Yesterday morning GoofGirl called her abuela to tell her about her day.
"It was pajama day at school and we had a special breakfast at school," she explained to her grandmother, "First I drew with the syrup. Then I ate a banana, pancakes, juice, and a muffin."
"You ate a lot, are you going to blow up?" abuela asked.
"No, I just go to the bathroom a lot," GoofGirl explained.
Abuela laughed, reinforcing the bond across generations.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Friday, December 24, 2010
Monday, December 06, 2010
Goofy Math
I am constantly urging the little Goofs to work hard in math. “Be like mommy, and be good at math. You’ll be able to get good jobs. Don’t be like daddy, the world already has enough writers.”
Believe it or not, I think they listen. I guess don't be like daddy is pretty good inspiration. Unfortunately beyond inspiration, I'm not much help.
-----
One morning when I went into GoofGirl’s room to wake her up for school. She was lying under the covers talking. I bent close to hear. She was quietly saying, “703, 704…”
I asked her what she was doing and she explained, “I want to see how high I can count.”
“OK, but get up and get dressed soon.”
A few minutes later I was in my room getting dressed. She came in and asked, “Daddy what is after 808?”
“809.”
“What's after 809?”
“810.”
“What's after 810?”
“811. Are you starting to get the idea?”
“No, this makes no sense. I quit!” she answered.
-----
My son and I were discussing negative numbers. I explained how multiplying two negatives makes a positive but adding two negatives is still negative.
“If you multiply and negative and a positive you get what?” he asked.
“You get a negative.”
“OK, so if you add a negative and a positive you get a negative?” he asked hopefully.
“Well that depends on the specific numbers…”
I tried to have him visualize hot air balloons changing their altitude by adding and dumping sandbags (it helped me get it when I was his age.) But it didn’t help him. I tried to help him imagine adding a negative is really a subtraction so subtracting a negative is really an addition. This failed to clarify matters.
“Dad, you are making it worse. This doesn’t make sense. I’m going to have a freak out!”
“Buddy, it’s ok, negative numbers are the bizarro world of math. Up is down, right is wrong, and they eat Brussels sprouts for dessert.”
“Yeah, that helps alot. Is mommy home yet?”
-----
My son has started doing word problems for his math homework. My daughter wasn’t getting any homework in kindergarten. She was jealous, so she has started making up her own word problems.
“Daddy, pretend you have seven coupons,” she said.
“Coupons for what?”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s a math problem.”
“It matters to me,” I said, “What if they are for something I don’t want?”
“OK, they are for coffee, you like coffee,” she said, exasperated.
“I do like coffee. Oh boy, seven coffees! Yea! YEA!” I yelled and started jumping around the room.
“They are decaf. Sit down,” she said firmly.
I sat down.
“So we have seven coupons and we take away two…”
“Why are you taking away my coupons?” I cried, “I sat down when you told me to.”
“Daddy. It is a math problem. We are just pretending to have coupons.”
“There are no coupons. How do you take them away if they aren’t there?” I asked, my voice quavering.
“Use your imagination! Forget it, I’ll ask mommy. She can do word problems without so much crying.”
Believe it or not, I think they listen. I guess don't be like daddy is pretty good inspiration. Unfortunately beyond inspiration, I'm not much help.
-----
One morning when I went into GoofGirl’s room to wake her up for school. She was lying under the covers talking. I bent close to hear. She was quietly saying, “703, 704…”
I asked her what she was doing and she explained, “I want to see how high I can count.”
“OK, but get up and get dressed soon.”
A few minutes later I was in my room getting dressed. She came in and asked, “Daddy what is after 808?”
“809.”
“What's after 809?”
“810.”
“What's after 810?”
“811. Are you starting to get the idea?”
“No, this makes no sense. I quit!” she answered.
-----
My son and I were discussing negative numbers. I explained how multiplying two negatives makes a positive but adding two negatives is still negative.
“If you multiply and negative and a positive you get what?” he asked.
“You get a negative.”
“OK, so if you add a negative and a positive you get a negative?” he asked hopefully.
