Thursday, February 19, 2009

Nametags

We've been attending a class which requires each child to locate their name tag among all of the children's name tags when we enter the classroom each week.

The teacher patiently guides each student to the correct name tag each week and the parents happily pin them on. While the students are all under the age of three, it turns out that this exercise has not been entirely in vein.

This past week I watched in amazement as Island Boy walked over to the name tags and, before teacher or Mommy could intervene, he correctly selected his own name tag amongst all the choices! I'm the first to admit that Island Boy is not yet reading (nor should he be), but the fact that he may be able to recognize his own name (even in this entirely unscientific and very limited "experiment") is pretty exciting. Of course, I'm trying to restrain my excitement a bit as I wait to see if he does it again...

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

First Haircut

Island Boy had his first haircut this past weekend. Yes, he's now TWO and just getting his first haircut.

We couldn't help it - he was so cute we didn't know who to trust with his precious locks. Finally, we received a recommendation and gave a place specializing in children's haircuts a chance.

Their technique involves throwing every possible distraction at a child. Those distractions included a chair shaped like a rocket ship, endless books and toys that were given to him in groups of 3 or 4 (I found this puzzling and stressful. The poor kid only has 2 hands and he couldn't figure out how to hold all of these items let alone enjoy them before a new group was foisted upon him.), animal crackers given at the halfway and "nearly done" points and a very loud television blaring Sponge Bob. Island Boy sat calmly through all of this, but honestly, Mommy was seriously overwhelmed with it all.

The final result? Island Boy still looks adorable, although definitely a bit older. As much fun as it is to watch him grow up, it's also bitter sweet. It happens so quickly.

Opera

Island Boy has always loved music. Before he could speak, he would make his desires clear if Mommy was listening to too much talk radio in the car, for example.

Recently, he's found a new way to make his preferences clear. Although it is probably the least represented genre in our home music library, Island Boy's most frequent request of late is:

"Opera, please!"

He will also occasionally ask for "Classical" or "Rock, Roll", but for whatever reason, the boy does love his opera. Apparently Mommy and Daddy need to shop or some opera music to update the collection!

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Preschool Tryouts

I've been to three preschool functions in less than a week. That's correct, we're not yet *IN* preschool, but I have found myself hustling back and forth to a variety of activities. Although technically not mandatory, these functions are, in fact, a test of the level of commitment one is willing to offer to a particular school. I'm not complaining. In all fairness, these activities are, for the most part, fun. Still, if you had told me a few years ago what was required or preschool entry, I doubt I would have believed it.

Yes, this is the season for preschool decisions - the time during which preschool directors are reviewing applications for Fall admissions and deciding which lucky families will be a part of their programs beginning next Fall.

For parents, it can be overwhelming. Fortunately, Island Boy and his future classmates are blissfully ignorant of the many hoops their parents are jumping through in an effort to secure their spots. Oh, to be 2 again!!

Saturday, February 07, 2009

Storms

Tantrums? What tantrums? None here! Ok, maybe a few...so when those few crop up, I try to remember the following beautiful sentiment.

I found this to be lovely. One of my favorite blogs adapted it from the Tao De Jing:

The whirlwind's spent before the morning ends;
The storm will pass before the day is done.
Who made them, wind and storm? Heaven and earth.
If heaven itself cannot storm for long,
What matter, then, the storms of man?