For the most part, I like the rain.  I like the sound of it, the puddles, the unpredictability of which way a downpour will sometimes blow, and the fact that it gives me an excuse to stay inside all day with my little guy and play games, pretend we’re superheroes and paint.

And I like rain accoutrement – the wellies, the coats, and the umbrellas.  After watching Mary Poppins as a child, I had a fascination with umbrellas that lasted a few months.  I’d borrow my granny’s black umbrella, open it up at the top of the sloped driveway, hold it up high and run down, waiting for the umbrella to works its magic and elevate me.  On several occasions, I slipped on the oil-slicked surface – with the bruises and cuts to prove it – but I continued nonetheless, hoping that one day that umbrella would bump me up to the skies.

Cut to a few decades later when my wish was that Mary Poppins herself would appear with her bottomless carpet bag and pull out of it something that would allow me to push my son in his buggy without becoming drenched while braving cats-and-dogs rain.  Like I said, for the most part, I like the rain, but not when I was trying to figure out a buggy/stroller raincover while holding an umbrella in one hand (and the majority of the time, with a crying baby/toddler who was not too keen on a raincover).  And I wasn’t too fond of the rain when I was attempting to simultaneously hold an umbrella and push a buggy.  Ambidexterity is not overrated.

I somehow only managed to find out about the Buggy Brolly after my son was out of his pushchair, but I suspect that even had I known about this brainchild of a mother of three, I may have opted for one of the more interesting choices below.  So, rain rain go away, come again after the pram pushers have had a chance to pick up a UFO cap.

Chemical coveralls

Nubrella

UFO Cap

Bicycle raincoat

Brella bag

Disposable poncho raincoat

Umbrella raincoat

Umbrella hat

Japanese umbrella

Hands-free umbrella

I used to travel heavy.  By heavy, I mean when my son and I travelled to the US last year, three of the carry-ons were full of his toys, books, markers, stickers, and puzzles.  It wasn’t that I thought he actually needed all of this for the 11-hour flight, but I was concerned for the welfare of our fellow passengers.  I didn’t want any of them to be privy to a meltdown in the skies.

On the way to the flight gate – a beast of burden carrying my son and these huge bags (so colossal that they didn’t fit in the handy “check if your carry-ons are small enough to be considered carry-ons” guide near the check-in counter, but I winked and smiled at the counter attendant and managed to finagle my way through) – I vowed to find the toy of all toys.  I was on a quest for the ultimate all-in-one little darling’s doodah that didn’t require me carrying half our home, the toy that came complete with bells, whistles and foghorns, with cry-proof gadgetry (for the little guy and me), with harm-proof gadgetry (for passers-by and passengers in the seats near us), and with educational gallimaufry.

A few months after this trip, my son was in hospital and a friend of his let him borrow her iPad.  Complete with games, books and movies, this little rectangular piece of technology became the Apple of his eye (amusing myself with that pun, I am).  This book-sized piece of modern machinery was the toy I had been searching for, the holy grail of playthings.  This extraordinary curio eliminated the need for me to carry 30lbs worth of child amusement accoutrement.

When my son left the hospital, his pa bought him his own iPad.  It was a true blessing as distractor during various tests at subsequent hospital visits.  Almost a year later, and I’m slightly embarrassed to admit that I love his – ahem, our – iPad as much as him.  Don’t tell him, but I occasionally play with some of his apps when he’s not around.  That reminds me, where the heck is that iPad charger?

Here are our five favourite entertainment, game and book iPad apps for little ones right now:

Scribblify
Compatible with iPhone and iPad
Age recommendation:  4+ (if using alone, but if playing with a parent/carer, I think it could be used at 2+)
Cost:  $0.99 in the US, £0.69 in the UK

Scribblify is my and my four-year-old son’s favourite iPad app.  We play with this drawing and painting app the most, and it never gets old.  It keeps him engrossed for at least an hour at a time, and the art pieces he creates really are amazing.  My dad told me David Hockney creates exhibition-worthy art on iPads, and as I perused Sir Hock’s creations, I have to admit that I thought to myself that my little guy’s masterpieces are worthy of an exhibition.

