Now that Steve and Libby have joined us in the ranks of grandparents, I believe we should declare open season on grandkid pictures - especially ones that reflect themes in this blog.At 20 months of age, Isabella has decided that looking at books is great fun. I wonder how she inherited that? Apparently Bella has also decided that the appropriate place to read is in the bin after you've emptied out the books.
Soon come, Jackson and Niki
2 comments:
Gotta love it when they start at that age.
I used to sit in cardboard boxes like that! VERY comfortable! I remember napping in them, too! Dang, but it'd take a deluxe refridgerator box for me to fit in now!......And one wonders just exactly how "reading" is perceived at such an early age--I have an interesting memory of how my primitive little pre-literate primate brain perceived it from when I was 4 years of age. My family lived in the country, our house beside a splendid, thick, wild woodlot, which was more my home than the human house! Unfortunetely, the woodlot was not ours, and one day a "For Sale" sign appeared on a tree facing the road--I spotted it immediately and asked my parents what it was, and they told me that it was to sell the woods which would probably then be cut down and houses built! I was SHOCKED and determined this WOULD NOT happen! A dimunitive eco-warrior toddler! I got some of my crayons and scrawled all over the sign at first--I had no idea what I was writing, but I felt that WHATEVER I scrawled represented what I was thinking while I was doing it! So I was mentally focusing on "Stay Away From MY Woods!"(I didn't yet dare use cuss words). Later, I felt that my posting wouldn't really help much, so I tore the sign down, and hid it in the woods. And continued to tear down the signs for the next decade or so--they were EXCELLENT thick tin in those days, and made great roofing material for my huts I built in the woods! So that's probably why I retain this memory of my perception of "writing" and "reading" from 4 years old--as for many years, there on the inside of my huts, were the primitive meaningless squiggles that I thought represented my thoughts, before the white man's school taught me better......L.B.
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