Until I get my new theme installed, this refuses to show big enough. Just click the picture a couple of times to make it work. Sorry.Read the rest
Sam Part I,
Sam Part II,
Sam has had a rough year. A rough, rough year. He loves ballet, but he nearly rejected it because he went through a phase of hating everything. And when things were at the utworst, when I thought he was going to have to stop dance, the ballet reached out to him. This was late last year.
They were making a calendar. They needed a little boy to be in a picture, and would Sam please come. OK, let me be clear. They did NOT need a little boy for a picture.… Read the rest
As if he wasn’t pelting along behind me.
All I could think was Sam, Sam, Sam. He’s a flight risk. We’ve considered documenting him. He seems to be settling down, so we haven’t gone through with it, but, Sam, Sam, Sam, when that doorbell rang, I wished we hadn’t dithered and delayed.
I barely looked out before I threw open the door.… Read the rest
We went to the Alabama book festival yesterday and wandered around with the heady smell of intellectualism in our noses for three hours until Sam started trying to break antiques. The festival was housed in Old Alabama Town, a sort of miniature Ye Olde Williamsburg. I’ve avoided the place before, because I feared it would be all Gone With the Wind veneration of the old South.… Read the rest
But things got silly fast
for Sam, anyway.
Caroline was into the eggs at a much deeper level
She really considered what colors to use
and took great pride in her results;
especially when she realized I’d put her name on one of her eggs.
Sam was pretty thrilled when he saw his first eggs come out.
But on the whole, he was more interested in dumping colors together and dying himself mushy blue.
In the end, they both had an eggsellent time.
Right up until Sam melted down for four hours when the project was over.… Read the rest
Scott is Christian. I’m agnostic. When we lived in Lexington, we went to Scott’s Presbyterian church and sent Caroline to preschool in a synagogue. Right across the hall from Caroline’s room, the temple held its bar/bah mitzavah classes, and there was overlap between the beginning of big-kid class and little-kid-pickup time. The big kids discussed important religious questions at length.
Keep this in mind.
The nursery at Scott’s church understood that although Caroline didn’t have a formal autism diagnosis at that point, there were social delays that made it difficult to move her up to the appropriate preschool Sunday School class.… Read the rest
Assuming that Sam gets that little monster temper under control, he’s going to be a good student. He’ll dance circles around his academic subjects, I’m certain.… Read the rest
A little background. I do not approve of parenting via the fluffy-cloud method. Scott and I once paid some $400 for a parenting course that was ALL 1970s schmaltz. The class text even used the phrase “hang-up”. Does it get more 1970s than “hang-up”? And yet, I loved that syrupy thing. Every annoying idea that irked me actually had practical applications that were anything but stupid.… Read the rest
“Well, yes,” I said. But I hastened to add, “I’m not going to say what we bought.”
Mostly, I wanted an entry about this Sunday’s shop-in. I haven’t even attempted to explain this to her in any depth, and she, unlike me, loves to shop, yearns for more opportunities to do so, and doesn’t really care about the excuse.… Read the rest