Ahno takes her Chihuahuas to a groomer to get bathed and manicured. We take Leroy there too, occasionally, if he's gotten unmanageably vile in the back yard or if he's got something unmentionable to be done to his hind end. Something that involves glands and squeezing. You know what I'm talking about. It's one of those things I will happily pay someone to do for him. The grooming place we like is called Groomingdales.
Ahno also goes to a nail salon occasionally for a mani-pedi, and the kids call this place Humandales.
For a while, Sadie has longed to go to Humandales to get her nails done. I don't know if she had a clear idea what would actually happen there, but she was deeply intrigued by the concept, and drawn to the experience like a thirsty gazelle to a desert oasis. That is to say: powerfully.
So, recently since the old techniques involving waving rusty saws and shouting broad threats of public school were wearing a little thin, and the children were dragging their heels on school stuff, I instituted a new motivational technique. I am always looking for ways to shift the accountability onto the children, so that instead of me saying "These are the things we need to get done today!" I can now say "If you want your star for the day, you must do X, Y, Z. Do these things, or don't do them, at your leisure, but until the star is on the chart, there is no electronic device in the house that will function."
As an added bonus reward (since I've recently been enlightened on the point that using rewards with children is pretty much just as awful as using the rusty saw, I want to really ass it up to the max) I told them that if they have five stars for the week, then on the weekend they will experience something special. Maybe a movie, maybe bowling, maybe... a manicure. So a couple weeks ago Benny had not managed to accumulate five stars, but Sadie had, so we went to Humandales and had a manicure together.
Here are some pictures:
Picking a color.
Many choices.
Waiting her turn.
Clutching her colors.
During her manicure and pedicure (they did a child-friendly version that didn't involve cuticle cutting or anything, just lotion and polish) she was almost completely silent. She answered questions the lady put to her, but only minimally. Everyone in the shop was amazed and impressed at how un-wiggly she was, how much she was concentrating. I was almost worried she wasn't enjoying it, that it was scaring her or disappointing her somehow. Afterward she was exhausted, and almost went to sleep while waiting for her toes to dry.
I asked her, when we were leaving, "Baby, did you like it?"
She clutched my neck as I put her in the carseat and whispered, urgently, "I loved it."
I realized then that she'd had a profound pink-related experience, and that it *did* take a lot out of her! She enjoyed her manicure to the max, and was very sad when we had to take off the polish a week later for ballet pictures. I can see that this is the beginning of a lifelong habit. And more importantly, it is a very powerful bribe!
For the benefit of locals, I went to Chic Nails on 22nd. Very cheery, fun, low impact procedure for the tiny person, and at $10 for fingers and toes, who can argue with the price? My manicure involved the full treatment with cutting and slicing and scraping and all of that, and was only $13. I recommend. Do not expect aromatherapy and candles and murals on the wall and potted palms. However, they did take care of my little princess gloriously.
Ahno also goes to a nail salon occasionally for a mani-pedi, and the kids call this place Humandales.
For a while, Sadie has longed to go to Humandales to get her nails done. I don't know if she had a clear idea what would actually happen there, but she was deeply intrigued by the concept, and drawn to the experience like a thirsty gazelle to a desert oasis. That is to say: powerfully.
So, recently since the old techniques involving waving rusty saws and shouting broad threats of public school were wearing a little thin, and the children were dragging their heels on school stuff, I instituted a new motivational technique. I am always looking for ways to shift the accountability onto the children, so that instead of me saying "These are the things we need to get done today!" I can now say "If you want your star for the day, you must do X, Y, Z. Do these things, or don't do them, at your leisure, but until the star is on the chart, there is no electronic device in the house that will function."
As an added bonus reward (since I've recently been enlightened on the point that using rewards with children is pretty much just as awful as using the rusty saw, I want to really ass it up to the max) I told them that if they have five stars for the week, then on the weekend they will experience something special. Maybe a movie, maybe bowling, maybe... a manicure. So a couple weeks ago Benny had not managed to accumulate five stars, but Sadie had, so we went to Humandales and had a manicure together.
Here are some pictures:
Picking a color.
