A Serving from the Melting Pot?

At her conference, my wife was in the buffet line for lunch yesterday. Behind the buffet line were servers who all appeared to be Latino. One of the conference attendees next to her — a Caucasian guy — was telling another that he had seen a bumper sticker that said "Secure Our Borders." He continued that he thought he would have a bestselling bumper sticker if the same slogan were written in both English and Spanish.

We don't know if the man was oblivious, indifferent, or being deliberately provocative. (My wife thought he was clueless; the staff was, perhaps, "invisible" too him.) Now it's possible   the workers were all citizens and/or legal immigrants and  completely agreed with the sentiment of the bumper sticker in question. (Statistically, though, I suppose that the opinion part of that hypothetical is very unlikely). Nevertheless, the comment — the guy's opinion notwithstanding — seemed insensitive, to say the least.

Without getting into my (complex) opinions about immigration or multicultural issues, the situation makes me wonder. Would this man have been as outspoken about, for example, the war if surrounded by a bunch of soldiers or peace activists, or about abortion if surrounded by a group of conservative Christians or pro-choice feminists?

At breakfast, we again learned the value of not  acting as if the "staff" is invisible just because their culture or income-level or language or education level might  be different than yours.

I hope to tell that story in the next post.

Pool-Time Deficiency Syndrome

We are in Janesville (WI) staying in a hotel. (Mrs. Occupation Dad has to attend a conference here and we came together, like we always do.)

There is free wireless Internet access for me, TLC's "A Baby Story" for my wife and a pool for Benjamin. "Hotels always have pools in 'em," he observed today. Good pattern finding! Maybe we better start staying at Motel 6's to give him a little dose of the real world.

(I wonder if we'll  encounter any exceptions to this pool rule in China. [We're told that the urban hotels in which adoptive families are set up are always pretty upscale. The more rural hotels — typically where children actually join their new families — are less fancy but still nice.] Time  for swimming, though? That's another story.)

Benjamin surely was very eager to use the pool this  morning. We went to the included breakfast thing in a room with a view of the pool. Benjamin is not the kind of kid who would (or did) keep asking excitedly over and over about swimming, running over the pool window and saying, "Let's go, let's go!" You can tell, though, that inside his head he's constantly percolating about it. He did ask a couple of times, "When are we going to go to the pool?" spacing these casual remarks out a bit. This didn't speed things up enough for his taste.

So, near the end of breakfast, he put on a bothered face and made a couple of humming, moaning noises, then said, "Well, . . . I'm feeling really sick today."

"You are?" we replied, wondering what this was about.

"Yeahhh," he continued pathetically, "but . . . I think going in the pool would make me feel a lot better."

We explained to him that you didn't need to be sick to qualify for pool time, that, in fact, it's the other way around — and that he and I would be heading to the pool shortly after breakfast.

A miraculous healing ensued and we've had no more reports or signs of really sick sickness so far today.

Life Near the Fastlane

For those of you who read this blog periodically — all 5 of you — you might  be wondering where I've gone.

Well, I have lots of "material" for the blog in my mind, in notes, and in half-finished stories.

I haven't been able to really complete any because, for a guy who's been living in the "slowlane" it's seemed  like a crazy couple of weeks.

There's the substitute teaching, of course. We've also had an adoption seminar, a number of family (of origin) things — including Easter and multiple celebrations and visits for Benjamin's birthday, family-business tasks, taxes (we have someone do ours, but I help my brother-in-law do his . . . figure that one out), a couple of viruses (relatively mild but annoying nonetheless). On top of all that, a car, an electric line and a dryer have all died (in unrelated incidents) here in the past couple of weeks. Plus, we're trying  to get ready for my wife's business trip (this week) and our vacation (next week).

Gosh, when I put it all in one paragraph like that, it's more understandable. Now I'm starting to see where all the time has gone.

Frankly, though, I'm not above screwing around, and at the end of few of these past days, I've been known to just drop in front of the TV without the energy to write.

I want to fill in some of the "stories" of which I've been making note. (I'll backdate them to the appropriate for organization [anal retentive] purposes.) I'll link them in a current post.

Here are some—
My first day as a music teacher: Clap the rhythm ... on your own knees!

A funny "incident": The Teacher Kicked Him in the Eye

Ben's new friends: "That which we call a [Beanie Baby] by any other name would smell as sweet."

"That which we call a [Beanie Baby] by any other name would smell as sweet."

