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The market just wasn’t right for a lemonade stand. So, they did the next best thing.
Their first customer
took 20 frogs. (You can get a good look at that ear drum… the one that tells you whether the frog is female or male.)
Of course, it wasn’t like mini-mall.
But still, I think their college fund is secured.
Best Shot Monday
with my prized beans. You know you’ve reached success when you’re skeptical Father says, “I’m amazed at how well your fort does look after all.” Despite the junkyard trellises, the discarded branches and posts full of Irish Spring Soap. Not only can I say that the fort a success, but the beans are so mighty, Jack-In-The-Beanstalk BIG, I think I should win a prize or something.
If any of you have grown beans before, you know that for maximum flavor, the beans taste best when picked just before they rich full maturity. However, this variety, the Jack-In-The-Beanstalk variety, is meant to grow beans that are 10-12 inches in length. The beans, primarily because they are fresh off the vine when I cook them, have this succulent, earthy, light taste that makes you ALMOST want to ban sour cream potato chips from your diet forever.
The 20 foot vines on the fort have wrapped themselves so beautifully around those junkyard trellis so
If you’re thinking about building a similar fort, I encourage you to get these Jack-In-The Beanstalk Seed from Seeds of Change. The vines seem to be very hearty, and give you quite a show in one short season.
One evening I saw humming birds fluttering around from white flower to white flower. It was one of those moments when you knew as soon as you left to grab your camera, the birds would be gone; so, you might as well just stay here and enjoy their amazing delicate dance from flower to flower.
The Japanese Beetles were difficult to battle against, but the vines seemed to be undaunted by a few little holes in the leaves. Still, the boys reported that one morning a “huge spider web caught thousands of Japanese Beetles.” It was knocked down before I could witness the web.
Not only can I say that the fort a success, but the beans are so mighty, Jack-In-The-Beanstalk BIG, I think I should win a prize or something. If any of you have grown beans before, you know that for biggest flavor, the beans taste better when picked when they’re small. This variety, however, the Jack-In-The-Beanstalk variety is meant to grow to 10-12 inches. The taste is amazing. Because they’re fresh off the vine when I cook them, the beans have this succulent, earthy, light taste that makes you ALMOST want to ban sour cream potato chips from your diet forever.
The vines on the fort have wrapped themselves so beautifully around those junkyard trellis so that all you see are those big, beautiful draping leaves, and no longer the pathetic, sight-for-sore-eyes monstrosity. I’m very excited about my Dad seeing the fort, now in all its green glory.
If you’re thinking about building a similar fort, I encourage you to get these Jack-In-The Beanstalk Seed from Seeds of Change. The vines seem to be very hearty, and give you quite a show in one short season.
One evening I saw humming birds fluttering around from white flower to white flower. It was one of those moments when you knew as soon as you left to grab your camera, the birds would be gone; so, you might as well just stay here and enjoy their amazing delicate dance from flower to flower.
The Japanese Beetles were difficult to battle against, but the vines seemed to be undaunted by a few little holes in the leaves. Still, the boys reported that one morning a “huge spider web caught thousands of Japanese Beetles.” It was knocked down before I could witness the web.
so that all you see are those big, beautiful draping leaves, and no longer the pathetic, sight-for-sore-eyes monstrosity. I’m very excited about my Dad seeing the fort, now in all its green glory.
If you’re thinking about building a similar fort, I encourage you to get these Jack-In-The Beanstalk Seed from Seeds of Change. The vines seem to be very hearty, and give you quite a show in one short season.
One evening I saw humming birds fluttering around from white flower to white flower. It was one of those moments when you knew as soon as you left to grab your camera, the birds would be gone; so, you might as well just stay here and enjoy their amazing delicate dance from flower to flower.
The Japanese Beetles were difficult to battle against, but the vines seemed to be undaunted by a few little holes in the leaves. Still, the boys reported that one morning a “huge spider web caught thousands of Japanese Beetles.” It was knocked down before I could witness the web. Next year, I have bigger plans, as I write at Midwest Parents.
It was a quiet, intimate, although rushed lunch. What do you serve a child for his last lunch as a kindergartner? Over the last 9.5 months, I have quietly savored these lunches with him, knowing these were my last. Rather than buck tradition, I served him his favorite; chicken noodle soup — hold the noodles and chicken, I’ll-just-have-the-broth soup.
I warned him that I would cry at his graduation today. “Why?” he asked.
“Because I’m so happy for you,” I said.
“Well, you are going to miss me when I am gone in first grade. So you might cry because you’re sad.”