“Well that depends on the specific numbers…”
I tried to have him visualize hot air balloons changing their altitude by adding and dumping sandbags (it helped me get it when I was his age.) But it didn’t help him. I tried to help him imagine adding a negative is really a subtraction so subtracting a negative is really an addition. This failed to clarify matters.
“Dad, you are making it worse. This doesn’t make sense. I’m going to have a freak out!”
“Buddy, it’s ok, negative numbers are the bizarro world of math. Up is down, right is wrong, and they eat Brussels sprouts for dessert.”
“Yeah, that helps alot. Is mommy home yet?”
-----
My son has started doing word problems for his math homework. My daughter wasn’t getting any homework in kindergarten. She was jealous, so she has started making up her own word problems.
“Daddy, pretend you have seven coupons,” she said.
“Coupons for what?”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s a math problem.”
“It matters to me,” I said, “What if they are for something I don’t want?”
“OK, they are for coffee, you like coffee,” she said, exasperated.
“I do like coffee. Oh boy, seven coffees! Yea! YEA!” I yelled and started jumping around the room.
“They are decaf. Sit down,” she said firmly.
I sat down.
“So we have seven coupons and we take away two…”
“Why are you taking away my coupons?” I cried, “I sat down when you told me to.”
“Daddy. It is a math problem. We are just pretending to have coupons.”
“There are no coupons. How do you take them away if they aren’t there?” I asked, my voice quavering.
“Use your imagination! Forget it, I’ll ask mommy. She can do word problems without so much crying.”
Thursday, December 02, 2010
A Goofy Hanukah
“Dad, you know why most of the kids in my class like Hanukah?”
“Why?”
“They just like the presents. But not me, I’m in it for the latkes!” my son said proudly.
“You know why I like Hanukah?” I replied.
“I know, I know, the Maccabees used asymmetric warfare…” my son groaned.
“How do you know about that?”
“You kept talking about it last year. Asymmetric warfare, using classic insurgent tactics and the terrain to defeat a conventionally stronger enemy. Blah, blah… The year before that you kept talking about olive oil and the rise of Mediterranean societies.”
“No, this year I am into Hanukah for something even bigger, better, and more exciting!”
“You got the rapid-fire Nerf gun?” he asked hopefully.
“No, and anyway it is for me, not you! Anyway, Hanukah is about the fundamental conflict between Greek civilization and Jewish civilization. It is a tension that underpins Western civilization. Think about this, in synagogue inscribed on the Ark are the words ‘Know before whom you stand.” While the inscription at the oracle of Delphi instructed people to ‘Know thyself.””
“Dad, do you have to make everything so boring?”
“Think of Moses vs. Aristotle!”
“So Moses hits Aristotle with his staff, then Aristotle rears up on his hind legs ...”
“For the last time, Aristotle wasn’t a centaur. He was a philosopher who gave long lectures while pacing around the Lyceum in Athen.”
“He walked and talked a lot, no wonder you like him so much.”
“Anyway, they didn’t live at the same time. It is about their ideas…”
“Dad, you are making it boring again.”
“Be quiet and light the candles. I am going to open up my new Nerf Gun and find out if you were really listening when I was talking about asymmetric warfare!”
“Why?”
“They just like the presents. But not me, I’m in it for the latkes!” my son said proudly.
“You know why I like Hanukah?” I replied.
“I know, I know, the Maccabees used asymmetric warfare…” my son groaned.
“How do you know about that?”
“You kept talking about it last year. Asymmetric warfare, using classic insurgent tactics and the terrain to defeat a conventionally stronger enemy. Blah, blah… The year before that you kept talking about olive oil and the rise of Mediterranean societies.”
“No, this year I am into Hanukah for something even bigger, better, and more exciting!”
“You got the rapid-fire Nerf gun?” he asked hopefully.
“No, and anyway it is for me, not you! Anyway, Hanukah is about the fundamental conflict between Greek civilization and Jewish civilization. It is a tension that underpins Western civilization. Think about this, in synagogue inscribed on the Ark are the words ‘Know before whom you stand.” While the inscription at the oracle of Delphi instructed people to ‘Know thyself.””
“Dad, do you have to make everything so boring?”
“Think of Moses vs. Aristotle!”
