Category Archives: Children

The Book Of Thank You ~ Post Three: Thank You Mrs. Carter

20 Wednesday Jul 2016

Posted by in Britain, Children, Reading, Uncategorized

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The year was 1971.

Mrs. Carter was my 7th grade home room school teacher.

She was grandmotherly both in nature and appearance and was always neatly dressed in a sweater and skirt. She wore gold rimmed glasses and spoke with a British accent.

Mrs. Carter introduced me the concept that reading could be fun. She was also the first person that I can remember who ever read to me.

Looking back, it’s been hard to for me to remember the first book that she read to us. If I had to make a guess, I’d say the book was THE MOUSE THAT ROARED.

It was read to us in small doses as class time permitted. Sometimes we got to listen to her read for five minutes. Sometimes we got a full half hour.

We all enjoyed listening to her lovely British cadence. I was struck by the confident manner she showed to us as she read. She seemed to actually enjoy reading aloud in front of others.

I wondered if I would ever be able to read a story to someone else.

My first introductions to reading aloud in front of others was in school and always tinged in awkwardness and embarrassment, I’m sure we all remember that uncomfortable feeling.

When I was six years old, my Father would make me read him a story from my German book of Grimm fairy tales. Then, the purpose of reading was all about practising my German and had little to do with sharing joy.

The first books that I remember reading in their entirety on my own were the TRIXIE BELDEN mystery series when I was nine years old. After that I read CHERRY AMES, STUDENT NURSE and then the NANCY DREW mysteries. I was twelve years old by the time I finished them.

As my children were growing up I tried to make it a point to read to my daughters from time to time. I read them the CHRONICALS OF NARNIA and the HARRY POTTER series. My impression of Hagrid was very well received.

Then there was the time that I was reading a particularly touching Christmas novel THE TIMEPIECE by Richard Paul Evans to my youngest daughter. While I was overcome with teary emotion, my daughter handed me one tissue after another as I wept inconsolably while reading the final chapter.

Good times.

Indeed, the joy of sharing a book with someone else can be a very good thing.

Thank you Mrs. Carter.

 

❤

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 188: Picking Up The Pieces (A.K.A… ‘The Sprawl’)

16 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by in Children, Entertainment, Music, Toys

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Like most children, I had my own collection of Lego. Not a lot, but enough to build a small house and an economy sized car.

I can still remember my Father walking barefoot across the living room. He would suddenly stop with a brief wince. Then, lifting his foot he would reach out his arm and proceed to remove a Lego piece from between his toes. As he handed me the offending Lego piece, the look on his face conveyed one message:

Death to Lego.

By the time that my sister was old enough to play with Lego he had enough practice from picking up stray Lego pieces that he could effortlessly bend the afflicted leg up in front of of him crossways in what looked to me like a ‘plié.’ With the balance and poise of a ballerina, he was able to hold this pose until his fingers plucked the Lego out of his foot.

Once he started having grandchildren he never complained about their Lego being all over his living room rug.

I’m sure that the Lego pieces hurt him just the same when he stepped on them.

I could tell this by his momentary wince.

After that, my Father was all smiles again.

Of course, my own daughters had Lego collections of their own.

You could not walk into my eldest daughter’s bedroom without stepping on one.

The Legos never broke. Instead, they would imbed themselves into your tender flesh. More than once, they have brought tears to my eyes.

By the time my second daughter was old enough for Lego, we had collected enough Lego to fill a shoebox. We also learned the importance of storing them properly and keeping them away from their Mother’s feet.

When my youngest finally outgrew them, I packed the Lego away with a happy sigh.

Never again will I have to deal with these plastic tidbits between my toes.

No more stepping on them.

No more tears.

After twenty years of my floors being…

“Lego free,”

…the time came a little over a month ago when my youngest daughter flew in from Winnipeg, to begin the final preparations to her wedding in September, which she and her fiancée decided will have a Lego theme.

When she showed me some of her plans, I retrieved the pail of Legos, which was stored upstairs.

After my daughter sifted through them, she decided that yes, they would be suitable for her wedding projects.

After packing them them up, she informed me that she was off to visit her prospective new Mother-In-Law, and show off her Lego projects.

Shortly after she left, I got up to head towards the kitchen.

By my third step, I suddenly stopped as my back stiffened. I had just experienced a sharp burst of pain from my underside of my foot. I didn’t have to look, I already knew what the problem was.

Yet another piece of Lego had managed to find it’s way between my toes.

Again.

And at that moment, I could almost hear a child’s voice from somewhere inside my brain telling me….

“They’re ba-aaack!”

In closing, I will leave you with this annoying little sound byte courtesy of Pink Floyd and my love for silly rhymes…

And it goes:

“All in all…

They’re just…

Lego bricks on the sprawl.”

