I Want to See 96. Not a Drop Less
October 31, 2009
This is Random Granddaughter grokking Grandpa’s password and taking over his computer by using my now awesome mental powers developed at the School for Very Bright Children.
Many people here are much taken with something called twitter and tweeting each other. We very bright children have moved so far beyond tweeting, not to mention, blogging, you obsolete adults can not even imagine it.
My friends and I have created an entirely new telepathic Internet. Even as we are indulging you artifacted parents and grandparents by saying “Please” and “Thank you” at the dinner table, we are communicating entire new works of literature and art and music you can’t even imagine, and sharing them by telepathy with your dogs and cats.
We are going to bring your dogs and cats with us as we transport ourselves into an an awesome new dimension and leave you behind. Then you will really be sorry you didn’t increase our allowances and let us stay up later when you had the chance.
Too late. Start crying. I want to see 96 teardrops. I am going to count every one. Not just 95, either.
Too many teardrops for one heart to be cryin’
Too many teardrops for one heart to carry on
Youre way on top now since you left me
Youre always laughin way down at me
But watch out now, I’m gonna get there
W’ell be together for just a little while
And then I’m gonna put you way down here
And you’ll start cryin ninety-six tears
Cry, cry
And when the sun comes up, I’ll be on top
You’ll be right down there, lookin up
And I might wave, come up here
But I don’t see you wavin now
I’m way down here, wonderin how
I’m gonna get you but I know now
I’ll just cry, cry, Ill just cry
Too many teardrops for one heart to be cryin’
Too many teardrops for one heart to carry on
Youre gonna cry ninety-six tears
Youre gonna cry ninety-six tears
Youre gonna cry, cry cry cry now
Youre gonna cry, cry, cry, cry
Ninety-six tears
RG Studies Mathematical Ethics
October 18, 2009
The private school for very bright children presented a program to parents about their mathematics education. Random Granddaughter was supposed to demonstrate kindergarten math skills involving fractions. The sound system was faulty and produced loud feedback. Sensitive RG could not deal with the amplifier noise and fled to another room and started crying.
At the mommies house a few days after this unhappy experience, we talked about mathematics. Soon RG’s skills will outstrip mine, but I thought I might still have a useful tidbit to offer her.
I said, “Let me tell you how to divide a cookie fairly. One person divides the cookie. The other person gets to choose the half they want.”
RG understood the principle immediately. As she is a writer as well as a mathematician, she composed a parable about Mia and Alee. [Mia is her best friend who lives across the street; Alee is her younger sister.]
“Mia gets a cookie. She breaks it in half. She says to Alee, ‘You get to decide which piece you want.’”
“Exactly!” I said enthusiastically. “You can be sure that Mia will break the cookie very carefully, so both halves are very equal in size.”
Next week, RG goes on tour, lecturing to kindergarten classes across the country on the new field of mathematical ethics.
“If Random Granddaughter some day supervises other employees some day when she has a career, she will not be a very patient boss,” I said to my wife. RG had been supervising my wife and me when we were taking care of her, and she was not very patient with us.
“RG was not very patient from the day she was born,” replied my wife.
From the age of zero to the age of four, RG was not allowed to watch videos on the theory that videos are harmful to developing little minds. Once she reached the age of four, her mommies decided she can watch one or two carefully chosen videos in a week, usually for not more than about twenty minutes of viewing time in a session.
One of the issues here is Can some of the most brilliant parenting of the century turn a brilliant young drama princess child into a wholesome human being? David Rochester is watching with interest from a safe distance as he works on reintegrating his fragmented personality into a wholesome human being.
May you live in interesting times is not a Chinese curse, but we certainly live in such times, do we not?
Anyway, the mommies asked the grandparents to babysit, perhaps because we work for free, while they took advantage of tickets to a concert that they also got for free. Free can be a very good price.
“Here is a DVD with wholesome videos for children,” Mommy (RG’s birth mother) said. She asked RG what videos she wanted to watch.
Click, Clack, Moo: Cows that Type, was choice #1. This is a recent but already classic book for children, a book now animated movie about cows that type messages to the farmer on a typewriter. Unless he provides them with electric blankets, they will stop supplying him with milk. The plot thickens from there.
