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.

12of12: August (Sunday)

Every month on the 12th, I take 12 photos to document my day. This month, we started the day at Grandpa's ranch near Vernal with my family and ended the day at home.

[Click on the block of photos to enlarge]

1. Miriam couldn't resist a morning cuddle from her brother Martin, who slept on the deck under the stars. 2. The view of the cabin from the bridge over the stream. 3. My punk and my cousin (and best friend)'s daughter were inseparable this weekend. I saw him twice put his arm gently on Miri's back and sweetly say, "I love you." He probably just appreciated that, as the younger cousin, she deferred to him in all matters. 4. We enjoyed lots of aunt and uncle time this weekend. Here, my brother Michael and his girlfriend Paula help my man wrangle the three little ones on the bridge. 5. Getting ready for the journey home. 6. Goodbye, ranch! 7. The basher was lulled into an early nap in the car. 8. Then he enjoyed a delicious milkshake at Granny's Drive In in Heber. 9. I win the Idiot Award for locking myself and my punk inside the backyard shed while the basher was stranded and sobbing outside and our man was at a church meeting. Shameful story to follow. 10. "Cheese toasty" with mozzarella, pepperoni, fresh tomato, and garden-warmed basil for dinner. The boys had canned soup. I win! 11. We returned Grandma Lynn & Papa Bob's camping gear (to the punk's chagrin - he wanted to keep "his" sleeping bag), and enjoyed the view from the deck. 12. My attempt to remove campfire from every pore.

Natural History

I loved growing up close to my cousins. They were some of my best friends, and still are! We played together often and knew each other well. During the summer, my cousin Brooke and I would take the number 40 bus to and from each other's houses. (Can you even imagine sticking your child on a bus by herself these days?) Every time our families got together, we would play Barbies for hours, and then, when it was time to go home, we would beg our moms to have a sleepover.

My boys have exactly one cousin. And he lives 5 hours away in Boise, ID. So when James came to spend a week with Grandma and Papa, we squeezed in as much cousin time as we could. We spent two afternoons at the pool, and one morning at the new Natural History Museum.

As an only child, he's not used to having to accommodate weird little kids, but he is a sweetie, and he let the punk talk his ear off and poke him with puppets in the car.

Bell boys

I love the architecture of this building.

Run, Grandma! He's getting away!

You look surprised to see me.

Staring contest

Quinoa Pizza Bites

These healthy little darlings are packed with flavor and easy to make. My boys like them and I must admit that I ate more than my share. (I finished dinner 3 hours ago and I'm still full.) Mmmmm...

Quinoa Pizza Bites

2 C cooked quinoa
3 large eggs
1 C chopped onion
1 C shredded mozzarella cheese
2 tsp minced garlic
1/2 C fresh basil, chopped
1 C chopped pepperoni slices (1/2 of a 7 oz bag)
1/2 tsp seasoned salt
1 tsp paprika
1 tsp dried crushed oregano
marinara sauce for dipping

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix together all ingredients, except pizza sauce, in a medium mixing bowl. Distribute mixture into a greased mini muffin tin, filling each cup to the top and press down gently to compact. Bake for 15-20 minutes. Serve warm with marinara on the side.

My Favorite Kind of Light

When the light outside turns golden and brilliant and for just a couple minutes, illuminates a thin strip of my yard and the rock wall of my 60's era fireplace, I know I've arrived at my favorite time of day. The boys are breathing softly in their beds and I've made it through another 24 hours of life, mostly unscathed. Time to fill a bubble bath, turn on some soft music, and open a book.

12of12: July (Thursday)

On the 12th of each month, I take 12 photos to document my day. My camera is currently out of town with my man, so I was forced to make do with my iPhone. I was anxious that this would be the first 12of12 project the result of which I didn't love, but although the photo quality isn't as great as usual, I was still given a lovely day to capture.

[Click on the block of photos to enlarge.]

