No IT All Gift Guide for Boys (Ages 2-5)
About eighteen months ago I was in a training class at work with my friend Monica. She was under the gun to get a little boy present and she asked me for some ideas. That night I looked around the house, jotted down a quick list, and didn’t think about it again.
Over a year later she mentioned that she still keeps that list and uses it often. Unfortunately, I don’t know exactly what I put on it… But in this day and age of gift guides, I think it’s only appropriate that 2014 becomes the year of the first No It All Gift Guide for Boys (Ages 2-6).
First up, what makes a good gift? A couple of thoughts:
1) Quality over Quantity: One good toy is better than five that break or could be freebies from the dentist’s “prize box.”. Especially because around two-and-a-half is when kids finally catch-on to the manic glee that is present unwrapping. But they also then become more interested in unwrapping than what is actually inside. Three wrapping recommendations to get more BANG for your buck:
A. Wrap all the parts of your present separately. Imagine a little box wrapped inside a bigger box wrapped inside a bigger box.
B. Start them as eco-babies with only reusable cloth bags so they never become addicted to shredding paper.
C. Wrap your presents in bubble wrap and then wrap them in paper. Or just wrap-up bubble wrap.
2) Useful & Cool: There are some presents that are just downright useful for parents, yet still cool for kids. Think animal hooded towels– they double as drying devices and exciting “costumes.” The rags we are drying our kids with can always be replaced.
3) Minimal Storage Required/Consumable: Absorbing new books into existing storage solutions is generally manageable. Finding room for the 18″ robot action figure? Looks like we have a new decoration for our fireplace mantel. Kids this age aren’t particularly excited unwrapping gift cards to children’s museums or the movies or amusement parks or ceramics studios, but they sure do enjoy the day it gets spent.
4) Educational: If they can learn something, extra brownie points.
5) No Batteries Required: Batteries make a great gift for this age range. But presents that make sounds or sing or mysteriously blurt out in the middle of the night in a Mexican accent “Da hero of da people has arri-ved ha ha ha ha ha!” should be considered judiciously.
And now… The 2014 No IT All Gift Guide for Boys (Ages 2-6)
Hooded towels: Aim for a decent level of quality as the cheap ones disintegrate into dryer lint. Extra points with boys if they have funny or dangerous animal faces on the hood. Extra points with parents if they manage to blend-in with their existing bathroom decor.
Swimming suits and pool towels: Swimming suits and rash guards with long sleeves take a beating. Their existing suit is likely faded, has been chewed-up by dragging their stomach across cement, or the elastic has given way and turned their rash guard into a knee-length dress. Target has affordable combos that hold-up well. The best quality after several years of swimming lesson field testing is Crewcuts followed by Lands End.
Rain boots and umbrellas: Their feet are alway growing. Their umbrellas are always lost.
Books: Books are educational, promote family conversation and are generally thin. Two of my personal favorites are Goldilocks and the Three Dinosaurs and Honk!. Check the book reviews category on this blog for additional ideas.
Flashlights and batteries: You can never have enough flashlights. They must be living in Umbrellaland.
New rubber bath toys without black mold inside: Enough said. Please, nothing that shoots or squirts water at parents two rooms away.
Foam bath letters: Good for teaching literacy. The “T” and the “W” function as a hammer and punching guy respectively for those kids that are new to letters.
Pretend shaving kit and/or their own canisters of shaving cream: Shaving is endlessly fascinating. Shaving cream is even better. They don’t need the expensive stuff, but beware: the cheap stuff has those bottoms that rust and leave a ring on your tub.
Personalized super hero cape: Teeny tiny when it’s folded. Never seems to go out of style.
Sleeping bag: Exciting to get. Useful at grandma’s.
Knee pads, elbow pads and gloves: Good for bikes, scooters, skateboards, skates, those wheelie shoes, general protection when playing outside with your brother.
Helmets: See above. Helpful to have at home, at grandma’s, at school. Tough to have too many.
Ream of white computer paper, blue painters tape and Pip-squeak washable marker carousel: Possibly the most useful supplies ever gifted at my house.
