The Little Red Hen Goes Berry Pickin'

 When I was five or six, my preschool did a stage production of The Little Red Hen. It was a stellar production, and the acting was incredible. Broadway worthy, I'm sure. Anyway, my point is that I know all about the Little Red Hen. Or I thought I did. Today, though... Today, I lived it. Today, I became one with the Hen.

Tater and The Doctor love cooking almost as much as they like looking good.

We have many chefs, bakers, and foodies in our family. Everyone in this house knows their way around the kitchen. When I'm in bed for a week with an MS flair up, you had better be able to fend for yourself because limp veggies from the crisper get pretty old after a few days. Just ask my kids.

 

Big Guy just got busted for eating my berries.

 

Everyone around here likes to eat, too. A lot. A whole lot. In fact, the Big Guy is growing three or four inches a day, and those hollow legs fill up fast. 

Some of my hard earned haul. The rest got eaten when I wasn't looking.

So today, I decided we'd go to the berry picking farm. The idea was that we'd go, pick a ton of berries, and then be livin' la vida strawberries for the next few months. I know this was optimistic of me. Those kids can go through a ton of berries just on the way home. I mean a real ton. Probably.

This swing came from the Garden of Eden, was brought here by the Aztecs, and is endorsed by Chuck Norris.

But instead, the kids found this amazing swing! I say amazing because if I took them to this farm specifically to swing on that swing, it would be the lamest, most boring swing in the history of ever.

So, to recap: I'm planning on a metric ton of strawberries, supplied by my own personal laborers helpers. Shiny, happy swing is the new pied piper. I am picking berries. All by myself. 

What a surprising turn of events.

So the most common comment I heard at the farm? Other parents saying, "Now try to stay out of the mud and dirt. We don't want to get dirty!" This edict was issued to children of all ages, and I finally gave up trying to stifle my snorts. You're on a farm. Picking food. Dirt happens. These are the sorts of things I kept myself entertained with as I picked berries. By myself.

Yep. I'm so dirty and muddy, even the kids are amazed.

 I will say that other moms I was with managed to keep themselves looking pretty fabulous, in spite of the fact that they were crawling around in those fields as much as I was. I (as usual) managed to come away looking like I'd been mud wrestling someone's prize hog. Picking twenty pounds of strawberries in a picked over field is hard, grubby work. I've lived it.

Doodle's not too sure about my berries.

 The berries were good though.

Those knees are no where near as grubby as mine.

And everyone had a good time. Mostly. There was the incident with Tater refusing to give up the magic swing, and then trying to fly away with it by swinging high enough to hit the branch overhead. (Note: always identify the location of the nearest ER when venturing out into new territory.)

Red Berries. Red Hen. See the similarities?

And then I had to wash, hull, sort, and process twenty pounds of strawberries. Not big berries. Small ones. A lot of small ones. And, I got to do it all by myself. Just like the Little Red Hen.

This isn't too far off how she looks at the end of every day, really.

 And, I also got to clean everyone up. This part wasn't really all by myself because the kids were involved. But the chasing short people with a garden hose part was all me. The kids were doing the running away part.

Words cannot express the deliciousness.

But then I got to make this for dinner. (All by myself.)

They may look serious...

And I did get to enjoy it with these guys. Even though they didn't help make it.

 

... but they're not.

And, we all had a great day.

Twenty pounds is a lot of strawberries.

 

Now I get to go deal with the other eighteen pounds. By myself. Or maybe I'll just go to bed.

 

 

Strawberry shortcake and homemade whipped cream. Best Dinner Ever.

I'm Offering Good Money Here.

I would pay good money to have this fella follow me around and sing. Cold, hard cash even, not the monopoly money I offered the last one. Grocery shopping would be way fun. Car trips would be a pleasure again, and can you imagine parent-teacher conferences? The dentist? I bet even the kids would be mesmerized into silence which would be a worthy return on my investment. Except I wouldn't want him to be in the house after dark. That would be kind of creepy. And bathroom time would be off limits, too.

I bet he does sound good in the shower though.

Update: I just played the video to check the link, and it was the quietest two minutes and forty-two seconds of my day. Tater and Doodle just stood next to me, mouths agape, bobbing slightly. At the end, there was a pause, and then Doodle asked, "What. On earth. Was that?!" and Tater begged me to play it again.

Safety Equipment Required

Today, the kids have been quite industrious.

After breffy, they built a beach. With real sand. And real water. In the living room. On the carpet. It started out as an accident (as usual). Less than five minutes after discovering the hole in the kettle ball, I heard hysterical laughter and the sound of running water. That combination of sounds inevitably ends in hours of clean-up, usually involving expensive rented equipment. Thankfully, this time I intercepted the bucket before it made it onto the big sand pile. Unlike the time when we had an actual river and waterfall in the house.

The kids were sent out to get their special vacuum to clean up the sand.

This led (as usual) to a secondary project for them. They are now building a cannon with components from the vacuum, a pink wire mannequin, a crossbow, and several foam (Thank God) arrows. Somehow the dog is part of the plan, too, but I don't think I want to know in what capacity.

We are serious inventors.

Most of the time.

Is it too early in the morning to add a little limoncello to my tea?

Day 5

Today is day 5 of summer vacation.

Kids are not appreciative of my witty sarcasm in response to their plaintive cries of boredom. My suggestion that they fill time by unloading dishwasher, folding laundry, or vacuuming are met with glassy-eyed stares and gaping mouths.

It is difficult to take seriously their pathetic pleas for heat, extra blankets, and the return of their winter garments when I have photographic evidence that they are impervious to cold. I always knew that snapping those shots of them running in the backyard, barefoot and clad only in undergarments, in the middle of that snowstorm would be to my future benefit. Somehow, I thought that benefit would come when they were in their teens, but this works, too.

