Monday, June 13, 2011

Portrait of the bubble blower


They're not bubble wands, though, I've been informed. They're flowers, and she's the teacher, and that pool is her classroom and she's conducting class and I'm interrupting, but if I'll kindly step aside she'll be awarding her best students with flowers at this time, and I can have one, too, if I"m good, which means if I step back and listen, because she does have a lot of flowers to share.

Not five minutes later, she and her two disciples were blowing bubbles with those pretty flowers.

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Today L asked me to copy her. This is a game she loves because she has found the joy in irritating her sister by repeating everything her sister says. I've laid down the law: no copying E, mainly because there is no joy in my life to soothing E's irritated soul. So L asks if she can copy me, and I say okay, and because I'm not bothered she loses interest. So she asks if I will copy her. And I do.

This evening I misheard and mispronounced something L said in my copying and E yelled: cross! "What?" I queried.

Oh, you said it wrong so I crossed it out in the air for you. Say it again!

I said it again.

Check! she yelled eagerly by way of approval.

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L traced the grid lines of the linoleum in the kitchen. Look, Mama, the whole floor is crossed off, too.

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She asked for ice cream for dinner and I said no way, pick a real food and maybe you may have a little bit of ice cream for dessert. L protested: but ice cream is real food. It's just real food that lives in the freezer.

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I like this part, where imagination and language are the same tool for expression. I hope they hold onto this part for a really long time. And while they do, I'll take a yellow flower, please.

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Psst - if you need a source for buying costumes online, go read my latest review at Not Ever Complacent.
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