for the tinkerers I love

We have been all about the 'bots (as in robots) around here lately as we've been celebrating the younger lad's fifth birthday.  Here it is Monday, when I try to write about some of the books that have struck our fancy, so I give you...

Clink by Kelly DiPucchio, illustrated by Matthew Myers.  Poor Clink is a rusty old broken down robot in a shop full o'bots that are newer, flashier, zippier, and bigger.  Many a child comes in to choose a robot and glosses right over Clink.  Who wants a robot that used to toast bread and sing old fashioned songs?   (Do robots sing?) 

One day a boy comes in looking at the robots, finding none to his liking despite the shopkeeper's slick salesmanship.  Then the boy sees Clink, and something in Clink comes alive (in a robot sort of way) again, awakening the music within him that had long ago fallen silent.  As Clink gets more excited, his rusty old parts fail him and he sort of self-destructs.  That seals the deal for Clink, as the boy came looking for a *project* -- something to tinker with, not something to entertain him.  He finds that in Clink.

The younger lad of course is drawn to all the neat-looking robots of Myers' creation, but what resonates with me is the aspect of tinkering/creating/repurposing/refurbishing what already exists rather than trashing it in favor of something new and shiny.  It's a sort of "green" message, but not in a overt or off-putting way.  As the story ends, we see the boy tinkering with Clink and dreaming up ideas for projects to work on with his dad, which further endears the story to us, as around here the dad likes to tinker in the garage -- often with the lads close by. 

Ms. DiPucchio's most recent book is Crafty Chloe, which is another story of using one's talent and imagination to craft just the right thing. 

Robots are endless possibilities, at least to our younger lad.  They're an ideal outlet for his amazing imagination.  For a book to inspire such creativity, that's a rare find.

egg-cellent idea (or was it?)

However attractive fresh boxes of crayons are to me (and they are),  I have not purchased crayons for home in a long time.  That’s because we have a bucket of crayons we've amassed from various restaurants, gift sets, and elsewhere.  Most of them are broken, and a good number of them have their wrappers peeled off. 

As I ruminated over the possibilities for non-candy Easter basket fodder, I thought of egg-shaped chalk, which led to egg-shaped crayons.  I had run across the idea of melting down crayons to make new ones (would that be upcycling?), so I found this post detailing the seemingly simple process for easy-to-hold egg-shaped ones using plastic Easter eggs and thought, "I can do that!"

You see where this is going.

One morning last week when the elder lad was at school, the youngers and I rifled through the bucket and began sorting the already-peeled crayons (and gleefully peeling others) by color into muffin tins.

Into the oven on its lowest setting went the well-seasoned (ahem) muffin tin.  The melting of the crayon bits took much *much* longer than I expected.  I didn't factor in the varying sizes and densities of the crayons before I blithely popped them into the warm oven.   Because of this variable, some colors liquefied before others.  I stirred those up with plastic spoons, ladled them into the waiting plastic eggs, and stuck them in the freezer while putting the muffin tin back in the oven to keep melting down the stubborn ones.

When the elder lad got home from school that day, he saw the project in mid-stream (about to be scrubbed, in my mind, exasperated as I was at the project's progress -- or lack there-of).  He wanted to get the prototypes out of the freezer.  When he "hatched" the first crayon from its plastic eggshell, he said incredulously "you know how to make crayons?!  Awesome."

Oh great.  I can't quit now.

So the next day I heated up the oven again and melted more crayons, because one measly muffin of broken crayon bits does not fill up a plastic egg. This meant more peeling.

At long last, all the colors melted enough to be reshaped into eggs, and the project was blessedly finished.

What I envisioned as a quick, easy, inexpensive (as in free), "green" (in the recycling/upcycling sense), and cute idea for the bambini's Easter baskets became one big deposit in the bank of experience.  In spite of the many twists and turns of the project, though, the result is (wait for it) ...

egg-cellent.

minor victories: happy hour edition

I would love to say that I wrote my ticket to a (relatively) peaceful final few minutes of dinner preparation -- all too often the pinnacle of happy hour, but it wasn't my doing.  It wasn't like I ceremoniously set forth the box of recyclable paper that I'd been squirreling away for just this purpose so that the lads could hone their fine motor skills with scissors and scraps of paper.  I didn't have the wherewithal to do that after a few too many reminders to "use kind words and gentle hands" for one afternoon.

