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Myers-Briggs

May 14th, 2013 by

After my little chat with Mr. Sowder about Simon’s lack of assertiveness a few weeks ago, I got to thinking about Simon’s basic temperament and how different it is from most of his classmates. He’s always stood out—and apart—from many of his peers. That led me to see, on a whim, whether I could guess his Myers-Briggs type.

So is he introverted or extroverted? Introverted all the way. I should have known this when, at age 2, he’d come home from school and tell me that he “watched my friends play”. So there’s the I, like Matt. He’s also one who likes to deepen his knowledge in a given topic and who very much lives in his head–all hallmarks of the I type.

How does he perceive the world and gather information? Well, he’s a fact collector for sure. But he’s not and never has been hands-on. That’s why I backed off of the Montessori approach for him. Simon has an uncanny interest in the theoretical or possible. He likes to think about infinity and Googol-plexes and asks unanswerable “what if” questions. His response to “that’s not possible” is always “but if it did happen anyway?” And he’s always looking for connections; he tells me what countries clouds looks like and recently observed that “that barf [on the Big Four pedestrian bridge] is shaped like South America.” That would make him an N, like me and Matt.

What about decisions? Does Simon lead from the heart or the head.Well, he’s super emotional, super sensitive, and super tuned into to others. But he’s a rule follower and quite logical. And if it comes down to it, he’ll go with what facts, logic, and rules tell him ought to be the case, even if he later struggles with that choice. So he’s an on-the-fence T, like Matt.

That brings me to the last piece. Is Simon someone who likes things settled? Is he organized and possessed of follow-through, like a J? Or is he the type to have many starts and few finishes, happy to leave options open and have things be unsettled. Hahaahahahha. Like his mother, he is all J. He might ask me an unanswerable question about negative infinity or where he’ll live when he grows up, but the boy wants a solid answer. And he always wants to finish what he started, even if he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

So I put this all together: INTJ. And looked it up. And do you know what they call this personality type?

“The Scientist”

I’m not making that up! Another site termed it “The Mastermind” and illustrated it with a chess board. Whatever you want to call it, it’s a rare personality type that is found in people ranging from Newton to C.S. Lewis, to Paul Krugman. Given Simon’s natural love for math and science, his interest in chess, and the way he’s always looking to space a soccer field, I think I got it. And given its rarity, I think I get why so many don’t fully “get” him.

p.s. To extend the laugh, Matt’s type comes up as “The Engineer” and mine as “The Mentor”.

 

 

Posted in Jessica, Kindergartener | 3 Comments »

Free Cookies

May 7th, 2013 by

Ever been shopping and found yourself suddenly overtaken with a strong desire for chocolate-chip cookies? Here’s how to get some for free, without waiting in line or—for that matter—without even having to ask. Take your 6-year-old shopping for his best friend’s birthday present. It’s really that easy.

Here’s the scoop. The Lovely Caroline (TM) had her family birthday party the Sunday after Derby, and her parents were kind enough to invite Simon over, too. Caroline has lots of school friends at her school, as does Simon at his, and I suspect she’s got friends from her extra-curricular activities the same way Simon does. But as we approach the year mark of their departure from KIP, their friendship is stronger than ever.

Their interests are wildly divergent, but their hearts and temperaments are remarkably alike. Simon will draw mermaids with her, and Caroline will play basketball (with a dancing flourish) with him. So long as they are together, it’s all good. Their friendship bypassed cute a while ago; it’s truly a thing of beauty now.

Anyway, Caroline had “frog ring” on her birthday wish-list. I had no idea how to find a ring for a girl her age, but I figured frog jewelry shouldn’t be so hard. So on Oaks Day, for which school was cancelled, Simon and I went shopping. We failed to find a cute frog charm at a department store and jewelry store, but hit pay-dirt at Brighton, a jewelry and accessory shop.

While Simon and I deliberated over a plain silver frog and an enameled “C” charm with a butterfly on it, a clerk came over. I explained that I was looking for a girl-appealing frog charm, and she led me to a bright green princess frog complete with crown, pink gloves, and a bejeweled belly. It was perfect. But I wasn’t sure what length chain to get with it, and told Simon I needed to use him as my size model.

