keep walking...

Now that the three digit temperatures have thankfully given way, we've been taking advantage of a welcome opportunity to get outside after dinner for family walks around the neighborhood. Sometimes this means one child (guess who) claiming driving privileges of the sit and stand stroller that two of the other bambini want to ride in, leaving the one who probably ought to be in the stroller out to fend for herself -- just the way she likes it. Tonight, though, we left the stroller at home, which meant that the brothers were free to take their positions at imaginary starting blocks for a series of sprints that were punctuated by shrieks of laughter, pounding of feet, and the flailing of limbs and hair.

These family walks have been such a hit that they've even made it into the daily reality check as the highlight of one or more family member's days (along with PE, coming home from school, "nothing" -- meaning it was all good all day, and staying home with Mama.). Even with the requisite "hold hands or I'll hold you" admonition to the one with the shortest, if spritely, legs of us and the stop and go nature of a walk with four curious children, I'd have to say these foot tours around the neighborhood rate pretty high on my day's list, too.

city slickers

Maybe someday soon the lads and my beloved will embark upon the fantastic journey that is The Chronicles of Narnia for their bedtime reading, but for now they are reading -- for the most part -- lighter (while still adventurous) fare. The Little House books weren't without suspense, sorrow, or drama, but that was about as much of any of those things the lads are up for at bedtime.

My beloved remembers reading adventure stories of the vintage variety by an author named Troy Nesbit. The Diamond Cave Mystery was my beloved's favorite, so when a search at our local library turned up nothing, I bought a used copy from that purveyor of any and all things (that would be Amazon Marketplace, which is a bit like rifling through untold numbers of garage sales for that which has been cast off but is still of some use to someone else) for Christmas two years ago I found it for him to share with the boys. They ate it up. According to the elder lad, "two boys find diamonds in a cave, and they try to find out who [the diamonds] belong to."

The younger lass is a willing book model, even if she doesn't read the tome herself -- yet.

 Given the younger lad's continuing fascination with horses and cowboys, I was thrilled to find another novel by Nesbit called The Sand Dune Pony. That's the current bedtime read, and from all accounts it's as good as the Diamond Cave Mystery (and not too soon for the younger lad, who had had enough of the Laura Ingalls Wilder books).  In this story a boy catches and "gentles" a wild horse. For these suburban lads who dream of the day they might live on "some land," this book is perfect.

These classic adventures are in the same echelon of heroic stories as the Billy and Blaze books by C. W. Anderson and the Little Tim books by Edward Ardizzone.  As we strive to steer our young squires on the right side of the high road, characters like those in Troy Nesbit novels are welcome passengers.

hit or miss

man your positions...

On our recent Labor Day weekend getaway to my parents' house, my sister introduced the lads to Battleship, the maritime warship game.  They were familiar with Battleship via the Wii, but the younger lad was fascinated with the version that he could hold in his hands and position the ships and pegs just so.  He grew so attached to the game that my dad let the lad bring it home with him.  After Mass on Sunday, the lad set up the consoles to play with his dad and brother, team-style.  Later in the day the consoles became laptop computers for the younger lad and elder lass to pretend they were typing on. The younger lass is our "grease man," able to retrieve pegs that fall into the hinge part of the game console when it's open with her tiny little fingers.

The more I think about it, the game of Battleship and its hit-or-miss song and dance routine are the perfect analogy for daily life with young children.  One minute they're planning something spectacular, the next they're quarreling.  Sometimes there are warning volleys.  Sometimes not.  If only I had a radar screen to steer clear of troubled waters.  At least I have a life jacket.

helpers

Since having children, I've often wondered how mamas who sewed finished any projects. Until very recently, the last time I sewed anything was when I was expecting the younger lad (more than five years ago). I made a few baby blankets--two girly ones, because I was *sure* he was a girl (I'm so glad I was wrong and that he is who he is) and one just in case the "wee babe" (as I referred to the bambino in utero, though he was the least "wee" of the four, weighing more than nine and a half pounds at birth) was a boy.  That blue waffle-weave blanket with chocolate brown trim got a lot of use. The two floral, ruffle-edged blankets would have to wait -- not really all that long, as it turned out -- for the lasses to come along.  They still use those blankets.