In fact, I had stashed all that junk mail and already-read church bulletins in a paper sack (under the sink, because it's next to the trash bin and therefore handy at the time of disposal -- key to actually separating out the recyclables and not just tossing them in with the trash), which the elder lad had discovered and decided to "sort" -- another early childhood skill that he took upon himself to refine.

The younger lad had been biding his time until his fourth birthday so he could start using scissors himself (because his mama -- following the advisory on the scissors packaging -- had said he had to wait until he was four like his brother had to undertake such an activity).  When his brother got out the signature orange-handled child-sized scissors and commenced the cutting of paper into bits that often elicits reminders to "leave no trace" (as in, "clean up after yourself"), the younger lad asked for his own green-handled ones.

And in a moment of clarity, I saw it: the win-win-win situation:

Lads happily (and safely) snipping, scraps going back into the box they came from (for the most part), Mama getting dinner on the table, lasses charming their daddy with giggles and grins even before he took off his jacket.

Bon appetit.

simple stain solution

and now for something completely different...

I'm always researching natural stain removers and other green ways of homekeeping and to this end regularly employ plain white vinegar, baking soda, hydrogen peroxide, lemon juice, borax, rubbing alcohol, and dish washing liquid. Sometimes, though, the simplest solution is quickest, gentlest, safest to users and bystanders (especially pint-sized ones), *and* most effective.  Soap and water work wonders on a multitude of messes and stains, happily and especially on those that, um, emanate from humans in a variety of formulations.

Realize that I am fairly well desensitized to the icky-ness factor of such messes, dealing as I do with them day in and day out.   I do not wish to offend any delicate sensibilities.

We use fragrance-free bar soap (not anti-bacterial) and castile soap, a soap derived from olive oil which we buy in liquid form and dilute with water in a foaming pump dispenser for hand washing (and other uses). Both kinds of soap have proven to be up to the challenge time and again.

My mother (who is one smart cookie) taught me long ago to try soap and water first when cleaning up certain stains specific to females, and it's a lesson that has stuck with me, resurfaced, and been applied many a time as I've gone about cleaning up the many messes of daily life...

(thanks, Mama!)

humility via laundry

For all my crowing about my victory over juice dribbled down the lass's shirt, I must now admit with great humility the loss of a favorite shirt belonging to my younger lad at my own hands.  This one went through the laundry with a big dose of drinkable yogurt front and center gone unnoticed.  Thinking back to the bleaching properties of vinegar and hydrogen peroxide that had helped erase all traces of the juice, I sprayed alternating doses of the two on the lad's shirt -- lots and lots and lots of alternating doses.  It did seem to be making some progress even though the stain had been through the dryer.  I hadn't wanted to use the bleach pen on it (something I resort to when all else fails) because the shirt's color was described as "milk" and not white, so I thought the bleach pen would work too well and take things a bit too far -- if you know what I mean.

I digress.  I finally decided to attempt laundering the yogurt-stained shirt.  When I pulled it out of the washer, it was in tatters.  Literally.  Holes -- nay, rips from end to end -- everywhere.    There was nowhere for the poor shirt to go but the trash.

Herein lies the lesson... vinegar and peroxide work wonders gently bleaching things *in small doses*.  Rinsing with water afterward helps too (I've since had a couple of minor victories with the same dish soap/vinegar/peroxide treatment on other clothes, making sure not to leave the potions on very long). 

Mama really ought to check the laundry for stains *before* loading the washer, though this is easier said than done when I have several little helpers vying for who gets to turn the machine on and jockeying to empty the contents of the laundry basket into the tub like a dump truck doing its thing.

