Charlie's Alexander Day

Charlie came lurching blearily out of his room at 5 o'clock this morning, and I sent him right back to bed. That's just not enough sleep on which to manage a long school day.

He went back to bed without protest, but at 5:30 he was back, saying he just couldn't sleep any more.

"That happens," I said. "But it's going to make for a bit of a hard day at school."

"Yeah," he replied. "But I'm going to fight to make it a good day."

Good attitude, Charlie.

The furnace happened to be running, so he shuffled off to the bathroom to assume his favorite morning position.

Reading with his body on the heating vent in the bathroom, and his head cushioned by the carpet in the hall.

Just as he got settled, though, the furnace turned off. He shuffled back through the kitchen with a resigned expression and announced on his way through, "The day is fighting back."

Some days are like that. Even in Australia.

* If you have no idea what the title and last line of this post are referring to, you have probably not read Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day as many times as I have.

Some Small Slices

Let's just say that these photos and the accompanying explanations are small slices of the bizarre pie that is our life. Because there's really no other connecting theme.

We'll start with yesterday and work back in time.

Slice #1

In the summer, it is often the case that I spend all day trying to get my children to stay outside, and then they go out about an hour before bedtime. That means that then I have a very hard time getting them back IN.

It's very annoying.

On the plus side, though, we do all get to see skies like this as I'm marching them inside by the ear. (Literally.)

The view to the east looked alarmingly like a mushroom cloud.

And the view to the west looked much more impressive in person. (Both photos--plus about two dozen identical ones--taken by Cubby.)

Slice #2

There is a bull snake that hangs around our property. Cubby has named him Howard. Howard is liable to turn up anywhere, but the other day, the dogs' frantic barking alerted us to the fact that Howard had turned up under the bunk bed in the covered porch*.

We put the dogs in the shop to get them out of the way, then A. nudged Howard out from under the bed and out the door. The children were thrilled to be able to examine Howard up close.

Relatively speaking, that is.

Given that Howard is most likely the same snake that struck at me in the chicken coop, I don't feel quite so friendly towards him as the children do. However, bull snakes do eat rats and gophers, so I grudgingly tolerate his presence.

Slice #3

Remember that goldfish pond Cubby was excavating in the back pasture? Well, he hasn't gotten it big enough for goldfish yet, but it was certainly big enough to make a satisfying children's pond when it filled up after several big rains.

Muddy play is the best play.

Okay, I think that's a big enough pie for now. Over and out.

* Yes, there is a bunk bed in our porch, left there by the previous owner. I think his nephews used to sleep out there when they were visiting. We use the top bunk to store junk we don't want the kids to get. The bottom bunk is now a dog bed, and the space under the bed is also a dog den.

Making Do

At various times, I have considered buying a small wading pool for the children to play in. But you know what always stops me?

The plastic.

Those things are nothing but plastic, and I HATE plastic. So why would I saddle myself with a giant piece of plastic that I will eventually have to dispose of, probably sooner rather than later?

No. Sorry, kids. No pool for you.

Luckily, they don't know what they're missing.

Also luckily, when presented with no ready-made accumulations of water, children are very capable of manufacturing one.

In Charlie's case, that meant digging out the dirt right underneath the drippy outdoor faucet while A. was watering to make a suitably muddy pool.

And no plastic in sight. Hooray.

Mars and Venus

Yesterday all four children were playing a game and Charlie came to me very upset, saying Poppy was ruining the game.

"How?" I asked.

"It's a gorilla game, and she keeps saying she's the mommy gorilla!" Charlie told me in great agitation.

Poppy was right behind him, chanting smugly, "I mommy gowiwa! I mommy gowiwa!"

"NO, YOU'RE NOT!" Charlie yelled back at her.

"Okay," I said calmly. "What's the problem with her being a mommy gorilla?"

To which Charlie replied, "She ALWAYS wants there to be mommies and daddies and we ALWAYS want to play killing games! THERE ARE NO MOMMIES IN KILLING GAMES!"

Right.

It's hard to be the sole female sometimes.

