Rise Up: Gluten-Free, In a Way

Okay, to be fair, this is not a GF bread--it has flour. But I am out of the vital wheat gluten which my favorite bread machine cookbook by Beth Hensperger usually calls for. And so I had to look elsewhere for recipes today, since we are woefully out of bread. This brings me to King Arthur Flour and a recipe from the president's breadbaking dad, Walter Sands's Favorite Bread. I'm hoping, with 4 cups of flour, it doesn't overload my machine, but I can always stop and put it in the oven. But with a high of 90F expected, I don't really want to turn the oven on.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Walter Sands's Favorite Bread

1 1/4 to 1 1/3 cups (10 to 10 5/8 ounces) water, depending on the time of year (more in the winter, less in the summer)
1 heaping tablespoon (1 1/8 ounces) honey or sugar (1/2 ounce)
1 1/2 teaspoons instant yeast
1/3 cup (1 1/4 ounces) Baker's Special Dry Milk or 1/2 cup nonfat dry milk granules
2 tablespoons (1 ounce) butter
1 1/2 to 2 teaspoons salt (best the lesser amount, but Dad preferred the greater)
4 cups (17 ounces) King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose Flour

Place the ingredients in your bread machine in the order recommended by the manufacturer, and program the machine for white or basic bread, or for the dough cycle. Press Start.

If you're using the dough cycle, after the cycle is complete, allow the dough to continue to rise in the machine until it has really doubled in bulk. Remove the dough, shape it into a loaf, and place it in an 9" x 5" loaf pan. Let it rise until almost doubled. Bake the bread in a preheated 350°F oven for 35 to 40 minutes. Cool and offer to a friend.

King Arthur Flour website

Happy Almost Anniversary

To Mama and I, in a few weeks, we'll begin our 14th year as a couple.

And so, with only 5 more opportunities before Babysitter leaves for college, we had a celebratory lunch at the locavore restaurant, The Dressing Room, founded by Paul Newman. It was such a delightful lunch. Tapas in style, with small portions and an a la carte menu, we were in starch heaven: an heirloom grain "risotto" that was so creamy though it was vegan, cornbread with specially-milled corn flour and this amazing honey on the top, sugar snap peas in a light lemon sauce, creamy fresh macaroni and cheese, and the wonderfully corn-y (not corny) grits. Wow. And then there was dessert: pan-seared angel food cake, both crisp and tender, kinda like French toast, and drizzled with that incredible honey, plus a peach/blueberry crisp which would've been better if I couldn't have tasted as much of the skillet, and this smoked sugar ice cream that reminded us of smoked Thai desserts.

I'd love to be able to report that we had a significant and meaningful conversation, befitting the nature of the occasion. But it was much lighter than that--talking about the food, thinking about our upcoming schedule, trying not to talk about kindergarten, relating the events of the morning. But in many ways, it is the details of ordinary life that are important, not just the extraordinary, special occasions.

Though, it's nice to celebrate those, too.

My Church Crone-ys

I like older women.

Okay, sure, my marriage is an exception: Mama is four years younger. But she likes older women, too. So it works out.

What I mean is I really enjoy talking with women who are not at the same point in their lives as I am. When I was a child--a maid, in pagan parlance--I wanted to listen to the mothers, wanting to talk to my mom's friends. Now that I am a mother, I receive so much from the wisdom of crones, or older, wiser women, again in pagan parlance. Similarly, I also find myself conversing with maids, now, when I wouldn't have given young children much attention when I was not much older than a child. That's not to say that I don't enjoy, support, am inspired by, my mother friends. I just like balance.

