On the first day of second grade Gabe came home with all sorts of paperwork, including one assignment he had done in class. It had already been "corrected" and had the obligatory smiley face sticker at the top of the page. Looking over it, I saw questions about their new class/classroom: Name one thing in the classroom with sharp edges. Name one thing that is round. Name something that has five colors on it. When I got to the bottom of the page, one question stood out, but only because of Gabe's answer:
Name one thing in the classroom that is too heavy for you to pick up. My son wrote down:
Mrs. Hutchinson.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Magic Beans
Mom and Dad's house is located on seven acres, mostly forest, with the exception of their nicely manicured lawn. They have all types of woodland creatures that visit on a regular basis, and often Mom or Dad will photograph the visitors and share the pictures with Zach. This leads to tracking animal footprints, looking for animal homes, and reading up in Mom's vast library of northeastern animal books.
Before Zach became familiar with which animal went with which track and the meaning of the word "scat," he had a brief encounter that has stayed with me for years. Dad and I were outside with the boys, who were around 4 and 5 years old at the time; we were chatting up by the porch while the boys played in the front yard, which is perfect for biking, ball playing and lots of other activities, although by this point Zach obvious interest in all things animal had become apparent. We stopped chatting long enough to notice that Zach had bent down and was looking at something on the ground, so Dad started heading towards him and I followed. Soon Zach had this new discovery in hand and was heading towards us to show it off.
"Look, Grandpa!" he beamed, holding out his chubby little hand. "Magic beans!" As soon as dad starting laughing I started running, and at the same time we chorused ,"Zach, PUT THAT DOWN!"
"But look-" he protested.
Firmly I stood my ground and told him once more to put down the magic beans; I'm actually quite proud of myself as I look back on the episode, knowing I must have wanted to scream or run my son inside for a bleach bath.
"You may not play with those. That's fox poop."
Before Zach became familiar with which animal went with which track and the meaning of the word "scat," he had a brief encounter that has stayed with me for years. Dad and I were outside with the boys, who were around 4 and 5 years old at the time; we were chatting up by the porch while the boys played in the front yard, which is perfect for biking, ball playing and lots of other activities, although by this point Zach obvious interest in all things animal had become apparent. We stopped chatting long enough to notice that Zach had bent down and was looking at something on the ground, so Dad started heading towards him and I followed. Soon Zach had this new discovery in hand and was heading towards us to show it off.
"Look, Grandpa!" he beamed, holding out his chubby little hand. "Magic beans!" As soon as dad starting laughing I started running, and at the same time we chorused ,"Zach, PUT THAT DOWN!"
"But look-" he protested.
Firmly I stood my ground and told him once more to put down the magic beans; I'm actually quite proud of myself as I look back on the episode, knowing I must have wanted to scream or run my son inside for a bleach bath.
"You may not play with those. That's fox poop."
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