This is a short post this week because of Halloween, the World Series, the U.S. election craziness . . .
> Our phrase of the week: Never quit.
> Our DIY project was of course, homemade gummy candy (as described in last week’s Post-Hump Day Post), with our assorted silicone moulds, including LEGO minifigs and robots. So happy to see that the Boy found a project that he was all gung-ho about, from start to finish, all by himself.
> We ate homemade gummies, including vegan ones made with agar agar (a gelatin substitute derived from seaweed).
> We were thrilled to read of this happy ending to the story of the lost dog, as mentioned last week. But what does this say about humanity? One generous human being makes a personal sacrifice to make a stranger happy, and on the flip side, a family decides to do what most of us would consider to be “the right thing”, but only if they can make some quick bucks off the situation. Then Expedia and kind strangers step in to fund the generous person. My faith in humanity is riding a roller coaster right now.
> We learned what can happen if your child moves out of the booster seat too soon (so if your child is still too short or not heavy enough, don’t give in, no matter how much they beg to grow up and out of the seat!) > And finally, we found this great web site about a fantastic award for eager, constantly learning, constantly achieving teens like the Girl, who just want to keep doing and going. Not crazy about the Royals connection, but oh well . . .
The Girl knows that her little brother loves Lego. She also knows that we already have about a gazillion Lego pieces in the house. So although he had asked for (and received some) Lego for his birthday and Christmas, she came up with the idea that nothing beats homemade Lego kits, complete with homemade instructions.
Here then, are Lego-building, photography, CorelDraw, upcycling, and loving-big-sister know-how, all rolled together into a “Police Racer”, “Mars Rover”, and “Street Speeder”:
The Boy has recently started a very cute habit before we settle down to watch a movie: He fashions pieces out of Lego to represent the movie, to keep himself company (I think in case the movie gets boring).
One time, we had a Transformer out of Lego, then the USS Enterprise, and finally a triple whammy of a plane, a train, and an automobile. No movie can start until we hear the cute little words, “Wait, wait, I have to go get my Lego movie piece ready!”
These toy facsimiles remind me of what a great imagination kids have, and make me a bit envious of their far superior their Lego skills to mine.
I’ve softened my stance on McDonald’s a bit over the years. While we probably still don’t visit one more often than two or three times a year, I know that it would be a bit unreasonable to bury the kids’ heads in the sand and pretend that McD’s doesn’t exist. So from time to time, we hit the Golden Arches for a quick meal.
What I love about my kids is that they know what McDonald’s is all about, but they never ask for it. And they know (the Girl more so than the Boy) about the Happy Meal and its little toy lure, but they’ve never been the type to grab at my elbow and whine, “Pleeeease, can I have one?” In fact, in all my years as a parent, I think I’ve only bought a total of four Happy Meals.
The other night was one of those occasions. We hadn’t planned on stopping for a meal, but at a late hour on a downtown street, when a kid needs to go to the washroom, McDonald’s is always the easiest option. Before I knew it, both kids felt the hunger pains for something McD’s, and I thought they would enjoy ending their day of amusement with something fun and unexpected. Indeed, the reaction I got was unexpected. Instead of excited oohs and aahs, both kids just looked at their Happy Meals and the simple toys (a Little Pet Shop kitty for the Girl, and an orange Lego truck for the Boy) with a quiet kind of joy. And the Boy looked up at me and said in the purest, most contented voice, “Thank you, Mama.” Then the meal was consumed slowly, but of course, the most interest was reserved for the toys.
I love that the kids derive a simple joy out of something as much as I did when I was a kid, purely because it is so rare. (To this day, I still cherish the Hamburgler pen that my grade three teacher gave me as part of a reward lunch, which my younger brother wore to school without my permission, and promptly lost less than 24 hours after I had received it.) I love most of all that they know about something that gives them such pleasure, but they never outright ask for it. It makes that item so much more cherished to them . . . and them to me.