Many choices.
Waiting her turn.
Clutching her colors.
During her manicure and pedicure (they did a child-friendly version that didn't involve cuticle cutting or anything, just lotion and polish) she was almost completely silent. She answered questions the lady put to her, but only minimally. Everyone in the shop was amazed and impressed at how un-wiggly she was, how much she was concentrating. I was almost worried she wasn't enjoying it, that it was scaring her or disappointing her somehow. Afterward she was exhausted, and almost went to sleep while waiting for her toes to dry.
I asked her, when we were leaving, "Baby, did you like it?"
She clutched my neck as I put her in the carseat and whispered, urgently, "I loved it."
I realized then that she'd had a profound pink-related experience, and that it *did* take a lot out of her! She enjoyed her manicure to the max, and was very sad when we had to take off the polish a week later for ballet pictures. I can see that this is the beginning of a lifelong habit. And more importantly, it is a very powerful bribe!
For the benefit of locals, I went to Chic Nails on 22nd. Very cheery, fun, low impact procedure for the tiny person, and at $10 for fingers and toes, who can argue with the price? My manicure involved the full treatment with cutting and slicing and scraping and all of that, and was only $13. I recommend. Do not expect aromatherapy and candles and murals on the wall and potted palms. However, they did take care of my little princess gloriously.
As Sadie starts her preschool years, I'm figuring out how different her little girl brain really is from her brother's. Today Benny and Dan went off to see a movie together, to have "boy time," or as Benny correctly specifies, "male time." Sadie and I stayed home for girl time (yes, "female time," thank you Benny). We played Barbies. We painted our nails. First hot pink, then sparkles. It was fun, and, as it turned out, educational. As usual, I learned as much as she did.
For example, today while the boys were gone and I decided to get out the chunky big cuisenaire rods and have a nice fadoodle with them on the floor with Sadie. Might be nice to play math without Benny around to offer the answers and arrangements before Sadie can think of them.
I showed her the white block and said, "This is ONE, Sadie, this is ONE. Can you find the one that is two?"
And she found the red one. Marvelous. I showed her how two white ones line up on one red one, and then asked her to find the three. Could she find the three?
Instead she picked up the three pink/purple ones and said, "But I want these girl ones instead. I don't want the green one."
"Is the green one three, Sadie?"
"I just want these girl ones. They want to go for a ride in the Barbie car!"
"Sadie, can you find the three?"
After a few more times around the block, she was getting exasperated. "Mom, I don't want to LEARN these. I just want to PWAY them."
Okay, so the cuisenaire rods went for a ride in the Barbie car and the 8 rods were truculent and didn't want to put their seatbelts on and the 4 rods were girls, and then they all had a birthday part for one of the red ones. There's no fighting it. There is only joining it!
Here's another example: I've learned that Sadie is completely unmoved to practice writing letters with a marker and lined paper. But if the marker is Cinderella, and the paper is a dance floor, and the letters are dance moves, she is extremely motivated, especially if marker-Cinderella talks to her in a Disney princess voice and even more so if there is another prince marker whose dance moves she can copy. Are you getting me? Are you feeling me?
One more example: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star Variation 1 was "Mississippi Hot Dog" when I was little. It was "Tuka Tuka Stop Stop" for Benny. For Sadie it's "Sparkle Glitter Princess." Are the dots all starting to connect here?
So here's how our nail-painting became our preschool lesson for the day:
1. Fine motor skills. Paint your nails. Paint Mommy's nails. Try to stay on the nail, but if you don't, celebrate the joy of life anyway.
2. Math. How many have you painted? How many are left? How many fingers does Mommy have? How many on each hand? How many together? If I have five here and you've painted three, how many more are there to paint?
3. Anatomy. Can dolphins wear nail polish? Can polar bears? How many toes does Leroy (the Boston Terrier) have? How many toes does Mommy have? How many toes does *everybody* have?
And here's what Sadie had to say:
"Mommy, I love pink. And I love sparkle."
"I know you do, baby. And I love you."
"I love you too. And I love Benny, and Daddy. I love all you guys."
"You're such a nice girl, Sadie."
