The politics of laundry day

  It's clothesline season again. I love my clotheslines, which my husband built for me. He asked how many lines across I wanted -- two, three? I said, how about six? It's easy to fill up all the lines, especially on the days I go to the laundromat. (In case you missed it, I have written before about how going to the laundromat is a luxury for me. It's how I get caught up when the laundry pile gets too high.) I bring all the wet clothes home from the laundromat and hang them up.
  I have been looking online for some figures that would spell out the cost savings of using a clothesline. I can't find anything very easy to understand, but I have settled in my mind to think of it as $25 a month. Besides the cost savings to me, there's the "think-globally" energy savings, and you can't beat the smell of laundry hung on a line.
  I know that some communities ban clotheslines. I find this so unbelievable that I'm almost at a loss for words. What's next, banning vegetable gardens? Compost bins? Wood piles? Rain barrels? I'm far from living a sustainable life, but I make efforts toward that goal. Using a clothesline is a simple step people can take to reduce pollution and promote energy independence. (If you criminalize clotheslines, the terrorists have already won!) If local governments dictate that clotheslines are illegal, that's just wrong. I should probably take the time to write a more convincing argument, but I have more laundry to do.

  On the day I took these photos, I detected a weird smell from the costume box, so everything got washed. It looks like the 12 Dancing Princesses live here. And one Power Ranger.

We're no Cinderellas

  I bought my son new shoes about two months ago. Today he told me they're too small. "All right," I said, "we'll get you some new ones today."
  The scene: We're in the boys' shoe aisle at Target. I look at the boxes for a size that's bigger. Top shelf. Nope ... nope ... nope. Nothing big enough. And then it hits me. The shoes that size aren't here, they're over there. I turn my head to the back wall where the men's shoes are, the aisle lengthening before me like those scenes in scary movies where they move the camera away and zoom at the same time.
  I look back at the boys' shelves. "No way," I think, and then say, "I can't believe I don't have my camera. This is a big thing that's happening." From him: "Mo-omm!" He smiles.

  Every mother of a boy probably imagines that someday, his feet will be bigger than hers. But I wear a women's size 11. I thought he'd be a teenager, or in double-digits at least, before we wore the same size. But he's 9 years old. And I just bought him a men's 8-and-a-half shoe. They're only a half-size small for me.

  I didn't have my camera at the store, but we took a picture at home. I had to hold the photographer's Popcicle.

Museums get lost in a crowd

  Our town has a children's museum that has recently brought back my kids' favorite exhibit, the castle. It has been gone for, I'm guessing, two years, so my youngest child doesn't even remember it. The older two have always had fun putting on a costume and pretending that they're cooking, gardening, shopping, riding horses and more.

  We arrived Friday to find about 60 kids and six or so teachers and chaperones filling the place to capacity, one large corner of the area piled high with their backpacks.
  To get to the main floor, we walked down an enclosed, spiral staircase so packed with children that the pace was pretty slow. A boy pushed into my back. I turned to him and said, "You know, I can't go any faster just because you're pushing me."
  We got to the main floor and a different boy threw something that hit me in the leg. "Hey," I told him. "You just hit me with your shoe!" Then I saw that he had actually thrown a foam hammer that belonged in the blacksmith's area. "Oh, that's not your shoe," I said. "You know, this is soft foam, but it could still bonk someone in the head. It's not for throwing."
  Neither boy said anything to me, but both seemed relieved that they weren't in trouble. If the crowd had been smaller, I wouldn't have said anything, but there seemed to be a need for more help. Is that weird of me, telling kids I don't know not to push people down stairs and throw foam hammers? I'm really not sure.
  My kids know I hate to show up somewhere and find a big crowd. It's probably a homeschooler thing. We don't like to share the library, either. Fortunately, I had wisely timed our visit to correspond with lunch time. This is a nice thing about sleeping late and eating breakfast at 9 or 10 a.m.; we're not hungry again until about 2 in the afternoon.

  Here is a recreation of the expression I had when I saw the teachers rounding up the children to go. One woman briefly tried to round up my 6-year-old and then realized she wasn't a part of their group.

  Ah -- space.
  There were two other children besides mine left to play. I think it's great to meet a few kids to play with, but when I see buses parked outside, I usually postpone our trip. (The buses were out-of-sight on this day. Sneaky.)
  It's a different experience to visit the children's museum when it's crowded and when it's empty. When there's a crowd, too much work is required just to negotiate the crowd. I think the exhibit literally gets lost in it. If parents know their kids have been the a museum, zoo, library, etc., with a school class, I hope they take the kids alone sometime, too. It's much nicer.
  Princess and Cookie, who's 3, had a fun time dressing up.

A knight and princess.


