Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Rubbing off
Dylan,
Dad and I (read me) decided to send you to a Spanish immersion program this summer while your regular preschool was on summer break. I had these great visions of you being fluent by the time summer was up, but it became very apparent to me that while they speak only Spanish to you, they speak it very fast, and you generally just smile and nod your head to them in response to everything they say. It's that "I know I'm cute so I'll just try smiling at you and batting my lashes" look. Even those words you actually know are said so rapidly, there's little chance you actually catch them. I'm sure they spend time during specific lessons and such where they slow down and teach you words, but it was really the conversation piece I was hoping you'd gain from the experience. The fact that you have volunteered the Spanish word for various things around the house over the last week has given me hope though I have since re-adjusted my expectations. I have settled for the fact that the constant exposure is beneficial, and many young children exposed to second languages in the home begin to understand them even if they don't speak them.
Tonight you demonstrated that all this Spanish time is rubbing off. You spent practically the whole afternoon and evening (when not battling with us to finish your dinner, take your bath, and get ready for bed) singing songs in Spanish over and over. Not just the same song, but many different ones. There was one you sang on the train, one on the car ride home, and two in the bath. There might have been more, but I don't recall. Not sure if you actually know what you are singing about, but you've at least got the words mostly right because I can recognize what your saying. Ah, who knows, you probably do know what your singing.
It should come as no surprise to me it's through singing that you internalize a second language.
Mom
Dad and I (read me) decided to send you to a Spanish immersion program this summer while your regular preschool was on summer break. I had these great visions of you being fluent by the time summer was up, but it became very apparent to me that while they speak only Spanish to you, they speak it very fast, and you generally just smile and nod your head to them in response to everything they say. It's that "I know I'm cute so I'll just try smiling at you and batting my lashes" look. Even those words you actually know are said so rapidly, there's little chance you actually catch them. I'm sure they spend time during specific lessons and such where they slow down and teach you words, but it was really the conversation piece I was hoping you'd gain from the experience. The fact that you have volunteered the Spanish word for various things around the house over the last week has given me hope though I have since re-adjusted my expectations. I have settled for the fact that the constant exposure is beneficial, and many young children exposed to second languages in the home begin to understand them even if they don't speak them.
Tonight you demonstrated that all this Spanish time is rubbing off. You spent practically the whole afternoon and evening (when not battling with us to finish your dinner, take your bath, and get ready for bed) singing songs in Spanish over and over. Not just the same song, but many different ones. There was one you sang on the train, one on the car ride home, and two in the bath. There might have been more, but I don't recall. Not sure if you actually know what you are singing about, but you've at least got the words mostly right because I can recognize what your saying. Ah, who knows, you probably do know what your singing.
It should come as no surprise to me it's through singing that you internalize a second language.
Mom
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Constant bruises
Dylan,
My nick-name around your age was "the bumper kid" because I was always banging into things. You seem to have my gracefulness.
My nick-name around your age was "the bumper kid" because I was always banging into things. You seem to have my gracefulness.
I can only wonder what the neighbors/teachers/strangers must think when they catch a glimpse of that.
Dad
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
imaginary jack
Dylan,
You've got an imaginary friend. His name is Jack, and you've described him as "the guy that looks at me in the mirror", among other things.
I first heard of him the other day when you were talking to our friend Jill. She asked you where Jack's parents were. "Oh, they died" came your reply.
From time to time you've mentioned having a brother, or a sister. Sometimes both, but usually it's a sister. Jack is like a whole other level. I guess that's more common with first-born/only children. Uncle Chris used to accuse me of having "no imagination" when we were young. I guess I never had to imagine what it would be like to have siblings.
I'll try to keep tabs on Jack so we have a record of him as he grows up.
Dad
You've got an imaginary friend. His name is Jack, and you've described him as "the guy that looks at me in the mirror", among other things.
I first heard of him the other day when you were talking to our friend Jill. She asked you where Jack's parents were. "Oh, they died" came your reply.