Now that the cat was out of the bag, I just let the tears flow right there and then. I have never been at ease the entire year of kindergarten, simply because I knew it would all come down to this. The year would fly by, and before I knew it, he would graduate and our magical mornings at home would soon be over. Forever. God, I’m dramatic. Still, it’s true, you can’t deny that.
I put some peanut butter on a bagel. His little brother wanted one too. His bagel broke when I tried to pry the two slices apart. Traditionally, this incident is always a ridiculous source of complaints at the lunch table, for both of them. Soon, the little brother was throwing his hissy fit over the broken bagel.
The older, soon-to-be-first-grader gently said to him, “It’s OK if your bagel is broken… because when you bite it, it will still taste the same.” More Best shot Mondays here.
It became evident this past weekend that perhaps I might have been too zealous in my attempt to clear the clutter, ditch the junky plastic toys and strive for a more peaceful, Zen life. This light bulb moment came when my son pilfered a box of Irish Spring soap from our gardening supplies, and named it “Slipy.”
He faltered between carrying the box with the soap inside, to sometimes just carrying it au naturel, without the box. When he shook the bar of soap in the box, he asked everyone of us, “Doesn’t this sound like a horse?” Try it. It does. You know what I thought? Guilt about not giving my kids a pet… they have to use soapboxes as surrogates. Seems there’s a disconnect here, because I thought we did have pets — but I guess it’s just the boys.
Later he asked me to knit Slipy blue pants and a shirt.
The surrogate pony was doing well; until Slipy suddenly got wet.
Still time to win the kid’s digital camera! Click here.
This one, with the dirt on the wheels, the legs and face, is my Best Shot Monday. Watching children play with carefree abandon, without a nod to my own immediate internal thoughts, “Is Oxy Clean really as good as they say it is?” brings me a smile of relief. I’m secretly cheering that yet another sensory memory of the good earth is imprinted on their psyche, that will last much longer within their souls than the dirt will stay under their fingernails; just as it did with the children in the book, Roxaboxen
I live in a neighborhood that is currently up-in-arms because we have a new trash system that requires that we put our garbage out in front, on the street. Why, you ask, should this be a problem? For years, the city has prided itself on its garage-side pick-up. Residents left their garbage cans outside, by the garage, and the garbage trucks, the size of a golf cart with an open back bin, would zip up, and dump the garbage into the bin on the back, and zip back. When the back of the golf cart was full, they would dump this into the regular-sized garbage truck that was following close behind. There were four or five of these golf-cart garbage trucks zipping in and around the neighborhood on any one block at one time on garbage day. Which is Monday, by the way.
Due to economic constraints, the city voted to abandon the system, fire our loyal sanitation engineers, and hire a new contract service with large traditional garbage trucks. Without the golf carts, we are now required to carry our trash out front. If you are elderly, and unable to do this, you must provide a medical excuse from your doctor. Not making this up.
The fatal flaw in this new trash transition, is that the city went against the majority residential opinion and did not put the issue on the ballot. They basically ignored “the people” and changed the law, without validating or considering the public outcry against the switch.
Despite the protest, due process has prevailed, and the change has been made. The letters-to-the-editor section is brimming with complaints about the delays in pickup, the eyesores on the city streets, and even racial slurs that many residents are trying to rectify with “you’re doing a great job” notes left on the trash bins. Aggravating, it is, to feel as if your democratic rights have been robbed. But still, I suspect, that much of the public outcry against the new trash system has to do with the fact that our community is no different than any other community around the city. We put our trash out, just like everyone else. Many people have a difficult time living without the proverbial feather in our “garbage hat.” This issue is far from over. There is a petition circulating. It will be on the ballot this fall. (People, you know, other people are starving to death across the planet.)
No where is this type of attitude so clear than in the pile of dirt across the street. The neighbors are getting a new driveway, hence the mountain. The kids climb the pile, pulling out every monster truck, backhoe, tractor and dump truck from their backyards. Probably the first times these trucks have seen real “monster truck” style adventure. Still, I couldn’t help but laugh at all the cars driving by, drivers and passengers with mouths gaping open, slowing down to stare… “What in the world….?”
A few looked over at me, with my camera, and wondered if I was going to “do anything about that.” I’m happy to report, the sky is still in the sky. It didn’t fall, just because a bunch of kids got really dirty playing in the dirt.
but I stopped myself from saying it at least a hundred. The greatest parenting books have one common theme: “The best thing you can do for your child is to let him figure things out on his own.” The quickest way, they caution, to cut the lines of communication is to use the infamous phrase that our own parents used, “I told you so.”