This app does not require any artistic abilities to create figurative, abstract, surreal, or scenic art pieces. With effects, 28 different brushes/textures and hundreds of colours – varying values, combinations of colours and custom blends – children and adults alike are only limited by their own imagination.  And although the age recommendation is 4+, if a parent is using Scribblify with a little one, a munchkin as young as two could easily enjoy the app.  We love the horizontal, vertical and quadrant mirrors.  Remember when as a child, you’d fold paper in half, cut shapes with scissors, unfold the paper, and see the mirror shapes on both halves?  Well, imagine that, but in electronic form.  We also love the fact that we can share Enlai’s  works of genius with friends and family on Facebook or by email.

Drawing Pad
Compatible with iPad
Age recommendation:  4+ (if using alone, but if playing with a parent/carer, I think it could be used at 2+)
Cost:  $1.99 in the US, £1.19 in the UK

This portable art studio app is delicious.  Whenever my little guy chooses this app, I become the kid in the candy shop.  If you and/or your mini-me have any sort of art appetite, this will satisfy your hunger.  Enlai loves opening up the electronic drawer filled with brushes, pencils, crayons, a blending tool (we call it “the smudgy”), markers, stamps, paper, stickers, and rubbers (erasers for my US compatriots).  When any one of the tools is tapped, a range of colours is presented.  The coloured pencils alone offer about 60 different hues.

Nevermind that Apple chose Drawing Pad as “iPad App of the Week” in several countries, or that it has been featured on nytimes.com, usatoday.com, and awarded Editor’s Choice Award from Children’s Technology Review.  What I – a mama whose role often includes acting as foremost funmaker and principal picker-upper – love about this app is the fact that it keeps my little fella entertained for at least as long as it takes me to do some cooking and washing, and sitting down to take a breath and doesn’t present a whole new mess to clean up.

Enlai taught me how to use two fingers to rotate and resize the stickers, and he sometimes magnifies the stickers so much that they become the background for his drawings.  He loves that he can save his art should he be interrupted – potty breaks happen, as do meal and bath times – and reload it later to continue his touchscreen tour de force.  And just as we can with Scribblify, we are able to share Enlai’s art with friends and family on Facebook or by email.

Elmo’s  Monster Maker
Compatible with iPad
Age recommendation:  4+(my opinion is that if shown how to use it a few times, a toddler aged 3+ could use it alone, but if playing with a parent/carer, I think it could be enjoyed at 1+)
Cost:  $3.99 in the US

We both laugh out loud every time we use this app.  Elmo prompts us to select one “blank” monster from a choice of five and then to decide on something for the top of the head, the eyes and the nose.  The choices alone make us giggle, including Elvis wigs and lampshades for tops, fried eggs and Groucho Marx glasses for eyes, and disco balls and butterflies for noses.

We go into chuckle overdrive once our monster is created because we are then given the option to allow him to dance, pose for a photo, or play.  If we choose the former, the monsters dance to different tunes, from polka to country to some 80s keyboardy tune.  Some of their dance moves and dance faces have me in stitches.   If we opt for Elmo to snap a photo, he asks the monsters to say “cheese”, the screen momentarily goes white (as if an actual camera flashes), and the shot – complete with different backdrops – can then be retrieved in the iPad photos.  Enlai’s favourite is the play mode, when Elmo comes out to play with the monster.  He sometimes says “boo” and startles the monster or does random things with the monsters, like ducking so as to miss a rubber chicken or pretending to ride a roller coaster.

My little guy somehow figured out how to tickle the monsters (this is not an obvious option in the app).  One day, Enlai came running from his room to my shower, excitedly shouting, “Ma, you won’t believe this!  Come and see this!”  I asked if there was a fire, rodents or bugs involved, to which he shouted in reply, “No, it’s the Elmo monster.  He’s ticklish!  And the other one plays a trumpet!”  He discovered that if you do absolutely nothing (i.e. ignore Elmo’s prompts to press a button) and just watch the monster for a few seconds, one of them plays a trumpet, one chomps on an apple, and others yawn, doze off or say something funny, among other things.  The sounds of some of their voices crack me up.

