Classically, when parents go to a toy store, it's their job to say "No" a lot. We're far from classical, apparently.
Mowgli now has a toy drum because his father thought he needed it. He agrees with his father, as it happens, but it wasn't his idea. Neither were the wooden puzzles, though he loves them, or the new vocabulary-building board books which give him so many opportunities to announce "Wheel!" and "Door!" He did pick out the little football, though.
The funny part is, we were looking for an airplane. Nothing fancy, just the kind of airplane a small boy can run around the house with, holding it overhead and going "Vwoooosh!" It appears that these toys are simply not available. He seems to be perfectly happy to let his foam letter T perform the office. No doubt this is good for his imagination. We live near an airport, which has turned out to be an unexpected boon to raising a happy child. He loves that we can say, "Hey, let's go look for airplanes!" and generally get one within a few minutes. He loves chasing them across the yard.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Things I've Learned From Children's Television
People with small dogs didn't love their puppies as much as they could have. (Clifford)
8 plus 12 divided by 2 equals 10. (Crashbox)
If you are lost in the woods, follow a frog. (Wow Wow Wubbzy)
Nature and animals are all friendly. (nearly all of them)
No-one can do anything alone. (WonderPets)
The use-mention distinction is irrelevant. (Word World)
Unaccompanied monkeys can accomplish a lot. (Curious George)
Corollary: Adults don't know much.
You can influence what happens on the TV. (Most Nick JR programming)
Cockoos have family ties. (Go Diego Go)
Pigs are a lot like people. (Olivia, Peppa Pig, Toot and Puddle)
Gorillas have kings, lines of inheritance, and coronations. (Go Diego Go)
A map doesn't need to indicate direction, forks in the road, or distance. (Dora the Explorer)
Dogs, cats, and other common pets don't talk; other animals do. (Most)
The wind will change direction 180 degrees when your boat reaches the other end of the pond. (Little Bill)
Rivers may be found next to gorges. (Go Diego Go)
Fairy tales all have happy cooperative endings. (Super Why)
8 plus 12 divided by 2 equals 10. (Crashbox)
If you are lost in the woods, follow a frog. (Wow Wow Wubbzy)
Nature and animals are all friendly. (nearly all of them)
No-one can do anything alone. (WonderPets)
The use-mention distinction is irrelevant. (Word World)
Unaccompanied monkeys can accomplish a lot. (Curious George)
Corollary: Adults don't know much.
You can influence what happens on the TV. (Most Nick JR programming)
Cockoos have family ties. (Go Diego Go)
Pigs are a lot like people. (Olivia, Peppa Pig, Toot and Puddle)
Gorillas have kings, lines of inheritance, and coronations. (Go Diego Go)
A map doesn't need to indicate direction, forks in the road, or distance. (Dora the Explorer)
Dogs, cats, and other common pets don't talk; other animals do. (Most)
The wind will change direction 180 degrees when your boat reaches the other end of the pond. (Little Bill)
Rivers may be found next to gorges. (Go Diego Go)
Fairy tales all have happy cooperative endings. (Super Why)
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The State of Mathematics Education in the USA
I have the National Geographic channel on for the nifty astronomy and am thinking deep thoughts about humans' ability to consider powers of ten.
You see, the show is one of those terror-producing explorations of the impending doom of the Earth when the sun goes into its red-giant phase. It'll happen, and "sooner than we thought!" There is much emphasis on how one solution, pulling the Earth into a wider orbit, would take six thousand years to take effect and had to be accurate to within a billionth of a degree of arc. We could colonize Mars. We could travel to other suns.
Of course, when they do admit to a timeline, the events in question will occur in five billion years. That's billion, with a B. To astronomers, this is perhaps imminent. To geologists, that's the age of the Earth's crust. To biologists, this is 2 1/2 times as long as there's been identifiable life on earth of any kind whatsoever. The dinosaurs died out about 65 million years ago -- approximately 1/100 the scale of time we're talking about here.
I may not be able to say a lot about what life, if any, will be on the Earth when the sun expands, but I can say one thing for sure: the pronoun "us" is probably not going to have a lot to do with it. DNA just isn't that stable a molecule.
