Category: Kids & Cute Stories

NewMexiKen visited the Rio Grande Zoo Monday, a cool but not uncomfortable day (the rain and snow came in toward evening). With me were my daughter Emily and her daughter, my 16-month-old granddaughter, Kiley. The Zoo was quiet and nearly empty, seemingly as many caretakers as visitors.

We had already enjoyed the giraffes for a few minutes when a female came from the far side of the enclosure toward us. I commented to Emily that the giraffe was coming to see us.

Sure enough the giraffe came as close as she could, her head no more than five or six feet from our viewpoint. She seemed attracted to the baby, who was hungry about then and crying.

Kiley stopped crying when she saw the giraffe. We took some photos (alas with film and not yet available). The giraffe lost interest and wandered off.

Kiley also lost interest and resumed crying. Slowly, ambling as they do, but without hesitation, the giraffe, which by then had gone around a corner out of sight about 20 yards away, came back, if anything closer.

There was absolutely no doubt in our minds that the female giraffe was interested in the crying baby. I found myself talking to the giraffe, as one would to an intelligent house pet, reassuring her that the baby was fine. It was a conversation with considerable eye-to-eye contact.

The whole incident was extraordinary.

dooce seems to like motherhood a little and — as always — is fun to read. Click on the link if only to see the photo.

Read this — Tears of Joy — A Matter of Perspective.

NewMexiKen was a Michigander in those days, though young enough to still be just a Michigosling.

Children didn’t get driven to school then. They walked. Or they took a bus. Or they rode a bike. And my bike was gone. Fortunately it was Saturday.

Still, it was my 11th birthday and it was depressing to have my bike missing on my birthday. We looked everywhere.

Finally Mom called the police. She described the vanished bike to them. “There was? Where? Downtown. OK!”

Dad and I drove the mile or so downtown to the bike shop. The missing bike was reportedly there.

We went in and Dad asked about the bike in our name. Sure enough, there was one.

Trouble was it wasn’t my bike. It was a brand new three-speed English racer.

“That’s not my bike.” I protested to Dad.

“Yes it is,” he said. “Happy Birthday!”

As of January 29th dooce was still pregnant but her site had a new masthead.

The woman teaching the class has never had a baby, and she openly scolded me and Jon when we shouted out, “Cigars!” in response to the question What should you bring with you to the hospital? I’m certain she was looking for a more obvious answer, like The Book of Mormon or an extra set of Heavenly Underwear, two VERY important items in a birthing plan, right up there with tequila and porn, if you ask me. I think I may have crossed the line when earlier this week during a discussion about the pros and cons of breastfeeding I suggested that one of the advantages of formula feeding was being able to get back to my rock and roll lifestyle. You’ve never seen a more frightened group of pregnant women, many of them obviously terrified that their child would one day encounter my child and be introduced to the evils of coffee and MTV.

From New York Metro.com

It’s a foldable chair that you attach to your wheeled luggage so that your kid can “ride” along. Your arms remain free. It was designed by a flight attendant mom, and is intended for kids 8 Months to 5 years and up to 40 pounds.

Learn about the product here.

The Bleat is pretty good today on little kids and little kids TV.

Denise Kusel in the Santa Fe New Mexican has a brief, pleasant column about Christmas and model trains — and girls’ toys.

According to The New York Times Magazine, U.S. Patent D470,942 was for a pacifier with remote locator.

[Thanks to Veronica]

By the way, a quick search of Google did locate a pacifier/thermometer, which seems like a good idea. The John Lennon pacifier however, seems silly. Not that many babies are Beatles fans.

Those who have read James Lileks describe his daughter “Gnat” will not want to miss today’s The Bleat. He promises this page will only be current today, so click while you can.

“I don’t bribe her to go to the grocery store, unless she’s exceedingly cranky — then it’s the Big Grocery Store, where she can ride the carts with small truck cabs. Note to self: if I end up in hell, find the man who invented those carts. Deal with him.”

From James Lileks

The Bleat on Jasper:

Dogs are not fur-children. Dogs are dogs. They’re happier if you know this. And you’re happier, too, because you won’t mistake your dog for your child. The day Gnat came home was the day I began to really understand my dog. It’s not that I had overestimated him; he’s incredibly smart. I had given him some human attributes, yes, but you can’t help it – there is some overlap, given all the time humans and dogs have spent together. I am not exaggerating when I say that he cried when we brought Gnat home. He had never made that sound before and he’s never made it since, for which I’m grateful: it was painful. He got it. He knew.

The narrative continues. Made NewMexiKen wish I had a dog…for a millesecond.

Article from The New York Times on the infant video immersion.

Half an hour before bedtime, John Hill-Edgar is in his blue bouncy chair, watching the “Baby Bach” DVD, riveted by the sound of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” and the pictures of a toy train, a baby, a bubble-blowing toy bear.

He is just 7 months old, too young to talk, but like many other American babies, he has been watching videos from the “Baby Einstein” series almost since birth.

Thanks to Veronica.

Did you hear about the teacher who was helping one of her kindergarten students put his boots on?

He asked for help and she could see why. With her pulling and him pushing, the boots still didn’t want to go on. When the second boot was on, she had worked up a sweat. She almost whimpered when the little boy said, “Teacher, they’re on the wrong feet.”

She looked and sure enough, they were. It wasn’t any easier pulling the boots off than it was putting them on.

She managed to keep her cool as together they worked to get the boots back on — this time on the right feet.

He then announced, “These aren’t my boots.”

She bit her tongue rather than get right in his face and scream, “Why didn’t you say so?” as she wanted to.

Once again she struggled to help him pull the ill-fitting boots off.

He then said, “They’re my brother’s boots. My Mom made me wear them.”

She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. She mustered up the grace to wrestle the boots on his feet again. She said, “Now, where are your mittens?”

He said, “I stuffed them in the toes of my boots.”

“The presence of a grandparent confirms that parents were, indeed, little once, too, and that people who are little can grow to be big, can become parents, and one day even have grandchildren of their own. So often we think of grandparents as belonging to the past; but in this important way, grandparents, for young children, belong to the future.” Fred Rogers

Dear Abby,

I recently read your column advising grandparents on “tough love” for grandparents to give misbehaving grandchildren, whose own parents let them run wild. I have followed your advice, and enclosed a picture demonstrating my technique when my grandson just won’t behave while I’m babysitting for his parents. They have told me not to spank him, so I just take him for a ride, and he usually calms down afterward.

Sign me,

Tough Love Grandpa

[Thanks to Debby]

From The Week

A California elementary school is searching kindergarten students’ lunch boxes each morning for illicit peanut butter sandwiches. All foods containing nuts are banned because one boy has what his mother says is a life-threatening allergy. The children must also wash their hands each morning when they arrive to avoid contaminating the school. One mother, whose child is also allergic to peanuts, says, “This kind of nonsense makes me crazy.”