As a child of modern times, however, I doubt that RG knows what a typewriter is. When I was a high school student, I actually used a slide rule because calculators had not been invented yet. I used a buggy whip to make my slide rule go faster.
Courderoy was RG’s second choice. This is a book (now video) about a lonely little black girl who falls in love with a lonely teddy bear in a department store. RG lives in a world of multi-cultural influences. She has two mommies and two daddies. She has an adopted aunt from Singapore. And so on.
The mommies left for their concert. Grandma and Grandpa and Random Granddaughter settled on the couch in front of the combination television monitor/DVD player. Grandma held the remote. Grandma tried to start the DVD going. Mr. and Mrs. Random have a couple of television monitors, DVD players, and remotes at home. It’s not like we are video virgins.
Grandma could not get the video to start. RG expressed impatience. Grandma has a tendency to use bad words when she is frustrated, but she is very careful around RG. The mommies are prissy, goody-goody lesbians who do not much like to be described as “lesbians” and who certainly do not want a five-year-old daughter to hear bad words from Grandma and Grandpa. As RG is now attending kindergarten, however; it is only a matter of time before the first f-bomb comes home with her like a puppy following her home. [The mommies like cats better than dogs, also, and resist getting RG a dog.]
Eventually, after several tries, Grandma brought up a menu of the videos. She selected the typing cows video and pushed “Play” on the remote. The story began. The cows typed messages and went on strike. RG watched with interest. I haven’t heard about her going on strike yet, but it is surely only a matter of time. She didn’t ask about typewriters. I guess she figured a typewriter is something like a computer.
At the end of the story, Grandma tried to get back to the main menu. Instead of bringing up the menu, the entire rebooted and loaded slowly. RG expressed irritation. Eventually the list of videos appeared. Grandma tried to choose and start Courderoy. Each time she did so, the entire DVD rebooted. It took a long time for the list of videos to appear on the screen. About the third time this occurred. RG expressed her impatience and irritation quite strongly. “Perhaps Grandpa knows how to use the remote better than you do,” she told Grandma.
Grandma pretended she did not hear that remark. I kept my mouth shut.
Grandma said, “This remote does not work like the remote we have at home.”
RG said, “My mommies get it to work” in a very condescending and exasperated tone. I kept my mouth shut.
Grandma kept trying. On the fifth try, Courderoy began to play. Grandma said, “I did exactly the same thing I did on the other four tries, but this time it worked.”
RG did not say anything, but her face displayed an expression that eloquently communicated, Sure it did, Grandma.
She watched half the video. Suddenly, she said, “Let’s stop the video. I am ready to go to bed.” She has apparently internalize the time limit for watching videos.
RG went upstairs, flossed and brushed her teeth, picked out a book about church mice and a friendly cat and a party for me to read, and went to bed very peacefully and amiably without any drama queen theatrics.
The next day I tried to use my laptop. The mommies have changed their ISP/wireless Internet connection again. I could not get my laptop to connect to the Internet.
Mommy said, “Mama set this up. I don’t know how to connect your laptop. [Mama was at the university studying calculus.] Perhaps you can go to the library (which is only a few blocks away). Perhaps you can take RG with you to the library.”
RG and I walked to the library. I sat on a couch in the children’s section while RG browsed for books.
In the past, RG picked out books at random. Now she is learning to read, and her kindergarten teacher gave her some guidelines for picking out books. I don’t remember the exact directions, but the run something like this.
Look at a book. Try to read a little bit. If maybe two words are new, then choose the book. If five or more words are new, don’t choose that book.
RG chose several books. I looked them over. They seemed like excellent choices. One of the books struck me as an excellent choice for David Rochester as well, so I have ordered the book on the Internet and it is supposedly on the way to David and his Amazon. I hope they like it. If they do, RG gets all the credit. If they don’t, it is my fault.
We went to the self-checkout. I tried to check out all four of the books at once. The self-checkout only checked out one. I had to reboot the self-checkout. This was exactly like the experience Grandma had the night before with remote and the video player. As I kept slowly rebooting the self-checkout, RG twisted restlessly and said, “Grandpa, aren’t you done checking out the books? I am ready to go home.”