One thing I love about this app is the fact that it’s seasonal.  The options and backgrounds change according to season and highlight different objects we often see during particular times of the year, such as bunny ears and Easter eggs in the spring, seashells and ice cream in the summer, Christmas baubles and reindeer antlers in the winter, and acorns and leaves in the fall.

The Monster at the End of This Book
Compatible with iPhone and iPad
Age recommendation:  4+(my opinion is that if shown how to use it a few times, a toddler aged 3+ could use it alone, but if playing with a parent/carer, I think it could be enjoyed at 2+)
Cost:  $3.99 in the US, £2.49 in the UK

With narration by lovable, furry Grover, touch-point animation and silliness wrapped up in more silliness, this quickly became an adored app.  Our fuzzy blue friend spends the story worrying about the monster at the end of the book, aiming to convince us not to turn the page.  The clever software developers of this app must have children, because if you tell a toddler to not turn a page, what do they do?  Exactly.

The fact that Grover helps little ones learn to read by speaking the words of the story as they appear on the screen was lost on us.  And although the fact that this app reached No. 1 in books in the app store, was the recipient of the Editor’s Choice Award in the Children’s Technology Review and was named one of Babble’s Best Apps for Kids of 2011 is wonderful, but once again, all these accolades were completely lost on us. Enlai and I both just appreciate the story, silliness and interactivity.

Because Grover is genuinely frightened at the possibility of confronting the monster at the end of the book – even becoming a comical drama king with shrills and arms thrown in the air – he ties down pages with knotted ropes, nails wooden slabs, and builds brick walls, all in an effort to keep us from turning the pages.  Little ones are able to decide the pace of the story as their touch determines whether the story stays static on one page for several minutes or whether they turn the page as soon as the prompt to do so pops up. Telling you what happens with the monster at the end of the book would be like disclosing what happens at the end of The Godfather trilogy.  I can’t bring myself to do it.  Rest assured that there is a likelihood of  laughter, not tears.

Toy Story
Compatible with iPad
Age recommendation:  4+(my opinion is that if shown how to use it a few times, a toddler aged 3+ could use it alone, but if playing with a parent/carer, I think it could be enjoyed at 2+)
Cost:  Free

If you and your little one have watched the three-part Disney dynamo that is known as the Toy Story franchise, then it is likely you will enjoy this app, if for nothing else than it affords an opportunity to interact with familiar and cherished characters.

While we are yet to take full advantage of all the app has to offer, including an interactive book , games, colouring pages, two sing-along videos and two games, Enlai colours the three colouring pages nearly every time he has the iPad in his hands.  He has even developed his own stories around these pages that have nothing to do with the actual Toy Story plot.

With this app, your little ones can hear the story read aloud, and can even record their own narration to listen to (or for younger children, their parent’s narration).   On each page, we can tap the screen to play various sound effects and character voices.  While I like the games – Parachute Drop and Toy Barn Maze – Enlai is not very interested at this stage.  The two sing-along videos – You’ve Got A Friend In Me and Strange Things – come with lyrics, and we’ve probably watched the former video about 20 times over the last ten months.  I think the main appeal of this app is the price and the choice.  It’s not a one-trick piece of software; there’s a lot on offer.

Now then, it can’t all be fun and games, can it.  Watch this space for my and Enlai’s review of our top handful of educational apps for precious offspring.  In the meantime, happy apping.

Common.  Usually mild.  Typically requires no special medical treatment.  All this was lost on me, for as a mother, I dreaded chicken pox more than weaning, more than potty training, more than the bedtime routine gone bad because some little fella has decided that bedtimes are overrated, and he’s opting out of the night-night nonsense. 

I’m no good with bumps, red and blistery or otherwise.  I get the itchies when I see protuberances on noni, lychee and particularly craggy squash.  When I noticed three suspicious varicella-zoster virus spots rearing their ugly little heads on my son’s groin as I changed his nappy/diaper, I felt the urge to scratch my forearm, and then my wrist became a bit itchy, and then my left heel started itching, and then my ants in pants dance commenced. 