“So Moses hits Aristotle with his staff, then Aristotle rears up on his hind legs ...”
“For the last time, Aristotle wasn’t a centaur. He was a philosopher who gave long lectures while pacing around the Lyceum in Athen.”
“He walked and talked a lot, no wonder you like him so much.”
“Anyway, they didn’t live at the same time. It is about their ideas…”
“Dad, you are making it boring again.”
“Be quiet and light the candles. I am going to open up my new Nerf Gun and find out if you were really listening when I was talking about asymmetric warfare!”
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Football Dreams
GoofBoy is on a football team with a bunch of other kids from his Jewish day school. Football is the wrong sport for a Jewish kid – too many head injuries. He may have illusions of athletic grandeur, but I expect my son will make his living with his brains. A few tackles too many and he might end up being an accountant. But it’s flag football, so I’m not too worried.
In the practice before the game the parents are the opposition team. Naturally parents guard their own kids. For reasons I can’t explain I get motivated (I probably put more into this scrimmage then to a decade of gym class). When one of the other kids catches a pass and gets by his dad, I chase him down and dive into the dirt to pull his flag.
“Good hustle, parents…” the coach yells, haltingly.
My son mocks, “Hey dad, what’s like to really play?”
A few plays later when the pass goes to GoofBoy I run hard to knock it down before he can catch it. A bad thing happens in my ankle. Instead of yelling, “Booyah!” I exclaim, “Ouch!”
I hobble back to my place on the line. Another parent says, “You know, this isn’t worth hurting yourself over.”
“I know,” I called back, “But I hate these kids!”
All week as I limped around, and explained my injury, other parents laughed knowingly.
Winning Strategy
The game itself revealed the strengths and weaknesses of our team. A team of Jewish kids is unlikely to be faster or stronger then the opposing team – although they executed plays pretty well.
However, we were excellent at arguing calls. The parent-coaches were all attorneys – and litigation, that's a sport for Jews! (All verbal calisthenics, it exercises our strongest muscles.)
In the practice before the game the parents are the opposition team. Naturally parents guard their own kids. For reasons I can’t explain I get motivated (I probably put more into this scrimmage then to a decade of gym class). When one of the other kids catches a pass and gets by his dad, I chase him down and dive into the dirt to pull his flag.
“Good hustle, parents…” the coach yells, haltingly.
My son mocks, “Hey dad, what’s like to really play?”
A few plays later when the pass goes to GoofBoy I run hard to knock it down before he can catch it. A bad thing happens in my ankle. Instead of yelling, “Booyah!” I exclaim, “Ouch!”
I hobble back to my place on the line. Another parent says, “You know, this isn’t worth hurting yourself over.”
“I know,” I called back, “But I hate these kids!”
All week as I limped around, and explained my injury, other parents laughed knowingly.
Winning Strategy
The game itself revealed the strengths and weaknesses of our team. A team of Jewish kids is unlikely to be faster or stronger then the opposing team – although they executed plays pretty well.
However, we were excellent at arguing calls. The parent-coaches were all attorneys – and litigation, that's a sport for Jews! (All verbal calisthenics, it exercises our strongest muscles.)
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Medieval Playdate
There are playdates and there are playdates.
GoofGirl generally has little girls over and they do girl things, like play family. She goes upstairs with her friend and closes the door so I am not privy to how the game goes. With some friends GoofGirl is mom, with others she is the sister. With her arch-rival, the devious 3C she is usually forced into the daughter role. The hierarchies are complicated and with the door closed I lack the data to map them.
But she still plays with boys (and her brother). Sometimes it is just general horsing around. But she also has a special buddy for particular forms of wackiness. In the car, on the way to his house she mutters to herself in strange deep voice.
"Nina, que haces?" (That's Spanish for, what are you doing - I speak Spanish at the level of a two year old.)
"I'm getting ready to play," she responds with a Cheshire grin.
When they get together, they discuss Guillotines a great deal.
At their last playdate GoofGirl and her buddy were carrying a pair of plastic chairs up to her room. One is red, the other is blue. GoofGirl asked, "Which one do you want to carry. The one colored like blood inside your body or the one colored like blood outside your body?"
