Laurie catches what it means to lose our inner child and how important it is for all of us to hold dear.
*Laurie Kolp Poetry*: Childhood Wishes
PARENT FORWARD
"Parenting is the hardest job there is - work on the other hand is easy! Have you got a quarter of a million, because that's what it would cost to replace me on an annual basis." - BJT
Sunday, May 19, 2013
http://www.sentinelandenterprise.com/columnists/ci_23277838/our-me-generation
Trouble with teens and technology? Fear not.
http://www.sentinelandenterprise.com/columnists/ci_23277838/our-me-generation
http://www.sentinelandenterprise.com/columnists/ci_23277838/our-me-generation
| Reactions: |
Friday, May 10, 2013
Mothers
Labels:
kindness,
mother's day,
poetry
| Reactions: |
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Being Still Sometimes
Being still in nature sometimes is all it takes. Kids love to be outside. Cultivating a love for the beauty which is all around us, from a majestic mountain view to the single dandelion pushing its way up from the crack in the sidewalk is proof that beauty exists everywhere we look.
It starts with stopping.
What do I mean? Sometimes we are so jam-packed with things to do in our daily schedules that our kids, and us for that matter, miss out on those quiet, precious moments in nature which seem to naturally build a connective tissue between us. Why do you think the sunset is such a big deal? And the sunrise? Not only is it peaceful and powerful all at the same time, it also gives us a sense of the world we live in while being close to the ones we love without having to say one word.
So, go out and take a few minutes, stop with your child to watch a budding tree come to full canopy, listen for song birds each morning, smell the lilacs and the rain. Listen to what your child has to say about it. Build some vital connections to the natural world together. We only have one. And we have each other in it.
Good Luck! Good Parenting! :) Bon
| Reactions: |
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Tracking Jill: If You Can't beat It, Eat It
Tracking Jill: If You Can't beat It, Eat It: If You Can't beat It, Eat it Japanese Knotweed An invasive plant A pesky weed...
| Reactions: |
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Is Your Child Priceless?
Labels:
entitlement,
manners,
respect
| Reactions: |
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Happy Easter
Labels:
Easter activities,
Easter egg Hunt,
Easter history,
family fun,
Lent
| Reactions: |
Monday, March 18, 2013
Let Kids Cook With You
Kids love to cook...Check out this site: parentforward.blogspot.com
— Parent Forward (@bonniejtoomey) March 18, 2013
Cooking Up Some Learning
Four-year-old Collin grates a lemon with a little help.
Cooking Up Some Learning
So you want to teach some useful skills and some awesome
lessons and have fun while you’re at it?
Open the cook book, and break out the aprons, the mixing
bowls, and the measuring spoons and cups.
Kids love to cook and bake. It’s tactile, it’s sensory, it's math, it's language, it’s seeing first hand what work
can produce and then enjoying the result together.
Our lemony zest buttermilk pancakes tasted sooo good. Collin made a triple decker pancake sandwich with whipped cream, syrup, and melted butter on his blueberry pancakes which he helped to make.
"I can crack the eggs," he said proudly. He had done it before when we made brownies the last time.
So he was asked to tap the egg on the side of the mixing bowl without completely cracking open the egg. This time he learned how to separate the eggs. And the fun part was using the power tools - the mixer to whip up the egg whites to make our pancakes even fluffier - of course he learned first that the mixer must stay down in the bowl at all times and that both of his hands should stay on the handle and that he should keep his eyes focused on the task the whole time, and if he got tired, that it was alright to let an adult help him.
And he did! It is a good idea to talk about what you are about to do before you do it.
The best part: we got to eat our work and then bundle up to go outside and play. All that cooking gave us lots of energy and a wonderful feeling of accomplishment. Plus it became part of our story.
What is your story?
Good Luck!! Good Parenting!! And thanks for reading and sharing!
Bon :)
Labels:
cooking,
creative fun,
family bonding,
kids,
learning
| Reactions: |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Excerpt from Growing Up Crazy by Bonnie J.Toomey
Freeze Pops
Winter 1972
There’s ice on my bedroom window in little cornered crescents. It’s still dark out, but it is time to get up for school anyway which I happen to like a lot.
I wriggle out of my pajamas and pull on a hand me down sweater and jeans from my aunt who works as a nurse in Boston. She was always giving us bags of clothes which I would pull apart and alter to fit my style and size. This gave my wardrobe an eccentric and eclectic look all its own which I thought was quite individual and even artsy.
I hated to leave the warmth under the pile of blankets and old coats I had layered on for extra insulation at night. It could get pretty cold upstairs this time of year, and the transition from clothes to no clothes to clothes again was a little unpleasant in the wintertime. There’s never been heat up here, Dad didn’t put it in, but instead cut a hole in the floor the size of a wood stove chimney pipe to let whatever heat rise up from our wood stove down in the kitchen.
“Heat rises,” was how Dad explained it to us. I kept thinking, well maybe it does, but I sure can’t feel it up here.