This is "Sweet Bunny." Now you maybe notice that Sweet Bunny is, in fact, a dog — not that there's anything wrong  with that. His official Beanie Baby tag does not bear this name, but this is what Benjamin named him.

Benjamin is not really into stuffed animals that much, but he likes to snuggle this one, which he received recently from his Aunt. The poem on the tag, which he's memorized, states that this dog likes to snuggle. Benjamin's a stickler for instructions (most  of the time).


This is "Sweet Rabbit," (compliments of the Easter Bunny). The name makes sense. Interestingly, though, he was  named "Sweet Cupboard." Sweet Cupboard, however, had to "have a talk with" Benjamin — this is what he tells us — and as a result he changed the puppet's name to "Sweet Rabbit."

The Teacher Kicked Him in the Eye

"The teacher kicked him in the eye," was what the student told them in the office, but I didn't find that out until later.

I had taken an assignment to sub in kindergarten.

The students were a little chatty and silly, but it was a well-behaved group.

At one point, the kids were all seated on the floor as I was in front of them leading a reading lesson. One of them raised her hand and told me her finger was hurt. I walked between the kids to get to her. I thought maybe she'd cut her finger; when I got close, though, I could see it was just a just a sore hangnail or something like that.)

Meanwhile, behind me I heard a scramble of voices and then sobbing.

I turned around and saw one of the boys in the class had his hand to his eye. He was the one crying, but the poor little guy was trying to restrain it.

I could see that, as I had been walking by (balancing to make sure I didn't fall on the kids in front of me), the heel of my big shoe must have caught him right by his eye.

I rushed back to him, "Oh my Gosh! Oh my Gosh! Tyler, I'm sorry; I'm sorry! Tyler, are you OK?" (Names changed to protect . . . you know the drill.)

Well, I took the poor fella' aside and told him he could sit down and rest. I had another student go to the office for an ice pack. Tyler was OK, and was feeling fine a few minutes later.

An educational assistant returned with an ice pack (and the student I'd sent). "They" (in the office) wanted the E.A. to bring Tyler back to the office, just so they could check if he was OK. That surprised me, . . . but fine.

Not too long after that he returned. With the other ensuing classroom adventures of the day, I didn't think much about the incident again.

At the end of the day I went to the office to get a form. One of the secretaries greeted me with, "How did your day go? Sounded like you had a little incident down there today."

I wrinkled my forehead: for a few seconds I didn't know what she was talking about; I had put it out of my mind. "Ohhh, Tyler ! Yeah,  I feel so bad about that. I'm so clutzy. I was walking in between the kids and I caught the poor guy with the back of my shoe."

She laughed, "Oh, well, one of the kids came down and asked for an ice pack, and I asked him, 'For what?" and he just said, 'The teacher kicked Tyler in the eye.' And we were like, 'Who's  your teacher?' and he said, 'Mrs. Stadelmann.' We looked at the board [with the sub's listed on it] and I was thinking, 'What's going on  ?'" Note that not only was I a sub' they had never had there before but also probably the only man in the building besides the gym teacher and one of the custodians.

We discussed the "incident" in more detail, and I asked when to expect a subpoena. We laughed and they assured me not to worry about it now that they understood what had happened. However, they said they had already had to contact Tyler's mom just to let her know, since she's a teacher and all. Great , I thought. (There are two types of teacher-parents, those who are extra understanding of their kids' teachers and those who are hyper-critical of the same.)

As for me, next time I send a kindergartener with a message about an injured child, I'd better send a note, especially if I'm the cause of the injury.

Clap the rhythm ... on your own knees!

Welcome! We're so glad you were available to sub' here today.
My first day subbing went pretty well overall. It didn't start with quite the "welcome back" to the district one might wish for.

As I mentioned, I was in for an elementary music teacher. She works at two different schools. I whisked into the office of the first school just at the time I was supposed to get there. It was a little busy so I had to wait a minute.

"May I help you?" They see an unfamiliar man in a tie with a black briefcase. They probably think I'm an educational software salesman.

"I'm the substitute for Mrs. Querin." (Names changes to protect …)

"For who?"

My heart rate doubles; I've started at the wrong school. No. That can't be, I read the information over five times.

"Mrs. Querin . . . ," I pronounce the name a couple of different ways. " . . . music teacher, she starts here and then goes to Franklin," I add, almost confidently.

The secretary believes me, but seems to be trying to hide her bewilderment. She walks back to the other secretary and repeat my alleged assignment.

