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Robert inspects his Kleenex.
So, we are in the midst of one week of bliss, just Robert and me and the whole wide world. Oh and Papa fits in there somewhere too. Robert gets the concept of blowing very well, through his mouth that is, which works great for things like blowing out candles on a cake, blowing a kiss, or letting off some steam; but does nothing for a cold, especially the kind with big green boogers. So, this week, among other things, I will attempt to teach Robert how to use a Kleenex.
Lesson One:
"Robert, try blowing through your nose," I say this as I hand him a Kleenex to use, while a stream of kiwi-colored stretchy stuff hangs out under his nostrils heading for his mouth. He blows but through his mouth. Okay, so that didn't work so well. I wipe his nose for him but we're back to square one in three minutes. I make a note to wash my hands every time we have a lesson.
Lesson Two:
"Robert, look at me," I instruct. I am holding a clean white Kleenex near my own nose. Then I blow gently through my nose and make the soft corner ripple a little. He seems fascinated. "See?" I hand a new Kleenex to Robert, "here, you try." He blows with extra gusto into the Kleenex - with his mouth. "Okay, we'll try again next time," and I wipe his nose clean and bring the soggy thing to the trash.
Lesson Three:
"Robert close your lips," I say, "then blow." He does, through his mouth. I wipe his nose clean and head to the trash.
Lesson Four
"Robert, hold your hand over your mouth, no not your nose, and blow air out of your nose," I say. He blows right through his fingers. I deliver another squishy tissue to the trash. Did I wash my hands?
Lesson Five:
"Robert, take a deep breath and try to push the air out of your nostrils with your lungs!" Scientific approach? "Wait, try it again, wait I think you got it, wait try it again, that's it, okay into the Kleenex; now go ahead and blow!" I watch closely. He sprays my face with sputum as he lets out a hardy blast of air. Okay, well it's only Monday morning.
Good Luck!! Good Parenting!!
Bon :) |
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.
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."