And Tuesday was lunch with my church Crone-ys. And what a delightful lunch it was! We talked politics, sex, cultural anthropology, recent books, (not much religion, so as to avoid any church gossip or politics), recipes. No word of school, clothes shopping, potty-training, stretch marks, developmental stages, or discipline. Though almost all of them have stories to tell, advice to give (and have, too, on other occasions). Children flow in and out of the conversation; it's not all-motherhood, all-the-time. There's balance, something my Crone-ys help me achieve by encouraging the other aspects of me. And maybe I bring that to them too: a little reminder of daily mothering and having young children.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Miss M's BLUEBERRY GRUNT*

2 cups soft bread cubes

1/2 cup water

1 Tbsp butter, melted

1/2 cup sugar

2 eggs, well beaten

1 pint blueberries

Soften bread with water. Add all but berries. Layer bread mixture and blueberries in a greased, shallow 1 quart pan. Bake at 350 degrees for about 1 hour. Serve with cream.

Yield: 4 servings

*Grunt is baked, uncovered or steamed.

Slump if cooked, covered, on top of the stove.

Another recipe:

BLUEBERRY CRISP

4 cups blueberries

1/3 cup flour

1 tsp grated lemon zest

1/4 tsp cinnamon

1 3/4 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup butter or margarine

Spread berries in shallow baking dish or a deep 9" pin pan. Sprinkle with lemon rind. Blend remaining ingredients and sprinkle over berries. Bake at 375 degrees for about 25 minutes. If 1/2 recipe is made bake for only 15 minutes. Best served warm.

Yield: 6 servings.

Miss M

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Miss M's Clover and Rose "Honey"

5 lb sugar

Petals of 8 fragrant double roses

6 cups water

12 red clover blossoms

Cherry size lump of allum

20 white clover blossoms

Boil sugar & water until thick & clear (232 degrees) - takes about 1 1/2 hours until sugar is golden. Add alum and boil 4 minutes longer. Remove from stove and add flowers. Let stand 10 minutes. Strain and pour into sterilized jars.

Affectionately,

M

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Watermelon Rind Pickles

3 quarts water

3/4 cup salt

Put in cut rind and let stand overnight. Strain and rinse.

Cover with water and cook until fork tender--drain again.

Combine sugar and spices--

4 cup sugar

1 tablespoon whole cloves

6 sticks cinnamon

But spices in cheesecloth bag. Boil 5 minutes.

Pour over watermelon rind and cook until transparent--about 10 minutes--pack and seal.

my Grandmother J

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

(Another) Miss M's Zucchini Table "Pickles"

1 part each: white vinegar, olive oil, and soy sauce

zucchini spears

Combine and enjoy!

Beachday

We joined our Friday Friend at the beach today, a total departure from our usual activities. There are beaches nearby in Fairfield County but we never go. Today we did. And what fun we had! While we didn't spot any rare-to-New-England White-tailed Kites, we waded thigh-deep into the still, calm water and found lots of different-colored seaweed, pretty shells and stones, funky driftwood, dozens of crab shells, many mini minnows. We built a faerie house against a log with all of the above (well, sans minnows), complete with secret library, garden, and swimming pool which Sis lined with seaweed and kept refilling. Then we played in a rushing canal, watching (and catching) our beach buckets float in the currents. But we never did catch a minnow, despite several attempts. We did catch a few hermit crabs but soon let them go. As we returned to our cars (for a snack of Whole Wheat Apricot Bread and potato chips), we spotted a hollowed-out log and decided it made a great canoe. Other pieces of driftwood served as paddles . . . and Sis and Bud were off to China!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Whole Wheat Apricot Bread

3/4 cup apple or pear juice

6 tablespoon water

2 tablespoons honey

2 tablespoons nut or vegetable oil

1 1/2 cups bread flour

1 cup whole wheat flour

1/2 cup rolled oats

1 tablespoon gluten

1 1/4 teaspoons salt

2 1/2 teaspoons bread machine yeast

1/2 cup finely chopped dried apricots (spray knife with cooking spray first)

Place ingredients, except apricots, in the pan according to the manufacturer's instructions. Set crust on medium and program for Whole Wheat or Fruit and Nut cycle; press Start (do not use delay timer). When the machine beeps, or between Knead 1 and Knead 2, add the apricots. The dough ball will be soft and moist.