I don't remember which one her friend choose, but he added as they headed upstairs, "Don't forget the sword!"
And they made a Lego Guillotine...
GoofGirl generally has little girls over and they do girl things, like play family. She goes upstairs with her friend and closes the door so I am not privy to how the game goes. With some friends GoofGirl is mom, with others she is the sister. With her arch-rival, the devious 3C she is usually forced into the daughter role. The hierarchies are complicated and with the door closed I lack the data to map them.
But she still plays with boys (and her brother). Sometimes it is just general horsing around. But she also has a special buddy for particular forms of wackiness. In the car, on the way to his house she mutters to herself in strange deep voice.
"Nina, que haces?" (That's Spanish for, what are you doing - I speak Spanish at the level of a two year old.)
"I'm getting ready to play," she responds with a Cheshire grin.
When they get together, they discuss Guillotines a great deal.
At their last playdate GoofGirl and her buddy were carrying a pair of plastic chairs up to her room. One is red, the other is blue. GoofGirl asked, "Which one do you want to carry. The one colored like blood inside your body or the one colored like blood outside your body?"
I don't remember which one her friend choose, but he added as they headed upstairs, "Don't forget the sword!"
And they made a Lego Guillotine...
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Mysteries of Little Feet
If you asked me what surprises me the most about parenthood it would have to be how often I order my children, "Get your feet out of your mouth!"
And I really wish I meant this metaphorically.
Feet have always been a huge curiousity to children. Corresponding recently with an old friend who blogs at A Year in the Life of an Army Family she observed that her daughter insisted on on being able to see her feet while she ate.
I told her I made my mom buy me footie pajamas when I was little, then I made her cut the feet off because I thought they made my feet disappear.
Kids are like that.
Feet are our body’s hinterland, far removed from the capital and liable to get into trouble. Good to keep an eye on them. (That’s the political scientist in me; if I were a Marxist I might note that they support the rest of the body for very little gain.)
They are also a source of fascination – is this thing really part of me? If I poke it, will I feel it? What can it do?
I get all of this. What I don’t get is my own kids attitudes toward their feet.
I'll come downstairs on a Sunday morning (when they are allowed to get up early and watch TV) to find both of them sitting like bookends in the exact same position (the Goofs are twins separated by three years) with their feet in their mouth just chowing down. There is of course a kitchen full of snacks (healthy and junk) in the next room.
For GoofGirl this has become a bit of an art form. She shoves both big toes in her mouth and calls it the chipmunk. Both little toes and she calls baby chipmunk. One whole foot, for reasons I don't understand is "Octopus." She had several other "moves" but I had hit my limit.
What I wonder is what nutrient are they missing that can only be obtained by chewing on their toenails (and really, wouldn’t they be better off without it?)
And I really wish I meant this metaphorically.
Feet have always been a huge curiousity to children. Corresponding recently with an old friend who blogs at A Year in the Life of an Army Family she observed that her daughter insisted on on being able to see her feet while she ate.
I told her I made my mom buy me footie pajamas when I was little, then I made her cut the feet off because I thought they made my feet disappear.
Kids are like that.
Feet are our body’s hinterland, far removed from the capital and liable to get into trouble. Good to keep an eye on them. (That’s the political scientist in me; if I were a Marxist I might note that they support the rest of the body for very little gain.)
They are also a source of fascination – is this thing really part of me? If I poke it, will I feel it? What can it do?
I get all of this. What I don’t get is my own kids attitudes toward their feet.
I'll come downstairs on a Sunday morning (when they are allowed to get up early and watch TV) to find both of them sitting like bookends in the exact same position (the Goofs are twins separated by three years) with their feet in their mouth just chowing down. There is of course a kitchen full of snacks (healthy and junk) in the next room.
For GoofGirl this has become a bit of an art form. She shoves both big toes in her mouth and calls it the chipmunk. Both little toes and she calls baby chipmunk. One whole foot, for reasons I don't understand is "Octopus." She had several other "moves" but I had hit my limit.
What I wonder is what nutrient are they missing that can only be obtained by chewing on their toenails (and really, wouldn’t they be better off without it?)
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