"I know, Mommy."
As a bonus, I have a *very* interesting manicure to take to church tomorrow.
For example, today while the boys were gone and I decided to get out the chunky big cuisenaire rods and have a nice fadoodle with them on the floor with Sadie. Might be nice to play math without Benny around to offer the answers and arrangements before Sadie can think of them.
I showed her the white block and said, "This is ONE, Sadie, this is ONE. Can you find the one that is two?"
And she found the red one. Marvelous. I showed her how two white ones line up on one red one, and then asked her to find the three. Could she find the three?
Instead she picked up the three pink/purple ones and said, "But I want these girl ones instead. I don't want the green one."
"Is the green one three, Sadie?"
"I just want these girl ones. They want to go for a ride in the Barbie car!"
"Sadie, can you find the three?"
After a few more times around the block, she was getting exasperated. "Mom, I don't want to LEARN these. I just want to PWAY them."
Okay, so the cuisenaire rods went for a ride in the Barbie car and the 8 rods were truculent and didn't want to put their seatbelts on and the 4 rods were girls, and then they all had a birthday part for one of the red ones. There's no fighting it. There is only joining it!
Here's another example: I've learned that Sadie is completely unmoved to practice writing letters with a marker and lined paper. But if the marker is Cinderella, and the paper is a dance floor, and the letters are dance moves, she is extremely motivated, especially if marker-Cinderella talks to her in a Disney princess voice and even more so if there is another prince marker whose dance moves she can copy. Are you getting me? Are you feeling me?
One more example: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star Variation 1 was "Mississippi Hot Dog" when I was little. It was "Tuka Tuka Stop Stop" for Benny. For Sadie it's "Sparkle Glitter Princess." Are the dots all starting to connect here?
So here's how our nail-painting became our preschool lesson for the day:
1. Fine motor skills. Paint your nails. Paint Mommy's nails. Try to stay on the nail, but if you don't, celebrate the joy of life anyway.
2. Math. How many have you painted? How many are left? How many fingers does Mommy have? How many on each hand? How many together? If I have five here and you've painted three, how many more are there to paint?
3. Anatomy. Can dolphins wear nail polish? Can polar bears? How many toes does Leroy (the Boston Terrier) have? How many toes does Mommy have? How many toes does *everybody* have?
And here's what Sadie had to say:
"Mommy, I love pink. And I love sparkle."
"I know you do, baby. And I love you."
"I love you too. And I love Benny, and Daddy. I love all you guys."
"You're such a nice girl, Sadie."
"I know, Mommy."
As a bonus, I have a *very* interesting manicure to take to church tomorrow.
Labels: homeschooling, parenting, sadie
Anthony Esolen at Beliefnet has written a blog post about how kids don't hang out with adults doing proper jobs anymore, and therefore their imaginations are being stifled. We don't let our sons go down to the junkyard, we don't let our girls watch us roll out the crust for our apple pies. Therefore, the past is good, the present is bad, and the world is going to hell.
Here's an excerpt:
It used to be common for boys (I'm thinking of junkyards here, after all) to
hang around grown men and pester them, or to overhear their conversations about
bauxite, platinum, catalytic converters, drive trains, and cheap labor from
Someplace Else. That was bound not only to provide them with a fund of
general knowledge, but to stretch their imaginations -- as was, likewise, their
nearness to fascinating machines, like pile drivers or backhoes. People in
general were proud of the cleverness of human industry: old-time postcards would
include photos of coal-mines, fisheries, sawmills, lumber camps, and
quarries. You understood that without such places, as "ugly" as some snobs
might consider them, you don't have that city with the bright lights and the
fashionable people dining at Toots Shor's.
I'm not sure what has happened to that fascination with the human mastery over inert and difficult matter. I am sure that school teaches next to nothing about it;
if it does mention it, it is with a faint sniff of contempt or suspicion.
In any case, the boys (I'm talking about junkyards, again; you could say
analogous things about what girls used to learn by hanging around women doing
their work) who are not at the junkyards of the world, who are not hanging
around men-who-know-things, are having their imaginations stultified. Of
that I am sure.
