It should not surprise me that my house is full of numbers. After all, consider the source...
Right now, the Eldest is happily counting to 200 by ones (a process long enough to wear down even the strongest feeling of maternal pride. SEV'NTY ONE! SEV'NTY TWO! SEVN'TY THREE! Sigh.) and to 100 by tens, a far kinder approach. I love this, partly because my feeling is that the more flexible he sees numbers to be, the more he realizes that they are made of bits and parts, like words, the more approachable they will be for him. Or so I fondly hope.
Meanwhile, however, the Toddles decided to join the fun. Naturally, we have numerical flashcards in the house (how not? I remind you to consider the source..), and the Toddles likes them. Today, however, he surprised me.
Toddles (holds up card): EYT!
card reads: 72
Me: oh, that's nice, sweetie.
Toddles (holds up card): NYNE!
card reads: 20
Me (lifting head sharply from coffee cup): Hunh?
Yes. Eight and nine. Does he understand the words? No. But he certainly has heard the progression often enough to be able to parrot them to me. Nor is this the first time. And in case I'd missed the point, the Man showed me dancing columns of numbers tonight, the product of a year's dreams and hopes for his bonus check, now pinned and slender on a page.
Clearly, numbers are now the Imperfect sub-dialect, and I invite you all to come and chat with the natives. But not me, thanks, I'm obviously a transplant into this environment...
Here's a different number: http://www.myfootprint.org/ I apparently require 11 acres. How many do you need to sustain your lifestyle?
I'm wondering if a sub-grouping should be made for families with young children. Certainly I found the urge to use disposable baggies, containers, paper towels shot right up when the boys arrived - not to mention diapers! That's a hefty ecological footprint right there.
It's funny, but part of me says that I should feel smug that I'm a rag-using, mostly cloth diapering, organic veg buying mama. Instead, I can hear my mother laughing. Yup, my mom, who early on suggested rags, cloth diapers and babywearing (aka wraps and mei tais), to my horror, not to mention doulas and homemade cleaners. She now sees me doing all of that plus the organic stuff (insofar as the horrified Keeper O the Budget will allow). Giggle away, Mum - you've earned this one.
I certainly didn't see it coming. So when things like this sneak up on you, do you get to be smug or quietly shocked by the person you've become?
Just do me a favor, folks, and on the day that I buy washable pads for myself or, heaven help us, a Diva cup, please sit me down and do a full neuro exam. 'Kay?
And some annoying news: Could Cookie Monster be renamed? I send you here for the news:
Veggies vs Cookies. Nah. Couldn't be.