This Moment

 "A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember." 

 Inspired by SouleMama

I am the Chicken Queen?

 

"I am the Chicken Queen! I speak for all to hear!"

 

 

It was a perfect day to celebrate a friend's birthday at the beach. The combination of hot sun and cool breeze, and popsicles and feathers, was delightful.  But when the party ends and it's time to return to your daily life, you cast aside the feathers and frosting. You are no longer the Chicken Queen, just a five year old who is wearing more low tide mud on her feet than shoe.

 

So home we went, to foot washing and food prep. I removed as much sugar and odor as possible from the surface of my kids, and sent them off to play while I got to work in the kitchen. As I rummaged through the bin of spices I affectionately refer to as a "spice rack" I came to the realization that we were almost out of vanilla extract. This shouldn't come as a surprise since, when baking, I add it to any recipe that omits it and double it in the recipes smart enough to have included it. But, surprise or not, it was a tragic realization and it needed to be addressed as soon as possible.

 

 Supermarkets sell vanilla in humorously small bottles, so I make my own. I learned from a friend that this is the proper thing to do when your vanilla habit has reached this degree. That or get help for your addiction. Since using exorbitant amounts of vanilla makes delicious treats for my friends and family I don't think anyone is likely to stage an intervention. So, after my husband got home from work and helped me wrangle dinner into the oven, and kids into the house, I ran to the liquor store for cheap vodka.

 

What a lovely time I had there! Everyone was so friendly and helpful. Store employees and even other shoppers were all smiling at me. I wondered, are people who are about to get drunk always this chipper? Or could it be how I am totally rocking this blue muumuu inspired sundress? Or maybe I have somehow wandered out of Boston and ended up someplace where friendliness isn't questioned? I carried this warm fuzzy feeling and a brown paper bag all the way home with me, chatting with grinning neighbors along the way.

 

When I walked in the door, my son looked up at me and smiled. "You're still wearing your feather!" he chuckled. I reached up and pulled a bright blue feather out of my hair where it had been sticking up, jauntily and ridiculously, since the party on the beach. Blue, to match my dress. A big blue feather wagging happily over my head, bringing smiles to friends and strangers alike.

I am the Chicken Queen?


Let's Make Water Climb!

 

Would you like to see water climb out of one glass and into another? Of course you would!

When we saw this experiment in the MOS newsletter, we knew we had to try it.

 

All you need are five clear glasses, food coloring, four paper towels and water.

 

 

 

Arrange the glasses in a row.

Fill the first, third and fifth glasses halfway with water.

Add blue food coloring to the first, red to the third and yellow to the fifth.

The second and fourth glasses remain empty.

 

 

    

 Fold or twist the paper towels and place them so they bridge each glass.

 

Check on them periodically to see what is happening. 

 

The water has climbed out of some glasses and into others. Is it magic? No. It's water's magical properties known as cohesion and adhesion!





 

   

This Moment

"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember." 

 

Inspired by SouleMama

The Bard Before Breakfast

 

 

I climbed out of bed and pulled open the curtains. It was damp and cool. I scooped a book up from the floor where it had dropped when I fell asleep, and climbed back into bed. Moments later my son climbed into bed with me and asked me how to make a pond. He wanted to know where the water comes from and why it stays. We snuggled together and talked about groundwater, saturation and the water table. We talked about digging wells and digging in the sand at the beach. We talked about divining rods and different ways of getting water to the surface. He ran to get the Lehman's catalog to show me a different kind of pump he had noticed in there.

As I waited for him to return I became aware of the conversation in the next room. "Do you know what that means?" asked my ten year old. "Not really," answered his little sister. He then proceeded to explain to her the Shakespeare passage he had just read. "Do you want me to read more?" "Yes!" was her enthusiastic reply. And this cozy morning continued through bits of Richard II, The Tempest, and Macbeth until hunger dragged everyone downstairs for breakfast.

I made myself a cup of coffee and watched the school bus rumble by.

Through the Magnifying Glass

Did you ever wonder what would happen if you took a photograph through a magnifying glass?

I wondered.

 

 

Cadillac Day

There was a huge herd of Cadillacs in town this weekend, so of course we went to see them. Cadillacs are the Cadillac of automobiles after all. My son, the car buff, was eager to see his favorite models and discuss style and performance differences.

 

I learned a few things from him and was reminded of a few things I had forgotten. Things like built in ashtrays and car phones, analog clocks in dashboards, shag carpeting, and a total lack of seatbelts. My daughter said the lack of seatbelts was for comfort. I admit that the interiors of some of these cars looked ridiculously luxurious, but somehow I don't think the lack of seatbelts would make this mama very comfortable.

 

What I did find comforting is that, in car years, I am a classic. A classic! I like that so much better than middle-aged. And while I reflected on this... I was reflecting. Everything was so shiny! All of the sweeping curves of chrome became stylish funhouse mirrors. 

 

 



 

 Going to a car show with a kid who loves automobiles was so exciting. We met car owners whose enthusiasm was contagious. There were photo albums chronicling the salvage and loving restoration of classic cars by people who were passionate and dedicated enough to see these amazing projects through. There was the beauty of these machines themselves, balancing power, luxury and elegance in a humble utilitarian object. 