It is colder than usual this morning. My fingers don’t work as quickly as I want them to. I head downstairs where mom and dad are hunkered under some blankets on the couch which they must have dragged in front of the fireplace during the night. They’re still sleeping. Dad’s head at one end of the couch and mom curled up at the other end.
I grab my bag and step outside into the ice cold morning and my nostrils form tiny icy needles on the first breath in sticking together like metallic glue. Luckily, the bus arrives in less than a minute but long enough to finish turning my toes in my sneakers into ten freeze pops.
I slide in next to Claire careful not to break off any digits.
“Vaugn, you look really cold,” she says, very concerned. The newscaster on the bus radio says that it’s five degrees this morning over central New England, and that it warmed up from the overnight low of zero.
I explain that I think our furnace broke again and she offers me her mittens with the fancy rabbit fur cuffs.
“Thanks, Claire,” I say, and between her offering and the noisy over head heater blowing puffs of warmth into the air, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.
Winter 1972
There’s ice on my bedroom window in little cornered crescents. It’s still dark out, but it is time to get up for school anyway which I happen to like a lot.
I wriggle out of my pajamas and pull on a hand me down sweater and jeans from my aunt who works as a nurse in Boston. She was always giving us bags of clothes which I would pull apart and alter to fit my style and size. This gave my wardrobe an eccentric and eclectic look all its own which I thought was quite individual and even artsy.
I hated to leave the warmth under the pile of blankets and old coats I had layered on for extra insulation at night. It could get pretty cold upstairs this time of year, and the transition from clothes to no clothes to clothes again was a little unpleasant in the wintertime. There’s never been heat up here, Dad didn’t put it in, but instead cut a hole in the floor the size of a wood stove chimney pipe to let whatever heat rise up from our wood stove down in the kitchen.
“Heat rises,” was how Dad explained it to us. I kept thinking, well maybe it does, but I sure can’t feel it up here.
It is colder than usual this morning. My fingers don’t work as quickly as I want them to. I head downstairs where mom and dad are hunkered under some blankets on the couch which they must have dragged in front of the fireplace during the night. They’re still sleeping. Dad’s head at one end of the couch and mom curled up at the other end.
I grab my bag and step outside into the ice cold morning and my nostrils form tiny icy needles on the first breath in sticking together like metallic glue. Luckily, the bus arrives in less than a minute but long enough to finish turning my toes in my sneakers into ten freeze pops.
I slide in next to Claire careful not to break off any digits.
“Vaugn, you look really cold,” she says, very concerned. The newscaster on the bus radio says that it’s five degrees this morning over central New England, and that it warmed up from the overnight low of zero.
I explain that I think our furnace broke again and she offers me her mittens with the fancy rabbit fur cuffs.
“Thanks, Claire,” I say, and between her offering and the noisy over head heater blowing puffs of warmth into the air, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.
Excerpt from Leaf Landing by Bonnie J. Toomey
French Lesson
French is not the easiest class to miss.
I missed almost two weeks straight
after Mom died
and a lot of other days before that
and now I am really behind.
Mom wanted me to take French
because she thought it would help
in ballet class.
Dad lost a couple of bids.
He says people are losing
their jobs,
the economy is bad
The TV keeps warning
unemployment is up,
gas prices are up
and people are fed up.
I don’t know why Dad
has to watch
it only makes him
yell at the TV
Dad says we need to conserve more than we have been
now the house feels cooler.
When I complain,
Dad says
to go outside and come back in ,
then I’ll feel warmer.
Harriet and I spend our time bundled in
an extra layer of clothes
or dragging an afghan around
like giant moths in cocoons.
We are out of butter again.
Dad says
to try using peanut butter.
Well, isn’t the word,
butter,
in it?
Harriett won’t eat her toast
and it just sits on the plate
getting cold
like the floors
in this house
and suddenly the one phrase
in French,
“It is cold.” comes back to me:
“Il fait froid,
la maison est fait froide."
French is not the easiest class to miss.
I missed almost two weeks straight
after Mom died
and a lot of other days before that
and now I am really behind.
Mom wanted me to take French
because she thought it would help
in ballet class.
Dad lost a couple of bids.
He says people are losing
their jobs,
the economy is bad
The TV keeps warning
unemployment is up,
gas prices are up
and people are fed up.
I don’t know why Dad
has to watch
it only makes him
yell at the TV
Dad says we need to conserve more than we have been
now the house feels cooler.
When I complain,
Dad says
to go outside and come back in ,
then I’ll feel warmer.
Harriet and I spend our time bundled in
an extra layer of clothes
or dragging an afghan around
like giant moths in cocoons.
We are out of butter again.
Dad says
to try using peanut butter.
Well, isn’t the word,
butter,
in it?
Harriett won’t eat her toast
and it just sits on the plate
getting cold
like the floors
in this house
and suddenly the one phrase
in French,
“It is cold.” comes back to me:
“Il fait froid,
la maison est fait froide."

