Notes on Gardening and Napping

Today I harvested all the veggies from the north garden bed. I want to plant a fall crop of root veggies and lettuce and maybe some cilantro. Oh, and I want to try and get beans going really quick. And peas.

I've never planted a fall garden before.

Also, I canned three-bean Salad today. I've never canned three-bean salad before either. The beans look all wrinkly in the jars and I bet no one in my family will actually eat it except me. Isaac kept asking if it really had three beans it in. I said, "Yes. It has wax beans, green beans and kidney beans."

"But does it really have only three beans?"

"Yes," I repeated, and covered the varieties of beans the salad would contain. I knew what he was really asking was whether or not the salad would have a total of three actual beans in it. But I thought my answer cleared that up since I stated the three varieties. Anyway, we went back and forth like this for a while until I showed Isaac the actual salad and he understood.

Also, I'm kind of tired of summer and want to just take a nap. All the time. Which is pathetic because currently Robert is working 18+ hour days at Intel, 7 days a week and if anyone deserves a nap, it's him. Not me.

Still . . .

Camp Ireland!*

When Ethan was eight years old, he attended Camp Ireland, a Cub Scout Day Camp, with his pack. For five days, boys flung things, painted things, hammered things, sang things and got things very dirty. In short, he was in boy heaven. Ethan returned for two more years as a Cub Scout and never forgot Camp Ireland and his desire to be one of the beloved staffers. 

This year, his dream came true and he became, Nom Nom, Staff in Training.

After a week of prepping the camp for little Cub campers, Camp Ireland opened with a medieval theme. Nom Nom taught kids Rounders (a medieval type of baseball), Wizardry, and Pan Pipes. The last week in July was Isaac and Jonah's pack's week to attend. They loved seeing their big brother in a leadership role and told any other staffer who would listen that they were Nom Nom's brothers.

As I watched Ethan perform in skits, flag ceremony and at the Pan Pipe station, it was obvious he was completely in his element. Little kids followed him like he was the Pied Piper. He was large and in charge.

Here is Ethan performing as "trusty squire" (notice the coconuts) in the "Medicrine" skit. Spoiler alert: A loon full of sugar helps the medicrine go down.

This is Ethan singing "If I Weren't a Staffer." I don't know where he learned these songs (other than the four weeks at camp). He told me numerous times that the entertainment portion of camp was pretty unorganized with the staffers planning skits seconds before they actually happened. This looked pretty practiced though.

This is a skit that I remember doing when I went to girl's camp. "Oh it's the raisins that make, the Raisin Bran taste great." Ethan's departing lines are "No! I'm the main character. You can't take me! I'm the most important person! Nooooooooo. Ugh. Ow."

Last night when I brought Isaac and Jonah home from their last day of camp, Isaac was--big surprise--getting a little emotional. Next summer can't come soon enough as far as he is concerned. This rag-tag group of teenagers somehow created magic out of duct tape and sling shots and bars of hotel soap. Oh yes, and BB guns and bows and arrows. Can't forget the weaponry. 

Both Jonah and Isaac are now eagerly awaiting the time they too can get a job at Camp Ireland and be the cool staff member, just like their big brother Because being the one all the little kids worship is a good job, if you can get it.

And I have no doubt they will.

*My 800th post!

Top Secret Spy Birthday

Last Saturday we had some friends over to celebrate Jonah's 10th birthday with a spy party. The first major "win" for the party was finding this packet of printable party things. It was a life saver and a bargain at $16. I also found a blog post about another spy party and basically copied everything they did. What would I ever do without the internet?

Jonah's cake was the bomb, literally. I used the Wilton sphere cake pan and made--for the first time--fondant. I was walking a fine line between disaster and success. But I had my sister Angela there to help, and as it turned out, four hands were exactly what was needed to get the fondant to comply with our wishes. 

When the guests arrived, they picked their disguise and got their picture snapped for their Special Agent badge. Then it was onto their spy training activities, starting with code cracking. I used Wingdings font and typed out a few kid's jokes and Chuck Norris facts for them to decode.

Ethan was our super junior agent trainer and took everyone outside for the next activity. . .