 This was an opportunity to see beautiful things and learn a bit about automotive history. (And giggle at my own reflection.)  But it was also about people who have a passion for something and who follow that passion. Today that passion just happened to be fabulous cars.

Danger at the Playground

The woman on the bench waved me over. "Watch out for that one," she said. "She's dangerous."
I tried to smile in what I hoped was a thankful manner and turned to see who she could be referring to. I scanned the playground trying to identify this threat. I saw moms and dads chatting and children playing happily. Just as I was beginning to wonder what kind of medication the bench woman had forgotten to take, I saw her.

She was a squirrel. She also happened to be the squirrel my son was chasing around the hedge maze. My mouth yelled "NO!" while my mind screamed "Why?" This wasn't a cute, fluffy little squirrel with big dark eyes and a charmingly skittish disposition. She clearly deserved the reputation being spread about her on the benches. This squirrel looked mean, dirty and unafraid. She was itching for a fight. Well, she was itching. And my sweet boy was trying to catch her!

I grabbed my son and we had a little talk about staying safe on the playground. This talk involved phrases like "habituated to humans",  "swarming with disease" and "bite and scratch the bejeezus out of you". I sent him off to play, convinced I had instilled enough terror to override the thrill of the chase.

Then I spotted my older son, who had apparently taken up the chase while I was distracted. He was now within spitting distance of this angry little tree rat who looked about ready to spit. Do squirrels spit? Maybe it was drool. Either way the effect it had on me was chilling, as I am sure it was meant to be. Would my son's sense of self preservation have kicked in without me screaming, "Don't touch it!" across the playground? We will never know. There followed a brief talk containing phrases like "habituated to humans", "swarming with disease" and "bite and scratch the bejeezus out of you".

If I only had two children, that would have been the last time I had to give that little speech. But I have three. So when my daughter announced that she was going to pet a squirrel I got to haul out that lovely little speech again. My daughter quite enjoyed it. Apparently the word "bejeezus" is hysterically funny. So I may not have properly terrified her but I did distract her.

As we were leaving the playground I caught a glimpse of this squirrel one last time. She was creeping away from a group of strollers with something in her mouth. The kids said it was a graham cracker but to me it looked like a credit card. A shiver ran up my spine. The thought of a squirrel stealing my credit card scares the bejeezus out of me.

Your Gift is a Curse!

This was supposed to be a cheery little post about replacing the porch on our playhouse. It was going to go something like this:

 

Once upon a time there was a workshop that was magically transformed into a playhouse. It had four walls, a roof and a little front porch. The front porch was very nearly the best part. One sorrowful day the porch began to sag so tremendously that it had to be removed.

 

 

The playhouse, without it's porch, was a sorry sight indeed. Luckily, a troop of five devoted companions set to work restoring it to it's joyfully porchy self!

 

 

 They toiled tirelessly throughout the day without incident or injury thinking of nothing but their beloved porch. Well, not exactly tirelessly. And there may have been one or two incidents. And I suppose some of the companions were slightly less focused than others. But there were definitely no serious injuries!



 

 

Finally, with the rebuilding of the porch, magic returned to the land! There were unicorns and leprechauns and much rejoicing! And they all lived happily ever after.

 

***
 

That should have been the end of the story. It was a classic fairy tale with a happy ending. Unfortunately, when I awoke the next morning, I realized; the story wasn't over, it had a dark twist and not everyone lived, happily or otherwise, ever after.

 

I parted the curtains and rubbed my sleepy eyes, eager to peer out at the sturdy little porch we had worked so lovingly on the day before. I kept rubbing my eyes and wondering what that brown thing was beneath the rainbow. It couldn't be a dead mouse. Of course not. So I pulled on my boots and went out for a better look. Upon closer inspection I found that it was a dead mouse.

 

Obviously this was a very bad omen. Or maybe a threat. This mouse on my porch was clearly a horse head on my pillow. I should be afraid. Very afraid.

Using two sticks I found on the ground I proceeded to perform an unintentionally morbid comedy act. You see, it is more difficult than I had imagined it would be to lift a dead mouse, with chopsticks, into an open bag. On my 47th try I met with success and carted the body off.

As the day wore on and the feeling of foreboding began to lift I realized that I may have been a wee bit hasty in my assumption that something was out to get me. Maybe the porch is not only an entry, a stage and a soapbox. Maybe it is an altar. Maybe this dead mouse was intended as an offering. Somehow I find that slightly more comforting.


 

 

 

 



Panhandling

 

"Mama says it's okay to sit on the corner and beg for money but you shouldn't direct traffic."

How do you tell this lovely group of people that what your 5 year old daughter just said is not some hilarious childish misinterpretation, but actually, exactly what you said? How is it that I haven't learned that anything I say can, and will, be repeated at the most awkward moment and without any hint of context?