A blacksmith riding a unicorn

A queen (right) took her pet dragon (left) to a fine restaurant.

  Gameboy used to love this place. He has been there dozens of times since age 2, and now he's 9. After we were there about 15 minutes, he said to me, "You know, Mom, maybe it's because I'm getting older, but this place doesn't seem so much fun anymore."
  That made me a little sad to see my boy growing up, and he seemed to feel it, too.

Unibrow

  If I could do it again, I would take the picture. But last night, when I got home from work late and saw Cookie, my 3-year-old, I didn't take the picture.
  She had drawn on her chest and face with a blue marker. She woke up when I got home, and I took her to the bathroom. I gasped when I saw what she had done. She froze. I didn't say anything. She ventured to say, "You not mad?" "No," I said, "I'm not mad."
  I took her to church Sunday morning with the blue marker still there. We got ready in a hurry, and I wasn't sure it would wash off. More than one person commented on how cute she looked. Everyone seemed to understand why she had marker on her face, a large patch of blue between her eyes, reaching up onto her forehead.
  Later that day, we easily washed it off. "See Momma," she said. "It look like mustache."
  It was only then I realized that she had been trying to draw a mustache on herself and missed. I can imagine her now, keeping her eyes on the marker, circling around, trying to draw on the right spot. For a 3-year-old, drawing under your nose would be pretty difficult. Between your eyes is easier.
  If I could do it again, I would take the picture.

House of Rock, Part II

  For the sake of historical accuracy, I need to immediately update my daughter's Guitar Hero status. As I write, she is tearing her way through the Easy level, having learned to play well enough to leave practice mode behind. She keeps her fingers loose and relaxed and casually hits the "star power" button without messing up the song. And Tom Morello, if you're reading this, I'm sorry to say she made you cry.

  I keep giving her amazed looks, and she says, "What? I'm good at it!"

  I admire how quickly she gets back on track after making a mistake. She'll tap her little foot, maybe even stand up, and get in the groove. Once, she spontaneously fell to her knees and continued to play. What a rock star.

House of Rock

  We have a new way to spend that quality screen-time at our home, playing my Mother's Day present, Guitar Hero III.
  My son got 100% on Easy Level playing Pat Benatar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." I'm sure he'd like me to share this photo with you.

  My daughter is still in practice mode. You can see the concentration in her eyes, or the madness; I'm not sure which.

  I got through Easy and Medium levels, and beat 14 songs on the Hard level. There's one level higher than that, but I've peeked, and if I ever get that good, I've been playing too much.
  I can only play about six songs in a row before I get woozy. The TV starts to look as if it's stretching toward the ceiling. It's the effect from staring at the colored dots flying toward me. I need to remind myself to blink and breathe.
  I wish Guitar Hero came with a real guitar, and had real sheet music on the screen instead of colored dots. We'd be learning to play the guitar! Instead, I'm not sure what we're doing. I'm reaching to find the educational value to it. We were watching the movie "Shrek the Third," and my son recognized the song "Barracuda."
  We're learning 1970s rock songs? That's something, I guess.
  The game is rated for teens; I am aware. I told the kids they can play the song "Talk Dirty to Me," but they're not allowed to sing it. Every parent has to make these important distinctions. Besides the suggestive songs, the only thing I object to is the pseudo-Satanism: girls wearing devil horns, an animated animatronic devil. "Playing around with stuff like that is not cool," I said. And then, the next song that came up was a duel against the devil playing "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," and I said, "Well, OK, that's pretty cool." When you beat the devil, he gets sucked back into a smoky hole, and the band gets on their motorcyles, ready for their next gig, I suppose.


Postscript News Alert: Thanks, Barrett, for your comment bringing Guitar Rising to my attention. It's coming soon, apparently. What a great excuse to buy a real electric guitar!

Garden supervisors

  We haven't planted anything yet, but the garden is getting bigger. My husband is expanding the fenced-in area and hopes to grow some blueberries. I think they're tricky to grow, but what's the harm in trying, right?

  I call this photo "Working Man with Helpers."

Two busy days

  We have been busy the past two days. I have remembered to take my camera, thinking, "I could write about that," but then, who has time when it's so nice out?

  We went to the beach again. The kids always feel like we leave too soon, so I was determined to let them stay as long as they wanted. Two-and-a-half hours later, they were ready to leave.

  The Canadian Forces Snowbirds stunt-flying team put on a free show over the lake. Notice below how Cookie and Princess are leaning with the jets.



  The yard is dried-out enough for football and other games. You get drafted whether you're in the game (above) or not (below).



  It's the end of the school year, and the homeschool series at a local nature center is done. Gameboy and Princess were in the classes, which took the kids outside no matter what the weather. I like that, since it's something I'm not so good at myself.