When baking cycle ends, immediately remove the bread from pan and place on the rack to cool before slicing.

Beth Hensperger, The Bread Lover's Bread Machine Cookbook

The Bird

The black bird--crow? raven? just some black bird?--squawked at the lifeguard angrily as it charged him, taking the teenage boy by surprise. He'd never been attacked by an angry bird before. "That bird is crazy," he said.

And we all looked up from where we had been enjoying playing in the swimming pool with friends we'd met for a playdate. Indeed, the bird was acting strangely: walking, not flying, squawking, chasing. Strange bird. And so we suggested to the lifeguard that he call animal control. Maybe the bird was hurt (his beak looked odd). Maybe it was rabid (can birds be rapid?).

The bird then demonstrated it could fly, low and uncertainly, over our heads in the pool, landing not far from where Sis and I stood. It began charging her and so I grabbed her with one hand, while splashing water at it with the other. This was a dangerous bird. But it didn't like water and took off to the top of the pool house.

But it came back, coming within inches of a newly arrived woman who had not seen the bird chase the lifeguard or swoop down on Sis. And still the lifeguard hadn't been able to reach animal control or a supervisor who could tell him what to do; he was avoiding calling 911. Which I understand. I mean, what would you say? "Our emergency? It's a bird."

This bird was right out of Poe or Hitchcock, though. It wasn't huge but it was determined and had sharp claws and a pointed beak. And it made another low pass at the pool. At which point, Sis was done. She started keening and begging to go home. The bird departed again; out of sight, but not out of mind. So we packed up and headed to the playground. Which was just not far enough away for Sis who didn't stop keening til we got in the car and drove away.

This is the end of the story of us and the bird, but not the end of the playdate which continued with snacks and puppet-painting at our house. It might, though, be the end of our trips to the pool, of which this was the very first. I'm just not sure when I'll be able to ease Sis's mind about that bird.

Quoth the girl, "Nevermore."

A Day that Will Live in History

“Moral disapproval alone is an improper basis on which to deny rights to gay men and women.”

--Judge Vaughn Walker

The Referee Takes a Time-Out

(Beware: mixed, probably incorrect, bad sports metaphors below.)

I'm tired of being referee.

It's thankless, tiresome, ineffective, frustrating.

But it's my only play in the game.

And I never win.

All day, the kids come running to me complaining about the other, or I go running to them trying to prevent some physical aggression or hurt feelings. It's the worst kind of triangulation, even when our "time ins" revolve around what they should be saying to each other. I desperately try not to take sides, play favorites, whatever, and only want to give them the skills to work things out for themselves. But I'm not gaining any yardage on the field.

Everyone tells me to only get involved if there is blood or the like. I forget the catchy phrases, like "only squeal if it's real." But of course, everything seems real to them. And nobody tells me what to do the umpteenth time Sis knocks over Bud's building or Bud bumps into Sis. Just let them go at it? And what to do when they ask for help? Ignore them? Throw them back in the game with no plan?

That's what everything I read would seem to say to do. An article in this month's Psychology Today on siblings--a fascinating read if you are part of the 82% of Americans who have one--says:

Sibling conflict is necessary, inevitable, and an instrument of self-definition that has a correctable course over time. But parents often subscribe to a short view: They prefer peace in the house. They want their children to be close (or at least quiet). What's more, parents invariably claim they treat their kids equally, even though children can't possibly experience their care equally, as they are at different levels of understanding.

So, if I want to minimize my impossible though well-intended role of treating different children equally so that it is perceived as equal by them, I need to stay out of the middle. And apparently that will be better for them when they grow up, because if they do not reconcile childhood sibling issues they are likely to repeat them. The article contains fascinating (though probably only new to me) information about the discovery of personal identity through sibling conflict, sibling trajectory (the notion that you repeat childhood roles into adulthood but also that sibling relationships follow a normal rise and fall in closeness--and that it's normal for middle-aged siblings not to be close as they raise their own families. They seem to come together again when there are family crises), the effect of parental affection differentials (which are apparently obvious to babies!!), the effect of birth order, and how rare it is for siblings to experience the same family the same because of age differences and circumstances (like divorce). The article never talks about twins, which would be a special subset of the sibling equation, but I can extrapolate the importance of letting kids work out these issues by themselves. Nowhere does the article imply that a meddlesome mom makes things better.