. . . spy extraction. The agents used their water guns to free a fellow spy/action figure from a block of ice. We had a bucket of water for quick fills and Ethan brought a little salt shaker in case things went too slowly. They didn't.

Training went back into the house for laser beam avoidance. The laser beams, by the way, were set up to protect the present table. Because you never know when your presents might be in jeopardy. Presents, really, are always in jeopardy.

Junior agents tried to get through the laser field without getting slashed to bits. Thankfully, they did great. And they took the task very seriously. And this is where my party photography stopped.

The final training activity was bomb detection. Ding Dongs were hidden around the yard and neighborhood with clues leading agents to each one. After all the bombs were discovered, the junior agents headed back into the house to be sworn in.

But when they entered the house, they found out the birthday presents had been STOLEN! Where a stack of gifts had once been, now a single manila envelope lay. Trainer Ethan opened the envelop to reveal that two traitors were in the ranks: Mom and Angela! And now they were no where to be found. An audio file was played on the computer with my voice stating the presents had been taken for their own good and that they would never find them. Muahahahaha! 

Another message--written in code--revealed our hiding place at the playground.

Ethan made sure that the agents armed themselves with fresh water in their guns and headed out to apprehend us. But after dousing us thoroughly with water, we told them that we'd been set up and that a message in our pockets revealed the real traitor. When they decoded the message, they found out ETHAN had been the traitor all along!

We ran back to the house to try and find him, recovered the presents and congratulated ourselves on a successful mission. 

Then we had cake, lunch and opened presents--not in that order--and everyone went home. 

Whew!

So glad that's over.

The Good Old Days, With a Side of Coulrophobia

I'm looking for vintage pictures of boys for a book I'm putting together of all my "How To Be A Boy" posts. I'm searching for pictures of boys being boys: getting dirty, playing with bugs, getting into trouble, with grass-stains and holes in their pants, swimming, fishing, camping and anything else that is quintessentially boy.

And then I found this.

The thing that strikes me most about this picture is the boy: he seems so pleased to be sitting next to this nightmare personified. Meanwhile, the clown has that far-a-way look in his eyes, like he's just imagining what this kid will taste like medium-rare. Sorry, it's true. Look at those eyes!

I guess there was a time when creepy clowns were not creepy (Probably around the same time eating meat and vegetable-filled Jell-o was the norm). Instead, they possessed had magical healing properties. Or maybe the prevailing wisdom was that a grown man in face paint would simply scare the sick out of any hospital-bound child.

However, no sugar-coated explanation can distract from the creep-factor in this kid. You might be able to convince someone this was just how they did things back in the 60's. Clowns were cool. Clowns were The Thing. That somehow, even with this kid's I'll-see-you-in-your-nightmare smirk, clowns were nothing to be afraid of. 

Until he picks up the gun.

Sweet dreams!

How to be a Boy, Teen Edition: Brushing Your Teeth

Brushing our what?

Oh, so that's what that bristly thing in the bathroom drawer is.

Hmm, interesting.

Once a week should probably be enough, right?

In Which a 40-Something Woman Develops a Fear of Dogs

I've ridden my bike once since the accident. But that was definitely a "getting back on the horse" type of experience. Walking has simply seemed like a less risky form of exercise. Because if an unleashed, unpredictable dog can step into the path of your bike once, it could certainly happen again.

Tumbling over the handlebars of my bike and into the grassy shoulder of the Pirate Park path after t-boning an energetic Labrador left me with nothing more than some barely brag-worthy road rash. I didn't even manage an impressive bruise, although these 40-something bones were achy for a good week.

And while a very small part of me felt vetted as a biker, the bigger part of me didn't want the uncertainty of the "dog factor" again. And so now I walk. And I feel great. Unless an unleashed dog happens to show interest in me. And they have shown interest in me. Maybe because I'm moving so quickly, or maybe there is just some animalistic need to smell me. But they sometimes get right up in my business and I have to swerve or slow down or risk getting my legs tangled up with dog legs and once again, ending up on the ground at the expense of an unleashed dog.

