Kneebiters

From Kiddies to Kitties: Switching Gears to Discuss Pet Adoption

2012-02-01T13:43:00.001-08:00

I just rebooted my laptop. Again. One of my newly adopted cats stepped on the keyboard and put my computer into a state of limbo from which there is no return. The cats are still exploring every square inch of our home; apparently, that includes my C: drive.

My husband and I recently adopted our two little ladies from Mary’s Kitty Korner in Granby. We adopted Magoo (so named for her perpetual stink-eye look) and Amy to help fill the void that we felt after recently euthanizing a beloved pet. They have indeed filled the void; with love, crazy antics, and to our dismay, an astonishing amount of flatulence.

-0pkop;l ← (Magoo says hello)

Mary’s Kitty Korner is located on route 10 in Granby. Mary’s is home to several dozen homeless cats and run by kind, dedicated volunteers. Mary’s Kitty Korner has cats of every color, size, and personality. It is surprisingly clean (no small task) and the cats are well tended to. The volunteers were eager to introduce us to the cats and to help us find a good fit.

If you’re considering pet ownership, please take a moment to visit the website for Mary’s Kitty Korner or one of the many animal rescue groups throughout Connecticut, such as Animal Friends of Connecticut. There are so many homeless animals waiting for loving homes. One of the wonderful things about Mary’s is that for every cat you adopt, Mary’s takes in another from a high-kill shelter. When you adopt one cat, you are saving two.

Mary’s requires that those interested in adopting fill out an application and provide references. While this may seem unusual, it is understandable - the cats at Mary’s have all been through some difficult times and deserve to go to safe, loving homes. One of our cats had been rescued from a swimming pool, nearly drowned. The other is an orphan. The other cats we met had been rescued from abandoned homes, hoarding situations and fires. Others were there because their owner had died or because they had been rejected after not being a good fit in their original home.

One of the helpful features of the website for Mary’s Kitty Korner is that each cat has the equivalent of a little Facebook profile complete with “Likes” (as in “Likes” Dogs or “Likes” to live somewhere without young children). This helps to ensure that the cats go to a suitable home. In the event that an adoption does not work out, Mary’s has a “no questions asked” return policy.

Age, history, and health information are provided in most cases. Mary’s Kitty Korner keeps all cats up to date with vaccinations, tests cats for Feline Leukemia/FIV, and spays/neuters cats when they are old enough.

Making the decision to adopt a pet was easy. However, deciding which animal to adopt was so easy. I am hoping that this post will help find homes for a few of the other cats that we had to leave behind.

Other things you can do to help:

- Do your research before getting a pet

- Spay/neuter your pet

- Donate to animal adoption agencies

- Encourage others to do all of the above

Special thanks to our wonderful veterinarian, Dr. Staudacher of Roaring Brook Veterinary Hospital in Canton.

The Power of the Written Word

2010-04-28T07:03:00.000-07:00

Notebooks and a variety of writing materials are frequently provided for our students, in order to encourage them to practice writing, regardless of where they are with their skills. I have found notebooks with several consecutive pages of scribble "cursive", painstakingly and precisely written on each line.

Students in our classes use notebooks and paper to take orders, make notes about things that they observe, write down clues, label items, make signs, write letters, draw, and much more. Prior to a class during which we use the notebooks, we often tear out the old entries so that the notebooks are fresh. We find all sorts of interesting entries, but the above is one of my favorites. I keep it in my office, and it always makes me laugh.

With the ability to write comes power. I remember being sent to my room as a child, and being so angry, that I wrote down the word "cripes" on a piece of paper. I remember thinking that my parents could control what I said out loud, but that I could write whatever I wanted on paper. I sure showed them. Back to work - I have much to do. Doody doo doo poo!

Toddler Carjacking: News at 10:00

2010-03-08T09:49:00.000-08:00

One Sweet Ride

You’ve all seen the red and yellow Little Tikes Cozy Coupes. You may notice when you pass some daycare centers that there is a whole fleet of these vehicles on the playground. The Little Tikes Cozy Coupe is the must-have vehicle of the toddler set, and without enough to go around, things tend to get ugly.

I remember working at a daycare center that had only one of the coveted coupes. It was a great facility, and the teachers were vigilant when it came to keeping an eye on all areas of the playground. However, just as in real life, you can’t always react quickly enough to stop a crime in progress.

One morning our little group of children (ranging from about 18 months to 2 years of age) was enjoying some fresh air when the heinous crime unfolded in slow motion before my very eyes.

One little man was going about his business in the coupe. He stopped briefly, and the moment he did, some other little man came and muscled him right out of his car. The perp opened the little yellow door, grabbed the driver by the jacket, and pulled him out of the vehicle. He then promptly got in, slammed the door, and drove away as quickly as his little Fred Flintstone feet would go.

The driver lay stunned on the ground. The diminutive innocent bystanders, who had stopped to watch the crime go down, resumed their activities.

Fortunately, the perp was promptly apprehended, and the vehicle was returned to its rightful (albeit temporarily rightful) owner. I am pleased to report that the driver suffered no injuries.