The poor lad hasn't mentioned the shirt since it disappeared from the stack in the closet.  That's probably for the best. Mama will have to hang her head in shame if and when he does ask for it.

green clean *OR* minor triumph o'the day

Fun science experiment for the elder lad and me: on one shirt stained with berry/apple/purple carrot juice have said lad spray  regular old dishwashing liquid diluted with water.  Rub the fabric against itself.  Let that sit while reconstructing Lego vehicles, fulfilling drinkable yogurt requests, and/or attending to the personal hygiene needs of one or more children.  Return to the stained shirt, rinse it out, then have the lad spray white vinegar on it.  Observe the color change from deep blue (so absurdly lovely in an unwelcome way on an icy blue and white striped shirt of the 18-24 month size range*) to an equally unwelcome pinkish-purplish color.  Marvel as that starts to fade.  Then spray hydrogen peroxide on the color wonder and exchange amazed looks with your little laundry cohort.  Continue spraying vinegar and peroxide alternatively until nothing remains of the stain.   (!!!)  Treat with your favorite pre-treatment regime and launder as usual.

Boo-yeah!

(and please pass no judgment on the prudence -- or lack thereof -- of my giving this fruit juice cocktail to my wee lass.  I did it in the name of vitamins and with very little chocolate in my system.  The stain potential did cross my mind, but I decided to risk it, being as I was low on chocolate.)

*I make it my policy to purchase children's clothing -- primarily shirts or dresses -- as big as I can get away with in the name of longevity.  This particular shirt I bought for the lass when she was about six months old.

Sincere thanks to this stain guide for the tools and sequencing of the stain removal. 
 
Around these parts we try to use natural cleaners like baking soda, white vinegar, hydrogen peroxide, castile soap, and tea tree oil whenever possible, both from an environmental stewardship perspective and one of safety (and so we can involve the littles in the homekeeping duties as appropriate).  We still keep cleaners up out of the bambini's reach, but if they were, say, to get a hold of a bottle of white vinegar, it would have far less of a health impact than glugging a gallon of bleach (not that I want this to happen, of course, and take reasonable precautions to prevent it). 

On several levels, this counts as my minor triumph of the day: heretofore hopeless stain now just a memory *and* a teachable moment for my ever-curious lad -- science and laundry care all in one.

multitasking

I can easily think of 85 things that need to get done around here at any given time (I *might* be exaggerating, but only slightly.  Hyperbole is one of my favorite literary devices.).  The question is, where do I begin?  In an attempt to accomplish as much as I can, I try to have several things going at once: start the washer so it can be going while I'm unloading the dishwasher or cooking or diapering someone.  Open several tabs in my Internet browser so I can shuffle among them while one page is loading.  Stick something in the microwave while I'm dishing up something else.  You get the idea.

Oftentimes this multitasking goes on in the midst of my discussing the fleet of real-life Mack trucks my four-year-old lad dreams of driving some day while stepping around the contents of my plastic food storage drawer now emptied by my nine-month-old lass and fielding requests for play dough, drinkable yogurt, or Goldfish.*

*This is what it's all about.

The movie Cheaper By The Dozen with Clifton Webb and Myrna Loy was one of my childhood favorites.  It's the story of Frank and Lillian Gilbreth, pioneers in the study of efficiency, and their twelve children.  Naturally, I try to integrate the best of their efficiency principles into my time management approach (such as it is).  In some respects, though, that approach can be summed up in one word: triage.

There's something to be said for scheduling various domestic tasks for specific days and/or times, and I do try to do that.  But in a household with young children, the best laid plans have to remain flexible.  The balancing act between handling domestic tasks and being present to my bambini is an art, I realize.  The bambini will be little for only a brief season in our family life, while the housework will always be here.  It *does* need to get done, and they need to learn the importance of helping to maintain our home as a way of showing gratitude for the blessing from God that it is.  They often do help me with the laundry and cleaning.  We use non-toxic cleaners whenever possible (like vinegar, hydrogen peroxide, and baking soda) for our health and that of our environment. 

Still, the days of early childhood are ones meant to be spent playing, laughing, learning, and loving.  We can do that while taking care of domestic duties for a while, but when my two year old says "I just want to swing", like he so often does these days, I want to be able to take him to the playground and let him do just that.  Before long, he and his siblings will be into other things.

Until further notice, please address all correspondence to my laundry room.