From time to time you've mentioned having a brother, or a sister. Sometimes both, but usually it's a sister. Jack is like a whole other level. I guess that's more common with first-born/only children. Uncle Chris used to accuse me of having "no imagination" when we were young. I guess I never had to imagine what it would be like to have siblings.
I'll try to keep tabs on Jack so we have a record of him as he grows up.
Dad
Bike ridin'
Dylan,
You really enjoyed riding your new bike when we went out for dinner on
Mommy's birthday.
sand tiger
Dylan,
You had your first dentist appointment today. Tonight while Mom flossed your teeth (a new practice) you decided to open your mouth "like a sand shark". I don't know where you picked that up but it's pretty convenient for flossing!
Dad
You had your first dentist appointment today. Tonight while Mom flossed your teeth (a new practice) you decided to open your mouth "like a sand shark". I don't know where you picked that up but it's pretty convenient for flossing!
Dad
Friday, July 17, 2009
sliver
Dylan,
I've told you in the past that it's not OK for someone -- anyone -- to hurt you, me included.
I recognized an acute problem with that formulation when I sat down to remove a large sliver from your foot (it was just in front of your heel, and had probably been there for almost 24 hours) and started to say, more or less, "This is going to hurt. A lot."
You don't have a very impressive pain threshold to begin with, and I could see that this sliver was going to require some digging to have any hope at all of finding a handle. Of course I wasn't looking forward to inflicting significant pain on you, but the look of confusion on your face told me that you couldn't quite process why in the world I would ever do such a thing, making me wish all the more that it wasn't so.
I put something cold on your foot, then worked gingerly to remove the tiniest pieces of skin possible as I pursued the invader. After a short while I voiced -- to myself, really -- that I wished Mom was there because she'd really be much better than I at the task. Slightly, I think, misunderstanding my comment you looked at me and said "I want your Mom to do it."
Slightly grateful for the out, and comfortable that GiGi has an extensive resume, I passed on your request. She dug and dug. You screamed and writhed. I had to hold you down at times, working hard to keep you still. It was a stubborn thing, buried deep. After a while, I called for a break, wanting to pursue options for pain mitigation. I was open to a visit to the ER if needed.
First, we drove to the drugstore where the pharmacist recommended a hemorrhoid treatment as the best topical analgesic available, but the spot on the shelf was empty. At another drugstore (which didn't even carry the hemorrhoid stuff) they recommended something different that came in a spray bottle. I knew the analgesic effects of this were going to be very minimal, but I figured the spray would at least make an excellent placebo. I also bought the most expensive tweezers in the joint to substitute for the one back at the house, a blunt needle-nosed pair I recognized my from own childhood.
Grandma had done good work, and made critical progress, but when we got home I knew I wanted to finish this job myself.
It took some coaxing to get you back in the game -- or even to let me touch your foot again -- but after just a little more discomfort, the extraction was complete:
Dad
I've told you in the past that it's not OK for someone -- anyone -- to hurt you, me included.
I recognized an acute problem with that formulation when I sat down to remove a large sliver from your foot (it was just in front of your heel, and had probably been there for almost 24 hours) and started to say, more or less, "This is going to hurt. A lot."
You don't have a very impressive pain threshold to begin with, and I could see that this sliver was going to require some digging to have any hope at all of finding a handle. Of course I wasn't looking forward to inflicting significant pain on you, but the look of confusion on your face told me that you couldn't quite process why in the world I would ever do such a thing, making me wish all the more that it wasn't so.
I put something cold on your foot, then worked gingerly to remove the tiniest pieces of skin possible as I pursued the invader. After a short while I voiced -- to myself, really -- that I wished Mom was there because she'd really be much better than I at the task. Slightly, I think, misunderstanding my comment you looked at me and said "I want your Mom to do it."
Slightly grateful for the out, and comfortable that GiGi has an extensive resume, I passed on your request. She dug and dug. You screamed and writhed. I had to hold you down at times, working hard to keep you still. It was a stubborn thing, buried deep. After a while, I called for a break, wanting to pursue options for pain mitigation. I was open to a visit to the ER if needed.
