Sunday, October 24, 2010

Sorting games

Through out the time we were raising our daughter Amelia we used to play some sorting type games with her. They were also, underneath, thinking games, and I think at twenty-nine now she would say they have served her well. Here are a couple of them:

Kitch, Klassic or Krap (and yes, they're spelled that way on purpose)

Pick an item, could be nearly any item, and name if it's Kitch, Klassic or Krap.

Pink lawn flamingo - Kitch

Black Converse high tops with white rubber toe caps - Klassic

Those "temporary" ad signs with the big light up arrows and cheesey slogans - Krap

Beaded Spacecraft sculpture, from Etsy's space craft competition - Klassic Kitch? Definately Kool, though. I know, subjective. That's kinda the point, which brings us to -

Obviously, this is a subjective game. It is however one that helps define to us the mind set of the person we're playing with. Hmmm, that might make it a good early-days in a relationship game.
Feel free to steal it for that. I have.

Here's another one. We call this one Insipid or Insidious , and it works better for ideas, strategies, group habbits, etc. Bear in mind some things may be partially or wholly both.

"elevator music" - insipid

consumer or voter manipulation based on fear or guilt - insidious

Most televangelist presentations - ooooh, I'm thinking both.

You can play these two games on your own, silently in your head, and then make people wonder what you're grinning or shaking your head about.

Another game I liked to play with Amelia was Name That Guitar, but unfortunately most music t.v. channels have long since ceased showing enough music videos to keep the game going conveniently. (and I realize that for our purposes here it's maybe too esoteric - ya kinda gotta be a guitar geek to care) Still, I wanted my daughter to be able to tell the difference between a Gibson S-G and a Fender Strat for example. Just a family pride thing I guess.

Ok, how about this one?
Maybe not fair, that's a Fender Jag-stang, the illustrious offspring of a Fender Jaguar and Fender Mustang.

Pardon, I digress.

more later...

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Taking Aaron to school

Aaron has been in first grade for about a month now.

The first week we started out walking together, him holding my hand all the way to his class room. After the first day I was the only first grade parent to do that.

Ours is one of those close to an elementary school neighborhoods filled at that time of morning with kids, moms with strollers, grandpas with small dogs, smiling crossing guard ladies with florescent flags... The school is about four blocks away and he would fill that time and space pointing out items of interest - "that cool racing car"(a Nissan 3000 gt)," That cat's name is Max" (one of that particular kind of Siamese who want to be in the middle of everything), "Oh My Gosh that's a huge Christmas tree!"(a Red Wood that fills one corner front yard and up about a hundred feet).

The second week we still walked together, but he didn't seem to need to hold my hand any more, preferring to stroll along on his own, pointing out kids he knows and greeting them, petting Max the Siamese cat, lobbying to take the "short cut"(about half again as long). We've had to have discussions about how most kids are freaked out by being hugged, especially at or near school or in public-it's kinda part of his boggle. He does well on those walks at stopping at corners and waiting for Dad. I only have to tell him to stop once or twice, as opposed to his usual three or four times when he's doing something at home-again, part of his boggle, hard to get his attention.

This last week he has decided it's better to drive there. The first couple of days he wanted me to park the car so I could still walk him to his classroom. Now he'd rather I just drop him off in the turn out so he can walk in on his own, like a "big kid".

I still watch him until he passes by the principal at the door, often stopping for a hug, and is in the school building itself.

Time, as they say, marches on.

I'm going to miss walking him to school.