Out with the Old, In with the New

When I first introduced Ryan to Play Doh, he didn't yet grasp the concept of color separation. Yes, you can place two colors together...but too much mushing and they simply won't go back to their original shade. Though this greatly annoyed his mother, he could really have cared less about color contrast. He was more interested with the mushing. And so, I called it a wash, and basically let him smash it all together until it was one consistent, ugly color.

But, as the weather became increasingly colder and we were forced to do more indoor play, I thought "We could spend the winter playing with Mom's Office Supplies She Asked You Not To Touch Twice, or, we could make some new play doh. Play doh that would not look like puppy droppings.

So I became Super Mom for one morning and searched recipes on the internet. I found one that was completely edible (not that you would want to eat it) and that I could scent (which I did, with vanilla and mint). We cooked it up, and Voila! Green, Orange, Red, and Blue. Made by special request. By the end of the day, however, it looked like this. Apparently we still don't understand the concept of color separation. And still, I am the only one bothered by it.

Also, we have been working on sharing. Note the piece given to me at the bottom of the picture. The rest is "For Ryan". Also note that we have started asking for specific clothing rather than being content with mom's choices.

(By the way, Dad makes realistic hoagie sandwiches - if you like gray tomatoes and lettuce. Mmmm)

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This weekend Phil is also replacing our furnace. Nothing like cutting it close, right? Being that it is the middle (ok, end) of October? But we have had an extremely warm fall (my dahlia's are still blooming) and that has allowed us to order the correct parts, destroy (litteraly) the old furnace, move the new furnace in place (no small feat) and then this week, hopefully, finish hooking it up.

We went with a corn-burning stove. This made me a bit nervous in the beginning, but it should turn out to be a really great option for people who, you know, live in the middle of cornfields. It would be like having 50 oil barrons in town to supply you with your winter's heat. Most importantly, it should reduce our heating bill by about 2/3...so maybe we can stop wearing parkas and snowboots in the house.

Sometimes, though, I think we can be a bit too independent. For example, I came home from an outing last Sunday to see this:

Its a picture of a nearly-400 pound box teetering halfway down the stairs. Five months of savings and our winter's comfort being held by two ropes and one chain.

Note that when I left, I reminded Phil of the house rule that he is not allowed on the roof when home by himself...since other humans are 3809 miles away and will not be able to readily rescue him should he fall to the ground. To be kind to his wife, he rigged this up instead.

"Oh good! You're back! I need you to go down there and push on the
furnace."
Blank stare.
"No, really, go push it - it's stuck on that stair."
"Good! I don't want that thing falling down!"
"Its not going to fall. Trust me. Just push it. You might have to kick it to get enough force."
"How do you know it won't fall?"
"Because I do. Didn't you take physics?"
"I remember the LAW OF GRAVITY. Did you go to a different school than me? Because I don't remember kicking valuable items down the stairs."
"Just get down there and help."
"Ok."

And so it went. And, true to form, my fears were abolished by my husband's physics savvy. I really do appreciate that he paid attention through school. Because now we will have sweet, wonderful heat instead of a crunched pile of metal at the foot of our stairs.

Rhythm and Routine

Written 10/1

"Too heavy. Daddy do it."

"No, you can do it. Come on, we need to get going."
"Time to feed cows?"

"Yep, they're getting hungry. Let's go, Mister."

Ryan climbs down from his tricycle and hurries over to where the two-litre sized bottle awaits him. He bends his knees and uses both arms to lift it, shifting his weight backwards to support the load.

"Gotta do chores, dad?"

"Yep, feed the cows. Then we'll get the eggs."

"Chicken eggs? Ryan do it! No, Ryan do it, Dad."

I watch from the front porch, listening in as their voices grow fainter from distance. Dad, his hand wide and strong enough to effortlessly carry the bottle, son, focusing all his attention on keeping the awkward item from dropping. Phil walks slowly next to his charge, explaining and discussing in simple terms, the gentle coaxing from earlier effectively switching him from goal-mode to dad-mode.

And isn't that what so much of parenting is, anyway? Willingness to slow down, explain, interact, enjoy. In the busy-ness of everything else it's so easy to miss these small opportunities which are so important to their growth and character.

"I did it, Mom!" the triumphant call of my son echoes minutes later. He ambles back to the house, arms piled high with empty calf bottles. "All done now!"

I can hear the hum of the fans blowing in the distance, drying out the corn or beans harvested just a tad bit early. The sun bounces off the fields in the distance, the landscape softened by endless rows of corn and the cordouroy of soybean fields. Waves of farmland stretching for miles and miles.

The emptiness of it can be so serene. And yet, these past few weeks I have found myself longing for water. Maybe it's the extended summer or simply that my Washington-born bones need some moisture, but the everlasting sun and the wide-open expanse leaves me longing for the security of tall evergreens and dense clouds.

Ryan, done with "chores" finds a stick three times his length and proceeds to run around in the front yard, almost to the road and back, the wide, steep ditch serving as bunker, slide, and cave. He loves it. Outside- so in his element- a fish in water.
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Written 4 Days Ago

Today for the first time in many, many days, we had rain. Beautiful, drizzly, curl up and read a book, start a fire and make some bread rain. Summer, with it's beaufiful days and cut-grass smell is finally giving way to crisp, cool, smoky autumn. I think I'm ready.

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Written Today

The past week has been a constant Washington-esque stream of weather. It feels like a nice, cozy hug. My element, if you will. I mentioned this to a friend at church, and she looked pointedly at me, and said "You might not want to mention that to the farmers out here." Indeed, this break from endless summer and my excuse to cozy up inside has hampered many a farmer from their harvest. A stressful time already, the rain is no friend of theirs.

Armed with this reminder, I keep quiet about my contentment regarding the weather, and have started supplying them with pumpkin bread. Hey, if you can't make money and have to worry, at least you can eat good food, right? I'm sure they see it that way - ha!

Monday night we visited some friends of ours who live about 20 miles away. They blessed us with two laundry baskets full (we don't measure in bushels) of pears. HUGE wonderful for canning pears. This bit of produce along with maybe one more batch of spiced apples will round out my canning season, which is really, really exciting for me.

The boys and I are settling down nicely into a routine. Or maybe that's too formal a word- but we are getting better together. My big kid is getting so "old" everyday, and my little one delights us as well with cooing and smiles. I find myself so full of delight with the both of them, and I can't wait for years to come.

One of Ryan's favorite games is bringing pretend drinks and food for me to try. Yesterday, he balanced a small foam basketball on top of a drinking glass. He walked into where I was, and announced that it was indeed ice cream. Cookie ice cream. And that I should take a bite. When I pretended to take a huge mouthful, he stood back, watched with particular glee, and said "Liddle Bites, MOM! Liddle bites!" "Oh, Sorry Ryan," I replied, and pursed my lips to take a mini-bite. Again he watched intently. Then, with a bit of mischief, squealed "Its Sour!!" Like, HA! I tricked you! This is not cookie ice cream after all! It's really sour ice cream, you silly lady! Squirm! Pucker! "Liddle Bite!"