Walking on Rainbows, or, I Let My Kid Paint My Sidewalk

Sydney had a Big Idea.

If you don't know by now that 1) I don't give a flip about our property value, and 2) I let my kids do really weird things in the name of art, then you don't read my blog, but you clearly do read my blog, so it therefore will not surprise you that Sydney wanted to paint our sidewalk like a giant rainbow.

I thought it was a brilliant idea, frankly, and together we mixed up a rainbow's worth of tempera (plus pink, because that's just how the kid rolls).

It was a beautiful, mild, March afternoon, so Sydney started painting. She painted--

--and painted--

--and painted!!!

We live about a half-block from a wonderful park, and thus always have lots of friendly neighbors passing by. I hope they've gotten somewhat accustomed, over the years, to seeing naked children painting each other in the yard, or painting vehicles in the driveway, or plucking dandelion leaves and popping them into their mouths, or climbing six feet into the fork of our silver maple and then LEAPING to the ground, etc., but I'm afraid that our property is never one that just simply blends into the neighborhood.

As Syd worked all afternoon, and I went back and forth from keeping her company in the yard to making dinner to getting some writing done to tidying up in the living room (again), I could see the foot traffic notice Syd's work. Most people just took a long look as they passed, but some people stopped to watch Sydney paint for a while, one couple took some photos, and a few folks paused to chat for a bit--at one point, as I was writing on my laptop near an open window, I heard someone say something to Sydney that I didn't catch, but then she responded, "Oh, I'm allowed to talk to you; I just can't come up to you in case you snatch me."

That at least roughly approximates what I actually told her about interacting with adults outside of my presence, so I'll take it for now!

By the end of the afternoon, just in time for Daddy to come home and be surprised, and with ample time left to tidy away the paint cups before we walked over to Chocolate Moose after dinner for a Thin Mint blizz, the sidewalk was indeed painted like a giant rainbow:

It's bright and vivid and super-saturated, and won't rub off on your shoes as you dance on it:

The paint is student-grade powdered tempera, mixed a little thicker than the directions call for in order to get those vivid colors, and so of course it will wash off eventually. A rain shower or two, a week or so of steady wear, and then it will be a whole other pleasant game to spray the rest of it off with the garden hose while watching the colors run together and dissipate into the grass.

But of course, that's later, when the novelty of the artist's temporary installation has worn off. For now, Sydney is flush with pride at her major accomplishment, happy in the many sincere compliments that come her way from us and from total strangers on the street. She also likes her rainbow sidewalk pretty well herself, as you can see:

That kid is a masterpiece, if I do say so myself.

We used:

Franklin's Sub-Par Cookies

We have a happy history of making the recipes featured in storybooks. The big kid has actually made Amelia Bedelia's cake several times over the past 18 months or so, checking out the book each time to get the recipe, and the kids often ask to make food from their Dr. Seuss Cookbook (We've never actually made the green eggs and ham, but we did make the Pink Ink Yink Drink last week).

A couple of days ago I read Franklin and the Cookies to the little kid, and behold! In the back of the book was a recipe for FRANKLIN'S COOKIES!!! Even more amazingly, we actually had all the ingredients for the cookies (sugar and chocolate chips are hard to keep in our house, because we tend to use them up as soon as we buy them, and then we're just out until the next grocery store run), so we hopped to it almost immediately.

I was a little suspicious of the recipe because it called for a LOT of sugar, and it did some weird things, like not asking the child to cream together the butter and sugar, or instructing her to mix the dry and wet ingredients separately--reminds me of how I used to cook before I knew better, actually, which is why I was suspicious.

And, yeah...

The bad news is that it's not a good cookie recipe. The cookies spread beyond all reason, so that the spacing that you see above resulted in basically a giant cookie cake-type creature. They were WAY too sweet, and since the sugar was never creamed, you could actually see the sugar crystals in each cookie.

But of course, that's just my boring adult perspective. To the little kid, of course, and as it should be, these cookies were perfect. They were sweet, they were chocolate, they were Franklin's own freakin' cookies!

And she made them all by herself. How good does that taste?

P.S. Want to follow along with my craft projects, books I'm reading, dog-walking mishaps, road trips, and other various adventures on the daily? Find me on my Craft Knife Facebook page!

Goodbye, Mothering

I almost feel like I'm selling my babies' babyhood:



I'm selling endless mornings hanging out in the playroom at Bloomington Area Birth Services, flipping through their Mothering magazines, engaging in fascinating conversation with other new mothers about the all the minutiae of our precious babies.