I would guess that as much unfair scorn is directed at junkyards by school teachers... at least that same amount of scorn is probably directed the other way. Unfair or not.
It's as damaging for a bookish child with no mechanical tendencies to be ridiculed by an adult who doesn't value higher education as it would be for an athlete or someone who works with his hands to be scorned by an adult with a Ph.D. in philosophy. It goes both ways -- small-minded people on both ends of the spectrum devalue the people on the other end, to protect their own choices.
I have trouble buying the romantic (or defeatist?) notion that the past was so much better, cleaner, brighter, purer, and more interesting than the present. I probably wouldn't let my 7 yo go hang out at the junkyard with a bunch of unfamiliar men, no. That might be a good thing, though. Back in the good old days, there were plenty of rotten things going on that didn't involve good old fashioned values and honesty and love. The comment thread for Mr. Esolen's post was full of people saying the same things they always say: The playgrounds are too safe, the language is too disinfected, the literature is too nice, the kids aren't allowed to play with guns, TV is bad, we need more bloodsports, and all those high-falutin' jerky intellectual environmentalist tree-lovers need to learn to respect and appreciate people who are different from them. Yeeeeahhh.... Good. There was even a comment (my favorite!) about the monstrous parents who put tiny violins into their children's hands and expect them to play them. The horror!
I do get what he's saying, in a way. "Box of greasy junk" would be at the top of my son's Christmas wish list, if he knew it existed. But even without having a mentor with grease under his fingernails, he manages to fixate on inventing things, he manages to tinker with tools, and wonder about motors. His mother has a graduate degree and his father is a software developer, and still he likes Legos. Having been cruelly kept from the junkyard all his life, he still has an imagination you have to hack through with a machete to get to his consciousness, when you want him to eat dinner or avoid walking into traffic.
I think I'll skip the junkyard. He can read about it in a book.
Here's an excerpt:
It used to be common for boys (I'm thinking of junkyards here, after all) to
hang around grown men and pester them, or to overhear their conversations about
bauxite, platinum, catalytic converters, drive trains, and cheap labor from
Someplace Else. That was bound not only to provide them with a fund of
general knowledge, but to stretch their imaginations -- as was, likewise, their
nearness to fascinating machines, like pile drivers or backhoes. People in
general were proud of the cleverness of human industry: old-time postcards would
include photos of coal-mines, fisheries, sawmills, lumber camps, and
quarries. You understood that without such places, as "ugly" as some snobs
might consider them, you don't have that city with the bright lights and the
fashionable people dining at Toots Shor's.
I'm not sure what has happened to that fascination with the human mastery over inert and difficult matter. I am sure that school teaches next to nothing about it;
if it does mention it, it is with a faint sniff of contempt or suspicion.
In any case, the boys (I'm talking about junkyards, again; you could say
analogous things about what girls used to learn by hanging around women doing
their work) who are not at the junkyards of the world, who are not hanging
around men-who-know-things, are having their imaginations stultified. Of
that I am sure.
I would guess that as much unfair scorn is directed at junkyards by school teachers... at least that same amount of scorn is probably directed the other way. Unfair or not.
It's as damaging for a bookish child with no mechanical tendencies to be ridiculed by an adult who doesn't value higher education as it would be for an athlete or someone who works with his hands to be scorned by an adult with a Ph.D. in philosophy. It goes both ways -- small-minded people on both ends of the spectrum devalue the people on the other end, to protect their own choices.
I have trouble buying the romantic (or defeatist?) notion that the past was so much better, cleaner, brighter, purer, and more interesting than the present. I probably wouldn't let my 7 yo go hang out at the junkyard with a bunch of unfamiliar men, no. That might be a good thing, though. Back in the good old days, there were plenty of rotten things going on that didn't involve good old fashioned values and honesty and love. The comment thread for Mr. Esolen's post was full of people saying the same things they always say: The playgrounds are too safe, the language is too disinfected, the literature is too nice, the kids aren't allowed to play with guns, TV is bad, we need more bloodsports, and all those high-falutin' jerky intellectual environmentalist tree-lovers need to learn to respect and appreciate people who are different from them. Yeeeeahhh.... Good. There was even a comment (my favorite!) about the monstrous parents who put tiny violins into their children's hands and expect them to play them. The horror!