The other secretary explains who I'm supposed to be subbing for and points to a schedule on the wall. (I would think that they would know a sub' is coming, or least know all the teachers in their building, part-time or not; it is April, after all. Maybe, the first secretary was a sub', too.)

Whew! They direct me and even tell me there is another music teacher down there who will let me know what I'll be doing.
__________

Only 10
The plans were thorough. And her Thursday schedule was thoroughly hectic. Her prep' time for the day: a ten-minute break, a thirty-five-minute break during which she has to travel to the other school, and a half-hour break called "lunch." There were 10  half-hour music classes to teach, ranging from Kindergarten to 4th grade.


Multitask Or Else
Both of the schools have a significant population of lower-income students. Almost all of the groups needed stern classroom management.

It was  my first day, and I had  had a bit of practice "teaching" again at church school.

Nevertheless, I found it difficult to deliver this firm class guidance while trying to choose and find the right songs on the CD player and in the music book, attempting to lead the singing in a way that did not incur infectious ridicule, and (sometimes), trying to prevent musical games from turning into recess-like free-for-alls.

Ultimately, each class went fine.

I do not envy the elementary vocal music teacher, especially "Mrs. Querin," and especially on Thursdays.

"Dada's going to work today" OR Operation 'Occupation: Sub', Day One'

Today I had to say something I've never said to my son before, "Dada's going to work today." I will miss him. Especially after the nightmare I had last night in which he, my wife and I were all clinging to each other for dear life as giant rocks were falling out of the sky. (A little repressed anxiety about subbing, perhaps . . . ?)

Today is my first day substitute teaching. I'll be subbing in an elementary music class. I've taught elementary before (that's my field), but never music.

I hope the teacher has left a very complete lesson plan. Perhaps I should bring a Wiggles video just in case. Or, better yet, The School of Rock. ("Hat tip ..." [as they say on the web] ... "hat tip" to my wife for the School of Rock joke.)

What are you doing in there?

Today I was reminded of a story about something that happened a few months ago.

Benjamin was going through a phase where he would use the bathroom and then stay in there just playing with stuff he found. One day while my brother and sister-in-law were visiting he was doing just that. Just before they left, my sister-in-law needed to use the bathroom, so we gave him fair warning that he'd have to come out in a minute.

When she couldn't wait any longer, we told him, ready or not, we were comin' in.

He was at the sink with a big roll of toilet paper under the running water. Half dissolved tissue was oozing off in the standing water (since the drain was pretty well clogged with the same substance).

In the flurry of vacating the bathroom, making the sink operable again, saying goodbye to my family members, telling Benjamin not to put toilet paper in the sink, etc., we didn't really discuss what on Earth he was trying to do.

Once it was calm, we asked. He earnestly answered, "Well, the toilet paper fell in the toilet. I was just trying to wash it off."

It broke our hearts. Conscientious to a fault. A big soggy, messy, gloppy fault.

April Fool's Day

Oh yeah … April's Fools Day: We explained the concept to Benjamin and he got  it.

His main jokes were:

"Oh, no! Eddie [one of our naughtier cats] peed on the floor …"

"Mama, I peed on the floor …"

"Dada, there's a badger in our house! …"

" . . . . . . April Fool's!"

April 3rd and the jokes — same ones — are just starting to peter out this morning.

John Travol-tot

I was with Benjamin at church school this week. One day all the kids attending (ages 2 – 9) were together singing and doing hand and body motions to a song they had learned. The accompanying music was upbeat pop-rock.

Most of the older kids were doing the learned dance and motions. The preschoolers were either trying to do the same, just standing there, or kind of wiggling to the beat. Except my kid.

Benjamin was doing this wild free-form dance. I wanted to blame The Wiggles , but this   was no Wiggles  dance. It was an intense, all-out disco dance: turning, arms up, elbows out, up, down, shake, hip-shimmy, etc., etc. Despite being in a crowd, he was taking up a 3' X 8' space on the floor.

Actually, … Benjamin and I are not shy about gettin' down in the kitchen, whether it’s the Wiggles, Mother Goose Rocks, They Might Be Giants, New Order, C+C Music Factory (one of his favorites), Cake, Count Basie, J-Lo, Glenn Miller, Moby, … whatever.

When he was showin' his moves there in the church hall, I didn't know whether to be self-conscious or proud.

Well, anyway, now half the church probably thinks I take my kid out clubbing every weekend. (It's only really  like once a month.)

Teaching Flashbacks

The public schools in our town are on spring break right now, and our church is having a morning church school program for preschool and school-age kids for the week. My wife and I signed Benjamin up for it and I signed up to volunteer to work at the program for a few of the days.

