April 13, 2007 by Barbara.

In the morning, we read:

• Machines at Work by Byron Barton;
• Freight Trains by Donald Crews; and
• My Car by Byron Barton.

I picked up the two books by Barton because they are not the sort of books that I would usually choose and I was trying to expose both of us to a new sort of book. We ended up with a book about dinosaurs one time for this same reason. This time, though, Reid really liked the books. My Car has a great ending because after the man tells us about his car at home and where he drives it, we learn (spoiler alert) that at work - he drives a bus. 

At bedtime, we read:

• Feathers for Lunch by Lois Ehlert, in which the jingles of the cat’s bell keep him from getting any of the birds that he tries for. All of the birds are shown life-size (except for the last two) and it made Reid think of the birds at Grandma Barb’s house; and
• Better Not Get Wet, Jesse Bear by Nancy White Carlstrom; and
• the day’s story from 365 Magical Stories.

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April 13, 2007 by Barbara.

When we were driving on Sunday evening, Reid proclaimed that she was a mouse and so was I. Since that time, she has generally called me Mama Mouse and responds most quickly when I call her Baby Mouse. One of her perennial questions is, “Where going?” This week it’s been “Where going, Mama Mouse?” and the favoured response is, “To the Baby Mouse house.” When we stopped at Grandma Barb’s, Baby Mouse played with Grandma Mouse while Mama Mouse laid on the floor wishing that Daddy Mouse was there because it’s tough being a mama mouse with the flu with all that distance to drive. We went to see Melissa and her gang and Reid extended the mouse designation to Melissa Mouse. I’m not sure if they noticed that we, and they, were mouses as Reid forgets sometimes to address me by my full title. It’s cute. I don’t know why we’re not bunnies, given Easter had just passed but I’m glad we’re not skunks. 

Have a great weekend. Daddy Mouse is back Sunday night and we’re looking forward to it.

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April 13, 2007 by Barbara.

The longer that Ken has been gone, the more Reid has talked about him. He is now, somewhat unofficially, referred to as “My-Daddy-Far-Away”. If she sees a need, Reid will append “-in-France”. It has a Native Canadian sort of ring to it.

On Tuesday night there was almost an “incident” when Reid was setting the table. We have four pasta bowls that each have a different flower in the middle of them. I handed her three and she started her work. But then, she noticed that I had given her the bowl that she has assigned to Ken. I don’t keep track but Reid does. So there was Daddy’s bowl and a hungry Aunty Amanda but no Daddy. I assured Reid that Dadddy likes to share. I didn’t think she would believe that he doesn’t even know which is *his* bowl. We repeated the process with glasses (Ken’s is red, but I knew that although I didn’t think that she’d object when I took it out). Again we discussed it and Amanda got the privilge of using Daddy’s stuff. Ken is always a good sharer but in abstentia, he is practically monklike in the things about such things.

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