Day 133: Yellow corn, blue corn, red corn

Geography Club was postponed another week for crappy weather, and it was the last day of Papa’s long weekend (time off for re-enlisting). Tomorrow we have co-op, so I just planned to do a little bit of normal stuff today: math, violin, letters with Girl. Boy did do some math (subtraction within a thousand), and I wrote a chapter in Girl’s musk-ox story for her. Next they wanted me to make a batch of corn tortillas, and after that we tried to play violin.

IMG_4431

While Boy played, Girl set herself up on the couch looking at the prairie books. Now that I look at the pictures, I see that she is looking at the prairie dog pictures in both books. I should ask her what she’s been thinking about them.

IMG_4428 IMG_4430

Boy started off fine, but was trying to focus on getting his fingers exactly on the tapes, and he ended up having a meltdown. So we called it a day. Papa was out most of the day at the gym and then the mechanic’s, so when I lay down for a nap, the kids were playing on their own. I could hear them laughing. It turned out, when I got up, that they were making dolls with Q-tips, cotton balls, tape, and markers, and were messing around with the erector set motor. There was a Q-tip Cinderella, and a Q-tip Ninja. After I got up, they made a “Ninja Princess Castle” out of a styrofoam piece the new vacuum was packed in.

IMG_4432

Ninja Princess castle
Ninja Princess castle

Papa was home in time to take the kids to ballet.  I was short-tempered with Girl trying to fix her bun, and snapped at her when she said the pins hurt. She almost started to cry walking over to the door to get her shoes on, and I felt terrible. Gave her hugs and kisses and said I was sorry. Even at her maddest or saddest (and no one can be mad and sad quite like Girl) lots of kisses can always make her feel better. You can feel the mad and sad draining out of her with each kiss. When she feels almost better, she will say, “One more ginormous hug. One more ginormous kiss. Now say I love you.” And then she’s better.

I was having a tough day (I have tough days sometimes. More on that sometime, maybe?) so I didn’t feel much up to making dinner. I made a simple meal of wild rice with pine nuts, pumpkin and sunflower seeds, carrot sticks on the side. I heated up beans, too, for Papa.

I’d found a box of four chocolates Boy was given as a Nutcracker gift, and I told the kids they could each have one after dinner. Boy said he should let Girl choose first, and I said, You mean, because ladies go first?  Yeah, he said. Yes! That’s nice, kiddo, I answered.  What if he had to choose between gummies and chocolates with another girl, he asked, but he couldn’t eat gummies (like Girl can’t), should he still let the girl choose first? Yes, I said, but what did they think a lady should do if they both wanted the same candy? We all agreed she should probably share.

Next Boy posed this scenario: What if you had to choose between yellow corn, which would give you a short life with lots of fun, or blue corn, which would give you a long life with a lot of hard work? (We recently read a Hopi myth that featured different tribes choosing different colors of corn, though the options here are of Boy’s own devising.) We all three chose a long life with hard work, because we all said we didn’t mind working, and it would be better to be with family as long as we could. Girl came up with a third option: red corn, which would give you ‘a medium long life, with not that hard work, and some fun.’ She said she’d go with that, and anyway the corn might be wrong. Because it’s just corn, she said. What does corn know? 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s