No More Pencils, No More Books

And this officially ends the most bizarre school year ever.

School ended this year via distance learning on Zoom, because that's what life is like now.

Charlie had his last Zoom class meeting at 8 a.m., during which his class had a pet show and everyone got to show off their pets. The other five students in his class all showed off their dogs. Charlie chose to introduce everyone to Dorito, the chick that Charlie named and that we're pretty sure is a rooster. Not a pet for much longer, I guess.

Cubby had his last Zoom class meeting at 10:30 a.m., during which his class showed everyone the kites they were invited to make and fly this week. Cubby insisted all week that he didn't want to make a kite--it wasn't required, so I didn't insist--but then decided an hour before his meeting that yes, he DID want a kite.

It was made from a coat hanger, a trash bag, and duct tape, and amazingly, actually flew about twenty feet for ten seconds on his sixth try running down the road to launch it.

Jack had his last Zoom class meeting at noon. His preschool class had "Cowboy Day" for their last class, which was hilarious because the teacher showed a bunch of photos from her own ranch and all the kids basically dressed in their, uh, clothes. Since 80% of them actually live on working ranches.

Jack's cowboy outfit is not his everyday apparel, but we do at least have all the correct items.

He was very excited that I let him borrow my hat, which I do not ever let my children use unless it's for a very specific purpose. Because anything they use gets broken.

Then we celebrated with some banana bread. I felt like I should make them a treat since they were missing their end-of-year sugar-binge parties.

And that was it. It was pretty anticlimactic. 

Our daily lives will change very little now, except I no longer have to nag the older two to do their math or force my very reluctant boys to sit still for Zoom meetings on Mondays and Wednesdays.

Ah, summer. You came none too soon.

Contemplating Eternity

Yesterday while I was on lunchroom duty in the elementary school, wiping applesauce off the floor and reminding the kindergarteners for the 26th time to please stay in their seats and eat their food*, Charlie came over to me and asked, "Hey, Mom, do you know what would happen if a watch and time had a fight?"

Not really being in the mental place to give such a question much thought, and also not really sure what he was talking about, I asked back, "No, what?"

"Well, time would win. Know why?"

"Why?"

"Because the watch would eventually stop, but time goes on forever."

That was not really what I was expecting, but I had to acknowledge the logic of his philosophical train of thought.

And then he went back to his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, no doubt to mull over the meaning of life and the purpose of human existence. At least until recess, when the game of tag on the playground drove all the philosophy out of his head.

* Yes, being a teacher's aide is pretty much just like being a mom. Except I get paid to wipe up applesauce and nag at the school.

An Easter Cholla

Way back in December when we went to cut our Christmas tree near our neighbor's canyon, Charlie called me over to take a look at something. That something was this:

Yes, it's a cholla in the shape of a cross. And yes, it is pink.

Even though we found it around Christmas, it seems more appropriate for this Sunday in Lent.

That's all.

Feeling the Love

So how did Valentine's Day go down in our house? I instituted a strict Sugar Ban for the entire day because of the previous three days of sugar bingeing (birthday+two days of class parties).

And Cubby chased Charlie around trying to kiss him ("But Valentine's Day is all about love!") until Charlie collapsed on the floor screaming, "I hate Cubby! I hate kisses! I hate Valentine's Day! I HATE THE UNIVERSE!"

So, you know. Typical.

Checkmate

About four years ago, for reasons now lost to the mists of time, I suggested to my mom that she could give Cubby a chess board for Christmas. Or maybe his birthday.

As I said, I cannot for the life of me remember now why I suggested that. Maybe he had played it at school and liked it? Maybe we had an old board at Blackrock and he liked it?

I dunno. Upshot is, we have a chess set.

Someone taught Cubby--probably A., but again, my memory on this is leaky as a sieve--so he knew the basic rules. Cubby taught Charlie at some point in the past couple of years. They would play every once in awhile when they got bored, but it was never a regular thing.

Until now.

I have no idea why, but sometime over the Christmas break from school, chess became Charlie's Thing, with a capital "T." And he is startlingly good at it.