In the past couple of months I've gotten the sewing machine out for some "quick" projects. It's been a lot of fun. I set up my work space near the bambini's play space, which gives me a chance to work on projects little bits at a time (which is, by the way, how I get pretty much anything done) while keeping tabs on the bambini (and receiving trays of play food tea party treats and other pretend play fun).  I've been able to carve out some longer stretches of time to work solo on these projects as well, which is a recent and still novel-to-me phenomenon.

Working at the sewing machine in the midst of the bambini does attract their interest, so I've tried to explain what the various parts of the machine and let them help me as they can. The elder lad helped his grandmother sew baby blankets when the younger lass was on the way (when we referred to her as "Quattro", since we didn't know her gender either). He's manned the foot pedal of my machine (while reading the sewing machine manual and probably imagining he's driving a Mack truck) a few times recently in the construction of some nap mat covers for his younger siblings who nap (do they?) at school. The younger lad is fascinated by the machine, especially the needle-threading mechanism and bobbin winder. He'd love to take the whole thing apart and reassemble it (into a robot, I'm sure). For now, he's happy pushing the "u-turn" button that sends the fabric back under the needle for a little back stitching to secure the stitches.

Of course, little hands in front of where I'm trying to work are not always easy to see around (or safe, for that matter, but I keep close tabs on that). Why do I let them help me? For one thing, it's something constructive to do together (and you know how I feel about that).  For another, it shows them a side of me they don't know very well.  For yet another, I'm hoping one day the elder lad will be able to sew the patches on his Scout uniform himself.  Maybe someday my machine will jam or otherwise break down.  By then the younger lad might be my go-to guy to get it up and running again. 

Yes: plenty of times I'd like to be able to just sew it myself without little hands reaching in to "help."  By taking the time to teach them certain age-appropriate aspects of the job I'm doing, I'm hoping to honor their desire to be helpful as well as a part of what I'm doing so as to help them learn an array of life skills (including patience with and a respect for their mother and her creative inclinations) with which to serve the people around them now and in the days and years to come. 

brown baggin'

School has started for our bambini.  The elder lad is in second grade now, the younger lad is a wide-eyed kindergartener, and the elder lass is going to preschool two days a week ('twas her idea).  So far things are going well, though I always brace for a harrowing adjustment time the first few weeks(!) of school as everyone gets used to the new reality.

Along with the earlier wake up call, school days signal a return to packing lunches.  The lads like to eat school lunch when breakfast is on the menu, but otherwise they take their lunch.  The elder lass has to take her lunch.

from Bread and Jam for Frances by Russell Hoban

Given my thorough treatment of picky eating preferences, I still try to keep things interesting as well as healthy and delicious in their lunchboxes. For ideas I pore over all the posts I can find on the subject, including this witty and informative post penned by my sweet friend Katie. I'm especially fascinated by the whole bento box movement, which places a premium on the presentation of food as a pathway to the food actually being eaten. I have yet to carve hot dogs into octopuses of cut out fruit in flower shapes, though. The closest I've gotten is my rainbow fruit skewer.

While some of the bambini are more open than others to variety in their lunchboxes (I won't name names), this passage from Bread and Jam for Frances by Russell Hoban (we are, by the way, big time Frances fans) neatly sums up the attitude of at least one of our bambini when it comes to branching out a bit:

"How do you know what you'll like 

if you won't even try anything?" asked Father.

"Well," said Frances,

 "there are many different things to eat,

and they taste many different ways.

But when I have bread and jam

I always know what I am getting, and I am always pleased."

Frances may not be open to spicing things up a bit (at least not at the beginning; I won't spoil the ending), but at least she and her friend Albert take a real lunch break to enjoy their food.

from Bread and Jam for Frances by Russell Hoban

With the prospect of recess looming for kids who are hungry but eager to burn off some pent-up energy, lunch is less leisurely, more pit-stop-esque, there's hardly time for doilies and tiny vases of violets...

wake up call

With both lads in elementary school this year, we decided to put an alarm clock (the one I used in my former life when it was just my enormous yellow Persian cat Baldwin the former starving stray and me) in the bedroom they share. The idea is to begin cultivating within the lads the sense of responsibility to get themselves up and going, rather than relying on us to do it for them -- or something like that.

