Better history through popsicle crafts

DAYCARE THEME: Thanksgiving

CRAFT: Popsicle people - Pilgrims and Indians

ACTIVITY: Puppet show

STORYTIME:

A long time ago, people lived in a faraway land with lots of rules and very little fun. The people grew tired of always being told what to do.

They took a ship and sailed across the ocean to a place they heard about called "The New Land". There was no king there and no rules. The Pilgrims thought that sounded awesome. But the trip across the ocean was long and many of the pilgrims got very sick on the way.

Dude, you don't look so good

When the Pilgrims arrived at The New Land, it was winter. There was nothing to eat and they were very cold. The Indians, who had been living in this land for some time already, saw the Pilgrims suffering and felt sorry for them. They offered to help teach the Pilgrims how to survive in this hostile new land.

I never get cold as long as I wear my hat

The Indians showed the Pilgrims how to plant seeds and taught them what plants they could eat and which ones were poisonous, and they helped the Pilgrims built shelters that would protect them from the brutally cold winters.

The following autumn, the seeds had grown into plants bountiful with fruits and vegetables. Grateful for the Indian's assistance, the Pilgrims invited their new friends over for a feast and so began the tradition of Thanksgiving.

I've been basting that burger all day

The Pilgrims and the Indians ate and ate and ate some more. The food was so delicious, everybody just kept eating until nobody could eat another crumb. And another well known Thanksgiving tradition was invented:

Turkey-itis

Happy Thanksgiving everybody. Eat responsibly.

Teething Tales

It started a few weeks ago when Erin remarked that one of her bottom front teeth was loose.  "Look!" she announced and she demonstrated her newly discovered ability to wiggle her tiny tooth with her tongue.  "I'm almost a growed up!"

I remember when that tooth made it's first appearance five years ago.  That one and it's neighbour poked through my daughter's gums and ended all future opportunities to capture those adorable toothless smiles.  Her twin brother, Ty, sported his first two teeth a mere two days later.  We seem to do a lot of stuff in groups of 'two' around here.

Two years later, after depleting the local supply of Infant Tylenol, both kids had finished growing all their teeth.  What happened in between is a blur of interrupted sleep and caffeine fueled automation.  For the life of me, I can't recall what happened between incisors and molars.  I do remember belting out a chorus of "Hallelujah!" when it was over.  

Erin, now 5, stands in front of the mirrored closet doors in the hallway, smiling and wiggling her loose tooth.  "When is it going to fall out, Mom?"

"When it's ready, sweetie."

"What's going to happen to my tooth when it falls out?"

"The tooth fairy will take it away and give you a twoonie for it."

"Why?"

Leave it to my daughter to question the order of things.  She wants to be a paleontologist when she grows up and has no trouble rattling off the names of a few dozen Mesozoic reptiles.  She is the intrinsic scientist, never failing to question any answer despite an abundance of prevailing facts.

"Well,"  I hesitate, hoping I can deliver a convincing helping of harmless chicanery.  Just like the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and the noisy giants that cause thunderstorms by bowling.  My response is intended to help her understand the natural changes of growing up.  "The tooth fairy will take your baby tooth and recycle it.  Then she'll have a tooth to give to a little baby."

Her expression tells me I need to sweeten the deal.  "And she'll even give you a coin to thank you for being so thoughtful."

My creative explanation is met with a strange, I'm-not-buying-that-load-of-baloney stare.  Thankfully, she is quickly distracted by the toy trains her brother is playing with.

Whew!

A week goes by.  Two. Then three.  The loose tooth won't fall out.  Erin is intrigued.  Anxious.  Excited.  A 4' 2" bundle of anticipation.

Meanwhile, the date Nana offered to host the kids at her house for four days is rapidly approaching.  There is a little trepidation.  Will Nana be able to keep up with two rambunctious five year olds?  Will they behave for her?  Will we adjust to the deafening quiet that consumes this house when children are not present?  Erin and Ty depart for their Nana adventure, bouncing with excitement.  Hubby and I console ourselves in the backyard inflatable pool, chilled pina coladas in hand.

Nana calls that evening to reassure us that the kids are behaving well and we get to talk to each before they are tucked in for the night.  Erin has special news.

"My tooth fell out!"

We reassure Erin that the tooth fairy will come to collect her tooth.  Ty is thrilled for his sister, but clearly irritated that his teeth remain firmly placed in his gums.  In the morning, she finds a twoonie under her pillow, as promised.  When we meet a few days later for our reunion with the kids, Erin greets me with her usual smile, minus one lower incisor.  She proudly holds out a coin to show me. "Look what the tooth fairy gave me! Now a baby will get a new tooth!"