Kid headphones with volume control so as not to blast out their eardrums: Similar to helmets. Likely they had a pair but it has been chewed through by a zombie-child on an airplane. Similar to your iPhone headset, can never find it when you need it.
Magna-tiles: If you want to splurge, this is it. And due to the price point it’s unlikely kids have too many. They make building certain things possible that regular blocks have only dreamed of… and they’re way easier to get impressive results versus Legos.
Unbreakable piggy bank: Promotes saving. Plus it’s fun just to take coins out and dump them all over the floor.
Growth chart: Hard to decide if someone has room for this, but if it’s the fabric kind it can usually fit on the back of a closet door. Kids love seeing how tall they are and asking why they haven’t miraculously grown overnight.
I have lots of other ideas and I’m new to this whole gift guide genre, but dolling ideas out like breadcrumbs seems to be the secret to success. Happy shopping!
PS:
Note to Santa: This post is not meant for you so don’t get any ideas…
The Book With No Pictures
We’ve recently had a couple of exciting developments here in the world of child development. First, back on November fourth, Jakey started sounding out words so he could write them down. He wrote “luna” and “mi casa” without me telling him the letters and it was the best.
And then this past Thursday, Nate finally saw pictures in his mind. At the dinner table he closed his eyes and exclaimed, “Mama, I can see it in my head! A wolf!” Up until now, Nate would squint his eyes shut and press his fist to his forehead and then open his eyes and say, “I no see it.”
“Imagine it in your brain. Can you see a cow?”
Squinting. “Uhh…” He had nothing.
So it couldn’t be better timing than for the Book Elf to deliver one of the acclaimed books of 2014 titled The Book With No Pictures by B. J. Novak.
In a nutshell: This book is just words, as the title warns. It has shown-up on a number of “Best Books of 2014” lists as innovative. It’s basically a narrative that gets the reader to say a bunch of silly things against their will thus inciting giggles from its pipsqueak audience. It makes kids feel powerful by “tricking” grown-ups into saying things they wouln’t normally say like “I am a monkey robot.” It has one use of the word “butt” which will likely become the only line your kids will continue repeating after the book is over.
According to my highly refined book rating system:
Humor— check
Length— check
Plot— strike 1
Art— strike 2
Substitutions Minimized— strike 3
I like that it’s humorous, but otherwise it’s not one I expect to be digging through the book crate for. There is no storyline. It feels more like a long greeting card. But, Nate calls it “the funny book.”
Families can talk about: Can a book without pictures be good? Who do you know that reads books without pictures? Can you close your eyes and imagine pictures in your mind? Why do you think this book is funny? Should we go back to books with pictures? Do you remember anything about this book besides the sentence “My only friend in the whole wide world is a hippo named BOO BOO BUTT?” Anything?
Tikki Tikki Tembo
Surprisingly, I still remember quite a bit from kindergarten. I remember our alphabet letter books and painting outside on easels and little boys hiding under the tables and giggling. I remember my friend Esther inviting me over to play and describing how I would recognize her house because the back wasn’t painted. And I remember listening to stories and songs on a little record player. Or maybe it played stone tablets? My dinosaur friend Edwina and I would lay on our tummies and kick our feet in the air while we listened.
One memory I have is of listening to something that had a really, really long name and loving it. It was either Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari bari ruchi-pip peri pembo OR John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. For the purposes of this story, we’re going to assume it was Tikki Tikki Tembo and thus create the impression of an even stronger personal link to this book. It seems to be human nature to love long silly words. The boys look at me like I’m a magical alien when I surprise them with a strategically dropped Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
A few weeks ago, Jake came home saying this name over and over from his hourly English class with Miss Dueñas. Only he insists it’s Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari bari ruchi-PEPI PEPI pembo. Perhaps this is the Spanish version of the Chinese story translated to English about the little boy named Pepe and his brother Chango… Maestra Patiño and Maestra Dueñas switch classes each day after lunch to teach English. It seems none of the kindergartens have put two and two together and realized their teachers speak English, too. How long before they figure it out?