I showed the elder lad (who can tell time pretty well) how to set both the actual time and the wake time on the alarm clock (see above about the whole cultivating responsibility thing). Off he went to make sure it worked after so long in cold storage.

The ol' alarm clock does indeed still work, as repeated tests in one- to two-minute increments show.  This surreal experience was not unlike enduring a prolonged test of the Emergency Broadcast System or what I would imagine the master alarm on a submarine or Space Shuttle would sound like.

Six days a week we are all up and at 'em, thanks to the time-tested little digital alarm clock with enough chutzpah to awaken an entire household.

high five

 

This. Is. Sammy. 

Sammy. Is. A. Robot.

The. Younger. Lad. Built. Him. With. The. Lad's. Father. Brother. And. Papere. 

(that's robot language -- can you tell?)

We celebrate five years of life with the delightful younger lad, born this day (finally -- after *many* hours of active waiting).  The lad has always been a fun-loving, free-wheeling, highly-imaginative kind of kid.  He's  growing ever more into a considerate, compassionate, and loving boy.  He's a busy guy, with lots to act out from the stories he cooks up in his head, and he has big dreams for what is to come.

May the Lord bless you this day, dear lad, and every day, with an unfailing awareness of both His and our love for you.  We are so glad and grateful you are a part of our family.  You bring such richness, adventure, and warmth to every day.  God has big plans for your life, lad, and we're here to help you discern what those are.

We love you, young squire!

scenes from spring break

 Building a barn for Pet and Patty (yes: of the Little House books we've been reading)... 

note the distressed finish of our coffee table.  People pay good money for such a custom patina.   

We didn't have to.

This is Jessie.  My great Aunt Sally (Papa Jack's sister) made her for me when I was a wee lass.

My younger lass is smitten.

 Elementary electronics via Snap Circuits.  The lads were gleeful each time they launched that spinning red wheel off its axis. 
The band-aid is from an unrelated (and minor) injury.

 Safety first: no long hair in the Snap Circuit area by order of safety marshal younger lad. 

Did I mention several of us have had the stomach flu this week?  (We're on the mend.)  Or that it's been raining buckets?  (not that I'm not grateful for the much-needed rain; it might be the last we get for a while!)

if you give a girl a party...

Among the many books the elder lass counts as her "favorites," the If You Give... series written by Laura Joffe Numeroff and illustrated by Felicia Bond are easily her "most favorite."  We first became acquainted with these charming books when my beloved's mother loaned to us the copy of If You Give A Mouse A Cookie that they had received from my beloved's grandmother. We still have it.  Good thing she's not charging us overdue fees!

Several books have followed, including one a about pig and pancake (and a party, in a separate story); a moose and a muffin; "Cookie Mouse" (as the lass calls the original title character) and the movies; and most recently, a dog and a donut.  Each story is a study in cause and effect, starting with logical consequences like the mouse wanting milk to go with his cookie unfolding into sillier scenarios such as the mouse wanting to take a nap and needing the kind boy who gave him the cookie in the first place to make up a little nest for the mouse's nap.  It all circles back to the beginning, with the title critter wanting whatever it was that had first attracted his or her attention and the attendant child exhausted from all the requests.

 For her third birthday festivities almost two months ago, the elder lass said she wanted "rainbows" when queried.  My beloved's mother had the great idea to create a party for her with the If You Give friends all invited (along with grandparents, siblings, and Annie -- my sister and the lass's godmother; a small group for our reserved but so sweet lass), and she and my beloved's father (who the bambini call "Papere") generously offered to both host the party and come up with all the games and decorations.  All we had to do was handle the cake ("cookie cake", the lass specified) and show up.

Sweet.

Grandmare was really in her element creating this party, as early childhood is one of her passions. She has such a heart for children, boundless creativity, and a talent for creating beautiful .  The result in this case was a beautiful, perfect party for their first granddaughter, who was thrilled with the result.

