Conversations with My 7 year old - science projects

My 7 year old has a play date this weekend. I told him he needed to clean his room. He told me that his play date also had a messy room and wouldn't mind. And then this happened.

Me "You should still clean up your room so you can find your toys."

Him "Yeah, probably. I've been doing a LOT of science experiments lately." he leans in as if he is sharing a juicy secret. "I'm not following the directions though".

Me [inwardly groaning. GEEZ! What did he do now?] I nod my head and he continues.

"I'm just making up my own experiments. " he say confidently.

[me - NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!]

"I made a potion" he says proudly

[me - CRAP! CRAP! CRAP! I knew I shouldn't have encouraged learning at home]

"It spilled" he informs me nonchalantly.

[me - Well, of course it spilled!]

Note to self - Do we have matches?
2nd Note to self - Check house for matches. Hide if found.

"I should probably clean that up. Nahhhhh" he says waving it away.

[me - WHAT!? WHAT!? Nah? YES YOU SHOULD CLEAN THAT UP! YOU SHOULD HAVE CLEANED THAT UP WHEN IT SPILLED! Oh god - when did it spill? Is that what the smell is in his room? I thought it was rotten food or a milk cup!]

Conversations with myself - 'Okay - don't yell, don't yell. Deep breath and stay calm. Put on your patient mother face and keep an explanatory tone. Do I even want to know what was in that potion? No, NO, I definitely don't want to know. Stay calm, count to ten, and start.'

Me "First, you're not allowed to do science experiments by yourself. [why the HELL did he think he could do science experiments by HIMSELF!?] Second, if something spills in your room [like the time the egg cracked (it's a future post - you don't want to miss it)] you need to clean it up right then or come get me or Daddy so we can help you".

Him (head hanging) "Sorry, Mom."

Me "I still love you."

Him (head hanging a little less) "I love you too. I'm really sorry, Mom".

Me "I know." [you always are, buddy]

Easter Slacker

Well, it's official. We can add slacker to my list of transgressions against my Mother of the Year award, henceforth referred to as the MoY. I had a mother son date with my oldest (newly age 7 as I write this). Only lately has he been interested in my husband and I again, so we are taking all the opportunities we can get. Anyway, we went to the mall and passed by all the Easter stuff. I silently promised myself that I would return to pick up goodies for my two cherub's baskets. I had another three or four days left until the big E (who can remember time when you have two young children), so I decided to put it off until later. The next day passed, and then the next - there was an Estate Sale with a new friend-girl followed by tea at the most divine tea house I have ever been too - and then there were the Estate Sale treasures we found - but that is another post. In any case, Estate Sale day came and went, and still I had not Easter shopped. I wasn't worried though because I knew I had two more days to pull it together.

On Good Friday, I made my first attempt at sanding one of my Estate Sale treasures. This was a massive mistake on my part as I am still recovering from a car accident(s). So, neck, shoulders and back now screaming at me (and a pounding headache to round out that trifecta), I spent the rest of the day in bed - irritated and medicated. I was supposed to visit the new scrapbook store in town with another friend-girl, but she didn't get back in town in time. It worked out anyway - I was still in bed.

Today, Saturday that is, I had made plans to visit a third friend girl who had recently given birth. She was in desperate need of some girl/mommy time. Her beautiful new baby was nothing like her first baby. My friend girl was now learning one of the hard mommy lessons - you think you have it figured out with the first one and go confidently and competently into the second only to realize (a bit too late) that each one needs it's own individual operators manual. My friend girl was sleep deprived, in need of some hot food and a kind soul to bring her hot Starbuck's. I'm always willing to oblige a fellow addict when it comes to the big S - so I brought her two drinks instead of one. She was more than grateful. As it turns out, her baby is beyond super cute and snacky, and she loves to snuggle. I got almost two hours of baby snuggle time - and I haven't had that in a good three years or so. I know it sounds like I've digressed, but I'm circling back around to my point right now. I stayed a bit longer than I intended to, and even my husband had to text me to ask about dinner. I told him I was holding this sweet baby and seriously thinking about taking her home. He laughed and suggested I pick up McD's on my way back. By the time I got home with dinner, fed the children, bathed them, washed the little one's hair and pinned her down for a tangle comb out, trim and blow dry, it was 8:45 pm. It was long past their bed time, my Saturday before Easter (and it's shopping time) was gone, and now I could add McD's and late bed time to my list of transgressions against the MoY.

