The Valentine Monkey

Little Zoomie, who will be two years old at the end of June, is clearly in the "Monkey-See-Monkey-Do" phase.  And with three older siblings, it seems like there is always something going on for Monkey to watch and imitate.

When I walked into the house a couple days ago for an early Valentine's Day visit, I was literally swarmed with valentines.  Sooby was first, with a nice coloring page she had mounted on blue construction paper in her first-grade classroom earlier this week.

I marveled at the color scheme, commented on the novelty of the blue, and thanked her profusely.  I was happy to think that she had singled me out to receive this particular work of art by printing "to googie" on the outside in blue crayon.

Next came Bootsie, who is three, with a heart cut from red card stock and decorated with crayon in what we will call a more abstract design.  "What a pretty little heart," I gushed, duly noting the artfully scalloped edges.  "This is just the right size to put on my refrigerator," I said, and Bootsie beamed.

Meanwhile, with eyes at their normal height of about a foot and a half from the floor, Zoomba watches this flurry of exchange with interest.  He notices the pattern, and he wants to be a part of it.  People are handing things to Googie, and everyone concerned is obviously happy about that.

Quickly he looks down at the toy he is holding in his hand.  It is the lid of a shape sorter containing holes for circle-, pentagon-, and flower-shaped pieces.  Without losing a beat, he clutches the toy and thrusts it upward to Googie.  Clearly, he has no intention of being outdone by his sisters.

He does this with such a look of earnesty that I can't help making a fuss similar to the one I made over the girls' valentines.  "Is this for me too?" I ask him, and with that cute little "uh-huh" of his he assures me that it is.  But he is only getting warmed up.

Having perceived success with the shape sorter lid, he scans the room for the next thing to bring me.  It is a Spiderman house slipper.  As you can imagine, I am completely overcome with joy.  It perfectly complements my set of valentines, although it disappeared from the scene before I was able to get this photo:

  
In the hours following the fanfare of this most noteworthy arrival, Zoomie's official "Monkey-See-Monkey-Do" status confirmed itself time and time again.  Having done a lot of watching in past months, he stands poised just outside the circle of his siblings ready to jump into the fray.

His legs are longer too, making his ambulatory style less duck-like.  He's had his second "little boy" haircut now, and without those baby curls, he is looking more like his brother.

By next Valentine's day, I suspect he, too, will have graduated to the crayon style of valentine.  I will look forward to that.  Meanwhile, I will keep my "oohs" and "aahs" at the ready.  No matter what his next valentine for me looks like, I'm sure it, too, will be perfect.    

Beneath the Mustache

Dear Pooh:

For the first time in my life, I am writing to and about a grandson who has turned five years old.  This happened yesterday while Pa-pa and I were with friends watching the Seattle Seahawks make horsemeat out of Denver in Super Bowl XLVIII. 

It was also Groundhog Day, and Pa-pa and I are not very happy with Punxsutawney (yes, I had to look up how to spell that) Phil's prediction that we will have six more weeks of this brutal winter weather.  I am glad, though, that we were able to sneak out between Fiascos on Ice to see you last Friday and Saturday and give the occasion of your fifth birthday its proper due even though we had to leave a day early.

Yes, Pa-pa and I bravely entered the Land of Pinkeye to eat lemon cupcakes and shower you with a brand new wardrobe of dress-up clothes.  Thanks to Wal-Mart's after-Halloween clearance, you can now streak through the skies of Metropolis in a suit without holes and tatters.  Or, if you are in the mood, you can be an Army guy in your camouflage vest instead.

Of all the things in your birthday bag this year, I think I liked the mustaches best.  Let's show our friends what I mean:

 

Earlier this week, the package of seven classic mustaches virtually screamed out my name as I walked nonchalantly by them in a toy store.  "Googie, look here!" they hollered.  "We belong in Pooh's birthday bag!"  With everything in the store going for half-price that day, well, how could I resist?