I have also seen children try to “tip” another child out of a Little Tikes Coupe. It’s like that scene from the original Superman movie, during which mini-Superman lifts a car by its rear bumper. The tipping method is not as effective in removing the occupant however, and by the time the aggressor is able to get the car off of the ground an inch or so, the law is on site to intervene.

What to do about this alarming trend in toddler crime? Does the Cozy Coupe need a panic button? Door locks? Solutions, anyone?

On Resembling a Muppet

2010-02-28T10:51:00.000-08:00

So, how do you know when it’s time to get your hair cut? A few weeks ago, when I was a bit overdue for a trim, one of my 3 year-old students sized me up as she munched on her snack. She said,

“Miss Angela, your hair is kind of furry on top.”

Hmmm. No misinterpreting that.

It was just an ugly coincidence (or was it?) that when I got my hair cut later that week, I asked my hairdresser to trim my bangs a bit more, and she ended up cutting them super-short. I went around looking like Kristy McNichol for three weeks, (am I dating myself?) which is fine for looking like a “fox” in 1978, but not so much in 2010.

A different student inquired of another CreativeWorks teacher,

“Why do you have hair like a boy?”

I think that it would be a good idea for hair salons to have 3 year-old consultants on staff. That way, when the hairdresser asked if you wanted a little more off the top, you could get a truly honest opinion. (“No, you might look like a boy.” “Yes, your hair is too furry.”)

For a number of years I took my birthday party gig on the road, and for the fairytale theme parties, I came dressed as a princess character. Then came the day of truth, when I was told,

“You kinda look more like a queen than a princess.”

Not long after that, I hung up my glass slippers and pursued other characters. Granted, I am sensitive to begin with, but you know, these kids are telling the ugly truth, whether you want to hear it or not. The princess critic was like a little image consultant: “You know, this look isn’t working for you anymore. I don’t think that your customers are buying it. Let’s try something else.” All she needed was a Blackberry.

When children are very young, and are still working out the kinks regarding tactfulness, there is an interesting developmental period during which they call ‘em like they see ‘em, and there is a lot of adult cringing that goes on before things smooth out.

Of course, in my classes, if an "inappropriate" comment is made, I address it, and we discuss when it is acceptable to say something out loud, and when it’s better to “keep your words in your head.” We talk about how and why certain comments affect people's feelings. But really, I'm okay with looking like an old Queen with a hairdo like Bert/Kristy McNichol. Really.

For a related story, read Fair Weather Friends. If you have a related incident that you'd like to share, please leave a comment.

Thinking Outside of the Bag

2010-02-25T18:49:00.000-08:00

Photo and sculpture by student/architect

Kapla Blocks

What might it be? (I'll start: A Fairy Hotel)

Respond in the comments section after this post.

One sensory activity that I like to do from time to time is a guessing game that challenges children to identify objects using only their sense of touch.

During this activity, a student reaches into a bag (without looking) and grasps the first thing that she touches. The student then tries to identify the item prior to removing it from the bag.

I make a point to include items that are familiar in shape, so that the children will be successful. For example, I may include a pair of sunglasses, a cup, a brush, a teddy bear, and so on.

Upon asking one of the students what he thought his object might be, he replied,

“A hole.” He then pulled out a bangle bracelet. A hole! Far out, dude.

We go around the circle: Spoon. Paintbrush. Paper Plate. Block.

Then we come back to the same little boy. He reaches in, pauses, and says,

“General Grievous.” I love it. (For those of you not in-the-know, General Grievous is a a bizarre skeletal robot from Star Wars). The boy then pulls a metal race car from the bag.

Hmm. Perhaps he was taking the question “what do you think it might be?” literally. It’s not nearly the same question as “what is it?”

It is a child’s natural state to “think outside of the box.” They are born outside of the box. Adults are the ones buying them the boxes, sticking them in there, and paying for rush shipping. It’s hard not to. We live in a giant UPS store. (Alright, enough with the box metaphors).

So, now I make a point to remember that what was originally a sensory exercise can be used as a tactile challenge or a creativity exercise, depending upon how the question of identification is phrased.

It’s ironic that I needed this reminder this from one of my students when, in fact, I’ve been using a similar creativity exercise at educator workshops for years. During the exercise, I give the teachers a simple object, and they then have to list all of the things that the object might symbolize in under a minute. For example, if they are given a piece of string, they might come up with: a leash, a hair tie, a tightrope, a fishing line…and so on.

We see a star flickering low in the sky, and we know that it’s a star. Most of us have lost that youthful ability to stop and imagine that it is a fairy, a beacon from a pirate ship, or a candle in a castle window. I just heard a series of beeps. It might have been a spy radio signal or a robot, but unfortunately, it was my dryer. Time to get back in the box.

They're All Dead!

2010-02-22T17:00:00.000-08:00

I am a dog person without a dog, so I get my fixes where I can. If you’re heading out the door at Target, and you see someone near your parked car talking baby-talk to your dog, it is probably me. Don’t call the police.

The responses that I receive vary. There’s the “I’d be happy to go home with you, let’s go!” whole-body wag, the resolute “I shall ignore you, and avoid all eye contact, for I am waiting for my owner,” and the maniacal bark.