In a nutshell: Tikki Tikki Tembo as retold by Arlene Mosel is a fabled Chinese fable about two little brothers. The oldest one is purportedly given a long impressive name meaning “The Most Wonderful Thing in the Whole Wide World” as he is to inherit his parents’ beloved possessions. His younger brother is considered some sort of back-up and is given a short name (Chang) which means “Little or Nothing” or Clueless Playmate or something. Wiki-the-source-of-all-truth-pedia, states that the book is controversial because it may be a Japanese story told about China and does not portray Chinese culture accurately. The Book Elf and Miss Dueñas should probably have consulted our Chinese family, Lonnie and Tyrone, on how they feel about this book. Or given it to Devon George Tyrone Purnell and his brother Bryan to see what happens?
Wiki-the-source-of-all-truth-pedia makes no mention of controversy from the global organization of younger Siblings wHining about Rivalry Instilled by Mom & Pop or SHRIMP.
So,the boys are monkeying around and Clueless Playmate falls into the well. Golden Boy runs to his mother and they get a ladder-wielding-tree-napping-old-man to save him named “Old Man With The Ladder.” He pumps the boy’s leg like a water pump to revive him which must be some sort of olden time CPR.
Of course the little boys are monkeying around in the bathtub AGAIN, I mean near the well, despite the close brush with death and this time Golden Boy falls into the well. His brother runs for help and after repeating John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt four or five times, almost passes out from exhaustion, leaving his evil mother childless. Fortunately, Old Man With The Ladder comes to his senses and rescues Golden Boy with the same water pump CPR procedure.
And the story concludes that this is why Chinese families name their kids little, short names.
Families can talk about: How would you feel if your name meant Little or Nothing? Do you know what your name means? Why is the mom so mean and dismissive of the younger brother? Why don’t the little boys mind their mother? Do you mind your mother? How confident are you about that answer? What is your game plan if you fall into a well or deep water? What should you do? And if you see your brother fall in? Why do you think swimming lessons are important? Which is more fun to say: Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari bari ruchi-pip peri pembo or Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie?
Clueless Playmate and Golden Boy monkeying around as retold by Arlene Mosel and illustrated by Blair Lent.
The Living Room Otter
Last night Jakey left two pieces of Halloween candy in the bag for the Book Elf, which reminded me of a recent story:
Spanish-immersion kindergarten brings a lot of new vocabulary and worksheets and cultural opportunities into our world. This year it was a hands-on, speed course in El Día de Los Muertos or the Mexican tradition of the Day of the Dead. Somehow in all my years of Spanish class collage projects and book reports and novios, I never fully experienced this unique cultural tradition. I really love the sentiment as it’s about remembering and honoring one’s friends, family, and ancestors that have passed away.
So this year in Jake’s class we donated $2 so he could decorate a sugar skull. That night he came home and spent five minutes confusing his dad about wanting to build something. Having benefited from the retelling of this story, later that night it only took me two tries to figure out what he was talking about when he said, “Mom, Mom. I need to build an otter.” Of course he likes to propose these types of projects at 8:30pm.
I help him to quickly assemble his “altar” which he thoughtfully dedicates to my maternal grandmother, Sweetie. The foundation of the altar begins with our two large Sterilite tubs of blocks, crowned with our orange bean bag pouf. Carefully placed on top are a bowl of salt (and I quote: “in case she wants to take a bath”), the sugar skull on a plate, a couple of battery-operated tea lights, a handmade crepe paper flower, a framed picture of Sweetie’s whole family at Flatrock, a cup of water, and a plate with several pieces of Halloween candy JJ carefully unwraps.
Jake is now appeased and climbs into bed without further protest.
Meanwhile I’m doing the final nighttime routine of checking the locks and turning off the lights and I’m struck with a dilemma: Is El Día de Los Muertos like Santa Claus? In the morning, should there be nibbles out of the candy and telltale boot prints?
Being unfamiliar with Los Muertos etiquette and too tired to google it, I genuflect respectfully to the otter and go to bed.
The next morning Jakey gets up bright and early and makes a beeline for the living room. He returns excitedly, “Sweetie’s spirit came!! Her spirit came! And she drank some of the water because she was thirsty!”
