford. Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg. There was actually a dispute a few years back that the signage for the lake was spelled wrong. I'm not sure who it was that noticed or who claims to be the official speller of the 45-letter lake name, but there you have it.
So all night last night, he was practicing saying Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg. He did finally get it down, but was having a hard time remembering that the lake was in Connecticut instead of Kentucky.
Also, you've probably heard of synonyms and antonyms, but have you heard of contronyms? It's a whole classification for words that are their own antonyms -- like
* cleave (which means to hold to, or to cut apart), or
* strike (which means to miss, or to hit) or
* dust (which means to remove dust from, or to apply a light layer to). Fascinating.
What are YOUR favorite words? Queue? Parallelepiped? Xanthosis?
Friday, April 24, 2009
More Stupid Math
Same second grader. Same type of homework. Standardized test. Multiple choice question.
***************
Which one of the following numbers does not belong with the others?
24, 28, 30, 32, 36, 38?
***************
OK, people. I have an advanced degree in a math/science field, and I have no idea what they are looking for on this question. Am I over-analyzing it?
In fact, it reminds me that when I was in high school, I had a math teacher who would throw a chalked-up eraser at you if you ever said the words dumb or stupid. Maybe he never saw this question, though, because either this is one stupid question, or this is one stupid typo, or I am feeling pretty stupid.
You might say that 24 does not belong, assuming they are counting by twos, but then why does it skip from 32 to 36?
You might say that 30 does not belong, assuming they are counting by fours, but then why is 38 there?
You might say that we should be marking both 30 and 38, but the question asks for ONE answer.
I am so confused! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
***************
Which one of the following numbers does not belong with the others?
24, 28, 30, 32, 36, 38?
***************
OK, people. I have an advanced degree in a math/science field, and I have no idea what they are looking for on this question. Am I over-analyzing it?
In fact, it reminds me that when I was in high school, I had a math teacher who would throw a chalked-up eraser at you if you ever said the words dumb or stupid. Maybe he never saw this question, though, because either this is one stupid question, or this is one stupid typo, or I am feeling pretty stupid.
You might say that 24 does not belong, assuming they are counting by twos, but then why does it skip from 32 to 36?
You might say that 30 does not belong, assuming they are counting by fours, but then why is 38 there?
You might say that we should be marking both 30 and 38, but the question asks for ONE answer.
I am so confused! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Lipstick?
Last night we had a minor tragedy at our house. My favorite vase got chipped.
This morning my husband lovingly retrieved the superglue and carefully repaired the chip. (Too bad he also superglued his fingers together.)
As he left the house for work, I turned to examine the repair job. Not bad. Then I looked down at my toddler who was now holding the tube of superglue.
You know how sometimes your life happens in slow motion? Well, in that one moment, my morning brain processed about a billion things at once.
"He's trying to tell me something. He's trying to show me something. Oh, he's holding superglue. The lid is off. Wait, he's not happy about something. He's starting to cry. Oh, the way he's holding that superglue, it reminds me of something. It reminds me of him holding my tube of lip balm. Hoooolllddd on. He thinks it's lipstick or vaseline or something. Did he just put that on his lips? Yikes, his lips are going to get stuck together like my husband's fingers! Oh, thank goodness, his lips are open. I need to make sure he keeps his mouth open. How do you get superglue off of lips? How much did he put on anyway? Whew. I think he didn't get much on there. Maybe I can get it off. Oh, yes. If I scratch it a little it comes off. Whew! Whew!"
So anyway, did you know that a tube of superglue looks a lot like a tube of lip balm? Gives whole new meaning to the word "lipstick."
This morning my husband lovingly retrieved the superglue and carefully repaired the chip. (Too bad he also superglued his fingers together.)
As he left the house for work, I turned to examine the repair job. Not bad. Then I looked down at my toddler who was now holding the tube of superglue.
You know how sometimes your life happens in slow motion? Well, in that one moment, my morning brain processed about a billion things at once.
"He's trying to tell me something. He's trying to show me something. Oh, he's holding superglue. The lid is off. Wait, he's not happy about something. He's starting to cry. Oh, the way he's holding that superglue, it reminds me of something. It reminds me of him holding my tube of lip balm. Hoooolllddd on. He thinks it's lipstick or vaseline or something. Did he just put that on his lips? Yikes, his lips are going to get stuck together like my husband's fingers! Oh, thank goodness, his lips are open. I need to make sure he keeps his mouth open. How do you get superglue off of lips? How much did he put on anyway? Whew. I think he didn't get much on there. Maybe I can get it off. Oh, yes. If I scratch it a little it comes off. Whew! Whew!"
So anyway, did you know that a tube of superglue looks a lot like a tube of lip balm? Gives whole new meaning to the word "lipstick."
Why Kids Today are Failing Math
My 2nd grader just asked me for help on his math homework. This was somewhat shocking to me since he never asks for help on his math homework. I am sure there was a slightly raised eyebrow on my expression as I walked over to his seat at the table.
What I saw surprised me even more. This is not the kind of problem he should need help with. "Which record is the fourth from the guitar?" And there was a picture of a guitar on the left with five records in a row next to it.
I start to explain, "Well, it looks like you're supposed to mark the fourth record. Start at the guitar and count, first, second, until you get to the fourth one." He was still confused. Did I not explain it well enough? Why doesn't he understand this?
Then a metaphoric light bulb went off over my head, so I asked, "Do you know what a record is?" No mom. That's the problem. "Oh, see those circles. Those are records. Find the fourth circle."
Yeah. Kind of helps to write questions that are pertinent to kids in the 21st century.