Eventually we went home, had something to eat, and went to RG’s cross-country race where she sobbed, ran 1/2 mile, and smiled when she received a blue ribbon. If your grandchild is thinking about working for RG some day or marrying RG some day, tell him or her to start training right now, because she will be a bossy boss and a severe spouse.
A Tale of Great Drama
October 14, 2009
My granddaughter had two sisters. They both died before they were born.
When RG was born, her mommies were so grateful they invited the good fairy to provide some blessings.
The bad fairy (who perhaps poisoned RG’s sisters before they were born) came also even though no one invited her, to deliver some curses for the child who succeeded in being born alive.
The good fairy said, “She will be very beautiful.” RG is very tall (taller than all the other boys and girls in her kindergarten class), is very slim, has long, straight blond hair, and pellucid blue eyes.
The bad fairy said about my granddaughter, “She will break many hearts.”
The good fairy said, “She will be a very sensitive princess.”
The bad fairy said, “There will be a pea under every mattress she sleeps on.”
The good fairy said, “She will grow up to care very strongly about everything she encounters.”
The bad fairy said, “She will be a drama queen.”
The good fairy said, “She will be a talented painter and pianist.”
The bad fairy said, “Every day of her life will be a tragic opera and she will die on stage after many wails and tears.”
The good fairy said, “She will be have very discriminating food tastes.”
The bad fairy said, “Every meal will be a combination of performances of Macbeth, Othello, Hamlet, and King Lear, with dramatic sets painted by her and great music performed by her.”
The good fairy said, “She will be a great athlete and run marathons.”
The bad fairy said, “She will water every step of the race course with tears.”
At the moment, RG considers hot dogs and pizza as appropriate food for a little princess to eat. On our way to visit Her Little Highness, my wife said, “We will pick up a pizza.”
At the pizza place, Mrs. Random said, “This pizza is for a little princess who does not like pizza toppings. Make half the pizza plain with only cheese.” She listed some the toppings to put on the other half for the adults.
At dinner that night, Her Little Highness took one bite of the plain cheese pizza. She made a face. She said, “There is something hot [meaning "spicy"] on my pizza. It burned my tongue.”
Mommy [RG's birth mother] said, “You are imagining things. You are eating plain pizza with nothing but cheese. There are no spices on it.”
Tears ran down RG’s face. She sobbed, “May I be excused from the table.” She went to her bedroom. The adults heard the sound of tears. “She’s such a drama queen,” said Mama (my daughter and co-mom, though now playing the role of evil stepmother in RG’s opera).
The next night, the mommies put two candles on the table to create a pleasant, romantic atmosphere, in case a prince or a princess, or both, knocked on the door and wished to dine with Her Little Highness.
The drama princess looked at the candle. “That candle is bothering me,” she said.
Mommy said, “There is no problem with the candle. You have been studying fire safety in kindergarten and now you are obsessing about fire.”
The drama princess said, “We didn’t talk about fire in kindergarten today. I just don’t like a candle on the table.”
Evil co-mom Mama said, “Here, I will put your candle over next to my candle. It will be far away from you. You will be safe.”
Drama princess RG said, “The candle still bothers me. I can’t eat dinner with the candle burning.” Tears ran down her face. She said, “May I be excused from the table?” Soon sobs sounded from her bedroom. The cruel, wicked mommies and grandparents enjoyed their dinner and the drama. Somewhere an evil fairy cackled with malicious glee.
On the last day of our visit, we attended a cross-country race. Hundreds of parents and small children gathered for the race. Mama, however, did not attend; she was at the evil university desperately studying her calculus. [The evil fairy apparently has an evil calculus/statistic cousin evil fairy. Mama's parents sent mama a thousand dollars to pay for a calculus good wizard tutor helping her with calculus spells.]
All the children wore t-shirts with school names on the front. Most of the shirts had names with “Holy,” and “Cross,” and “Mary,” and “Luke” on them.
I asked, “Are these all private schools in this race?”
Mommy said, “The race is sponsored by an organization of Catholic parochial schools. A few private schools are participating as well.”
I said, “I fear cheating will take place. Angels will fly down and carry the little Catholic school children across the finish line. The children from the School for Very Bright Children (which RG attends as a very bright kindergartener) will move the finish line and nobody will know how they did it.”