Trying to save time tonight, and secretly knowing this was NOT a good idea, I sweet talked my husband into running to the store for said Easter goodies. I asked him to pick up a bag of small Reese's peanut butter cups and two hollow chocolate bunnies - I demonstrated small circles for the former and approximated six inches for the latter. I should back up for a second to say this - I have a great husband, but he is NOT a great grocery shopper. He tries - but unless I am specific, he usually gets the wrong thing. I thought I was specific enough this time, gesticulating wildly to him what I was looking for when I sent him on his way. Pleased that I had solved my own dilemma, and truly thankful that he was saving my slacker mom ass, I turned my attention towards getting the kids in bed. Hubby came home all smiles and proudly showed me the bag...with six gigantic Reese's peanut butter eggs and two, twelve inch tall solid chocolate bunnies. My heart sank, but I had a back up bag of jelly beans. I thought I would be okay. Dont worry - I did not breathe a word of this to said wonderful husband. Nothing will dash future grocery store runs by him than my complaining that he got the wrong thing. Like laundry and mopping, I some day hope to have him trained in the fine art of grocery shopping. Okay - now I am digressing. Back to the story.

I looked at the sad bag of candy, the sad bag of jelly beans that I had already gotten into, and the baskets no longer looked as promising as I had hoped. Then I got to thinking about the items I had for their baskets this year, and comparing them to previous years baskets, I felt, well, like a crappy mom. I hemmed and hawed for a good thirty minutes or so while completing my farm chores on Facebook/Farmville and Country Life (lord, but I have a sick addiction to that game). I tried really hard to justify not going back to the store to pick up what I really wanted. I told myself that the kids would just be happy to GET candy since it's a rarity in our house. Slacker mom didn't win out though - guilt mom did. And there I was - at 11:30 pm the Saturday night before Easter, trapezing back out to the store to get what I really wanted for their baskets.

When I returned home, hubby had already pulled down the Easter paraphernalia and placed it in my craft room chair for my perusal. Did I mention that I also had not yet planned their Easter Egg hunt? In any case, at the predawn hour of 1:00 am, I got it all ready to go. I first had to repair the broken handle of the little ones basket which had mysteriously broken as it rested in the Easter paraphernalia box all year. I would like to tell you that I did something crafty and beautiful but I didn't - I used duct tape. If I could have found the box o' bows left over from Christmas, I would have happily covered up that duct tape in the hopes she wouldn't notice. But I couldn't find said box of bows, and the curved handle now has a distinct corner in it. You could say it's more of a redneck basket theme this year (and yes, I can say redneck - they're my people). As I picked out plastic eggs that coordinated with the cheap baskets, I couldn't help but notice that several of the plastic eggs were heavier than others. There was leftover Pez in the bottom of their baskets and unopened candy.

I sat back and laughed as I opened up still full plastic Easter Eggs from last year that they hadn't eaten. I felt truly silly for worrying so much about the contents of their Easter baskets when clearly - the candy wasn't that important to them.

Happy Easter everyone. Pictures to follow.

The Rope Swing

What is it about a homemade rope swing that beckons you to stop and notice its presence? When I was a little girl, we moved into a new house my dad built (as in actually built). If memory serves, I was 6 years old. Our old house was small - 900 sq. feet. The back yard was even smaller but my parents managed to eke out enough space for an above ground pool (one of those 8 foot circle pools from the 70's and 80's) and the all important metal swing set. I grew up in Florida where the winters were relatively mild and the summer sun could fry an egg. With such variations in temperature, a metal swing set could be a girl's best friend or her ultimate nemesis. I loved nothing more than to spend time outside in the spring sun on my little swing not too cold, not too hot. When we moved, I was sad to see that it would not come with us.

In our new and spacious back yard, there stood a 200 year old oak tree that my parents designed their house around. The back porch seemed to reach out to it, and in gracious return, our majestic tree gave us shade on 95 degree day. Our beautiful oak tree had one massive limb that stretched out a good 20 feet or so. My Dad decided that it was the giant arm of the oak tree that would hold the greatest gift of all - a rope swing.

