No Child of Mine

You can imagine the notes I've gotten from kindergarten and first grade teachers over the years while mothering three boys. Let's face it, no matter how wonderful their teacher may be, public school is not easy on young boys. The sitting and paying attention and being quiet and worse than all those things combined...handwriting.
I suffered through it with Oldest.
I worked through it with Middle Son.
Now, I am once again trying to discover new and creative ways to help Youngest make his letters legible.
We've tried shaving cream on a plate, magnetic letters, tracers, fingerpaint, vertical white boards, pencil grips, jumbo pencils, and other things I can't readily recall.
Youngest has perfect fine-motor skills. He can use a screw-driver to place the smallest of screws, build complicated Lego vehicles, paint, is learning to play piano, but his writing is atrocious.
Recently he brought home a paper that described his family. Not able to read it, I handed it back to him. "Can you read this to me?"
He squinted. "My family is...um. My family is...does that say loud?"
I crossed my arms over my chest. "I don't know because I can't read your writing."
Youngest perched the paper two inches from his face. "Me neither, but I'm pretty sure that word says loud."
"What about the other words?"
He turned the paper all the way around. "Yeah, I got nothin."
Do you know how frustrating it is to have a child who can orally recite his spelling words perfectly and then get one wrong on the test because the teacher can't read it?
So, after trying everything, I've gone back to just plain old copy work. I write the spelling words out and he copies them. Last night, I leaned over to check the page he left on the counter and found this:

He had already fixed the paper, but I thought you might have more sympathy for me if you saw it:)

"Youngest! Come here!"
A smirk rounded the corner before of the rest of his body. "Yes?"
I pointed to the paper. "What is this?"
"My spelling words?"
"At the bottom."
More smirking.
"I hat doin this?"
Youngest burst out laughing. "No, I hate doing this."
"You spelled hate and doing wrong."
A confused stare.
"Well? Fix them."
Wide eyed, youngest sat down and fixed the sentence. I checked the work. "Good job, now go play."
I have to pick my battles people.
If my child is going to rebel, he better darn well do it with good handwriting and great grammar.

Creative Punishment

Nary a week goes by that some person in a checkout line doesn't exclaim, "Three boys! You must be a strong momma not have a head full of gray hair."
First, I smile and admit that I dye my hair. Second, I whisper my secret, "Creative punishment."
Hubby and I have two rules for raising boys:

1. Make sure they know the rules and always discipline when they break them. 
2. Never let them guess what the punishment will be.

I'm not talking physical discipline here folks, shake those imaginations out of their sleep mode and teach the little one a lesson all while marking some honey-dos off your list! Any ole' parent can ground, issue a time-out, or scream. A great parent keeps their children guessing!
Be it a page full of the words I will not leave the garage light on, washing the car, cleaning the stock tank or condemning them to clean the *gasp* toilet, we always strive to make it tough enough to make a lasting impression. Luckily, our farm offers any number of things that little hands can fill buckets with: rocks, pecans, weeds, chicken feathers...
But what do you do when collecting a bucketful of pecans won't teach the hard lesson? What if the transgression has been dealt with time and again and nothing has changed?
Though all of our boys have hearts as big as Texas, they do occasionally struggle with the inability to keep a thought to themselves rather than saying exactly what they think. Whoever said words can never hurt me was a liar. Words are like arrows, striking the very souls of men.
How do you convince a child that their words have power?
Such an occasion arose last weekend. In a split-second decision, I reached for The Spirit of America by William Bennett rather than release the scolding words that were perched on the tip of my tongue. I laid out a letter that Benjamin Franklin wrote to the Pennsylvania Gazette in 1750 entitled Rules for Making Oneself a Disagreeable Companion.
Together, the child and I read the letter, stopping frequently to dissect the meaning. Then the boy was asked to write down all the characteristics he shared with the Disagreeable Companion. By the end of the exercise, we both were reminded that even great men must earn their regard both in action and with their words.