He turned puce.

“Relax, honey,” I assured him. “No one is going to look at you funny or laugh at you for shopping for a friend. Everyone here knows this isn’t for you, and I promise you that it’s super cool to shop for a girl like this.”

This got the original clerk’s attention.

“Oh, is this for your friend? Who is she?”

“Her name is Caroline, and she’s like my best friend probably. She loves swimming and tennis and math, and she almost loves soccer. [She doesn’t at all, but a boy can hope.] Oh! And she can draw really well and can even write cursive. She also really loves butterflies and fairies and stuff.”

As he spoke, he smiled broadly, which means the dimples came out. So there was my very cute 6-year-old son with a frog necklace around his neck waxing poetic about his best friend, the girl the necklace was for. At this point, I’m hearing things like “Look at those dimples!” and “Oh my gosh, does he have a girlfriend?” and “So cuuuute!” coming from two other clerks behind the store counter.

Then one disappeared briefly, returning with a plate of chocolate-chip cookies moments later.

“Here honey. Would you like a cookie for being such a good shopper?”

Would he? Of course he would! I grabbed one, too, and relished the fact that these three strangers clearly thought my son’s regard for his best friend was a thing of beauty, too.

Posted in Jessica, Kindergartener, Simon says... | 1 Comment »

Role Model

May 3rd, 2013 by

I’ve previously alluded to Mr. Sowder asking me to class to discuss Simon’s assertiveness. Or, rather, his lack thereof. When another boy in class or on the playground gets too rough with Simon, he dutifully says exactly what the school counselor taught him to say:

“No. Stop. I don’t like it when you do that.”

His voice is not raised, and his tone remains polite.* And the other boy? Well, he does nothing of course! It’s like he doesn’t even hear Simon. Meanwhile, Simon grows increasingly perplexed because he doesn’t understand why he’s being pushed/sat on/yanked on in the first place and really doesn’t understand why his friends don’t listen when asked politely. He wouldn’t do any of these things. He’d listen to his friends. Of course, he’d rather play a real game like soccer or basketball than some chaotic chasing game in the first place, which is part of the problem.**

It doesn’t pay to be old for you age at recess.

Sowder suggested we act out some scenarios to help Simon, read some good books on the topic, and possibly even put Simon in a more contact-oriented sport or the martial arts. I don’t have much interest in the third, but the first two ideas are solid. So we talked about how to assert oneself without breaking the rules, and we acted out some common scenarios. Simon understood us a little. And then something wonderfully terrible happened.

It was at our last soccer game. One of the boys on our team, I’ll just call him C, has Asperger’s and was a coaching challenge throughout the season. C would push and/or trip kids at every game or practice.*** His parents deferred to the coaches’ authority, but honestly, we were all just parent volunteers, and dealing with C was way above our pay grade. Plus, it’s hard enough to corral eight other six- and seven-year-olds for a practice drill (one other kid had attention and maturity issues); it’s impossible to do that while providing constant vigilance for another.

As a result, I regret to report that many of the kids got pushed or elbowed at least once per game or practice. We did our best, but it often wasn’t good enough; I feel bad for the other players. Anyway, fast forward to our last game of the season. C’s last practice had been disastrous (I had to pull him out), so I was watching extra closely in the game. And sure enough, minutes if not seconds after being put in the game, he threw an elbow and hit Simon’s friend Declan right in the stomach.

I signaled the ref and went to pull C from the game. And Declan—poor, polite Declan who loves soccer and had taken one too many elbows or shoves all season—blew his stack:

“Stop hitting me!” he screamed. “Just stop! Why are you always hitting and shoving people? What’s wrong with you? Stop it!”

Declan’s face was red, and his voice was loud and assertive. He meant business. But he did not hit, shove, or elbow back. He blew his stack while following all the good-boy ground rules. I wanted to hug him, and not just because he was hurt after being elbowed.

