A Barefoot Boy
By James Whitcomb Riley
A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play—
For May is here once more, and so is he,—
His dusty trousers, rolled half to the knee,
And his bare ankles grimy, too, as they:
Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in array
Of feverish stripes, hint vividly to me
Of woody pathways winding endlessly
Along the creek, where even yesterday
He plunged his shrinking body—gasped and shook—
Yet called the water ‘warm,’ with never lack
Of joy. And so, half enviously I look
Upon this graceless barefoot and his track,—
His toe stubbed—ay, his big toe-nail knocked back
Like unto the clasp of an old pocketbook.
Any kid knows that defending a fort without reinforcements is just asking for an ambush. Be prepared (and foster your child’s love for double-sided tape) with a Readymech—paradoxically adorable—monster army!
‘Readymechs are free, flatpack toys for you to print and build. They are designed to fit on an 8.5″x11″ page and printed with any printer. You’ll need double-sided tape, thick matte paper, and 10-15 minutes for build time.’
Readymech
And if these troops should succumb to a family cat or large glass of water, Paper Robots are there to pick up the slack. Nothing beats Optimus Prime*. Nothing.
(Thanks, Lifehacker!)
* Yes, this paper Optimus Prime actually turns into a truck!
Yesterday, Ian said the sweetest and most wonderful two syllables a proud father can ever hope to hear: ‘Gandalf.’
He also said, ‘Bilbo Bagaggins,’ but what more do you want from a three-year-old?
What do you do when you cancel satellite TV after realizing you’re paying $55 per month to watch Dirty Jobs and Scrubs? You build a sandcastle with your son.
(You also spend the weekend trying to install a rooftop antenna. Does anyone know when Mars aligns with Pluto Neptune? PBS is a little fuzzy.)
The St. Louis Art Museum reserves one wall in its Modern Art gallery for local artists. I’m no Annie Leibovitz, but I’m certainly flattered by the honor.
(Thanks, Photojojo!)
Waterwings
By Cathy Song
The mornings are his,
blue and white
like the tablecloth at breakfast.
He’s happy in the house,
a sweep of the spoon
brings the birds under his chair.
He sings and the dishes disappear.
Or holding a crayon like a candle,
he draws a circle.
It is his hundredth dragonfly.
Calling for more paper,
this one is red-winged
and like the others,
he wills it to fly, simply
by the unformed curve of his signature.
Waterwings he calls them,
the floats I strap to his arms.
I wear an apron of concern,
sweep the morning of birds.
To the water he returns,
plunging where it’s cold,
moving and squealing into sunlight.
The water from here seems flecked with gold.
I watch the circles
his small body makes
fan and ripple,
disperse like an echo
into the sum of water, light and air.
His imprint on the water
has but a brief lifespan,
the flicker of a dragonfly’s delicate wing.
This is sadness, I tell myself,
the morning he chooses to leave his wings behind,
because he will not remember
that he and beauty were aligned,
skimming across the water, nearly airborne,
on his first solo flight.
I’ll write ‘how he could not
contain his delight.’
At the other end,
in another time frame,
he waits for me—
having already outdistanced this body,
the one that slipped from me like a fish,
floating, free of itself.
Last fall, Daily Cup of Tech unveiled a small application for a USB drive to help recover the drive if it’s ever lost. When the drive is plugged in, the ‘Help! I’m Lost!’ application appears with the contact information of the owner, and a plea for the drive to be returned.
DCoT reader (and parent) Erik wondered if Lost Drive could work for a USB drive, why not something larger…like his children?
‘…My family, which includes two VERY energetic boys, five and three, went to Disneyland for a little get-a-way. Before we went I told my wife about the ‘I’m Lost’ program that one can install on a jump drive.
We decided to buy three 32Mb drives, which are a dime a dozen nowadays, one for each boy and one for us with the same program and ’secret phrase’ on it. We also included our cellphone numbers. Two lanyards with dangling USB drives that had a ‘I’m Lost’ label adhered to them and tucked into their shirts later, we had two boys that if got lost would be found and be reunited with us quickly.
We told the boys to cry for mom or dad if they wander off or got lost and then give the USB drive to the person that found them.’
Guess what? One boy became lost. Know what else? Disneyland security plugged the drive into their computer, and called his parents. He was lost for 13 minutes.
Good. Idea. Right now, Office Depot has a 512MB drive for $8.
(Thanks, Lifehacker!)
[On Tuesday mornings, Kelly's dad takes Ian to school on his way to work. Sometimes they do more.]
Dear Daddy, Mommy and Grammie,
Thanks for letting us have a very special Tuesday morning. We went to Starbucks. We parked near the funny man on the horse. Then we walked across the street to Starbucks. It was a little scary, but it’s OK. Ian had a hot chocolate, but it wasn’t too hot—just warm. Grandpa had a little coffee in a tiny cup. But he said it gives him lots of energy. Ian said his hot chocolate gives him more energy, and makes him strong…but it’s not too hot—just warm. When Grandpa was finished with his coffee and had lots of energy and his cup was empty, he poured Ian’s hot chocolate—not hot, just warm—into the cute little cup. Ian drank the rest of his hot chocolate—but it wasn’t too hot—from the little cup. It was great! We like Starbucks!
Then we said ‘thank you’ to the nice people at Starbucks—we like them—and walked to school. We ran across the street. It was a little scary, but it’s OK. Grandpa said we would walk to the back door next time, because the cars went very fast; and they were close to us on the sidewalk. But it’s OK. Then we went in the front door and down the stairs to Ian’s classroom. First we went tinkle, then we hugged and said ‘good-bye.’ We want to go to Starbucks before school on another Tuesday.
How was your day?!
Love, Grandpa and Ian
‘Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Octopus. He lived in juice. And then there was a cheese bar. And then a sandwich. And then a drink. Another and another and another. The end.’
Ian, Age 3
Wednesday night is catechism for Ian. It’s a class for three- and four-year-olds, which means a lot of paper, glue, permanent markers, and songs with hand gestures.
Last week there was a girl I hadn’t seen before, who was crying and didn’t want to be left. Her mother moved aside to let Ian and me pass as she tried to console her daughter.
Ian’s really good at making nice with other kids, so I stopped. ‘Excuse me,’ I said to the girl. ‘Could you do me a favor?’ She stopped crying, sniffled, and looked at her shoes. ‘This is my son, Ian. He likes to talk. A lot.’ I patted his head. She looked at Ian’s shoes.
‘Could you please let me know if he talks your ear off?’ She frowned. ‘You have to be careful, ’cause he’ll just keep talking and talking and talking and talking and talking and never stop.’ I rolled my eyes and made talking motions with my hand.
Ian grinned, and took it from there. ‘Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah!’ He made talking motions with both hands, shook his head, and waggled his tongue back and forth. She smiled.
I. Love. This. Kid.
