In an effort to ensure that every preschooler recognizes the spelling of their own name, my daughter's teacher set up a picture of a pond filled with little alligators bearing the name of each student.
At the end of the day, before dismissal, each student goes up to the pond, finds their name, and says,
"See you later, alligator!"
Then they run into the arms of their awaiting parent.
I LOVE IT.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Quote of the Day
Picture of the Day
Despite the clearly marked directives prohibiting
people from sitting on the platforms,
the little boy thought the camoflauge provided by his smart cap
would conceal his presence.
Send your favorite kid pictures to: dalessandrochristine@gmail.com
Thursday, October 30, 2008
The Phallout
Today, I expected to find everyone discussing the big Phillies win, the approaching parade, and the end of a specualtive curse.
I was wrong.
No one seems to have a voice left with which to speak.
I was wrong.
No one seems to have a voice left with which to speak.
About a Boy
My husband's love of baseball began long before any love of me.
Too young to remember the 1980s team, he grew up rooting for Schmidt and Kruk and, most notably, Schilling. He and his father collected every possible sports memorabilia, seeking out mementos in the most remote of locations, from Jamesway to Woolworth. They love April through October, they love the Phillies, and they love baseball.
But the Philadelphia fan has not always had it so easy.
And so, as I've watched this gut wrenching post-season, I secretly prayed for a baseball team and its fans. Sure, there is famine, and war, and disease that should really take priority on anyone's prayer list. But, at least for this week, I prayed for a Philly win.
And it didn't come easy either.
Controversial calls.
Quiet bats.
An aw-shucks manager lost his mother.
Mother Nature decided to do her part in extending the anxiety.
And the clandestine fear that fate would once again take it all away...even when a win was so close.
And then it happened. They won.
I watched and waited for my husband's reaction. I was expecting the typical antics when Lidge delivered a strike out to seal the deal. From past experience, this includes shouts of triumph, wild gesticulations, and (occasionally) partially clothed laps run around the house.
It didn't happen. As a thousand texts from Pat, Tony, Skeeter, Eric and all my husband's cronies came in, my 32 year old, father of two stood up in complete disbelief.
He slowly walked toward the television to take in the spontaneous celebration.
He shook his head and he quietly called his father.
Too young to remember the 1980s team, he grew up rooting for Schmidt and Kruk and, most notably, Schilling. He and his father collected every possible sports memorabilia, seeking out mementos in the most remote of locations, from Jamesway to Woolworth. They love April through October, they love the Phillies, and they love baseball.
But the Philadelphia fan has not always had it so easy.
And so, as I've watched this gut wrenching post-season, I secretly prayed for a baseball team and its fans. Sure, there is famine, and war, and disease that should really take priority on anyone's prayer list. But, at least for this week, I prayed for a Philly win.
And it didn't come easy either.
Controversial calls.
Quiet bats.
An aw-shucks manager lost his mother.
Mother Nature decided to do her part in extending the anxiety.
And the clandestine fear that fate would once again take it all away...even when a win was so close.
And then it happened. They won.
I watched and waited for my husband's reaction. I was expecting the typical antics when Lidge delivered a strike out to seal the deal. From past experience, this includes shouts of triumph, wild gesticulations, and (occasionally) partially clothed laps run around the house.
It didn't happen. As a thousand texts from Pat, Tony, Skeeter, Eric and all my husband's cronies came in, my 32 year old, father of two stood up in complete disbelief.
He slowly walked toward the television to take in the spontaneous celebration.
He shook his head and he quietly called his father.
Banana Envy
In keeping with the theme of baseball, consider this the Barry Bonds of produce.
I randomly selected a batch of bananas at my local Shop Rite and didn't realize what I had really discovered until I hit the checkout line. As the young, BNL loving checkout boy started to snicker a la Beavis, another bag boy ran over with camera phone in hand to capture the yellow phenomena in all its platano splendor.
Finally realizing what the fuss was all about, I gasped, let fly a "What the...?", and immediately covered my darling little girl's eyes.
I randomly selected a batch of bananas at my local Shop Rite and didn't realize what I had really discovered until I hit the checkout line. As the young, BNL loving checkout boy started to snicker a la Beavis, another bag boy ran over with camera phone in hand to capture the yellow phenomena in all its platano splendor.
Finally realizing what the fuss was all about, I gasped, let fly a "What the...?", and immediately covered my darling little girl's eyes.
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