In the end, Declan resumed play. C watched from the sidelines with his parents. And Simon and I had a great talk about what happened in the car. “Be like Declan,” I advised. “He had it exactly right.”

I am thrilled to report that when Simon’s best friend got too physical with him one day last week, Simon started with his usual line. When that didn’t work, he trotted out a loud and angry sounding “No! Stop it! Why are you pushing me?” And you know what? It worked!

Standing up to a friend is totally different from standing up to a stranger. But it’s a start, and I’m thrilled that Simon at last made some progress. I’m also really, really grateful to Declan for showing him the way. And I feel more than  little dirty that I benefited from a sweet seven-year-old’s distress.

*His tone was polite because he is almost always polite. In fact, Simon has the best behavior in his class. I know this because he finished his class star chart (for good behavior) more than a week earlier than the next best behaved kids in class, both of whom are (not surprisingly) girls. The words “polite” and “well mannered” feature prominently on every single report card. Now that his politeness has become a handicap, I feel like I can state it plainly without being an obnoxious braggart.

**At the school spring festival last Friday, Simon spent the entire time playing soccer (what else?) with older boys. Much older—most of them looked to be in 4th or 5th grade. No issues arose from this. In fact, at one point Matt overhead a kid taunt his friend with this zinger: “Man, you just got schooled by a kindergartener!” He’s also finding gym days less traumatic now that he has found the two or three other kindergarten boys interested in playing basketball with him.

***Poor C also had difficulty following the game now that he plays in the older division. With its spacing, need for coordination, and focus on non-verbal communication and cooperation with peers, I’m not convinced that soccer is a great fit for the child with Asperger’s. It certainly isn’t a good fit for this particular child. I’m working on a way to communicate this to the league steering committee without sounding unkind or impatient.

Posted in Kindergartener | No Comments »

Blast Off

Apr 28th, 2013 by

Simon’s reading has officially exploded. Just before bedtime on Saturday night, he announced plainly:

“I am a reading machine!”

Screamed it even. And he was right. Simon is recognizing ever more words, is doing better at sounding out new words, and is just excited as can be about the whole thing. So excited that he feels compelled to call out every street name and road sign, the name of every catalog in the house, the names of businesses we pass, and the text on product packaging. Our entire life is being narrated for us.

“Bike Lane . . . No parking at any time . . . No stopping at any time . . . No turn on red . . . Cherokee . . . Deer Park . . . Mark’s . . . Taco Bell . . . Hefty trash bags . . . Title Nine . . . Land’s End . . . Designing Power Supplies for Tube Amplifiers . . .”

And on it goes. TV news tickers, book titles, and handwritten notes are all game. Having at last unlocked the code to reading, he feels compelled to do so at every turn. Last night, he started playing with his globe and realized that he could now name almost every country—even those he has yet to memorize by shape. He was fairly shrieking with joy.

Like birth, first steps, and first words, it’s one of those things that happens to almost everyone on the planet, yet still feels amazing and new when it happens to your kid. The cutest thing he’s said yet?

“Today at school, I read a book to myself. It was like I could hear the words in my brain, but none of my friends could hear me.”

I can’t wait to see where we go next. And seeing this magic unfold, I’m extremely grateful to the kindergarten teaching staff at Brandeis for making it happen, especially his teacher Mr. Sowder, and his W.I.N. (What I Need) teachers Ms. Rhoda, Ms. Darlene, and Ms. Schecter.

Posted in Jessica, Kindergartener, Simon says... | 2 Comments »

What’s in a Name?

Apr 24th, 2013 by

A lot, as it happens. Matt and I have joked for years that owing to the extreme brevity of our marriage ceremony, we suspect some guests question(ed) its validity. Similarly, we’ve had to clear up confusion when co-coaching Simon’s soccer team that we were paired up because, well, we’re paired up. Like, with papers and everything. The fact that our names don’t match surely is behind much of the confusion.