The If You Give friends and their books, ready for the birthday girl to arrive.

We made the cookie cake at home together using this recipe (but substituting white whole wheat flour for the all-purpose), which the lass enjoyed very much because she got to work the mixer.  To decorate it, we made homemade sprinkles -- yep: homemade -- because I'm mildly concerned that store-bought sprinkles may have a half life somewhere in the neighborhood of 4,000 years *and *because I had seen the idea and thought it would be a fun project for us.

Can't you see it now?  A mixer full of sticky goo that we then tint with food coloring (as in *doesn't wash out*), put in a cone made of parchment paper, squeeze out into lines on a lined baking sheet, and leave out to dry for several *days*.  Go ahead and think it: That was crazy! But they came out alright and certainly looked festive once sprinkled onto the cookie cake.  Next time... I'm not sure there'll be a next time.

sprinkle strands before the lads had their way with them.

The bambini thoroughly enjoyed the games Grandmare designed herself, including Pin the Cupcake on the Platter, a rainbow-themed cake walk of sorts, and Toss the Piggies in the Pen.  She made a beautiful rainbow of fruit with a cloud of whipped cream to dip them in, and she served a tasty meal that the lass loved.

The birthday girl and the Pin the Cupcake on the Platter game with the If You Give friends (and the younger lad, who lives in his overalls)

This book-themed birthday celebration was just the thing for our sweet Rainbow Girl, the one who usually wants to read and snuggle more than anything else, who fancies herself a ballerina, and who brings such joy to us by her presence.

famous last words

The Lord has blessed our region with abundant rainfall the past few days, bringing relief to parched land (and fried senses). Temperatures in the 90s are a welcome reprieve from day after day (after day after day, and into the nighttime hours) of daytime highs upwards of 110 degrees.

With all this rain, it's mud season revisited.

Standing at the window watching the rain (for which we are so grateful), the lads can barely contain themselves and their desire to get out there and play in the rain. I can understand that. I also know, though, that the deluged planter boxes with what was our vegetable garden before the heat spell scorched it now thick with mud will prove too tempting to lads who claim they only want to go outside to wash their dirty, dusty trucks. As I was not in a position to clean up a huge muddy mess this morning, their request was denied, with empathy.

They promised they wouldn't get in the mud, which I believe was sincere. Such a promise is no match for the kind of mud we're dealing with, though. It's the stuff of mythical monster truck rallies.

Acknowledging their disappointment but holding my ground, I tried to offer some equally enticing indoor activity ideas, such as putting their clean laundry away.

(I'm a kill-joy, remember, but the elder lad at least did oblige.)

In a last-ditch effort to obtain the elusive permission by promising (again) to stay away from the mud, the elder lad made one final appeal.

"You can trust me. I'm a six-year-old."

Epilogue: The bambini reveled in the soggy sandbox at my beloved's parents' house this afternoon while I went to get a haircut.  When we got home (and with my permission), they practically ran straight from the garage to the back door to their happy little mud hole.  Just as I expected -- and just as it should be, they were soon covered in enough goo to warrant the moniker "mud bugs" when they came in.  They knew to head straight for the laundry room, then the shower. 

And every day the elder lad is growing in trustworthiness, becoming more and more of a "big kid."

foley artists

Ours is not a quiet household.  If anything, the baseline decibel level has increased in the last few months.  (The lassies may have something to do with this.)  In a typical day, the garden variety truck zooming, space ship blasting, and animal roaring to which we've grown accustomed co-mingle with the hum of the refrigerator and whir of the washing machine.  

In the movie industry, the people who recreate natural noises to add reality and depth to the soundtrack are known as foley artists.  I know this bit of trivia because I wrote a research paper on the movie production process when I was in high school at the pinnacle of my interest in film scores.  I fancied myself a future composer.  The one composition course I took as part of my music degree in college helped me reconcile with this not being God's path for my life.

Highly imaginative and truck-obsessed though he is, the elder lad hasn't historically been given to making sound effects to accompany his maneuvers.  (This is in keeping with his somewhat reserved nature.)  The younger lad has long been more likely to provide some vrooming, zooming, honking, beeping, and clicking noises to add reality to his generally more energetic play.  (He is, generally speaking, more expressive.)  They both, however, have lately taken to replicating a type of natural sound that is categorically- and stereotypically-speaking universally funny to boys age six (or so) and under.  I'd offer three guesses, but I bet only one is necessary for most people.