But I couldn’t help myself.
The assignment, adding to my son’s already overloaded homework burden, was to illustrate, write and bind a children’s book.
He was not content to do the minimum of 12 pages, my son decided to create 18.
Worse, rather than use easy illustrations for a concept book, like “How Many Soccer balls,” my illustrious artist choose to illustrate 18 different animals. 18 different animals. “So, how long do you think this will take you?”
“About 6 minutes per animal,” he said.
“OK, I’ll time you.” Twenty-two minutes passed, and he was still working on the first. So, I said, let’s multiply that by 18… “396 minutes just to do the book.” Plus, he added, that this was just the first draft… he would then re-do the entire book, so there are two books to make.
Undaunted by my pleas to “stop, re-think this,” and “let’s not make this so hard on yourself,” and of course, “I told you so,” he continued to work. It was Saturday night. I finally stopped him at 12:30 to go to bed. So far, he had managed to find a how-to draw video on the Internet for each animal. He still had six animals to go.
The next morning, I asked him if he was tired, and picked up my campaign where I left off last night to save my child. I got nowhere fast. If anything, I was making this far worse than the actual book production. Then I heard him say these words. “I just like doing this.” Finally, I left him alone and dropped it.
I did the only thing I could do. I started unwrapping the twisty ends on my Smarties, and started eating.
It didn’t take long… in just a couple of days, he said, “I wish I hadn’t made this book so long.” And no, I didn’t say it. I acted as if I didn’t even hear him. Parenting is oh, so tough.
He did finish the book, ahead of schedule.
But I did tell him how awesome his book was… at least 100 times. The books, by the way, made by each student, were given to children in a day-care facility the students visited.
Addicted, like I am, to the taste of a good wild mushroom, we headed out to the woods again to look. Nothing. Too cold. But, as I’m reading, Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children From Nature-Deficit Disorder
So, as we walked we found this house, tucked under a tree root in the woods. It looks so very much like a house straight out of The Wind in the Willows
We got home late, and tired, while the boys irritated every last nerve we had on the way home, and then I realized how much housekeeping I need to do. I’m very good about getting rid of clutter as soon as it comes into my house. Junk mail, irrelevant fliers from school, and empty cereal boxes are whisked out daily. Clutter is bad for you. Sometimes, we can’t see what clutter is. That’s the trick. Clutter becomes a habit.
Articles linger in my house. Relevant and so-pertinent-articles-to-my-life-headlines fill the breakfast table, and the kitchen counter waiting for a moment when the kid’s aren’t talking so I can read them. Again, it happens tomorrow, and I just pile that one on top of yesterday’s article (because the kids are always chatting.) And then the Pottery Barn Catalog arrives, and then I see this one picture, unlike any other Pottery Barn picture that I’ve seen before (Ha!), the perfect solution that will solve all of my organizational and decorating problems in one fell swoop. Gotta keep that. With the advent of the Internet, I gave up saving recipe clippings. I either blog about it right away so I can have a record of it, or it’s gone. And then, there are the scrapbooks — and more accurately, the bits and pieces of life’s daily merry-go-round that I believe are so pertinent to preservation. Sometimes I feel as if I’m drowning under the heap.
Ahhh, yes, and the books I read. In addition to Woods, I’m also reading a book, for the first time, I’ve always wanted to inhale, Expecting Adam.
I’m constantly looking for ways to purge. I’m proud to report that on Friday, I worked with my littlest son, and purged out all the jewelry I acquired from my Mom’s jewelry box. Stuff I will never wear. But, I had felt it was my duty to keep “intact.” I put them in a box, along with her collection of hankies, and said good-bye for now. Certainly not getting rid of them; but putting them aside for now. Still, I have more demons to conquer.
I have an telephone answering machine that we no longer use. There are still messages on the tape, and I know there are messages from my Mom on there, talking as if there’s nothing wrong. I can’t bear to listen. Yet, part of my knows how nice it would be to hear her voice, sounding so normal, without the slightest hint of the future. This is something I cannot bear to de-clutter. The question is, what is it costing me to keep it?
So, what I’d like to know about you, is this: is there something in your house that you know you should get rid of, but haven’t because you’re too afraid to let it go?
See more, beautiful, awesome best shot Monday’s at Tracey’s blog.