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 171: Smelly Marker Mayhem

17 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by in Art, Children, Parenting, Toys

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The first time that I saw scented magic markers in the toy section, I instinctively knew that this was a very bad idea.

Call it a hunch.

Giving a child a marker, and then telling him that it smells nice is openly telling the child to stick the marker up their nose. This is an inevitable disaster waiting to happen.

Besides, why does ink have to be given a phoney smell in a world where wearing a fragrance is becoming taboo in public places and allergies to chemical fragrance is on the rise?

Needless to say, I didn’t buy the markers. Not then, not ever.

Try to imagine my horror one afternoon as I was picking my youngest daughter from nursery school. I took one look at her and saw some sort of monstrosity under her pretty little nose.

She looked like someone had tattooed her upper lip with an ugly moustache.

“What happened?” I asked the first teacher that I could find.

The teacher looked at my daughter and laughed.

“Oh,” she began… “We were colouring with some new scented markers, and your daughter had to smell every single one of them.”

I was not amused.

“Will it come off?” I asked her while trying my best not to sound worried.

“It should eventually…” She replied.

No doubt, some colours may be easier to fade than others. Amid the green, purple, and orange spots under her nose were big blotches of brown and black. Obviously, their fragrances must have either been delicious or hard to detect. Why else would there be dime shaped solid circles of dark ink.

For whatever reason, I do not remember what happened in the hours or even days that followed.

It’s safe to say that what wouldn’t wash off, I would have tried to get off with cold cream. Further, I highly doubt that we made any public appearances until the worst was over with.

Dear Parents, Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, etc.

I beseech you…

Do not give young children scented markers.

Their world is smelly enough.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 114: Strawberry Shortcake Blues

13 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by in Children, Entertainment, Humour, Life, Toys

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Being a young girl who loved to play with Barbies, I learned that keeping them looking neat and getting their hair properly coiffed was an ongoing challenge.

Similarly, my daughter had a Strawberry Shortcake doll with Barbie doll attributes. This Strawberry Shortcake doll was made of the same materials, had bright red hair and moveable limbs.

So, imagine my pleasant surprise when after months of play, my daughter’s Strawberry Shortcake doll’s hair was still store bought perfect.

Her tresses always remained in place and never needed combing.

Her hair even smelled like strawberries.

Then came the fateful evening when I had to attend a meeting and left my daughter and her Strawberry Shortcake Doll in the care of her father.

When I arrived home my daughter was asleep for the night.

Imagine my horror when I walked into the bathroom to find Strawberry Shortcake in the bathroom sink. Picking it up, I saw that her once perfect hair was standing straight up as if she had received the fright of a lifetime.

Through her painted on smile, I could sense her silent scream.

As hard as I tried to smooth her battered tresses, there was no calming them down.

I found my husband in the living room.

“What happened?” I asked my husband showing him the doll.

He gave me an glum look.

“That happened during potty time,” he replied.

“She accidentally dropped it,” he said with a wince.

“And…” I asked.

“You figure it out.”

The answer was now obvious.

I immediately gave the poor doll a thorough washing and shampooed her hair twice.

Needless to say, by this point, the scent of strawberries was long gone.

After combing out her squeaky clean hair I tied a wide ribbon around the doll’s head hoping through the night that her hair would dry back into place.

The next morning, I was met with unsuccessful results.

Not only was the hair a wiry mess, but she had lost her new toy sheen. Her legs and arms were difficult to move.

Nevertheless, my daughter still loved her and included her in her daily activities. It was very heartwarming to see that my daughter still played with Strawberry Shortcake like nothing had happened.

And to this day, she still fondly remembers her Strawberry Shortcake doll, imperfect hair, dull complexion, sticky joints and all.

This has been a wonderful object lesson for me.

As a her mother I am now content in the knowledge that when I get old, chances are very good that like her Strawberry Shortcake doll, my daughter will still love me and want to include me in all her daily activities…

…Even though by then, my hair will be a wiry mess,

…And my arms and legs won’t work so well,

…And I no longer smell like strawberries.

My.Daily.Diversion ~ Post Ninety-Six: An Aria By Any Other Name Is Still An Aria

26 Monday Jan 2015

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In grade 12 I finished writing a small book of 32 poems and was about to get it published.

The name I chose for my book of poetry was:

Aria: A Song Written For One Voice.

I can still remember the day my Aunt showed me the layout along with the artwork.

As it turns out, I became engaged to my high school sweetheart. I then put the project on the proverbial back burner.

In the end, the book was never published.

When I had my first daughter in 1980, we called her Jennifer.

A few years later, there were so many Jennifers that whenever I called her name, many different Jennifers answered.

When considering names for my second daughter, I wanted something a little more obscure.

I was eight months pregnant, when I found myself watching the 1984 movie DUNE. There was a reference to Princess Alia when I suddenly was reminded of the name of my unpublished poetry book…

…Aria.