All the children received race numbers, which their moms and dads pinned on their t-shirts with safety pins.
RG’s race number was 1905. “That was a very good year,” said Mommy, optimistically. A little boy in RG’s kindergarten class got the number 1929.
“That was not a very good year,” I said, pessimistically.
A large, very solidly built black man who looked like he might have been a football player at one time, if not for the NFL, at least for a college team, gathered all the children from the School for Very Bright Children together. He said, “The kindergarteners and the first graders will run 1/2 mile. The second graders and third graders will run a mile. The older children will have a different race.” A mother said, “I don’t think I can run half a mile.”
He led the children in stretching and warm up exercises, like a coach would. He was very kind and sweet to the little children, unlike any PE teacher I ever had.
I asked Mommy, “Is the the PE teacher for the School for Very Bright Children?”
She said, “No, he is the husband of the preschool teacher.”
I guess a former football player married to a preschool teacher provides the best of all possible worlds.
The children started walking to the starting line. As we walked, I heard sobs. I looked down, Tears were running down Her Little Princess’ face. I am not sure why she was sobbing, but if you are training to be a Drama Queen, you have to keep in shape.
At the starting line, the parents and children were very noisy. A race official began to clap. The children began to clap. RG knew what was coming. Like her introverted grandmother, she is very sensitive to loud noises. She covered her ears. Another official sounded a loud starter’s horn.
The first heat was for kindergarten boys. The boys began to run. One little boy waved his arms in the air and jumped up and down instead of running forward. I thought, That little boy is not very focused. Little boys are like that.
After the kindergarten boys disappeared in the woods, the race official began to clap again. The little girls began to clap. RG covered her ears again. The starting horn blared loudly again.
The little girls began to run. About sixty little girls ran forward very intently. I thought, The little girls are very focused. Little girls are like that. It was easy to see RG disappear into the woods as she was the tallest of the little kindergarten girls.
The husband of preschool teacher and perhaps former football jock said to us, “The track curves around that way, like a horseshoe. You might want to head for the finish line right now so you can beat the crowd to see the girls finish.”
Mommy and Grandma and I shoved our way through the crowd to the finish line. I won’t say elbows were used illegally, but we got to the finish line in time to see little girls emerging from the woods.
One little girl, very red in the face, sprinted to the finish line the first kindergarten girl to cross the finish line, followed by several other little girls, all red in the face as well. Although she was not the first racer, RG finished perhaps number ten out of the sixty starters.
At the end of the race, every little girl, regardless of where she finished, got a blue ribbon.
RG, also very red in the face, clutched her blue ribbon proudly. Grandma and Grandpa kissed Her Little Highness. Perhaps all her fast running had dried all her tears or perhaps the good fairy had blown them away, as she was smiling proudly.
Mrs. Random and I headed through the woods and found the parking lot without getting lost more than once or twice. Weheaded back toward the ferry.
The ferry, perhaps captained by a good fairy, brought us safely back to our island in Puget Sound.
Weekend Plans
October 7, 2009
This weekend we will babysit Random Granddaughter so the mommies can go out for a night. The advantage seems to be that we will do it for free and can be trusted with her.
We also are trying to get together with Mary from Peru, though we are having difficulty reconciling schedules.
I looked for Peruvian restaurants, thinking we could take Mary to lunch and she could discuss Peruvian cuisine with us. The good news is that there actually was a Peruvian restaurant near where she lives and works. The bad news is that it has been closed because of the building being remodeled. The good news is that it may open again some day in a new building.
Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first. We look forward to seeing RG and having her tell us what she is doing in kindergarten and to seeing Sylvie as well, though she is getting kind of old for a cat.
I am allergic to cats, though my allergies seem to have lessened as I get older. My wife, who was not allergic to cats, has developed allergies as she gets older.
I am considering getting a Siberian forest cat. This breed seems to create fewer allergic reactions in humans than most other types of cats. There is a breeder in Albany, Oregon. I figure we would have to spend a week petting and testing one of their kittens to see if we could safely adopt one.
As I get older and feebler, it seems to me that it would be nice to be able to sit with a cat in my lap and pet it and listen to it purr.
