A RealFamilies RealFun Blog

Jul 15 2008

Drawings in time

Category: At Home

I'm inundated with kid stuff. Brightly colored toys have taken over the family room and bedrooms. The kitchen cupboards are stuffed with plastic cups from restaurants, tourist attractions, and sporting events.  Yet, I know it's temporary. Toys are outgrown and sold at consignment shops or donated. Plastic cups wear out and are replaced by sports bottles.

But what about all the paperwork?

Each week, Nathan comes home with a backpack bursting with weekly assignments, art projects, teacher's notes, and event fliers. I put them in a large folding file. Once the file is full, I throw away the fliers and worksheets without regret.

But his drawings of crooked faces with spiky hair and squishy bodies with long limbs are impossible to part with. I love it when he labels them "mom" or "dad" especially since I tend to agree with his representation of my "grumpy mom, working in her sweats" appearance.

Lucie's drawings are even more endearing. She draws alien beings with lumpy potato shaped heads, big expressive eyes, button noses, and wide grins. Lacking bodies, their limbs are attached directly to their heads. Dancing, grinning, or reclining leisurely, the drawings show expression and humor. I often display the drawings on the dining room table. I smile every time I walk by them.

I could be really practical, and scan the drawings into the computer. Yet, there's something special about holding a piece of paper your child drew on years ago. So I compromise. I determine which drawings best represent a certain period of time, and put them away in "memory boxes" along with hospital bracelets, baby announcements, ticket stubs, birthday cards, and other mementos.

Since I have a fear of turning into one of those crazy people whose homes are filled with monster stacks of paper, I take the rest of the drawings, and shove them deep into the recycling bin. Quickly covering them with newspapers, my heart breaks at tossing the tangible output of my children's artistic souls. It feels like throwing away a cherished moment in time.

 

Jul 14 2008

Strand by strand

Category: Come and Get It

It was one of those Friday evenings that I hated to leave the house. We had a refrigerator bursting with leftovers, and I wasn't in the mood to eat out. The previous evening Paul and I experienced the most expensive and decadent meal we'd ever had at one of Denver's top restaurants.

Perched above Boulder, we sipped cocktails and gazed over the city below, while our host consulted with the sommelier on the wine selection. Except for a delicious cheese plate, everything I ate came with a sliver of pan seared fois gras. Paul had buffalo Wellington (also with fois gras) and I had sweet meats and raw tuna. (I'm an adventurous eater.) It was a lovely evening among adults, with no kids needing our attention or assistance.

Twelve hours later my hangover was finally gone, and my appetite somewhat reappeared. But if it wasn't for having to go to Office Depot to pick up supplies for a weekend project, I'd be home enjoying some toast and tea. I wasn't up to the challenge of eating a full meal yet.

I arranged for Paul to meet us at a nearby restaurant. He wasn't hungry either after the previous evening's festivities and a lunch time birthday celebration for a coworker. Still the kids had to be fed no matter what or we'd have a mutiny on our hands.

We were seated at a patio table surrounded by young people partying after a long day at work. Paul and I studied the menu for something light, while Nathan and Lucie drank soft drinks and colored. The waitress took our orders, lasagna for Paul (he considered that a light meal for some reason), a salad for me, and a kid's pizza for Nathan. Then it was Lucie's turn to order. Usually, she doesn't eat much when we go out, preferring to pick off my plate or to snack on a side order of French fries. But tonight she surprised us. When read the kid's meal choices to her, she chose spaghetti AND a meatball. I was convinced that we'd end up taking most of it home.

Our order came quickly. Nathan picked at his pizza and had to be nagged at to sit and eat. With him, it was a few bites here and there. Then he had a long drink of soda, followed by an attack of ants in the pants. He talked and talked and talked. Then he got out of his chair, jumped around a bit, and ran off to the bathroom (with a stop at the video machines). By the time he came back, the pizza was cold. Paul soon grew impatient with Nathan's monkey behavior, and sternly instructed him to sit his butt down and eat.

Lucie was ravenous, digging into her spaghetti with gusto, and practically inhaled the gigantic meatball. However, she slowed down while sucking up the almost foot long spaghetti noodles. Realizing she'd quickly be covered in sauce, Lucie asked me for her bib before things got too messy.

I wiped her face and hands off at regular intervals, and snuck my fork into her plate to cut up the noodles, hoping to speed her up. Slowly the spaghetti disappeared. By the time she was halfway through, we we're finished with our food. Our leftovers were boxed up and the bill was paid. Then Paul reached over to put her meal in a container

Lucie exploded, "Hey, Dad! I'M NOT DONE YET!"

Slowly attacked by Nathan's ants in the pants (who knew it was contagious?) we not-so-patiently watched Lucie eat the rest of her spaghetti. She had our undivided attention and relished every torturous, strand by tomato sauce covered strand.

 

Jul 11 2008

Graphing the jag

Category: At Home

I'm thinking of conducting a science experiment. I'll get a fresh gallon jug of milk and open it at 6 a.m. Only Lucie and Nathan will be allowed milk from this jug. And every night before I go to bed I'll draw a line in permanent marker showing where the milk level is. Then when it's gone -- and if I feel inspired -- maybe I'll start another fresh gallon and mark it up each night until it's empty. After all, the more data I collect, the more valid the experiment.

In the meantime, I'll create a spreadsheet showing the days of the week, the daily high and low temperatures, the humidity, and barometric pressure. I'll also record the phases of the moon. Then I'll add the daily milk intake, and try to figure out if there's a correlation.

Why? Well, there's got to be a rationale to explain why some weeks the milk is gone in three days and others a gallon lasts more than seven. Why is it that some days the kids drink milk morning, noon, and night, and other times they prefer juice or barely drink at all? 

It could be due to the weather or the lunar cycle. Or maybe it's just because Nathan and Lucie's milk jag is over as soon as I stock up and buy two gallons, instead of one, at the store.