Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Don't Run With them Either.

Back at the beginning of June the Verbalist went into the pre-Kindergarten skills test at the elementary school. The tests examine not only academics, but social skills, coordination, ect. We walked away from the tests with the examiners encouraging the Verbalist to hone his skill with scissors and to know when he needs to listen instead of talk.

I purchased a new pair of kid scissors and we have been having sutting sessions. First, we started with basic shapes but the Verbalist wanted to move onto to bigger and better things: the Batman logo.

For a good part of the day yesterday and this morning, he has been doggedly cutting a whole stack of bats. The Muralist, respecting that he has a skill he must master before Heading to School (you can hear the capitalization in her voice) has stuck to practicing her letter writing and making abstract art. (She can draw people and whatnot but she explained the other day that scribbling on a blank peice of paper was satisfying. You can see what you want in scribbles she earnestly informed me. One of these days I will show her this site.)

They were working quietly so I slipped off to the other room for a minute. The quiet was not to last. A minute later the Muralist came trotting into the room, her face sober. Taking a deep breath she said, "Mom, I don't want my hair cut."

"Ok," say I, not making the connection. "You don't have too."

"Good!" she says emphatically. She executes an abrupt about face and marches into the other room. "Mom says NO!" she nearly shouts.

"NO HAIR CUTTING!!!" I shout as I run in on the Muralist's heels. "Why," I quiz, "do you want to cut your sister's hair?"

"Well," drawled the Verbalist in mulish consideration, "I didn't want to cut mine but it seems interesting."

"Don't. Cut. Her. Hair."

He eyes me and determines I'm in deadly earnest. He begins cutting away at Batman again and I turn to walk away. The Verbalist calls the Dog in a stage whisper.

"No haircutting at all - not even the Dog." I say, not even turning around.

"Yes Mom." drones the Verbalist clearly upset there are no loopholes to exploit.

The Dog rolls her golden eyes my way, a silent Thank You.

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