I can only imagine highly successful foley artists began their careers in a similar manner, and look at them now.  Their mothers must be so proud.

school spirit

School starts next week for the lads.  The elder lad is going into first grade.  He is looking forward to having a "buddy" at school in the form of his brother, who is enrolled in preschool three days a week.

To get us in the school spirit, we've been reading some school-themed picture books...

Is Your Buffalo Ready for Kindergarten?  by Audrey Vernick is one of my favorites.  Its appeal lies in its wacky premise of a buffalo (of all creatures, brought to life by illustrator Daniel Jennewein) going to kindergarten and learning to interact with other kids, follow classroom procedures, and "get along without using your horns" (ahem). 

The elder lad often admits to wondering what we're doing while he's at school.  He's obviously not the only one.  Toby Forward's What Did You Do Today? follows a mother and child through their respective first days at work and school, beginning at home with them packing their lunches and getting ready.  Throughout the day each is thinking of the other while enjoying their respective environments.  When they are reunited, they are both eager to know the title question. Carol Thompson's illustrations carry the story with poignant secondary illustrations such as pictures the mother and child have of each other in their respective cubbies. 

One Smart Cookie: Bite-Size Lessons for the School Year and Beyond is the latest in the series of cookie-themed vocabulary books by Amy Krouse Rosenthal, charmingly illustrated by Jane Dyer and her daughter Brooke.  Ideals like empathy, punctuality, initiative, diligence, and honesty are conveyed with the sweetness only cookies can deliver.  I've mentioned these cookie books before, but have I mentioned how addictive these whole-wheat oatmeal chocolate chip cookies are?   

Audrey Penn's The Kissing Hand is a classic in the canon of books designed to prepare kids for the experience of going to school.  Chester Raccoon is nervous about being away from his mother, expecting he will miss her.  His mother acknowledges this and has a tangible solution for those times when Chester needs some reassurance that their reunion is coming soon.  We have adapted this for our own farewells.  I daresay it really works.

Along the same lines, Llama Llama Misses Mama by Australian author/illustrator Anna Dewdney is one of several books featuring lovable Llama Llama and his loving mama.  Llama Llama is starting nursery school, and though it looks like fun, he wonders if Mama will really be back to pick him up like she has promised.  When the younger lad went to vacation bible school earlier this summer at the school that will soon be his (not just his brother's), he had fun but missed me.  I hope that experience will serve as comfort if and when the lad misses me at preschool, since he'll know I'll be back before he knows it.

In our school-readying efforts, we're also queuing up our schoolhouse rock playlist.  Still, it'll take all of us some getting used to this sight:  

All signs point to a great experience on the horizon.  Here's hoping for that and praying for the grace to allow ourselves the best possible outcome.

minor victory :: Lego edition

Here in Legoville where lads have been known to spend the better part of broiling summer days pawing through boxes of "bricks" and constructing all manner of imaginative vehicles (Honeywagon, anyone?), there is a familiar appeal that Mama has come to fear on account of her hallmark short fingernails.

To wit: "Mama, will you get these apart for me (please)?"

Separating Legos can be a painful experience for both six-year-old "Legomasters" and the responsible adult (whoever that is) supervising all this creativity whose job it becomes to pry the especially stubborn bricks apart.  Apparently I am not the first person to experience the agony of shoving Lego bricks into the quick of my nailbed, because Lego markets this tool to apparently avoid such injuries.

*or* you or your designated Lego Separator could use a staple puller like this...

... and save yourself anywhere from $3.50 to $10 on what "gastrophysicist" Alton Brown would call a "unitasker".  We've also used pliers, but those run the risk of breaking the bricks.*

*Common sense caution: Legos liberated with this handy device (especially those itsy bitsy teensy tiny lights and similar embellishments) *might* become projectiles, so take proper precautions.

I believe this might be known in modern parlance as a "hack," but I'm not certain.  Few things mortify me more than making grammatical gaffes (just kidding -- sort-of), so I will simply sidestep the lingo and share this stroke of genius from which we are all benefiting and for which I am most grateful.

Carry on and keep Lego-ing.

girl talk: sugar scrub

File this among the less weightier of the topics I address in this forum, but open-toed shoe season is upon us and Mama must get ready. 

My dear sister and I like to go to the beauty parlor for pedicures together when we can, but since this happens as often as those "supermoons" come close to Earth, I have to come up with some quick and simple measures I can do at home to keep my feet looking decent in the flip flops and espadrilles I'll be wearing for the next several months.

The lads are keenly interested in my toe nail polish selections and have their opinions as to what I should wear.  Just the other day I slapped on a few coats of a very sheer polish, but the younger lad was quick to notice.  The elder lad also finds the whole toe nail polish procedure intriguing.  Go figure. 

As part of the sootsie shape-up regimen, I mixed together a very simple exfoliant and moisturizer.  It's simply sugar, olive oil, and lavender essential oil.  One could use salt instead of sugar, although the sugar sloughs off that which needs sloughing without irritating sensitive skin the way salt does.  The olive oil is a natural moisturizer.  One could also use almond or some other carrier oil, but I didn't have that on hand when I remembered this homemade beauty treatment (such as it is) late one night. 

Were one of the mind to get fancy about this sugar scrub business with the intention of giving the resulting gritty goo as a gift to either herself or someone she cares about, she could mix up the ingredients in a pretty little jar and put a fun label (like these) on it.  I just put mine in a plastic container with a lid.  It's important to keep water out of the mixture for obvious reasons.  It won't keep forever, but if you mix up a little bit a time, that won't be a concern. 

With a little slather of my homemade sugar scrub and some pretty polish, my feeties are now in flip flop condition.

books the lads are loving

With stiff competition from Legos, dirt, trucks, the Wii, and the schoolday schedule, reading books with the lads is a little more challenging these days.  Sometimes they balk at the idea of sitting down to read with me when there are other diversions calling their names.  Still, I insist, and often as soon as I start reading aloud they snuggle up next to me to listen.  If I add color commentary or edit the text, the elder lad is usually quick to notice.

Along with fact- and picture-filled kid-friendly tomes on bugs, snakes, dinosaurs, and trucks, the lads are showing an increasing interest in comic books (or "graphic novels").  We hit upon a neat book called The Adventures of Loupio by Jean-Francois Kieffer, about a young orphan who befriends St. Francis of Assisi and his wolf.  The lad learns much about life from Brother Francis.  The comic-book style is engaging to young lads, and the Christian moral of the vignettes comes across in a most accessible way.   The book is published by Magnificat, which produces a monthly magazine containing the daily readings and prayers of the Church, along with morning and evening prayers from the Psalms in the style of the Liturgy of the Hours.

The illustrations in the Loupio book are reminiscent of those in Hergé's Tintin books.  These are classics of the comic book genre, inspiring many other comic book illustrators to come.  We've checked out a few of these compilations from the library, and the lads have been engrossed in the illustrations.

We're also working our way through some books by Jane Yolen starring Commander Toad.  We laughed our way through Commander Toad and the Planet of the Grapes, with all its corny grape jokes and references that will entertain the adult reading aloud to the children gathered around the kitchen table eating an after school snack (at least they did for me when I was in this situation).  Commander Toad and the Dis-Asteroid is rife with similar wisecracks.  Next on our list to read is Commander Toad and the Big Black Hole.  Bruce Degen's artwork reinforces the fanciful stories.  We've had his Jamberry in board book edition since the elder lad was a baby, and its status a family favorite is evident in the condition of our copy.

It might take a little more effort to get our lads to take time out from a day of fun to curl up with me and read, but I'm not giving up.  These fun books and others like them sure do help.

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.

an ode to dirt

What can separate two lads from their love of dirt?

Neither heat nor chill,
snow nor rain,
food nor drink,
sniffles nor splinters,
twilight nor darkness.

No.

For what are such concerns
when there are roads to grade,
worms to examine,
and wheelbarrows to fill?

Though they be bundled from head to toe,
and the knees of their pants split open,
their love of dirt will prevail.

It shall not pass away.

C.W. Anderson's Billy & Blaze books

On our afternoon drive to collect the Kindergartner from school (the one who came charging around the corner today, backpack bouncing from side to side on his back, huge grin on his face, Bon Jovi-esque hair flapping every which way in the wind), we drive past a home on a large lot with "miniature horses" for sale.  Said "miniature horses" (not ponies, though I still don't know the difference) are often grazing in the large yard in front of the manor house, and we always look for them.

(Well, the lass usually looks for them, if she's awake; the younger lad is often on his way to zonking out for a power nap by that point.)

Whenever the lads are playing with cars and trucks, very often at least one of them has a horse trailer hitched up to a truck or similar vehicle.  Neither of them has ever ridden a horse, but the lads find the creatures especially fascinating -- at least as seen from the safety of their car seats.

By happy accident, my eyes landed on some books by C.W. Anderson on the top shelf of the children's section at our branch library that have since become some of the lads' favorites.   Their hero is a young squire named Billy, a country boy who loves horses more than anything else.  He receives a horse for his birthday that he names Blaze.  In various adventures, the inseparable pair inspire a neighbor boy and his pony, save a number of homes from destruction by forest fire, vanquish a mountain lion, befriend a wild stallion, and make new friends and discoveries exploring both the wooded area around their home and places the family visits (horse trailer hitched up to the family vehicle, of course).   Anderson's pencil-drawn illustrations bring the stories to life while allowing plenty of room for  imagination.

Along with other vintage favorites of ours such as those by Esther Averill and those by Edward Ardizzone, they have the kind of timeless appeal that keeps them relevant, entertaining, and inspirational in an age of glowing screens and urban sprawl.

In fact, sometimes these books are about the only enticement we can offer those mud-lovin' lads to come in from the slop for some quiet time.  That's probably as it should be...

Virginia Lee Burton's books

With snow in the forecast, there is  much discussion of snow plows.  There are lads beside themselves with excitement at the prospect of driving their Tonka trucks through the snow in the backyard, there is one lass who is very determined to put her boots on and get out there too, and there is Virginia Lee Burton's Katy and the Big Snow.   It's one of our favorite books.

Katy is a big tractor at the disposal of the town of Geoppolis.  After one doozy of a blizzard, she dons a snow plow and clears streets otherwise impassable even for other snow plows.  With dogged determination she keeps working until the doctor can get his patient to the hospital, the firetruck can get to the fire, and the rest of the city get on with life. 

We first met Burton's magical work in Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, about one old-fashioned steam shovel named Mary Anne and her devoted operator Mike Mulligan who wouldn't relegate her to the junkyard in favor of one of those new-fangled gasoline-, electric- or diesel-powered shovels.  He claims he and Mary Anne can do the work of 100 men in no time flat.  After some high-profile jobs digging canals for ocean liners and cellars for skyscrapers, Mike Mulligan and Mary Anne are left to find work outside the limelight.  Modern times might have meant the end of the steam shovel in most places, but Mike Mulligan and Mary Anne find a way to keep serving together.

Time, progress, and efficiency play a central role in Burton's The Little House, about a house built in the country that watches a city grow up around it.  The house is abandoned and falls into disrepair, but eventually a descendant of the house's original owners returns to love it back to life.   This book won the Caldecott Medal in 1942 for illustrations. 

As in The Little House, Maybelle the Cable Car centers on a symbol of a bygone era and its struggle to stay current.  In San Francisco the cable cars have long been a fixture of public transportation, but there is a faction of folks who think they should be replaced by buses and other more modern and efficient vehicles.  Maybelle and her sister cable cars show they are still as relevant as ever in serving the city's transportation needs.

