Google Earth and Santa

We were playing around on Google Earth tonight, looking for Macedonia, and then touring Sao Paolo, Brazil  in street view.  Henry was really excited.

Henry:  "Let's google earth the North Pole."  

Can you imagine his disappointment as we zoomed down on a sea of blue?  

But Henry is still sitting here next to me, chewing on an apple. 

Henry:  "Mom, let's google where Santa is."

Restaurants and Kids

In the words of one of my kids:  "This is why I like fast food.  You don't have to sit here and do worksheets."

In the Car

I.  In the car on the way there: 

Henry:  "Mom, is it October, or Octover?"

Mom:  "October."

Henry, giggling,"Mom, did you say Octover?  It sounded like Octover."

Mom: "October . . . buh, buh, buh, October."

Henry: "Huh."

A few minutes later.

Henry:  "Mom, I really think Octover is easier to say."

II.  In the car on the way home:

Jackie:  "Mom, I really would like a puppy for Christmas.  I also want an iPhone."

In a chorus of voices, the kids all answer:

"You can't have an iPhone, Jackie."  They know we're not into buying a lot of electronics for our kids.

Jackie:  "How about an iPad?"

Collective groan.

Henry:  "I want an iPhone and an iPad too."

Morgan:  "Stop asking for things you can't have."

Jackie:  "Can I at least have a puppy?"

Henry:  "Yeah, and I really want a flying squirrel for Christmas."

"Huh?"  Little does he know he really could have caught one in our attic last year.

Henry:  "Or a sugar glider."  Which is some kind of flying marsupial (think opossum family).

Sugar Glider

Photo Credit

Morgan informs me they all know about sugar gliders from PBS Wild Kratts.   I'm trying to remember how we handled the Christmas pet request in the past. . . . Fur Reals, Sea Monkeys, more Fur Reals. 

For You, Mom

Henry came home from school last week with a pile of pictures.   

He gave me a hug and said, "Mom, I drew these just for you."

Alligators Eating a Deer (notice the wound in the deer's side.)

King Cobra

Copperhead Snake

Black Widow Spider (black circle in corner is the moon)

Somehow I found this a striking contrast between education and lack of . . .

Found in our Compost Pile

I went to dump some watermelon rinds in the compost pile, and the leaves were slowly moving.  With a stick, I uncovered these two together.  The red eye in the picture is not edited--it really was that red.

Window Markers

Someone recently gave these to my kids--they are a complete hit.  Crayola crystal effects markers.  My kids  have washed and re marked the windows just about every day since they received them.  

This week I attended training in arts integration.  We studied Aboriginal culture and art, and created our own "Aboriginal" paintings.  With that we integrated poetry.  I started out wanting to paint and write about the effect of the spotted owl on the lumber industry in Oregon, but it soon turned to one of the most important people in my life instead.  

Aboriginal art uses symbols and dots to tell a story.   The symbol in my painting is a commonly used Aboriginal symbol.  You should be able to interpret it by reading my poem.

Tree Farmer

1

Dry, clean, and clear,                                                                 

The air wisps and waves over rolling hills and jagged peaks.

It dives and dozes in the summer morning coolness,

And traces the lines

Separating the earthy shapes below.

Soft as the whisper of a dragonfly’s wings,

It touches the tops of the grand Douglas firs

Drinking in the deep green,

And twisting down and round the scratchy trunks.

Until it breaks through the evergreen wall,

To the clear cut canyon.

The air weaves through drying brush piles,

But stops short, seeing

A sapling, peeking

From the sea of brown.

And then another.

And another,

The beginning of a new forest.

2

The man grows trees.

He grows children too.

The air gathers round the father and his children,

Who once carried dusty shovels

And burlap bags of saplings.

Later, staplers and papers to foil the deer,

Tin foil to protect from mice.

The air races round the children, their mother and father,

Faces lit by campfire,

Singing with an accordion,

Roasting marshmallows in the glowing coals,

Slumbering.

The air cools to older youth.

With their father,

They wield long pole saws in the drizzling rain,

And then chainsaws,

Pruning and training to grow

Straight and tall, lumber.

It is his farm.