I'm selling a second round of those endless mornings, flipping through the same Mothering magazines, this time much less fascinated by the minutiae discussed by the first-time mommies around me. Diapering? Sleeping? Is she eating enough? Eh, I worried about all that stuff the first time around.

I bought my own subscription, I read every single article, I looked up the authors to read what else they'd written, I examined every ad, then looked up those web sites--it was my first (not nearly last) experience of feeling aghast at the prices put on unfinished wooden toys, or the kinds of woolens that can't be put in your washing machine.

I'd mark certain articles for Matt to read, and he'd come back to me, magazine in hand, saying things like "One of their kids had chicken pox and so they got all the other kids in their playgroup sick ON PURPOSE?!?". Ah, silly boy, with his own first (not nearly last) experience of some unique parenting perspectives.

I kept these magazines what feels like forever, gathering more, lending them out to pregnant friends, getting them back a year later sometimes and rediscovering them myself.

It's always sad to give away something else that signifies, to you, that you don't intend to have more children (especially if you kind of maybe might want more, just a little). Selling our cloth diapers felt the same, as did putting out the turtle sandbox, and the Duplos, and the board books at our last garage sale.

Of course, when I was looking through these magazines to write their description for my ebay listing and I found the magazine for Sydney's birth month and year, I set that one aside from the sell stack altogether. When she's a great grown-up girl and she reads for herself the parenting magazine that I was reading the month that I gave birth to her, will she be touched? Amused?

Or horrified like her poor father?

Deep Breath

I'm pleased to confess that my yesterday ended much better than it began. 

I'm supposed to remember that if I'm having a bad day, we should just leave the house, and unfortunately I did not remember that, but fortunately a good friend texted me not long after I finished writing my post to tell me that she and her kiddos were hanging at the park just down the street from us. When I got that message, I tell you, we were out of the house thirty seconds later and at the park the next minute.

Fresh air always helps, the girls and I were thrilled to get away from each other in the wide open spaces, and whether or not, in the running around and shrieking and pretend kitty games that my kids played with their little friend, they took the time to confess to her what a nightmare their mom had been all day, I certainly found relief in confessing to my dear friend what a nightmare those kids of mine had been (and, yes, what I nightmare I had been, as well). She comforted me by confessing all the nightmare things that she and her own kids had been up to lately, and then we settled down for a couple of hours of happy conversation while following her toddler around on the grass. 

We stayed at the park until dark, by which time Matt had come home, too, and heard the whole story. After we walked back home I shut the door of our study/studio and finished my etsy orders while watching re-runs of The Colbert Report; in the other room, I do believe that Matt clarified some very important issues of policy and procedure with the children, and together they tidied the living room and kitchen, figured out what to eat for dinner, and steam mopped those sticky floors!

Here's my current work in progress, now that (I can't believe it!) school and work are done for the day (what did Matt SAY to those children? Frankly, I don't even want to know...), and the only other activities on the docket are baking cookies, playing outside, and attending our online Magic Tree House Club meeting later:

Two dozen sets of rainbow birthday candles--that's 168 candles! I might get completely caught up on my entire Hulu queue with this order.

The Symbolic Smoothie

I have this fantasy of my days:

I wake up, and while I enjoy my morning coffee and newspaper, my girls fix themselves breakfast and then begin their schoolwork. After the newspaper has been read and the coffee drunk, I join them, and with many a break to read or play or just relax, together we work through the approximately two or so hours of schoolwork and household chores that make up the entirety of our daily responsibilities. After that we're free as birds for the rest of the day--to the park? To the creek? To the garden to plant some beets? The girls play while I finish up etsy orders and writing jobs, and with that out of the way, perhaps we get out the art supplies, or bake some cookies. Later that afternoon, dinner prep is easy in our clean and tidy kitchen, and the girls are excited to help steam vegetables or shape bread dough into rolls to bake. When my guy gets home, he finishes dinner while I finish my mile on the treadmill, then we eat together, have a quick family clean-up time, and then do something fun before the girls go to bed and Matt and I get some time to ourselves.


This is a total fantasy. It has never happened.

The reality is this:

Today I wake up early and groggy, after not having slept well (I often don't sleep well). Over my morning coffee and newspaper, Syd whines about what she did NOT want for breakfast--not frozen waffles, not cereal with milk, not yogurt with granola, not frozen smoothie pops, not a peanut butter sandwich--while Willow, naked, drags the library books out all over the carpet and then sits down to read in a big pile.