In denial, I decided that it was nappy/diaper rash.  Or possibly a sudden allergy to our washing soap/laundry detergent.  Best to give him a bath, google a good cognitive behavioural therapist who could help me control my impulse to scratch the non-existent bumps on my own body, and get some sleep. 

But I had difficulty sleeping.  I woke up every couple hours to check whether any new bumps had surfaced on my wee prince.  I didn’t find any until my son woke up, complaining that his back and belly felt “scratchy”.  I lifted up his shirt and was astonished how three bumps could turn into about 100 in a matter of hours.  

I called my son’s doctor as soon as I knew she was in and asked if we could come in for the ol’ verification of chicken pox.  A few hours later, and Dr. Make Sure made sure.  She prescribed some calamine lotion and said I might consider giving my lumpy lad some ibuprofen, acetaminophen and/or Piriton for children and bathing him with Aveeno body wash with colloidal oatmeal. 

Unfortunately, neither the calamine lotion, nor the Piriton or Aveeno baths were effective in eliminating any discomfort.  I sought other remedies and was fortunate that both recommendations proved successful.  A friend suggested “pouring a bunch of bicarbonate soda” (baking soda) into warm bath water and letting the little guy soak in it for as long as he wants.”  I was giving him four or five baths a day.  And my husband read that a particular homeopathic remedy, rhus tox, seemed to work for several situations of the swellies.  He picked up some of the stuff, which is apparently extracted from poison ivy. 

I asked my husband, “So, you want to seriously harm our son and put me into itchy overdrive?  He already has chicken pox and now you want to give him poison ivy, too?”  He responded by explaining how these things work – inject chicken pox to prevent chicken pox.  Chew a rhus tox (aka poison ivy) pill and prevent the itching and restlessness poison ivy presents.  I understand it all, but for whatever reason still find it difficult to grasp that the chickenpox vaccine, which contains a weakened form of the chickenpox virus itself, works by causing the body to reproduce its own antibodies to protect against the disease. 

Rhus tox worked though.  I told my son they were “magic chocolate pills” that erased chicken pox, and he went for it.  He was asking for the pills like Ashley Cole asks for his nude photos or Charlie Sheen asks for his “goddesses”.  

I also made sure to trim my son’s nails as I knew he would be tempted to scratch.  I trimmed my own nails while I was at it and decided an antihistamine for mama would be a good idea considering her own skin tickles. 

Unlike some parents I know who buckle under the quarantine pressure and let their munchkins roam freely, with the possibility of infecting all the other children who come in contact with The Itty Bitty Infector, I was Queen of the Quarantiners.  Luckily, we lived in a large apartment complex at the time, and while we stayed inside all day – admittedly driving each other crazy with respective cases of cabin fever – in the evenings we turned into nocturnal creatures lurking in the dark and running up and down the long hallways.  And on the two occasions when someone appeared in the hallway, my son became Blanket Jackson’s twin.  I held his blankie over his head and ushered him to the nearest exit. 

I had to inform our friends that they may have been at risk of being infected, and one mom asked if I would be having a chicken pox party, and if so, could she please RSVP.   She was among the parents who believe that purposely exposing their youngsters to the virus allows the kiddos to acquire some immunity to the disease in a safer and more effective manner than using vaccines.  No pox parties, no measles merrymaking, or flu flings coming from this camp.  I couldn’t bear the thought of knowing I was responsible for inflicting any sort of pain or discomfort – not to mention physical and possibly emotional scars – on a child. 

One dad who didn’t know whether he ever had chicken pox called his mom to find out, and she said she couldn’t remember.  Not remember?  What in the name of all that is holy?  I told him I felt it was particularly important for him to steer clear of us as according to the Mayo Clinic, chicken pox can affect male fertility.  A high fever associated with the pox can temporarily decrease sperm production.  And, the virus is also capable of causing inflammation of the testicles, which can result in testicular shrinkage and infertility.  This is more common with mumps but still occurs occasionally with chicken pox.  Bulging balls and no more babies is serious business, I told him, so he needed to dodge the chicken pox bullet. 