So, I'll be heading back to my bookshelf to re-read Siblings Without Rivalry, which wasn't as applicable when I read it when the babes were toddlers. And remembering all my NVC training. Because I'm just not sure where the line is (especially because I remember the NYTimes article from a few years ago about bullying among siblings being dangerous and all to common). And it's hard to stand by and watch them hurt each other. It's like by just standing aside, I'm condoning it somehow. How do I give them the tools they need without making them rely on me to use them? Is it too early to expect them to work all of this out by themselves with a good outcome (as opposed to the stronger twin always wins?).

There was a glimmer of hope while I wrote this post, though. Sis and Bud were playing a "bobcar" (not sled) race and needed boxes. But Bud also wanted one of the boxes to use for a present for his critter Tango. He and Sis were fighting over the last box. He came in wailing because she took it and so we went back to talk about how they could compromise. When they couldn't come up with anything, I took the box and walked away, leaving Sis happily playing and Bud bereft. Sure, it wasn't completely hands-off because I tried to walk them through working it out; I'm trying to walk the middle path here. About 10 minutes later, realizing she wasn't having as much fun by herself or perhaps that he was still upset, Sis came to me and said Bud could have the box, she wouldn't fight about it. So I said they could have it back and she took it to him. They've been playing alone for an hour.

GOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But I'll be keeping my red cards on hand just in case life in the Hungry house becomes a contact sport.

Spectacular, Exquisite, Humongus Weekend*

The weekend cured one of us of last week's virus and sent another of us back to muscle relaxers--it must have been good!

Saturday we stayed at home, not quite wanting to risk taking Sis out and about, even to a friend's birthday party that afternoon. She was still tired and prone to crashing at odd times; a worst, I worried about her catching something else. So we made the most of it by playing in the yard. Mama went to work on a big grilled lunch, taking advantage of the nice weather. There were vegetables, chicken, roasted garlic for bread, pizza, baked beans, shrimp, cabbage (hey, don't laugh, it was sweet and tasty), even peaches. She really enjoys the creativity of cooking outside, I think.

Meanwhile, the kids and I occupied ourselves by building faerie houses under our pine tree. There were lots of small branches with leaves on the ground, casualties from a wind the night before, that made for perfect camouflage* to hide our little houses. We got fancy with miniature* furniture and gardens*, even food in little shell bowls. We hadn't built faerie houses in a long while and it was fun . . . the kids are much better at creating stable structures, have finer motor skills to add little details.

Then we decided to go float faerie boats down our stream, using sticks and big wax leaves to build the vessels. Sis and Bud climbed up and down the rocks, helping each other to navigate a path across the water. "I need teamwork!" Bud would shout if Sis got too far ahead and he wasn't sure how to follow. She would come back and help. "Twins always stick together," he said. And they did, holding hands, encouraging one another, pointing out wobbly footholds. They concentrated* on the best place to launch their boats for maximum potential, just pleased if the boats didn't sink. Though having fun, they worked up enough of an appetite not to complain when lunch was ready.

After lunch, we played indoors. Mama had designed "Word on the Street" notebooks for the kids, with a page for each Sesame Street vocabulary--they drew pictures and cut out magazines for all the words we've seen on tv (marked here with an asterisk!). The kids also played with the new puppet theater I found at a tag sale for just $5, complete with chalkboard signage and red and white-striped curtains. Sis performed her "Barn Show" in three parts, first with a visit to the CSA garden, second with a meal in the kitchen with all the vegetables, third a family trip to the ice cream parlor, all using her birthday Playmobil sets. Bud used his knights and dragons to put on a war; later he showed his "Green-Headed Schwaubble Worm" Drag picking flowers for his grandmother, Tango the penguin (not a Schwaubble!). And they were in bed by 7 pm!!