After I finish, I clean the remains of last night's dinner off of the table (which is supposed to be Matt's job) while Syd, who has just now figured out what she'd like to eat, sets out a gigantic breakfast for herself and her sister, including four separate glasses (which I'll have to wash) of the exact same kind of juice. Even though my rule is that you must eat at a table or outside, she overturns the recycling bin, spilling paper and cardboard across the floor, and sets three glasses of juice on the overturned bin, and one on the floor. I walk by, ask her to move everything to a table, and as I am in the act of speaking to her she steps backward, knocking the glass of juice on the floor all over the floor. She then attempts to blame her sister so that she won't have to wipe it up.

When that doesn't work, Syd goes to the kitchen for the spray cleaner and comes back with the spray bottle of Murphy's Wood Soap solution that doesn't work well on sticky messes, so I offer to trade her for the vinegar spray and go to the kitchen to get it, seeing that in the middle of the kitchen floor is the empty bottle of juice, with yet another juice spill, totally abandoned, on the floor beside it.

Syd does a lousy job wiping up the messes so that both floors are still sticky when she's done, so I ask her to do it again, whereupon she throws a big fit and then does another lousy job, so now I need to steam mop both the kitchen and the living room.

During this, Will has wandered outside. I look out the window to see that she's STILL not wearing pants, so I yell for her to come back inside and get dressed. Of course, she leaves the back door open, which is currently a dangerous practice since we have five foster kittens in the house.

I ask the girls if they'd rather do schoolwork or chores first, and schoolwork is the winner, so Will works on her presidents poem (she's got them memorized up through Grover Cleveland so far) without throwing a fit, and Sydney works on putting the months of the year in order with the goal of getting them memorized. She DOES throw a fit because she doesn't like to get them wrong, but she does it, and then reads me a Bob book, and then I read to her a chapter from a biography of Martin Luther King, Jr., while Will plays in her room. Will offers to read to her for a while after that, so I work for nearly an hour on a few huge etsy orders while they read together peacefully.

When I can hear that they're done reading, I tell them I'm going to take a shower, and ask them to put their books away and get started on their chores while I'm showering. Somehow, in the space of the two minutes that it takes me to undress, the girls manage to get into a giant fight and Willow, angry at her sister, announces that she's going to take a bath, then gets mad when I tell her that I'm going to shower first and she's going to do her chores.

Obviously, when I'm done with my shower, no chores have been completed--not only is their room not cleaned (something that they do every single day, so how they can wreck it every single day is beyond me, and the dishwasher not emptied, and their teeth and hair not brushed, but their toys are still all over the living room, their dishes and uneaten food from the last two meals are still all over the kitchen counters and the table that I've already cleaned off once today, their library books are still all over the floor, their schoolwork stuff that I've stacked neatly on the coffee table is somehow scattered all over (but not completed, of course), and those juice glasses are still on that overturned recycling bin, with paper scattered everywhere. Have I mentioned that everyone is supposed to clean up after themselves?

I send them to their room to spend the entire five minutes that it should take the two of them to clean it together while I clean around their messes in the living room and the kitchen, because I'll be damned if I'm going to pick up after two such capable children like a maid. Of course, such cleaning is basically ineffective, since I can't vacuum or mop with their crap all over the floor, and I can't load the dishwasher while it's still full, and I can't even throw away yesterday's newspaper since the recycling bin is overturned with juice glasses on top of it. And off course the back door is open again, so there has to be another kitten count.


I'm hungry for lunch, so I remind the girls that they need to stop playing in their room and get it cleaned, and ask if they'd like smoothies. They both say they would, so I make smoothies, dish them out, clean the blender, tell the girls that their smoothies are on the counter for them, and drink my own smoothie while doing some work on the computer.

After lunch I really want to get out and enjoy the lovely day, but I can't stand the fact that the kids still have not done the things that I've asked them to do, so I do the thing where I move my computer work to where they are and nag at them every time they stop working until even I get utterly weary of my own voice. In retaliation, the girls are doing the thing where they work as slowly and inefficiently as possible and stop working the second I stop nagging them, so their bedroom is still wrecked, the living room is still wrecked, and the dishwasher is still full. The library books do get put away, but only by ignoring the fact that it takes Willow a full hour to do so, as she stops to basically read every single book as she puts it away.