Today, I opened a new savings account in order to begin saving for the new furniture I will need when the time comes for them to go back to school. The deep indentations are already forming in the cushions where they frequently flop backwards in an attempt to express disdain and/or extreme lethargy. Surgery may also be necessary in order to counter the effects of the frequent eye rolling that accompanies these flopping motions. Must begin saving for that, as well.

The only thing that seems to stir them from their malaise is something called an "x box", and this "box" is filled with strange noises and lights. It is as though there is a car racing through my living room!

I am beginning to feel a strange sort of lethargy creep over me as I write this. All attempts at prying children from couch have failed, piles of laundry taunt me, and the house in general exudes an air of disdain at my attempts to bring order.

I will retreat for now, in order to regroup and rethink my strategy. I will go to my special "thinking place." This is the only sound course of action open to me now.

 

Someone is in my special thinking place.

I Am Twelve

I am not allowed to sit in big kid church unattended anymore.

By big kid church, I mean the "traditional" church service that happens at our church. There are several reasons why I need a chaperone, but what happened today really cemented it. 

If you've read Life From Scratch before, you know a little something about our family. So it should be no surprise that a water balloon was discovered among Tater Tot's possessions in the weekly pre-church pat down. It was confiscated (along with several rocks, a Goosebumps book, a cane, two pine cones, a baby doll sweater, and a pair of my earrings.) The water balloon wound up on my lap when we sat in the sanctuary for the service. Where I forgot about it. For a short time.

They're a year round activity at our house.

I'm a fidgety, grabby sort of person and frequently find myself holding things that I have no memory of picking up. I blame this on my Multiple Sclerosis. Having holes in your brain makes you a bit of a nutter. I have a doctor's note that says so. Anyway, there I am with Tater Tot on one side of me and Doodle on the other, and a live time bomb water balloon in my lap. A water balloon with a name (George), a back story (likes: TV, burping, and eating hamburgers and celery), and its own pillow (rainbow stripes). A water balloon that's been in the family. For a year. And a half.



I'm sitting nicely, shushing kids, looking for the bulletin, blocking access to the tempting stack of blank tithe envelopes, squeezing the water balloon, finding dropped pencils, and trying to pay attention to the responsive reading. It's all going quite well, too. 

This is one time when being Biblical isn't working out so well for me as my left hand does not know what my right hand is doing. Matthew 6:3, taken out of context.



And then, in spectacular, Oscar worthy slow motion action, a rather large body of water appears, suspended. Hovering in the air in front of us. Quivering there like some alien life form. For the space of a heartbeat. And then it isn't. 

Possible intelligent life form.

It's pretty impressive how much water fits into those little water balloons. I was impressed with how it seemed to know right where to go for maximum impact, too. Several square feet of floor, two hymnals, purse, child, unknown lady's hair, my skirt, shoes, underwear, and shirt. 

I think water balloons may be sentient on some level. 



There is nothing quite like seeing the murder of your cherished, antique water balloon that you've loved and cared for since its infancy to make you see red. Which is exactly what happens next. In a voice to make an enraged gorilla proud, Tater shrieks, "Why?! WHY?! Why would you kill him?!" and lunges across my soggy, puddle covered lap to punch Doodle in the face, thinking that he's the murderer.



This is all happens during prayer. Doodle and I with tears from smothered laughing. Tater, enraged and fists swinging. My entire lower half is like a waterfall. Rivers of water dripping onto the floor and pew. People scooting away in all directions.


This is why I am not allowed to be in big church by myself.

Not a happy feeling.

Our church has a mission statement: Inviting God to do a fresh work in us and through us. I think in my case it needs to be changed to "Inviting God to do a fresh work in spite of..." I did feel fresh today though.

Day One And Counting

I am ready for school to start now.

Today is the first day of summer vacation.

Technically speaking, today is the day before the first day of summer vacation. Tomorrow is really the first day since today was supposedly a school day.

I use the expression school day loosely. It was more like 'drop your kids off and they'll get sugared up and then run screaming through campus until the teachers can't take it anymore and call you to come pick them up early' day. That's pretty much like most days, but today was an early release, so it was a little different.

So even though today is not technically the first day of summer vacation, I'm counting it anyway. Because really, I feel like it must be time for them to go back to school already. Summer has gone on too long, and I'm done. Five hours of summer break, and you can put a fork in me.

Here's where we're at:

1. One broken table - victim of Fred Astaire-esque dance routine
2. One cracked mirror - victim  of "good vs. evil battle to the death"
3. Two whacked knees - see #2
4. One bloody shin - see #2
5. Unknown quantity of stuck matches - for "decontaminating the bathroom"
6. One traumatized dog - victim of of attempt at "being a rodeo star"
7. One trashed house - result of three kids and dog all home at same time
8. One kitchen with zero clean dishes - see #7 and #15
9. One fridge razed by locusts - wait, we don't have those here. Must be kids.
10. Sixteen splinters - result of using sticks as weaponry and running through yard barefoot
11. Three goose eggs (not the Old MacDonald kind) - result of Fred Astaire-esque dance routine receiving a low score from self-appointed judges
12. One house that smells like sweaty kids - result of #s 1, 2, 6, 7, 10, 11, 13, and 14
13. Three self-diagnosed cases of cabin fever and boredom - result of kids being conscious and capable of speech
14. Four closets completely emptied out onto the floor - result of youngest child's "need" to find "the perfect outfit for being on summer vacation."
15. Two broken dishes - victims of the "I wonder how long these will last in the microwave" game, and the equally popular sequel, "Maybe this one will last longer."
16. One twitchy, muttering adult - result of all of the above

We've managed to fit these typical summer accomplishments into a period of about half a day. It might even be a new record.