"That's good, mama. Now papa..."

I know, I know; it's shameful. I haven't posted any new photos or stories in almost a month. You're not more sorry than I am, I can assure you! Nothing a dozen spring breaks in a row wouldn't cure! And now, a new entry, but no photo. How cruel. This story, however, is worth posting, even without a photo.

Mama and papa are quite proud of the little tyke--especially when he reads whole pages on his own. (It's quite astounding, actually. Sometimes we really have no idea of the extent of his capabilities.) I guess, in good educator fashion, we reward heavily with verbal praise, such as, "that's good!" (One receives oneself back in such fascinating ways from a child!) At any rate, in the car today, OP started asking us questions: "Now mama, is a killer whale a dolphin?" I answer dutifully: "Well, yes, Oliver, we just read in your new book that a killer whale is a dolphin." "That's good, mama! Now papa, what can you tell me about mammals?" Papa's turn: "They're warm-blooded, they need air, and they give milk to their babies." "That's good, papa!"

I guess it was his turn to be the parent/teacher/coach today. Philip and I were proud--and thoroughly entertained!

twofer

Who knew I'd get two drummers? My boys come up with fascinating combinations--inspired by Bjork and general bourgeois anst, methinks. Only occasionally do I have to remind them, "Not so hard; it is a musical instrument!" Neighborhood friends, on the other hand, not so discerning. Nevermind. It's a welcome addition to the family--lots of fun and no mess!

Rock Legend

Yes, his shirt says, "Rock Legend." It was a birthday present from gramma and grampa. OP asked for it by description this morning: "I want to wear the black shirt--you know, with the pink writing. It's really cool."

Bang the Drum! It's Oliver's birthday!

Oliver turned four today. If you haven't seen him in awhile, you may be surprised to find a big boy looking out at you from a drumset, talking with you about Van Morrison, Cat Stevens, Robbie Williams, or Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. We gave in to his heart's desire for a drumset (with a lot of help; thanks, family!), and he is quite happy. Here he is directing mama and grampa while he tries out every conceivable combination of sounds. Sorry Paul and Michelle (our neighbors).

"I'm little grampa!"

We planned it for weeks--a much needed haircut for our dear son. Though crazy hair, especially crazy hat hair, is really fun, short hair is actually much more convenient for the parents. And short hair makes shampooing sooooo much easier. So we made a deal: haircut on Sunday right before bath. And, as long as we were cutting it short, we decided to cut it really short--"like grampa's." After the bath OP looked in the mirror and proclaimed, "I'm little grampa."

And the little grampa, when he's not pushing our energy to the limit and beyond, is quite sweet. Whilst cooking dinner last night I overheard an interaction between OP and his papa. They were working together on a writing activity. Papa looked at his work and announced that it was "excellent!" OP answered, "Excellent?! Thanks!" It was great to hear him understand, accept, and appreciate praise. Excellent!

"Quiet!"

Look at the photo and take a wild guess. Yes, sometimes we parents shout the aforementioned interjection amidst much noise, concentration, and frivolity, but more often it is our son, the budding drummer (or drummist, he tells us) who calls out, "quiet!" to settle things down before a performance. Since he did not receive the drumset he so dearly wanted for Christmas, we have fashioned a makeshift drumset for him in his corner. One must have cymbals to crash, after all.

Mom, I have to go!

Oliver stopped eating his dinner suddenly last night. "All of a sudden I'm eating dinner, all of a sudden I'm sick." We were eating outside, so we'd bundled him in all of our spare outer garments, but he was still cold. Now his tummy hurt, and he no longer wanted to eat. He cuddled me in my lap for the rest of the meal, eyes streaming with mucus. Yuck!
This morning we talked about being sick. He said, "When I'm cold, I'm sick. I'm not cold, I'm not sick." "Well," I said, "I was going to keep you home from school today. Do you think you can go?" That's when he said it, using the 'Mom, you're ruining my life!' kind of tone: "Mom, I have to go!" "Of course you have to go," I responded. "They're expecting you." Duh, mom.