I do get what he's saying, in a way. "Box of greasy junk" would be at the top of my son's Christmas wish list, if he knew it existed. But even without having a mentor with grease under his fingernails, he manages to fixate on inventing things, he manages to tinker with tools, and wonder about motors. His mother has a graduate degree and his father is a software developer, and still he likes Legos. Having been cruelly kept from the junkyard all his life, he still has an imagination you have to hack through with a machete to get to his consciousness, when you want him to eat dinner or avoid walking into traffic.
I think I'll skip the junkyard. He can read about it in a book.
Labels: parenting
I really want Sadie to give up her pacifier.
I want her to be able to talk clearly, I want her to comfort herself with her own good brain, I want her teeth to be straight.
What I don't care about is when nosy people look at us with squiggly eyes when we're out and about and she is slurping away on it. I actually don't care about that. If the only factor were public scorn, I would let her take it to college. I'd even buy her a new (sparkly!) one for the occasion. She's small for her age. She might be able to pull of a binky at age 17. But for some reason, as she approaches the age of 4, I feel some kind of natural reasoning yanking apart my steadfast denial, so that I have to address the fact: she is too old for a binky.
Last week, this was the bribe:
"You can't take your binky to princess camp."
This week, I'm trying rabbit, rats, and guinea pigs. We went to Animal Jungle, the best pet store on earth. She petted a rabbit, she held a guinea pig, she ogled a rat, and at the end of the experience, she was claiming boldly that she wanted to get rid of her binkies so she could have a rabbit.
"Sadie, if you can do without your binky for seven days, Mommy will bring you back to Animal Jungle and you can pick out whichever rabbit you want."
Deal. Sealed in cedar shavings.
However, after lunch, there was a reversal.
"Mommy, I weed my binky!"
"Sadie, don't you want to give your binkies to the Binky Fairy so she can bring you a rabbit?"
"No, I don't WANT a wabbit, I weed my BINKY!"
What could I do? I gave her the binky. The sparkly pink binky. Now what can I try next?
I want her to be able to talk clearly, I want her to comfort herself with her own good brain, I want her teeth to be straight.
What I don't care about is when nosy people look at us with squiggly eyes when we're out and about and she is slurping away on it. I actually don't care about that. If the only factor were public scorn, I would let her take it to college. I'd even buy her a new (sparkly!) one for the occasion. She's small for her age. She might be able to pull of a binky at age 17. But for some reason, as she approaches the age of 4, I feel some kind of natural reasoning yanking apart my steadfast denial, so that I have to address the fact: she is too old for a binky.
Last week, this was the bribe:
"You can't take your binky to princess camp."
This week, I'm trying rabbit, rats, and guinea pigs. We went to Animal Jungle, the best pet store on earth. She petted a rabbit, she held a guinea pig, she ogled a rat, and at the end of the experience, she was claiming boldly that she wanted to get rid of her binkies so she could have a rabbit.
"Sadie, if you can do without your binky for seven days, Mommy will bring you back to Animal Jungle and you can pick out whichever rabbit you want."
Deal. Sealed in cedar shavings.
However, after lunch, there was a reversal.
"Mommy, I weed my binky!"
"Sadie, don't you want to give your binkies to the Binky Fairy so she can bring you a rabbit?"
"No, I don't WANT a wabbit, I weed my BINKY!"
What could I do? I gave her the binky. The sparkly pink binky. Now what can I try next?
Too many toys? Kid can't keep his room clean because there's just too much stuff? Here are a few possible solutions.
1. Donate. If you can give a convincing enough speech about privilege and want, you can have your child cheerfully filling up boxes with his discarded playthings to give to Good Will. If, however, your child really feels that he can't let go of his possessions of his own accord, remember that he has to sleep sometime! When the child is asleep, away, or looking in the other direction, choose toys to get rid of that you know are not favorites, that will not be missed. Use your mommy discernment. As long as you know you are choosing things that are truly outgrown or unloved, it won't backfire, but keep the box of toys to donate in the garage for a week or two just to make sure you didn't accidentally scoop up something he can't live without.