First he played Cubby, but Charlie almost always won. Cubby would usually only play one game (probably because he always lost that game), which didn't satisfy Charlie's insatiable chess demands.

Then Charlie started playing A., who, although he knows how to play, hasn't played in years. A. usually won, although Charlie won often enough that A. has to really pay attention to avoid getting sneakily taken out.

Charlie's a menace with those diagonally-moving bishops that come out of nowhere*.

At some point in this chess battling, I mentioned to Charlie that my high school had a chess club.

"Really?" said Charlie. "I'm gonna start one at my school!"

I tried to explain that this was my high school, which was composed of people significantly older than seven years old. Not many seven-year-olds play chess, I told him. Also, my high school had like 500 people from which to pull members for a chess club, and even then, I think there were only maybe six guys in it.

I was trying to prepare him for the fact that maybe he wouldn't get a great response to the idea of a chess club at an elementary school that boasts all of 25 students. I was worried that he would be disappointed if nobody signed up. I couldn't imagine that this would go anywhere.

Nevertheless, he and Cubby made posters to put in the hallways ("Chess Challenge Club. You may be a pro, but can you defeat The Master?") and a sign-up sheet. Charlie brought his chess board with him to school. They decided to hold the meetings during the last recess of the day.

I happened to be working that day, so I was there to see what transpired. And what transpired was, well, a chess club.

Charlie set up his board to the side of the playground and started playing one of the girls in his class. Some kids left the game of tag currently in progress to see what was happening and then there was a small crowd watching the chess game. And then they signed up to be in the club.

The next day that I was at work, the students in Charlie's class were playing chess in their free time and his teacher had to make rules about who could play when.

So Charlie started the chess craze at his elementary school. It probably won't last long, but for now, he's happy.

And I'm happy that my children are braver than I have ever been about being themselves and following their own passions.

Bravo, Charlie. I hope you will always be so true to yourself.

* I know this because he eventually cajoled me into playing with him a couple of times, even though he basically had to re-teach me the game. I haven't played since I was about ten, and it's ridiculous how proud I am of myself that I won both times. Beginners luck, without doubt. But I must admit, chess is pretty fun when I have the mental stamina to play. Which isn't often.

The Woodstove Smackdown

All day, every day.

Charlie: "I suddenly completely understand Flat Stanley."

And the Award for Earliest Seed Order Goes To . . .

Not me.

Yesterday when I was playing with Jack and Poppy, Cubby found a Seeds 'n' Such catalog that had recently arrived and informed me that he and Charlie were planning their "dream garden."

I didn't pay too much attention, as I was being smothered in 80 pounds of small children. But then, about fifteen minutes later, Cubby reappeared with his list of seeds and announced that he was ready to place an order. He had added the seeds up already and knew how much it would cost. He told me that since it was his idea, he was going to pay all the dollars for the order, and Charlie was going to pay the cents, plus shipping.

Charlie sure got the better end of that deal.

I showed Cubby how to look up the catalog number for each kind of seed they wanted, where to enter it on the order form, where to put the sub-total and totals, and where to check the tiny box informing Seeds 'n' Such that we do not want them to share our information with other companies "for marketing purposes."

Sneaky.

Anyway.

You want to know what they ordered, don't you?

Only three things. They ordered one pack of seeds for a giant cabbage variety, one pack for a variety of sweet corn, and one pack for a variety of watermelon*.  Because they ordered early, they're also getting a free packet of basil seeds and one of tomato seeds. They thought this was a great deal.

I wrote a check for them and collected the cash myself. A. promised he would help them stake out their garden area and spread manure and everything on it, though they were disappointed to learn that they can't actually plant their seeds for quite some time yet.

They found another catalog today and wanted to order more things, but we persuaded them that they had plenty of seeds coming and shouldn't overextend themselves in their first year of real gardening.

That's a common newbie mistake, you know.

Anyway, they're very excited to get their seeds in the mail soon. The next generation of gardeners has discovered the joys of seed ordering.