But wait, there’s more. I rarely wear my wedding or engagement rings. Especially in winter, when I need to lotion my hands a million times; or in summer, when I’m grubby from being outside or when heat makes my fingers swell; or when I’m at KIP, where I need to wash my hands constantly. I worry about scratching the metal, and constant lotion application dims the stones. Plus, having lost my first engagement ring, I’m terrified of losing or harming the rings I have and love now. They get put back on for family and large social functions, at which time I often joke about “needing to look married” today/tonight.

Finally, I rarely say “my husband”. I don’t know why. It felt outrageously strange when I first got married, and it only feels slightly less outrageously strange (almost) 16 years later. After all these years, Matt is  just “Matt”. Or, more often these days, “Simon’s dad”. Maybe my Dinka friends and their prohibition against using a spouse’s fist name in mixed company somehow rubbed off on me. I don’t know.

Honestly, I’ve never given any of this much thought. No single element was part of any master plan to confuse others. It’s just a bunch of preferences and quirks that came together by coincidence. The reason I’m thinking about it now is that Simon’s teacher asked me an odd question today. We were meeting to discuss how to help Simon better assert himself when Mr. Sowder asked me this:

“Is Simon’s dad very involved with him?”

Now, my first reaction was to get defensive on Matt’s behalf. I mean, Matt plays soccer with Simon for hours on end, gives him his baths, reads to him at night, takes him to drum lessons, talks about maps with him, watches soccer games with him, has regular coffee-shop dates with him, introduced him to Tolkien and Lewis, and is teaching him to play chess. He’s about as hands-on and attentive as it gets.

But how would Mr. Sowder know about that? From where he sits, I’m the parent that picks Simon up from school, initials his behavior chart, fills out his permission slips, completes his reading log, volunteers at school, and leaves notes on Simon’s homework. I went to the parent-teacher conference alone, and I’m the one who emails Mr. Sowder with any questions or concerns. And I have done all of this while steadfastly maintaining that I am “Ms. Goldstein” and eschewing wearing a wedding band.

It was Matt who connected the dots about Mr. Sowder’s wording.

“He doesn’t think we’re married. That’s why he called me ‘Simon’s Dad’ and asked if I was involved.”

Now, it’s possible that this isn’t the case. But I wouldn’t bet against it!

At tight-knit KIP, everyone knew us—jointly and severally. I’m sure we seemed a bit odd, but I think that was attributed to our being odd to begin with and then having been a couple since forever. (Seriously, our first date was over 26 years ago.) They all knew Matt at KIP, which was closer to home and facilitated a more regular in-school presence. But at Brandeis? At Brandeis I’m the family ambassador and Matt is an unknown and largely unseen entity.

At this point, we’ve only got six weeks left in the year, and it hardly matters if Simon’s kindergarten teacher thinks his Dad isn’t around much. But I’m thinking maybe Matt should make an appearance before the year ends. Maybe we can co-chaperone the class end-of-year party. And maybe, you know, we can, like, hold hands or kiss while we’re there.

Posted in Jessica | 1 Comment »

Old Soul

Apr 22nd, 2013 by

You know that dream you have where you are outside on familiar streets or inside a familiar building, but somehow can’t find your way? The streets or halls all seem to go on forever and don’t lead where they are supposed to, presenting a surreal and very frustrating version of streets and buildings you navigate every day. It’s a classic anxiety dream, and Simon just had it. I’m calling this “Old Soul: Exhibit A.”

One night last week, Simon awoke crying in the wee hours of the night. Matt went to him, and between sobs and then again the next morning, Simon described his “scary dream” to us:

“I was trying to walk to my haircut [on Bardstown Rd.]. And I took Spring to Speed, but Speed wouldn’t go to Bardstown Road, and I couldn’t get there.”

I’m not at all surprised that Simon would have an anxiety dream, but I would have expected at this age for anxiety to manifest in his sleeping brain as monsters or mummies coming after him. This particular iteration just seems so grown-up for a still-small child.

I’m also amused that Simon has anxiety over getting lost of all things. He’s told me before that he’s scared about driving ten years hence because he’s afraid of not knowing where to go and of getting lost. The punchline here being that the kid has a terrific sense of direction and can easily tell you which highways lead to a given destination. Really, this should be my anxiety dream, not his.

