live from sublurbia

Between vacation, school starting (two different schools this year, oh boy), job changes, life changes, tropical storms, swimming lessons, belly dancing class, and trying to find one lunch bag that actually works for Wolfie and the varied shapes his lunch takes, I’ve been BUSY.

However, while my kids are all now back in school, some of my friends are in that last week or two of trying to keep everyone happy, entertained, and for a reasonable cost. And some of them found it. Post-it-notes and Sharpies!

I blame Big Sis, who combined numbers one and two, below, one inside-day when there were Chores To Be Done. All the beta moms, actually … my peer group who started on the kid train a little earlier than I, helped me come ip with these ideas while talking about amusing their broods. Mostly class of 2020, some class of 2021, but boy this social networking stuff really lets us brainstorm up good ideas. So most of the credit for this one goes out to all you Beta Moms.

Idea 1: Make a treasure or scavenger hunt with sticky notes. Write each clue pointing to the next and hide them throughout the house.

Idea 2: Make a chore list with the sticky notes. As each kid finishes each chore, they count towards points for a prize or treat.

Idea 3: Cover a poster (one with lots of something the child likes, such as dinosaurs, turtles, superheroes) with sticky notes. As the child does each task or meets each mini goal (I used this one for potty training), the child gets to remove a note and uncover a dinosaur or butterfly.

Idea 4: Write numbers or letters on the notes, have the kid(s) find them all and put them in order.

Idea 5: Write out common letters and have the kid(s) spell out words they know.

One of the great things about this is that a prepared mom, dad, or assorted kid- herder has the sticky notes for Evil Potties anyway; five can be a portable busy game, too.

See this and other kid-straction ideas on Rocks in My Dryer: glow sticks for the win!!!!

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I wish I could recall the rest of the joke instead of just the punch line. It was uproariously funny at the time; a long intra-family discussion of the Pointy Haired Bosses executing the Peter Principle in our general direction.

But yes, the F (Fay) and the G (Gustav) are giving me heartburn.

We’ve been through a few storms before and adapted our plan as our family has grown. Shutters instead of plywood (with successive storm names painted on the sheets). Instead of a shelf of water, beef jerky, and a few other things to load for a ride to sit the storm with relatives, the kids are used to my hurricane closet of snacky treats and flashlights. We rotate board games, books, and have “camp outs” downstairs away from the worst of the weather.

Wolfie’s gotten more literal in his understanding, from painting the wind as the storm singing to us and making music to putting together the more abstract storm tracking tools - radar. He’s not quite got it yet, through no fault of his own. But it did take me a couple of days to understand what he really was looking for - actual purple colored rain out the window instead of only on the computer or television screen. Whoops. Helvi’s just in it for the cookies and the party atmosphere of “camp hur’cane!”

Oh, Fay. Rain on my rooftop, rain in my house. Gah. I hope Gustav stays far enough away from us that I can get that (hopefully minor!) leak fixed. It’s at an odd angle so I’m not even certain I could really tarp it up.

Thinking of you guys in the path, over and above my own self-centered concerns. Time to dust off some of my old hurricane/camping survival techniques.

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The six-year-old birthday girl screams as a doll that is whole only from the waist up is removed from a birthday cake, sobbing and hiccuping, trying to be understood by adults trying hard to stifle their laughter.

I do remember it being a lovely cake. Lovely. A wonderful gesture by one of the Aunt Mommies in my family. Yellow star-shape frosting squirts decorating a lovely full hoop-style skirt. Barbie’s torso sticking out of the top, smiling her open-mouthed smile as if everything is fine, that she doesn’t mind us feasting upon her lovely limbs and ankle-length finery.

“Wow,” I probably thought. “A Barbie doll of my own! With all her parts!” I did ‘own’ a few dolls of her style, hand me downs with their own enormous trunk of inflatable furniture. These were shared with a sister and several cousins; all their finery and furnishings were quite loved. The one true Mattel brand Barbie doll we did own was shy a hand; the second gone somewhere in the yard after a dog took her as a chew toy for a while.

I apparently got over it the butchered Barbie doll, though I don’t remember tucking her in my little bag after the party. Mom says that they hid what was left of her away and distracted me with other things. That Aunt Mommy had been making those style cakes for years, and I was her first terrified recipient. From then on she made the cakes using whole Barbie dolls instead of refugees from Sid’s bedroom.

The next winter, I did get my own new Barbie doll from that side of the family. She came complete with inedible yellow dress and full, bendable legs and special “shampoo” that let me set her hair straight or curly (until it ran out and she was stuck in curly mode forever).

Now adays, picking cakes for my own kids, I see that birthday cakes come from the store bakery with fully-functioning removable toys as part of the decor. I haven’t asked about Barbie-dress cakes yet; but I’ll make sure she’s a whole gal when I do.

My thanks to Wife and Mommy for reminding me of this story with her post about what is possibly one of the worst cakes ever from the Cake Wrecks blog.

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I spent a few days recently with friends and family, rolling along our old summer hills, catching up with cousins who look like their teenaged selves only taller, seeing their kids who are even taller than I. We traded stories, took turns trading kids and helping out, and I realized we’d all become the Uncle Daddies and Aunt Mommies of our childhood.

The “rules”, such as they were, were pretty loose and basic. Crowded summers were filled with family of all shape and size coming from far and near points, hanging out at various intervals for long periods of time. Cousins were traded and lent out, Aunts and Uncles did extra kid duty, and as in large families, you could be younger than your own niece or nephew or older than your uncle or aunt. I don’t think anyone was their own grandfather. Continue Reading »

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“It makes cool bubbles!”

I’m physics-challenged. I tend to, from time to time, expect the world around me to behave like a RoadRunner cartoon; I can “pick up” a rake by stepping on the tines (no), if a hill in an unfamiliar town is steep enough, I’ll simply start careening down it, end over end, until I land in a canyon or gorge or bay (maybe!!!), or feet will stop a bike that has no brakes long before I get to that garage door (I think I can still see the dents in the door).

So when I get any version of “Hey mom, watch THIS” … I get worried. Because I’m sure the kids will find some way to creatively damage themselves that I or my siblings and cousins haven’t managed yet. Continue Reading »

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So composting in the tumbler is going well. All the husks of summer corn and nut shells from various trips are browning my overly green bin nicely.

But the darn thing still smells funny. Not rotting or putrid from too many greens or enthusiastic spinning, and not yet the nice earthy smell my worms churn out.

In a word, popcorn. The bin, at last check, smelled like freshly popped microwave popcorn. A little corny and a hint of oily burn you don’t get from air or stove and oil popped corn.

I’ve asked a couple of gardeners and done searches online. Nothing. Ideas, anyone?

Other than that, a quiet summer in the garden. A few veggies, no fruits of my own, but much bounty in the gardens I’ve been touring as I spend a few days with friends. I’m coming back full if ideas for expansion and more gummy edibles.

Hope your summer gardens are growing well.

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