First, we drove to the drugstore where the pharmacist recommended a hemorrhoid treatment as the best topical analgesic available, but the spot on the shelf was empty. At another drugstore (which didn't even carry the hemorrhoid stuff) they recommended something different that came in a spray bottle. I knew the analgesic effects of this were going to be very minimal, but I figured the spray would at least make an excellent placebo. I also bought the most expensive tweezers in the joint to substitute for the one back at the house, a blunt needle-nosed pair I recognized my from own childhood.
Grandma had done good work, and made critical progress, but when we got home I knew I wanted to finish this job myself.
It took some coaxing to get you back in the game -- or even to let me touch your foot again -- but after just a little more discomfort, the extraction was complete:
Dad
Keeping a Close
Dylan,
While my voice was out of commission recently, Uncles Chris and Ben each took a turn helping me sing Walk The Line to you at bedtime.
Dad
While my voice was out of commission recently, Uncles Chris and Ben each took a turn helping me sing Walk The Line to you at bedtime.
Dad
fast car
Dylan,
You built a derby car at the FVC last week. Rocket-ship inspired, it had flames made from yellow and orange string shooting out of dual engines at the back. A counselor nick-named it "Fire, Fire, Fire".
It finished in second place on race day, ahead of almost thirty other creations.
When I told you that your car had finished first in it's heat, you said "That means I'm a winner!"
Dad
You built a derby car at the FVC last week. Rocket-ship inspired, it had flames made from yellow and orange string shooting out of dual engines at the back. A counselor nick-named it "Fire, Fire, Fire".
It finished in second place on race day, ahead of almost thirty other creations.
When I told you that your car had finished first in it's heat, you said "That means I'm a winner!"
Dad
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
ferry boat captain
Dylan,
We spent the last couple of weeks on vacation. There were a million little things that would have made for great blog posts, but it's hard to recapture them once they start getting a little stale. Here's one that made a lasting impression:
We rode the ferry from Edmonds to Kingston and back again. While in Kingston (which you preferred to call "Kingstontown" in reference to a great little song you learned at your old school) we started chatting with a man who asked about your hat. It turned out that his girlfriend was the Captain of the boat we were waiting to take us back across the Sound. In a very generous gesture, she invited us all up to the bridge.
It was a once in a lifetime opportunity.
You got to drive the boat the whole way back -- steering all the while -- and even got to blow the giant horn to signal our coming in to dock. This boat was the Puyallup, which as a Jumbo Mark II Class ferry(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MV_Puyallup) is one of the second-largest double-ended ferries in the world.
I called Uncle Chris right away. He's always been a huge Washington State Ferry fan and I knew he'd be jealous.
You even got to push the buttons! (although the Captain asked you not to push the red one which disengages the auto-pilot):
And you got a great tutorial on shipboard radar:
Dad
We spent the last couple of weeks on vacation. There were a million little things that would have made for great blog posts, but it's hard to recapture them once they start getting a little stale. Here's one that made a lasting impression:
We rode the ferry from Edmonds to Kingston and back again. While in Kingston (which you preferred to call "Kingstontown" in reference to a great little song you learned at your old school) we started chatting with a man who asked about your hat. It turned out that his girlfriend was the Captain of the boat we were waiting to take us back across the Sound. In a very generous gesture, she invited us all up to the bridge.
It was a once in a lifetime opportunity.
You got to drive the boat the whole way back -- steering all the while -- and even got to blow the giant horn to signal our coming in to dock. This boat was the Puyallup, which as a Jumbo Mark II Class ferry(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MV_Puyallup) is one of the second-largest double-ended ferries in the world.
I called Uncle Chris right away. He's always been a huge Washington State Ferry fan and I knew he'd be jealous.
You even got to push the buttons! (although the Captain asked you not to push the red one which disengages the auto-pilot):
And you got a great tutorial on shipboard radar:
Dad
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