As Ambriel sat in the bathtub getting her hair washed, she turned to me with an interesting theory.
A: I think I know where they got the idea for bathtubs.
Me: Oh really? Where?
A: Well, everyone was getting tired of having to just wash in the lake, cause that's all they had, and they didn't have soap. [thoughtful pause] Or they did have soap, but they didn't have anywhere to put it where it wouldn't all get used up at once, except on land. So they made bathtubs.
Now if I could just get her to tell me who "they" are, we'd be totally ready to contribute to the Wikipedia page on bathtubs...
Bonus story:
One of Ambriel's greatest features is her wild imagination, but like Anne Shirley before her, it can also get her into trouble. Especially on really dark nights when we are leaving a friend's house in the "country" that doesn't have all of the street lights that my little "city" girl is used to.
A: [following a lengthy discussion of why Christians can be killed or hurt but not turned into Zombies or other similar monsters] But what if someone came and TOOK you, Momma? What would happen to me then?
Me: Tell me the exact scenario you're afraid of and I will tell you what would really happen.
A: Okay. So. What if an octopus that lived on the land came up behind you and squeezed you really tightly with all those arms and put you somewhere, like a chair, but with something to hold you there. Because this is a really smart octopus that can think of things like that. And then he tried to turn you into one of him, what would happen then?
Me: [sigh] Well, first of all, an octopus can't live on the land because it wouldn't be able to move or breathe. The closest you could come is a spider, and even the biggest of those wouldn't be able to squeeze me. If you were with me, I would die before I would let anything hurt you, and if that happened, you would just get to live with one of the many people who love you and want what is best for you, and I would be fine because I would be in Heaven and could still watch over you.
A: [smiling tentatively] Alright. And you know, if it happened while we were at our friends' house, I could just stay with them! [smiling excitedly]
Me: [bigger sigh] Yes you could.
My reassurances, sadly, were only convincing until we reached home and she realized Daddy wasn't home and the dog was outside so a giant land octopus could easily be hiding in her closet. Sigh.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
The Continuing Cactus Saga
I thought I would be writing more, but breaks can be so all consuming! I found myself telling this story again last night, however, and thought it was high time I shared it on here.
As we were packing all of our things to leave our apartment and head home for the summer, I found myself talking out loud listing all of the things I still needed to accomplish before we could leave. I wasn't necessarily directing this monologue toward Ambriel, but I discovered that she was definitely listening.
You see, one thing I was trying to calculate was how many more trips it would take me to load the car. I thought I could do it in just a few, when I remembered the cactus and started complaining about how difficult it would be to carry it and other things at the same time and saying how much I wished that she were able to carry it.
I sighed and continued with my labor, not giving the cactus another thought until about 40 minutes later when I was actually ready to carry it out to the car. My first clue that Ambriel had been busy was when my thumb slipped into the potting soil and got very wet. I was surprised and looked down to see what was going on. What I saw looked more like a small sea than the desert home of our little succulent.
Me: "Ambriel, did you water your cactus again?"
A: "Yes."
Me: "How much did you give it?!"
A: "Two full cups plus another half cup."
Me: "But you just watered it yesterday! Why did you give it so much?"
A: "Well, I thought you might decide to leave it here for the summer since you didn't want to carry it, and I didn't want it to get thirsty so I gave it LOTS of water to last a LONG time."
A clearly logical answer, I'll grant her, but I was sure it would be the death of the cactus. It ended up riding shot gun for the trip home so I had a front row seat to a demonstration of how vibrations cause liquefaction (thank you Dr. Frankovitz for the high school science lessons that still stick) i.e. the cactus was looking like the leaning tower of Pisa, held up only by its prickers sticking into my upholstery.
By the time we got home, the cactus had absorbed so much of the water that the pink bulb-y thing on top looked like it was going to burst, and Ambriel was crying quietly out of remorse for probably killing it. It was touch and go for a few days, but with the help of a few very sunny days, the soil eventually dried out and our little pink pricker is still with us.
And I hope, Ambriel has learned an important lesson about watering in moderation.
As we were packing all of our things to leave our apartment and head home for the summer, I found myself talking out loud listing all of the things I still needed to accomplish before we could leave. I wasn't necessarily directing this monologue toward Ambriel, but I discovered that she was definitely listening.
You see, one thing I was trying to calculate was how many more trips it would take me to load the car. I thought I could do it in just a few, when I remembered the cactus and started complaining about how difficult it would be to carry it and other things at the same time and saying how much I wished that she were able to carry it.