My husband and I are allowed to share a home with a type-A cat who would never permit his territory to be invaded by another being outside of our existing pride. Except for the occasional mouse, which, annoyingly enough, doesn’t faze him a bit. So for now, we are dogless.

On one of our day-sucking Target-Petco-CVS-Staples-Michael’s-Mobil-Shaw’s-iParty-Bank outings, we passed a new doggie-daycare (a topic for another entry). We decided to go in and check out the facility (i.e., see the dogs) under the auspices of comparison-shopping for a suitable daycare for our beloved Rover.

At the time that we entered, a mother and her son (3 or 4-ish) was entering the building as well. We all went up to the suites/pens/stalls/cells/whatever and peered in at the dogs. One of the suites contained a group of puppies that were lying down and sleeping in that deep sleep reserved for infants of all species.

The little boy surveyed the puppy pile for a moment, and then said in a voice that conveyed part distress, and part utter disgust toward his mother for bringing him to view such a tragedy,

“They’re all DEAD!”

Well, you just never know what your Mom is going to pull on you, do you? One day it’s all ice-cream and playgrounds, and the next it’s viewing a pile of dead puppies. A trip to Grandma’s one day, a stab in the arm the next. Life is full of surprises.

Of course, the mother explained that the puppies were just sleeping (in a rather defensive sounding tone), but I don’t know if her son bought it. Perhaps his mother had uttered one too many white lies.

For example, I have heard:

“I am just ‘testing’ the camcorder.”
“Those gumball machines are broken.”
“It’s a place that sells playground equipment.” (McDonald’s with playscape)

Mmm-hmm. Riiiiiiiiiight.

It Can't Hurt to Ask

2010-02-16T16:37:00.000-08:00

It’s so interesting to witness the budding personalities of the young children in my classes. You can almost pick out who will end up being an authoritative CEO, an eccentric artist, a caring teacher, a persuasive lawyer, or a ground-breaking inventor.

Recently, I was doing a train themed birthday party, and one of the little guests came up to me. She looked up at our new Thomas the Train set, running on a track above the party area, and she said,

“Can I have that Thomas?”

Hmmm. Keep a straight face, Miss Angela.

“I’m sorry, I know that it would be really fun to have, but we need it here.”

“Why?”

Wow.

“Well, because imagine how other children might feel if they came here to have a train party, and our Thomas the Train was gone. They would be sad.”

She nodded her head, and walked away.

Without the preconceptions that we adults carry around with us about How the World Works, this little girl was able to give it a shot. She truly thought that there was a chance that she would be walking out of there with that Thomas set. It’s more than that though; not every child would approach an adult with such a bold inquiry. I’ve had children ask me if they could take keep costumes, books, stuffed animals, and even party plates. At least they ask. I’ve seen a number of our smallish belongings stuffed into little pants pockets and walk out the door, and have had to pursue the perps for interrogation. I’m not too tough on them though, because I know that they’re still learning How the World Works, and because I know what it feels like to want. We all do. Whether it’s a tangible item or not, we all want something.

A five-year-old boy whispered his request into our wishing well at a Snow White party recently, and I heard him whisper “world peace”. I hope he gets what he asked for, but I don’t think that it’s likely. It can't hurt to ask.

High Hopes

2010-02-03T06:37:00.000-08:00

During our fairy birthday parties at CreativeWorks, children enter a room filled with giant flowers, colorful butterflies, twinkling lights, and shimmering balloons. It’s a magical setting, and especially magical for the birthday girl. Upon entering the room for the first time, one birthday girl said to me, “I think I’m going to fall down!” (as in faint).

Little girls dance about in fluttery skirts and gossamer wings, and delight in their journey to Fairyland. During the course of one of the fairy parties, I was releasing rocket balloons (which fly all around the room, and often end up stuck somewhere in the rafters of our 14-foot ceiling). When one of the balloons got stuck, one of the little fairies said with all seriousness,

“I will get it.” She peered up at the balloon, lodged some 12 feet above her. She then began making flapping motions with her arms while uttering small grunts and jumping a few inches off of the ground. After a few attempts, she looked at me, shrugged, and said,

“I can’t do it.”

A few minutes later, during a different party activity, we sprinkled fairy dust onto the wings of the fairies. It was shortly after this that I noticed the little girl go back to the same spot, and make another attempt at flight. She didn’t tell anyone what she was doing, she was just earnestly flapping away, and eventually, she gave up.

Sigh. A lesson learned. Part of growing up is experiencing a series of letdowns. Too bad fairy dust doesn’t work after all…

Lincoln is DEAD!

2010-02-01T11:16:00.000-08:00

I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you, but he is.

So, it was the first day of class, and one of my three year-old students whom I hadn’t met until just that day (and who had not yet spoken to me) came up to me, looked up at me in horror, and said,

“Lincoln is DEAD!” (dramatic pause)

“He was one of our residents! (dramatic pause)

“They shot him right in the brains!”

Shocking news, indeed. The other children watched my face carefully, waiting for my response. Should they be concerned about this apparently recent and tragic development? How would this affect them?

“Oh yes,” I replied. “President Lincoln lived a long time ago, and it is very sad that he died,” I responded, dodging the topic of murder.

