Ah, Monticello - if you are reading this and live in Charlottesville you already know that Monticello is the prized home atop a hill (moutain?) that Jefferson called home. So...the good parenting skill part of this story is that we have already taken our children to visit this historic monument, and that we will take them again. By the time they go to college, they should be able to write a very convincing admissions essay about Mr. Jefferson.
But ever since we mentioned Monticello, Abi got it confused with Nutella, the creamy to-die-for chocolate spread with a touch of hazelnut. So here is the first installation of the poor parenting skills portion of this post. On occassion, I feed my kids peanut butter and nutella sandwiches. Most of the time it is a snack, though I did send one in the lunchbox one desperate day. I used to eat "peanut butter and fluff sandwiches" - mmmmm, my mouth waters just thinking about the peanut butter and marshmallow magic...those are so good.
Anyway, Abi calls the Nutella "Monticello" - as in she opens the pantry and goes - "Mom! Did you buy some Monticello?" The best part is when she says, "Can you make me a Monticello Sandwich?" - So the other bad parenting part of this story is that, as of this posting, I haven't told her that her delicious chocolately treat is actually called "Nutella". I can't bring myself to do it - I've let it go on too long, and now I am trapped. I just enjoy this little mix up so much - especially because in someways a peanut butter and nutella sandwich does seem to merit the name "Monticello" - I mean think about it with me. Imagine this:
Peanut butter and chocolate spread sandwiches sold at the cafe at Monticello for $6 a piece - The tourist walks to the counter and says, "Oh yes, I'll have the Monticello and a Limonata please." Or the tour guide at Monticello, incorporates the sandwich facts into the tour - "A little known fact is that there is a delightful sandwich named after this property - the Monticello incorporates both peanuts and hazelnuts, known as filberts in this area. Filberts are native to this part of the country, and peanuts are an important cash crop in the region - as a matter of fact, Jefferson himself was a peanut farmer." Are you with me? If any sandwich should be named "The Monticello", it's this one.
So Mr. Jefferson, my daughter just ran in and asked me for a "Monticello" after school. As I twist on the lid to the peanut butter jar and fold the sandwich pieces together to meld the chocolatey peanuty goodness as one, I say "This Monticello is for you, sir." Maybe I will tell her about the nutella tommorrow...
That is my thought for today.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Garden Fresh Metaphors
I got to spend this morning in the yard, contemplating life and talking to myself. Perfection. Enjoy the fruits of my labor! You can contemplate these metaphors as deeply as you would like:
-I love my ugly garden. I didn't plant enough for the late summer, so one bed looks very spare. I got some bargain end of season plants that haven't filled in their spots, and the dahlias are in desperate need of sunshine so they sprawl all over the sidewalk reaching for the sun. I still keep tending my ugly garden. Come spring I'll move the dahlias to a happier spot, I'll add some plants to fill in the spaces, and the stunted bargain plants will have had a good chance to prepare for a new season. When you see an ugly garden, consider it a work in progress. If you have an ugly garden, keep going - everything improves with attention and focus.
-If you planted the butterfly bush, you can't very well be mad at the caterpillars gnawing on your plants. Pick 'em off and move on.
-Gardening has only a little to do with tending the plants you want to grow. The rest is pulling weeds and squishing bugs.
-Speaking of squishing bugs...a garden enjoys the company of spiders and snakes. Don't squish without cause.
-Plants always turn their heads toward the sun. Sometimes that makes 'em grow a little funny. At least they are headed in the right direction. They'd be silly to spend their day looking at you instead of the sun after all.
-Every plant has an ugly season. If you know an ugly plant, just keep watering. Every plant has a pretty season too.
-Some people say they don't garden because everything they touch dies. This seems silly, because everything a master gardener touches dies too. The only difference I figure is that good gardeners expect that.
What is your best garden metaphor?
-I love my ugly garden. I didn't plant enough for the late summer, so one bed looks very spare. I got some bargain end of season plants that haven't filled in their spots, and the dahlias are in desperate need of sunshine so they sprawl all over the sidewalk reaching for the sun. I still keep tending my ugly garden. Come spring I'll move the dahlias to a happier spot, I'll add some plants to fill in the spaces, and the stunted bargain plants will have had a good chance to prepare for a new season. When you see an ugly garden, consider it a work in progress. If you have an ugly garden, keep going - everything improves with attention and focus.
-If you planted the butterfly bush, you can't very well be mad at the caterpillars gnawing on your plants. Pick 'em off and move on.
-Gardening has only a little to do with tending the plants you want to grow. The rest is pulling weeds and squishing bugs.
-Speaking of squishing bugs...a garden enjoys the company of spiders and snakes. Don't squish without cause.
-Plants always turn their heads toward the sun. Sometimes that makes 'em grow a little funny. At least they are headed in the right direction. They'd be silly to spend their day looking at you instead of the sun after all.
-Every plant has an ugly season. If you know an ugly plant, just keep watering. Every plant has a pretty season too.
-Some people say they don't garden because everything they touch dies. This seems silly, because everything a master gardener touches dies too. The only difference I figure is that good gardeners expect that.
What is your best garden metaphor?
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Life after Kindergarten
Every morning around 6:20am Luke is finishing his shower and my alarm goes off. One of us runs the bath water and I tip-toe in to the girls room and roll Abi out of bed, her limbs hanging loosely around my torso while I carry her down the hall. Just under two weeks ago the girls woke up past 7am, so one might expect that Lily would sleep in. This is not the case - she is so intrigued by the new routine that every morning she sits up in bed expectantly waiting for her escape.