If I suggest this scheme to my wife, she will immediately tell me it is a very bad idea and we will have a big fight over it.
Kindergarten News
September 25, 2009
A few days ago, my daughter called. Mama (my daughter) and Mommy (birth mother of Random Granddaughter) have tickets to a concert or play or something.
“Will you babysit for us?” she asked. “We thought we could save some money as you don’t charge us anything.”
It’s nice to know Mrs. Random and I are loved for our loveable selves and not just because we provide free babysitting.
“How does RG like kindergarten?” I asked.
“She is having a great time. She loves it.”
I thought about how great it is that our little genius of a granddaughter gets to be around other small children almost as smart as she is at the private School for Very Smart Children.
The other little smart-ass children will keep her in her place. Or she will organize them into a conspiracy to take over the world by the time they have reached second grade.
“She has gone out for cross country running,” my daughter continued.
“When kindergarteners run cross country, how far do they run?” I asked in amazement.
“I think they go 1/2 mile.”
I listened in amazement and awe. I keep forgetting to measure the exact distance, but it’s about a quarter of a mile along the private road from our driveway to the mailbox on the country road. It was not very long ago when RG would whine and asked to be picked up and carried if we made her walk all the way to the mailbox with us.
The next time she comes to visit us, I will insist that she run all the way to the mailbox and run all the way back to our little house in the medium sized woods, or no dessert at lunch for her!
Mary from Peru to Visit
September 13, 2009
Some time back, I wrote about hosting a party at the mommies’ house for my two favorite volunteers: Mary (not Maria) from Peru and S from Romania.
My wife was quite taken with Mary. I think because they are much alike. Each is very intelligent but does not think she is. Each does exactly as she pleases regardless of what other people think they “ought” to do. Of course, they are different as well. Mary has a Master’s Degree in Industrial Engineering. My wife took one college class.
In any case, I asked my wife, “Do you want to invite Mary to visit us?” My wife seldom wants people to visit us unless she had decided to invite them. However, in this case, she said, “Yes.”
Mary said she has bought a condo and that things are going well at her job for a utility company and that she will visit us next month.
My wife said, “Be sure to tell her we will pay for her ferry ticket.”
I let the mommies know about the visit, but their lives are so busy and complicated I don’t know if they will join us. Perhaps Random Granddaughter can invite her entire kindergarten class from the school for very bright children. On the way, they could stop and visit the used car dealer that sells used fire trucks and as a project they could take a fire engine apart and put it back together.
Completion of County Fair Post
August 20, 2009
Pebbles in hand (or pocket) Random Granddaughter and slightly extended family headed for the county fair on the island.
Plan was for the mommies to follow us in the rental car Mommy’s mother and step dad had rented for the trip to the Olympic. We were separated and parked in separate places, but Mrs. Random and I found them waiting to buy their tickets at the head of a long line, so we had them buy our tickets as for us, allowing us to jump the line and perhaps the shark as well.
We were all ready for lunch. Mommy’s step-dad is fit and lean from all his hiking, so he indulged in a big sandwich. Mrs. Random and I purchased hotdogs. Random Granddaughter now associates events such as fairs with a chance to purchase cotton candy. As a child I loathed cotton candy; as an adult I still despise it, but I see no problem with the rare indulgence for RG.
She has been an exceptionally food-persnickety child, but she is gradually entering the world of normal eating via a typical child-preferred meals. Pizza is good she now thinks, and for lunch at the fair, she considered a hot dog perfectly acceptable when mixed with bites of cotton candy. I watched with delight as she ate one hot dog well-slathered with mustard in a steady, methodical manner.
Off to the 4H exhibit where she considered bunnies and chickens with happy concentration. The second delightful observation for me was that she was in a good mood and obviously enjoying herself, with only one minor tantrum, involving application of sunscreen and branches and twigs in a sleeve.
She then watched some young ladies taking horses through paces in competitions. Will their be a pony living at the little house in the city? Will Sylvie the world’s most extroverted little cat learn to ride a horse?