I'm so proud.

* A seeded variety, of course. My watermelon prejudice has definitely been passed down to my children.

Christmas Photos

As is always the case on Christmas day, we had a merry day, but I am now beat and will throw some pictures and captions your way rather than trying to form a coherent narrative.

So! Stockings!

And very poor lighting.

Presents and general chaos!

And more poor lighting.

A brisk walk/ride in the early morning before it got windy.

Four children, two dogs, and a horse. What a circus. But good lighting.

And tamale making with helpers.

Which is why it took me like an hour to assemble 26 tamales, but whatever. Family bonding is the name of the Christmas game.

I hope your Christmas was merry as well, whatever that looks like for you.

Friday Family Fun: The Christmas Shrub Edition

It's the eve of Christmas Eve Eve! Are you all ready? Do you have all your cookies decorated and delivered? Your dozens of gifts all wrapped in coordinating paper? Your three Christmas trees decorated according to their respective themes and color palettes?

Of course you don't. Only Instagram does, and that is not real life.

I don't know about you, but in my real life, we didn't even have a Christmas tree until Friday, and it . . . isn't an Instagram tree.

I will explain. With photos.

Last year we cut our tree at Wally's ranch, since we happened to be there at about the right time while we were out cutting firewood. It was a pinyon, which is a nice shape for a Christmas tree. They tend to be somewhat small, but I actually prefer smaller trees--fewer strands of lights and ornaments needed--so it was fine.

This year, however, we thought it'd be kind of weird to randomly show up at Wally's now that A. isn't working on his house anymore, so we thought we'd ask our neighbor if we could cut one near his canyon. I always feel somewhat awkward asking for things like that, although our neighbor quite obviously did not care in the least. I know that because when I asked him, he said, "Sure. I don't care."

We didn't get to it until after school was out for the break, though, so we went on Friday.

First we had to climb over the gate, because the one we usually go through was locked.

This made it seem a bit illicit, so I was glad I had gotten explicit permission.

It was a beautiful day, very sunny, though it had been quite cold the night before. This meant that the stock tank near the road had a very satisfying layer of ice on it.

Who needs a fancy Christmas tree farm with sleigh rides and cocoa when you have a frozen stock tank to whack with sticks?

I left the family there and took my bodyguards with me for a tree-scouting sortie.

Not that they would be much help if there were a mountain lion, but at least they'd bark.

Unfortunately, we weren't far enough down to find the pinyons. The trees all around us were only cedars, which grow much more bushy than I would have liked. However, beggars can't be choosers, so I found the most tree-shaped shrub I could and had Cubby cut it down.

Then he and Charlie carried it back to the stock tank, where A. set it in the water while the children played some more.

Useful things, stock tanks.

The boys started climbing a large cedar behind us, so Poppy and I spent some time bonding with Odin.

Odin always feels safest when he's hidden. 

Then we brought our shrub home, set it up, and decorated it. I did this by wrapping two strings of lights around it and handing off the box of non-breakable ornaments to the children. This mostly consists of all the ornaments they've made at school over the past several years. So they actually did all the decorating. 

It really is a shame that my lack of an Instagram account deprives people of carefully styled photos like this one.

As you can see, our Christmas tree is more like a Christmas shrub. It does, however, have a very nice Christmas tree scent, and as the children were decorating it, Charlie stood back and said, "Now our tree is starting to look merry." So I guess they don't remember or care what our big, northern-grown Christmas trees used to look like.

Pretty sure all they care about is that there are lights on the thing and some presents under it come December 25th. And that, we can manage.

Greek Romances and "The Hobbit"

Charlie recently finished reading The Hobbit and was fascinated by the roman numerals used for the chapters in that book. I explained what each letter stood for and how to read them in order to figure out what number was represented.

It took me a few minutes, though, to connect that with his question this morning: "How do you type Greek romances on the computer?"

Greek/Roman, numerals/romances. Same same.

And also very funny.

We've Only Just Begun

Last night was the village Halloween celebration. Of course, we went, with the under-10 set in costume.

