Saturday, February 28, 2009

The Mad Scientist

Today at OWL, our weekly homeschool co-op, Blueberry had a melt-down because nobody wanted to do a science class with her. We finally assuaged her by asking the the other 4 year old and 3 year old, 2 girls who LOVE to play animals, if they could go outside and play animals while Blueberry looked at the icy ground with a magnifying glass. This appeased everyone. Blueberry went around the back yard looking at ice and grass through the magnifying glass while the other 2 girls pretended to be frogs and turtles. Crisis averted.

Remember my dilemma with my jock daughter? How difficult it has been for me to understand this little athlete in my life? I am reliving it all now, only this time with my little scientist, she who experiences a tinge of disappointment when her own wound does not draw enough blood for her to see.

I hate blood. Can't stand the sight of it. Makes me gag (So do complete sentences.).

In high school chemistry class Mr. B often looked at the results of my experiments, shook his head gently, and sweetly praised my writing or acting abilities. It was clear to him that I should never pursue a career in science. At all. Ever. You know those indestructible science tables? I destroyed one during the same experiment that turned my hand purple. My table-mates dubbed me "Janice", after Janice the Muppet, the spacey one who sang in Animal's band.

Somehow, I am to parent a mad scientist. With hair to match. And a crazy wicked laugh when she is in her science mode.

Nature or nurture? My jock and I do not share DNA. My scientist and I do. I am neither jock nor scientist. Go figure.

At her request, I knit Blueberry this anatomical heart.
Unrelated (sort of) note: The quality Blueberry and I do share is our need to process everything verbally. Recently, Blueberry has been telling on herself. She so badly needs to express her thoughts verbally, and she needs ME to be her sounding board, that she will storm over to where I am, tell on herself, and then storm out. Recently, for example, she stomped into the room and shouted, "I did something mean to Eggplant but I am not going to tell you what!" That was all she needed. Once verbalized, she could resume her play with Eggplant.

No comments:

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...