all together now

The aftermath of our Valentine-making party remains more or less untouched this morning. I doubt the children will do much more, but I have yet to make special cards for my family-- which is how I'm justifying the persistent, enormous mess of stickers, glitter pens, yarn, ribbon, and markers in the kitchen.

On Saturday we invited friends over to make cards with us, and it was very sweet. Ever practical, I tried to encourage my kids to work on Valentines for their classmates, but they - like everyone else - much preferred to make cards for the friends sitting right next to them. Almost five-year-old Darby helped me make a card for Mike (lots of glitter), Charlotte got down to making sweet Valentine books from paper grocery bags, and Mackenzie was an absolute wizard with the heart-shaped doilies. But my favorite moment by far was when Ava quietly walked around the table to give a valentine I'd been admiring to me, just at the moment that I finished a valentine I'd been quietly making for her. We just grinned at each other as we ceremoniously exchanged them. Kismet.

two kinds of worms

Earth and book, that is. On Tuesday Gabriel and I brought our lunches outside and sat quietly with sandwiches in hand, looking about at the still-wintry branches and ground that made a strange contrast with the brilliant, warm sunshine. I suppose this odd winter is supposed to enrage me, evidence of the havoc we have wreaked on our fragile planet. Sometimes it does; more often it unsettles. But when Gabriel looked down and yelped with delight at the sight of a skinny worm wriggling under a dead leaf, I only felt happy excitement: spring is coming. Real spring, with worms and buds and flowers. (Our seeds are certainly getting ready; even after last year's over-reach I can't help but think of more things to start indoors for the garden).

Gabriel gently picked up the worm, cooing and fussing over it, creating little dirt hovels for it to wriggle around in. Then he found another, fatter worm. A friend with whom skinny might share a mud pit! Or snuggle in the shade with, beneath a single crumbly leaf roof! (Does this kid need a dog or what?)

float your boat

Saturday was full of highs and lows, as any day spent together is likely to be. One of its finest moments was launching the pirate fleet in the bathtub.

Gabriel had been asking me if I would make him a paper boat for some time. I think he got the idea from this lovely book (where he and Frances learned the word regatta), but I wasn't sure how to go about it. I had just found this video and was fumbling along, trying to keep up with the fast folding pace, when in walked our friend Teb, a paper boat-making expert who set us straight. (He also reminded me that the instructions can be found in Curious George Rides a Bike, which are also here.)

words for spring

Yesterday it was 70 degrees in Annapolis. Gabriel kept asking if we could do some gardening. Why not? It sure felt a lot like spring: mud underfoot, warming sunshine, and a landscape dotted with confused green buds and shoots.

On the heels of this fun project, we decided to plant some more seeds to grow on the kitchen windowsill. I let him pick three kinds from our basket of last year's leftovers. Kale, lovage, and field peas. But how to know which is which? With labels, of course, which Gabriel painstakingly, proudly wrote out after each small group of seeds had been carefully covered with a thin blanket of dirt for a seedy siesta. (Oh my, that sounds like a nefarious way to nap, doesn't it?)

As his skills progress, words and letters are beginning to have more meaning for him. Consider it from his perspective: you can write these mysterious symbols in a certain order to create meaning, then cut them out, then tape the new word you made onto something, and it becomes really real.