Tooth in Lending

Some people, it's said, would give you the shirts off their backs. In the case of James . . .

Well, let me back up and set the stage.

Genevieve was thrilled today to find that she had a loose tooth: she'd been jealous that James was on the verge of losing one, but now she too had prospects of Tooth Fairy loot. They wiggled their teeth and compared them over the course of the day. On the way home, hers came out. There was much talk of how excited she was for morning, and how she planned to put a note under her pillow with the tooth, explaining all the details. James tried not to be jealous, but his had been loose for several days, and he was a bit frustrated that she beat him to putting one actually under the pillow after a mere day of looseness. He redoubled his wiggling, but to no avail.

Then - alas! During the car ride, Genevieve dropped the tooth, and couldn't see where it fell. There was much weeping and gnashing of - you know - but it seemed a simple case: the tooth had to be in the car. She looked. James looked. Nothing. More weeping. We insisted she stop fussing for the rest of the ride, as we adults would certainly find it when we got home.

Well, I searched diligently for that tooth, but have no idea where it could be.

Fortunately, Priscilla had experienced this several times (she swallowed at least two teeth, for example), and set about persuading Genevieve that all would be well. "But my note to the Tooth Fairy was supposed to be a minor part of the plan, and now it has to be the only plan!" Sister comfort triumphed in the end, and there was at last peace.

Suddenly: "My tooth came out!" James exclaimed. Instantaneously, he held it out. "Here, Genevieve. You can put this under your pillow."

Donor

(Yes, she accepted: "Thank you, James! It's just like mine was . . . only bloodier!")

Recipient

Some days, it seems all they do is annoy each other on purpose, complain about each other, and speak angrily to each other. But when it counts, the "tooth" will out: there's real love there.

These Are the Days of Wonder - and Horror

So there we were, living an ultimate example of what homeschool is supposed to be all about. James and Vivi had, on their own, found a beautiful little frog, named him (her?) Lightfoot, and made the creature a habitat of sorts. Lightfoot actually seemed rather happy to inhabit it.

 
A neighbor boy joined them, and they excitedly displayed their find. Genevieve started telling him of how James loves reptiles; James replied (gently, even!) that this was in fact an amphibian, and spontaneous child-led discussion of the differences between the categories resulted. Said neighbor's mom was so entranced by all of this that she delayed sending the child to school so he could soak all of this up.

James ran in to get treats: ice pops. He proceeded to describe how he had been experimenting with various kinds of liquids since he got the ice pop kit, and what happened with each.

About this time, Lightfoot tired of his bark perch, hopped out of the bowl, and started climbing on our front door. 

Not only was this adorable, but now discussion turned to how a frog was designed to be able to do this.

So all was going swimmingly. Yup. Just about then, Lightfoot crawled further up and our eyes followed him to the top corner of the door where he decided to stay for quite a while before going sideways onto the wall (and eventually back to the bushes).

Unfortunately, with all this looking up, we saw that Lightfoot was not the first frog to traverse our door . . .

NOT Lightfoot

And it all ended in screaming.

Such is my life.