Pete has revealed to Carolyn that he got a time-out at school today
Carolyn: Why?
Pete: Hugging.
Carolyn: ...
Pete: It's called a knockdown hug.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Bingo
Pete, at night, walks from his bed to the bathroom.
Erik: You goin' potty?
Pete: Yeah. You guessed it, Papa.
Erik: You goin' potty?
Pete: Yeah. You guessed it, Papa.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Pete's further career advice for Carolyn
Background: Jackie Hutchison is the volleyball coach. Her son Henry is a little older than Pete. Pete and Henry often play together at the volleyball games.
Pete: Mom, are you going to be like Henry's mom?
Carolyn: How so?
P: Are you going to be a coach?
Erik: Pete, Mama's a teacher, and that's kind of like being a coach.
P: Except it's different, and I want her to be a coach. (Pause.) Mama, do you just want to TRY to be a coach?
C: Well, I don't know a lot about sports.
P: I could teach you!
Pete: Mom, are you going to be like Henry's mom?
Carolyn: How so?
P: Are you going to be a coach?
Erik: Pete, Mama's a teacher, and that's kind of like being a coach.
P: Except it's different, and I want her to be a coach. (Pause.) Mama, do you just want to TRY to be a coach?
C: Well, I don't know a lot about sports.
P: I could teach you!
Monday, September 28, 2009
Not you either, kiddo.
Erik, reading Space Heroes to Pete, comes to the part about Sally Ride.
Pete: Mama! There have been boys AND girls who have gone into space on rockets!
Carolyn: Yeah!
Pete: Though not you!
Pete: Mama! There have been boys AND girls who have gone into space on rockets!
Carolyn: Yeah!
Pete: Though not you!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
We didn't even think to ask!
Pete has recently called a minor ruse "a dusty trick."
And informed us that when he was still in mama's belly, he wanted his name to be Braxton.
And informed us that when he was still in mama's belly, he wanted his name to be Braxton.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Wait'll you hear how we plays War--
Pete: After dinner, we can play 52 pickup!
(beat)
Pete: When you have cards, and you drop a few of them on the floor, that's 52 pickup!
Carolyn (gently): Um, I don't think that's right.
Pete: Yes! You can drop one card, and it's 52 pickup!
Carolyn: I think that would be one pickup. See, a whole deck of cards has 52 in it, so when you drop the whole thing, you call that 52 pickup.
Pete (with pity): No.
(beat)
Pete: When you have cards, and you drop a few of them on the floor, that's 52 pickup!
Carolyn (gently): Um, I don't think that's right.
Pete: Yes! You can drop one card, and it's 52 pickup!
Carolyn: I think that would be one pickup. See, a whole deck of cards has 52 in it, so when you drop the whole thing, you call that 52 pickup.
Pete (with pity): No.
Fotografías
Ecuador pictures
iguana | hatching Pete | the view from the house | same, at night | how we woke up | the twinkle in Pete's eyes | fantastic flower blooming steps 1 2 3
iguana | hatching Pete | the view from the house | same, at night | how we woke up | the twinkle in Pete's eyes | fantastic flower blooming steps 1 2 3
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Must be some fine teaching in the new preschool room
Last night, Pete asked us at dinner what poetry is. Carolyn got going on a good four-year-old-level answer, and then Pete volunteered,
"A poem is when you read something, and you see things that are different."
And we said, um, bwa? (As many of you will know, he's getting pretty close to a number of classic formulations of poetry's function.) I have no idea where this came from, and I don't mean that in a "Wow, this kid is an inexplicable genius" kind of way. I mean that we can't remember saying or reading anything remotely like this to Pete, and it isn't the kind of thing we think he'd run into at daycare. (Any of his preschool teachers or babysitters think you're the source?) And although we've read tons of poems to him, they tend, of course, to be rhymey, story-driven kids' poems, so it's hard to imagine him deriving such a definition from that. He has never said anything I found so mysterious.
In the moment, of course, I didn't tell him any of this. I did what any parent would do: I scolded him for wordiness, made him revise out the two needless "to be" verbs, and showed him how he could express the same sentiment directly as "poetry transforms vision." Then I explained how even better formulations might reflect the transformative power of poetry in their language, and sent him to bed with a copy of Shelley's Defence of Poetry and my lecture notes.
"A poem is when you read something, and you see things that are different."
And we said, um, bwa? (As many of you will know, he's getting pretty close to a number of classic formulations of poetry's function.) I have no idea where this came from, and I don't mean that in a "Wow, this kid is an inexplicable genius" kind of way. I mean that we can't remember saying or reading anything remotely like this to Pete, and it isn't the kind of thing we think he'd run into at daycare. (Any of his preschool teachers or babysitters think you're the source?) And although we've read tons of poems to him, they tend, of course, to be rhymey, story-driven kids' poems, so it's hard to imagine him deriving such a definition from that. He has never said anything I found so mysterious.
In the moment, of course, I didn't tell him any of this. I did what any parent would do: I scolded him for wordiness, made him revise out the two needless "to be" verbs, and showed him how he could express the same sentiment directly as "poetry transforms vision." Then I explained how even better formulations might reflect the transformative power of poetry in their language, and sent him to bed with a copy of Shelley's Defence of Poetry and my lecture notes.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
If only it always worked that way
Back from annual college-friend reunion in New England. Outstanding. Pete walked across a bridge to Maine, and he eagerly awaits pulling a new state out of his US map to show he's been there.
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