Stroke(s) of Genius?

Olivia may paint with broad brush strokes, but she’s no generalist—she told me exactly who or what she’d painted after she submitted her artwork to me. I present to you “Buddies in the Schoolyard,” her most recent exhibit.

Elmo

G

Max

Olivia

Co-op d'État

Petoskey stone

We stormed the lakeshore town of Petoskey, Michigan in search of its name-sharing fossilized stones and beachfront trails, but stumbled instead upon its charming downtown district, complete with a divine nature foods co-op. We eagerly look forward to, as Olivia did her deli food after we checked out, a return visit when we’re back in the area in July.

Kiss-and-Tell

(Could have also gone with “Talking Smack” for the title.)

Mom and daughter share a smooch while vacationing in Michigan.

The Sound of One Ham Napping

Sometimes the sweetest sound is no sound at all: our overly dramatic and obstreperous one makes certain that our ears never atrophy while she’s awake, which makes us appreciate these muted moments all the more.

Clair de Loony

Olivia tells us that she already knows how to play the piano and therefore doesn’t have to bother with those pesky lessons. Her aplomb and abilities were on full display while tickling the ivories at Grandma Randi’s.

Grandma Time = Grand Time

We visited my mom over the weekend before turning our attention farther northward to see some of Beni’s relatives. Olivia and Grandma Randi were up to their usual fun: reading “millions” (O’s favorite quantity) of books, noshing on ice cream, and entertaining one another at dinner.

Agony of the Feet

Beni had to help out Olivia with her footwear at the playground after a woodchip got lodged in her shoe and scraped off some of the skin by her ankle. Our child reacted as she normally does when she sustains any sort of injury—by screaming her head off in pain as if the injured part of her body has been amputated. Without anesthesia.

Bathing Beauties

We didn’t throw out the baby with the bath water, but Olivia did throw out the idea of bathing with the baby in the bath water: we were over at Jeff and Katie’s house for dinner when our daughter asked if she could join their daughter in the water.

Snack in the Grass

Back in the fall, we were determined to find a place where Olivia could freely explore the ways her personality operates within a school’s social and educational structures. We were mindful about finding a preschool that wouldn’t squash our daughter’s spirit, but when her first one did just that, we switched her to a nearby church’s school where she’d eventually be awashed in the Holy Spirit. As I’ve mentioned before, Beni and I, as religiously ambivalent souls, hadn’t really considered parochial options for our child, but through chance or divine inspiration, Olivia’s ended up here, and we’re mighty thankful for that.

Along the way, we’ve had some moments of mirth and merriment that have occurred from what could be called inseparations of church and estate, such as when she insisted over dinner in our kitchen that Jesus was a girl. Or when she closed the door to her room (something she never does) to pray for all the things in the world—she started with the things in the room (underwear, books, toys) before moving on to big-ticket items (Mommy & Daddy, Max, family, friends, candy). Or when she pointed to the sky while we were playing in the backyard to ask how Dr. King got up to heaven.

Olivia’s preschool commemorated the last day of a fruitful school year by playing host to a lunch on its front lawn—a garden of eatin’, if you will—where we got full on fruit and other picnicky fare.

The Cow Says Mood

As we approach her fourth birthday, we like to reflect on how much Olivia’s changed in such a short time. But in looking back, we also see that there are some remarkable consistencies, most notably her mercurial temperament. (See, for example, this post from two and a half years ago.)

Given her capricious nature, it’s nice when she gives us a sign, as she literally did this morning, as to how she’s feeling.

Ceremony of Masters

Liz earned her Master’s in School and Community Counseling today, giving Olivia a second occasion in as many weeks to don the ol’ mortarboard and tassel. Other celebrants included Liz and Beni’s dad, their mom, Grandma Moose, Beni, and me.

Olivia: "Liz, your future is rosy!"

The Mom Squad

Olivia’s mother, her mother’s mother, and her mother’s mother’s mother celebrated Mother's Day with one another.

To Air Is Human

Noah, Olivia’s friend who lives near the big city, celebrated his birthday at an indoor play area that was filled with air-filled play stations (think the next generation of the moonbounce standard at those creepy traveling carnivals). There were obstacle courses, slides, and most strangely, a pugilist ring, where young children are encouraged to don protective headgear and gloves so that they can “safely” pummel each other with a giant stick while balancing on a small, elevated platform.

Man-About-Gown

Four years ago, I commenced a Master’s in English program; this evening, I participated in the commencement ceremony. I’m so relieved to have made it to this both literal and figurative stage. Graduate school had really become gradual school by the end. Furthermore, I was so convinced that I’d not passed my comprehensive exams that I’d let pass the deadline for ordering graduation garb. And so ensuring that the cap and gown would arrive in time for the ceremony was as nerve-racking as waiting for my exam results. (For the record, I took possession of the regalia at 4:01 p.m.—I had to meet the UPS driver at a local bank—giving me a comfortable two hours to straighten up before the ceremony.)

Mad props for her glad/grad pops

Fowl Mood

Today was to be a festive occasion at preschool: moms were invited to stop in shortly after the kids ate their lunch for a muffins and musical medley. Beni reported that the baked goods were tasty and the songs were lovely, but also that our daughter was disconsolate on the way home.

Olivia explained that a couple of her so-called friends continued on with their manipulative charade of “you are/aren’t my friend today.” Based on her dispirited disposition, she must not have passed muster on this day. And to add insult to injury, she told us that the lunch staff had forgotten that she was a vegetarian and served her a chicken quesadilla. She thought it was made with soy chicken—we often pack her a lunch of veggie “meats”—but realized it wasn’t when it tasted “yucky.”

False Idol

Jason Castro, the dreadful dreads-full one, was finally given the boot from American Idol last night, not entirely unsurprising given his uninspiring versions of classics by the Bobs—Marley and Dylan. Having missed the results show, we turned to the computer for answers, and got this pithy insight from our daughter in the process:

“Jason’s on the computer now because he forgot the lyrics to that one song.”

National Dialogue on Race

Slight amendment here: I meant “National Dialogue on a Race”—the human race—or rather, a race involving humans. I’ll leave the heavy stuff for Barack Obama.

Today marked the four-point-something-mile race by the pond we call a lake just north of town. Beni’s been diligently training for the race with a running group for weeks now; I’ve been there for moral support and to serve as a training partner on occasion. Running together on race day, we weathered high winds and occasional sprinkles to finish at a pace that was faster than Beni had been registering throughout her training sessions.

I wasn’t sure if my post-race chest aches were from my lungs having to work harder than usual or from my heart bursting forth with pride for Beni—you must know that my wife is someone whose only other race experience was from when she was in elementary school, and who on the first day of her training likened running to death.

Child’s Play-Doh

Olivia presented her mother with an early—and in the words of Simon Cowell, “utterly bizarre”—birthday cake made of Play-Doh to go with the side of wooden toast.