Fun with Felt

L came home yesterday with a special buddy. He decided he wanted to do a little sewing (again, I question if we are biologically connected as needle/thread aren’t part of my skill set or my vocabulary).

Directions for making “Pocket Penguin” (as told to me by L):

“First, you take a piece of black felt and you fold it in half
And cut out a shape that looks like an egg and
stitch around the sides but leave a little hole at the bottom
For stuffing him only you may not find real stuffing, so you can use
whatever is lying around that’s pretty soft and then
sew him shut and cut out the rest of the pieces and sew them on
And make sure you make his flippers big enough
Because otherwise they’ll come off, and you’ll spend a lot of time
Trying to find them, like I did, and then you’ll give up,
And need to start over, but that’s okay, because sometimes
It’s best to just start over, but keep going, don’t give up,
and sew on some buttons for eyes and then put him
In your pocket and he’s a forever buddy.”

Penguin2

Imprisoned

Or, riding in the car with me.

After reading several reports on the state of education and feeling dismayed, I thought, I’ll go straight to the source: L.

(Okay, so I don’t think L really wants to talk about education at the end of a long school day. Then again, he’s buckled into the back seat. He’s all mine.)

M: How was school?

L: “It was good. Overall, a good day.”

M: Did anything stand out for you?

L: “I got to read with my kindergarten reading buddy. That was awesome.”

(I have a specific question in mind. I’m gonna cut to the chase.)

M: How do you know you’re doing well in school?

L: “Because I know the answers.”

M: (ACK) If you have to choose between knowing the answer, or how you got the answer, which one?

L: How. Definitely how. Because then I can figure out other stuff.

The state (of education) rests.

Awkward or Dear?

L had a buddy hang out for a few days during his spring break. I had to leave early and drove his buddy home from our Spring Break casa. Hugs were exchanged by all.

L hugged his buddy and said, “I love you.”

Buddy: Hmmm… mmmkay.

L: “I, uh, love you like a brother. You know, I like/love you.”

Buddy: Yup.

L: “Or, you know, I think you’re great and thank you for coming.”

Buddy: Me, too.

PAUSE

L: “Awkward?”

 

Eight or 18?

Some ramblings from last night:

L: “I think L and I broke up. I think we’re better as friends.”

M: “You broke up? Broke up from what? What do you mean?”

L: “Well, she was crushing pretty hard on me and I really like her, but in the end, I think we’ll be friends.”

M: (Aghast.)

L: “So now, I’m thinking about C only I think she likes V and I’m not sure I’ll get anywhere with that.”

M: “Where is ‘anywhere?'”

L: “You know, when you like someone. LIKE like.”

M: “I think you and dad are going to have that talk sooner rather than later.”

L: “Oh, gross. Do we have to?”

Doubts

There are moments, okay, hours, if not weeks, when I wonder if L wasn’t switched at birth.

Case-in-point:

M: “Did you make your bed?”

L: “Yup.”

M: “Brush your teeth?”

L: “Yup.”

M: “Sing Rihanna’s new song really loudly without knowing any of the words?”

L: “Nope.”

That last one makes me wonder. Because the order in which I would do my chores would definitely start with singing. And, if I ever made my bed when I was a kid, it bore no resemblance to this tidy bit of work.

(Are the stripes of the blankets actually ALIGNING?!)

YourBed

To Publish or Perish

L came home yesterday and announced he had begun his magnum opus, called…. er…. maybe, “Red Eyes in the Night.” He explained it was a horror story (this from the boy who still nearly faints at the sight, description, or even mention of blood) and he had conquered Ch. 1. He told me that the secret to writing a successful horror story is to “add as much detail as possible. That’s very, very important.” When I asked why, he said, “details make the reader feel like he’s IN the story.”

Sounds good.

He told me that the second chapter would start with a simple sentence: “Meet me at the dock.”

“Doesn’t that make you curious? Aren’t you just dying to know what happens?”

He also said this was the first book he was truly committed to finishing. He then asked, “how old do you need to be to publish a book?”

M: “There are no age limits.”

L: “Wow. Seriously? Okay, I’m going to really make it the best it can be and see if I can get my book published.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I could make (and publish) the book for him. Better to have him shop it around, and see what kind of movie deal he can secure.