I sighed and continued with my labor, not giving the cactus another thought until about 40 minutes later when I was actually ready to carry it out to the car. My first clue that Ambriel had been busy was when my thumb slipped into the potting soil and got very wet. I was surprised and looked down to see what was going on. What I saw looked more like a small sea than the desert home of our little succulent.
Me: "Ambriel, did you water your cactus again?"
A: "Yes."
Me: "How much did you give it?!"
A: "Two full cups plus another half cup."
Me: "But you just watered it yesterday! Why did you give it so much?"
A: "Well, I thought you might decide to leave it here for the summer since you didn't want to carry it, and I didn't want it to get thirsty so I gave it LOTS of water to last a LONG time."
A clearly logical answer, I'll grant her, but I was sure it would be the death of the cactus. It ended up riding shot gun for the trip home so I had a front row seat to a demonstration of how vibrations cause liquefaction (thank you Dr. Frankovitz for the high school science lessons that still stick) i.e. the cactus was looking like the leaning tower of Pisa, held up only by its prickers sticking into my upholstery.
By the time we got home, the cactus had absorbed so much of the water that the pink bulb-y thing on top looked like it was going to burst, and Ambriel was crying quietly out of remorse for probably killing it. It was touch and go for a few days, but with the help of a few very sunny days, the soil eventually dried out and our little pink pricker is still with us.
And I hope, Ambriel has learned an important lesson about watering in moderation.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Ambriel on Siblings
When I thought about becoming a parent as a kid, I always envisioned myself with four kids spaced two years apart so they could play board games together. In practice, however, I had to work pretty dang hard just to get one. Like most only children, she sometimes wonders why she doesn't have any siblings.
Lately, she's really been pressing to have a baby brother or sister who would be "Soooo cute!" and who she could help take care of. I usually direct her to take it up with God since I seem to have little control over it, but two weeks ago she got the chance to experience what siblings are like for real.
You see, Ambriel actually has three half siblings who live in FL whom she rarely sees. The oldest is a sister, just seven months younger than her, then comes her two and a half year old brother, and then her five month old sister. She had the chance to stay with them while I was at a couple of back to back academic conferences, so I wondered how she would feel about siblings by the end of her stay.
The last time she stayed with them, there were only the older two. She raved about her baby brother, who she said was sooo cute, but had little good to say about her sister, who she reported as just taking everything she wanted to play with. It appeared that this time would be similar, considering that she had already nearly slammed her sister's head in the bedroom door as she tried to get away from her for some "quiet time" before I had even left the house.
The phone call I got from her a few days later confirmed my suspicions:
Ambriel: I changed my mind about siblings, Momma.
Me: Really? Why is that?
Ambriel: They're always getting up in my face and climbing on me and messing with my stuff. I really just want some peace and quiet. I know they're just trying to show me that they miss me and like me, but they DO NOT know how to do it!
My ex-husband even reported that by the end of the week, every time her siblings went outside to play, she would come inside, and every time they wanted to come inside, she would head outside.
She did, however, report liking the newest addition.
In light of that, I think she'll be best served by just playing with baby dolls for now. After all, they never grow up into obnoxious little takers of toys and attention.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Why every academic writer should live with a 5 yr old.
So as Ambriel learned to talk and mastered that oh so enormous part of childhood question, "why?", I discovered that I'm the sort of parent who tries to answer every query honestly. While this has led to some sticky situations regarding fictional characters like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, and has forced me to think carefully about which version of the truth I want her to know about, say, where babies come from, the biggest problem I've run into is that she asks about things I don't completely understand myself.
I think it was Gerald Graff who argued that if you can't explain your ideas in a way that someone who knows nothing about them can understand, then you probably don't have as firm a grasp on them as you think. I thought that I understood plenty about the world around me until I started trying to explain it to my daughter.
"How does the gas get from the pump into the car and how does it make the car run?"
"How does my blood work?"
"Why do I need shots to keep me from getting sick?"
"Why are there four seasons?"
"Why does water turn into ice?"
"How do chickens lay eggs?"
Now most of these may not seem like very difficult questions, but they've all given me trouble in their own ways as I've struggled to find the right words, or realized that I don't know exactly how it works, only that it does. The moments when I don't know are great for teaching her about research, of course, but I hate the thought of losing my status as the all knowing parent, and I also worry about ruining the magic of childhood by making everything too clear and matter of fact.
