Stripping Veneer

To whomever glued the veneer on my junk store dresser all those years ago:

I would like to commend you for a job well done. When I first ripped off the veneer from the drawer and top of the dresser, I thought your shoddy workmanship was going to make my life easy. But I gotta hand it to you, you really brought your "A game" on those sides. After I realized you had 'em locked down tight, I consulted the Internet. Steam iron? Tried it (and melted the fake veneer to my iron). Hair dryer? Yup. Vinegar and time. Uh huh. I didn't have a guitar string, but I did rock the putty knife. In fact, you did your job so well that I was scraping millimeter by tiny millimeter off in the porch light, battling gnats, mosquitos, and dancing bugs, until midnight, when my other half came home from coon hunting and made me stop. I worked on it again this morning and finally just let the sander take the last little bit off. Yep, you really got 'er did.

It's not the dresser he's excited about - it's the huge mud ball we let him bring back from Reed's ball practice!

P.S. I would also like to apologize for the names that I called you, your masterpiece, and your mama during my work time. I usually don't talk like that...

P.P.S. It's stripped and the first coat is painted black, and it looks way better without that stupid veneer you put on anyway, so HA!

Independence

To say I'm independent would be an understatement. My mom says I could have lived alone at the age of two if someone would've brought me groceries, or rigged up a car I could physically drive. So maybe that's why I tend to value independence in my own children a little more than your average bear. Several times, people have offered to clear my kids' dishes when the counter is a little high or the trash can hard to find and I'm not helping. I'm sure people at the school where I work think it's harsh that I won't take Reed his coat if he leaves it in my classroom after the bell rings. What would he do if he left it at home? Freeze? Well, then that's what he'll do! I've always firmly believed that you should never do for a child what they can do for themselves. And when the kids were young, that was a LOT of extra work. Eighteen month olds can't often clear their dishes without dropping and dribbling. And ohmygoodness! It takes F-O-R-E-E-E-E-E-V-E-R for toddlers to dress themselves.

But now that my kids are older, I'm learning that this independence thing is actually pretty genius, because I do very little for my kids anymore! Give a child breakfast and he'll eat for a day, but teach a child to use the toaster and you can be a lazy butt and sleep in!

Our big kids get up, get dressed, brush teeth, and fix as much of their breakfast as they can before they ask for help. The biggun can pour milk if it's getting low. They clear their dishes and do "electricity patrol" before we leave the house. They carry our their own "supplies" for wherever we're going and buckle their own seat belts. They pick up all their own toys before going to bed. They have chores (emptying majority of the dishwasher, putting all clean shirts on hangers, emptying bathroom trash) and get an allowance for them, but they also know that they will be expected to do other things when we ask. We rarely spend our money on them when we're shopping. If they want something, it comes out of their allowance.

Without my asking that often, they've also sort of taken responsibility for Max. They'll juice up his toothbrush for him, help him find his shoes, zip up his coat, and open the fridge so he can put up his cup. He, also, has started doing things own his own simply because big brothers are doing them. He loves to jump in and help empty the dishwasher. We're still working on the toy thing, though...

See what I mean? Being "mean" and making your kids struggle to do things that are difficult at first actually saves a lot of effort in the long run. And I don't think our kids really suffer for it. They seem to take all their duties in stride. Sure, we get our fair share of whining, but a lot of times, they just do it, because they know they're not going to get out of it.

There is a downside, though. When you let your five-year-old dress himself, these are the types of outfits you wind up with:

- black dress socks with brown sandals on a hike
- Mom's black knee highs bunched around ankles with tennies
- John Deere boots with shorts to church
- navy blue shirt, black shorts, and mismatched socks

- and many more

Things We've Learned So Far This Summer

-Unless you want snow in your house, diaper nun chucks are not a good idea.
- Don't leave freezie pops open and available if Max is around.
- Make sure your catch partner is looking before you throw the baseball.
- Birds like mulberries, too.
- If Max has undies on, don't forget to set the potty timer.
- When you run out of toilet candy, "marshmeadows" make a great replacement.
- Make sure Max isn't right behind you when you close the back door on his fit throwing.

Sucking Up My Jog

When I announced I was going on my morning jog Friday, Reed asked if he could go along. I reluctantly agreed. I've been meaning to take them on a walk ever since I smelled the honeysuckle blooming, but I didn't really want to give up the peace and quiet that starts my day. Oh well. When Calvin heard about the honeysuckle, he opted to join us, so of course Max came along too.

We started off great. The big boys ran ahead so quickly that I decided to go ahead and jog, too. I learned then that jogging with a stroller uphill really adds intensity to the workout. And then we hit the first patch of honeysuckle and it was all downhill from there. Only in a bad way.