The next day, Sunday, we figured Sis was well and truly better, that we could do something bigger, take advantage of the nice weather and one of our last unscheduled weekends before school. So we went to Mystic Seaport. We realized we hadn't been in two years, since the Morgan was put in dry dock for restoration. But Sis remembered it all: the wooden boat toy structures, the children's museum, even that the whaling ship was the Morgan. The girl has a memory like a steel trap.

And it was as much fun as we all remembered, perhaps even more because they've added a few things. The kids loved the new wooden tugboat to climb on and the new Map Spot children's exploration area. There, Bud became obsessed with grids and coordinates, while Sis drew her own maps. They both liked building bridges and canals and using the cranes and driving the simulated car. Then we made wooden boats, painted scenes of the seaport on canvas, and rode in the horse-drawn carriage. I enjoyed looking at the kitchen and parlor gardens of one of the old houses, getting some new ideas for trellises for next year's beans. Mama also created a piece of scrimshaw (on polymer, of course, not actual whalebone) with a knot design; I think she's found a hobby that combines her love of drawing with her love of woodworking. If she can find the right polymer . . .

On the way home, after almost 8 hours walking around the seaport (which is probably why my back is bothering me this week, my PT says), we stopped for pizza at the restaurant with the trains. Mama and I really liked the mushroom pesto pizza and Bud continued his preference for lasagna. Sis preferred the Kentucky Derby Pie, which is like a big, warm chocolate-chip cookie. They napped on the way home, the icing on the cake of a good weekend.

*This weekend was brought to you by Sesame Street's "Word on the Street!"

A Cat and His Penguin

I was taking a mommy-break last weekend from the kids, with the door closed, when this piteous noise erupted outside it. Not the kids wailing for my return, but the cat begging to get in. I opened the door a crack and Albus came bounding in, frantically searching the bed for something. He gave me a few hopeful rubs with his head but still couldn't find what he was looking for: his penguin.

Yes, our cat has a stuffed penguin. And it wasn't in my room. I found it a few minutes later on Sis's bed and brought it to him. He was clearly relieved. He climbed up on it and started kneading it and purring, pure kitty bliss. He does this at least once or twice a day, sometimes even comes looking for it in the middle of the night. I like to think of it as his form of meditating--the penguin calms and centers and rejuvenates him. Not that I know exactly what would upset him so.

Unless he was hiding out in my room for the same reasons I was!

R2-D2

Yep, my droid has arrived!

I've entered professional suburban mommydom with my own smartphone, complete with all sorts of things like a calendar, internet access, navigational tools, and, oh yeah, phone capabilities. It's going to take me awhile to figure it out--so if I don't manage to answer your calls or email, it's probably because I'm deciphering a new app!

The BIG Question

Geez, like death and math weren't enough this week, Bud was on a roll. And he asked me where babies come from. In the car. Sound familiar, Gommie? Almost exactly 35 years ago, in a car, I'm guessing about the time you had Aunt Banana, I apparently asked you the same thing.

"How did I get in your tummy?"

And heaven help me, my answer to Bud wasn't the best. I just couldn't fathom that a 5-year old boy could maturely grasp penises, vaginas, sperm, eggs, and how they all come together in typical circumstances. Yep. Sex. I toyed with a cooking analogy, you know ingredients coming together, "bun in the oven." UGH. Just. Couldn't. Do. It. Nor did, "well, usually, a mommy and a daddy make a baby together." Nope. Not here.

So, I went with our story. Donors, doctors, help. My usual "The doctor helped us have you, along with the nice man we never met." speech. And that seems to have done it for the time being.

Which gives me some time to work on the rest of the answer.

Who would've thought I would be at a loss for words? Or somehow hesitant? Some things are harder than I expected.