Still, I was reassured yesterday when one of my explanations seemed to pay off. We've been talking recently about how actors pretend to be other people in order to make movies and shows for us to enjoy because she recognized the same actor in two different movies. I hadn't told her about voice actors, however. As we were watching Apollo 13, though, she cocked her head to one side and said, "He sure does sound a lot like Woody in Toy Story."
"That's because he is." I replied. "His real name is Tom Hanks and he recorded the voice of Woody."
"That's so COOL, Momma! I didn't know that people made the voices!"
I guess there is still some magic, even in how things really work :)
I think it was Gerald Graff who argued that if you can't explain your ideas in a way that someone who knows nothing about them can understand, then you probably don't have as firm a grasp on them as you think. I thought that I understood plenty about the world around me until I started trying to explain it to my daughter.
"How does the gas get from the pump into the car and how does it make the car run?"
"How does my blood work?"
"Why do I need shots to keep me from getting sick?"
"Why are there four seasons?"
"Why does water turn into ice?"
"How do chickens lay eggs?"
Now most of these may not seem like very difficult questions, but they've all given me trouble in their own ways as I've struggled to find the right words, or realized that I don't know exactly how it works, only that it does. The moments when I don't know are great for teaching her about research, of course, but I hate the thought of losing my status as the all knowing parent, and I also worry about ruining the magic of childhood by making everything too clear and matter of fact.
Still, I was reassured yesterday when one of my explanations seemed to pay off. We've been talking recently about how actors pretend to be other people in order to make movies and shows for us to enjoy because she recognized the same actor in two different movies. I hadn't told her about voice actors, however. As we were watching Apollo 13, though, she cocked her head to one side and said, "He sure does sound a lot like Woody in Toy Story."
"That's because he is." I replied. "His real name is Tom Hanks and he recorded the voice of Woody."
"That's so COOL, Momma! I didn't know that people made the voices!"
I guess there is still some magic, even in how things really work :)
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Conversation at 10:00 AM
Me: Hey lazy bones! Are you finally going to wake up?
Ambriel: (sleepy smile)
Me: We are going to have some serious trouble adjusting to the kindergarten schedule in the fall, I think.
Ambriel: Yeah. I'm a "sleep-in."
Me: But you need to be an early bird to make it in school.
Ambriel: But I'm a late bird, Momma!
Bonus conversation:
Me: It seems to be taking you a long time to eat your spaghetti tonight.
Ambriel: Well. Some nights are like that.
Ambriel: (sleepy smile)
Me: We are going to have some serious trouble adjusting to the kindergarten schedule in the fall, I think.
Ambriel: Yeah. I'm a "sleep-in."
Me: But you need to be an early bird to make it in school.
Ambriel: But I'm a late bird, Momma!
Bonus conversation:
Me: It seems to be taking you a long time to eat your spaghetti tonight.
Ambriel: Well. Some nights are like that.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Bedtime Query
Just before bed tonight, Ambriel walked up to me holding a small rectangle of paper and asked
"Are you the bank manager?"
I of course burst out laughing because who expects such a question from a five-year-old, especially one whose mother does essentially all of her banking online and uses Kroger as an ATM. Seeing her frustration with me, however, I replied that I was if she wanted me to be. I then returned to reading random posts on facebook, absentmindedly answering the questions she continued to pose.
Ambriel: "What is 20 and 20?"
Me: "Mmm...40."
Ambriel: "What is 2 and 2?"
Me: "4"
Ambriel: "What is 30 and 30?"
Me: [long distracted pause]
Ambriel: [piercing stare into my skull]
Me: "What?"
Ambriel: "If you are going to be the bank manager, you need to know everything about letters!"
Me: "You mean numbers."
Ambriel: "Those, too!" [walks off in a huff]
"Are you the bank manager?"
I of course burst out laughing because who expects such a question from a five-year-old, especially one whose mother does essentially all of her banking online and uses Kroger as an ATM. Seeing her frustration with me, however, I replied that I was if she wanted me to be. I then returned to reading random posts on facebook, absentmindedly answering the questions she continued to pose.
Ambriel: "What is 20 and 20?"
Me: "Mmm...40."
Ambriel: "What is 2 and 2?"
Me: "4"
Ambriel: "What is 30 and 30?"
Me: [long distracted pause]
Ambriel: [piercing stare into my skull]
Me: "What?"
Ambriel: "If you are going to be the bank manager, you need to know everything about letters!"
Me: "You mean numbers."
Ambriel: "Those, too!" [walks off in a huff]
Saturday, March 5, 2011
How Elmo helped me teach my daughter the meaning of sarcasm.
