Robin: Sarah, that's not your dress, it doesn't have your name on it.
Sarah: Well... it doesn't have my name on it because the people who made the dress didn't know who was going to borrow it.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Detective Sarah
Recently, Sarah has been doing a good imitation of a detective. Last night:
Mommy: Uh-oh, who pooped in the potty and didn't flush?
Sarah (surprisingly calmly, and not argumentatively): It wasn't me. Remember, Mommy, I pooped downstairs tonight and then you flushed.
Mommy: Oh, yeah, but... (starts to say, "but I think this has been here for a while")
Sarah: Mommy, look, Robin's pajama bottoms are here right next to the toilet, and so's her diaper. I bet she came in here this morning, took off her diaper and bottoms, pooped, and didn't flush the toilet. It must have been Robin, and she pooped this morning, not tonight.
Mommy: Uh-oh, who pooped in the potty and didn't flush?
Sarah (surprisingly calmly, and not argumentatively): It wasn't me. Remember, Mommy, I pooped downstairs tonight and then you flushed.
Mommy: Oh, yeah, but... (starts to say, "but I think this has been here for a while")
Sarah: Mommy, look, Robin's pajama bottoms are here right next to the toilet, and so's her diaper. I bet she came in here this morning, took off her diaper and bottoms, pooped, and didn't flush the toilet. It must have been Robin, and she pooped this morning, not tonight.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
More Sarah math-head, and mommy as Humpty Dumpty
I continue to be delighted by Sarah's natural ease with math. She doesn't even seem to work on it. The other day, she was putting heart stickers on a card for her grandparents. I said to her, "you have 7 heart stickers -- do you want to write '7 hearts' on the card?" (This is the sort of thing she likes to do.) She calmly and without pause said, "No, Mom, I want to have 9 hearts, so I need 2 more. Then I'll write '9 hearts.'"
At night, lately, we are reading "One Morning in Maine," by Robert McCloskey. Sarah is delighted by the tale of becoming a "big girl" when her baby teeth fall out, though I think she's glad it wont happen for a few years. Robin is terrified, and insists that it will never happen and she doesn't care if she's ever a big girl. Both girls like the idea of making a wish on the lost tooth, though. Sarah comes up with something different every time. Robin has surprised me by consistently wishing for a bunk bed. I thought she barely knew what one was, and certainly hadn't imagined she was pining for one.
Perhaps the most charmed I will ever be by the idea of my own doom: Robin, seeing Sarah holding a door open for me, says I should be careful not to be hit by the door, or, "You'll crack, Mommy. And then it will just be Daddy... And I DON'T LIKE that idea, so you should be careful not to crack! [A brief pause.] But just eggs crack, right, Mommy?"
At night, lately, we are reading "One Morning in Maine," by Robert McCloskey. Sarah is delighted by the tale of becoming a "big girl" when her baby teeth fall out, though I think she's glad it wont happen for a few years. Robin is terrified, and insists that it will never happen and she doesn't care if she's ever a big girl. Both girls like the idea of making a wish on the lost tooth, though. Sarah comes up with something different every time. Robin has surprised me by consistently wishing for a bunk bed. I thought she barely knew what one was, and certainly hadn't imagined she was pining for one.
Perhaps the most charmed I will ever be by the idea of my own doom: Robin, seeing Sarah holding a door open for me, says I should be careful not to be hit by the door, or, "You'll crack, Mommy. And then it will just be Daddy... And I DON'T LIKE that idea, so you should be careful not to crack! [A brief pause.] But just eggs crack, right, Mommy?"
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Sarah is a math-head
The short version of the story:
Robin: "I want three gummy fish for dessert!"
Sarah: "I want five!"
Mommy: "Sarah, if I give you five, and you give three of your gummy fish to Robin, how many will you have left?"
Sarah: "[1/2 second pause] Two. [Another 1/2 second pause.] And Robin will have 6."
The longer version of the story has some interesting subtleties, I think:
Sarah has been playing an addition game on my iPhone. Every time they ask her what 4 birds plus 2 birds is, she counts (though we know she can sometimes do this in her head). She will sometimes just count all of them, which isn't surprising for her age. But sometimes she will take a shortcut, but nearly always takes the more difficult shortcut. Meaning, you could start with 4 and count the extra 2 as "5, 6", but instead she will start with the 2 and count the extra 4 as "3, 4, 5, 6." Though we know she can subitize 4.
When we get to the subtraction game, though, I say, "If you have 8 apples and 2 fall out of the tree, how many will still be in the tree?" And she instantly answers, "6". She doesn't even use the handy animation in the game to see what the tree looks like after the apples fall out.
Why is subtraction easier? Did she feel she had to rely on memory because it's not so easy to count?
I report this to Ted, and he says, "can she do it if you say, 'what is 8-2?'"
I ask Sarah, "What's 5-2?"
Sarah: "I don't know." If you have 5 apples in the tree and 2 fall, how many are still in the tree?"
Sarah: "I don't know." Apparently we have some performance anxiety, here.
[Insert short version of story, above.]
After Sarah says, "Robin will have 6," I check to see if she's just saying random things and got lucky, or actually was doing some-unasked-for math. Mommy: "Oh, why will Robin have 6?" Sarah: "Because she already asked for 3, and then I gave her 3 more."