From left to right we have a very sulky Crusader king, a fighter pilot who needs a couple of years to fill out that flight suit, the world's most adorable chef, and a very fierce ninja in Converse. Plus a couple of puppies who are hopeful that the chef has some treats in that apron.

Part of the celebration is one of those trunk-or-treat deals where the kids go to (parked) cars and get candy. They also got candy at the haunted house. Between the four of them, they came home with this:

Baby Candy Bowl.

After the first day of treats, I always dump all the candy in that one huge colander. So that's the beginning of The Candy Bowl. 

Later this week, there will be a Halloween party in Jack's classroom, as well as one for Cubby and Charlie. And then on Thursday is the actual trick-or-treating. Soon The Candy Bowl will be overflowing into a Candy Bag. 

Given the rate at which I allow my children to eat candy, this means that it will sit around until about Christmas, at which point all the good candy (i.e., chocolate) will be gone, leaving only the unwanted DumDum lollipops and weird stuff like Atomic Fireballs, which I will throw out eventually. It's a tradition.

But for now, we have KitKats and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups in The Candy Bowl, with the promise of much more to come. 

Let the sugar-fueled revelry begin.

A Day of Labor

Big day around the ole New Mexico homestead yesterday, where we celebrated the triumphs of the labor force by . . . laboring.

A. worked on the stone wall that he'll be building for the next, oh, decade.

He asks us to imagine the whole property surrounded by a white stone wall in the Mediterranean style. It's a nice vision.

I spent some time in the morning peeling and slicing apples to dry out in the sun--specifically, on the hood of the Honda, which is where I put the trays--and Cubby decided he wanted to lay in his own personal stash for winter.

I tried to tell him that HE didn't have to be up on the hood for the car to do his prep, but I guess he favors economy of motion.

Charlie "found" (drew) a treasure map and dug for buried treasure.

Alas, either the map was a dud or someone got to the treasure before he did.

Jack dug the Erie Canal in the sand filling A.'s trailer.

And Poppy got in his way. We all have our roles to play, and that is the role of the little sister.

In addition to my usual work:

Which almost always includes laundry in varying amounts.

I sanded and painted a dresser.

This dresser came from the house we bought next door. It's an old, cheap dresser, but free, and I thought it would be nice to replace the small, also cheap pseudo-dresser I got on Amazon for Charlie and Jack's room that doesn't actually have enough room in it for all their clothes.

The "new" dresser had some kind of incredibly ugly pale yellow varnish on it that I could not look at every day for the next twenty years, so I decided to paint it. First I sanded it, though, because the varnish was extremely slick and I didn't think the paint would adhere well.

I used A.'s power sander. First time I'd done that. Did not like. I am not a fan of power tools. Too loud and they vibrate so much.

Anyway. I sanded, then I painted.

Drawers in progress.

I painted it the same pale blue color that the outside of our house is painted, because Dale left behind almost a full gallon of the paint, and the curtains in that bedroom are blue, too. Yes, I used exterior paint for a piece of furniture, which I'm sure is not recommended, but hey, it's what I had. And maybe it will hold up better to the abuse that will no doubt occur in a room full of boys.

I even unscrewed the nasty-looking pulls from the drawers and painted them with some gold spray paint I already had on hand.

I was pretty proud of the egg-carton stabilizer idea.

And then one of the puppies--Jasper, and I suspect it's always going to be Jasper--apparently decided to inspect my work. I know this because I came outside about half an hour later and found that he had blue paint on one ear, one leg (the opposite side from the ear, even!), and his tail.

Despite the puppy interference, I'm pleased with how it came out.

Fancy (fake) gold pulls and all.

It wasn't a restful holiday, but it was very productive.

Just Another Day with the Crazies

This morning, Charlie came outside looking like this:

Some explanation was required.

Me: "What does your hat say? Oh, Ghost Busters.* Have you ever even seen Ghostbusters?"

Charlie: "No, but I heard the song at school before."

Me: "So what made you think of the Ghostbusters?"

