Shameful Shed Shenanigans

I am a royal idiot.

Yesterday afternoon, I was playing in the backyard with the little guys while our man was at a church meeting. We were having a lovely time examining the growing pumpkin in the garden and running around on the grass. Then the punk asked me about the little glow stick that his primary teacher had given him. I cracked it for him, but in the bright sunlight, we couldn't see the mild orange light emanating from the stick, so I had a brilliant idea. "Let's go into the dark shed, Buddy, and I'll show you how it glows!" So, with my camera strapped over my shoulder (it is attached to me all day on the 12th), I led my 3 year-old into the hot, dark tool shed. The basher was busy playing in the dirt, so I didn't bother disturbing him; we would only be a minute. I pulled the wooden door closed behind me so we could enclose ourselves in darkness to marvel at the magical glow that was looped around the punk's wrist.

"See, Buddy? Pretty cool, huh?"

He nodded.

Then I pushed the door and immediately realized that I was the dumbest person on the planet at that moment. The door had locked behind us and there is no latch inside the shed. The basher had just realized that we had gone into the normally forbidden tool shed without him, and came over to yell at the door in hopes that we would include him in our game. As I foolishly tried to figure out a way out, his yells turned to cries and then sobs. I knew we were okay; my man was due home any minute, and we had ample air. We even had plastic chairs to sit on. The basher was physically safe. He would not leave the other side of the shed door, and therefore, was unable to get into any mischief. But the poor guy was completely distraught. With the latch securing the very top of the door, I was able to push the bottom out a few inches in order to hold his hand, which gave him minimal comfort. With my words of comfort and my soft touch, he was able to stop screaming and just breathe in hiccups like one does after a very hard cry.

I tried to feed a rope with a hook over the top of the door in order to catch the latch, but it was on the other side of the door jam, and unreachable. I even tried wedging a shovel in the door like a crowbar, and using my supermom strength to muscle the door open by breaking the lock, but 1) we weren't desperate enough to do that kind of damage to the shed and 2) the basher would not leave the door, and would have been knocked over if I had beaten the door down. He kept sticking his fingers and even his arm in the space that I created when I pushed from my side.

We were stuck in that stupid shed for a good 45 minutes while our cheeks reddened with heat and the basher's cheeks reddened with despair. 

Finally, my man pulled into the driveway. Through my 1-inch view, I saw him come straight from his car to the backyard. He had seen the basher and thought we all must be hanging out. Then, as he told his mom while laughing so hard he was crying, he saw that the basher was standing at the door of the shed by himself. Then he noticed that the door was being pushed from the inside and a hand was sticking out. He heard, "TIM!" and the hand from the shed waved frantically. I saw his face, bewildered at first, and then understanding dawned and he burst out laughing. I laughed sheepishly from inside the shed, knowing what I must look like to my man who likes to tease. 

He freed us, gave the boys a hug and a kiss, and laugh/cried while he called his mom and attempted to explain the idiocy he had just witnessed.

Dusk

Honeybird

The punk and I saw a baby robin hanging out on the railroad ties in our backyard, waiting for its mama to deliver the delicious worm that was dangling from her beak. When she flew into some long vines and he hopped over and joined her, we walked outside to see them. Mama Bird had chosen her hiding place wisely, however, and we couldn't find them. But as we were investigating, another creature took notice and started humming over our heads. A tiny, whirring hummingbird hovered directly over us, then sped off at various angles to check us out. When she figured we weren't dangerous (I guess), she zoomed to a branch directly overhead and landed in her tiny nest. I had never seen a hummingbird nest before! Have you?

The punk calls it a "honeybird."

Harvest

The basher helped me pick some apples in the backyard this afternoon to use for dinner.

I used one apple in a new recipe that was TO DIE FOR! Butternut squash soup. This luscious concoction is officially my new favorite soup. Wowzers! So delicious! The butternut squash came from my parents' garden, as did the tomatoes I used for my side dish.

After dinner, we picked more apples.

Then we ate apple crisp with vanilla bean ice cream. It's been an apple-licious day!

For the soup recipe, visit me here. Seriously, do it. Yum.

Holiday Hike

I love the fall season. I really do! I'm just not ready for it yet. Perhaps it's because this year's winter was so unbearably long. I just feel like summer passed by much too quickly; I'm loathe to see it go. Actually, now that I think about it, it's not fall that I'm dreading; it's the season that follows it that I could do without. Fall, with its beautiful colors and crisp jacket weather, is never long enough. Winter tends to rear its ugly, grey, cold, dark head much too soon and stay long past its welcome. So today, we joined my parents for a lovely early-fall hike up Neff's Canyon to enjoy the outdoors while they are still enjoyable.

2nd Time's The Charm

During last year's Ragnar Relay, I ran 5.5 miles around Rockport Reservoir minutes after puking my guts out. (See my blog post here.) Today, I had a much more enjoyable time at the reservoir. We joined my man's parents, brother, and his girlfriend for an end of summer water party. We packed yummy sandwiches, fresh fruit and veggies, and brownies. The basher wanted some of that action, but was not allowed to indulge in the chocolaty goodness because, as the punk says, "He doesn't have any teef!"