My Dad picked out the perfect plank of wood. To his builders eye, he could see that it would stand up to the rigors of daily usage and the hot Florida sun. He lovingly drilled two holes in it, cut two pieces of the thickest rope he could find, and began to hang my swing. It took more than one throw, as I recall, for him to get the huge lengths of rope up and over the branch that was 30 feet or so off the ground. He tied the rope to the branch in two places, strung it through the holes in the plank, and knotted them on the underside. And voila - there she stood - my beautiful little rope swing.

As a six year old, I actually turned my nose up at this handmade swing. It wasn't metal. There were was no chain from which it hung. It was NOT the swing I had left behind. Little did I know that it was something much better. After much encouragement from Mom (who herself knew all to well, the hours and days I had ahead of me daydreaming as the wind blew my hair,)I climbed on to give it a try.

I pumped my little legs as hard as I could, and she began to take flight. With each change in my pendulum arc, the rope gently creaked. The creaking sound combined with the cicada's pitch, the birds singing and calling to each other in the overhead canopy, and the frogs croaking in the nearby lake, created their own nature's symphony that gently lulled me into a peaceful silence. I created my own wind as my swing took me higher than that sad little metal version I had used before. My imagination opened up and ran wild. I could be a fairy princess, the queen of everything, my own goddess, the ruler of my little kingdom, or I could just be me. My swing gave me freedom, time to process my day, think my thoughts, get distracted by others, or just spend a few moments in beautiful solitude.




So it should come as no surprise, that I gave a moments pause when I took my daughter down to the local rope swing. I had never been before, but she assured me in her four year old confident voice, that she knew just where to find it - "It's next to the X" she informed me. We crossed the street, and sure enough, it was next to the X - the KOA sign to be more exact, but to a four year old, it was an X.









The tree was not nearly so grand as the oak of my youth, the plank not so lovingly worn, and chain hung where ropes should have been. BUT, once my daughter climbed on and took flight, I could see that it didn't matter. She thrilled in adrenaline filled excitement with the new heights she climbed to. She giggled with delight each time my husband pushed her.

And it was then that I remembered what it was about a rope swing that makes you stop and take notice. It's the pure unbridled joy it gives you each time you come to call.

How It All Started

Several years ago, I went home to visit my mom and dad at Christmas time. We eagerly awaited the arrival of my brother, his wife, and my niece, who was two years old at the time. First, they had a family Christmas at their house at 6:00 am. At 6:45 am, they left for my sister-in-laws parents house, where unwrapping presents can only be described as a racous noise complete with paper flying and arms flailing. At 10:00 am, they arrived at my childhood home, stopped long enough to eat the breakfast my mom had made, and then we started opening the presents. I was probably 26 years old or so at the time. This Christmas was particularly exciting as it was the first Christmas that my niece was excited about. She proudly told us it was "...baby Jesus birt-day". We each took turns unwrapping our presents, and waitied with much anticipation as my niece opened up her first gift. She smiled politely, but didn't seem too interested in her new toy. When she opened her second gift, she seemed even less excited. We were puzzled, maybe she didn't really understand the concept of presents. When it was her turn to open up her third present, a glassy look came over he face, like a deer in head lights. She suddenly stood up and said "I NEED to color!" in a slightly panicked voice. My sister-in-law gently asked if she wanted to open her present. She emphatically shook her head no, looked even more panicked and stated "I NEED to COLOR!". It was clear to us that she was completely overhwelmed by the morning's events, and was in need of a break. We gave her crayons and a coloring book and she sat, contentedly, beside us coloring away for a good thirty minutes or so. An hour later, she was ready to open more presents.

Ever since then, whenever someone in the family is feeling overwhelmed or overstimulated we simply say "I need to color", and everyone understands. For me, coloring is crafting of some sort - usually whatever the latest thing is. Sewing and papercrafting have always been my fall backs, and sometimes, I just sit with my own kids, and we color together. My husband likes to play video games when he wants to color, and my kids like to do...well, kid things - especially the kind that get them our of chores!

"Coloring" is different for everyone. We all have some sort of coping strategy than enables us to get through the tough moments of our days and lives. "Coloring" is therapeutic, and it is essential to a healthy and happy life.

I started this blog for all the people out there who need to color and to share the stories of my daily life that lead up to my need to color. Along the way, I'll share my adventures in crafting when I am feeling brave or particularly proud of a piece. But in the meantime, I'm off to color. Good day to all!