Benjamin hasn't had a whole lot of experience with long, organized group activities or learning. Nevertheless, he's been doing great. He's had no signs of "homesickness," and is adjusting to the routines quickly.

I, on the other hand, was reeling a bit after my first day of volunteering, and it was not even half of a day. I was leading the "recreation" sessions. Each (age-level) group of kids would come to "my area," and I would lead them in specific games or activities. Having taught elementary school, I was on familiar ground.

I often carelessly remark, about being an at-home dad, that I'm still teaching, but with the ideal student-teacher ratio — 1:1. It wasn't quite as funny when the "ideal" part was taken away and I was forced to humbly remind myself that even a small group of kids about whom I know little is much different terrain.

These are some pedagogical and life lessons I relearned in a few hours:

• Kids aren't born knowing how to raise their hands or get in a line.
  
  
• Just because kids are staring at you intensely doesn't mean they have any idea what you're saying or even that they're listeni— "What? Uhhhh, no, we're not talking about my shirt right now …"
  
  
• You should have already come up with excuses valuable life lessons about why everyone won't be able to have a turn at being the special … whatever … today.
  
  
• When a 10 minute activity takes 20 minutes, and you have to repeat it for the next "class," they will finish it in 5 minutes. You will want to be ready for the question-and-answer session that will follow it: "Now  what are we gonna do?" "Uhhh … "
  
  
• Curricula are rarely written by "normal" teachers, but instead by curriculum writers and/or teachers who seem to have forgotten what it's like in a classroom. So most teachers' guides are to teaching as your car's manual is to learning to drive.
  
  
• Any schedule that doesn't list bathroom breaks is wrong.
  
  
• There are  naughty kids There are  kids with naughty behavior (even at church school.) Not your kids. They were great! Hope springs eternal that the naughty can be truly separated from the kid. Prepare. This transformation will not  occur under your watch.
  
  
• Starting at around 5 or 6 years old, kids will perceive almost any activity as a competition, no matter what  it says in the teaching methods book, lesson plan, or the Bible.
  
  
• If any sort of projector is involved, allow 5 minutes for improvisational shadow plays, 5 minutes for ceasing said shadow plays, and 5 assistants to micromanage spontaneous arm and head shadows. Alternatively, have ample security personnel to lock down a corridor between projector and screen.
  
  
• If you're seeing leg   shadows on the screen, the owner of the leg might not  be your first choice for the student to summarize today's lesson.

I was being cautious on day one. By the second day, however, I was flagging down running kids in the hall, and jumping in front of the assembled group of kids channeling presumed-long-lost gimmicks to get their attention even when it wasn't my turn to teach. The teacher knee-jerk reflexes die hard and resurface quickly. (It took years for me to lose the impulse to intercept others people's kids running or yelling in the supermarket.)


Now a shocking confession: soon I may just be "Occupation: Part-time Dad" for a while. I have signed up to substitute teach (in the local school system). (The pay will help defray some of the adoption costs.) Not to worry, when our beautiful daughter arrives I'll be back on full-time overtime.

I don't know how much the kids learned at church this week, but I do know that God sent me some good practice for subbing.

Sub' teaching, as I recall, makes for some good stories. So the outstanding question is, do I post them here … or create Occupation: Sub?

Spy vs. Us

Yesterday we asked Benjamin point blank, "Are you a secret agent?"

Straight-faced, without hesitation, he answered, "Yes."

My wife and I laughed. "Why are you laughing, Mama? Dada, why are you laughing?"

I don't know how much longer I can take these mind games.

Cover Blown

We've always thought our son was good and bright and cooperative. A little too  angelic? Surprisingly  clever? Suspiciously  obedient? No ... we just always thought we were extremely blessed and lucky. Until now.

Today Benjamin let it slip. He started talking about his "security papers." "Important  security papers."

Sure they just looked  like notepad sheets with scribbles on them. But it's obviously some sort of ruse or highly-sophisicated encryption. Our kid's clearly some kind of secret agent, disguised as a preschooler.

I know what you're thinking. But, in talking to him and each other we have identified no books, videos or TV he's encountered that talk about "security papers". (Sure, there are lots of kids materials about  "security papers"; we just don't read or watch them.)

No. He's a covert operative all right. Homeland Security sent him here, no doubt, on suspicions of our suspicious dealings with China.