I never noticed how many dogs go unleashed until my tumble. In fact, I barely had the dog/leash/owner on my radar. I was in the zone and paid attention only long enough to navigate around them as I biked or jogged or walked by.

Now, when I see a dog loping ahead of their owner, my survival instincts kick in. "Potential threat at 12 o'clock," I seem to hear from the far corner of my hypothalamus. My body prepares to evade the four-legged free-spirit while I start to steam passive aggressively: Clearly societal rules apply to everyone except you and your dog, I think. Apparently, your dog is perfectly capable of forgoing millennia of inbred animal instinct to not chase something that moves. Undoubtedly, you've decided to agree with your dog, that you are indeed some kind of all-powerful deity and have no need for silly, mortal, Pirate Park path courtesies.

Is it so hard to hold the end of a leash in your hand? Try having it around your neck, Narcissus.

And it's so cute how you think shouting, "He's friendly!" should be enough to calm any and all distress; that you think runners/bikers/walkers have just been hoping a friendly dog would approach them to play while they try and keep their heart rate up and burn calories so they can enjoy a couple cookies later in the day. (Okay, five cookies.)

Newsflash: If I wanted to play with a dog, I'd have one of my own.

And most importantly, he'd be on a stinking leash.

Happy . . . Oh, Whatever

Yesterday Jonah turned ten years old. It was a day I was determined to get right.

Just a few weeks ago, when I was looking over my archive of family photos, I noticed that I didn't have a single picture of Jonah's birthday for about three years. I know we must have had little parties for him. I clearly recall one in which Ethan did some magic. But I can't find a single photo of his birthday.

Jonah is the middle child, and as much as I tried not to, I've neglected him. I'm a failure as a mother!

But not this year. This year there would be presents and blog posts and facebook posts and activities and fun and memories aplenty! But more importantly, there would be pictures.

Jonah wanted a blueberry pie for his birthday "cake" so we started off the day picking blueberries--even though the U-pick field was not technically open for business yet. We had the place to ourselves!

After blueberry picking, we went to 7-11 for their free Slurpees in honor of July 11, or 7-11. We like to think of it as 7-11's way of saying Happy Birthday Jonah!

The remainder of the day included lunch at Chevy's, complete with singing waiters, a sombrero, and a special ice cream treat, a one-day reprieve from No Screen Summer, a dinner of hotdogs and watermelon (Jonah's special request) and swimming. I didn't get picture of all those things unfortunately.

I purchased several fun presents, even though Jonah would only tell me two things he wanted. "A Pokemon deck of cards" and "button batteries" for his sonic screwdriver. I somehow managed to figure out several other gifts he would hopefully like, wrapped them in fun robot paper and set them out near his cooling birthday pie. 

Jonah walked through the kitchen and spotted the wrapped presents, honed in on one, picked it up and declared, "I didn't want a Pokemon deck of cards! Why did you get me a Pokemon deck of cards?"

Naturally, I felt blind sided. And not just because he can tell what I got just from the shape of the wrapped box. "Because you asked for a Pokemon deck of cards," I offered.

"No! I didn't." Now the tears were coming. "I said the only thing I DIDN'T want was a Pokemon deck of cards.

My mind played back the scene from less than 24 hours ago. Jonah was hovering around the display of Pokemon cards at Fred Meyer. He pointed out a Pokemon DECK and said, "See mom, just like this." I know that is what he said and I will know it till the day I die.

It was about this time that I felt this, maybe, could have something to do with why I don't have a lot of pictures of Jonah's birthday. Or Ethan's birthday. (Somehow Isaac has birthday pictures galore!)

I was able to get Jonah to stop crying long enough to pose for a picture with his pie and open his other presents: a shrinky dink set, a window-cling craft set, a how-to-draw-dragons book, and, of course the button batteries. I'd done okay.

But that didn't mean that I didn't have to return the Pokemon cards (original demand was for the return to happen that same night but I stood my ground and insisted on first thing the next morning), for two packs of Pokemon cards that even though Jonah chose himself, had to be brought home and wrapped.

And if there are not very many pictures of Jonah's birthday, that is why.