Quick Updates

Just a few notes:

• Sis is better, fever-free, but still getting tired quickly. We had a restful Saturday at home (sadly missing a friend's birthday party), grilling and playing, a busier day on Sunday at Mystic Seaport when we saw that she needed distraction more than rest. More on those later.
• I overdid it at Mystic and have agitated my back. My blessed and sainted PT squeezed me in today and says it's that lumbar curve causing trouble this time. So, I'm taking things very gently and gingerly here.
• Gommie's broken foot is ensconced in a big, black boot that has made it (somewhat) possible for her to move around. But she's had to cancel a hiking trip to CO with Pop and doesn't know when she'll get to CT next (esp because I've asked for no visits in Sept, for the first month of school).
• Gong and Ma are recovering from their long flight back to Eastern Standard Time. We're hoping to visit them this weekend.

That's it from here for now.

Welcome Back!

Ma and Gong returned from a monthlong visit to Thailand yesterday. Good luck getting back on Eastern Standard Time!

Big Questions

I feel like I've had a 101-week, i.e. Arithmetic 101, English 101, and now Religion/Philosophy 101.

We were driving past a cemetery. "Mom," Bud started, "why are there tombstones?"

"To mark where the dead people are buried."

"Why do we bury people?"

"Well, some people believe in burying dead bodies; others turn them to ash. I think either one is okay."

"I want to be buried. I don't want to be burned by fire."

"But, Bud, you would be dead. You wouldn't know and you wouldn't feel it."

"Ooooh, or the worms climbing in and out of your bones!"

"Right, you wouldn't know that. Because you aren't in your body."

"Where would I be?"

"I don't know, Bud, but I think it's okay. It's good."

"It's good to be dead?"

"No, I just don't think anything bad happens when you die like some people do. I think whatever it is, it's okay. And people still living remember you and what you were like. That doesn't die with your body."

"Why do people die?"

"Everything that lives dies."

"Cars die."

"Actually, we say that, but they don't. Cars aren't alive. Only living things can die."

"What's alive?"

"Living things are born, grow, can reproduce or make more, and then die."

"Like bunnies. Or flowers. But not batteries. Why do living things die?"

"It's normal. Just like non-living things, like toys and cars, living things break down or become old. People die when their bodies break down or get broken."

"Are you going to die?"

"Yes, but probably not for a long time."

Sis chimes in, "And even longer for Bud and I, right? Because we're younger."

"Yes, probably, hopefully so."

Checking Out

We're playing hotel this morning, which is usually one of my favorite games because I'm the guest, sitting in the bed being brought things on a tray.

But this time they wanted to be the guests. Which means I'm running up and down stairs checking on their needs, bringing them food for room service.

Really, then, how is that different from what I always do?

Zeroing In

"Mom, why do we have a zero?" Bud asked this morning after "Sesame Street" featured it as the number of the day (the word was metamorphoses, for those keeping track. I told you we were on a S.S. kick these days. Finally.).

Immediately, I remembered that the Mayans had the concept of zero. I don't know where I learned this or why I remember it, but there it is.

I didn't mention that in my answer. "The number zero lets you count nothing." Oh, goodness. Philosophy and numbers. Not my strong suit.

"But it's not a number."

"Well, it allows us to count what we don't have. What if someone asked you how many dogs we have?"

"We don't have a dog."

"Right. How do you count that? You don't say, 'We don't have one dog.' You say we have no, or zero, dogs."

"Does zero come before one? It's the first number?"

Oh, yeah, because there's no way I'm teaching negatives today . . . .

Schwaubble Worm and Co.

Mama has been puppeteering again recently, using whatever stuffed critter is available. One of the most popular puppets (though they really do look more like muppets. So is that a cruppet? A crippet? A stuffet? Who knows.) is a previously-ignored green dragon.

Well, he's reached rock-star status now. He has a name: Drag, short for Dragon, the Green-Headed Schwaubble Worm.

Right. That last part. What is a "schwaubble worm?" I'm just not sure. I know my folks say I made up names like that all the time and they wished they'd written them down. Well, there you go, "Schwaubble Worm."