I spoke to his mother at the end of class; she gasped and held her hand to her mouth.

“I know,” she said. “We went on a tour in Washington D.C., and his older brother was talking about it the whole way home. I didn't think that he was listening so closely. I’m afraid that he got a bit too much information.”

Ah, the educational vacation…an oxy-moron in the minds of some, and an adventure for others. I don’t think that I was ever traumatized on any such outing, unless you count spending hours watching Holly Hobby-ish ladies dipping candles and mending lace on a lovely summer day that would’ve been perfect for swimming.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

2010-02-01T10:50:00.000-08:00

I’ve often wondered what goes through a young child’s mind when he is too young to express himself verbally, yet can understand and process a lot of information. Sometimes the memories compiled in the non-verbal years have ways of coming to the surface while the child is still young, but not old enough to have forgotten some of those experiences.

For example, when conducting a “firefighter” theme camp this past summer, we discussed fire safety, and the responsibilities of a firefighter (see my entry, “Fire-farter Frank”). During the course of our discussion, a three year-old boy said,

“When I was a baby, my bum was on fire…but the firetruck didn’t come. My Mommy fixed it.”

There was a general look of shock among the other children in the circle. There was no laughter. This was serious news. Who knew that your bum could catch on fire? Sheesh. One more thing to worry about in the world. Was it some sort of accident, or was it a spontaneous combustion thing?

Anyway, the likely cause of his flaming bum was diaper rash. Not being in a position to view the actual flames, or to articulate his fears, his five-alarm diaper rash got filed away in his memory, and the topic of firefighters brought it back to light. And we wonder why we as adults develop weird phobias and O.C.D. Who knows what we experienced back in the early years that got filed into the way-wrong folder? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go throw away some fruit before it starts flying around.

EEE-ee, EEE-ee

2009-11-24T12:32:00.000-08:00

...is the sound of the crickets hanging out in my blog.
@@@@@@@ tumbleweeds
********* spiderwebs

Looking for more stories? E-mail me at: kneebitersblog-email@yahoo.com

Fair Weather Friends

2009-05-07T17:08:00.000-07:00

When preschoolers start criticizing your clothes, it’s time to go shopping.

One particularly freezing day (the kind where the insides of your nose stick together when you sniffle) I was dressed in my warmest wool pullover.

During snack time, one of the little boys in my preschool program said,

“Miss Angela, why are you wearing that shirt? That doesn’t look like you. Take that off. What do you have on under there?” (my t-shirt collar was visible at the neckline).

“Yeah. You look like a heater,” added another little boy.

(A heater?!?)

“A heater? What do you mean?”

“You’re all heated up,” he replied, munching on his granola bar.

Hmmm. A heater. A lot of critical comments have gone through my head while viewing myself in the mirror, but “you look like a heater” was never one of them.

“How was your day?” my husband asked later that evening.

“Well, somebody told me that I looked hot,” I yelled down the hall, grabbing my flannel p.j.s.

Magic Markers

2009-02-24T19:01:00.000-08:00

My niece, Maggie, is an excellent artist. (In case any of my family members are reading this, I should say that they are ALL talented, wonderful people!)

One day, when Maggie was about four years old, she showed me one of her latest creations. I said,

"Wow, that's so colorful. Did you use magic markers to make your picture?"

She replied matter-of-factly,

"No. Just regular markers," and walked away.

So here goes this little girl, into the other room, into the world, accepting the existence of "magic" markers.

I always wondered if she walked away thinking about magic markers. Maybe she thought they worked like Harold's Purple Crayon. Or, perhaps she thought that magic markers created pictures without the guidance of the human hand.

In reality, she probably didn't give it much thought. In a world of fairies that pay for teeth, giant rabbits that hide colored eggs, and a man who sneaks presents to all of the children in the world, magic markers are small potatoes. The real magic is in the mind of a child.

Be Like Fosil!

2009-02-04T08:21:00.000-08:00

So, I try my best to promote equality in my programs. Girls can be race car drivers, boys can be ballet dancers, and so on. I challenge my students' pre-conceived notions (which, sadly, already exist) of gender stereotypes.

For example, during a "construction" theme program, I shocked boys and girls alike by drilling a hole, and then attaching a piece of wood with a screw. I also told my students about how I built a doghouse when I was a little girl. (I left out the part about how my dog refused to go inside, probably because she recognized that the unstable dwelling was not up to code).

However, there have been times when I have not set the best example. During a "dinosaur" themed camp, I presented our pint-sized paleontologists with several boxes, each of which included the necessary bones to reconstruct a particular type of dinosaur.

"Be Like Fosil!" the box exclaimed. "Make Like Dinosaur!"

I don't think that I need to tell you that the cryptic "directions" were of no help whatsoever. I had imagined that each box would contain maybe four bones that would snap together. When the children poured out the contents of their boxes, we all stared in dismay at the great multitude of tiny bones scattered in front of us.

Shortly thereafter, my assistant and I were dashing from child to child responding to, "I need help!" and "I can't do this!"