And people thought the NSA's "warrantless wiretapping" was an intrusion ... try living with a secret agent and 4 hairball-horking cats.

Occupation: Overprotective-Private-School-Yuppie-Dad???

Yesterday we visited the school to which we will likely send our son. It is a private school. So what? Lots of people send their kids to private school. Well, I was (and may be again) a public elementary school teacher. Hypocrite! Right? I know of some public school teachers who would say so. I know some who would say, "I don't blame you!"

In fact, if I hadn't taught in a public school, I probably would never have even thought of sending Benjamin to a private school.

That being said, the schools here in Wisconsin, in general, are very good. The schools in our town are very, very good. But we want to shelter our child while he is young and impressionable. Are we spoiling, overprotective wackos? Well, not surprisingly, I say no.

I had this discussion once with someone of a similar opinion. He and his wife homeschooled their children. They often got the question, "But aren't you worried about socialization?"

His answer was, "Yes! That's why we homeschool."

This comment gets to the root of our feelings as parents. In school, kids learn behaviors from other kids. Good behaviors and bad behaviors. In public schools, classes are large, there aren't funds for sufficient supervision. The schedules are filled with loose transition times where students have lots of unecessary opportunities to socialize with little guidance.

Counterargument: If you brought your kids up well, they will be good role models and will rarely pick up negative behaviors from other kids.

I disagree. While teaching, I've seen too many good kids pick up naughty habits. Do they learn   that they are negative behaviors? Of course, and quick! The brighter, good ones also  quickly learn that they shouldn't do them … until  they think that adults aren't around.

Another counterargument: All kids learn naughty stuff from their peers. We're only delaying the inevitable, and denying them an opportunity to learn about self-control, and about kids who are different, kids who may suffer hardship. Any bad behavior they pick up is a chance for parents and teachers to give an object lesson on right and wrong, why other people misbehave, etc., and to teach self-control.

Again, I disagree. Public school, private school or home school, there will be ample opportunities to teach self-control. We want to minimize  learning by negative example, not maximize  it. There is a time and place to learn that Johnny may have hit Bill because he has a hard home life, or that Mary swore at her teacher because she her parents don't monitor what she sees on TV. I contend that the best time and place is not in a 2nd grade classroom, nor even a 5th grade one. Part of my reason for saying so is that young children are still developing the abstract thinking abilities required for adult-like self-regulation.

There are myriad other reasons why we will probably choose the school we having been scoping out. (Blog posts, however, should probably be shorter than this one is already. In the future I would like to write about:
-Why I have the crazy belief that private school (and this one specifically) is any better than public school
-Curriculum and academics
-Organziation and management
-Diversity or lack thereof
And maybe I will.)

Right now, I'll just say I am so very thankful that this is even a possibility for our children.

Old Mystery Solved

If you know me (or at least have read this old post), you know I am indecisive.

My wife is more decisive -- that's not saying much -- but she is not a stranger to agonizing about whether to get the turkey sandwich or the pasta primavera, etc., whether to go to the party or not, etc. Since she highly vales decisiveness, she is not particularly proud of what she describes -- in her critical moments -- as our being crippled by indecision.

My wife especially, then, is quite pleased that this trait seems to have skipped our son.

Case in point:

The other day I happened to hear the old Dylan song, "Blowin' in the wind." Bob famously wonders, "How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?" Being no stranger to non sequitirs  and other such foolishness, I said to Benjamin, "I have a question for you, Benjamin. How many road must a man walk down ... ?"

Without hesitation he answered, "Two."

All right then. That settles that.

In the sun-stained brown grass

Spring is lurking under this chill.
I can smell it. The winterbright sun is
trying to thaw something reluctant, not the
snow, it's gone. I think I found it, the

first clover that's not in a ranch house
window with a leprechaun. So small,
with light and dark greens only found
near the earth. My son can sense it. He won't

go in the house when we come home. This
34 degrees is different than three
weeks ago. He's rolling around in last year's
leaves with the cat. I think they're both purring.
                               

© Bàba

Line up

The other day, Benjamin was washing his hands and I needed to do the same. I reached in from the side and started to wash along with him.

"Dada, no," he started. (I fitted my I-don't-respond-for-Mr.-Bossy look.) "You have to get in line."

He doesn't go to preschool, but lately he has been attending Sunday school quite regularly. His rash reaction was clearly instigated by my appalling breach of wash-up-time protocol.