I have one mom friend who contracted chicken pox and then two weeks later, her son woke up with the irritating knobs.  And another mom whose poor older son has had chicken pox twice.  As we walked together, she told me she was on her way to get her younger son the pox vaccination. 

I’m grateful that my little fella had chicken pox a couple years ago and remained relatively unscathed.  He didn’t really have a fever, abdominal pain, sore throat, or headache – common symptoms that appear alongside these bothersome bumps.  And he didn’t develop any bacterial infections or other complications.  Phew.  

I’m not sure I could handle a case of the horrible humps again.  Even writing this and thinking about the bumps on my son’s eyelids, his scalp, behind his ears, and in the folds of his bum cheeks gives me a bad case of the itchies.  He has two barely detectable scars, and I’ve tried to explain to him that these scars represent a rite of passage.  He asked, “You mean like the grazes on my hands and knees are a secret passageway?”  I respond, scratching my head, “Um, ya, that’s precisely what I mean.”

There’s the usual bit of bibliophilia going on in our home.  My little softcover savant and we bookworm begetters have been doing eye and mind gymnastics with our latest nightstand reads.

My husband’s reading a Ford Madox Ford book and Grimm’s Fairy Tales, among a handful of other tomes.  I’m reading a book similar to those I imagine a lot of my fellow parents are reading, a guide to understanding the monsters identified as toddlers.  And when I’ve read a few pages of that and am feeling like I understand a tad better the human being known as my three-year-old son, I move on to either John Carey’s What Good Are The Arts?, Andrew Oldham’s collection of poems Ghosts of a Low Moon or a book a friend recently gave me, Conversations with God.  My most recent conversation with God consisted of my asking him how I can end my husband’s latest fascination with the Brothers Grimm because it really has me spooked, and I don’t know how much longer I can sleep with one eye open.  I’m still waiting for God’s response.

My little guy’s folio fare of late seems to be more of the creative and emotional variety.  These handful of books have quickly become my favourites, and every night I ask him if we can please, please, please read one of these.  Sometimes he indulges me, but last night he said, “Let’s give it a break, ma, it’s pirate book time.”

The first of the five I recommend reading with your munchkins is Zen Ghosts by Jon Muth.  Muth created Stillwater the panda, who features in Zen Shorts, Zen Ties and now Zen Ghosts.  The book is a tale adapted from a writing included in a collection of 48 koans by a Chinese Buddhist monk in the 13^th century.  These koans are defined by Muth as questions that one has to answer for himself/herself and which appeal directly to the intuitive part of human consciousness as opposed to the intellect. 

I think the best children’s books are those that strike a chord with both children and adults, and Zen Ghosts certainly fulfills that criteria.  Kids may not understand what Muth is trying to convey, but they will appreciate the characters and the beautiful illustrations throughout the book.   Parents might be pleased that not only is this an intriguing ghost story, but also that their bambinos will learn more about duality – the people they are with their parents, the people they are with their friends, the people they are with their teachers.

While we’re on Buddhist books, another current favourite is Buddha at Bedtime.  Seem as though I’m some sort of ringing endorsement for Buddhism?  I’m not Buddhist, and this is purely coincidental (although in Buddhism, there is no such thing as a pure coincidence, so you can cue in the Twilight Zone theme now).  A friend gave the book to Enlai as a gift, and it really is the gift that keeps on giving – our own little written, illustrated and bound philanthropist.  The subtitle of the book – Tales of Love and Wisdom for You to Read With Your Child to Enchant, Enlighten and Inspire – says everything.  Author Dharmachari Nagaraja retells some of the narratives believed to have been told by the Buddha himself – the Jataka Tales – in 20 stories. 

The colourful illustrations depict a particular scene in the tales, and little ones are sure to recognise the images of animals and nature.  While Nagaraja says the stories are aimed at children six to ten years old, my three-year-old enjoys them, particularly The Prince and Sticky Hair, a tale about words being more powerful than weapons, and The Small Bowl of Rice, which teaches that generosity is its own reward.