 

I know well that the mustaches won't last long.  Their adhesive backing will soon lose its stickiness.  They will get swept under rugs and lost in the bottom of the toy box.  The cat might maul a couple of them.  Their play value will not be long-lived, and maybe, in that respect, they were not a good choice on the Scale of  Relative Practicality.

 

But I have noticed that, the older I get, the more I tend to live in the moment and indulge the whim.  Just because things don't last doesn't mean they aren't precious.  Sometimes it is the very fact that they don't last that makes them precious.

 

Like the day I spent with you on Saturday.  Like your fifth birthday.  Like childhood.  Like life itself.

 

I didn't mean to wax philosophical here, Baby Boy, but maybe some day this will make sense to you.  In the meantime, just know that when you were five, I wanted for you the happiest of birthdays--and don't tell your sisters, but I think the mustache you picked was the best of the bunch. 

 

Love,

Googie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Little Red Box

This weekend, Sooby showed me her little red box.  With a top and bottom made of sturdy cardboard, it measures five by seven inches or so and about four inches deep.  She keeps treasures there.

These are not the treasures you might expect of most first graders.  The box does not contain toys, jewelry, or other trinkets.  Barbie clothes?  Nope.  Hair ribbons?  Negatory.

Sooby's little red box contains poems--and I'm not talking about nursery rhymes copied from Mother Goose books to practice printing the upper- and lower-case alphabet.  You won't find "My Shadow" there or, for that matter, anything else growing in Robert Louis Stevenson's  . . . Garden of Verses. 

No, these poems are special treasures because they are the original work of Sooby herself, composed at the ripe old age of six and a half.  You can't (or maybe you can) imagine how this pleases me.  And so it is with full permission of the author that I share here my favorite of the treasures so far collected in the little red box. 

You should know that, as the self-proclaimed editor for this up-and-coming young poet, I have helped a bit with punctuation and line breaks.  However, I have made no changes in Sooby's choice or sequence of words.  Here then, for your reading pleasure, is the first edition printing of "The Little Bird."

      The Little Bird

The bird was in the meadow
by a tree
finding hay
for her nest;
one mother bird
with no children,
she flew
and flew
to the west.

Is that not awesome?  Blame my grad school Literary Criticism professor if you wish, but I can't resist the urge to analyze it a bit.  Please humor me.  I am a Googie who also writes poetry, and I can't help myself.

First, this sweet, deceptively simple poem describes the nesting behavior of a bird about to lay a batch of eggs.  This is not just any batch of eggs either, as the poet makes it clear that this bird is preparing to be a mother for the first time.  Thus, she is searching for the hay she needs for nest-building.

Note that the poet calls her "one mother bird/with no children."  Although at first glance that may seem like an oxymoron, or contradiction, it is not necessarily so.  The phrasing makes perfect sense in the context of a potential mother bird's first batch of eggs.

Secondly, why is this bird by a tree?  Has she roosted there overnight, and is she beginning this search at the beginning of a new day?  (This will certainly be "a new day" in the sense of the new experience of motherhood, right?)  Or, has she simply chosen this tree as the site for her nest?  Choose a or b or both a and b here.  Meaningful ambiguity always strengthens a poem.

A third thing that strikes me is the fact that the bird chooses to fly west when the more familiar flight patterns of birds involve north or south.  Maybe this mother bird wants to be different and strike out in a new direction (the "less travelled" flight path, in the manner of Frost, perhaps).  Maybe she finds her inexperience disorienting and is simply lost for a time.  Or, most likely, the poet could have just chosen the logical word to rhyme with nest.  Again, my fellow critic, take your pick.

Finally, let's consider theme.  What, exactly, does the poet suggest about the subject of motherhood?  That it reshapes one's experience in its pursuit of a new direction--we've already suggested that.  That it is sometimes lonely (There is only "one mother bird," not a flock here.).  That it is hard work that requires exhausting, repetitious effort (The poet says the bird here "flew and flew.").