He will start a preschool program this fall, so this is just a taste of things to come. It will intensify, culminating in 2nd grade. At that point, we should anticipate that any break with established precedent will require a lengthy, carefully-worded explanatory statement, along with a liberal question-and-answers period. The results will likely range from "Well, that's still not fair" to resigned, quiet and highly skeptical acceptance. (Or, if we're in a hurry, we'll have to fall back on "we'll talk about it later," hoping later never comes. Worst case scenario: "because I said so.")

Back to the bathroom incident: Benjamin registered my stern look and reflexively repeatedly his request with a "could you please." I thought about explaining that there are different rules for home than there are in classrooms. I had just imagined all of our rules discussions for the next four years. I'll skip it this time.

"That's better," I sighed, and slunk to the end of the line.

He's probably right. It's a small sink.

De-sensationalizing the Adoption Abduction Connection

China adoption news is on my radar because my wife and I are in the process of adopting a baby girl from China. The topic ventures into the media every so often. Some positive (or at least neutral) recent examples are the Meg Ryan adoption and a recent People  piece on the adoptive families of Chinese sisters finding one another. Negative media crops up from time to time, as well. Mostly recently The Washington Post  featured an article drawing attention to Chinese baby trafficking and its connection to the adoption system.

The author lays out the alleged facts in such a way as to suggest unfair and sensationalistic implications. First, the report leads one to believe that most of the babies involved in the trafficking were abducted. Brian Stuy, who has done much informal research in China and has followed the Hunan trafficking case closely, points out that there is no evidence that any of the babies involved in these prosecutions were abducted. Rather, it appears that they were given up by parents willingly. Moreover, the parents of the trafficked children in question did not sell their babies but rather paid a liaison to insure that the children would get to a family or an orphanage safely. (Most Chinese parents giving up children are doing so out of ponderous cultural pressure, unbelievable economic hardship and in response to China's "one child" population control policy. These parents are forced to relinquish children secretly and illegally in the face of fines that could bankrupt them for life.) The fact that profit may have been made by middlemen is very disturbing.

This more accurate narrative, however, is a far cry from the inference that people have abducted hundreds of children from Chinese parents to be sold and adopted.

Second, the article seems to portray that the real story of Chinese adoption is one of wealthy Westerners going off to China to buy children from orphanages to avoid the complications of adopting elsewhere. The truer and bigger story of Chinese adoption is this: Some 250,000 to as many as one million children are abandoned in China each year. Dozens of thousands are adopted domestically, despite disincentives. People all over the world have opened their minds and hearts to provide homes for these children many of whom, should they remain as orphans, are headed for a future without education, in poverty, and worse. These are caring people sensitive to the complexities of international adoption, learning and bringing Chinese culture into their families so that these children will be able to have the opportunities and freedom of their new homelands, while being secure with and enriched by their culture of birth. (I do not mean these statements to be self-congratulatory. We have done a lot of work, but we are still waiting to adopt.) The adoptive families I know (and know about) are people changing the path of their lives and the shape of their families to provide a home to someone without one.

Child abduction sickens me. But that is a different story. No one wants to turn a blind eye to a report of corruption and selling human beings for profit. But that is yet another story — of people (some trying to help perhaps, some just greedy) in Hunan, who along with their official accomplices are, after all, being prosecuted.

The story of China adoption is a quieter, more complicated one about a huge need and hands from many places carefully reaching across the globe to respond.

Like a Duck in Water

Benjamin was playing with a duck decoy we have out as a decoration. He was asking about it, so I explained how hunters use duck decoys. I guess he picked up on that they floated in the water; he began talking about how the duck was in the water, etc. I thought it was clever because he was playing on the glass-covered coffee table ... the glass being like the water. Not so. He soon said, "I want you to notice something about duck's head." Instead (when I went closer), I noticed something about the ducks environs. The duck was swimming in a shallow (thankfully) puddle of actual water on the coffee table. "I just did it just for fun." (At least this newly-formed pond motivated us to clean the already-smeary tabletop.)

Benjamin is almost always very good at not doing something we've asked him not to do. As in this story, he comes up with new, creative ideas, that in his mind, are not connected with previous prohibitions. It's true. We never told him not to make a duck pond on the coffee table.

Treat

Benjamin started bringing the fireplace tools across the room to me.  I was trying to be enthusiastic about the offerings, sayings things like, "Thanks, this is nice."

He was asking, "Why?"

I said, "Well, these are very useful tools."

He went to get another, mumbling something about the "wood grabbers."  On his way back to me with the fireplace tongs, he very excitedly informed me, "Now you're in for a real treat."