And travelling from Buddhism to art, another favourite book is Beautiful Oops!.  Author Barney Saltzberg is my hero, teaching children and adults alike that when you think you’ve made a mistake, think of it as an adventure in creativity and an opportunity to make something beautiful.  The very colourful, 28-page board book – complete with flaps, different textures, and an accordion-like pop-up – naysays blunders and instead teaches that spills, smears, smudges and crumbled-up paper can “make magic appear”.

If I had a choice to buy one book for little ones, this would be the one, regardless of whether or not they have an interest in artistic endeavours.  At any age, it’s worth being reminded that a tear in a page can literally be turned into a smile.

Another current favourite book, which happens to be in the same vein as Beautiful Oops! is The Scribble Book issued by Tate Publishing.  Surprise, surprise, the book is about scribbling and allows for freehand drawing by prompting little ones to turn scribbles into blooming flowers, a dinosaur’s breath, snail shells, smoke from chimneys and hair on already-provided faces.  We’ve had so much fun with this book, giving shy scribbles friends with crayon squiggles of our own, colouring in the loops created by scribbles, drawing scribble spaghetti, and sketching trails in the snow left by skiers.

Within the 64-page book, little ones are encouraged to scribble dust (“otherwise the vacuum cleaner will get bored”), scrawl over the Mona Lisa, scribble on monsters as hard as they can, and decide whether their doodles should make calm or choppy seas.  And for parents who may want to borrow their budding artist’s book, it’s worth noting that art therapists have utilised the “scribble technique” as a method to lessen inhibitions and release spontaneous imagery from one’s unconscious.

The final recommendation from our three-member We Feel The Need, The Need to Read Book Club is Oliver Jeffers’ most recent piece of brilliance, The Heart and the Bottle.  With thought-provoking themes of loss, longing and loneliness, the book is admittedly geared more toward adults than children, but the way Jeffers addresses mortality through both his words and his illustrations is honest and poetic regardless of the age of the reader.

In books, I appreciate when the author leaves space for interpretation.  Jeffers does this.  He hasn’t spoon-fed me or my little guy with this book; instead, he has given us a starting point for discussing death and the emptiness that often follows.  I realise I may be different from other parents in that I have not chosen to shield my little prince from unhappy thoughts of loss, but in the same token, I know a three-year-old is, well, a three-year-old.  He won’t understand it all, but I hope he will find some poetry in the story, poetry in how an empty chair doesn’t have to stay an empty chair.  For any poetry buffs, this book brought to mind what I believe is one of the greatest poems ever written, Wordsworth’s ode “Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”, and I think that for a 32-page book to do that says a lot. 

Now then, sashay to your local library or bookshop for your dose of bibliofeelia!  Or, if it’s too chilly outside, check out the Oomphalos Bookworms Bookshop.

Here is a transcript of a conversation I overheard at the playground a few days ago:

Mom A:  “I haven’t even started my Christmas shopping yet.  What are you getting little Janey Jane for Christmas?”

Mom B (who is sincerely sweet, always looks amazing, whose children are little angels, and who is apparently very well-organised):  I finished all my shopping, and little Johnny John’s presents are all wrapped and hidden away until Christmas.”

If you lie somewhere between Mom A and Mom B and are looking for gift suggestions for your own or other children, you’re in luck!  Here are some just-waiting-to-be-wrapped-and-put-under-the-tree ideas that might appeal to you.

If they’re toys you’re after, look no further than Petit Chou in London W1, an itsy bitsy toy shop that could’ve been plucked from a scene in Ingmar Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander, packed wall-to-wall with wonderful toys.  Some of my favourites in the shop include the life-size abacus, wooden shape and size sorters, and the perfectly tuned xylophone.  For those of you not in London, Petit Chou offers worldwide shipping.  

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Here you are, close to celebrating three years under your belt, my sweet Enlai.  And just as I wished for you the moment I first saw you as a tiny dot on a screen, I wish you love.  A love that you know and feel.

I wish you more running through sprinklers, rolling down hills, and making sand and snow angels.  Perhaps this year I will consider building some sort of stick, leaf and rock repository so that you no longer have to leave behind your park souvenirs.

I wish you more jumping on beds.  And I hope you never lose your love of blankets and pillows – lots and lots of pillows.

I wish you more somersaults and the mastering of a cartwheel.