The Great Package Race

Out-in-the-sticks living can have it's challenges, the most consistent being shopping.
Small town stores do not stock the items necessary for living in today's fast-paced culture. Thankfully, our tower-o-power reaches mightily into the sky and snatches the Internet so we can shop online.
Which only becomes a problem when the package ships.
If the hidden prizes come through the US Postal Service, then we have to drive into town to pick them up from the postmaster. Our Mailman refuses to veer from the line of mailboxes.
On the other hand, UPS-man veers...at NASCAR speed. He usually throws the brown box over the gate and bails.
Fed-Ex-man is nice, he drives in through the gate, treats the dogs to bones and sets the packages on the front porch.
Sadly, most of our purchases fall into the hands of the stuntman UPS-man.
While I adore our dogs and the neighbor dogs, and I even chuckle when they trap unsuspecting workmen or delivery men in their cars by surrounding them, you can imagine the temptation they feel when a white-legged man in brown shorts throws a square box over a large gate and runs away.
Package=toy.
So begins The Great Package Race. The five human members of the Funny Farm must always be ready to retrieve a delivery as it flies over the metal gate, because once it hits the ground...anything goes.   
If the box is small, and we arrive too late, we spend the next fifteen minutes trying to convince the dogs that we weren't just suddenly inspired to play a game of keep-away.
If the box is big? The alpha dog for the two properties is a male. And he...well,  he doesn't like it when things left outside don't smell like alpha male. So he does what any self-respecting leader-of-the-pack does...he pees on it.
Let's just say that at that point, package rescue involves a plastic jumpsuit, gas mask and scalpel.
The package this week was big...and I didn't make it in time. *Sob*

"Babe! Where's the full-body hazmat suit? What do you mean you threw it away? I have a situation here!"

Pioneerification: Homemade Vegetable Stock

What do you do with all of your vegetable scraps when preparing dinner?
Hopefully you have vegetable scraps...
If dinner were left up to Oldest Son, vegetables would be illegal in all 50 states.
Unfortunately for him, in this house the you get what you get and don't throw a fit rule is strictly enforced.
So we eat vegetables. Combine that truth with the fact that I happen to be cheap resourceful.. the result is home-made vegetable stock.
First things first, you must have a storage container to hold vegetable scraps in the freezer. I personally recommend reusing plastic ice cream containers. If you don't have any, I guess you will have to break down and buy one. Don't forget to eat all the ice cream first.
It's for a good cause *wink, wink*.

 Every time you trim or peel a veggie, toss the pieces into the bucket. The containers pictured below have red bell peppers, sweet potatoes, carrots, russet potatoes, kale, green onions, white onions, red onions, asparagus, broccoli, and mushroom stems.

When you can't stuff any more stuff in the buckets, grab a stockpot and dump the frozen scraps inside. Add a couple garlic cloves and a tablespoon of whole peppercorns before covering everything with water.

Flip the burner on high and bring to a boil, then simmer for 1 hour. After your hour is up and the kitchen is filled with fantasic smells, turn the burner off, put a lid on the pot and let the vegetable bubble bath cool for a few hours.
After you have done some laundry, endured homework and finally beat the beach volley level of Angry Birds Rio during soccer practice, pour the mixture through a strainer into a very large bowl. Grab some Ball Freezer Jars and ladle the amber goodness up to the freeze line. This will give you about 2 cups per jar and the recipe usually yields about 6 jars.

 Slap some labels on, pop the jars in the freezer and the next time a recipe calls for chicken or beef broth, use your wholesome veggie stock instead!

Family Rules

Have you noticed that every family has their own set of rules? Unwritten, unspoken guidelines that members of the family obey at all times. Here at the Funny Farm, ours are pretty simple:

• Take your shoes off when entering the house.
• Library books must always be returned to the shelf at the stair landing.
• Chew with your mouth closed. 
•  Never leave a good pecan to rot.
• Turn off the tower when a storm is closin' in.
• Fill all bathtubs and sinks with water when Daddy says he's gonna do some plumbin' work.

That last one is a punishable offense if left undone.
As soon as the words, "Don't use the water for a bit, I'm gonna work on something, " are spoken, a stampede of footsteps can be heard bolting to bathrooms all over the house.
Nothing needs to be said...everyone knows. Daddy's plumbing projects don't always go as planned. And setbacks mean no running water, possibly for days. 
So last weekend, when Hubs proclaimed that he was going to install the new water softener, we all knew what to do. A look passed between the kids and I before water faucets turned on all over the house. A race to see if we could secure enough before he drained the pipes.

Youngest's handiwork. And his toys. Cause what little boy can resist a tub full of water?