Sooby's little poem, I think, is surprisingly strong in imagery, or word pictures, and subtle in its single, unobtrusive instance of rhyme ("nest . . . west.").  Further, I can see how, as the oldest of four children, Sooby has had ample opportunity to observe the sacrifices, anxieties, and nuances of motherhood time and again in her own family.  I think she is a sensitive, observant child who notices things and who loves words--and when these things come together, poems are born.

OK, let's get real here.  Do I think that Sooby consciously thought about all of this as she composed the poem.  Of course not. 

But I believe unequivocally that poetic imagery arises from the poet's subconscious, where experiences are stored, and finds its way onto paper in a magical, mystical process that even poets themselves marvel at.  Do I think this can happen even with a six-year-old?  I absolutely do.

Take a look at this picture:

That, my friends, is a poet.  She has thoughts and feelings, and she searches for the words to express them.  I know this is true, because I have had the privilege of exploring the treasures she keeps in her little red box.
     

A New Way To Build a Snowman

The kids and I thought the name "Frosty" had been much overused for snowmen.  That's why our snow people, pictured below, are named Polka Dot, Checkerboard, Valentina, and Star Boy.  As you can see, their names are derived from the patterns featured on their scarves, buttons, or both.

Furthermore, it wasn't a huge snowfall that brought this handsome snow family into existence; it was the fact that Pa-pa had some old socks to throw away and the kids and I some time on our hands on a Saturday afternoon in January.

Before heading to the kids' house last weekend, I packed a bag with four old socks, a pair or scissors, a partial bag of leftover fiber-fill, my hot glue gun, some assorted scraps of ribbon, a handful of rubber bands, and some odds and ends of foam pieces and googly eyes from old arts and crafts kits.

In my mind's eye was a picture I had seen on Facebook showing how to make little sock snowmen in a simple five-step process.  With a little tweaking for the sake of practicality and a few changes to accommodate already-on-hand materials, it was possible for Sooby, Pooh, Bootsie, and me to create our snow creatures well within the nap span of their eighteen-month-old brother (which, I'm sure, streamlined our process considerably.)

In a nutshell, here are directions for making one of these snow people:

1. Cutting:  Cut the sock in two pieces just above the place where the ribbing ends.  Save the "toe" end to roll up and fashion a hat, as you see above with Checker Board and Star Boy.  (Sooby  and Bootsie wanted smaller, more feminine hats, so for Polka Dot and Valentina, we simply turned down the excess sock top after stuffing to create a retro "pillbox" look.) 
2. Stuffing:  Turn the ribbed "tube" inside out, and secure a rubber band tightly around one end.  Turn the tube right side out again, and stick in a handful of stuffing in the opening to create a ball shape for the snowman's body.  Add another, smaller ball of stuffing for the head, and secure another rubber band at the top. 
3. Making Hats:  Leave enough sock at the top to turn down if you are going for the pillbox.  For the stocking-cap style, modeled by Checker Board and Star Boy, roll a couple "cuffs" at the cut end of the "toe" portion of the sock.  Use dots of hot glue as needed to secure the hat in position on the snowman's head.
4. Decorating:  Glue on googly eyes, and have kids choose facial features and buttons from whatever assortment of foam pieces, buttons, etc. you have.  Hot glue those on.
5. Adding the Scarf:  Finish with a scarf made of ribbon or fabric.  Wrap and hot glue as needed to hide the rubber band at the snowman's neck.

When we did this project, each of the three older kids made his or her own snowman (Googie did the hot glue, of course) while I made Star Boy for Zoomba as an example for them to follow.  Then, when Zoomie woke up, he had a snowman to play with just like his brother and sisters.

Because we used fiber-fill rather than the suggested rice, our snow people don't stand up on their own and are more like dolls than decorations.  However, with the kids aged 6, 4, 3, and 1, I think this is most likely a practical substitution.  Otherwise, I am sure we might have been sweeping up rice before the day was out.

I think the kids had fun making and naming their snow dolls. They seem to be the perfect size for little hands.  They are perfect for playing with puppet-show style or snuggling with at bedtime. 

