Games Boys Play, VI

Favorite toy of the sons of a seamstress? The cardboard tube at the center of bolts of home dec fabric.

Hoppy Hoppy Joy Joy

How we hopped to it, a photo essay. And the crafts.

Reader of the Day

Our first grade teacher – like many first grade teachers – has a fun tradition of encouraging reading in front of others. She calls this Reader of the Day. Coop has participated in this three times over the past year. One of the performances, I’m sorry to say; I missed because Cooper forgot to tell me about it.

But his most recent was fun to watch. I noticed in him a true confidence that has grown so much since the first time I watched him attempt this task.

This task, however, has got me thinking about public speaking and its value in the elementary classroom. Coop has thrived in this environment. I can’t help but wonder how all the other students feel about it. You know, by other I mean the students with a temperament like my Mason.

I used to be a Speech 101 teaching assistant at Utah State University. I sat through hours and hours of public speeches. Holy Mother Theresa, some of the most boring and equally agonizing hours of my life. You see, I don’t like to see people embarrassed. It gives me stress. Real and true stress.

Every time an international student would take the podium and struggle with both language and nerves I would nearly vomit. And it wasn’t just students with a language barrier. There were students who embodied the euphemism: I’d rather die than deliver a speech to a room full of people. Do you know what happens to people when they are nervous? They make absolutely no sense. None. Try grading jibberish.

Public speaking has never been an issue for me. Ironic since I am actually terribly shy. My husband, however, would rather lick the bottom of his shoe than speak to a group larger than 12. No kidding. I empathize with this because I would rather deliver a child without pain meds than sing karaoke. For reals. In fact I’d even take that kid home and raise it for 18 years before I would agree to sing in front of anyone. Any. One.

What brings you discomfort? And how much? Would you eat a sandwich out of a rubbish bin if it meant you never had to take a math test?

The Fool’s Rules

Of course we observe the national day of silliness, April Fool’s Day. But I don’t go in for practical jokes and pranks. Frankly I don’t like being taken by surprise and I’m not very gracious about it. So, I just bend the rules and routine of a typical day and call it good.

Today we had dessert for breakfast. Not a nutritional rule was abided and I didn’t even feel guilty about it. The boys weren’t any more or less well-behaved. They didn’t appear to have any more or less energy. And they certainly did not seem any more or less brilliant.


Because we began our day up to our eyes in cake and whipped cream we closed the evening with scrambled eggs, bagels, yogurt, and mini muffins. It was all washed down with the quintessential breakfast beverage – O.J.

I liked the fool’s rules.

While we’re on the topic of food, I thought I would share with you a kidism of a couple of weeks past. My husband made the error of grabbing on to a cup of coffee he had just reheated in the microwave only to scorch himself. This provoked the all too awesome shout of, “Son of a B**ch!”

Yes, he said it. He said it loudly. We all sat in silence for a beat and then Mason squealed in laughter. Once the laughter subsided I expected something of a long discussion about the reasons we don’t usually use this word in front of moms and teachers. But instead Mason threw back his head as if to laugh once more but said, “You said Son of a Sandwich, ah ha ha ha hah a!” Then he slapped his knee and started laughing again.

Wish yesterday’s episode of road rage ended so well.

From The Chaos

My youngest brother visited us. He brought a friend and we set out to have a great pre-Spring Break adventure. On one particular day – St. Patrick’s Day in fact -- we set out to walk the bleachers at Red Rocks Amphitheater, take in the sights downtown, and perhaps see a few unique highlights of the little big city known as Denver.

And by “we” I mean my brother, his friend, me, and the two small children that live at my house. That’s a tall order for two little dudes. They loved the whole day and were very well behaved if I do say so myself.

Our weather was perfect and Cooper practically bolted up the sunny amphitheater steps. He’s a hard soul to keep track of in a crowd. He’s destined to always move forward and see what is around the corner before the rest of the party does. Though there were crowds of folks at Red Rocks there was peace and calm all around.

Then we descended into the city. No peace. Mostly rowdy revelers leaving the scene of the parade in droves. It was a little tricky to find a parking space, and trickier still deciphering if St. Patrick’s Day is the type of holiday Denver Parking considers a meterless occasion.

Pulling the boys through the swarms of people wasn’t that bad, except that Cooper kept stopping to pick up beer bottles and collect the bottle caps. His explanation to my brother’s companion was fairly simple, “My mom and dad keep their wine corks. I collect bottle caps.” In my defense of the collecting of wine corks, please see Pinterest!

We commenced our downtown sojourn with a leap into the Denver Museum of Fine Art. This is a set of gorgeous buildings with a much too early curfew – 5 p.m. on Saturdays.

As Mason does, following his adventure he set himself at the table and drew his favorite part of the whole day.

I think he might actually appreciate and understand this particular installation. Right now his interest in art is simply for his enjoyment but I suspect a greater knowledge of art history and an understanding of pictorial elements is on the horizon.

What Do You Give __________?

Here's the dilemma, create an appropriate token of gratitude for the teachers who helped this little man climb out of his shell.

I've learned competing with all the greatness of all the other moms on days like Christmas and Valentine's is not for me. I take the no-pressure holidays -- St. Pat's, National Karaoke Week, Cinco de Mayo, and my all-time favorite: Knut Day. These are perfect holidays for me to be crafting and creating. Then when I bomb a project, I mean nail it, I can rest easy knowing no one else will have done anything at all for teacher.

This year I engaged in a hunt for licorice the colors of the rainbow. That was a super idea. You can read about my struggle to pull all this together at my sewing blog. Or just see a picture of the finished gift below. Entirely up to you.

Why Not My Child

Not long ago, after a beautiful day of playing in the park with my healthy family I got a somewhat panicked call from a friend. At the time we were just getting to know each other, we both had children in the same class at school, and really all I knew about her is that she is gorgeous, her husband is a talented musician, all four of her children are beautiful, and that she had just found out that one of her twin sons had cancer.

I believe all she knew about me is that I always have a camera on my face. I am not a professional photographer. But desperate times call for desperate measures. She was calling me to ask if I would please drop everything, come to her house -- directly -- and photograph her family because her son was loosing his hair. It was that day. The day all patients with cancer dread, the first day it all falls out.

With all the struggles that cancer warriors face, the hair seems trivial. The diagnosis, the treatments, the uncertain fate, the ... well, actually when I start thinking about it, it is so upsetting I can hardly breathe. But I have never met a cancer warrior or survivor who has not made some profound reflection about loosing their hair all on one day. In essence, to the outside world one day they look healthy, and the next they appear every bit as sick as they must feel. Which for many is the first day the people around them show their own fears.

Of course I raced to this family's house. Of course I tried my best. Of course they tried their best. Of course the pictures were horrible. Of course every time I went to brush something off his face I realized it was his hair and trembled as I tried to act like I wasn't brushing away more hair.

That day -- so early in their battle -- Kim, the mother, said to me, "I just look at him and I think, why not my child? His odds are his odds. But who is to say he won't be counted among the percentage to fight and win."

During their fight Kim was the most extraordinary medical consumer. She got in there and asked questions and asked for more. Accepting pain and accepting the way the treatment made her son feel was not OK with her. She wanted more for him. She wanted to help him. And she did. This is her story, told in her words. Please go watch. Then tell other people to watch.

KIM'S COMMERCIAL CLICK HERE

And would you believe she was right?!?!? He's in remission. And why not?