I wish for you to be sincere and for others to be sincere to you.  And when you’re with someone, really be with that someone.

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Ladies and gentlemen, I have become that mom.  We’ve been visiting family in the States for the last few months, and I have become the mom who frequents the McDonald’s drive-thru.  The other day, while hollering into the microphone to the invisible McOrderTaker, I found myself asking whether she could throw an Incredible Hulk into our Happy Meal because we already had Spiderman, Iron Man, Human Torch and Wolverine.  

When we drove up to the first window to pay, the woman kindly told me that she couldn’t find any Hulks, to which I responded, “Oh, okay, well, how about Silver Surfer or Captain America?”  She said to give her a minute to check.  Minute up, and neither of these superheroes was available.  I told her that we would not actually be wanting the Happy Meal after all because we really don’t want any duplicate superheroes.  I left empty-handed.  She was probably annoyed.  And as we hightailed it out of the driveway, my son let me know he was still hungry.  There was no happy in this meal; this non-existent meal turned out to be sad.  Very, very sad. 

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Artwork by Tony Aquino

“Go ahead, share with her, pumpkin,” I told my son as he held his ball while staring at the little girl approaching him, eyeing the ball.  He threw it to her and so began a game of catch between them.  When she left, another tiny tot barely able to walk came along for his turn of tossing the ball back and forth.  As they played, two other kiddos watched, ogling the ball. 

What is it about a ball that seems to connect children, and by extension, their respective parents?  I’ve seen these spheres of magic lead to parental introductions at playgrounds and parks, and they seem to bring together entire countries as witnessed during the recent World Cup matches.  These roundies also seem to serve as peace offerings and aid in reconstruction efforts, through organisations like Operation Soccer Ball and Kick for Nick.

Could the explanation be found in the fact that the sphere and its cousin the circle are considered symbols of unity?  Are there sphere conspirators working behind the scenes to assist in our bonding efforts?  Are all the balls at Toys R Us and Lillywhites singing a chorus of “come together right now over me” when the doors close and the lights go down?

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“Would you be interested in reviewing the BRIO Little Forest Train Set?” asked the folks over at Baby Direct, to which I responded, “But of course.”

It has to be said: Brio rocks!  What’s not to like about a toy manufacturer that has its own Declaration of Independence which states:

There are those who say that you can’t eat out once you have children.
That you’ll never have time to read.
That you can’t travel.
That you’ll never dance on the tables again.
There are those who say that you’ll never wear white.
That you’ll put on a track suit every morning and never buy another pair of stilettos.
There are those who say that the future looks bleak.
We beg to disagree.
We know that it isn’t always easy to juggle family life with work, friends, ball games, shopping and everything else you want to do. But at BRIO, our goal is to make that life easier, fun-filled and joyful.

Any company that says it will assist me in my quest to dance on a table again has my vote.  Oh, that time at B.B. King’s Blues Club, listening to and watching the man himself with a belly full of fried pickles and too much wine.  Ahem, I digress…

This train set represents everything that is great about BRIO and about many of the toys which are conceived and/or manufactured in Scandinavian countries.  Contrary to Bergman films created in the same region, the toys are uncomplicated.  Similar to his films, they are beautiful and require imagination.

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It never occurred to me to not display my son’s masterpieces – and I wholeheartedly believe they are masterpieces – on our walls.  Whenever he creates a new one, I ask him if I can hang it on the wall, and he says, “Tac, tac, tac!”  This is because I tell him I need him to help me pull pieces of White Tac to put on the back of the masterpieces in order to make them stick to the wall.

We are currently visiting family for an extended period of time, and the first things I thought to pack – before clothes, Calpol, blankie, and favourite books and toys – were the masterpieces.  I’m not sure if it was more for me or for him, but I immediately fixed the masterpieces on the walls in my parents’ home.  And when my little guy’s cousins came over, he was so happy to share these drawings, paintings, collages, and sticker, cotton wool, stamp and leaf creations with them.  He introduced each work of genius, excitedly stumbling over his words while describing the contents.  He was so proud, and I was stolzgeschwellt watching and listening to him.

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