 I adore Hubs for his can-do attitude. He is much braver than I, always willing to teach himself how to save a buck do something new.
Thankfully, the water softener is now installed and working like a champ. We were only without water for four hours. I must say, Hubs is getting faster at his DIY. Maybe someday soon we won't even have to avoid clear liquids during projects...

Only a teensie-weensie leakage.

 

 

 

TA-DA!

What are some of your family's rules? Share in the comment section!

Sabotage

I am sick of being sick.
Illness has been in my house almost constantly since the beginning of December. Unbelievable, really, since I am well known as a sanitizing Nazi.
Shoes get left at the door. Backpacks get washed or Lysol-ed frequently. Screams of, "Did you wash your hands?" hit every child as he walks out of the bathroom. And I carry hand sanitizer in the car to be used as soon as anyone enters.
Not the little travel bottle either... the commercial size.

My floor and hand-held steamers wouldn't fit in the picture. Overkill? Not in my house.

So imagine my frustration when every week, some member of the household wakes up with a fever that lasts at least four days. We have had the pre-flu, the real flu, the post flu, and sinus infections. I am sure that my photo is on some sort of government list for the length of time I have been buying Mucinex D.
"No, Officer, I'm not a meth-maker. I just have kids."
Kids who, I now believe, are sabotaging our ability to get well.
At first, I thought it was sweet when Middle Son would offer to take food and drink to the sick person in solitary confinement. It even brought a tear to my eye when he would hug them with worry on his face. I would always feel so sorry for him when he woke up the next Monday morning with a fever. 
Then it hit me.
That little bugger was trying to get sick!
'Cause sick in our house means a week stuck in the playroom with a cabinet full of Wii games and unlimited access to cartoons on Netflix.
When I say it "hit" me, I mean I watched dumbstruck as Youngest stared down at the 99.5 on the thermometer, smiled and said, "Yes!" Then ran up the stairs yelling, "Sam, it worked!"
At that moment, it came flooding back to me: all the times Middle and Youngest accidentally drank out of a contaminated glass, or whoops covered up with a sick person's blanket or oh no finished an infected, half-eaten grilled cheese.
What is a mom to do?
Do they sell those Hazmat showers to lay people? Would it be wrong to make everyone scrub down before they entered your house?
Hubby could probably plumb for it in the entryway. He's handy like that.
I'll ask him as soon as he his fever goes away.

Book Review: "The Secret of the Crystal Dragon"

Secret of the Crystal Dragon

by Paula Blais Gorgas (Dragonfly Publishing, March 2013)

Twelve-year-old Myra Goodfellow barely remembers the bedtime stories her grandmother told about shape-shifting dragon people from the world of Kasan. But the memories come flooding back when a baby dragon hatches from the abandoned egg she finds in the woods of rural Oklahoma. Myra and neighbor Aiden discover that the stories are true when the two unintentionally dream-travel to the politically divided planet. Trapped on an alien world, the pair must unearth deeply buried secrets to save the baby dragon from the clutches of the Red World Society and find their way home again.

Secret of the Crystal Dragon draws the reader in by expertly weaving Kasan into Earth's history and keeps them turning the pages to find the truth behind Myra's unique ability to mind-talk with the baby dragon. The 12-year-old main character is authentic with her quick judgements and sarcasm. Still recovering from her parents divorce, she struggles to trust her own heart while Aiden gives her the courage to trust others. With each new hurdle they face, the story hints that Myra and Aiden may be more important to the futures of Kasan and Earth than they could ever imagine.

Middle grade to adult readers will enjoy loosing themselves in dream-travel and dragon shadows. While the end of the book answers some of the reader's questions, Secret of the Crystal Dragon is the first installment of the Guardians of the Blue Planet series and future books hold the promise of revealing more about the girl who is only beginning to discover her destiny.

The book is available in paperback and Kindle Edition e-book.

Official Synopsis:

Guardians of the Blue Planet (Book I): While visiting her father in rural Oklahoma, twelve-year-old Myra Goodfellow finds a baby dragon from Kasan, the home planet of the Guardian Dragons of Earth. When she and Aiden (the boy next door) accidentally "dream travel" to Kasan, they must protect the baby dragon from the Red World Society, a secret alien group determined to rule both Kasan and Earth.

Cover art property of  Paula Blais Gorgas and Dragonfly Publishing.