2. Rotate. Get a big box that will fit lots of toys, and put a big pile of toys inside to wait their turn in the garage. Explain the rotation system to the child, so that she understands the stored toys will not be gone forever, but can be retrieved (if she wants) on a certain date, and put the date on a calendar, even, if she's worried about forgetting about them. Let her fill up the box, then give a reward (like making cookies, playing a game) when the box is full and in the garage.
3. Delegate. If all the toys have been gotten rid of or rotated out into the garage, and the room still isn't as clean as you'd like, try this. Put her in charge of cleaning up her space. The realism of this enterprise depends on the kid's age and maturity. We put our seven-year-old son in charge of cleaning his room recently, and he does a reasonable job of it. Set a time limit for your child to finish, and then at the end of the time, go in with a garbage bag and pick up whatever isn't put away. Tell her that next time (next Friday or Sunday or whatever day is clean-up day) you will put everything back on the floor from the garbage bag and she can try again.
Now I personally do not care if the kid's room is clean on a regular basis. I don't care if he leaves out his legos and dominoes and all his castles and rolls around in his books and blocks and whatnot. The only time Benny has to clean is every two weeks before the cleaning lady comes, and the garbage bag trick works nicely to get this accomplished. I'm not sure if everything gets put away exactly properly, and I don't really care, as long as the floor is empty and the cleaning cleaning ladies can get at the surfaces. He does have a place for everything, but everything isn't always in its place. I'm not a mother who demands the matchbox cars be neatly stacked in the box labelled "Cars!" or anything. But I do want him to learn to keep his room comfortable, so he can see what he has, and find what he needs.
His three-year-old sister, on the other hand, has never picked up a toy in her life. Oops... ;D
1. Donate. If you can give a convincing enough speech about privilege and want, you can have your child cheerfully filling up boxes with his discarded playthings to give to Good Will. If, however, your child really feels that he can't let go of his possessions of his own accord, remember that he has to sleep sometime! When the child is asleep, away, or looking in the other direction, choose toys to get rid of that you know are not favorites, that will not be missed. Use your mommy discernment. As long as you know you are choosing things that are truly outgrown or unloved, it won't backfire, but keep the box of toys to donate in the garage for a week or two just to make sure you didn't accidentally scoop up something he can't live without.
2. Rotate. Get a big box that will fit lots of toys, and put a big pile of toys inside to wait their turn in the garage. Explain the rotation system to the child, so that she understands the stored toys will not be gone forever, but can be retrieved (if she wants) on a certain date, and put the date on a calendar, even, if she's worried about forgetting about them. Let her fill up the box, then give a reward (like making cookies, playing a game) when the box is full and in the garage.
3. Delegate. If all the toys have been gotten rid of or rotated out into the garage, and the room still isn't as clean as you'd like, try this. Put her in charge of cleaning up her space. The realism of this enterprise depends on the kid's age and maturity. We put our seven-year-old son in charge of cleaning his room recently, and he does a reasonable job of it. Set a time limit for your child to finish, and then at the end of the time, go in with a garbage bag and pick up whatever isn't put away. Tell her that next time (next Friday or Sunday or whatever day is clean-up day) you will put everything back on the floor from the garbage bag and she can try again.
Now I personally do not care if the kid's room is clean on a regular basis. I don't care if he leaves out his legos and dominoes and all his castles and rolls around in his books and blocks and whatnot. The only time Benny has to clean is every two weeks before the cleaning lady comes, and the garbage bag trick works nicely to get this accomplished. I'm not sure if everything gets put away exactly properly, and I don't really care, as long as the floor is empty and the cleaning cleaning ladies can get at the surfaces. He does have a place for everything, but everything isn't always in its place. I'm not a mother who demands the matchbox cars be neatly stacked in the box labelled "Cars!" or anything. But I do want him to learn to keep his room comfortable, so he can see what he has, and find what he needs.
His three-year-old sister, on the other hand, has never picked up a toy in her life. Oops... ;D
Labels: parenting
