The other morning, I spotted Baby Bear slowly making his way from kitchen to family room while carrying the following items all at the same time:
1. His bowl of oatmeal.
2. A DVD he'd selected for viewing.
3. His electronic keyboard, which is about three feet long.
4. A sensory ball that he's become very attached to. He had it wedged between his legs, which I've seen him do when he needs to free up his hands for other things, like standing at the bathroom sink to get a drink of water. He doesn't seem to want to lose contact with it. However, with every step he took, the ball would slip, and then he'd pause to try and reposition it--all while balancing the other three items.
Clearly he had plans, and wasn't about to waste time making separate trips to transport all the items he needed for his comfort.
I can't begin to describe how he did all of this. How he managed it for the length of time he did, I have no idea. I didn't have the camera handy to catch a photo of this amazing juggling act, but even if I had, the flash might have startled him into dropping a couple of things I'd rather not see crashing to the floor.
At the very least, I grabbed his bowl of oatmeal. I tried telling him to let the ball drop and kick it forward as he went on his way, but now that he was free of the oatmeal bowl, he just picked it up and continued on his precariously merry way.
I told him he needed more hands. But don't we all?
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Too Tall For the School Bus
I’m referring, of course, to the one known as Baby Bear.
Lately, I’ve noticed that when he comes home from school, he has to duck his head as he steps off the bus. I’m amazed as well as thankful that he has yet to conk his noggin on the top of the door (she writes as she knocks on wood).
Yesterday, the bus driver pointed out that he can no longer stand up straight on the school bus, that when walking down the aisle to or from his seat, he has to bow his head.
Before long he’ll be hunching over and stepping off the bus looking as if he’s ready to shake hands with an Imperial Majesty or two.
Eventually we’ll have to buy a convertible, or a car with a sun roof that allows his head to stick up and out like a giraffe on a circus train.
“Baby Bear” seems such a misnomer now, but that’s how I think of him. It’s that or Godzilla.
He’ll always be my Baby Bear even when he’s thirty years old, has a beard like one of the ZZ Top guitarists (oh, how we are so not looking forward to the sprouting of whiskers!) and stands I don’t want to think of how many feet tall.
But the fact remains he is still only twelve years old . . . and is now over six feet tall.
Lately, I’ve noticed that when he comes home from school, he has to duck his head as he steps off the bus. I’m amazed as well as thankful that he has yet to conk his noggin on the top of the door (she writes as she knocks on wood).
Yesterday, the bus driver pointed out that he can no longer stand up straight on the school bus, that when walking down the aisle to or from his seat, he has to bow his head.
Before long he’ll be hunching over and stepping off the bus looking as if he’s ready to shake hands with an Imperial Majesty or two.
Eventually we’ll have to buy a convertible, or a car with a sun roof that allows his head to stick up and out like a giraffe on a circus train.
“Baby Bear” seems such a misnomer now, but that’s how I think of him. It’s that or Godzilla.
He’ll always be my Baby Bear even when he’s thirty years old, has a beard like one of the ZZ Top guitarists (oh, how we are so not looking forward to the sprouting of whiskers!) and stands I don’t want to think of how many feet tall.
But the fact remains he is still only twelve years old . . . and is now over six feet tall.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
