I remember seeing a documentary in which a four year old Inuit boy had his own hunting knife. The memory of that boy lingers on, and comes to mind when I think about what Noah can and can’t do – I’m convinced that one of the main reasons he can’t do something is because I don’t think he can. I started giving him chores a couple of months ago and now I want more. I figure he can dress himself and make his own breakfast from now on, even if he isn’t all that keen.
To get him on board I’ve resorted to The Carrot, as opposed to The Stick. He now has a Sleepover Chart with six things he has to do everyday – do them for a week and he gets to have a sleepover. After days of him protesting loudly, dragging his feet and just plain refusing to get his own breakfast, today he couldn’t do it fast enough. Yay. I do have one eye on dealing with bedwetting this summer so I hope the chart works.
Rob and I have started cutting poles for the orchard. It’s a bit sad felling trees on our block, crack whoosh thud, taking out it’s neighbours on the way down, but it is very local, very cheap, and always satisfying being self-sufficient. We tried dragging three poles back at the same time but it was too heavy. I got almost halfway back with two before I hit the mud, tractor wheels spinning. So it looks like we’re going to have to drag them back one at a time. We’ve got a lot of work to do.
“I’m grateful that I played Hide and Seek with Morrow, and Morrow didn’t really find me.”
(Confused? Look)
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