Wonder where he gets that from?
Another first today for my boy -- his first argument with Mama concerning a trivial piece of information. Hmmm, he didn't learn that from watching us or anything.
We were playing with his set of ABC blocks, building towers and such. Each block has letters on two sides and pictures of objects that begin with those letters on another two sides. For example, the "M" block has a mouse and a moon on opposite sides. The "S" block has a sock and the sun on opposite sides.
To set the stage, first you must know that Isaac is currently obsessed with the moon, succeeding his obsession with squirrels. We have to read, repeatedly, every day, "Goodnight Moon", Sandra Boynton's "Going to Bed Book", Dr. Seuss's "The Foot Book," a nursery rhyme book sent by Grandma Ross that features "Hey Diddle Diddle" -- all because, at some point or another, they have a picture of the moon in them. Even previously shunned books which have even a hint of a moon on a single page are new faves. We can no longer make it through "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" because the moon is on the very first page.
Back to how our pointless argument started. Isaac finds the "S" block, with its picture of a similing, happy, circular sun. He holds it towards me.
Isaac: Is Moon!
Mama: No, buddy, that's the sun.
Isaac: (looking at picture of sun on block) No. Moon!
Mama: No, that's the sun.
Isaac: (shaking his head) No! Is Moon!
Mama: No, that's the sun. The sun comes out during the day and the moon is at night.
Isaac: (shaking his head violently) No! Is Moon!
Mama: (pulling out the "M" block and pointing at the picture of a smiling, but crescent, moon) THIS is the moon. You have the sun.
Isaac: (looks at picture of crescent moon, shakes head, thrusts picture of sun towards Mama) No! Is Moon!
Ten minutes this went on. Do you think if you blend the genes of two hard-headed people who love to argue that the offspring might be ten times as bad?
We were playing with his set of ABC blocks, building towers and such. Each block has letters on two sides and pictures of objects that begin with those letters on another two sides. For example, the "M" block has a mouse and a moon on opposite sides. The "S" block has a sock and the sun on opposite sides.
To set the stage, first you must know that Isaac is currently obsessed with the moon, succeeding his obsession with squirrels. We have to read, repeatedly, every day, "Goodnight Moon", Sandra Boynton's "Going to Bed Book", Dr. Seuss's "The Foot Book," a nursery rhyme book sent by Grandma Ross that features "Hey Diddle Diddle" -- all because, at some point or another, they have a picture of the moon in them. Even previously shunned books which have even a hint of a moon on a single page are new faves. We can no longer make it through "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" because the moon is on the very first page.
Back to how our pointless argument started. Isaac finds the "S" block, with its picture of a similing, happy, circular sun. He holds it towards me.
Isaac: Is Moon!
Mama: No, buddy, that's the sun.
Isaac: (looking at picture of sun on block) No. Moon!
Mama: No, that's the sun.
Isaac: (shaking his head) No! Is Moon!
Mama: No, that's the sun. The sun comes out during the day and the moon is at night.
Isaac: (shaking his head violently) No! Is Moon!
Mama: (pulling out the "M" block and pointing at the picture of a smiling, but crescent, moon) THIS is the moon. You have the sun.
Isaac: (looks at picture of crescent moon, shakes head, thrusts picture of sun towards Mama) No! Is Moon!
Ten minutes this went on. Do you think if you blend the genes of two hard-headed people who love to argue that the offspring might be ten times as bad?
posted by Claire at 6:21 PM
3 Comments:
OH, yes. See. LB is a copy cat. BAD. I'm afraid she'll start cussing soon.
note to self: Stop cussing.
If he loves the moon you should check out "Herold and the Purple Crayon".
Thanks, Jen! I hadn't heard of that one...we'll check it out.
Mrs. F -- I have nominated myself as the soap-carrying policewoman to help cure our filthy mouths run rampant from the childless-couple days. At least fifty gazillion times a day you hear me gently correcting poor Mike: "Poop, Dada, say 'Poop'". "'Meanies', Dada, they are 'Meanies'". At first it was hard, but now I try to get creative with my cussword replacements. Instead of loud expletives for pain-causing incidents, now it's "Flying Burritos!" or something equally PG.
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