As I always do in these situations, I resort to blushing and babbling. I am sure the logical explanation I am trying to express is included in the words spilling from my mouth but the polite smiles I am getting tell me that it isn't transmitting clearly. To avoid this, I have tried playing it off like I have no idea what this kid is talking about. Unfortunately she will insist upon refreshing my obviously failing memory which just increases the social discomfort and drags it out at the same time.

Why do my kids always want to chat with adults anyway? Why can't they just run off and play and save me from embarrassing explanations? Well, as long as it isn't that panhandling game. You know the one.  All the kids are playing it. They ride around the track on bikes and the youngest steps out, every time they go by, thrusting out a bucket and screeching, "Mooooney Pleeeeeeeease! Money for the hoooooomeless people!"

Really? That's just my kids?

Am I blushing? Umm...

 

Let's Make Olive Oil Lamps!

Can you really make an oil lamp with materials you have around the house? Absolutely! We tried a bunch of different materials and ended up with two favorites.  Is it a coincidence that our favorites are ridiculously easy? Maybe not.

 

Our first is made with a jelly jar, olive oil and a paper bag handle.

We coiled the paper bag handle with a bit sticking up in the middle.

 

We added olive oil until the paper bit began to float.

 



 

Using a lit piece of spaghetti, we lit the "wick".

 

 And here it is! It burned hot and bright until we got tired of watching it and smothered it by placing a large glass over it.

 

The second one is so easy a 5 year old can do it. With supervision of course!

It requires a shallow bowl, olive oil and a piece of scrap paper.

 



 Crumple a piece of paper and place it in the shallow bowl.

 



 

Add olive oil and fire.

 

This one also burned for a long time although not as brightly. We smothered it with a lid to extinguish it.

This Moment

"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember." 

 

 

inspired by SouleMama

Creativity and Video Games

It is a breathtakingly lovely spring day and there is no way any child of mine is going to be sitting inside playing video games! We don't even sit around the house playing video games in the rain or snow. In fact, if my kids get more than an hour of screen time in a week they consider it astonishing.

 

So we head out to the yard and this little guy grabs a box from the garage. It is my husband's old Nintendo system. He plunks down on the ground and begins sorting, stacking and setting up. He is a video game designer you see. He is testing out his competitor's products.

 

 

 

I guess this lovely spring day was just the right kind of day to spend playing video games.  

Surprises

This home is a gardener's home. This yard was planted and tended for fifty years before we settled in. The first gardener raised her sons and her flowers in the soil I wash off of my hands and my children every evening. The neighbors tell me about her. "She was always out working in the yard," they say as I trim hedges or rake leaves. Not that I need to be told. The magic of this yard drew us to this house and the magic of the first gardener's plantings continue to surprise us.

 

We discovered these sweet little flowers suffocating behind some tremendously overgrown shrubs.

This is the first year these tulips have bloomed! Every year they sprout, form buds and are decapitated by some hungry animal before we even glimpse a hint of color. The garden fencing seems to be helping!

 

 

 Pink hyacinth hidden beneath the forsythia!

 

 

One year we had a yellow daffodil. One daffodil. This year I saw the sprouts coming up and was looking forward to seeing my yellow friend again but was surprised with one white daffodil. What is hiding beneath this soil?

 

 

Maybe wishes do come true because I wished pretty hard for violets last spring and here they are. How?

 

 

This is a surprise of a different kind. I planted this rhubarb. We bought it from a local plant sale a few years ago as a tiny little thing. I settled it into the ground and worried over it. This year it burst from the earth and spread it's enormous leaves three feet high and four feet wide before the buds even opened on the trees. And now this. Hidden beneath those leaves are these ridiculously large flower stalks that could be mistaken for funny colored cauliflowers. I had no idea my rhubarb could do this! I have now read that I shouldn't let it bolt but I am loving the surprise and wonder of it all.

 

For fifty years this magic was crafted by someone else. After six years I realize that I have become the gardener. I tend and trim and plant. I delight in the surprises that have been left for me and in the surprises I have created. The neighbors could say that I am always out working in the yard. Maybe gardeners sprout from this wee patch of earth like rhubarb in the rain. Or maybe the gardener was always inside me and knew home when she saw it.

 

This Moment

 

{This Moment}

 

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

 

 

inspired by SouleMama

An Inconvenient Epiphany

 

 



When my son was new to the world, and I was new to motherhood, I had an inconvenient epiphany. Maybe it was the predawn solitude or the oxytocin. It could have been the sleep deprivation or the dizzying mix of joy and anxiety that had become my constant emotion. Maybe, when I breathed in that sweet milky baby breath, I inhaled knowledge. This person cradled against my neck, as tender as an apple blossom and as stubborn as a stain, was infinite and complete. Every particle of his being was already perfect and perfectly capable of being and becoming anything. He was kinetic and potential. If this was true of one baby person and every baby person then this was true of me as well. How had this simple truth escaped me before? How wonderful! How thrilling! How utterly inconvenient. There I was, barely capable of feeding and showering myself, confronted with the knowledge of my own infinite possibilities. I sat on my little red couch, my son drifting off to sleep and the sky just beginning to lighten outside the window, and wondered who I wanted to be when I grew up.