It's now 3 pm, and the day, in my opinion, is in ruins. I'm unhappy, the kids are unhappy, the house is wrecked, the etsy orders are unfilled, the schoolwork is not done, the day has not been enjoyed, and I haven't even unfolded the treadmill. I go into the kitchen to get some water and here is where I spy my breaking point:

Willow's smoothie, the smoothie that she said she'd like me to make for her, the smoothie that I did make for her, the smoothie that I set out for her and told her was ready to eat, the smoothie made in the blender that I washed, the smoothie in the glass that I'll wash later, with the straw that will likely be left somewhere for me to pick up and throw away and wipe under, the smoothie containing the expensive frozen fruit and the homemade nutella that I made yesterday, is sitting on the counter, hours later, completely untouched. Sydney's smoothie, as I discover when I go searching for it, has been partially drunk, but it's sitting out on the back deck, glass not rinsed and put in the sink, straw not thrown away, leftover smoothie not poured into a popsicle mold and put in the freezer to enjoy later.

I know, I know--I have happy, healthy, bright children who enjoy their lives. I have a lovely little house that I should enjoy keeping tidy, and a little extra income from those etsy orders and writing jobs. If I'm a crap disciplinarian and I can't keep my floors unsticky, well, that's my own fault, and if I can't get my kids to settle down to memorize their months in order or their five times table, well, they're probably better off unschooling anyway. You don't have to tell me how silly my own personal little pity party is.

Eh, maybe I'll just get my own work done and ignore the little hellions for the rest of the day while they happily raise hell, I'll walk on sticky floors, I'll eat a bowl of yogurt and granola for dinner and let Matt figure out what he can cook in a dirty kitchen with no clean dishes, then when the girls go to bed, it's margaritas and a Toddlers and Tiaras marathon on Netflix for me. And tomorrow, my fantasy of the perfect homeschooling day will certain come true, won't it?

Um...won't it?

Checkmate!

I normally don't let my kids win when we play games. In most board games, like Sorry or Monopoly, or games of chance, like War, they've got enough of a fighting chance without me throwing the game, and in other games, like Scrabble or Quirkle, we don't keep score at all, and in games of skill or logic, like chess or poker, I don't think it's reasonable for them to expect to win the majority of the time when playing adults, and instead I encourage them to focus on the pleasure of a game well played, and the etiquette of good sportsmanship. Syd still throws the occasional fit when she loses a game, and needs to be reminded that a competitive game requires an opponent with the same skill set, and a game of chance chooses its own winners, and good sportsmanship is a behavioral requirement in our family.

It's funny, then, that before Will's latest chess competition, I spent several weeks deliberately throwing games to her. Will loves to play, and has great strategy for a kid her age, but she doesn't tend to aim for checkmate, which means that she tends to lose games against kids who may be less adept players, but who focus all the strength of their young wills into mating her king. Of course Will doesn't care, because she just likes the play, but before this latest competition I wanted to gently, very gently, encourage her to play more aggressively for checkmate.

Argh, such a fine line to walk! Should I focus her at all, or just let her be? Was I sending the message that good sportsmanship means that you can't be competitive? Am I now sending the message that a game isn't fun unless you're trying to win? What message does it also send that 99.9% of the other children at these competitions are boys?

I still can't decide.

Nevertheless, for a few weeks before the competition, Will and I played chess games in which she had a special assignment: checkmate Momma! To take the dive while not make moves so ridiculous as to ruin her good strategies (which depend on logical counter-moves), I pretended that I was playing speed chess, giving myself zero time to contemplate before moving.

And it was--as chess ALWAYS is--fun!

Will has a special skill for eating away her competitor's pieces, whether or not she's gunning for checkmate, so that often her opponents with their laser focus on checkmate don't even really notice the attrition until they suddenly realize that they've basically been forced into a draw:

 How fun!

Also fun, it turns out? That elusive and long sought-after checkmate!

Will had a lot of fun in her chess competition and did well there, but without another competition on the horizon until September, we're back to our normal play. My new chess goals for Will are to encourage her to play more games with the children at her bi-monthly chess club, and to begin learning some formal opening, endgame, and piece-specific strategies that she can then have in her memory to utilize during play.

However...when I think about some of the child (and adult!) behavior that I've witnessed at chess competitions, I'm hugely grateful for my non-competitive kid, whose love of simply playing the game helps me remember to de-emphasize winning in my own life, as well.

Of course, I'm more of a work in progress on that one...

I Understand that You're Jealous of My Super Mario Bros. Coasters

It's a handmade gift that I didn't have to make myself!

It's quite pleasant to have a mother who has the patience for cross stitch.