The following week I have the opportunity to discreetly ask my friend Alma about the proper etiquette. She assures me that the spirits don’t leave cookie crumbs and milk rings. I’m glad I passed the test of my first Día de Los Muertos and am genuinely thrilled that my grandmother stopped by.
I just wish she would have eaten more of the Halloween candy… luckily the Book Elf did.
Jacob looking appropriately contemplative as he kneels at his Día de Los Muertos otter…. I mean altar.
Edwina, The Dinosaur That Didn’t Know She Was Extinct
Yesterday was December first. Just twenty three shopping days left. And of course the first day the Book Elf should have come. I think this weird unknown wet stuff falling from the sky must have confused him and he couldn’t navigate the giant, treacherous mud pit that is our front yard.
During dinner, some guy rang our doorbell asking for donations or selling a lifetime’s supply of magazines or something. That’s when Jake is pretty sure the Book Elf must have snuck in. Jacob thinks he saw a little flash of red… “Maybe a little hat? And shoes? And that guy did have a white beard. Was that Santa?!” Must have been…
So somehow the Book Elf snuck in and delivered our first book of the holiday season, Edwina, The Dinosaur That Didn’t Know She Was Extinct, by Mo Willems. Mo is the author of possibly my favorite book of all time, Goldilocks and the Three Dinosaurs. Clearly I will buy anything Mo publishes about dinosaurs and girls with questionable names. Pigeons? No. Dinosaurs? Yes.
When we were in Santa Fe, my friend Jill says, “Oh, I have this favorite book I think you would really like. It’s called Goldilocks and the Three Dinosaurs.” And then I say, “Wait, didn’t I give you that?!”
And now back to Edwina…
In a nutshell: Edwina is your friendly neighborhood spinster dinosaur. She carries a pocketbook, paints her claws pink, wears a prim Easter hat, and bakes chocolate chip cookies for everyone. When she carries old ladies across streets it’s like a big old lady carrying a little old lady. Cleverly darling.
The leading man in this story is a know-it-all (possibly also why I was drawn to this story) named Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie. Reginald has almost permanently angry eyebrows and spends the majority of the story petitioning and picketing and proving to the entire town that dinosaurs are extinct. No one will listen to him, except of course… Edwina. After a long heart-to-heart, Edwina is convinced by Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie that she is in fact extinct. After the initial shock wears off, Edwina decides she doesn’t care and frolics off through a brick wall. Having finally been validated and heard, Reginald’s eyebrows return to a pleasantly arched shape and he and Edwina eat chocolate chip cookies happily ever after.
Families can talk about: What does extinct mean? What animals do you know about that are extinct? Why do you think no one will listen to Reginald? What is a know-it-all? Why are his eyebrows like that? How did Edwina jump through a brick wall and leave a dinosaur-shaped hole? Where is the Reginald-Von-Hoobie-Doobie-shaped hole? Why is it so fun to say Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie? What is going on with that construction worker’s nose? And is Edwina a T-Rex? Can a T-Rex be sweet? Why does Nate take everything and turn it into Reginald Von Poopie-Poopie? Do you think Nate’s treat privilege might soon be extinct? How soon?
Edwina, The Dinosaur That Didn’t Know She Was Extinct by Mo Willems
The F Word
One of my mom’s favorite stories to tell is about the day I came home from kindergarten and announced, “Pointing with your middle finger is against the school rules.”
Most moms would probably reply, “Good to know! It certainly should be.” But my mom, my mom is not like most moms. My mom asks, “Why do you think that is, Jaimie?”
I grimace matter-of-factly, and with a knowing shake of my head reply, “I don’t know, it just is.”
Of course I did in fact find out the origin of this rule despite my secluded existence as a Child of the Redwoods. Probably not long after that conversation, I was sitting in the car on a rainy day in Scotts Valley, reciting various words to the tune of a catchy song I’d learned. It went: Truck Truck Bo Buck, Banana Fana Fo… you get the gist. That was when I found out about the F word. My mom told me it meant, and I quote: Making love in a bad way.