Last night before bed, as we waited for her cold medicine to kick in so she could breathe/sleep, I asked Ambriel what she could remember of the car accident we were in when she was two-and-a-half. While her overall account had some major holes in it, I was thrilled that she mentioned how Elmo was being sarcastic (and yes, she used that word correctly and pronounced it beautifully) and making fun of Papa by telling him "Good job! Good job!"
For the sake of helping the rest of you to understand how Elmo helped me teach my daughter about sarcasm, I'll tell you the rest of the story.
On a beautiful August day, Ambriel and I were riding in the backseat of my parents car as we drove through West Virginia on the way home from helping my sister move to Florida. My dad was driving, my mom was navigating, Ambriel was sitting behind my dad, and I was next to her, trying to entertain her. Then, as my mom was attempting to take a drink from her water bottle and I was looking at Ambriel, my dad changed lanes to get around a slow car only to see a large, round metal piece off of a bull dozer tread. He had no time to brake or get back in the other lane, so he just centered the car to go over it and prayed we would clear it.
We did not. Instead, we went airborne, the air bags deployed, and we slowly skidded to a stop safely on the edge of the expressway. We grown-ups were pretty stunned, though unharmed, so Ambriel was the first to speak coherently when she cried "Papa's hat is on me and I'm all wet!"
I was confused at first, but then I realized that when the air bags went off, they knocked my dad's hat off his head and into her lap, and my mom's water bottle out of her hand and splashing all over Ambriel. We all started laughing a little then, and assured Ambriel that everything was okay. We all got out of the car, then, as we waited for the police and tow truck to come, but we heard a strange voice coming from the trunk of the car.
When my dad popped the trunk, we saw that the impact had shifted our luggage in such a way that Ambriel's talking Elmo potty, which said encouraging phrases when you pressed Elmo's hand for a "high 5" and which my mom had insisted we bring in case Ambriel had to "go" between rest stops, was wedged up against the inside of the trunk with his hand pressed so that he just kept repeating "Good job!" over and over. Again, we all laughed and told Elmo to ease up on my dad and stop being sarcastic.
Now I don't know if Ambriel really had any idea what we meant at the time, but she has heard us tell the story of how Grandma's Camry died, and Elmo is always a big part of the tale. I'm just impressed that she made the connection between that story and my explanations of my own sarcasm. I imagine I will be less impressed with this talent when she's a tween or teen aiming her sarcasm at me, but that's a worry for another day. ;0)
For the sake of helping the rest of you to understand how Elmo helped me teach my daughter about sarcasm, I'll tell you the rest of the story.
On a beautiful August day, Ambriel and I were riding in the backseat of my parents car as we drove through West Virginia on the way home from helping my sister move to Florida. My dad was driving, my mom was navigating, Ambriel was sitting behind my dad, and I was next to her, trying to entertain her. Then, as my mom was attempting to take a drink from her water bottle and I was looking at Ambriel, my dad changed lanes to get around a slow car only to see a large, round metal piece off of a bull dozer tread. He had no time to brake or get back in the other lane, so he just centered the car to go over it and prayed we would clear it.
We did not. Instead, we went airborne, the air bags deployed, and we slowly skidded to a stop safely on the edge of the expressway. We grown-ups were pretty stunned, though unharmed, so Ambriel was the first to speak coherently when she cried "Papa's hat is on me and I'm all wet!"
I was confused at first, but then I realized that when the air bags went off, they knocked my dad's hat off his head and into her lap, and my mom's water bottle out of her hand and splashing all over Ambriel. We all started laughing a little then, and assured Ambriel that everything was okay. We all got out of the car, then, as we waited for the police and tow truck to come, but we heard a strange voice coming from the trunk of the car.
When my dad popped the trunk, we saw that the impact had shifted our luggage in such a way that Ambriel's talking Elmo potty, which said encouraging phrases when you pressed Elmo's hand for a "high 5" and which my mom had insisted we bring in case Ambriel had to "go" between rest stops, was wedged up against the inside of the trunk with his hand pressed so that he just kept repeating "Good job!" over and over. Again, we all laughed and told Elmo to ease up on my dad and stop being sarcastic.
Now I don't know if Ambriel really had any idea what we meant at the time, but she has heard us tell the story of how Grandma's Camry died, and Elmo is always a big part of the tale. I'm just impressed that she made the connection between that story and my explanations of my own sarcasm. I imagine I will be less impressed with this talent when she's a tween or teen aiming her sarcasm at me, but that's a worry for another day. ;0)
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