  A local roller rink has hosted homeschool skate days for years, and we were there today. Cookie was proud to wear the orange skates and skate by herself for a little. I skated for awhile, until I became aware of strange movement within my knee. I took off my skates before there was trouble.

  No matter where she goes, Princess makes a friend.

  I guess we're finally done with Gameboy's play now because the cast party was tonight, bowling and pizza. The poor kid got weird blisters from roller skating and bowling on the same day, a day spent in odd shoes.

  Tomorrow, the calendar is blank. It will be a relaxing change of pace.

Garden report: Not yet

  So I joined the list at Growing Naturally, which looked like a fun little commune to join.
  So what have I grown, you might wonder. Nothing yet. We're still hearing reports that there might be freezing temperatures at night, and even in the day, it's not the kind of weather that makes me want to go outside and work in a garden.


  I'm happy to say my husband got things started, tilling the dirt, digging up weeds and getting things ready for that sunny day, some day soon, I hope, when we'll get some plants in the ground. I usually have good luck with pole beans, zucchini, tomatoes, and edible-pod peas. I'll try basil, corn, peppers and pumpkins sometimes, but they don't do well. I have strawberries, oregano and rhubarb that keep coming back.
  The fence around the garden should have a curved top made from PVC pipe and covered with deer netting. It got destroyed in a wind storm last fall. We'll have to find some way to keep out the deer; I hope we can rebuild the top using the same pipes. I get pretty mad to see deer eating my organic peas.
  So, that's my garden update. I should get to a greenhouse and buy some plants, I know, but I always wait until I'm ready to plant them. I don't need to extra work of taking plants outside and inside every day and night, watering them and keeping the cats away from them. I'm happy with the greenhouse leftovers.
  I'm sure other people in the country are harvesting strawberries now. Lucky.

All dressed up for opening night

  My son just finished being in a play, and here he is with his sister on opening night. He's still in his costume, and she got dressed up, too.
  Not long ago we had a really nice day, and my son said, "What's the date today? I want to build a time machine so I can come back to it."
  I think I'd program this evening into my time machine.

Dance year ends gracefully

  I was washing the hairspray out of Princess' hair late last night when it occurred to me that I wouldn't be taking her to ballet in the morning. The year is over for the dance school, and we have our Saturday mornings back. I'm glad it occurred to me, because I see now, there was a risk that I'd suit up my two girls and take them to class despite the fact that the spring recital was Friday night.
  Cookie had a little show on Sunday for her preschool class, but that was a small, informal thing. Princess is in Pre-Ballet I, which means she's a part of the big show. I had to get her there two hours early to practice on the auditorium stage, she had a strict dress code, and as she excitedly told me, "I have to wear makeup, Mom; I have to!"
  I got her to rehearsal a bit late, but we made it before they went on stage to practice. I was late because I got caught in a time warp fixing her hair. I started putting it in an extra-good bun, enjoying the mother-daughter time, and when I finished, it was, like, 15 minutes later. The anxiety I felt while driving down there, knowing we were running late, was enough punishment not to do that again.
  Princess told me after the show that the ballet helpers were putting bows in the girls' hair and had a problem with hers. She couldn't tell me what the problem was except that one woman told another, "We have a bun issue here." The phrasing made me laugh. It's a little like "Houston, we have a problem." I thought her hair was done to spec. It looks a little different than the other girls' tiny, flat buns, but as Princess pointed out, "Mom, I have a lot of hair!"
  I don't have pictures of her onstage. There were big signs proclaiming "No Photography Allowed!" The people who sat in front of us have pictures. Video, too. I'm glad their daughter was in a different class, otherwise, my girls' show would have been the one during which I had to look at two bright display screens (wife on camera, husband on video recorder) and listen to the clicking of picture after picture being taken. Really, the no-photo rule is a good one. It's not a very classy ballet show to have an audience full of paparazzi.
  So, no pictures, but the show was beautiful. The girls were graceful and smart, remembering their steps and covering up their mistakes. I was impressed that no one got too scared to perform. Watching my children onstage puts them in such a different perspective. They seem so capable and creative, ready to leave home to start grown-up lives. At least for now, they still need me to pick them up backstage, drive them home and tuck them in bed.
  It seems such a short time ago that I was signing up the girls for 9 a.m. Saturday dance class, wondering how I'd get there week after week. The girls worked so hard and learned so much, but here I am, swelling with pride for waking up and driving. Go, Mom!
  If Princess wants to move up a level for next year, that class is Saturdays at 10 a.m. That's better, right?

Back to the beach

  Lake Superior is the biggest freshwater lake in the world and our playground. I bought a blank book that I titled "The Beach Book." Sometimes when we go to the lake, I record what it was like that day and what we did. I thought to do this because it's very different depending on the weather. It can be hot and full of flies. It can be so windy, it will knock you over. There can be 6 feet of ice chunks piled up, or waves crashing higher than the car. Or it can be like our last visit, quiet and calm with no people anywhere.