A few years later I have a German au-pair that tells us we can point with our middle fingers, as long as we only point at the ground. This is fun and takes the thrill out of it being banned entirely.
Then years go by and now my own son is in kindergarten.
On Halloween, Papa and I are happily reminiscing about last year and the kid who showed-up on our doorstep dressed as a giant middle finger. It was a fairly high quality costume (at least he hadn’t dressed-up “as himself”). If memory serves, I may have shouted Middle Finger off our porch and thrown a piece of candy or two as he escaped with his finger between his legs. I mean, c’mon, there are little kids here.
Of course this story then prompts Jake to ask the question, “Why was he dressed as a middle finger?” And now I’ve walked right into introducing him to school rules I’m sure he just hasn’t heard of yet.
Then a week passes by and the boys are in the tub. Jake asks, “Mom, what’s the F word?”
“Uh, where did you hear that?”
“Some big kids at school were talking about it.”
“Well, it’s pretty much the naughtiest word you can say so… I can’t really say it to you.” And your brother relishes saying everything he knows he’s not allowed to say which is a genetic deficiency I am positive he has inherited from Grandma.
“Well, can you tell me the next letter after F?”
“It’s U.”
Now he just looks puzzled. And as someone who’s last name starts with F-U-C… I have a feeling we’ll be revisiting this conversation shortly.
The Book Elf
I’m a girl of many projects. It’s really the theme of my entire existence. It appears it’s genetic, as my dad seems to have a similar propensity. And I think I’ve passed it down to Jacob.
This week James asks, “Hey Jake, wanna play Little League?”
And Jake answers, “Yes!” A few moments pass…
“What’s Little League?”
Later this week I’ll write about THE GREAT PICTURE PROJECT… which may end me. Or propel me to new heights of project confidence.
In the meantime, I’ve been spending hours on the internet researching children’s literature. Again. Or should I say, I’ve been helping the Book Elf with his research.
Last year the Book Elf embarked on a totally absurd tradition of bringing us a new book every morning leading up to Christmas. Twenty four books… the Book Elf takes Christmas Eve off as he has other toy wrapping job responsibilities. Last year the Book Elf started by wrapping each book, and then quickly came to his environmental senses and began sneaking in and refilling a reusable cloth bag he may have found on Etsy.
I was delusional enough to think that I was going to try and write twenty four book reviews thanks to this stealthy elf. The evidence shows I wrote fifteen— way better than I would have guessed.
And this year I’ve teamed-up with the Book Elf, yet again. I know… what?! I even shared some of last year’s reviews on Amazon. Someone “liked” my review for the Day the Crayons Quit and now I’ve gotten myself sucked into yet another project.
Thanks Dad.
Dragon
Last year we were into super heroes. But this year, this year we’re into dragons.
OK, we’re still into super heroes, but maybe only if they’re training dragons.
Around August, in a quiet moment, Nate took the opportunistic silence to declare, “I want to be a Twansfowmewr for Halloween.”
“A Transformer? Got it.” Meanwhile I wait until about two weeks before Halloween to plan any costumes as I know this is just the opening bid.
But this year we went almost straight to dragons, thanks to the movie How to Train Your Dragon 2. Nate was up for “dragon” because they fly. And flying is pretty much the only criterion by which he makes decisions. We only like super heroes that fly. And clothing with characters that fly… and pajamas. And underpants. So Nate dressed as Toothless the dragon in possibly one of the cutest Halloween costumes to date, rivaling even the Year of the Sock Monkey. I bought the hat and “wings” from two different Etsy artists and thus ponder how I might make a living by becoming an artisanal purveyor of dragon capes.
Jake requested a “dragon paraglider costume because I ride dragons and fly,” which after a little research was less alarming than it initially sounded. It easily translated into a character named Hiccup with billowing velour “wings” and an armor-like mask. Now: Make sure they don’t really believe they can fly, ride or paraglide.
And since I like my family to match, I whipped-up a scheme for James to dress as the big, red-bearded dad Viking and for me to dress-up as the Plain Jane mom Viking (which I’m sure if I watched the entire movie I’d find out is a tough, fire-breathing Viking @ss kicker.)