A story to pass on to the Grandchildren: So, Daddy was driving down an old country road, driving about 60 mph, (minus 55), and Mommy was looking out the window, and she yelled, “Stop, I see one!” Once the car stops, she jumps out of the car to retrieve her treasure.
You can’t see it? It’s right there! A wild snakehead mushroom. Never in my life, nor have I met anyone, who spotted a wild snakehead mushroom from the inside of a moving car. It’s almost as if a fairy told me where to look, and when.
Thinking we had hit the mother-load, we pulled over and started looking for the mushroom’s twin. (They always grow in pairs.) Earlier that morning Daddy found a morel (grey sponge) mushroom at the city park during lacrosse practice. With that one mushroom as our motivation, we headed out of town to the woods to find more.
Snakeheads are usually early, so there is probably still be more to come over the next few weeks. We need rain. (Do I sound like a farmer?)
It’s was almost as if the mushrooms heard us making so much noise, so they tucked back under ground.
I stood in one spot, saw fresh deer tracks, wild roses, earth moist from a creek, and a hill. Here, I had all of the trappings for a big mess of mushrooms. But not one was in sight. But I could smell them.
We found only a few more snakeheads, after a couple of hours searching in the woods. A disappointment, as my sons have now acquired a taste for this exotic delicacy, and there were just a few to share. (I only ate 1 before they were all snatched up!) We took a cell phone picture of our mushroom find for the day and sent it to my brother. His one-word text response was simply, “Where?”
See more Best Shot Monday’s at Mother May I.
A true picture of Motherhood. My favorite jeans are now a casualty from crawling on the floor one too many times to retrieve lost puzzle and bionicle pieces, scrubbing stubborn stains on hands and knees, and the wear-and-tear from endless airplane rides. My son took this BSM picture.
An article in Wired (Peak Water, May 2008), says that the production of a single pair of jeans takes 2,866 gallons of water. (A single sheet of paper requires 3 gallons of water.) A friend of mine, who works for a clothing retailer, says sales stay high, even when they sell cheap-quality clothes. So no, it isn’t just you, you’re clothes really are wearing out faster. Retailers across the board are lowering quality (who cares, just buy new!) leading to quicker wear-and-tear, more purchases, and ultimately increasing the depletion of our most valuable resource, water.
The same water that existed in the world millions of years ago is the same water we have today. We learned that rule in fifth grade science class, and we used to joke that we were drinking the same water that George Washington drank. However, the perils of global warming are subtly altering that reliable cycle of evaporation and precipitation. We don’t know, yet, what the ultimate effects will be.
Add the burden of more businesses, more homes and more water-intensive products and processes, and you have the very recipe that is creating our world-wide water reservoir decline. There are 1.1 billion people today who do not have access to safe drinking water, and that number is expected to increase. During the drought in the summer of 2006, London’s water authorities considered towing icebergs down from the Arctic, according to Wired.
With Earth Day approaching, I also learned, from the book, True Green: 100 Everyday Ways you Can Contribute to a Healthier Planet, that cotton is our most chemical-intensive crop, requiring 10 to 18 applications of herbicides, insecticides and fungicides. One-quarter of global pesticide use is on cotton crops. It also requires 3,800 gallons of water, per pound of cotton produced.
Chemical-free organic cotton, linen, wool and hemp is the only solution. And, perhaps, maybe to stop giving so many airplane rides to your kids.
A post in the form of a bridal announcement
The young man (age 6) was wearing these dainty, although soiled socks, at the end of the school day; and he’s not talking about where he got them. The unveiling of the socks took place in the backyard of the boy’s best friend at 4:30 in the afternoon of a school day. The walkway through the garden was paved in red brick; lilac’s were beginning to present their buds; and cardinals could be spotted on tree branches. Present at this unveiling was the boy’s Mother, two of her other two children, the boy’s best friend and at his side, the best friend’s Grandmother. The day was sunny, bright and unseasonably warm, and all were wearing spring attire, all appropriately soiled from a full day’s work of play.
The accompanying music was a chorus of whines and cries as the boys had “tired themselves out” in the unusual show of sunshine, and were basically at the end of their ropes. During the walk back home, the boy did pick one of the Mother’s first blooming Daffodil’s in the front yard and presented it to her.
It is believed that the socks were initially soiled at a playground, not too far from the school. When asked “where on earth did you get these socks, and where are yours?” The boy responded that he didn’t know. He left the house at noon, late from a busy morning of playing, as usual, wearing his plain white socks with HANES clearly spelled out in red letters.
The mother of the boy is guessing the sock-exchange occurred sometime during afternoon kindergarten b
