Sick child. Grace woke up with 102.5 and did not go on her trip with Nana. She spent the day sleeping and drinking water and motrin.
I made rainbow cupcakes to try to cheer her up.
And worked on my puzzle.
everyday life
Dreams
Read the children a book tonight that was called “Dream a Little Dream.” A conversation ensued about what Grace and Whit’s dreams were.
Grace announced that her dream was that “Everyone has food … and enough toys to play with.” I asked her how she could help make this dream come true and she said, “I want to have a lemonade stand next summer and make lots of money and give it to children who don’t have food and toys” Okay. “And I want to go back to Cradles to Crayons.” Better than okay. “And I want to sell some of my Perler bead art (these plastic things they make in kindergarten) and give that money to people without food too.” And I’m sure there is an enormous market for those so this is an excellent idea.
Whit, when asked directly what his dream was, said only, “Racing cars.”
In other news, I put him to bed just now and about 5 minutes later heard him rummaging around in his room. I went in and found that he had changed out of his pj bottoms (not, shocking enough, his exercise pants) into his favorite madras pants. Fine by me.
Monday night
Totally obsessed with the Twilight series (thank you Anna).
And my trusty Oyster Bay (but I had a salad for dinner! Hadley you are such a good influence).
Exercise Pants
Whit has been Comedy Central this week.
On Thursday I came home from New York to find him playing in the snow in a huge fluffy hat and a chest full of necklaces (displayed over his parka). Anastasia told me that she had gone into his room during quiet time to see that he had emptied his closet onto the floor. He had painstakingly created piles of clothes by type. Like Benetton, with matchbox cars, is how I envision it. She asked him what he was doing and he said, “It’s a store!”
In his travels through his closet, Whit apparently found two pairs of old shortie pajamas. He decided that the shorts of those pajamas were his “exercise pants.” He told me which pair were for daytime and which for nighttime. On Thursday night, he insisted on going to sleep in the nighttime pair. On Friday morning he came out of his room like a shot, yelling, “Where are my daytime exercise pants??”
Friday afternoon Whit and Grace were playing in his room when he came out, having changed his own clothes. He was wearing his exercise pants, a tee shirt, and his terry sweatband. He looked like a cross between a member of the 1974 Olympic team and Richard Simmons.
On Friday evening I was packing him into the car to go to New Hampshire. There was a random tennis ball can in the front hall with an assortment of toys and trash in it – tinkertoys, legos, some random pieces of paper with “art” on them. As he was being carried out to the car, Whit hollered that he wanted to bring the can of “treasures” with him to New Hampshire. No, I said, in no uncertain terms.
“But mummy! I need my exercise pants!” he screamed over Matt’s shoulder from the sidewalk. He ran back inside, dug through the tennis ball can, and unearthed two pairs of shortie pajama bottoms. He clutched them, sighing happily, “my exercise pants.” He went to New Hampshire clutching them in his hands.
Throwing away the art
This piece on saving/throwing away childrens’ art makes me laugh out loud. I am a ruthless thrower-awayer of art. And, like the writer, I’ve been busted more times than I can count. I wedge the kindergarten worksheets in between cereal boxes in the recycling bin, I bury the “boat” made out of toilet paper rolls in the trash can, etc.
The avalanche of art is overwhelming. I’ve taken to sending copious numbers of drawings and paintings to the grandparents and even the godparents (who also have small children of their own and thus as somewhat less charmed by the additional construction paper offerings).
Anyway, funny.