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Archive for the ‘Inspired By Teacher Demos’ Category

Is it just boys that tend to gravitate toward butt and fart jokes? Or do little girls do this too? Or is it not a gender thing at all but a product of their environment? And if that is the case, what does that say about me as a mom?

My son recently learned the word buttocks from his grandpa, my father. Now he can creatively incorporate this word into any conversation. “Want to see my buttocks?” “It landed on his buttocks” or whatever the case may be. Sometimes he even has motions with these statements, bending over and sticking out his buttocks, just in case you weren’t sure what it was that he was speaking about.

Of course if the word does not cease to be said, I officially declare if I hear that word again it will result in a time out. That is when the creativity really kicks in. Instead of saying the word in its entirety he just says the ‘b-uh’ sound, then pauses just long enough for me to forget he was communicating anything, and then finishes the ‘tocks’, usually as I am in the midst of doing something else. That way I am too preoccupied to even notice that he really did say the word, just in two separate chunks. Once it dawns on me that he did in fact say this banned word, part of me wants to punish him as I had previously stated, but a bigger part of me is pretty dang proud of his creativity. So I let it go.

I know, I know, I am not going to be nominated for Parent of the Year. That is okay with me. For now, I am going to revel in these crazy little moments of my son trying to say buttocks inconspicuously. I am going turn and hide my smile of delight when he makes a valid point that counters my original argument or rule. It is just too brilliant to punish. Don’t worry, he doesn’t walk all over me and get away with everything. I just pick my battles.

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Trying to Find Relief on a Summer Morning

It was a hot and muggy morning. The house felt heavy.

The only sound was the repetitive ticking of the clock.

As I opened the front door, I was hit with a humid hand.

There was no comfort outside either.

I turned to go back inside, hoping to find a fan.

 

This was my replacement poem after hearing Kim’s enlightening teacher demo.  It was based off of this poem:

 

Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter by Robert Bly

It is a cold and snowy night.  The main street is deserted.

The only things moving are swirls of snow.

As I lift the mailbox door, I feel its cold iron.

There is a privacy I love in this snowy night.

Driving around, I will waste more time.

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