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Needless to say I will not be sharing this with my daughter, the mother of my grandson who is doing this type of learning his numbers with a die.
Title: Prodigy
Author: charisstoma
Word count: 333
A rattling sound preceded, “Eight.” Again there was the rattle of the die across the floor followed by the high young voice of her son, “Three.” Once more the die dropped and rolled on the tiles, “Nine.”
Abby smiled, not yet 2 years old and his teachers were saying that Joshua was much advanced for a child of his age. He hadn’t gotten to identifying and though he had gotten to calling out the names of the higher numbers of the twelve sided die, yet.
There was one very big problem with his obsession with the educational toy, the red die. His bedtimes were becoming nerve shredding. For an hour after he was put to bed the repeated whimpered word “Die,” could be heard from his bedroom calling for it. He was addicted. It was too small for him to have unsupervised in bed, a choking hazard. But the continued crying in the middle of the night was heart rending; sometimes while he’d be dreaming, sometimes when he woke himself; calling out plaintively for his “Die.”
She hoped that this was only a temporary fixation. Something to be outgrown as he developed more control in his environment. That’s what the baby book said. So Abby waited, offering other options to the hard rounded smooth sided die being in the bed with him. The pillow in the shape of a die worked for a short ten minutes. There’d been a trip to the dice store to choose a larger version of the red die. Joshua had chosen a yellow die from those available, but it was still his “red die” that he called for at bedtime.
Two weeks later she noticed; Joshua called out the number, “Five,” and then there was the sound of the drop and rolling of the die. “Two,” again the die rolled. “Three!”
Abby looked down at her son as he let the die fall and watched in bemused horror as the thing rolled, stopping to reveal the number 3.
Title: Prodigy
Author: charisstoma
Word count: 333
A rattling sound preceded, “Eight.” Again there was the rattle of the die across the floor followed by the high young voice of her son, “Three.” Once more the die dropped and rolled on the tiles, “Nine.”
Abby smiled, not yet 2 years old and his teachers were saying that Joshua was much advanced for a child of his age. He hadn’t gotten to identifying and though he had gotten to calling out the names of the higher numbers of the twelve sided die, yet.
There was one very big problem with his obsession with the educational toy, the red die. His bedtimes were becoming nerve shredding. For an hour after he was put to bed the repeated whimpered word “Die,” could be heard from his bedroom calling for it. He was addicted. It was too small for him to have unsupervised in bed, a choking hazard. But the continued crying in the middle of the night was heart rending; sometimes while he’d be dreaming, sometimes when he woke himself; calling out plaintively for his “Die.”
She hoped that this was only a temporary fixation. Something to be outgrown as he developed more control in his environment. That’s what the baby book said. So Abby waited, offering other options to the hard rounded smooth sided die being in the bed with him. The pillow in the shape of a die worked for a short ten minutes. There’d been a trip to the dice store to choose a larger version of the red die. Joshua had chosen a yellow die from those available, but it was still his “red die” that he called for at bedtime.
Two weeks later she noticed; Joshua called out the number, “Five,” and then there was the sound of the drop and rolling of the die. “Two,” again the die rolled. “Three!”
Abby looked down at her son as he let the die fall and watched in bemused horror as the thing rolled, stopping to reveal the number 3.