The most fascinating thing about this new schedule for Abi is the fact that it is 'night' when she wakes up now. Abi seems in a daze while she sits in the warm bath water and asks questions about the day ahead. "Is this a staying home day? Can I have jelly beans in my lunch today? Can I wear my hair in a ponytail today?" I've instituted the new bath routine in an effort to keep Abi's curly hair in compliance. So far it has worked out well - I think she enjoys the moment to reflect on her day, and waking up to the warm water is nice. I monitor the clock, and by the time she is dressed for school Luke has her breakfast waiting at the little table by the bay window, where the girls like to daydream and depending on the morning giggle with each other or squabble over condiments and utensils.
Abi picks out her outfit each night and hangs it on a hook beside her backpack just outside her room. I pack a mid-day snack and a lunch each night which goes into the backpack after a few finishing touches in the morning. Around 7:15am we make our way to the school bus stop just across the street. This is my new favorite part of the morning - the parents all gather together at the bus stop and it feels so neighborly. Sometimes after we all wave at the bus we chat for a moment before continuing on to work. It seems like everyone wants to linger a little while. Most of the families come together, spouses and siblings in tow to send off the children. One father of a ten year old stands across the street, his daughter standing proudly and independently at the stop as her dad quietly watches from across the road.
I take Lily to daycare most mornings and she continues to ask each day as we leave the driveway, "Where's Abi? (pause) Skoo Bus?" I think the girls both miss one another a little bit. Today Abi said over breakfast, "I can't wait until Lily and I both ride the school bus together because then we can pray together before school." That is something we used to do together just outside the door of their daycare. Luke reminded her that we could do the same thing at home, but I think it was Abi's way of saying that she liked having her sister around.
I rush to meet the school bus to pick Abi up, and she bounds off the bus with a big smile and a hug. Each day she and a fellow kindergartener in the neighborhood ride together, and each day they excitedly rush to us. That's my favorite time of the day because the new routine has made discussing the day so novel. We sit down with a snack, do homework or watch PBS kids, and talk a for a while. Little by little I am piecing together the way the world of kindergarten looks from her eyes. Hot lunch is slightly cooler than packed lunch, the playground is hot but a good place to make friends, her teacher is wonderful, girls play with girls and boys play with boys (at least it is very important to pretend that is the case). The other day she was so pleased that even the fourth graders and teachers liked her dress. One day she was disappointed because the teacher didn't give her milk money. I like listening to all of her experiences and start watching the clock at noon in anticipation of getting to hear about the day.
Abi is definately tired after her long day, but overall I think she relishes the experience of being so independent. She is becoming a part of a world that her dad and I have little to do with - she is completely responsible for her own experience each day during the time span from bus stop to bus stop. And she is only five years old! I find that both terrifying and reassuring. It is hard to imagine that months once passed like years as I waited for her to do something - say a word, crawl, walk, drink from a cup. Looking back, it hasn't taken long at all for her to become so independent.
The most fascinating thing about this new schedule for Abi is the fact that it is 'night' when she wakes up now. Abi seems in a daze while she sits in the warm bath water and asks questions about the day ahead. "Is this a staying home day? Can I have jelly beans in my lunch today? Can I wear my hair in a ponytail today?" I've instituted the new bath routine in an effort to keep Abi's curly hair in compliance. So far it has worked out well - I think she enjoys the moment to reflect on her day, and waking up to the warm water is nice. I monitor the clock, and by the time she is dressed for school Luke has her breakfast waiting at the little table by the bay window, where the girls like to daydream and depending on the morning giggle with each other or squabble over condiments and utensils.
Abi picks out her outfit each night and hangs it on a hook beside her backpack just outside her room. I pack a mid-day snack and a lunch each night which goes into the backpack after a few finishing touches in the morning. Around 7:15am we make our way to the school bus stop just across the street. This is my new favorite part of the morning - the parents all gather together at the bus stop and it feels so neighborly. Sometimes after we all wave at the bus we chat for a moment before continuing on to work. It seems like everyone wants to linger a little while. Most of the families come together, spouses and siblings in tow to send off the children. One father of a ten year old stands across the street, his daughter standing proudly and independently at the stop as her dad quietly watches from across the road.
I take Lily to daycare most mornings and she continues to ask each day as we leave the driveway, "Where's Abi? (pause) Skoo Bus?" I think the girls both miss one another a little bit. Today Abi said over breakfast, "I can't wait until Lily and I both ride the school bus together because then we can pray together before school." That is something we used to do together just outside the door of their daycare. Luke reminded her that we could do the same thing at home, but I think it was Abi's way of saying that she liked having her sister around.
I rush to meet the school bus to pick Abi up, and she bounds off the bus with a big smile and a hug. Each day she and a fellow kindergartener in the neighborhood ride together, and each day they excitedly rush to us. That's my favorite time of the day because the new routine has made discussing the day so novel. We sit down with a snack, do homework or watch PBS kids, and talk a for a while. Little by little I am piecing together the way the world of kindergarten looks from her eyes. Hot lunch is slightly cooler than packed lunch, the playground is hot but a good place to make friends, her teacher is wonderful, girls play with girls and boys play with boys (at least it is very important to pretend that is the case). The other day she was so pleased that even the fourth graders and teachers liked her dress. One day she was disappointed because the teacher didn't give her milk money. I like listening to all of her experiences and start watching the clock at noon in anticipation of getting to hear about the day.
Abi is definately tired after her long day, but overall I think she relishes the experience of being so independent. She is becoming a part of a world that her dad and I have little to do with - she is completely responsible for her own experience each day during the time span from bus stop to bus stop. And she is only five years old! I find that both terrifying and reassuring. It is hard to imagine that months once passed like years as I waited for her to do something - say a word, crawl, walk, drink from a cup. Looking back, it hasn't taken long at all for her to become so independent.
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