It is their farm.

3

But really it is his farm.

And now the air dips down,

Ruffles gray hair,

And traces wrinkles,

Lines of satisfaction.

Seventy, bent, but sinewy,

The aging man climbs through a stand of trees,

Rows standing at attention

Showing respect.

I will not spend my final years

In a rocking chair,

The thought flows,

And the air embraces

His trees,

His children,

And his memories,

And whispers strength into his ears.

Morgan (11) commented tonight,  "My friend really believes that mermaids are real."

Jackie, knowingly shaking her head replied,  "Isn't that funny?  I mean, some people say mermaids are real and Santa's not.  Can you believe that?"

Then in a sing-song voice, Jackie continues, "Santa brings us gifts, eats the cookies . . . "

Tonight Henry came down in his cute little red and blue Star Wars jammies.

Henry:  "Mom, can I have a cuddle?"

Me:  "Hmmmmm . . . "  I was busy on the computer.

Henry:  "Mom, I'm a good cuddler.  And besides that. . . I'm cute."

How could I resist this sweet kid?  Impossible.

Bike Safety

Matthew took Henry on a bike ride the other day:

Henry:  "Dad, you'd better put on your bike helmet because it would hurt a lot if you fell down."

Matthew:  "Why is that, Henry?"

Henry:  "Because your hair is so little."

Daddy Daughter Dance

I am not a seamstress, by any means.  Nor do I want to be one.  My mother was an excellent seamstress, and she tried to encourage me to learn.  When I was in elementary school, I did participate in 4-H sewing.  I even competed at the state fair with a pair of awkwardly fitting, royal blue peddle pushers.  I probably have a participant's ribbon tucked somewhere in a box.  But sewing didn't stick, and my sewing today is limited to whatever I'm encouraged to sew by good friends here and there.  Sewing Morgan's blue skirt for a daddy daughter sock hop at church was this type of adventure.  Everyone was doing it, so I yielded to peer pressure.  With help, I think her skirt turned out pretty nice, and I enjoyed spending time with friends. 

I borrowed Jackie's pink skirt from a friend.  It was a little dirty, so I washed a few places in the sink with water just a few hours before the dance and hung it up to dry because I knew that the dryer would cause the felt to pill more.  

I was surprised that after a few hours, the felt not only wasn't dry, it was still soaking wet.   Being the smart woman I am, I handed Jackie a blow dryer and told her to hold it over the wet area, and I left to help Morgan get ready.   Little did I know that felt actually melts!  Jackie had accidentally melted some holes in the skirt by holding the dryer to closely.  Poor kid.  She cried and cried.  We could barely get her calmed down for this picture.  

I never understand if Jackie was more upset about having holes in the skirt for the dance, or if she was more upset about having put holes in my friend's poodle skirt.  But my friend was extremely gracious and forgiving when I gave it back.  

Judge Not

The funniest thing to me about this video is that I'm more likely to be standing outside my own house and looking inside.  Is it possible that some of us spend more time judging ourselves than others?  And either direction isn't a great thing?

Part of our religion is to have a special family night every Monday night.  We usually have a brief moral lesson, sing a song, and play a game together, and, of course, have a treat.  We call this night Family Home Evening.  Often the children take responsibilities on those nights.   Sometimes they are assigned, and sometimes they volunteer.

This particular family night, Jackie wanted to create a game.  She went into a room, and when she came out, this is what she had created.

My Sweet Boy

Henry's Drawings

These are pictures Henry drew during church a few weeks ago . . . 

Santa Letters

Henry Loves Mom

This is the first of a few posts about Henry's adoration for me.  Lately Henry has been holding on to me more and more, and though I tell him daily that he's simply not allowed to grow up, it keeps happening.  He still sits on my lap all the way through church, and climbs on my back during family prayer.  But I know it won't last forever, so I'm holding onto every moment as if it were my last with a little boy who loves me more than anything else.

He still whispers every night during family prayer, "Mom, I love you, and I don't ever want you to die."

Tonight Henry brought me a bag of leaves he collected on our walk.  He said, "Mom, I wrote something you'll like on all these leaves."

I sure do love this boy!