The only bad thing, as far as I can tell, is that I didn't make one for myself.  As cute as the kids' snow people turned out, I am thinking Pa-pa had better keep a close eye on his sock drawer.     

Pokes and Hooks

Imagine you are on "Jeopardy," and Alex asks you for the question that fits this answer:  "Pokes and hooks."

Give up?  I dare to speculate that no appropriate question comes readily to your mind.  That's because such information lurks exclusively in the ever-unique mind of Sooby.

I came to an understanding of pokes and hooks in the early hours of Saturday morning, when Sooby, as usual, awoke early and came to join me as I was sleeping in the guest bedroom at her house.  Note that I said was.  That is because, once Sooby crawls into bed with me, any actual sleeping quickly becomes past tense.

The second I turned over toward her in the pitch darkness of the ever-so-early morning, I knew something was wrong.  I felt the small earring pulling out of my right ear lobe as it brushed hard against the pillow.

"As soon as it gets light," I said to her, "I am going to need you to help me do something."

Although I couldn't see for sure, I imagined her brightening up at this prospect.  She is ever anxious to help, and always enjoys a good mystery.

"What?" she asked.

"My earring came out somewhere in the bed," I said.  "I'm going to need you to help me find it."

"Where did it come out?"

"Somewhere up here around the pillows," I said.  "But we'll wait until daylight to look."

"What does it look like?"

"It's a very small white square," I said.  I could almost hear the gears in that little head of hers churning away toward a new day and the mission it would bring. That's when she asked her most provocative question.

"Is it a hook or a poke?"  It took some time for this question to burn off the brain fog that settles in after the three-hour solo drive and late bedtime of the night before.

Finally understanding, I answered, "It's a poke.  Now, let's try to sleep a little bit more."  Although there was no further sleep in my horoscope that day, Sooby did find both pieces of the lost earring once we had a little sunlight to work with.

So there you have it--the question you will need should you find yourself in a TV studio with Alex Trebek. Imagine yourself in Final Jeopardy, with a fortune on the line, as Alex reveals the final answer: Hooks and Pokes.

When that happens, grab your marker as the familiar theme song winds down, and dash off your question with a dramatic flair: "What are the two kinds of pierced earrings?"


  

The Book Lady Goes "Mad"

If you read my previous blog post, you know that a wonderful little story titled The Bugliest Bug had my grandkids all (brace yourself) abuzz with excitement the last time the Book Lady (Googie in disguise) surprised them at their front door with a bag full of library books.

You may also recall that I promised to elaborate on a second crowd pleaser in my next writing, so without any further ado let me introduce you to Addie Adams' Hilda and the Mad Scientist.  While the bug book wins the prize for bringing science to life for all three kids, it was Hilda who grabbed the imaginations of the two older ones with a most delightful result (which I will tell you about later).

Hilda is an eccentric middle-aged, middle-European woman who, if she weren't so darned lovable, might be mistaken for a busybody.  Repeatedly, she imposes herself on her fellow villagers in her own sincere but misguided attempts to be helpful.

Unfortunately, in the course of her undertakings, much like the beloved  Amelia Bedelia, she often evokes more damage than improvement in whatever situation she forces herself into. Truthfully, at the end of Hilda's extended "help" sessions, people are much more glad to see her go than they were to see her come.

This is definitely the case with Dr. Weinerstein, the mad scientist who lives in a spooky old house atop a hill just outside the village.  As his name suggests, Dr. Weinerstein is in the business of manufacturing monsters in a laboratory well-stocked with potions and poisons.

But when Hilda learns that Dr. Weinerstein suffers from rheumatism, off she goes to cook, clean, and care for him.  "I go where I'm needed," she repeats as her mantra, "and stay until I'm not."  Needless to say, Dr. Weinerstein wants to get rid of her as quickly as possible, so he sets out to create a monster that he thinks is sure to scare her away.