James’ costume may have been the best. 1) Because I found an online purveyor of plastic Viking hats that are sold via J. Peterman-esque illustrations. Two uses of the word purveyor in one blog? I believe the only former purveyor I know would approve.
So, the Viking hat was possibly some of the best Amazon reviews I’ve ever read. One guy said he wears his helmet while mowing his lawn and his wife doesn’t worry about infidelity. That clinched the sale. 2) In a Halloween night moment of creative ingeniuty, James paired his costume with a brown velour and faux-shearling nap time blanket. He got many a look from small children scurrying out of his path as he strode around the neighborhood.
Halloween was as fun as ever. Nonna and Papa joined us and helped hold down the fort while we went Trick-or-Treating. Unfortunately, the rain chased away more candy-crazed visitors than I would have expected. As we trooped around from house to house, Jake maintained his discerning aim only toward “spooky houses.”
Nate declared, “Look, I’m not scared anymore! I’m not scared of anything.”
I finally fulfilled my dream of visiting the Rosecrutian house and saw the life-size coffin in person. But the boys wanted to head home and pass out candy. They were crazy candy hander-outers. They liked to jump around and yell into the dark and try to throw candy into bags like a carnival game. The highlight of the evening was many a trick-or-treater recognizing Jake and being shocked that he lived in our very house. The shock was mutual as Jake recognized many a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle from his very own kindergarten class. It was like he had changed out of his Hiccup costume and straight into his Rock Star costume. I believe we saw Phoebe, Jair, Christo, Sebastian and his brother David. Nate got so crazy and overstimulated that he crashed in tears. I’m sure he has no regrets.
Then last week we were driving in the car and we pass the Mummy Museum. James says, “So Nate, are you ready to go back and visit the Mummy Hole?”
“No, I’m too scared.”
And I ask, “Wait, what? You told me you’re not scared of anything anymore?!”
“Nooo (Silly Mama). I’m not scared only if I get tweats.”
Dear Santa
Dear Santa,
I’ve been having good behavior these past few days. How are you doing? Have you been fattening up this year? Ha ha ha! About that… I wanted you to give me for Christmas this projector of Spiderman that I saw at Toys R Us and I want you to see my brother’s letter.
Love,
Jake
Dear Santa,
Gimme the Spiderman thing that squirts out water.
Love,
Nate
Tween
On the eve of my newest nephew’s birthday, I’ve been struck by an undeniably clear life-truth: Aunts and uncles are the source of all evil.
Maybe that didn’t come out right… what I meant to say is that kids get all of their contraband from the siblings of their moms and dads. All the things they want and no one will let them have.
In my case, I got my first electric razor to shave my legs from my Aunt Rox. Followed by my first mascara and blush and lipstick from my Aunt Sara. I still remember it perfectly. They came in a little silver bag with a lucite brush. They were sleek and silver and introduced brand loyalty that lasted for decades. (Note to Clinique— market teenage make-up to aunts not tweens. Plus aunts have way more money.)
For boys, it’s uncles. Uncles are the bestowers of bebe guns and Nerf guns and heaven forbid, potato guns.
And while boys are receiving various weaponry when their mothers’ guards are down, dads are busy pushing the “growing-up” agenda. James is always the pusher of big boy food and big boy chairs and big boy cups and big boy beds and big boy underpants. He plays an important role in weening the boys from their “baby” habits.
Two weekends ago I woke-up early Saturday morning and Nate was sandwiched in the middle. A rare occurrence as he’s been weened from our bed for a long time now. I cuddled up to him and realized he didn’t have a shirt on… and he was wearing his bathing suit.
The bad news? Nate had wet his bed.
The good news? We can count on him to get up, change his own clothes and crawl silently into our bed. The big one used to just yell from his room until you came to save him from his own bodily fluids.
My weekend away in Santa Fe is when Daddy decided to ween Nate from his nighttime Pull-ups. The remaining vestige of diapers gone, cold turkey. Strategically planned for my absence, of course.
I’ve started calling James the Diaper Weener.
He really doesn’t like it.