Likewise, I have to grin a little at the Congressional attempts to balance the budget of the USA. Trillion-dollar deficit, addressed with a proposed $61 billion in budget cuts. Most of these are on the order of scrapping the money for the Museum of Cowboy Poetry, a few thousands, which is almost certainly all wages for the employees. This is akin to breaking your kids' piggy banks to pay off your mortgage, and will be about as appreciated by the owners of the piggy banks. Seriously -- that's $61 billion in money that's employing people. By my math, at $50K per person, that's another 1.2 million unemployed people. Isn't that just exactly what our economy needs right now? Lately, we're happy if the economy gains that many new jobs in six months. There's gotta be another way.
You see, the show is one of those terror-producing explorations of the impending doom of the Earth when the sun goes into its red-giant phase. It'll happen, and "sooner than we thought!" There is much emphasis on how one solution, pulling the Earth into a wider orbit, would take six thousand years to take effect and had to be accurate to within a billionth of a degree of arc. We could colonize Mars. We could travel to other suns.
Of course, when they do admit to a timeline, the events in question will occur in five billion years. That's billion, with a B. To astronomers, this is perhaps imminent. To geologists, that's the age of the Earth's crust. To biologists, this is 2 1/2 times as long as there's been identifiable life on earth of any kind whatsoever. The dinosaurs died out about 65 million years ago -- approximately 1/100 the scale of time we're talking about here.
I may not be able to say a lot about what life, if any, will be on the Earth when the sun expands, but I can say one thing for sure: the pronoun "us" is probably not going to have a lot to do with it. DNA just isn't that stable a molecule.
Likewise, I have to grin a little at the Congressional attempts to balance the budget of the USA. Trillion-dollar deficit, addressed with a proposed $61 billion in budget cuts. Most of these are on the order of scrapping the money for the Museum of Cowboy Poetry, a few thousands, which is almost certainly all wages for the employees. This is akin to breaking your kids' piggy banks to pay off your mortgage, and will be about as appreciated by the owners of the piggy banks. Seriously -- that's $61 billion in money that's employing people. By my math, at $50K per person, that's another 1.2 million unemployed people. Isn't that just exactly what our economy needs right now? Lately, we're happy if the economy gains that many new jobs in six months. There's gotta be another way.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Local Wildlife, Atlanta Suburbs
The little tyke is asleep at last, and I'm trying to get some writing done. Blogging sometimes gets the ideas flowing.
It's hard to switch gears to fantasy worlds from the grim gritty reality of trying to get the little one to eat ANYTHING other than fruit. Also from the grim gritty reality of grim gritty reality, where it's a fine and wonderful thing that the child is fond of the Swiffer and not so wonderful that he's scared by the vacuum cleaner. The dust wolves were getting scary, though, so he had to put up with at least some of the roar and whoosh this morning.
Speaking of dust wolves, we had a peculiar canid running around our neighborhood last week. We heard something that sounded like a dog in dire trouble in the wooded lot next door, and the creature ran away when my husband went out to check on it. A night or two later, I caught something sable-ish, pointy-eared, and long-tailed in my headlights near the elementary school a block away. I pulled into the lot to do the whistle-and-coax routine, got a better look, and instead said out my window, "You're not a dog, are you?"
Cheeky coyote looked back at me, not at my headlights, and said pretty plainly, "Nope."
"You don't need any help, do you?"
"Not a bit," said coyote, standing calmly at the edge of another wooded lot.
"All right then," I said, and turned the car around as the critter vanished into the woods.
It looked like a young one, and after one more yap-fest I haven't heard it around again, so it may have been passing through on a quest for territory, or it may have been shot. Sad to say, this suburban neighborhood has a fair amount of shooting going on now and again, and when our roof was checked recently for damage, a bullet turned out to by lying atop our den. That's the sort of thing that puts my sympathies with the coyote. Mowgli is never out alone, of course, and generally has an honor guard of dogs who weigh probably from five to forty-five pounds more than any coyote, never mind that young one. I doubt Master Coyote takes passes through our yard if he can go around, in fact.
Still, he's something to consider if we decide to get a few hens!