My assistant and I looked at each other and shrugged. Sadly, we also needed help. My face got hot. I couldn't let the children see that I was incapable of putting these crappy little models together! I scoured the directions in an attempt to translate the jumble of words into meaningful sentences. No such luck.

Finally, one of the children said,

"Maybe you should get a boy."

I was defeated. He was right. I called my husband, and he had our little museum set up in no time.

In hindsight I, of course, should have reviewed the materials prior to presenting them. However, sometimes I get so buried (no pun intended) that I have to cut corners somewhere.

Think Fast

2009-01-20T12:04:00.000-08:00

My hearing is not so great. I am not ready to resort to a hearing aid, but those old-fashioned cone-in-the-ear things look kind of appealing.

In spite of my condition, I have a superhuman ability to tune into any suspicious whispering. For example, one day I overheard a four-year-old girl saying to a classmate,

"You're fat."

I walked over to the child and said,

"What did you say?"

She immediately responded,

"I meant to say she smelled just like a flower."

Ah! I see. Well now, that would've been a nice thing to say. It's too bad it came out as "you're fat."

I had to give her points for her quick thinking. It was a bit frightening just how quick her thinking was though. Of course we had the discussion about feelings, kindness, being a good friend, and so on.

I'd like to write more on this topic, but I should really go take a shower. This perfume makes me feel so fat...

The Power of Pixie Dust

2008-12-23T10:30:00.000-08:00

From time to time, I take out a beautiful glass bottle that is filled with "pixie dust" and topped with a flower stopper. Whenever I do this, the children's eyes widen with anticipation. Sometimes it is sprinkled on princesses at coronation ceremonies, and sometimes it is used to create a magical path for fairies to follow.

Recently, I was doing a “Nutcracker Sweets” program, and the children were pretending to be various characters from the ballet such as sugarplum fairies, snowflakes, wooden soldiers, and dancing flowers. Pixie dust was an essential ingredient in creating the magical atmosphere. I sprinkled the snow fairies with pixie dust, and they twirled away into a land of candy canes, gumdrops, and sugared snowflakes.

At the end of the program, it was time for the children to leave their magical world, and get ready to go home, much like Clara herself. As I was making sure that the students had all of their belongings, two of the little girls approached my husband and asked him if they could have a bit more pixie dust before they left. My husband replied,

“Let’s wait for Miss Angela to finish, and then she can do it.”

One of the little pixies looked up at him and said,

“Why? Because we might turn into frogs?”

The faith that children have in possibility and their willingness to accept that magic is at work in the world is just staggering.

Children are the truest of believers, and that is one of the reasons I so enjoy working with them. Flying reindeer? Giant bunnies that deliver chocolate? Some lady that pays for kids’ teeth? Why not? They really do not know the limits of reality (lucky them) and therefore, are willing to give most ideas a chance. When it comes to children, seeing isn't believing. Believing is believing.

The frog comment reminds me of the following anecdote, which I wrote several years ago after an event:

Raising my glittering magic wand in the air, dressed in my pink, sparkly princess crown, a tiara, jewels, and glitter head-to-toe, I am tackiness personified. A prom-queen-in-pink-taffeta nightmare times ten. In the eyes of the three year-olds, I am beautiful. Tacky+sparkly+lots of pink=beautiful. Disney and Mattel figured that out a long time ago. I say to the children with excitement,

“…and now! I am going to cast a spell on you!”

I prepare to wave my wand dramatically, when a little hand shoots up.

“Yes?”

“Will it be a good spell, or a wicked spell?”

Will it be a good spell, or a wicked spell? It sure would be nice to know ahead of time, wouldn’t it? We spend so much of our lives trying to figure out whether what’s coming our way next is good or wicked.

The little princess was prepared to accept her fate, for better or worse. We do the best we can, but some things we just have no control over.

“A good spell, sweetie,” I answer.

I raise my wand, and with a dramatic swoop, I cast the spell, secretly wishing for them a lifetime in which the good far outweighs the wicked.

Carolyn Out in the Snow

2008-12-13T17:08:00.000-08:00

Happy holidays to all of you, and especially to Carolyn, out in the snow.

As an overly sensitive child, I remember being distressed by how casually the singers of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” would sing perkily about how there’d be, “parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting, and Carolyn out in the snow…”

I would puzzle over how people could be celebrating in their cozy, festive homes, while they knew perfectly well that poor little Carolyn was standing out there in the snow. It was definitely NOT the hap-happiest season of all for Carolyn. I would expect that summer would be her happiest season. At least she wouldn’t be freezing to death.

The picture that always came to mind was as follows: It was early evening, and the temperature was about 5 degrees...cold enough that the sides of your nose stick together when you sniff. Carolyn did not have a hat or gloves; just a hand-me-down coat and boots that were two sizes too big. She was not one to complain, so she would never think to ask to come in, but she did enjoy looking in on the happy scene with people dressed in their holiday finery, toasting one another. She would particularly enjoy looking at the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, and wondering what kinds of things were wrapped up in the beautiful presents beneath the tree.

If I continued in this vein for too long, I would eventually come to tears. Who was this Carolyn that she got a special mention in the song? I would wonder. Why was she out in the snow alone? Where on earth were her parents? Was she lost? Maybe she ended up dying, like the little match girl. Good grief, why wouldn’t anyone let her in if they saw her out there?