I'm totally amazed that (a) she can do simple subtraction so easily, (b) that she added to the story problem, setting herself an extra problem to do, (c) that the whole time I was asking her about math, she was listening to how many candies her sister wanted, (d) that she was essentially keeping two totals running in her head, albeit for a simple problem.
Robin: "I want three gummy fish for dessert!"
Sarah: "I want five!"
Mommy: "Sarah, if I give you five, and you give three of your gummy fish to Robin, how many will you have left?"
Sarah: "[1/2 second pause] Two. [Another 1/2 second pause.] And Robin will have 6."
The longer version of the story has some interesting subtleties, I think:
Sarah has been playing an addition game on my iPhone. Every time they ask her what 4 birds plus 2 birds is, she counts (though we know she can sometimes do this in her head). She will sometimes just count all of them, which isn't surprising for her age. But sometimes she will take a shortcut, but nearly always takes the more difficult shortcut. Meaning, you could start with 4 and count the extra 2 as "5, 6", but instead she will start with the 2 and count the extra 4 as "3, 4, 5, 6." Though we know she can subitize 4.
When we get to the subtraction game, though, I say, "If you have 8 apples and 2 fall out of the tree, how many will still be in the tree?" And she instantly answers, "6". She doesn't even use the handy animation in the game to see what the tree looks like after the apples fall out.
Why is subtraction easier? Did she feel she had to rely on memory because it's not so easy to count?
I report this to Ted, and he says, "can she do it if you say, 'what is 8-2?'"
I ask Sarah, "What's 5-2?"
Sarah: "I don't know." If you have 5 apples in the tree and 2 fall, how many are still in the tree?"
Sarah: "I don't know." Apparently we have some performance anxiety, here.
After Sarah says, "Robin will have 6," I check to see if she's just saying random things and got lucky, or actually was doing some-unasked-for math. Mommy: "Oh, why will Robin have 6?" Sarah: "Because she already asked for 3, and then I gave her 3 more."
I'm totally amazed that (a) she can do simple subtraction so easily, (b) that she added to the story problem, setting herself an extra problem to do, (c) that the whole time I was asking her about math, she was listening to how many candies her sister wanted, (d) that she was essentially keeping two totals running in her head, albeit for a simple problem.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Fake crying
Robin was sitting on my lap last night, and Sarah was getting jealous of the affection and trying to inch Robin off my lap by slowly nudging her away and taking her place. Robin started shrieking about Sarah's attempt to usurp her, though you could tell she was hamming it up a bit. Sarah then starts very obviously fake crying that Robin is kicking her. Sarah is horrendous at faking a cry -- it's always really obvious she's faking it. Anyhow, when Sarah started her fake crying, I just started to laugh, and said, "Sarah, puh-lease, that is so obviously fake crying!" Sarah and Robin both, at this point, start giggling hysterically, and doing yet more fake crying.
A typical example of Sarah overdoing it and actually getting upset, though, came later. She pretended to get her finger stuck in a knit blanket, and when she started fake crying I just ignored her. So she ramped it up, crying even more, managing to force out some real tears, and screaming about how it really hurt. She ultimately seemed to actually convince herself that her finger really was caught and that it hurt too much to remove the finger. When I went over to help her, just in case she had really managed to tangle herself up, she wouldn't let me touch her finger because it hurt too much. But ultimately she was easy to disentangle, and the finger clearly wasn't stuck in any serious way.
A typical example of Sarah overdoing it and actually getting upset, though, came later. She pretended to get her finger stuck in a knit blanket, and when she started fake crying I just ignored her. So she ramped it up, crying even more, managing to force out some real tears, and screaming about how it really hurt. She ultimately seemed to actually convince herself that her finger really was caught and that it hurt too much to remove the finger. When I went over to help her, just in case she had really managed to tangle herself up, she wouldn't let me touch her finger because it hurt too much. But ultimately she was easy to disentangle, and the finger clearly wasn't stuck in any serious way.
Sarah likes playing a game with Mommy
Sarah, today, was getting dressed, but had stalled, and was dancing around the room, singing a song. I said, "Sarah, you have a shirt and a dress; time to pick out the rest of your clothes. You can still sing while you pick out clothes." Sarah said, "But I can't dance while I pick out clothes!" She danced to demonstrate how hard this would be. Then she paused, and got an amused look on her face. She said, "It starts with a ... 't'. Can you guess what it is?" I said, "tights?" She shrieked delightedly, and said, "Mommy, you surprised me!" Another pause. "OK, now it starts with a... 'u'. Can you guess what it is?" I said, "underwear?" Again, she shrieked with delight that I had guessed what she was thinking of.
I assume that this is a game she plays at school, since we've never played it at home.
I assume that this is a game she plays at school, since we've never played it at home.
more sound effect girl
I (Ted) am putting Robin to bed, and singing the goodnight song: "Good night Robin, good night Robin, good night Robin, we're going to leave you now." Robin says " Do goodnight Georgepffthssspffstbrrt," i.e., George followed by a weird sound effect. I sing "Goodnight Georgepptfflspt," but Robin interrupts me. "No, don't sing Goodnight Georgepptfflspt! I want you to sing Goodnight Georgepffthssspffstbrrt!" I say "Georgepptfflsptblt?" Robin laughs. "No, not Georgepptfflsptblt! Georgepffthssspffstbrrt!" After several iterations, and much laughter, I finally get it right.
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