We had to stop at each and every separate plant (the stuff rivals Kudzu in taking over a roadside) to compare flavors.

We had to fill Max's snack cup with morsels to take home for later. We traveled like 15 feet per hour! All this over a tiny drip of watered down nectar?! At first I thought it was cute. They were so excited, acting like they were visiting the dessert bar at Ryan's Steakhouse.  We went as far as "our" bridge, where we played Pooh sticks and threw rocks.

But I was soon annoyed that I was getting no exercise and we were moving nowhere. Also, the more excited my kids get, the louder and more they talk. This was far from sweet silence to clear my head in the morning. But set aside the morning grogginess and I had to admit, it was pretty sweet in its own way. Next time, I'll just make sure to take them AFTER the butt crack of dawn.

Berry Good Recipe

If, during a random kid-check, Calvin doesn't answer roll call, I can usually locate him pretty quick. Lately, he'll be crouched in the grass at the edge of our yard, hands and feet stained purple with the mulberries he's foraging. The obsession started as what we figure was probably an act of defiance. Calvin asked for a snack close to supper time. I told him no. A few seconds later, he said just a little too loudly, "I know! I'll get mulberries!!" and ran off to recruit Max to help him, promising him a "snack" in return. Daddy and I chose to ignore it because we were busy organizing the shed and we wanted him out of our hair strategically picking our battles.

An hour later, the two were still at it.

Calvin had a small cup about half full, but I could tell where he'd stashed the majority of his finds.

He asked if we had enough to make a cobbler. We did not, unless it was a cobbler for a small family of mice. I helped him find a few more, when he said, "What is that falling?" I asked if it was a rain drop. It'd been overcast all day. "No! It's big!" When I told him what it was, the mulberry picking ended for the day...

This was after he'd wiped it - and was trying to wipe it on me because I was laughing and taking pictures. 

The bird didn't deter him for long. The next day, he recruited big brother for some more serious foraging. This time, they picked with a mission in mind - fill up a large cup for cobbler. This cobbler has become Calvin's iconic summer recipe. "Make a cobbler" was on our summer to-do list last year and this. Any time we see a berry in nature, edible or not, Calvin wants to whip up a cobbler to try it out.

When I called my three little gatherers in for another supper, they had accomplished their mission. They drug in their shoes, shirts (those never stay on long around here) and slingshot. I questioned the last item. Usually I know about weapons pretty soon after they're produced - not because of my attentiveness, mind you, but because something happens that makes my presence necessary. Anyway, Calvin explained that they were going to sling balls up into the tree to knock down the "juicy ones" but they couldn't find our sling shot balls (what family has a collection of sling shot balls?!), so they threw shoes instead. Score one for independence and problem solving skills.

The mulberries stayed in the fridge until my sister came for a visit. An epic mud fight caused supper to be a little late, so we didn't get to serve the precious cobbler to our guest. Instead, we made it for a bedtime snack. Here's the recipe, and a little chef drama:

Somersault Cobbler from Xplor Magazine

     1 c sugar
     1/4 c shortening
     1/2 c milk
     3/4 c flour
     1 t baking powder
     1/4 t salt
     berries (recipes calls for 3 c of blackberries, but we've made it with all kinds and amounts)
     2 T butter
     3/4 c water

- Painstakingly de-stem mulberries. Threaten to cancel the whole cooking session if attitudes don't improve.

- Lecture littlest chef for throwing handfuls of "before" berries into the "after" bowl.

- Lecture oldest chefs for being mean to little guy about his little mistake.
- Fight over who gets to sit on the counter/stool and who gets to dump ingredients first.
- Combine 1/2 c of the sugar and shortening. Take turns blending until extra creamy - then blend some more so everyone gets a turn.

- Mix in milk, flour, baking powder and salt. Try to distract the Little Bit when it's his turn to pour the flour, otherwise you'll have to estimate how much fell on the counter and floor to supplement while he's licking up his mess.

- Grease an 8-inch square pan and pour in batter. Fight over who gets to lick what.

- Top batter with berries. Remove tiny caterpillar.
- Flake butter over berries. Thank the good Lord in Heaven above that the two youngest are already bored and don't want to help with this step.
- Sprinkle 1/2 cup sugar over top. Try to act like you're not helping tiny chef so he doesn't get mad and fling sugar even farther.
- Bring water to a boil and gently pour over berries and batter.
- Complete "the process" with less successful results while cobbler bakes at 400 degrees for 30 mn.
- Let anyone who didn't get in big, fat trouble during the bedtime routine eat cobbler.

This particular night, there were only two pieces of cobbler served. I ate one of them. Coincidentally, there were also two sets of wet cheeks that night. Cheeks that had been very purple just a few days prior. The next night, toy picking up went much better...