On to “Old Soul: Exhibit B”: Simon may have just suffered his first existential crisis. While I attended a screening of “Trigger: The Ripple Effect of Gun Violence” by the Presbyterian church of America last night as part of a community-wide panel discussion on gun violence, Matt took Simon for a stroll across the Big Four Bridge. At one point, Matt looked up to see Simon with his hands in his pockets looking very pensive.

As a fellow introvert who also enjoys getting lost in his thoughts, Matt let this go for a while. When they got to the bottom of the ramp, he asked Simon about what was going through his mind. The answer was this:

“Oh, I was picturing my body down there in the water.  Just floating down the river. And I was dead.”

Needless to say, that’s not what Matt was expecting to hear. On our first trip across the bridge, last Tuesday, Simon was initially frightened, then subsequently delighted, to walk across the Ohio River. But even when fear turned to happiness, he still paused at regular intervals to see how far the river was from us and speculate as to weather he could swim to the river bank if he fell in any given point.

Matt tells me that he took a two-pronged approach to responding to Simon. First, he assured him that he was not going to fall in and that even if he did, Matt would jump in right after him. Second, he assured him that everyone has those fleeting morbid thoughts and that as he gets older they will be easier to control.

I’m almost afraid to hear what’s going through his mind next. Then again, at least at six he’ll tell me!

Posted in Jessica, Kindergartener, Simon says... | No Comments »

Epistolary Friendship

Apr 14th, 2013 by

When I first heard that kindergarteners are taught to write—not their ABCs, but actual thoughts and original ideas—I was skeptical of the entire enterprise. Kindergarteners writing? Was that really possible?

I am no longer skeptical. In fact, I’m pretty blown away at how five- and six-year-olds can not only be so adept at penning their thoughts, but enjoy it, too. Tonight, after a three-hour joint play-date with KIP friend Gabrielle had ended, Simon and Caroline set to writing each other notes.

Caroline went first with an ode to their friendship:

Yes, Caroline, he does like you so much. In fact, I think you are his true best friend. Simon replied with a fond recollection of one of last summer’s highlights:

Simon loved his week at tennis camp with Caroline last August. Going to the pool afterwards was icing on the cake, and he’s hoping that the two can repeat the experience this summer. (I’m all for it; we just have to check schedules.)

So that was sweet, but now it was on to other matters:

Caroline will have you know that she likes dolphins. Further, they are NOT like sharks and they are fun. You can tell they are fun just by looking, right?

I wonder what was on Simon’s mind that he would want to share? No, actually, I don’t wonder:

Soccer is never far from his mind. Did he score the goal of the game in his soccer game? Well, Declan has some scorchers, but Simon did enjoy a left-footed goal into the right corner that was pretty sweet. I suspect, however, that he’s thinking of the shot he chipped over the goalie’s head.

After this, I tried to take the board from him and write him a note, but he wouldn’t let me. “I’m kind of like you, Mommy. I really like to write.” Plus, he had a very important memory from today’s FA Cup match between Man City (Matt’s team) and Chelsea (a Russian oligarch’s team, literally):

“I was scaired because I thought that it was going to penalty kicks.” And who wouldn’t be scared by that? He’s not kidding, either. When the game started to look like Man City’s to lose, Simon went and sat on the staircase and made whimpering noises.

Say what you will about his coping skills, his powers of self-expression are aces.

Posted in Friends, Jessica, Kindergartener | No Comments »

My Brother’s Keeper?

Apr 8th, 2013 by

When Matt and I went to name Simon, we ended up with the name we did after several failed attempts to name after our grandparents. Finding no consensus in that direction, we landed on “Simon” for the simple reason that we liked it and thought it sounded good with “Whitworth”. In doing so, we inadvertently ended up naming Simon after my great-grandfather, a name that had already been used for someone else in my generation: namely, my brother Steve, whose Hebrew name  is “Shimon”. Thus, if you look at it from one angle, Simon and his Uncle Steve share a name, a situation that is beginning to look downright prophetic with the passage of time.