These are precious times, when the word of Mom and Dad is as indisputable as any truth.  As heartening as it is to bask in their innocent faith of unrealistic and impossible things, their future success depends on eventually learning to question the information presented and distinguish fact from fiction.   I don't know when that time will come, but I'm hoping it won't be for another thirty-nine teeth.

The Mom Vent

I was chatting with a friend recently about the kids and how big they are getting.  She asked me when their birthday was.  When I told her, she replied excitedly, "My baby's birthday is on the same day!  I love being a mom to my fur babies!"

On another occasion, my brother spewed his narcissistic venom upon me, condemning me for my inability to take care of two ten month old infants while hosting a family gathering.  "We had to work around the kids schedule, when they eat and when they sleep and it was all about them."  It was Christmas.  How silly of me to think a day of gifts brought by Santa Claus wasn't all about my 47 year old sibling.  He justified his opinion with, "I have friends who have kids."  Good for you.  Here's your cookie. 

Now, I can be somewhat forgiving of ignorance, but there was something unsettling about their sincerity.  To assume you know best about a situation you know nothing about is absurd.  In my brother's case, perhaps owning a pet would be a real eye opener.  I wouldn't want to subject innocent children to an environment that, as he puts it, "Would interfere with my drinking."  Enough said.

But what really struck me as peculiar was the comparison between pet and child.  My friend often offers advice on how I should parent my children.  She truly believes her opinions are validated because she has two dogs. I used to have pets.  In fact pets were a part of my life up until "Riley, the Tiger", an orange tabby with extra toes that weighed in around 23lbs.  Both kids together didn't outweigh the cat until they were well over a year old.  Riley has since passed on and the kids mention him on occasion.  I was never so arrogant to assume that I knew anything about parenting children just because I owned a cat. 

I understand a pet soon turns into a loving companion that requires regular care and attention.  It is not the same as being a parent.  At.  All.  Sure, there are some similarities between kids and pets.  They both need attention, food, training.  There's that warm, fuzzy feeling that happens when they trust you enough to fall asleep on you. Fair enough, but this is where the parallels abruptly end.

See, children require constant supervision.  You cannot lay out a bowl of cereal for your infant and head out to a friend's for the evening.  You cannot put a coat and some cute matching booties on a toddler and let them out into the backyard to defecate at will.  Attempting to treat your child like a pet will likely warrant a well deserved visit from the local child protection authorities.  The discipline that you use on your beloved dogs will not work on precocious, attention seeking preschoolers.

Both friend and brother have suggested that I should take better care of myself.  Get my hair dyed, my feet pampered, sign up for a program at the gym.  All great ideas.  When I informed each that they needed to find me the time - which means someone has to mind the kids while I am following their advice.  They replied, "I'm busy".  Busy?  Really?  Your hair is dyed and your feet are pampered, friend.  Brother spends hours, every other day at a time at the gym.  I can live with my greying roots and my unpolished toes.  My arms are solid pipes and it's not from lifting weights at the gym.  It's from carrying children.  There's no day off to rest the muscles or a set number of reps.  There's no taking a break because I'm feeling under the weather. This workout happens everyday.  All the time.

Signing your pet up for obedience training is not the same as sending my child to school.  A few weeks of sit, come and stay does not entitle you to suggest how well or not my children are progressing at school.  Children will spend at least two years learning to socialize with other children before they invest the next twelve learning the basics to support yet another two or more years of post secondary studies.  You train a pet to be an obedient companion.  I am teaching my children how to survive in a world that doesn't play fair.  Empowering them with the sum of my experiences so that they can learn from my triumphs and failures without having to repeat my mistakes.  All of which needs to be presented in a way that captures their easily distracted attention.  Did you digest all of that?  Don't worry if you didn't, because your dog will likely be dead by the time my kids are just beginning their respective futures.

And please, don't embarrass yourself by trying to compare losing a pet to losing a child.  Not.  Even.  Close.  I am fortunate that I don't know that kind of pain and there aren't enough stars in a billion universes to thank for that blessing.  It's like equating losing your baby teeth to severing a limb in a horrific accident.  One is expected to happen.  The other is not.  Tragically, it does happen and unlike a pet, that bottomless void of vast emptiness, that devastating and heart wrenching loss which is too unbearable to imagine, cannot be eased by replacing that loss with another child.

So next time you feel the urge to describe yourself as a parent to your pet, please don't.  You can't possibly know what it means to be 'Mommy' or 'Daddy' until you understand that the life you hold in your arms means more to you than your own.  Only then, will you truly know what it is to be a parent.