I remember singing in an assembly during elementary school, and the song that our grade sang was “Bless the Beasts and the Children” (for in this world, they have no voice…they have no choice…for this world can never be, the world they see…) singing this song would hit me like a ton of bricks every time. I would picture all of the little helpless children like Carolyn, and lost puppies and kittens. My throat would swell up into a lump, and I would squeak through the rest of the song, while the kids next to me would shoot suspicious looks at me out look of the corners of their eyes.

To this day, I am still often gripped with agony over the plight of the beasts and the children. I once risked my life pulling over on a highway, to save a cat that was on the median. It turned out to be a stuffed animal. I held up traffic on Route 4 saving a baby bluebird that was standing in the middle of the road. I spent one Easter driving a stray cat to the vet, and a shelter. My husband’s “potential animal-in-distress radar” kicks in pretty quickly, and he attempts to diffuse the situation before I can say anything: “It looks well-fed. It has a collar. It knows where it’s going…you can tell.” Children are part of my protection program as well. I hang around whenever I see a child who appears to be too far away from his/her caregiver in a store, just to make sure that everything turns out okay. Children standing up in grocery carts, leaning too far over bridges, wandering alone in store aisles, or standing too close to the road are all potential problems. I also rescue children that I see being bullied.

An animal or child in trouble can put the brakes on whatever I am doing during the course of the day, no matter how important. I have seen ads in the Yankee Flyer for lost cats, and then see ads in the Foothills Trader for found cats that fit the description, and make the necessary phone calls in hopes of a match. I won’t even get into the lengths to which I went to “rescue” a parakeet that was loose outside near the office. It is a long, sad story, with a tragic ending.

Every story that I hear that involves a child or animal in pain leaves a permanent scar in my mind, that never seems to go away. So, if I get upset over a current animal in need, I have to revisit the cat that got hit by a car, the parakeet that died in my hands, the dog that was left out in the cold, the horse that was abused…and on and on.

I am sometimes concerned that my feelings for animals and children are disproportionate to my feelings for, say, the rest of the world. (Do you think?) If I am watching a movie, and a few adults die, well, that’s life. But if the movie is about a dog that dies, I am a mess. I won’t read many books that are stories about beloved pets, because I know how it’s all going to end. Books about the tragic loss of lives during wartime…it’s a shame and all, but I just don’t feel it on the same level.

Being overly sensitive complicates my life, and causes me a lot of unnecessary stress, but I guess that I'd rather feel too much than too little. So, if you see Carolyn out in the snow, please let me know; I’ll be right there.

The Gift That Keeps on Being Given

2008-12-02T16:14:00.000-08:00

I believe that the Seinfeld show coined the phrase “re-gifting” although they certainly didn’t invent the concept. Re-gifting has probably been around for hundreds, maybe even thousands, of years. Imagine that you are a cavewoman, and that you see a friend of yours loping toward your territory. You remember that she recently gave you a tasty snake, and that you haven’t yet returned the favor. You don’t have time to club anything yourself. What’s a cavewoman to do? Ah-ha! There it is! A rat pelt. Given to you by your crazy Aunt Ugg sixteen moons ago. What are you supposed to with a rat pelt anyway? So, you welcome your friend with a big toothless smile, and present her with your offering.

Flash forward to 2006. It’s the last class before our holiday break, and a little girl comes into the classroom dressed in a beautiful black and red Christmas dress. Her hair is woven into two perfect braids, each of which is tied off with bright red ribbons.

She walks toward me with a huge smile on her face. She holds out a small, perfectly wrapped box, looks up at me, and says proudly,

“Here Miss Angela. My Grandma gave this to my Mommy, and now I’m giving it to you.”

She spoke with no trace of sarcasm, humor, or any hint of awareness of her faux pas. She was a four year-old, simply delighting in the joy of giving. It was a “bite my tongue really hard so that I don’t laugh” moment.

I am not casting any judgment on re-gifters. I have done it myself, although I usually have to tell the recipient so that I don’t feel as if I’m being deceptive. But really, if you receive a perfectly good gift that for one reason or another you will never use, why not pass it along to someone that is a more suitable recipient? For example, I wouldn’t use a sequined coin purse, but my niece would be thrilled to take it off of my hands. As a matter of fact, I did enjoy and use my gift from Grandma/Mom/Daughter. In order to protect the relatively innocent, I will not mention what the item was. This year with so many tightened budgets, I bet a lot of people will be shopping at home, and I don’t mean on the internet or by catalog. I might just be one of them.

Contents Under Pressure

2008-12-01T13:29:00.000-08:00

In one of our summer theme weeks, “Tropical Island Fun,” I conducted an experiment to illustrate how volcanoes erupt. The required items included baking soda, vinegar, a little plastic bottle with a cork, and some very quick fingers.

My original intent was to conduct the experiment outdoors, in our sand table, after having the children construct a volcano out of sand. However, shortly after we went outside, it began to rain, and we had to go back inside. Needless to say, the children were very disappointed. After weighing my options, I decided to do the experiment indoors. I figured that a little baking soda and vinegar couldn’t really do too much harm, and our studio ceiling is at least 16 feet high, so there was plenty of room for the launch.

