orichalcum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
orichalcum) wrote2009-02-11 11:16 am
orichalcum) wrote2009-02-11 11:16 am
Toddler/Dog Show LXV: Mac practices his Presidential Debate Technique
When I dropped Mac off at school this morning, I noticed a new project on display. Last week had focused on dinosaurs, which Mac of course loved. For a group project, the kids took a giant cutout of a real dinosaur footprint, and then traced their own feet inside the dinosaur footprint. Their teachers asked them, "How many of our little feet can fit inside the dinosaur footprint?" and then wrote the answers on a big chart, after noting that the correct number was 28.
Most of the kids said, "2!" or "5!" or "2...um, lots!"
Mac apparently said, "Just green. I want a big dinosaur, actually."
Sigh. I'm starting to wonder if he may have the same issue that his dad and I both had as kids (and arguably as adults) of being really good at difficult things and bad at/bored by basic skills. It does boggle me slightly that a child who can cross-reference images of toys across different children's books ( "Look, Mommy, Curious George has toy plane like Little Blue Engine. But that plane really big. This just little plane.") can't remember the difference between green and blue, or that he can sing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" but not count to 5. Toddler brains are strange and wondrous things; it will all work out in the end.
In other amusing verbal news, Mac has decided that "hammer" is a good all-purpose adjective, useful for phrases like "It's a big hammer train" and "I want big hammer pants." (Yes, we giggled.) I asked him what "hammer" meant, and this was more or less his response: "Hammer is...only one at school. Only. special. My hammer!" My current deduction is that "hammer" therefore means "special" or "unique" because, unlike the other toys at school, there's only one hammer. It's a working theory, at least.
Meanwhile, Eowyn is reacting to the advent of spring by trying to eat as much grass as possible, with predictable results. However, she's gotten into a much better relationship with Mac, thankfully, and will even happily let him brush her after she comes in wet from a rainy walk. I remain incredibly thankful that we have a dog gentle enough that, even when a overenthusiastic toddler accidentally pokes her in the eye, she'll just look at me imploringly rather than getting hostile or aggressive.
I mentioned to Mac the other day that Eowyn was going over to play with Finn, the Davis-Wilson's dog.
"I want to play with Finn!"
"Mac, you know Finn doesn't really play well with you. He's scared of you."
"I give Finn treats! Then he not scared! Then he not bark!"
Can't say Mac isn't learning the basics of dog training early on!
Most of the kids said, "2!" or "5!" or "2...um, lots!"
Mac apparently said, "Just green. I want a big dinosaur, actually."
Sigh. I'm starting to wonder if he may have the same issue that his dad and I both had as kids (and arguably as adults) of being really good at difficult things and bad at/bored by basic skills. It does boggle me slightly that a child who can cross-reference images of toys across different children's books ( "Look, Mommy, Curious George has toy plane like Little Blue Engine. But that plane really big. This just little plane.") can't remember the difference between green and blue, or that he can sing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" but not count to 5. Toddler brains are strange and wondrous things; it will all work out in the end.
In other amusing verbal news, Mac has decided that "hammer" is a good all-purpose adjective, useful for phrases like "It's a big hammer train" and "I want big hammer pants." (Yes, we giggled.) I asked him what "hammer" meant, and this was more or less his response: "Hammer is...only one at school. Only. special. My hammer!" My current deduction is that "hammer" therefore means "special" or "unique" because, unlike the other toys at school, there's only one hammer. It's a working theory, at least.
Meanwhile, Eowyn is reacting to the advent of spring by trying to eat as much grass as possible, with predictable results. However, she's gotten into a much better relationship with Mac, thankfully, and will even happily let him brush her after she comes in wet from a rainy walk. I remain incredibly thankful that we have a dog gentle enough that, even when a overenthusiastic toddler accidentally pokes her in the eye, she'll just look at me imploringly rather than getting hostile or aggressive.
I mentioned to Mac the other day that Eowyn was going over to play with Finn, the Davis-Wilson's dog.
"I want to play with Finn!"
"Mac, you know Finn doesn't really play well with you. He's scared of you."
"I give Finn treats! Then he not scared! Then he not bark!"
Can't say Mac isn't learning the basics of dog training early on!
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Also, "big hammer pants."
I'm still laughing when I'm typing that. My department must think I'm insane :)
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<duck>
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Ah, the complexities of language. The intrepid linguist visiting the jungle clearing holds up a glass of water, and says "water," but his native informant may respond with his word for "beverage," or "potable," or "glass," or...
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I'm sorely tempted to call this phenemenon of non-obvious feature choice the "hammer pants problem" in an academic paper.
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http://cs.wellesley.edu/~kgold/HammerPants.png
I'd like to think that the fact the talk is in Japan will only help my case. "Hammeru Pantasu!"
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I will be laughing for WEEKS.
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He threw a major tantrum yesterday when I didn't know what he meant by his request to play Weird Al's "Um Day." As it turns out, it was "Pretty Fly for a Rabbi," which has the words "Oy Vey" in the chorus.