There are strange flat bugs on the leaves of the bush in our little front yard. Lillian finds these interesting and likes to take a leaf with dozens of bugs on it with her to child care.
Today’s art: the bug-covered leaf, and another maple leaf, arranged on paper and covered with coloured tissue paper “doors”:
Last week Lillian went to a “party” at Daddy’s office – a drinks function, with bottles, glasses, edibles etc. on the large table in our common area.
Now she likes to play “having a party.” She arranges various small toys and things on, say, the coffee table in the living room, imagining that these are the spread for the party. A cup of feathers is a vase of flowers; sparkly pipe cleaners are jelly snakes (must have those!) and so on.
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Today was a special day – it was raining! (It seems like it doesn’t rain much in Melbourne anymore.)
That means putting on a raincoat and walking to child care in the rain, which is even more fun than riding the tag-along bike or (as she prefers to do lately) being carried in the backpack on Daddy’s back while he rides.
On the way back, she stepped in some large puddles, popped bubbles in the pond on the South Lawn, took a little detour through the Baillieu Library, and collected various wet leaves.
Despite walking all the way to child care in the morning, playing all day, and walking back, she still didn’t seem to be tired this evening.
At the farm this weekend, Teresa spent a while on Saturday helping Lillian learn how to spell, and write, her own name. She couldn’t quite get there.
On Sunday, she comes running to where I was sitting.
“Daddy, I can spell my name… without looking!” (i.e., without looking at a written version and reading off from that).
“REALLY? Can you show me?”
She says slowly, and with intense concentration: “L…i…l l…i………a…………n!”
She did seem to be looking, but at a mental image of her name – as if it was written out in front of her, but in her mind’s eye, not on paper.
Very gradually, over the past year, Lillian has acquired the ability to make arguments – or “play the game of giving and asking for reasons.”
She just said: “This is a caterpillar [as opposed to a worm] because it’s got legs.”
This is consistent with what we were told at the Child Care social night last night – Lillian is developing completely normally. Maryanne, one of her main carers, emphasized that this was in every respect.
Oops. We cut the caterpillar in half trying to put the lid on the container in which we were going to keep it. Very upsetting.
We went out into the back yard and found another. This time it was a worm.
I wanted to post a letter, and so reached for an envelope from our stash. This is what I found:
A scrap of paper with random scribbles on it had been folded up and placed inside, and the “letter” had been sealed.
Each night I tell Lillian, last thing when putting her to bed, that I don’t want to hear from her again. She nods.
Tonight, about 20 minutes later, I was going past the bedroom and had a look in.
She was awake, and the radio was playing softly. She was looking at it.
“Lillian, did you turn that on?”
She nods. I sit on the side of the bed.
“Did you thought that was me?” she asked.
No, I said, which was the truth since I hadn’t heard it from outside.
“Why did you come in then?”
I didn’t have an answer to that. Just one of those things parents do.