What I saw surprised me even more. This is not the kind of problem he should need help with. "Which record is the fourth from the guitar?" And there was a picture of a guitar on the left with five records in a row next to it.
I start to explain, "Well, it looks like you're supposed to mark the fourth record. Start at the guitar and count, first, second, until you get to the fourth one." He was still confused. Did I not explain it well enough? Why doesn't he understand this?
Then a metaphoric light bulb went off over my head, so I asked, "Do you know what a record is?" No mom. That's the problem. "Oh, see those circles. Those are records. Find the fourth circle."
Yeah. Kind of helps to write questions that are pertinent to kids in the 21st century.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
A Perfect Day
Do you ever have days where you wake up and everything just goes smoothly, and you feel like you are on top of it all? And you go to bed thinking, "wow, what a perfect day!"
Me neither.
On Thursday I thought I was having one of those days, though.
I woke up, got everyone off to school, with prayers said, lunches packed, papers signed, shoes on, and time to spare. I was showered, dressed, make-up on, nice hair, earrings in. The weather was nice, the kids were happy. I even felt brave enough to go grocery shopping.
In the grocery store, the kids were well-behaved, despite all the comments about how full my hands were (seriously, at least six separate people on that one trip, and two of the kids were at school...) I remembered to bring my list with me to the store, and I actually got everything on the list. There was only one moment of seething anger (when I noticed that yet another food item had reduced the weight in their standard package while keeping the price the same. rrraaarrrgh!)
I successfully comforted my daughter when she found her 'pet' worm dead in the hot car, and I successfully convinced my kids to eat a yummy lunch that did NOT include peanut butter and jelly for once. We even had good bonding time, reading books after lunch, and my barely-verbal toddler tried to repeat some of the words with me.
I was able to start chopping dinner vegetables before kids got home from school -- while tutoring my friend's daughter in math. Then my baby went down for a nap just in time for me to finish dinner preparations, and I let it finish cooking while I gave my son his practice spelling test. I was all ready to put our (healthy!) dinner on the table, take twenty minutes to eat, and shuttle kids off to baseball practice. Perfect!
That's when it happened. The phone rang.
I was on the phone for less than five minutes, and to be fair, the destructive behavior probably started while I was giving the spelling test. Either way, by the time I got off the phone, my 8-year-old was on his way downstairs, soaked and screaming. My daughter and toddler had been gleefully dumping water all over each other and the bedroom carpet. The carpet was soaked; they were soaked; there was water all over the bathroom. Wet, wet, wet.
SO... I let out a blood-curdling scream... then we got out lots of towels for the floors, changed clothes, opened the windows, went to baseball practice, and came home to our now-cold dinner.
And that's what I get for thinking I could have a perfect day. Thank goodness for microwaves.
Me neither.
On Thursday I thought I was having one of those days, though.
I woke up, got everyone off to school, with prayers said, lunches packed, papers signed, shoes on, and time to spare. I was showered, dressed, make-up on, nice hair, earrings in. The weather was nice, the kids were happy. I even felt brave enough to go grocery shopping.
In the grocery store, the kids were well-behaved, despite all the comments about how full my hands were (seriously, at least six separate people on that one trip, and two of the kids were at school...) I remembered to bring my list with me to the store, and I actually got everything on the list. There was only one moment of seething anger (when I noticed that yet another food item had reduced the weight in their standard package while keeping the price the same. rrraaarrrgh!)
I successfully comforted my daughter when she found her 'pet' worm dead in the hot car, and I successfully convinced my kids to eat a yummy lunch that did NOT include peanut butter and jelly for once. We even had good bonding time, reading books after lunch, and my barely-verbal toddler tried to repeat some of the words with me.
I was able to start chopping dinner vegetables before kids got home from school -- while tutoring my friend's daughter in math. Then my baby went down for a nap just in time for me to finish dinner preparations, and I let it finish cooking while I gave my son his practice spelling test. I was all ready to put our (healthy!) dinner on the table, take twenty minutes to eat, and shuttle kids off to baseball practice. Perfect!
That's when it happened. The phone rang.
I was on the phone for less than five minutes, and to be fair, the destructive behavior probably started while I was giving the spelling test. Either way, by the time I got off the phone, my 8-year-old was on his way downstairs, soaked and screaming. My daughter and toddler had been gleefully dumping water all over each other and the bedroom carpet. The carpet was soaked; they were soaked; there was water all over the bathroom. Wet, wet, wet.
SO... I let out a blood-curdling scream... then we got out lots of towels for the floors, changed clothes, opened the windows, went to baseball practice, and came home to our now-cold dinner.
And that's what I get for thinking I could have a perfect day. Thank goodness for microwaves.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Rice Cereal on the Menu? Or Not
The recommended age to begin feeding your baby solid food is 4 to 6 months.
My own baby just passed her 6 month mark, so today I finally conceded and made the trek to the store to buy rice cereal.
We arrived home, just in time for lunch. I mixed her up a little bit of the cereal, with freshly pumped momma-milk, put on the bib, and started to feed her.
Three bites later, she reached out and dumped the whole bowl -- all over both of us.
And I suddenly remembered why I had waited so long to start feeding her solid food. I wonder how long it will be before I venture a second try. Maybe I'll wait till she can feed herself?
My own baby just passed her 6 month mark, so today I finally conceded and made the trek to the store to buy rice cereal.
We arrived home, just in time for lunch. I mixed her up a little bit of the cereal, with freshly pumped momma-milk, put on the bib, and started to feed her.
Three bites later, she reached out and dumped the whole bowl -- all over both of us.
And I suddenly remembered why I had waited so long to start feeding her solid food. I wonder how long it will be before I venture a second try. Maybe I'll wait till she can feed herself?
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