As a preschool educator, I would like to suggest two new developmental stages.
The Stage of Why.
The Stage of “Actually”
1. The Stage of Why. My 3-year-old grandson is solidly in this stage, as evidenced by lengthy ‘why’ infested conversations during our daily commutes. Today, after being unable to even count HOW MANY whys were tossed willy-nilly towards me from the back seat, I turned the tables and rephrased his questions into ‘whys’ for him. To which he replied with the actual answers to some of my lobs.
Why? Why? Why? I love answering questions and explaining things we see and do (teacher!), but sometimes, I may be close to my limit of whys. Gage is on the verge of being out of this stage, but since we are taking a pit stop in the WHY questioning period, my game of counting whys and popping the questions back to him might just keep me sane.
2. The Stage of Actually. This word, used correctly in context by the younger preschool crowd, cracks me up. It usually shows up when preschoolers are able to grasp the abstractness of this word and how they’ve heard others use it. AND they can get out that many syllables, be understood, and make sense. Actually has been visiting this 3-year-old and his conversations. Waiting for the 2-year-old to pick up on it.
Preschoolers. They ROCK. Life is enriched with their preschool-ness.
What other new developmental stages would you like to add?
I love the simple but hilarious tale of a giraffe who is continuously mistaken for a chair by other jungle animals. He is extremely creative as he tries to educate others about their misdirected assumptions so he can stop being a chair.
Brilliantly colored illustrations add depth and life to the story and will attract young readers as they see life on the wild side (though recognizable as sort of like going to school). Well done, Ross Burach, in story telling through words and images.
This book is great for young and old readers.
KID KANDY
Make a Chair
Materials: whatever you find in your jungle environment
1. Search your jungle.
2. Find interesting items that look comfy and sturdy.
3. Make a chair. Does it look like Giraffe? Or a different jungle animal, like a pillow monster or box creature? Give your chair a name. Have someone take a picture of you sitting on your chair.
Meet my Arizona, mobile-home dwelling, sun-squinting family. No one wants to look at the photographer (my grandparents on my dad’s side who had come for a visit).
My daddy is the tallest in the back (of course), mommy is holding baby James, Tracy Jo is holding something over her eyes, Mark David is totally looking away AND covering his face, and I’m standing in the middle with my gorgeous poncho, making an avoiding-the-glare grimace. Family photos at their finest!
I’m 7 or just turned 8 (my birthday is in November), second grade. The beast of our mobile home towers over us, the desert landscape (dirt and weeds) lends atmosphere, and the white station wagon waits as our trusty steed. This 3 bedroom, 2 bath deluxe model was truly mobile. In this picture, we are living on Hamel Road. But we moved to Presidential Estates further from town and on that property we moved one more time. Then we loaded up again and moved north to the White Mountains. Four total moves and she still held together! Alas, when we finally moved back to Washington state in 1978, the beast stayed south.
I loved living on Hamel Road! Two of my best friends lived on my street. I use the term ‘street’ loosely. Dusty dirt road. We rode our horses all over that area, creating dramas, rescuing invisible persons-in-distress, escaping from the bad guys, setting up picnic lunches, and camping out in the horse pasture.
This Throwback Thursday is sponsored by “Way Back When.”
What “Way Back When” memories do you have? Anyone else wear plaid or ponchos? Or both? (Yes, I once had a warm winter cape that was both plaid and poncho!)
Talk to Me Tuesday presents “Living in a Small Community.”
It’s true. The part about the rumor mill running well on schedule.
My honey of 33 married years ran into someone we know today. This person said she just HAD to ask him a question, HAD to know if it was true.
“Is Angie pregnant?”
At first, flabbergasted, my honey thought it was my youngest brother and his wife, since this is true for them. But no, the acquaintance was sure it was me.
Pregnant at 55 (and a half). Now ladies my age, what are the chances that you can get pregnant? I mean there might be a small tiny itsy bitsy chance that you could get pregnant. Minuscule. Having reached the age of hot flashes and the Big “M,” to mention other circumstances, my getting pregnant is impossible (times 3).
When my honey came home and told me he had something to share, this was not even on the horizon. Not an inkling of pregnancy gossip floated through my mind. Lots of other gossip fodder about our personal lives are making the rounds, but preparing for a newborn. Nope. Though I adored being pregnant and having precious babies, this body is retired from fecundity.
Then again, I could say yes and ask for a baby shower. That would be fun! I would ask for gift cards and dark chocolate treats, maybe a very funny game to play.
Seriously people. Judging from personal experiences and everything I’ve ever read about small communities, gossip (true and false) travels from lips to ears in the blink of an eye. If I were one of those tricksy people, I could have lots of fun with this.
Alas. I. Am. Not. Pregnant.
There are plenty of other true things I would rather talk and pray about. Babies needing a new heart, a mother missing for several days, a pastor who committed suicide (depression and anxiety) and left his family behind. And the true not so bad things like back-to-school of the grands and valley students, a new restaurant serving great food, a friend who needs help with a yard sale, or the burgeoning garden which threatens to overtake the RV with tendrils, vines, and butternut squash.
I’d rather spread gossip about good things, like how the Lord has blessed my family, or how gorgeous is His creation, and oh, yes, I can’t wait for the magnificence of fall colors!
A mouth-running-over checklist:
*Is it true?
*Is it kind?
*Will it hurt someone?
*Is the source trustworthy?
*Is is necessary to repeat at all?
*Can I keep my mouth shut?
*Will God be pleased if I share this (or listen to this)?