In that moment I decided I was going to name my daughter Aria.

But of course, one does not give a child such an unusual name without consequences.

Aria was about four years old when she informed me that she did not like her name.

“What name do you like?” I asked her.

“Cindy,” she replied.

I then told her that her name is Aria and we would continue to call her Aria.

Not long after that, I learned that she had renamed all of her dolls Cindy.

There they sat in a row all along her bed:

Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, Cindy and Cindy.

And so it continued for a number of years.

She seemed to have found her niche in the family by always having some sort of civil protest up her sleeve.

…And then there was the fart dance.

Indeed, even when she agreed to accompany me to a picket line at work, it was not the fact that she had joined us on the picket line that impressed my C.U.P.W. brothers and sisters. It is the vision of her doing the moonwalk on the picket line that we will never forget.

My Mother always teased me that by saying:

“Well, you wanted to name her something different, and you sure got something different all right!”

Indeed.

I am happy to announce that Aria has now finally come to terms with her name, and even likes it, or so she tells me.

That’s one civil protest down, five hundred left to go.

You may ask that if I had the chance to go back and do it all over again, would I still name her Aria?

Absolutely!

May God grant us strength.

My.Daily.Diversion ~ Post Eighty-Four: We Need More Song Cues

13 Tuesday Jan 2015

Posted by in Children, Children's Education, Education, Entertainment, Music

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Does anyone remember singing?

No one ever seems to sing anymore.

There was a time when I couldn’t even walk to my fridge before a television variety show song cue introduced yet another famous celebrity singing a show tune.

But no more.

I know for a fact that there are lots and lots of fun little songs out there that can be sung alone or with someone else.

Singing was something people use to do to pass the time, to raise spirits, bring comfort, and to praise.

And who doesn’t enjoy a pretty melody from time to time?

One of my favourite joys are children’s shows which are always introducing youngsters to music. The lyrics are ridiculously easy to remember and they are humorous as well.

My kids were raised on Sharon Lois and Bram, the ones who gave us ‘The Elephant Show’ best known for it’s theme song:

‘Skinamarinkadink’.

If you have never heard them sing this song, then in my opinion…

…you have not lived.

Do yourself a favour and Google it one day. And while you’re at it be sure and look up their episode of when one of my favourite bands, THE NYLONS appeared on their show and sang “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” Even Johnny Carson was bowled over with their version of that song.

And when I was young it was Sesame Street, Mister Rogers, Mr. Dressup, Howdy Doody, Captain Kangaroo, that got everyone singing.

Now, when I was a child, there was one song that was our personal family favourite. Every now and again my Father would reach back in time and dust off this wonderfully silly song decades later and take it for a test drive. Of course, I would always join in.

Grampa Schnitzel would both begin and end his half hour children’s show with these following tuneful lyrics:

‘The Schnitzel House’

“Is this not a little mouse?
Ya, this is a little mouse,
Is this not a Schnitzel House?
Ya this is a Schnitzel House,

…Little Mouse
…Schnitzel House

Inky dinky inky dinky
Inky dinky
Schnitzel House.”

You know, just writing that out gave me a tickle.

I really should take my own advice and sing that song every day.

Guaranteed happy thoughts…

Certainly, something this world can use a little more of.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 64: Give Us This Day A Well Behaved Child

18 Thursday Dec 2014

Posted by in Behaviour, Children, Family, Prayer, Stories, Writing

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It was a very cold day in January 1965 when my Mother and I took off in an airplane from the Toronto airport to visit my Grandparents in Germany.

I was five years old.

My Mother stayed in Germany for two weeks and then flew home. However, I was to stay with my Grandparents for three months.

They were both very loving, patient and I knew that they loved me.

In my lifetime, they never spoke a word to me in anger.

Ever.

However, there was one day when I had the impression that I was being a little more rambunctious than usual and that my Grandparent’s were doing their best to be patient with me.

At the end of a long day I remember arriving back at their home later than usual after being out visiting.

My Grandfather…

(Or “Opa” as he was called by all of his Grandchildren)

…was the Minister of the local Baptist Church.

He, my Grandmother and I had spent the day visiting with the elderly and confined.

It was already getting dark outside and my Grandmother felt negligent because it was already well past dinnertime.

As my Grandmother went to the kitchen to start preparing dinner I followed along.

A few minutes later, my Grandfather came into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table with his newspaper.

My Grandmother had decided to prepare cream of wheat for dinner.

In German, we called it “Griesbrei.”

It was not unusual to serve cream of wheat for dinner. Customarily, it was served onto a regular dinner plate, and then sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.

I considered it ambrosia.

Oma (my Grandmother) had the water simmering in a pot on the stove as I stood by her side and watched as she poured ingredients into the pot.