It's hard to switch gears to fantasy worlds from the grim gritty reality of trying to get the little one to eat ANYTHING other than fruit. Also from the grim gritty reality of grim gritty reality, where it's a fine and wonderful thing that the child is fond of the Swiffer and not so wonderful that he's scared by the vacuum cleaner. The dust wolves were getting scary, though, so he had to put up with at least some of the roar and whoosh this morning.
Speaking of dust wolves, we had a peculiar canid running around our neighborhood last week. We heard something that sounded like a dog in dire trouble in the wooded lot next door, and the creature ran away when my husband went out to check on it. A night or two later, I caught something sable-ish, pointy-eared, and long-tailed in my headlights near the elementary school a block away. I pulled into the lot to do the whistle-and-coax routine, got a better look, and instead said out my window, "You're not a dog, are you?"
Cheeky coyote looked back at me, not at my headlights, and said pretty plainly, "Nope."
"You don't need any help, do you?"
"Not a bit," said coyote, standing calmly at the edge of another wooded lot.
"All right then," I said, and turned the car around as the critter vanished into the woods.
It looked like a young one, and after one more yap-fest I haven't heard it around again, so it may have been passing through on a quest for territory, or it may have been shot. Sad to say, this suburban neighborhood has a fair amount of shooting going on now and again, and when our roof was checked recently for damage, a bullet turned out to by lying atop our den. That's the sort of thing that puts my sympathies with the coyote. Mowgli is never out alone, of course, and generally has an honor guard of dogs who weigh probably from five to forty-five pounds more than any coyote, never mind that young one. I doubt Master Coyote takes passes through our yard if he can go around, in fact.
Still, he's something to consider if we decide to get a few hens!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wow, it's been a while
Mowgli has reached the age of grabbing the computer keyboard whenever I turn on the screen. This has, obviously, made typing more than a little difficult. Today he is taking an unusually long nap, allowing a certain amount of typing to happen. Despite the impediments, I have a new story out at Enchanted Conversation and have a couple more that need to be edited and sent around. Half-Sick of Shadows could do with more sales. Seriously. Also, it could do with reviews at Goodreads and other pats on the head.
However, that doesn't mean I'm not enjoying the little one, even if he is stealing all my writing materials (he loves pens) and hanging onto my leg. He's a clever, inquisitive, and bold little creature, which means we both learn a lot as he trots around the house, yard, or library. We've made it to a few of the nursery-rhyme events at the public library, and he enjoys exploring places like malls and grocery stores. I have begun to use his baby-leash, which looks like a monkey backpack with a really long tail. It's been quite handy for keeping him nearby while I pay for his new hat and mittens.
Perhaps a few words about Half-Sick of Shadows are in order. Once upon a time it was part of a fanfiction saga. The saga itself turned inside out and upside down in my head (I was taking a prescription dose of codeine cough syrup at the time, though I'm not sure how responsible that was) and landed in its own dark little magical alternate universe. The current work is part of that set, the part I could get together the most readily. Somewhere, someone claimed that one of the basic plots begins "Someone goes on a journey," and this is one of those stories. During the Blitz, little Elena's parents stuff her onto a train and send her to her aunt in Wales. Dreamer that she is, she dreams herself into a romance much too young, and returns to the town when she is old enough to act on that romance -- never mind that Johnny Howell was recalcitrant material at best. He never intended to fall for a witch, for a start.
The rest of the set is concerned with their son, Ichabod, and with other members of the family tree. The one most likely to be published next is Carried by the Tides, which takes place around the time of the First World War and Russian Revolution. It begins with the mirror of the above plot-seed: "A stranger comes to town." Ichabod's tale is still working itself out, as it is a complex thing about a complex person, but is looking to begin with an amnesia.
I also have a poem, of all things, out in print. I'm on page 109 of Through The Keyhole, which is published to benefit the charity Room to Read. Room to Read builds libraries and schools, supports local-language authors, and promotes secondary education for girls in areas that traditionally favor educating boys. MNFF promotes the idea that fanfiction can be a tool for learning to craft a well-written story. You might say I'm a fan.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Obliviously Obvious: the Blurb
Copied book blurb:
Where you ever in Quebec ? Were you ever responsible for a yard sale, for a bake sale or for the resale of overly ambitious hedgehogs? Even if not, join the celebration taking place in Oblivious to the Obvious: Wishfully Mindful Parenting of junk mail-fashioned sculptures, of hungry, angry, riotous quolls and of shiny, acrylic pantsuits. As you turn this book’s pages, you are invited to sigh, to pout and to otherwise chortle in unison with KJ Hannah Greenberg as she tells tales about raising modern children.