1. It turns out that the boys are crazy about peas! They eat them like candy out of our garden. The basher was so desperate for the vegetable today that he ripped half of a plant apart. 2. The basher required a bit of TLC this morning, which I was happy to supply. 3. His favorite book. 4. Funny faces. (We also made happy faces and sad faces. The basher looks the same in all of them.) 5. Lunch date with Grandpa Art and Grandma Georgia! 6. Sunny and hot. 7. Working during nap/quiet time. 8. After wrestling. 9. While making the boys' quesadillas, I looked out the window to see them quietly munching on their appetizers: whole apples. 10. My mom and I attended a splendid concert tonight put on by students of the Gifted Music School at a private residence in Federal Heights. 11. This home was lovely, unique, and inviting, with fuchsia walls and ornate decor. After the concert, the hostess served a light dinner on gold china. 12. What I want: an entire pan of brownies. What I ate: an apple and cheese (which is pretty tasty, unless what you really want is an entire pan of brownies).

Another Parenting Discussion

 Calvin had his first piano lesson this week.

 He is excited to learn out of his very own book.

 He learned how to sit in the "I'm great!" pose. Nice and tall. He can even balance a teddy bear on his head while he plays.

He learned about making short sounds and long sounds. We listened to the looooong sounds for a looooong time.





There is much discussion to be had on the subject of extracurricular endeavors. Some parents believe in unstructured play and learning, and that over-scheduling a child is detrimental to their development. Some parents believe that challenging their children to learn new skills as a musician, artist, or athlete teaches them to work hard and boosts their confidence. My philosophy incorporates both ideas. I do believe that it is important to let my boys play on their own for a good stretch of time; it fosters creativity and problem solving. Some of my best times as a kid happened when "pretending" with my friends or cousins. I had an especially good time with my cousin Megan as we princesses tried to escape our evil stepmother, the queen, or the wicked witch. We rode bicycle horses and explored strange and beautiful lands under her walnut tree.

But during the summer, when my friends' days were completely open, I was expected to complete an hour of piano practicing before I could play. Sometimes I resented it, yes. But I also found enjoyment in music. Through the years, I learned that, even though a piece may seem daunting at first, I was capable of learning hard things if I would just drill the tough spots and dedicate my time and energy on the piano bench. Thanks to a strong foundation on the piano, I was able to pick up the violin relatively quickly. Orchestra became my team sport.

This week, I attended a lunch meeting with some colleagues, all of whom are elite musicians and teachers, much more experienced than I am. Interestingly, most of them agreed that, although (or maybe because) they are all professional musicians, they do not desire their own children to become professional musicians. However, they still plan to place their children in music lessons. I told them that I was planning to give the punk his very first piano lesson that very day. My man and I aim to give our boys access to different areas of education - baseball, golf, soccer, art, piano, maybe cello, or even drums - and then let them decide what they like. This opinion was met with a bit of friction. Someone commented, "You can't expect children to work hard on their own. They don't get to choose to play or not to play!" Although I think I was a bit misunderstood, I didn't care to defend myself at that time. But let me explain here.

When I was a young girl, my mom put me in dance classes. Of course she did! She used to be a dancer herself, and she found great joy in the art. However, it turns out that I am a terrible dancer. Although I excelled at tap (I got rhythm, man!), I was the very worst in my class at ballet and jazz. It is my conviction that I am in the bottom 5% of all humans when it comes to flexibility. I cried and complained every time I had to go to class. It wasn't until after I quit that I finally figured out how to spread my toes apart, and I still don't understand why a ballerina has to have that skill. My point is that I am grateful that my mom had the understanding to let me quit something that I just didn't like. I was not required to follow in her dance steps. But because she saw that I had the skills of a musician, she did require that I stick with my piano, and later violin, lessons, even when they got hard. Even in the summer when all my other friends were playing. She gave me access to options, allowed me to choose, and then made me stick with it.