  It was about 8 p.m. It seems as if we were just at the winter solstice, with the sun doing little to light or warm our world, and already we're approaching June with its incredibly long days.

  The year seems so lopsided that we spend plenty of time outside enjoying the daylight, even if it's late. People who live in even more extreme latitudes might laugh at me, I suppose. Or maybe they'll just understand what I'm talking about.
  (That's Cookie playing "sink or float." You can see her stick floating in the water. Next, she'll find out what happens to the rock.)

  It was nice to visit the beach and not feel in danger. If the basalt rock is covered in ice, I'm afraid they'll slip in. If the waves are pounding hard on the beach, I'm afraid they'll get sucked in. But now, if they fall into the lake, I'm confident that I can pluck them out and endure the chilly drive home.

  The kids run around all summer without shoes. I think it's good for their feet, despite the cuts and splinters. During this visit to the beach, I was still wearing a hat and jacket, not to mention my shoes, but the kids can't wait to run barefoot on the rocks.

Mom gets creative

  Cookie, age 3, not her real name, had her first dance recital this week. She's in Creative Movement, which is pretty casual because it's for ages 3 to 5. In higher levels at the ballet school, there are strict dress codes. But for Creative Movement, they wear what they want, and the recital is held in one of the dance studios where the kids can feel at ease.
  Nevertheless, it almost came to pass that this would be the only memory I would have from Cookie's first show.

  She had misunderstood me, and thought that she was going to see a dance show, not be in one. She went from scared to mad to screaming pretty quickly.
  I was trying hard to avoid parental ultimatums. That meant no "You stop it or we're leaving." or "That's it, you're going to stay out here." Why? Because I really, really wanted to see her dance. I told her to stand in the other room until I came to check on her. (The clock was ticking; some of the other classes were already performing.)
  Thirty seconds later, I returned. "I have an idea," I said. "You come sit on Momma's lap, and when your class is dancing, you can join them if you want." (She had been screaming to come with me, so I wanted to act like it was my idea.) She gladly came with me. When it was time for her class to dance, she jumped right up to join them.

  They were super cute. Her hair, so often a wild lion's mane, was gorgeous.

  Some of the advanced students performed for us. After the show, they were greeting the audience and posing for pictures. I told Cookie to stand with the pretty ballerinas for a picture. I'm not sure what the look on her face is saying, but it might be, "I'll stand here because I'm too tired of screaming and fighting you, but I'm suspicious of your motives, don't understand who these people are, and would really like to just go get a cookie. If I let you take the picture, you'll let me get a cookie, right?"
  Yes, dear, you may have a cookie.

Making mouse cookies

  We made peanut butter cookies from a recipe in "Taste of Home" magazine. I don't usually like recipes that involve this much decorating. I was pleased to see how well my 3-year-old made the cookies all by herself. Of course, I made the dough the night before so that all we'd have to do is decorate and cook them. Otherwise, they get tired of the whole project, and I'm left decorating the ridiculous things myself.

  Each kid had a plate to work on, and each ingredient was separated into a bowl. It was like a cooking show, where they hire someone else to do the dishes. (OK, so it wasn't exactly like a cooking show.)

  Here are the mice waiting to go into the oven. They get their little tails after they're cooked, but before they cool down. It was funny to see how slight changes in the placement of the candy pieces made them have different expressions. One, especially, looked really angry.

  Our cookies did not turn out like in the magazine picture. The mice are pretty flat. We made these to take to a party, so we only took the prettiest ones. On some of the mice, the faces had slid to the side while cooking, so the mice looked dead. Those were our personal favorites, so it's best we kept them anyway.

A clear record of every second of the day

  The thought of better documenting our days has come to mind. Our homeschool teaches all the subjects required by state law, I do the required annual test, and I do keep some records. But a lot of what we do is kinda like this:

Science
  Yesterday, we found some mushroom spore pods and had fun poking them to make smoky puffs come out. We looked up images on the internet and found some that looked the same.

Drama, Music, Dancing
  My son is in a play, and was at a practice when my girls started dancing and singing with the karaoke machine. That's "Crazy," as sung by Patsy Cline, on the screen. Cookie's version sounded like, "Sheep and dogs and elephants. Cats and cows and monkeys." It was a nice song, including all the animals she could think of.

Animal Science
  Today, the girls set up a zoo and spent a lot of time discussing who could live together and who would eat each other. That blue bin behind Princess is the shark tank, so be careful.

  Of course, neither of my girls is old enough for school to be required by the state. I need to keep that in mind and save my strength for high school.