In Oblivious to the Obvious, the joys of nay saying gothic nail polish and the horrors of encountering roosting lizards are explicated. Children who argue over their portion of motel rooms, siblings who fight over car seats and youngsters who go into battle over whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher all are included.
In this book, family life is not merely one mom’s experience of shouting down the hall to demand that the kids lessen the decibels issuing from their stereos, Ipods, and stringed, electric instruments nor is it merely one mom’s exploration of teenagers’ uncanny fashion sense, of nursing toddlers’ surprising schedules or of elementary school children’s notions about how to construct good sandwiches (marshmallow fluff coupled with pickles chips ranks fairly high on such lists). Rather, Oblivious to the Obvious is also concerned with nodding at broken heaters, at flooding toilets and at scores of uninvited visitors, both human and multi-legged in nature.
Sit back and laugh as Hannah chooses, daily, between five minutes of sleep and hot water for her shower, as her furballs succeed in reigning supreme, except for when they knock over her antiques, and as her family’s craft materials breed faster than do most of her dust bunnies. Smile, too when Hannah’s children discover that there’s no more ketchup in her entire house or when they realize that the singular piece of athletic gear brother needs for a sporting event has already been absconded with by sister for a drama presentation.
It’s not remarkable to be possessed of a husband, of a bevy of children, of a home, and of a job. Sadly, however, it’s becoming increasingly rare to be able to beam about such assemblages. Oblivious to the Obvious: Wishfully Mindful Parenting can bring that solace back, can help you work your smile muscles and can aid you in stretching what’s left of your sanity.
Join Hannah in frenetic her romp through exhausted printer ribbons, busted vacuum cleaners, and tuckered out grandparents. Find your inner oven mitt, retrace your report card traumas, and laugh, just a little, over lice, brown rice, and the nice things most of us tend to say about smelly, sticky babies.
Oblivious to the Obvious will not get your kids to bed on time, will not remind your husband to leave you love notes, and will not cause your employer to give you a raise or to stop asking you to make coffee. Oblivious to the Obvious will, however, help you express amusement at such small things.
Oblivious to the Obvious: Wishfully Mindful Parenting is available now! Please visit Oblivious to the Obvious: Wishfully Mindful Parenting! for excerpts or go directly to Amazon to order.
Where you ever in Quebec ? Were you ever responsible for a yard sale, for a bake sale or for the resale of overly ambitious hedgehogs? Even if not, join the celebration taking place in Oblivious to the Obvious: Wishfully Mindful Parenting of junk mail-fashioned sculptures, of hungry, angry, riotous quolls and of shiny, acrylic pantsuits. As you turn this book’s pages, you are invited to sigh, to pout and to otherwise chortle in unison with KJ Hannah Greenberg as she tells tales about raising modern children.
In Oblivious to the Obvious, the joys of nay saying gothic nail polish and the horrors of encountering roosting lizards are explicated. Children who argue over their portion of motel rooms, siblings who fight over car seats and youngsters who go into battle over whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher all are included.
In this book, family life is not merely one mom’s experience of shouting down the hall to demand that the kids lessen the decibels issuing from their stereos, Ipods, and stringed, electric instruments nor is it merely one mom’s exploration of teenagers’ uncanny fashion sense, of nursing toddlers’ surprising schedules or of elementary school children’s notions about how to construct good sandwiches (marshmallow fluff coupled with pickles chips ranks fairly high on such lists). Rather, Oblivious to the Obvious is also concerned with nodding at broken heaters, at flooding toilets and at scores of uninvited visitors, both human and multi-legged in nature.