*What should I do with this information? (Hint: Ignoring it is usually a good choice, unless someone truly needs help.)
Talk to Me Tuesday. Talk about positive topics, uplifting events, good news. Though I have to admit, this is pret-ty funny. AND I truly appreciated the question coming directly to us, instead of being whispered behind our backs. Thank you for asking if this was true!
Talk to you later.
From a small community (non-pregnant) woman.
Not saying I’m perfect AT ALL. This verse is a prayer for my mouth.
“Set a guard, O LORD, over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips!”
-Psalm 141:3
Photo credit: Me, pregnant with our first baby, Taylor. Taken in May 1988.
This is me with my third horse, Blaze. Royal Blaze.
Actually you can count her as my first horse, since the other two, Sissy and Lady, were more like family horses. Sissy and Blaze were both quite happy to dump me somewhere along the road and run home like horses on fire. And sometimes Blaze ran home to the fancy barn at the neighbor’s house, just for spite.
Maybe I spent more time walking than actually riding, but I did get better at holding on to the reins for dear life, forcing Blaze to stop so I could get back on. Spooking at ANY little thing. Like a rock, or a leaf, or maybe a butterfly. That was Blaze. Sissy just bucked you off and took off running if your heel came within 12 inches of her ticklish flank.
Though, as I think back, some sounds were spook-worthy. Maybe the giant crashing sounds in the shrubs along the road (bear, cow, mountain lion, elk?). Snake in the road? Check. Barking dog. Check. Shadow. Check.
Perhaps I took my life in my hands each time I headed out riding through the forest and range lands, but God looked out for me and kept me safe. Yes, He did.
This photo was taken sometime between 1976-78. I was probably 14 or 15 and we lived out in the middle of NOWHERE in the White Mountains of Arizona. Going to school was a 35 minute (or so) ride to Springerville/Eager on a mini-bus over a mountain pass. Yes! If snow was in the forecast, we got out of school early and headed home before the pass got bad. No sirree, the school did not want to have us spending the night! Going shopping or to work (Dad) was another 30-40 minute drive in the opposite direction to Show Low. Our mailing address was actually in Vernon, about 6 miles away, and our property ran up against fencing for forest land.
Blaze. How much I loved thee, knothead that you were. Mom and Dad bought her for me when she was about 4 months old. You can’t tell from this photo, but she was a roan Appaloosa. When we picked up ‘Fancy’ from the previous owners, she was the cutest thing! Spots were noticeable along her rump, but only if you looked hard. A sparse tail was the only other clue to her breeding. Her daddy’s name was Royal something (this was a LONG time ago, folks) and she had a blaze down her forehead, so Royal Blaze she became.
This horse provided me with hours and hours of adventures and companionship. Every day I’d head outside with our collie, Jody, tell her to get the horse, and whistle. Within minutes, thundering hooves and joyful barks raced towards me from the nearly 8 acre cedar-covered pasture. If if was a good day (for the dog) the three of us would head out for a couple of hours, exploring and playing. If it was really a good day, the dog would find something dead to roll in and stink to high heaven. If it was a bad day for the dog, I would try to sneak outside without her. This never worked, but sometimes I knew other dogs would be an issue, so she had to stay home. These days always crushed our girl.
Some fun things to remember:
-a broken off piece of salt block in my pocket to lick as we went for rides
-making up adventure stories involving cute boys and big events
-freezing my toes and fingers off (not literally) while riding in the deep snow
-cleaning out the horse tank and taking the first drinks of clean water
-climbing, circling, admiring Timber Knoll
-the cool deserted cabin behind Timber Knoll
-dead stuff
-forgetting I had on my dirty old cowboy boots and wearing them to school
-Poky, the cat, riding atop the horse, playing catch with branches trailing along Blaze’s back as we walked through the pasture
-snakes, lizards, tarantulas. Oh, my!
-surviving exit (of me) attempts by the horse brushing as close to the trunks of trees and shrubs as possible, hoping I would come off
We really did have loads of good times together. One just needed to be prepared for her to pull a trick! Good old Blaze!
What’s a favorite memory of adventures you have?
P.S. See the tree on the right side of the photo? That’s the spot the cougar/mountain lion spent the night! In. Our. Front. Yard. The dog was having a fit, but we didn’t let her out.
This is significant because for most of my growing up years (1st-9th grade) my family lived in Arizona. It’s pretty difficult to find a beach (ocean, salt water) within the borders of this southwestern state. Not that I’m complaining! I loved the desert years.
(Heh, heh. Still live in a desert. Just one that is located in eastern Washington.)
I started going to the beach after I met my future husband, Kevin. His family always vacationed at the beach. Specifically Ocean Shores, Washington. Sure they traveled up and down that portion of the Pacific Ocean coastline, but the majority of beach time was spent right there.
Lucky me! I was invited to traipse along on summer vacations. It was a little cozy in the Prowler camp trailer, barely 6 inches of space above my nose. A little tight, a little close.
Fast forward a few years, and the new Quantrell family continued the tradition by hauling both babies to the Washington beaches surrounding Ocean Shores. They went as babies, toddlers, preschoolers, children, teens, and adults. We’ve taken along dogs, relatives, friends, family, bicycles, toys, fireworks, s’mores; you name it, it was probably in our truck, camper, or tent.
This photo shows the four of us enjoying the beach via beach grasses and dunes. Some of my favorite memories and experiences happened at the beach.
I can’t wait to go back with my grands. They need to experience MY beaches!
Where is your favorite childhood vacation location?
Love, Laughter, and Life 