I must have been been talking up a storm because something I said seemed to have flustered her.

Next thing I knew she let out a little frustrated cry as she realized she had poured too much salt into the simmering water.

Forlornly, she immediately dumped the entire contents of the pot into her kitchen sink.

Opa, sensing her frustration took immediate charge of the situation.

He calmly asked her to stop what she was doing and to join him at the kitchen table.

She immediately obliged.

Then, he looked at me from over his glasses and told me to sit down at the table as well.

Here comes trouble, I thought to myself.

What is he going to do?

After I sat down my Grandfather asked my Grandmother and myself to bow our heads in prayer.

We did as he asked.

He then did the same.

Then he began to pray in a quiet and loving voice:

“Dear God…” he began his prayer sincerely.

“Please make tomorrow a better day.”

“Amen.”

In closing…

Our final meal of the day was leftover potato salad.

It was delicious.

And yes, the following day was a better day for everyone.

As was every day after that as well….

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 55: The Barbie Days Of Summer

13 Saturday Dec 2014

Posted by in Barbies, Children, fashion, haute couture, Toys

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Now that the toy buying season is upon us, for the last little while I have been thinking about how much I enjoyed playing with Barbies.

How wonderful was that?

It was a very good feeling when you popped open your Barbie Suitcase or emptied your bag on an outstretched blanket in the middle of the park. Remember the instant effusion of fashion, colour and fun?

Do you recall the little mini Barbie fashion magazines that came with an official clothing purchase? That was my very first introduction to haute couture. I was only four years old.

There were a few lucky girls who had acquired all things Barbie thanks to their affluent family ties. However, most of us had a tolerable amount of Barbie clothes.

And then there was the communal wedding dress…

There was one credo though, that was shared by us all, whether you came from an affluent family or not. And that was…..

…no Barbie should ever have to go naked!

Naked Barbies were a very sad and sorry sight, (unless they were in the process of being changed of course.)

And still to this day, the thought of being able to find only one Barbie shoe still makes me very sad.

It was surprising at how far girls could stretch and manipulate a very limited amount of Barbie clothes. When times were desperate I would take to needle & thread, crochet hook, even fabric remnants and craft Barbie fashions of my own.

Indeed, I remember times when a new Barbie initiate had only a swimsuit or single dress in her possession, then we would rummage through our bags for bits and pieces of garb that we were willing to part with. Mind you, these would tend to be well worn, and most likely in need of several stitches, but nevertheless, these small tokens were welcomed by the needy recipients.

I’ve lost track of what Barbie is up to these days, but I have no doubt that her figure is still perfect and that she has not developed the obligatory grey hair and other challenges that come with age.

I am happy to report that I still have my original Barbie doll given to me way back in the early sixties. She’s a bit scarred here and there mind you. Her red bouffant hair has regrettably, had a bit of a trim, and her left hand has lost a finger thanks to one of our former dogs, Mr. Itchy. Otherwise, she is good….

…better than me in fact.

P.S. My Barbie is currently as naked as the proverbial jay bird.

Any and all donations are welcome!

P.S. (Sigh… I’ll save my darker thoughts on 1960’s brainwashing, gender assumptions and society’s insistence that young unsuspecting girls adhere to conformity for another day.)

My.Daily.Diversion Post 4: My Colourful 1st Life Lesson

04 Tuesday Nov 2014

Posted by in Childhood, Children, Education, Society

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My first memories of colours, candy, and candy colours were the lollipops that were dispensed by my doctor after every visit.

I was a very young four years old when my doctor would always ask after each visit:

“And what colour of lollipop would you like?”

I was so young at that time I had not yet learned about colours and their different names.

Getting no answer, the doctor then assuming that I had no preference always went to the default colour…

…green.

Obviously, everyone went for the red and the purple ones.

Hence, there was always an over abundance of green lollipops in his lollipop bowl.

Little did he know that I didn’t care for green lollipops.

I had absolutely had my fill of them.

All I ever got was green lollipops.

And finally one day at nursery school I finally began to understand what the word “colour” was all about.

I even learned the name of a color and save this epiphany for my next trip to the doctor.

At long last game the day when once again took me for a visit to the doctor.

I eagerly waited for the moment he would ask me what color of lollipop I would like to have.

When he finally held the bowl out to me he asked what color lollipop I would like,

I looked into his eyes and said…

“Green.”

It’s hard to describe how utterly heartbroken I was when I was handed yet another green lollipop.

“And what do you say for the lollipop?”

Mother asked me as I took the ugly green lollipop from the doctor…

“Thank you,” I said trying to muster a smile.

1st life lesson learned by me in 1963 as my Mother drove me home while I enjoyed my green lollipop:

What’s the big deal about adults and colour?

… Because even green lollipops can taste wonderful.