I know I’ve mentioned before that Simon shares some interests and tendencies with Steve, but lately the parallels are piling up with uncanny frequency in matters small and large. My mom tells the story of her heading off to the library and Steve calling out, “Remember, Mom, I only want books with true facts in them.” Not three weeks ago, Simon handed me his Scholastic Books order form and made a point to say, “Mom, did you notice that all the books I circled were non-fiction?” Yup, he only wants “true facts” too.

Moreover, he’d like to read about the same true facts. I’m not sure if my brother was into animal facts the way Simon is, but I am absolutely certain that 6-year-old Steve would have circled the same books on space and presidents that Simon did. He’d be memorizing the same facts about space and presidents, too, focusing intently on launch dates, mission distances, and how old every president was when he died.

Then there’s the competitiveness. It kills Steve not to win. Or at least it used to; now that he’s 50 I think he’s finally mellowed a bit. Two weeks ago, when his soccer team was being dismantled on the field, Simon was the only upset player on our side. And he was more than a little upset, he was sobbing from embarrassment, disappointment, and anger. (Full disclosure, I was seething from the same combination.)

Returning again to my Mom, she tells the story of Steve and his cousin Gary. Gary went to a Jewish Day School and began learning Hebrew in kindergarten or first grade. Steve went to public school and would not begin to study Hebrew until third grade. The first year that Gary could read “The Four Questions” (part of the liturgy for Passover) at a Passover seder, Steve was beside himself. He wanted to learn them, too. In Hebrew. Immediately. At our Passover seder this year, when Simon realized that his friend and peer Leah was going to sing “The Four Questions” in Hebrew, he immediately decided to read “The Four Questions” out loud in English. And he asked if he could learn them in Hebrew. Immediately.

I think my mom felt like she was caught in a time warp. Or, given her love of all things Star Trek, that she had just encountered a temporal anomaly.

And then there is the mother of all parallels—the anxiety. When I was a kid, I could ruin the last day or two of a vacation by doing the math on when it ended. I can still feel a minor wave of melancholy wash over me on a Sunday afternoon as I ponder the proximity of Monday. But Steve? Steve could blow half the vacation and at least the entirety of Sunday if not a good chunk of Saturday, too. Wouldn’t you know it, Simon began talking about how he wished spring break were longer last week on Wednesday or Thursday and broke down into tears over its ending last night.

Matt was surprised. I had been expecting it. I know this smart, anxious, competitive, generous, and eager-to-please person. Which brings me to the 64-thousand-dollar question: Can I do anything to help Simon discover equanimity before he reaches middle age? I’m more laid back than my mom, and Matt is more laid back than either of my parents (though not, for the record, nearly has laid back as my family and many of his friends seem to think). That might help some. But honestly, the biggest help might just be knowing what to expect going forward. And perhaps, if the time is ever right, having his Uncle share some “been there, done that” insights at key moments along the way.

It’s the least he can do, because not one of his three kids—not one!—is this much like him.

Posted in Family, Jessica, Kindergartener | 1 Comment »

Reading Explosion

Apr 4th, 2013 by

We’ve been waiting for a reading explosion for some time now. Off and on for nearly two years, Simon would sound out a word or two, maybe even string together an entire sentence or simple book, and Matt and I would say to each other, “It’s coming. He’s about to take off with his reading.”

Then, right on schedule, he’d pull back, refuse to read for us, tell us he was more of a “numbers guy”, or dramatically sink into furniture the second we suggested he sound out an unfamiliar word. This probably makes it sound like we were pushing Simon, but we honestly weren’t; we were just asking him to show us some of the things he was doing at school.

Throughout, my mother-in-law, Evie, has explained to us how kids typically begin to read. (She’s a retired kindergarten teacher and should know.) According to Evie, for kids not inclined to use phonics to teach themselves to read (as Matt did), reading takes off towards the end of the kindergarten year, when children have amassed a large inventory of sight words. Sounding out a hundred words to read a simple book is exhausting. But towards the end of the year, kids will open a book, realize that they know all but one or two words by sight on a given page, and suddenly are ready to work through those unfamiliar words. They have the confidence, and the task is much less daunting.