Sit back and laugh as Hannah chooses, daily, between five minutes of sleep and hot water for her shower, as her furballs succeed in reigning supreme, except for when they knock over her antiques, and as her family’s craft materials breed faster than do most of her dust bunnies. Smile, too when Hannah’s children discover that there’s no more ketchup in her entire house or when they realize that the singular piece of athletic gear brother needs for a sporting event has already been absconded with by sister for a drama presentation.
It’s not remarkable to be possessed of a husband, of a bevy of children, of a home, and of a job. Sadly, however, it’s becoming increasingly rare to be able to beam about such assemblages. Oblivious to the Obvious: Wishfully Mindful Parenting can bring that solace back, can help you work your smile muscles and can aid you in stretching what’s left of your sanity.
Join Hannah in frenetic her romp through exhausted printer ribbons, busted vacuum cleaners, and tuckered out grandparents. Find your inner oven mitt, retrace your report card traumas, and laugh, just a little, over lice, brown rice, and the nice things most of us tend to say about smelly, sticky babies.
Oblivious to the Obvious will not get your kids to bed on time, will not remind your husband to leave you love notes, and will not cause your employer to give you a raise or to stop asking you to make coffee. Oblivious to the Obvious will, however, help you express amusement at such small things.
Oblivious to the Obvious: Wishfully Mindful Parenting is available now! Please visit Oblivious to the Obvious: Wishfully Mindful Parenting! for excerpts or go directly to Amazon to order.
Monday, June 28, 2010
A House Divided
I'm trying to complete rewrites on my Science In My Fiction entry. I am also trying to keep little Mowgli under some control or at least observation. He's determined to crawl after the dogs, the cat, and any fancy that strikes him. I'm determined to produce a good story.
The story, however, is nearly as recalcitrant as the baby. Half of it is now in past tense, half in present, with switches in mid-paragraph. Since new sentences tend to be in present, I'm trying out the whole story that way; if it stinks, I'll try all-past. Plotwise, it's almost where I want it but I can't seem to see what it needs when the file is open, only when it is closed -- and then when I look for where to put the new bits, there's no such place.
The story is also supposed to have links to new scientific events which have inspired it. There are plenty of those, as I am something of a science nerd, but the roots go deeper than that. When I was eight, I was torn between becoming a veterinarian or a meteorologist (yes, always something of a science nerd). Or, of course, maybe a writer. This story has some of both of those, back when I was blissfully unaware of all the dreadful things vets sometimes have to do, back when climate change was a rumor instead of something every yahoo what's had a drop of rain fall on his head has an opinion about. At least when someone ventures an opinion on some story of mine, I can be confident they've probably read some other ones by other people as well.
Maybe that's why this story is turning out to be difficult. It requires research, but most of my stories either require it or come from it spontaneously. It's in a new voice, but what fun is a story in the same old one? But it also comes more from my own past and present than most, and is at the same time about the end of the world. This is a most uncomfortable literary apocalypse, then.
But enough grumbling. I must go recover the baby from the next room before he does something dreadful.
The story, however, is nearly as recalcitrant as the baby. Half of it is now in past tense, half in present, with switches in mid-paragraph. Since new sentences tend to be in present, I'm trying out the whole story that way; if it stinks, I'll try all-past. Plotwise, it's almost where I want it but I can't seem to see what it needs when the file is open, only when it is closed -- and then when I look for where to put the new bits, there's no such place.
The story is also supposed to have links to new scientific events which have inspired it. There are plenty of those, as I am something of a science nerd, but the roots go deeper than that. When I was eight, I was torn between becoming a veterinarian or a meteorologist (yes, always something of a science nerd). Or, of course, maybe a writer. This story has some of both of those, back when I was blissfully unaware of all the dreadful things vets sometimes have to do, back when climate change was a rumor instead of something every yahoo what's had a drop of rain fall on his head has an opinion about. At least when someone ventures an opinion on some story of mine, I can be confident they've probably read some other ones by other people as well.
Maybe that's why this story is turning out to be difficult. It requires research, but most of my stories either require it or come from it spontaneously. It's in a new voice, but what fun is a story in the same old one? But it also comes more from my own past and present than most, and is at the same time about the end of the world. This is a most uncomfortable literary apocalypse, then.
But enough grumbling. I must go recover the baby from the next room before he does something dreadful.
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