And now there is a Purple-Backed Schwaubblebeak, in another words, a purple penguin.

There's also Gus or Wus, the polar bear. The name seems to change. It doesn't seem to be in the Schwaubble family.

If I find out more, I'll let you know.

Homework

We played school today.

And Sis wanted homework.

So I made up a simple worksheet with addition problems.

Like this:

1 + 1 = ___

1 +2 = ___

1 + 3 = ___

1 + 4 = ___

1 + 5 = ___

I explained the equation, "It says one plus one equals. And there is a blank for your answer. Then it keeps going. Don't forget to put your name at the top." Sis took the worksheet and sat alone on a little chair, using the piano bench as her desk. Busy with making Bud the same worksheet, it was a little bit before I glanced over. And there she was carefully counting out the addition on her fingers and precisely copying the numerals from her ruler onto her worksheet, so she'd get the shape right. And it's so sweet because she got all but the 3 backwards (she's left-handed and I can't help but think it's a challenge for her right now).

But she was puzzled by the last problem. She got the same answer for 1 + 5 that she got for 1 + 4 and she knew that was wrong. I could see what was happening: with five fingers up on one hand and only one on the other, she kept forgetting to count her extended thumb because she would start with her pointer finger and go across the fingers from there. She did it once more incorrectly before noticing her thumb and getting it right. 6, she wrote carefully.

And then she came running over to me, face beaming, worksheet extended. I checked it and everything was right. She was so proud. And demanded another worksheet. So, I obliged:

A B _ D E _ G H _ J K _ M N _ P Q _ S T _ V W _ Y _

And she got all those right too.

But I poisoned the well on the third requested worksheet, because I made it on handwriting and was going to have them copy their first and last names, upper and lower case. Well, their last names are long, and they both decided right then and there that they were tired of homework!

Mercy, I thought I had it in the bag, because they'll be doing homework in kindergarten. And here it is, a month beforehand and I've spoiled the fun already.

And they still won't be able to write their full names on the first day.

But at least they can add!

Homonyms

Bud proudly announced, "Mommy, my favorite thing starts with my favorite letter: Night!"

Except the poor boy isn't nocturnal. He's medieval.

And so came another iteration of my lecture, "How English is an Odd Language."

I spelled "knight" and "night" on the big kitchen chalkboard, then pointed to the chalked words "ate" and "eight" from a few days earlier.

Homonyms.

We talked about how English came to be odd--just like America with its diverse multicultural, multinational populace, English is a combination, a linguistic melting pot, full of words from other languages. Of course, now they're going to think English was invented in America, but I can cross that bridge later.

And Bud spent the rest of the day coming to me with more "sounds the same, spelled differently":

Hear and here.

See and sea.

Eye and I.

Not too shabby for a boy who can't read or spell.

Not a Box

If you don't know Antoinette Portis's book about a bunny playing in, well, Not a Box, I highly recommend.

Then, get some boxes.

While we have two paper ream-sized boxes which have done duty as all matter of transportation and furniture, we have never had really big boxes. The fridge, washer, dryer, and stove arrived before the kids (actually, all the appliances died a few weeks after we bought the house. Go figure).

But this week, my 7'-long elliptical came in a humongous (that's been a "word on the street!") box. Perfect for a puppet theater. Mama cut a hole for the performance space and yesterday we took it outside and painted it. Bud practiced color field painting in blue and green. Sis created a landscape complete with white bunny in a field of flowers. I added some rainbow colors here and there.

The theater has dried and now awaits some final touches, mainly some kind of scenery or backdrop or curtain so that you can't see the puppeteers (though, they have to kneel tall even to reach, so that's not too much of a problem) or the kitchen behind them. We could even add waxed paper and make it a shadow puppet theater.

And of course, we'll have to make a lot more puppets . . . . the only downside, as far as the kids seem concerned, is that they can't see the show they put on. I guess I'm going to have to find the video camera.