It was on the kitchen table the other night when Margot was here. I suggest he look on the table by the front door where most everything in this house "lands" at some point. He finds it there. On the kitchen table are three dinosaurs, two of which eat meat and one that doesn't, a bird, a tree, and about a thousand pieces of paper (but that is unrelated). He tells me he needs something, and he starts snooping among the dirty dishes on the counter. He finds shrimp cocktail sauce that should have been refrigerated two days ago (the oral history cluster had catered meeting this month and I came home with lots of yummy stuff. cocktail sauce excluded). He puts the little jar on the table and then asks for "an applesauce container and two washcloths." From the table, dinosaurs are blasting off the cocktail sauce, landing into the washcloths. Sometimes they jump from cocktail sauce to applesauce to table and into the air. They are usually shooting some sort of weapon or power blast or special element of nature at one another, all the while the animals are speaking to one another in English and some "foreign tongue." Occasionally a dinosaur "camps" on the applesauce, as though s/he is taking a rest from battle. At other points in his play, dinosaurs got onto special moving objects that shot them through the air and around the island, into the living room, and back to the patio before landing back at the kitchen table. Cooking lasagna is not a short process, and these dinosaurs had a lot to say and do with one another. They were strategic in battle, angry at times, laughing at other times, and terribly mobile. There were a few points when one dinosaur comforted another. "It's okay," he said, "I understand that this is hard for you." I love the way this kid thinks and lives with compassion, understanding, and encouragement.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Acting out imagination.
I pull Turner from Dragon Tales to help me cook dinners, yes plural. Sundays we usually cook a bunch of stuff to get us through the week. Turner enjoys being in the kitchen with me, but he has slowly moved from helping me cook to just being in the same room with me while I cook. He gets lost in imagination. While I do miss the conversations we had while we cooked, I love getting to watch and hear his brain work. Today I am making lasagna (for tomorrow) and pasta salad (for lunches next week). Turner comes into the kitchen and starts the search for a lizard with red stripes.
It was on the kitchen table the other night when Margot was here. I suggest he look on the table by the front door where most everything in this house "lands" at some point. He finds it there. On the kitchen table are three dinosaurs, two of which eat meat and one that doesn't, a bird, a tree, and about a thousand pieces of paper (but that is unrelated). He tells me he needs something, and he starts snooping among the dirty dishes on the counter. He finds shrimp cocktail sauce that should have been refrigerated two days ago (the oral history cluster had catered meeting this month and I came home with lots of yummy stuff. cocktail sauce excluded). He puts the little jar on the table and then asks for "an applesauce container and two washcloths." From the table, dinosaurs are blasting off the cocktail sauce, landing into the washcloths. Sometimes they jump from cocktail sauce to applesauce to table and into the air. They are usually shooting some sort of weapon or power blast or special element of nature at one another, all the while the animals are speaking to one another in English and some "foreign tongue." Occasionally a dinosaur "camps" on the applesauce, as though s/he is taking a rest from battle. At other points in his play, dinosaurs got onto special moving objects that shot them through the air and around the island, into the living room, and back to the patio before landing back at the kitchen table. Cooking lasagna is not a short process, and these dinosaurs had a lot to say and do with one another. They were strategic in battle, angry at times, laughing at other times, and terribly mobile. There were a few points when one dinosaur comforted another. "It's okay," he said, "I understand that this is hard for you." I love the way this kid thinks and lives with compassion, understanding, and encouragement.
It was on the kitchen table the other night when Margot was here. I suggest he look on the table by the front door where most everything in this house "lands" at some point. He finds it there. On the kitchen table are three dinosaurs, two of which eat meat and one that doesn't, a bird, a tree, and about a thousand pieces of paper (but that is unrelated). He tells me he needs something, and he starts snooping among the dirty dishes on the counter. He finds shrimp cocktail sauce that should have been refrigerated two days ago (the oral history cluster had catered meeting this month and I came home with lots of yummy stuff. cocktail sauce excluded). He puts the little jar on the table and then asks for "an applesauce container and two washcloths." From the table, dinosaurs are blasting off the cocktail sauce, landing into the washcloths. Sometimes they jump from cocktail sauce to applesauce to table and into the air. They are usually shooting some sort of weapon or power blast or special element of nature at one another, all the while the animals are speaking to one another in English and some "foreign tongue." Occasionally a dinosaur "camps" on the applesauce, as though s/he is taking a rest from battle. At other points in his play, dinosaurs got onto special moving objects that shot them through the air and around the island, into the living room, and back to the patio before landing back at the kitchen table. Cooking lasagna is not a short process, and these dinosaurs had a lot to say and do with one another. They were strategic in battle, angry at times, laughing at other times, and terribly mobile. There were a few points when one dinosaur comforted another. "It's okay," he said, "I understand that this is hard for you." I love the way this kid thinks and lives with compassion, understanding, and encouragement.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment