My Baby Genius

This audioblog is of The Baby, who will be two on Friday. In the audioblog, you can hear her count to ten, and then she TRIES to count to thirteen, but she's a little distracted by the phone and carrots and other important things.

I'm still amazed that she's not even two and can already count to ten. Someone tell me my child's a genius.

Identity Theft: One Blogger's Story...

An excerpt from today's post over at Quiet Life: "The bookkeeper pulled out a stack of about twelve checks that had my name forged at the bottom and our routing number and our address at the top.

These were not my checks. These were fake checks with fake ink made on a computer with all of our information.

This first batch of checks totaled over $3000.00."

The quoted post comes as a warning. Donna's blog entry for today carries with it a caution to mail your bills only from a post office dropbox, not from your own mailbox. Go to her post to read more.

Today's Thank You Awards

...go to:

Bard, for straightening the kitchen without me having to ask twice, for being patient with me while I had a downer day, for laughing with me this morning, and for writing in our journal.

Monet, for doing such a wonderful job of cleaning his room, and for working very hard to control his temper.

Sweetheart, for trying to settle an argument with her friend with calm words instead of crying or yelling.

Houdin, for making a really cool fort that I promise I'll look at tomorrow, AND take pictures. REMIND ME!

Bo, for taking the baby when I needed to be alone for a while, finishing our taxes, and for making that nifty rechargable battery holder.

In response to Donna over at Quiet Life, I'm posting my blogging spot. This is where I blog...my bedroom. There's a computer inside that wardrobe, which I'll post a photo of when I can get my dear husband to make me a disc. .  

January Reading List

Currently Reading:

Current Bedtime Read:

Mandy by Julie Andrews Edwards

Me:

Eve's Daughters by Lynn Austin
Crown Duel by Sherwood Smith
Haircut and other Stories by Ring Lardner

Houdin:

The Buck Stops Here: The Presidents of the United States (Updated Edition)
by Alice Provensen

National Geographic Eyewitness to the 20th Century
by National Geographic, Scientists, and Explorers Renowned Historians

Monet:

Polar Bears Past Bedtime (Magic Tree House 12, paper) by MARY POPE OSBORNE

Quick List of what we've read together:

Man Who Didn't Wash His Dishes by Phyllis Krasilovsky
Once Upon a Potty by Alona Frankel
The Skip Rope Book by by Francelia Butler
Richard Scarry's Big and Little, a Book of Opposites

I'll have Bard add hers later.

Learning in Spite of it All

Because I've been inspired by Tenn over at School @ Home, I've been spending more time reading to my children, and encouraging more reading as well. Yesterday, in spite of the bookshelf organizing project, my kids were learning.

Maybe it was *because* of the bookshelf organizing project.

Have you ever noticed that, when you clean a room, everyone suddenly wants to be there? All of the other rooms are available to use, but somehow everyone gravitates to the clean room. They're comfortable. They're relaxed. They feel at peace.

I suppose, because my bookshelve were becoming more organized, everyone wanted to be there. Houdin was reading about presidents, specifically about Franklin D. Roosevelt and his love of dogs. He's reading up on presidents so that he can write a 200 word essay about his favorite president for the local paper. If he wins, he gets his essay printed in the paper and a $50 savings bond. He also spent some time looking through our presidents flash cards and reading Sweetheart was looking at art books about Mary Cassatt, and we even pulled a few favorites in between the sorting, cuddled up on the couch, and read. I couldn't resist reading The Man Who Wouldn't Wash His Dishes and The Skip Rope Book. While I read the latter, Sweetheart grabbed the jump rope and jumped to the rhythm of my words.

I read Once Upon a Potty to The Baby--twice. Both times, I lost her at the part where Prudence sat, and sat, and sat, and sat, and sat...

About early afternoon, Sweetheart and Houdin went with Grandpa to the library. While they were gone, Monet and I sat at the quiet kitchen table and read. I'm still reading Eve's Daughters, which, so far, is an awesome book. Monet was reading Polar Bears Past Bedtime, a Magic Treehouse book. While he was reading, he asked about gazelles and igloos, so we did a little mini-research on both. My only regret is that he wanted me to come outside and see the igloo that he built, and I didn't. I'll do that today, Monet. I promise. I'll even take pictures.

Edison recieved a magic video from NetFlix, so he and the kids sat down for a while to watch that. After that, it was just too much to take. The snow is so thick, they just had to go out and play in it.

Last night, I just let them watch the DVDs they brought home from the library. Sweetheart finally got her own library card on Saturday, so she is now very excited about going to the library. It was a great amount of fun listening to them laugh over old Bugs Bunny cartoons. "Ha! It's nitroglycerin!" I hear Bard laugh.

It was good to have Bard home. She and Bo had been gone all day because, well, because Bo has to do that really awful work thing. Bard had choral practice, so she took her schoolwork with her, and she also worked on the Favorite President essay. Bard's choir will be going to China in a few months, so they've been working very hard on their pieces.

And, as a little side note, I've decided to give daily Thank You Awards. Just my way of letting people in my house know that I appreciate what they've done. It might blow up in my face, but I'm going to do it anyway. So there.

Today's Thank You Awards

Today's Thank You Awards go to:

Bohemian, for taking Bard to choir practice, grocery shopping, and picking up the couch and TV bracket from Freecyclers. I know you were exhausted by the time you finally got home.

Monet, for wrapping N.L.'s birthday present.

Edison, Monet and Sweetheart for cleaning up when I asked you to without arguing or complaining.

Bard, for being dedicated to your choral group and always taking your music without being reminded.

Feeling Rather Bookish

It started out innocently enough.

I just wanted to pull a few books off my shelf, blog some titles of books that will help me get ready for the coming spring like I mentioned in my post about getting the planting itch. I grabbed a handful of gardening guides and started typing. Then I remembered, "Hey. I think there are more gardening-type books in the basement from when we were still living in the cabin," so I trek down to the fruit cellar to get them. While I'm down there, I find a few boxes of books that made it out of our storage unit when we moved into the new house, but didn't make it onto actual bookshelves, unless you call the fruit cellar shelves bookshelves. I don't.

While I was at it, I figured, I may as well go ahead and grab the books I'd stuck in on the storage shelves in the basement laundry room. Wouldn't hurt to just round all of 'em up and put 'em where they go. Right?

Right?

I started this project this morning, organizing my book shelves. I felt good about getting started, because it's on my 101 in 1,001 list. Get the bookshelves organized. All of the math books in one place, all of the language books in one place, all of the classics in one place, all of the birth, NFP and midwifery books in one place. Sounds so good. So tidy. So organized. So, yes, I decided this morning was the time to get it done.

Early this morning.

And, go on, take a wild guess. Do you think I'm done? At 8:32 tonight, do you think I've finished? Did you answer a big, fat, "no?"

Well, you were right. I'm sitting in this room surrounded by books. It's not as easy to organize these as I'd hoped. After all, how does one categorize a book titled How to Teach Your Dog to Talk? And where, exactly, do I place our single picture book about Trucks? After all, I'm already feeling guilty about the big box of books that are going to the second-hand store just because I don't know where else to put them.

And what, exactly, do all of you homeschooling moms do with the workbooks that have, like, five pages finished and haven't been touched in twelve and a half years? Do you throw 'em out? Does your inner optimist believe you'll make one of your kids finish 'em? Does your perfectionist want the kid that started the workbook to finish it? Even though she's almost fifteen and already knows her ABC's? Does that same perfectionist feel it's unfair to give the workbook to the child who's still learning her ABC's because A through E are already completed? Does your inner pessimist cringe at the sight of a stack of fifteen workbooks, each with five pages completed, and judge you for being a bad homeschooler who doesn't follow through and whose children will not know their ABC's when they grow up? Does your inner financial advisor chastise you for spending all of that money on curricula that you know you'll never use because your kids would rather learn how to make igloos and measure rice into a balance scale? Or does your inner sentimentalist packrat want to lovingly cut out each completed page with a pair of pinking shears and file them in the child's portfolio or scrapbook?

My inner psychopath is ready to build a nice, big bonfire and burn every book she sees for the next twenty-two years.

I think I deserve a bowl of ice cream. Or at least a book about one.

Bring on the Snow--I've got Jane Brody to keep me company

There's nothing like a good snowstorm to bring a family together.

We had the usual busy-ness planned for the weekend. I was supposed to fly out to Chicago for a baby shower (my gift to my lovely sister-in-law was the poem Stretch that I posted a few days ago, which was read yesterday during her Blessingway) but the flight was cancelled due to the snow. The kids had been invited to a birthday party about an hour and a half away, but there was no way we could take our big ol' van out on these country roads, so we regretfully declined to attend. As it was, Bo and I had to run out for milk, eggs and butter and our 4-wheel drive Jeep barely handled the journey to the local IGA, the library and back.

So, we were officially snowed in.

What's the best thing to do when you're snowed in? Okay, other than do laundry. Eat, of course!

On Saturday, I made biscuits and lentil vegetable soup, we read books and blogs, and I caught up (mostly) on my laundry. Houdin spent most of the day sledding with his friend, our neighbor C.J., and then shoveled sidewalks for C.J.'s grandmother's neighbors.

On Sunday, I did more laundry. And more laundry. And more laundry. Somehow, even with doing two or three loads of laundry a day, I can't seem to catch up completely.

The big thing, though, was that I decided to spend the day baking cookies. When the kids asked if C.J. and his sisters Cat and Beth could come over, I figured that it sounded like the perfect winter activity--playing with friends and eating cookies.

While the kids flung the Playmobil toys all over the Big Room, I baked Toll-House cookies, which, I'm sorry to say, are the best chocolate chip cookies that have ever existed. Please, prove me wrong. I say that I'm sorry to say that they're the best, because I avoid buying Nestle products at just about any cost because of their production and distribution of baby formula and the Nestle boycott. So I'm left with a moral dilemma. Buy Nestle chocolate chips and break my boycott, or buy Hershey's chips, which aren't made available in the big bags at my grocery, and feel guilty about using them to make a Nestle recipe. I normally opt for the Hershy option, or, if available, Ghiradelli. But I had Nestle in my pantry, so Nestle I used. Please forgive me, breastfeeding zealots. The snowstorm made me do it.

I baked lots and lots of cookies. I baked two dozen for my Amish neighbor's, Kate and Dean, who just had their fifth baby--a girl. They now have five children who are age six and under. They need all the cookies they can get.

I also baked a container-full for my dear, dear friend P. who recently had surgery for breast cancer, and, thank God, had a very successful operation and is currently undergoing daily radiation treatments and amazing me with her good spirits and unquenchable energy.

I decided, too, to try using the dough to make Toll House Cookie Bars. I spread them very thickly into my Only And Very Pampered Pampered Chef Baking Pan. Ooooh, boy. I do think that's my favorite way to have chocolate chip cookies, now. It makes it so much easier to justify eating Breyer's vanilla ice cream.

Speaking of ice cream and other yummy foods, we have recently, and very successfully, made major changes to our family's diet. As part of my 101 in 1,001 commitment, I swore off of fast food as of January 9th. Since that time, I've completely avoided fast food. And then, when we watched Super Size Me, on January 19th, Bohemian and I decided to radically change our diets. Since then, we've increased our intake of salads, eliminated all sugary drinks (though Bo is still indulging in his coffee--just not as often as he'd been) and have created a system for having cold, convenient drinking water available to everyone at all times. Amazingly, it's working. In fact, Bard, who had been considering vegetarianism, finally made the switch and has been eating much healthier and being more active since the 19th. It's only five days, but we all feel a big difference already. I allow things like ice cream and homemade cookies so that my family doesn't completely revolt. Then again, what would they do? Start cooking for themselves? Guffaw!

I even serendipitously found my copy of Jane Brody's Good Food Book (it was on a bookshelf. Can you imagine?) and have been re-reading it for tips and recipes. Brody insists that carbohydrates are GOOD for you--imagine that! People should actually eat energy foods and then be ACTIVE! GASP!

But Brody's book is more than a cookbook, but also offers background information on pastas, beans, grains and even suggestions for stocking your pantry. It's actually more of a course in nutritional cooking than a simple cookbook. Brody's recipe for My Favorite Lentil Soup is so awesome. It really is my favorite lentil soup!

My Favorite Lentil Soup

Ingredients:
2 Tbsp. olive oil
2-3 medium onions, chopped
(about 2 cups)
3 carrots, coarsely grated
3/4 tsp. marjoram
3/4 tsp.
thyme
1 28-oz. can tomatoes with their juice
7 c. vegetable broth
1-1/2 c. dried lentils, rinsed
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 -1/2 tsp. freshly
ground black pepper
6 oz. dry white wine
1/3 c. chopped fresh parsley or
2 Tbsp. dried
4 oz. cheddar cheese, grated (optional but oh, so yummy)

Preparation:
Heat the oil in a large saucepan, and sauté the onions, carrots, marjoram, and thyme, stirring the vegetables for about 5 minutes. Add the tomatoes, broth, and
lentils. Bring the soup to a boil, reduce the heat, cover the pan, and simmer
for about 1 hour, or until the lentils are tender. Add the salt, pepper, wine,
and parsley, and simmer the soup for a few minutes. Serve with cheese sprinkled
on each portion.

Source: Jane Brody's Good Food Book

So, eat and enjoy.

Ah! It's snowing again! Time to make more food--and do more laundry.

Itching

Heavens, it's not even the end of January yet.

I can't help it. I'm itching to start planting.

Last year, we achieved a lifelong dream of building our own home. This came after thirteen years of living in a small house, and then in a tiny two-room cabin (think Little House in the Big Woods) without an indoor toilet or electricity. We spent a good part of the past three years planning, preparing and building our farmhouse...but we didn't even begin to touch the yard and gardens.

I'm very much looking forward to focusing on that aspect of our home this coming summer.

I suppose my itching has something to do with beginning to read Mandy to the kids tonight. It also has to do with recalling the gardens of my youth. It might also have something to do with seeing strawberries for $4.00 a quart at IGA and knowing I wouldn't buy the flavorless, rotten things anyway. I'd rather wait and grow my own.

So I'm thinking about pulling out the garden inspiration. Tomorrow, I'll make a list of the reads we'll savor to get psyched for spring planting. Oooh, I can feel the mud between my toes already.

Bring on the seed catalogs. I'm ready to plan.

Living Off The Land

There was no question in my seven-year-old mind that I could do it.

I sat in the back yard, behind the dog pen, hunched inside of a makeshift tent that was constructed out of heavy poles and a big, black tarp, something my dad had brought home (read: stolen) from the rubber shop where he worked. I had in my hand a jar full of ripe red raspberries, picked only minutes ago from the row of bushes that ran along the north side of the dog pen. I was attempting to make raspberry jam, using a spoon and smashing the raspberries into a thick, gooey pulp. No sugar needed. These babies were plenty sweet. And who needed toast? It was a jam good enough to eat right out of the jar.

This was all part of a plan to prove to myself that I could live off of the land.

It seemed to me, even then, that it wasn't completely necessary to have grocery stores. After all, everything that you could buy at the store could be made or grown at home. Well, with the exception of bananas. But I could live without bananas.

My thinking was this: I really needed very little to survive. First off, I was pretty skinny. I had been a skinny kid since the very beginning, and had worried my parents because I "ate like a bird." They would take me to the doctor, who would assure them that I would eat when I was hungry, and then he would assure me that he would marry me someday, and let me choose a reward from the treasure chest (I always chose a ring, so I could say that it was from the doctor who was going to marry me someday). My great-grandfather, who we called Big Grandpa because he was very tall and was married to Little Grandma, who was very short, would shake his head at me at every family gathering. "You look like a bird! You're going to dry up and fly away!"

But I really don't think it's fair to say that I didn't eat, because I certainly did. I loved fruits, vegetables, bread and bacon. I ate a lot of stuff. And I ran around a lot. And I think it's because of the things I liked to eat that I came to my conclusion that I could live off the land.

After all, what could be better than a fresh carrot, straight from the garden? Well, a tomato, of course! A red, sun-warmed, juice-drips-down-to-your-elbow tomato is one of the best things that can ever happen to a kid. There's no store-bought tomato that could even pretend to be more than a tasteless water balloon. And corn! Well, if a kid could start a fire and boil some water, corn would just be the best thing in the world to eat! And since I was such a dairy addict, I certainly had to have a cow. And what did cows eat? Grass! How hard could that be to grow?

Given all of this staggering logic, I knew that I never really had to have a job. I could eat fruits and veggies straight from the garden, sleep in my tent, and drink milk and make butter from my cow who only needed to eat grass. It was a flawless plan. Sometimes, I still pull elements from it. This is why I needed to know how to make bread from scratch, or how to knit a scarf, a hat, or a pair of mittens. This is why we have goats and chickens, and why things just don't feel right if there isn't a garden filled with herbs, veggies, fruits and weeds in our yard. This is why I've made homemade horehound drops, why I read books by Gene Logsdon and Wendell Berry, why I get so excited about mulberry season, and why I have a get that goofy nostalgic look on my face when I see a row of red raspberries. Because when I was seven years old, I had a plan. And I was sure that I could live off the land from that moment on.

As long as it stayed summer all year 'round.

This Conversation Actually Took Place...

Sweetheart: Can I have more cake?

Loving Mother: No.

Sweetheart: Grandpa eats more bad food than I do.

Loving Mother: Not true. You would eat a lot of bad food if I didn't follow you around the house saying "No, no, no."

Sweetheart: He does too eat more bad food. That's why his teef are rotten.

Grandpa (who was not in any wars): The war did this to my teeth.

Sweetheart: You didn't have any wars.

Monet: Yes, he did, too. He was a submarine.

I kid you not.

::stretch: for my pregnant sisters ::

It was the first thing I noticed.

Pink lines marched along my skin as my body made room for each pound that I gained.

Everywhere.

My thighs,
my breasts,
my butt
and my stomach.

The pregnancy books talked about these lines, these marks that would never tan and would never go away. My body was changing,

and it would never be the same.

My tummy was bigger now, bigger every day. Yet it never seemed big enough for that life inside of me.

Sitting on the couch, I would feel the pressure--
a foot jabbing into my ribs, kicking me from the inside out,
or a shoulder rotating against my hip bone,
or an elbow poking at my side.
I could recline,
reposition,
realign.

There wasn't enough room in there. No matter how much I would stretch myself.

The pains crept in--those crampy, achy, here-it-comes pains. I could close my eyes and try to envision it--
the stretching that would bring this sweet, new life into the world,
into my arms,
the stretching that was going on all through my body.

It was only through that stretching that my little girl child would find her place, cuddled in the safety of the family bed,
a little nursling at my side.

Sweet, sweet baby, with rosebud lips and glowing cheeks.
I know you.
I know who you are, as you've grown inside of me,
built me up,
and helped me to grow.

You're the one who has changed me from a selfish girl into a hopeful mother. I want to be more for you, better for you. I want to be the very best you could ever have.

No one has ever made me feel this way, though many have tried.
Teachers,
parents,
friends,
preachers,
lovers.
No one has caused me to want to be as much as I want to be for you.

Sweet, sweet baby, I watch you sleep for a moment, and then, blinking your eyes, you look at me and lift your little balled hands high above your head, pushing your toes as far as you can push them from your fingers...

And you stretch.
You stretch.
You stretch
me.

Each day, child, you stretch me. There's more of me than I ever thought there could be.

I am more flexible,
more pliable,
more malleable than I could have forced myself to be.

I stretch out my hands to hug you after you fall.
I stretch out my mind to understand you when you're so very teenaged and I'm so very not.
I stretch my love to add another child.
And another.
And another.
And another.
I stretch out my trust in God to protect you when you're away from me.

My body will never be the same. The silvery-gray lines that will never tan--they were just the beginning.

You've stretched me, Child
--my body,
my heart,
my mind,
my spirit.

It was the first thing I noticed...

Finished!

We finished reading The Boxcar Children yesterday. It was kinda sad to see it end, but I really, really enjoyed it while it lasted.

Monet and Sweetheart have been playing Boxcar Children ever since we started reading. Today, while they were playing with the treehouse thingy they got for Christmas, they were looking for Benny. Monet, being Henry, asked Sweetheart, who was being Violet, if she'd seen Benny lately. Sweetheart, being Violet, said, "No way, Jose!" Bard and I verbally doubted if Violet would have said such a thing, but Sweetheart insisted she would have.

So, what to read next?

Trouble Posting...

I've been experiencing some server troubles, which are driving me nuts. Quick notes in case this is the only post I can make for a few days (these notes are mostly to remind me what we've been doing, so don't blame me if they bore you).

Bard had her hair cut and colored. Pics to come
Houdin did a magic show at the nursing home. Prep was a nightmare. Show went fine. They invited us back every two weeks.
Bard is going to start a poetry reading group at the nursing home. She starts in two weeks.
The Baby, who will be two next week, can count to 13 by herself! The laundry awaits, but my child is a genius.

More as I can connect.

Changed. Forever.

Okay, I know it's banal, but I, too, have watched Super Size Me.

Things are gonna be different around here from now on.

Searching for Answers in a Pile of Laundry

Again, I'm wondering about the wisdom of focusing on just one area of one's life. It seems that when one does that, one ends up losing control of every other area. Big time.

Yesterday was my "clean the bedroom/get laundry done" day. Except my "laundry day" takes about a week. I spent the majority of the day upstairs, and in spite of the jug of laundry soap and the amount of time I spent, I didn't get all of the laundry done.

It. Just. Keeps. Coming.

So, today, I'm doing laundry AND cleaning out my pantry, which contains about fifteen opened bags of chocolate chips (NOTE: It honestly was NOT me), twelve opened bags of chips, six opened sleeves of crackers, seven opened bags of nuts, and three opened bags of sugar.

I did not do this. I did not open all of these bags. But who is cleaning up all of the spilled contents? Who is trying to figure out which ones are stale and which ones are edible? It ain't the opened bag fairy, I'll tell ya that.

It's me.

And so, I'm a grump. A total, honest to goodness grump.

In addition, Monet has decided that he's going to pull out his "I can't do anything and I don't remember what you just told me to do" routine. I've told him six times to load the dishwasher, eight times to put away the groceries, fourteen times to sort the socks, and five times to put away his jacket.

These are the days that make me want to run screaming to the local public school and demand that they take my child. Now.

The worst part about my frustration is that I feel like there should be SOMETHING I could do about it.

Am I using the wrong educational approach? Did I have too many kids? Am I disciplining too much? Too little? Expecting too much? Too little? Do I try to hard? Not hard enough? Is it their diet? Is it allergies? Is it too much sugar? Too much wheat? Too much caffeine? Too much white flour? Too much TV? Not enough reality? Do they need more hobbies? More chores? Should their dad be home full-time? Should I go to work full-time? Should they be in school? Should I unschool more? Is their life too structured? Too permissive? Am I too demanding? Too relaxed? (Nope. That's not it.) Do they need more friends? More exercise? More fresh air? Do they need better vitamins? Do I need more vitamins? Do they need Ritalin? Do I need Prozac? What am I doing wrong? What? What??? WHAT???

God, can you just give me an answer? A symbol? A sign??? Anything?!?

Ah. There's the dryer buzzer. I see that God has a sense of humor.

Maybe he'll share.

Our First Cache

Get this:

You tell a bunch of kids that you're going on a treasure hunt. Suddenly, they're jumping up and down, they're all excited, they're ready to get out in the cold, winter air and get some exercise.

And then they stop and stare at you with that "What are you trying to pull?" look on their faces.

"What are you trying to pull?" They ask.

"Nothing," I say. "Absolutely nothing. It's a wonderful Sunday morning, and I think it would an excellent day for a treasure hunt." I look at my husband.

"Don't you, Bo?" Aforementioned husband nods.

"So we're going out in the yard to find some treasure you buried. Is this like the time you hid our christmas gifts in pirate chests and told us that Black Beard the Pirate left them behind?"

"Um, no," I say. "It's not at all like that. We're not looking in our yard. And I didn't hide the treasure. In fact, I don't even know exactly where it is."

"Is this like the time that you hid the dollar bills in the yard so that we would be motivated to pull weeds, and you told us that Black Beard the Pirate left them behind?"

"Um, no," I say. "This actually has nothing to do with Black Beard the Pirate at all."

"Okay, then what's the catch?" They ask, their eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"There's no catch. There's only a cache," I say, trying to be clever.

"A what?"

I point Houdin to the computer, where I have pulled up the FAQ for Geocaching. "Read," I say.

Before long, Houdin and Bard have read about geocaching, and we're in the van and on our way. Our whole clan went, including The Baby, Sweetheart and The Grandpa, which is unusual because The Grandpa doesn't go very many places.


We head to the first cache of the day, and Monet immediately takes to the GPS, letting us know how rapidly we're approaching the cache. It's not far from our house, so we don't take a long time to get there. It's a good thing, with all of the "Are we there yet?" and "It's my turn to hold the CPR!" "It's a GPS, Silly!" "Whatever!"

We're looking for a mini-cache, hidden in a tiny painted Altoids tin, and we've looked all over the destination. The kids are about to give up, but I'm not. I look over there. I look under that. I look up there...AHA! I walk away from the hiding place.

Bard catches the goofy grin on my face.

"You found it, didn't you?" She asks. I nod.

"Where is it?" She asks. I shrug.

We play a game of "hotter/colder" and, soon enough, everyone has found it.

Everyone, except Sweetheart.


Sweetheart wasn't very happy at all. As a matter of fact, I think she was about as unhappy as a treasure hunter can be. Even after we gave her the cache tin to open, she cried. She was, in a word, bummed.

We replaced the cache exactly where we found it (and I'm not tellin') and set the GPS for the next cache search. This time, the cache was along a walking trail, so we got a nice little hike. This time, Houdin was the first to find the cache, hidden in an ammo box. We sat at a picnic bench, read the log, and looked through the treasure. The premise of geocaching is that you can take something from the cache box, but you have to leave something behind. The kids had all brought a little something to leave, and they each took something that connected with them: Sweetheart and Houdin took fishing lures, Monet took a baseball. I can't remember what Bard took. What DID you take, Bard?

Night was falling, but we still had enough time to place our own first cache.

Today's Lessons: Mapping coordinates, hiking, visual observation, latitude and longitude, following directions, reading, writing and sharing.

The Queen of Our Village

Silly me. I opened the bottle of frozen Cherry Coke (What? Cherry Coke? Who was drinking Cherry Coke? Not me. Huh uh. Not after I resolved to replace my daily Cherry Coke intake with water).

The Cherry Coke that I wasn't opening not for me overflowed all over the counter.

Sweetheart: Mom, why did you do that?

Me: Because I'm not very smart. You should know that by now.

Sweetheart: Yes, you are. You're very smart. Because you're the mom.

Me: Is that so?

Sweetheart: Yes. You're like the queen. The queen of our village. And you teach us, so you have to be smart.

Me: Aha. I'll remember that next time I try to do something stupid.

Dangerously Beautiful...

This is a photo from my front porch of the ice storm of 2004 that I talk about in my Broken Branches, a Plea to All Fathers essay. It was truly one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Unfortunately, thousands of people went without power over the Christmas and New Year's holiday anywhere from a few hours to almost two weeks. We were without power from the day before Christmas eve through the day before New Year's Eve. Now the area is dealing with massive flooding and evacuation from their homes. Since we're up high on a hill, and we don't live in a valley area, we're not affected, other than a change in certain driving routes.