Charlie: "Well, I busted Cubby over the head. This is my highest caliber weapon."

Right. Got it.

Shortly before that, I made them all come outside for a photo. My dad had requested that I have them pose by a birthday sign for his aunt, who is deaf, homebound, and turning 90 years old. So I made what is possibly the worst birthday banner ever and shoved my four kids plus the puppies in front of it. 

I took 25 pictures. In some of them Cubby's giant head is blocking half the banner. In others, Cubby looks as if he's throttling one of the puppies. In another, Jack is scowling because I didn't let him hold a puppy. But this one was pretty good.

Further establishing my complete lack of Pinterest credentials.

The best part of this, though, was when I was telling the kids about Aunt Teresa, I told them that my dad used to go stay at her cabin in northern Wisconsin, which had no indoor bathroom. "And that," said Charlie, "is probably why she's lived so long."

You heard it here first: The Fountain of Youth can be found in an outhouse.

* It actually said Gost Busters, but close enough.

Seven . . . and I Owe Him a Photo

(Photo placeholder until I'm home again to post one)

Happy birthday to

the one and only Charlie

Future EMTs

This morning while we were outside, Poppy climbed to the top of the fence and before I could reach her to pull her down, fell backwards. It was a fairly bad fall, about four feet, and would have been much worse had she landed on the log that was just behind her or the hoe that was a couple of feet away.

All of the boys were in the vicinity when it happened--though none, unfortunately, thought to get her down before she fell, apparently. They immediately started running around shrieking that Poppy needed a hospital and then dashed into the house to set one up.

By the time I got inside a few minutes later with a completely calm and uninjured Poppy, her hospital bed was waiting for her and she graciously submitted to the tender ministrations of her brothers.

First they tucked her in securely.

It wouldn't do for the patient to catch a chill.

They all clustered around to minister to her.

She made herself appropriately pathetic for this.

They brought her her water bottle and fed her peanuts.

Peanuts are best for rapid convalescence, obviously.

They decided she needed to be transported to a different hospital and put her on the stretcher to go to the couch.

Amazingly, she thought this was fun.

Shortly after her transfer to the couch hospital she made a full recovery and resumed her typical role as target in all their chasing games. But it was a nice, caring interlude while it lasted.

Timely As Always

Now that it's the Tuesday after Easter, I think it's time to throw some pictures your way, right? Right.

So this girl woke up at 4:40 a.m., which definitely makes it challenging for the Easter Bunny to do her thing.

I guess she figured Jesus rose, and so should she.

Nevertheless, there were eggs* hidden outside to be hunted.

This is such a classic Charlie photo. Shirtless, with the joy of Easter just radiating from his face.

And there were baskets, too.

Chocolate crosses, peanut butter bunnies, calculators, trowels, and vegetable seeds. No jelly beans, because no one likes them. No plastic "grass" either, because that is an abomination.

After which I presented them all with egg salad and crackers, which they of course ignored in favor of eating all the chocolate.

I have fond memories of doing the same thing in my own chocolate-fueled childhood.

Then we got all dressed up and went to church.

Floofy dresses are a definite perk to having a little girl. 

Upon returning home we put the new trowels to work planting the miniature roses that were handed out at church.

Those trowels? They're Fiskars. The Easter Bunny had some help from the MiL on those, and now my children officially have better trowels than I do.

There was also a big planting frenzy by A., who helped the boys plant every single seed they got in their Easter baskets. So we now have about 40 hills of corn, five hills of watermelons, and a twenty-foot row of green beans planted. It's too early for the corn and watermelon, really, but we'll worry about that later. We can always re-plant if we have to, I guess.

Oh, and what did we have for our special Easter dinner? Not ham.

Build Your Own Nachos. Because I'm an adult and I can make what I want on holidays. There has to be some upside to this adulthood nonsense.

And there you have it. Easter is over and we are closing in fast on the end of school.

Eek.

* Incidentally, are we the last people in America that dye and hide real eggs? All I see anymore are the plastic ones filled with junk. I feel about those the same way I feel about plastic grass.