choosing my own...

Sunday, April 5, 2009

4 1/2

When you're four and a half and you work on something for two months, it's a big deal.

When you're four and half the invitations read: "Dress fan-c," you even wear a (clip-on) tie.

When you're four and a half and your class studies Vincent Van Gogh, your classroom is transformed into an art gallery.

When you're four and a half you are proud of your art work, so you love on your teachers.

When you're four and half you bring your Gran and your Uncle Henry to check out Sunflowers done in watercolor.

When you're four and a half and the collaborative masterpiece Starry, Starry Night is unveiled, your mom tears up a little bit (a lot).

When you're four and a half you want to tour each class, and check out others' work (and snacks).

When you're four and a half you show off exactly which part you helped to paint.

When you're four and a half and your mom wants to watch a "real" artist in action, you get bored.

When you're four and a half and your school appreciates that ART means letting kids' run wild with mediums and their imagination, you get pieces like this...

...and this.

When you're four and a half you might even get your own work displayed and laminated for others to try and replicate.

And, when you're four and half and you've eaten too many strawberries and watermelon, you might spend much of the GALA doing this:

When you're four and half you're never too big for your mama to hold you.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Spring Is In The Air

Alternate Title: When your brain can't formulate interesting thoughts, post photos...

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Dude, Just Call it What It Is

Oh the joys of magazine subscriptions. Love the mailbox full of glossy faces of bright eyed babes. But seriously? These days? Like I have time to read them. Pshaw.

But, I can't keep myself away from the dang back page. What is it about the so-called "Baby Bloopers" that draw me in? Like I haven't read every combination of child said embarrassing statement (insert: in line at grocery store/at great-grand-nana's house/in front of teacher). Just like I have probably seen every episode of A Baby Story, I have also read every possible combination blooper.

Or so I thought.

Because now? Now, it seems that each story has got to be the biggest ol' bragfest evah. Like even more than a (gasp) blog. :)

They all come with obnoxiously braggy-odd names. And they all seem to be doing obnoxiously more bragalicious-odd stuff.

Example: Last week my daughter Suri-Reese was getting a tad tired while waiting for her older brother Socrates Phoenix to finish his Mandarin Jumprope lessons. Poor Suri-Reese was past her nap time and almost out of organic goat's milk cheese puffs. Much to my dismay, would you believe it? Suri-Reese, a mere 13 months old, actually (gasp) peed in her hand-made overalls. I mean, can you believe my embarrassment? She has been potty-trained for 6 months, and then this? Did I mention it was during Mandarin Jumprope lessons?

Or: When my Mother-In-Law was visiting us from Ireland, my 2 and a half year old son Daiytona was demonstrating his recitation of The Constitution. Suddenly my Mother-in-Law went into cardiac arrest. Daiytona called for his his 4 year old sister, Ameelyia, who was doing tai chi at the time, to grab the defibrillator to help Grand-Nana. In the meantime, Daiytona performed CPR but, forgot the proper compression to ventilation ratio! Fortunately, Ameelyia and Daiytona's younger sister Shamalie, 9 months was able to successfully call 911. Grand-Nana still laughs at Daiytona's silly mistake!

For crying out loud. Just call it "Does Your Child Have This Many Vowels In Her Name, and How Shitty of A Parent Are You?"

Yeah, I'm all talk though. Next month, I'll be turning straight to the back cover, again.