RG was fascinated with the judging and awarding of ribbons. Later that evening, my wife remarked to me that perhaps RG is too fascinated with awards and prizes. I don’t know. My uncle George got a Pulitzer Prize and a MacArthur Genius Award for composition in his seventies or so; my daughter was spelling champion of Oregon in fifth grade; perhaps RG will get a similar award in kindergarten, or perhaps she will wait until first or second grade.
We then watched the alpaca race. When I was in junior high school my family owned a cow and then a couple of goats. I milked the cow and one of the goats. Goats have personalities similar to cats. It is easy to become attached to them. (Unfortunately, our goat got sick and died and I had to dig a grave for it.)
Alpacas look like giant poodles that suffered exposure to radiation and then mutated; their personalities seem to be similar to goats.
The race worked like this. The 4H participant had to guide the alpaca through an obstacle course, holding the alpaca’s rein in one hand and holding a spoon with a raw egg perched it in the other hand.
“The eggs are from prize-winning chickens; they have been around here for a few days, so they are pretty ripe by now,” The Mistress of Ceremonies told us. She seemed to be having as much fun as one is allowed to with clothes on She also explained that the young competitors weren’t supposed to drop the egg. But not to worry, she reassured the contestants. “If you drop the egg you can pick it up again and put it back on the spoon. As long as it does not break. If I see yolk, it’s all over for you and I will toss you out of the race,” she chortled.
A couple of years ago, my wife and I observed a “cat Olympics” event at the fair, where cats were supposed to go through an obstacle course. The cats, naturally, regarded the whole exercise with a bemused, “You want me to do WHAT?” air. One cat even set itself down and immediately went to sleep.
Although none of the alpacas took a nap, and it is difficult to read the expression on an alpaca’s face, they seemed to regard the obstacle course in a similar fashion. Among with overcoming other impediments, they were supposed to walk though some tires on the ground; some jumped the tires, others headed for other parts of the fair, dragging their young keepers with them.
One young man, announced with much fanfare as last year’s champion, dropped his egg half way through the race. “Oh my, I see yolk down their on the ground,” the announcer crowed with much delight. 4H is not for nynnies (Finnish word for “sissy, as I just discovered last week).
After a few more exhibits and contests, Random Granddaughter, mommies, and alternative grandparents headed back to the city. Mrs. Random and I headed back to our little house in the medium-sized woods.
Random Granddaughter Visits the County Fair
August 16, 2009
Yesterday (Saturday) we went to the county fair with Random Granddaughter, Mommy (RG’s birth mother and my daughter’s partner), Mama (Random Daughter), Mommy’s mother (B1) and her step-dad (K).
K is an enthusiastic hiker and for love of him B1 has become an enthusiastic hiker as well. Everyone went hiking in the Olympic mountains. Random Granddaughter had been a enthusiastic whiner when she had to walk a block in the city or a quarter of a mile to our mailbox in the county when she was four, but Mama told me she hiked several miles in the Olympics without whining, so we were suitably impressed with RG’s progress at the age of five.
We met at the organic farmer’s market where my wife usually volunteers on Saturday morning, serving drinks and her home baked wholesome goodies. My wife got permission to take the day off. When we arrived, we greeted her boss who was serving coffee instead of Mrs. Random.
“Mrs. Random decided to skip work today, but she is so dumb she showed up at the work place anyway,” I told her boss as she served us tea.
My wife tells me that hardly anyone is interested in the scones, muffins, cookies she bakes for the market. However, when she showed up with no baked goods in hand, at least half a dozen adults approached her and whined as loudly as Random Granddaughter at her worst.
Random Granddaughter loves to collect interesting pebbles and rocks. She finds many at our five acres, but her mommies make her leave them on a porch step instead of hauling them all back to the city.
At the market, my wife took RG to a stand where a man sells agates and other semi-precious stones, fossils and petrified woods, and similar fancy pebbles. As he greeted RG, he held out a tray of pebbles and said, “You get to choose one for free.” RG poked through the pebbles thoughtfully and chose the largest one.
She had to be reminded to say, “Thank you,” by my wife, but did so with such enthusiasm that the seller was quite charmed. He showed her a petrified horse tail plant and several other fossils and forced two more glamorous pebbles on the quite willing child, who remembered to say “Thank you.”
We headed out for the fairground. (To be continued).