I won't spoil the O.Henry ending for you here, but suffice it to say that, because Hilda takes it upon herself to purge the good doctor's arsenal of bad stuff and replace it with something more wholesome and healthy, the monster turns out to be quite different from what Dr. Weinerstein--and the unsuspecting reader--envision. As a result, Hilda is delighted, and so are we.

In addition to the unexpected plot twist and the perfectly rendered illustrations by Lisa Thiesing, Hilda and the Mad Scientist gives young readers and listeners unforgettable characters and fresh, imaginative dialogue. For this reason, I spent much of the afternoon as a drama coach of sorts, prompting Sooby and Pooh as they acted out the story complete with makeshift costumes and props.

In the role of Hilda, Sooby remembered most of the lines, or facsimiles thereof, without much prompting. She was hilarious as she swept and clattered about the "kitchen," delighted at the prospect of bossing the cranky old doctor around.  Pooh gave the role of Dr. Weinerstein his all, insisting that Hilda "leave right now" and rubbing his hands together in his best diabolical fashion as he set about his monster-making.

All in all, it was a great day last time the Book Lady went to Kansas.  It was a day filled with bugs and monsters and laughter and the magic of the written word.  It was an opportunity to live for a while in a world where the good guys come out on top and the bad guys get their just deserts.  

Bugs for the Book Lady

I have said many times that perhaps the most gratifying thing about being Googie is the experience of watching the grandkids learn to talk.  I love that delightful process of trial and often-hilarious error it takes for them to master the complicated rules of grammar and syntax and to tame the wild randomness of English idiom.

Watching them acquire a love for books is a close second.  This is why, on a surprise trip out to visit the Kansas foursome a few weeks ago, I disguised myself as the Book Lady.  The Book Lady rings the doorbell of unsuspecting children and, with their mama's foreknowledge, approval, and supervision, tells them she has brought them a bag of books.  They are delighted, and their mama invites the Book Lady in.

The disguise--a cape, sunglasses, and a ball cap--doesn't work long.  Before the Book Lady steps even one foot over the threshold, the six-year-old has figured things out.  "Googie!" Sooby hollers, and I am outed. We all head to the couch and dump out the eight books I checked out from my county library the day before and brought westward with me like some incognito literary pioneer.

Of the eight books, I think we read  four, but with two of those I truly struck pay dirt. We read them again and again over the course of the day, and since then I have been contemplating reasons why those two particular stories struck the collective fancy of children 6, 4, and 3.  Following is a brief review of the first of those; the next blog post will discuss the other one.

First is The Bugliest Bug, a story in rhyme written by Carol Diggory Shields and illustrated by Scott Nash. In it, an unlikely heroine named Damselfly Dilly saves her fellow insects from a bogus "Bugliest Bug" contest advertised by a group of diabolical spiders interested in their six-legged counterparts only for their potential as a tasty lunch.

When Dilly notices that the contest judges, all spiders, appear to have fake wings AND FANGS, she sounds the alarm and rallies the troops.  She goes on to organize the insects into an effective cohort wherein each bug's individual strengths contribute to the group's victory over the evil arachnids.  As a reward for her diligence and leadership--and for saving their lives--Dilly's fellow-insects unanimously bestow upon her the coveted title of "Bugliest Bug."

In addition to the story's delightful appeal as an imaginative, wonderfully-illustrated piece of children's literature, it offers an elementary lesson in entomology.  From it, children take away an awareness of different types of insects (ladybug, praying mantis, stink bug, cicada, glowworm, etc.) as well as a rudimentary understanding of the basic physical differences between insects and arachnids, which, incidentally, becomes the vocabulary word of the day.

Publisher's Weekly has called The Bugliest Bug "a rollicky, tongue-in-cheek entree to the entomological world,"  and the Book Lady heartily concurs.  This perfect selection promises your little ones a boost to the imagination, a delightful earful of rhyme and meter, eye-candy illustrations, a fun science lesson--and a chance to root wholeheartedly for the underbug.