So, having seated the children at a safe distance away, with their little plastic goggles in place, I prepared the concoction. There were several attempts during which I was unsuccessful due to being unable to get the cork in before the bottle flowed over. The kids sat patiently; I tried three more times. The area had become quite messy, so I told them that we’d have to wait until the next day when we could try the experiment outdoors. But the children were very eager to see an eruption; they grabbed paper towels and cleaned everything up, asking me to try again.

It was worth the wait. On the next try, just as I secured the cork, there was a sonic-boom of a “POP!” the cork went flying, and the foamy "lava" shot up to a great height before ultimately spraying down onto me, leaving me smiling and smelling like a giant Easter egg.

The kids clapped, and laughed, and screamed “DO IT AGAIN!”

Then, one little boy ran up to me and said, “I need a new pull-up.” And so, in one way or another, we all learned the lesson of how liquid under pressure can only stay in place for so long before forcing its way out.

Thankful for Princesses

2008-11-27T06:33:00.000-08:00

It was towards the end of our "Kids Can Cook" class, and our table was set for the Thanksgiving feast. The salad, turkey sandwiches, and pumpkin pie had all been prepared by children 2.5-6 years of age. After sitting down at the table, I asked the children to tell everyone something for which they were thankful. There were some typical responses such as toys, family, dogs, food, and friends. One little girl said sweetly,

"I am thankful for princesses."

Which made me feel thankful that the children at our table were living lives in which they had the luxury of being thankful for princesses. So many children in the world are burdened by hunger, inadequate shelter, fear, and illness. Those children would never even consider being thankful for princesses. It is heartbreaking to think about all of the children that are missing out on the joy of being a child, and are strapped with burdens beyond their power to overcome.

It disturbing that in this day and age, basic care is not being provided for all children. There is more than enough wealth to spread, and while I am no politician, I am sure that there are ways in which we can reallocate funds in order to take care of our children. I am thankful that so many children are well cared for, and hope for a day when all children can be thankful for princesses.

Beautiful or Kind?

2008-11-25T06:41:00.000-08:00

After reading a favorite fairytale, I sit the girls down in a circle, and ask,

“Do you think that it would be more important for people to think that you are the most beautiful person in the world, or the nicest person in the world?”

Before anyone can answer, one of the children begins to cough, and it turns into quite a fit. We pause, and I give her some water.

“Are you okay?” I ask, patting her gently on the back.

She nods, “yes,” and then the coughing starts up. First one, then another, and another. Suddenly, everyone is quite ill, and in need of a drink of water and a pat on the back.

“My, everyone here certainly is sick today! Maybe we should stop the class and go to the doctor instead!” I say dramatically.

The coughing abruptly subsides.

“That’s better! So, anyway, what do you think? Think about being the most beautiful person in the world, or the nicest.”

One of the girls says,

“One time I got really sick, and had to take medicine from the doctor.”

Another child offers,

“My medicine that helps me poop tastes really bad.”

There is a brief lull as the children seriously study the girl with the pooping problem, and after a moment, they seem to come to a place of understanding, and let it go.

“I have a boo-boo on my finger,” says one little girl, presenting her tiny, unflawed finger.

Another girl fiercely picks her scab, and then screams,

“Blood! I’m bleeding! I need a Band-aid!”

So I get the kit.

“I think I only have Spiderman Band-aids left. Is that okay, or does it matter?”

“It matters.”

After digging deeper, I find a Dora, and she is pleased. I get a hug around the knees. Me personally, I would rather have everyone see me as the nicest person in the world.

Firefarter Frank

2008-11-20T11:55:00.000-08:00

I find that quite often the words that come out of my mouth are quite different from what I actually intended to say. For example, “Argentina” comes out as, “Art-and-Gina.” Or, if I mean to say that I got stuck in traffic, I might say, “I got stunk in traffic.” I often wonder if I’ve used too much bug spray with Deet over the years, or if there’s such thing as verbal dyslexia. Could it be super-early onset Alzheimer’s? A brain tumor? A side effect of my hearing problem? Regardless of the cause, it is embarrassing. Due to the nature of my job, I frequently speak to groups of people such as children, parents, customers, and so on.

One quite memorable verbal fumble occurred when I was reading a story to a group of children during “Firefighter Week” at summer camp. The story was called, “Firefighter Frank.” And so I began,

“Firefarter Frank…”

I got no further due to the mass breakout of hysteria. You must admit that it conjures up an amusing image, even if you are over the age of 3. After about ten minutes of mayhem, asthma attacks, and peeing-of-pants, things calmed down. I explained my error, and I started again, carefully enunciating every syllable.

“Fi-re-FIGH-TER Frank was on duty…”

More hysteria breaks out, and I am momentarily puzzled, but then a little girl shouts out, “DOODY!!!” slaps her hand to her forehead, and falls backward laughing. Thanks to me, their minds were already in the gutter, and that, compounded with the fact that they were unable to read, led to their interpretation of Firefighter Frank sitting on a pile of, well, doody. That one was not my fault, but nevertheless, everything was chaotic for another five minutes or so.