There are very few times in my life these days that I don't acutely feel the weight of motherhood pressing down on me (literally and figuratively. The boys are getting heavy). Even when we are having fun as a family, my primary role is to bring all the right things, make sure the little ones eat and wear sunscreen, and manage their safety and enjoyment. So when my man and I left the boys on the beach with their grandparents and took the Jet Skis out on the lake, I was surprised at the euphoria I felt when I squeezed that throttle. Pure bliss! Wind in my braids, sun on my face, cool water spraying my legs, and two free hands to steer the Jet Ski? Ahhhhh...

B&A Backyard

This is what our backyard looked like in June. Cinderblock tiers and steps and a dirt/weed garden.

Then we paid a guy to do manly things.

Ta da! Rocks. A dirt ramp. A level dirt pad.

Then my man laid sod on the ramp, planted a few things in the rocks (more to come), and built an awesome swing set for the punk (and the future basher)!

There was, however, the small matter of the 16 sharp screws sticking through some places.

So even though it's against my religion, I went to a craft store. I bought wood blocks, wood glue, and wood pirate things. The punk helped me with the gluing. Et voilà!

Who wants to play?

A Saturday List

1. We've been putting together a swing set this afternoon. And by "we," I mean "Tim." I helped him hold this piece though.

2. It's hard work.

3. The punk helped his dad by placing this fat piece of grass on the plank. See? We're all very helpful around here.

4. I'm grumpy today.

5. It may have to do with my lack of exercise and bounty of treats this week. Nah, that can't be it. I'm never hard on myself about that stuff.

6. While the boys were napping and my man was being manly, I went shopping for a new swimsuit because my giant boobs broke my old one. It's being held up by 2 safety pins, and who knows how long they'll hold?

7. I hate swimsuit shopping. Almost as much as I hate red licorice and PBS telethons.

8. I get to go on a date with my man tonight! Asian Star (my choice) and Captain America (his choice).

9. I think I'll get myself gussied up! And by that, I mean wipe the slobber off my shoulder and brush my teeth.

10. Remember when I used to fit into my clothes? Good times.

Good times.

Friend, Foe, or Something Else?

Me: "Well my friend, you did such a good job at your swimming lesson today!"

Punk, noticing my choice of words: "My friend? Are you my friend?"

Me, after pausing to think that I am not supposed to be my child's friend; I'm supposed to be his parent. But this probably won't be a factor until his teenage years and then it'll be too late anyway. So to simplify things, I answered: "Yes, I am your friend! Are you my friend?"

Punk: "No. I'm not your friend. I'm your Calvin Boy."

So he gets it.

And now, here are today's swimming lesson videos for your viewing pleasure.

Diving Board

Back Float

Jumping Platform

Spaceships and Pirates

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. BLASTOFF! With floor mat puzzle pieces as our spaceships, we zoom into outer space with one objective: the moon. I can see the earth shrinking away from us out of the round window of the ship, but when I point it out to the punk, he just looks puzzled. As we land on the moon, I ask him what he can see. He looks around. "Trees," he says. When we descend from our spaceships, he announces to Pirate Mama that we are going to hunt for some treasure. "Aye, Pirate Calvin!" And a-hunting we go. Rocks, pine cones, and weeds fill our treasure wheelbarrow.

When negative thoughts creep in about early mornings, muffin tops, whiny demands, and piles of laundry, I try to push them away with musings of my pirate astronaut punk and his little brother who happily comes along for the ride.

His Natural Habitat

I found the punk sitting comfortably under this beautiful Japanese maple, enjoying a warm oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. This natural chamber is perfectly punk-sized. He can sit on the old railroad tie or stand upright under the bowed branches. If he were wearing camo, I wouldn't be able to see him.

It made me think of the "secret" places in which I used to find sanctuary as a child. The woodpile on the north side of my house (where I once punctured my bare foot with a rusty nail). The tunnel-like trail behind Grandpa's cabin; it was the only way to get from the cabin to the "Indian caves" via the alfalfa field, without having to squeeze through a barbed wire fence. Although it was a main thoroughfare, we girls thought it was our secret hideout and were infuriated when we found the boys back there.

In addition to meditating with a sweet treat, the punk enjoys spying on the neighbors...

"Look at that man!"

Being adorable...

And being ferocious.

He discovered these beautiful flowers and picked one, which we put in a vase inside. Later, my man told me they are chives. No wonder they smell funny! Nevertheless, the punk lovingly named his little pet Flower Bell.

I showed the punk our first strawberry! Then I immediately regretted my foolishness when I remembered that he was so excited to see a jalapeno in the adjacent pot that he tore half the plant apart. We'll see how long this little berry lasts under the punk's supervision.

After busying myself inside for a few minutes, I looked out the window to see the punk donning his dad's hat and work gloves.

He is at the age where he has really started to look up to his daddy. Here, he's checking out the sprinklers and puttering around the yard, just like his old man.

He even has his dad's "don't take my picture" expression down!