We understood this and believed her, but still suspected that Simon was going to be more of a slow-and-steady developing reader. We gave up on the idea of an explosion. And now  here we are, towards the end of kindergarten. And here’s Simon, smack in the middle of an explosion in his reading. Actually, I think it started about two months ago, as Simon’s grade in reading went from S (Satisfactory, grade level) to O (above grade-level expectations) on his last report card. Evie had Simon read for her the other day, and after initial protestations of inability and/or fatigue, he got through the whole thing without needing help more than a few times. More to the point, once he realized he could do it, he insisted on finishing the task even when Evie offered to take over.

Well, that must have boosted his confidence, because now he’s reading everything. Street signs, some newspaper headlines, store signs, all of it. We don’t actually know how much, because usually it only comes up if he has a question, like “where’s the bike lane?” or “why aren’t bikes allowed on the expressway?” Sometimes I get an observation out of him, too. Yesterday, in the fitting room at Land’s End, he looked up at a sign saying “Get Your Perfect Fit” and noted: “Hm, that’s funny. There’s ‘fit’ like ‘get your perfect fit’ and ‘fit’ like ‘throw a fit’ but it’s the same word! That’s weird.” And increasingly, he’s interested in the word searches or crossword puzzles on restaurant kids’ menus.

Working the crossword at Molly Malone’s

But the absolute best moment to date came Tuesday night at the ice cream shop. I cannot turn off my editing brain. Ever. And right there in the middle of the store, my eyes were getting twitchy over an extremely ill laid-out sign. The font was too big and too bubbly to fit on the size card-stock they chose, the text was fully justified, and the effect was crowding on one or two lines that made it very hard to read. But that’s enough from me, allow Simon to explain:

“‘April showers bring free Sundaes. Buy one get one free on sundaes every day it rains in Kentucky this April.’ Wow. That was hard to read. They didn’t use finger spaces [This is how Mr. Sowder has taught the children to space their words.].”

I’m right there with you, buddy. And if you think that’s bad, just you wait until you learn the correct use of apostrophes!

Posted in Jessica, Kindergartener, Simon says... | 1 Comment »

Brain Lobe Overlap

Mar 28th, 2013 by

Behold a crude mapping of what I have sussed out as the brain organization of one Simon W. Whitworth. So far as I can tell, his brain features four major lobes:

The Baby Kitten Lobe: This part of the brain is responsible for Simon’s alter ego since I can’t remember how long ago, Baby Kitten. Years ago, when Simon got too tired to think or walk, he turned into Baby Kitten. These days, he turns into Baby Kitten when he wants to slide down the stairs on his belly or do something else that’s silly. Baby Kitten also now has a brother, Kitty, who is a bit older and is a great soccer player. This brings me to:

The Soccer Lobe: This part of the brain—which I should have mapped to the pink/purple lobe as it’s clearly the largest and most developed lobe—is in charge of all things soccer. It wants Simon to play soccer, write about playing soccer, watch others playing soccer, and even dream about soccer.

The Space Facts Lobe: Clearly Simon’s favorite science topic, the space facts lobe warehouses information about atmospheric layers (which I’m supposed to paint in the attic play-room), space flights, the planets and dwarf planets, the brightest stars, and the age and size of the universe. If possible, these things are all ranked and measured by size, temperature, and distance from the Earth. Such analysis is hugely informed by:

The Math Lobe: The Higgs boson of Simon’s world. Everything in Simon’s word relates to a number or comparison between numbers. Everything. The cuneiform I’ve been showing him pictures of is “3000 BCE writing” or “800 BCE writing.” Abraham Lincoln is the 16th President. He will be 6 1/2 in just over two weeks. Numbers, numbers, everywhere.

So what happens when these lobes overlap? Here’s what happens:

“Mommy, guess what? Baby kitten just made a bicycle kick all the way to the other side of the universe. He must have been, like, a Googolplex yards outside the box.”

Who else but Simon would say such a thing?

Posted in Jessica, Kindergartener, Simon says... | No Comments »

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