After things calmed down, we had a quick lesson on homonyms. I was able to make it through the rest of the book after that, but there were several more perilously close calls with the word “firefighter,” and all of the childrens little eyes darted up to my face in anticipation every time I nearly misspoke. To this day, I still have trouble with that one. I am often tempted to go back to the pre-P.C. label of “fireman.” It would make things a lot easier. I think that female firefighters would be less offended if I referred to the occupation as “fireman” as opposed to “firefarter,” but you never know.

So, if I happen to be speaking in tongues during a future conversation with you, just bear in mind that this little issue occurs with me from time to time, and take your best guest at what I actually mean to spay.

Chicken Ball Pizza

2008-11-19T06:23:00.000-08:00

I dial the number for the pizza shop. After a few rings, someone picks up, and I hear heavy breathing. Maybe they need a little customer service training. I guess what really matters is whether or not the pizza tastes good.

“Hello?” I say. “Is this the pizza shop?”
“Hhhu-hhhu-hhhhhuh.”
“Uh, yes, I’d like to order a medium mushroom pizza.”
“Hhhu-hhhuu-hhhhh…” CLICK.

Well, no problem, the restaurant is very close by – I’ll just order in person. I arrive and the waiter/chef ignores me, and continues to work on his pizza. Several other waiters and waitresses stand around writing down orders and boxing up pizzas. I go up to the chef and say,

“That pizza looks good. What’s that you’re putting on it?”

No eye contact, he keeps working.

“Chicken balls.”

Uh-huh. Chicken balls. Interesting choice. I politely cough to cover my gasp/laughter. I don’t want to offend the chef.

“Oh. Well, may I please order a mushroom pizza?” I ask.

“No. Chicken balls.”

Ah, a house specialty. Fine, I tell him. Let’s make that a small then.

“So, how long will it take?”

“Forty-hundred-minutes. It’s ready at thirty o’clock.”

This is what happens when pizza shops are staffed by two year-olds. What’s that saying we're always throwing at kids? “You get what you get, and you don’t get upset.”

I don't know that teaching children that "you get what you get, and you don't get upset" is beneficial to their developing sense of self. It's kind of borderline totalitarianism. A better slogan might be,

"Sometimes you get what you get, and you might get upset. It's okay to assert yourself and ask about why you got what you got, as long as you are not disrespectful. If you feel that the explanation that you are given is unfair, then you can make a plea for your case. However, this will not always result in you getting your way, because sadly, life isn't fair."

But then, that's kind of wordy. So I say,

"Are you sure I can't get a mushroom pizza? I really don't care for chicken."

Reply: "Chicken balls."

Sigh. Sometimes life gives you lemons, and you make lemonade. Sometimes life gives you chickens, and you make chicken ball pizza.

Don't Shoot Me Up Too High, Okay?

2008-11-12T15:57:00.000-08:00

Do you remember the "parachute" unit in gym class? It was an amazing feeling to be able to manipulate something so huge... so many little arms working together to create a sea of silky waves. Unfortunately, the parachute unit only lasted a day or two. We had to make time for more important things like "four-square." ANY-hoo...

Now that I have control over such things, I bring out the parachute for my own classes from time to time. Parachute games are an excellent way to develop gross motor skills, the concept of teamwork, and listening skills.

One of the activities that I enjoy doing with the children is letting them each take a turn sitting on the parachute while the rest of the class shakes it. So, as I was introducing this activity to one of my classes, I instructed the first student to go and sit in the middle of the parachute. I told him that the rest of us were going to shake the parachute.

The three-year-old child went and sat down on the middle of the parachute, looked up at me, and said,

"Don't shoot me up too high, okay?"

Of course, I immediately clarified the exercise for him, but in my mind I was just amazed. Amazed that this tiny person would have enough faith in me, and his classmates, to allow himself to be launched into the air. It chokes me up just thinking about it. I'm verklempt! (but that happens a lot these days).

Lately, I feel just like that little boy. Bracing myself to be thrust into the unknown, but pleasantly surprised to find that although I am treading on shaky ground, I am supported by those around me. Thanks to all of you out there who are holding onto those handles.

Bitten in the Stomach by a Lion

2008-11-10T12:33:00.000-08:00

So there I was, with a lion running straight toward me at full speed, and I was its prey. Time slowed down, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was actually going to be attacked. Sure enough, seconds later, the lion was sinking its teeth into my stomach.

How did I live to tell this tale, you ask? The lion was actually a three-year-old child, fully engaging himself in his character at a Jungle-themed birthday party. Fortunately, there was a thin layer of foam mask separating his tiny teeth from my stomach, or else he may have drawn blood.

I am not sure who was more shocked - me, or my predator. After it happened, I stood there in disbelief, and he did too. He looked up at me, beady little eyes peering at me from beneath the mask, and then he ran off to his pride.

This is just one of the many unusual experiences that I have had over the course of the thousands of enrichment classes and birthday parties that I have conducted for children and families, I have had many wild and wonderful adventures.

I plan on sharing some of the amazing experiences that I have had working with my students, and hope that you will share my blog with others, if you find it of interest.