Falling Far From the Tree

Although I feel as if I spend most of my day picking things up, putting things away, and cleaning, the truth is that I am not by nature a tidy person. Clutter drives me a bit mental, and I always appreciate an orderly room, but achieving that state myself requires self-discipline that frankly, I usually do not muster as often as I should.

Which is why today's little tidying episode with Cubby was a little surprising.

I had sent him upstairs to his room for a timeout after he went too far menacing Charlie with a wooden snake (this one, as a matter of fact). A few minutes later, when I called up to him that he could come back downstairs, he replied, "I'm making Charlie's bed."

Oh. Okay. That's . . . nice of you. Unexpected, but nice.

A few minutes after that, he still hadn't appeared, so we went in search of him. We found him still in his room, folding his pajamas and placing them carefully on his corner of the bench between his and Charlie's beds. Then he lined his slippers up neatly by his bed. He explained that he was tidying up, because he likes a nice, neat room, and wasn't I glad that he decided to pick up his room?

Why, yes. You could say that, Cubby.

I don't know if this interest in tidying will last, but I will not complain if it does. Even if it does mean that I have to listen to lectures about how I need to organize things better.

Reaping What He Sowed

A few months ago, when I was busy inside, Cubby came in and announced that he had planted a garden.

Oh. Details, please?

Turns out he had found a packet of pea seeds in the catch-all container on the mantel and planted them. But not in the actual garden. His garden was to be in the patch of bare dirt where A. used to always park his truck.

I didn't have high hopes for this venture, and I didn't want him to be disappointed. So I cautioned him that I had no idea how old those seeds were, so they might not even germinate.

A couple of weeks later, they germinated.

Then I cautioned him that peas are really a cool-weather crop, so they might not grow very well in hot, dry weather.

So he watered them faithfully, and they grew.

He decided they needed compost and took the very top layer from the compost pile, resulting in a collection of whole egg shells and banana peels around his peas. So I showed him where the well-rotted compost was and he carried buckets of it to his peas and spread it around.

He even weeded regularly. Basically, he was the only one in the house who properly cared for a garden this summer.

And he has peas. Every morning, he goes out and picks three or four pea pods and proceeds to eat them all whole. They're supposed to be shelling peas, but he insists he likes the pods, too.

Whatever you say, Cubby. It's your show.

I'm so proud.

I Came, I Sauced, I Conquered

This times five . . .

And this times three . . .

Plus a large bowl of fresh salsa last night for our carnitas, and I'm left with six quarts of Finny's sauce, two quarts of tomato soup, and this . . .

All hail the tomato-conquering hero(ine). 

I Sauce

There was a new vendor at the tiny farmers market in the tiny village I pass through on my way to the dump. I had stopped by to pick up some tomatoes, with some vague idea of making Finny's tomato sauce if I got enough. The very friendly young woman at the new booth (which, yes, makes me feel about a hundred years old to say, but she was young--like 23 or so) had various quart-size containers of tomatoes and so on for two dollars each.

I asked her for the container of Romas, and she asked, "Do you sauce?" I replied in the affirmative, still looking at cucumbers and green beans and other things. "Do you sauce?" she asked again, a little more forcefully. "Yes," I said, looking directly at her this time and wondering if this was some kind of code and she was going to hand over a bag of weed or something.

Instead she asked me if I wanted a whole box of Romas for twenty dollars. I didn't quite have twenty dollars, though, so I asked her if she would be there next week. And then she lowered her voice a little and said, "You can have the box for fifteen."

Deal. I have a LOT of tomatoes now and a lot of Finny's tomato sauce in my future. Plus, I feel like a member of a secret club.

So tell me, my lovelies: Do you sauce?

Banished

Cubby and Charlie are at this very moment hunting in the gully. This is the small gully right outside the garden fence. Cubby spent about an hour sitting in the brush there yesterday, scoping it out. He had great plans today to get a chipmunk, because it was the only animal unwise enough to get close to him. Charlie is also along for the hunt.

I didn't know Charlie was with Cubby, however, so when I yelled for Cubby to ask if Charlie was there, too, the reply was, "MOOOOOM!!! We're hunting! You're making me scare off the animals!"

Right.

Two minutes later, Cubby appeared to put Mia inside, because she was also impeding the Great Chipmunk Hunt.

I can even now hear Cubby yelling, "Otty! Come here!" I expect Otty will also be banished to the house in the next minute or two.

Nothing gets in the way of a boy and his chipmunk hunt.

Just Like Brad Pitt

Is Brad Pitt still a thing? Do the paparazzi still stalk him? Or is it now someone like Justin Bieber?

Hell if I know. I have three kids under six. I'm pretty much the definition of unhip.

Anyway.

Charlie is not down with the photos these days. If I sneak up on him, I might get a couple before he realizes I'm there with the dreaded camera, but then . . .

Rowing his ship.

Captain Charlie at the controls.

"NOOOO! No pictures!"

I expect to hear from his lawyer any day now.

The Magic of Five Years Old

When a foam build-your-own-superhero-mask from the local library and a floral pillowcase clothespinned to your shirt have transformative powers.

"Mom, wearing this mask and cape really makes me feel like a superhero."

Love it. And him.