One of the all stars of children's literature, Virginia Lee Burton illustrated the charming stories she wrote in the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s with intricate detail.  They are a visual feast and auditory pleasure for both the one reading aloud and the one(s) listening -- almost enough to distract from the wonder of powdered snow outside the window when it's time to thaw out from all that cavorting through the stuff, if only for a little while....

playlist: schoolhouse rock

Just for fun, here's a playlist I've assembled from some of our favorite music, all having a little something to do with school:

• "98.8" by Justin Roberts a feeble attempt to stay home from school  
• "Snow Day" also by Justin Roberts fever-free, but still hopeful
• "We're Going to Be Friends" by Jack Johnson made it to school, happy to see everyone 
• "Alphabet of Nations" by They Might be Giants literacy + geography  
• "Knocktopus" by Recess Monkey for the class clown in all of us 
• "Tie Your Shoe" by Justin Roberts mastering this feat is cause for celebration 
• "Seven" by They Might be Giants the lass's most-requested song of the moment, and a fun commentary on those of our species who are this age 
• "The Sharing Song" by Jack Johnson a necessary skill
• "West Indian Counting Song" by Dan Zanes & Friends Sometimes I sing this one to facilitate a transition in activities.
• "Number Two" by They Might be Giants They're channeling Sir Elton John here, I think.
• "We Go Duck" by Justin Roberts as in Duck, Duck, Goose
• "Go Down Emmanuel Road" by Dan Zanes & Friends fans of Sesame Street have probably seen this a time or two or three 
• "Q U" by They Might be Giants groovy goodness 
• "Picture Day" by Justin Roberts I almost always wanted retakes.
• "Meet the Elements" by They Might be Giants never too early to start learning scientific principles ...
• "Cells" by They Might be Giants Whoever heard of introducing the concept of DNA to the preschool population? 
• "Science Fair" by Recess Monkey I always cringed at the thought of cooking up an experiment.  This is so not my scene. 
• "The Bloodmobile" by They Might be Giants Physiology terminology set to music = retention.  This tune is along the lines of those commercials for St. Joseph's aspirin from a few years ago.  As an aside, did you know my mother and I had the same high school chemistry/human anatomy teacher?  The charms of small town life... 
• "Constellation Conga" by Recess Monkey my new favorite.  Astronomy: why not?
• "How Many Planets?" by They Might be Giants My bambini can all name "JOOOOO-pi-ter" on a rendering of the solar system thanks to this ditty.
• "Fire Drill" by Justin Roberts a welcome interruption
• Why Does the Sun Shine? by They Might be Giants jammin', if maybe not quite right, come to find out ...
• "Why Does the Sun Really Shine?" by They Might be Giants swanky.  less jammin' than its predecessor, but apparently more accurate.  Go figure.
• "Ice Pack" by Recess Monkey After all that science, it's time for recess.  Sometimes accidents happen. 
• "Billy the Bully" by Justin Roberts Might does not equal right.
• Sack Lunch by Recess Monkey The elder lad and his kindergartner buddies have recess *before* lunch, so that they'll actually eat instead of running out to play after a bite or two; This tune goes hand in hand with next on this list.
• "Big Field Trip" by Justin Roberts I've queued this one for many a field trip of our own.
• "E Eats Everything" by They Might be Giants Both the lads dig this one.  In the video version, Z becomes a Pac-Man-esque creature.  Need I elaborate? 
• "Not Naptime" by Justin Roberts This is genius in musical form, clearly written by someone who's been there and done that; Justin Roberts is a former preschool teacher.
• "Do-Re-Mi" by Harry Connick, Jr. music ed 
• "Gym Class Parachute" by Justin Roberts gym class.  not my scene.
• Pollito Chicken by Dan Zanes & Friends Spanish lessons 
• "Little White Square" by Popple This is a theoretical Catholic school playlist; fostering vocations begins at an early age.
• "Daniel in the Den" by Dan Zanes & Friends religion continued... This is from the Old Testament.
• "Giant-Sized Butterflies" by Justin Roberts start-of-school jitters; brings me to tears thinking back to the elder lad starting preschool  ...
• "Strike the Bell" by Dan Zanes Is it time to go home yet? 
• "She's A Yellow Reflector" by Justin Roberts Sister has after-school crossing guard duty -- no time for chit-chat.
• "Yellow Bus" by Justin Roberts  Where is that bus?  The poor kid is up and at 'em.  But what day is it again?  Saturday?

I call it "Schoolhouse Rock."