Skip to main content

mini montessori

Here is a glimpse into the daily comings and goings with a Montessori flair:
Here Bodhi is practicing one-to-one correspondence with numerals 1-3. He is really enamored with the process of counting and usually yells "Again, again mommy", whenever we finish the sets.
I made him a felt oven on which to do his cooking and thus far he is proving an excellent and tenacious chef.
Whenever real hunger knocks on the belly, we have this rotating snack shelf. Here is an example of a cereal making work with raisins, cheerios and a small pitcher for his almond milk. He loves this new level of independence.
When his snack is prepared he finds a seat at his new dining area and eats. Here he is enjoying some popcorn with blueberries and almond cheese, an original Bodhi recipe.Bodhi has always been enamored with the process of opening and closing things. Here is a work designed with that in mind:
And some tong transferring to strengthen the hand. Bodhi prefers to work with this one on the shelf, rather than on a rug.Of course, we always make time for art. He has been doing alot of large butcher paper drawings. I store the resulting art, to be reused later as wrapping paper.Of course, he can never limit himself to one canvas and often explores a more immediate backdrop.I apologize for the very mundane nature of my recent posts, my philosophical wheel doesn't seem to be churning in the same manner lately. I promise to post something deep and life altering soon. Until then...you have these snippets into our busy little life.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

FORGET ABOUT ‘HEALING’

Some days,  you just have to forget  about ‘healing’. You have to stop trying to feel better, trying to overcome your emotional wounds, or trying to be anywhere other than where you are. You have to embrace the day as it is. And you have to give yourself the most sacred permission of all: To shatter.  To break.  To be an ugly mess. To lean into a place of utter humility and powerlessness in yourself. To cry out to the heavens, “I can’t do this!” To admit utter defeat  in the loss of the life  you had imagined. To crumble to the ground, lonely and hopeless and profoundly ruined. To want to die, even. And there, in the darkest places, in the blackness of the underworld, you may begin to rediscover... life.  And learn to love the beginnings. A sacred reboot: A single breath.  The way the sun warms your face. The sound of a tiny bird singing in the tree over there. The raw simplicity of a single moment of human existence. Hell has been transmuted, thr...

a story recently shared by a friend

 Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others, including Love. One day it was announced to the feelings that island would sink, so all constructed boats and left. Except for Love. Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to hold out until the last possible moment. When the island had almost sunk, Love decided to ask for help. Richness was passing by Love in a grand boat. Love said, "Richness, can you take me with you?" Richness answered, "No, I can't. There is a lot of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you." Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by in a beautiful vessel. "Vanity, please help me!" "I can't help you, Love. You are all wet and might damage my boat," Vanity answered. Sadness was close by so Love asked, "Sadness, let me go with you." "Oh . . . Love, I am so sad that I need to be by myself...

He is no longer here

Another day has begun.  I have lit my candles and incense.  Sat in silence. Worked up a sweat at the gym.  Eaten breakfast.  Straightened house.  Answered mail and dropped my man off at the airport. It is eight in the morning and the world stirs with wakefulness.  The sun climbs in the sky.  The birds sing.  The squirrels chip and chur in tree branches.  A dog barks.  And I look with dull eyes at the long day ahead, contemplating a single phrase, "My father is dead." What strange words. My father is dead. The man has been leaving for as long as I can remember and yet his death robs the wind from my lungs.  My chest throbs and throat tightens.  He isn't coming back. My mom and dad had slipped out of one another's lives before I'd barely begun mine.  Two weekends a month my brothers and I stood on a saggy porch, bags packed, eager for our hero to arrive in his old blue Ford to pick us up.  We vibrated with hope...