Blue Yonder

A Woman's Place

I swear, I did not set up this photo. 

Somehow, someway (read: no one is fessing up), my stock pot ended up in the back yard. 

For some reason, our Sadie girl thought it was fun to stick her head in it. 

I'm thinking that this, like nothing I've ever seen before, epitomizes the phrase, "ignorance is bliss." She has no idea that less than a week ago, that pot held chicken noodle soup!

I told her that she'd best be careful. Folks are getting a little worried about the economy, and what with the presidential race, and the accompanying promises, it won't be long before the speech makers take a page from Herbert Hoover's book and start talking about a chicken for every pot in America. 

MIght want to steer clear of pots, old gal. 

As for me, I might be steering clear of what I thought was a safe and wholesome bit of entertainment for my boys. 

They have been watching old Leave It to Beaver episodes here lately, thanks to Netflix. 

Today, I let them watch one while I cleaned up a bit and got myself ready for my girl night with a fellow blog friend. (Which turned out to be completely wonderful in every way, thank you!!!)

So there I am, bustling about, towel on my head, picking up toys, wondering what happened to my other shoe, you know, the usual, when I stopped for a second to kiss my boys. All eyes were glued to my computer screen as Wally and Ward tried to start a fire in the grill for burgers. 

Wally said, "Hey Dad, how come when we eat inside, mom does all the cooking, and when we eat outside, you do the cooking?"

Ward replied, "Well you know son, they say a woman's place is in the home, and if she's inside, I guess she might as well be in the kitchen. Besides, us men are better at rugged outdoor activities."

Oh my. 

I didn't have to say much about that. I think my feelings were pretty self evident, seeing as how on this night, THIS woman's place was at the Cheesecake Factory. 

As far as Sadie and I are concerned, Herbert Hoover and Ward Cleaver can just stick that in their pots and cook it!

Illumination

My middle son is a tinkerer. 

He likes to take things apart and put them together in new ways. 

He hoards random bits of junk, like toilet paper tubes and bread ties. You know, because he "might need 'em sometime."

He dreams of cogs and levers, and hopes with all his heart that Santa will fill his stocking with masking tape. One of his most favorite birthday presents ever was a bunch of small pulleys and spool of heavy duty rope. 

Should anything break he is there to say, "if you're not gonna use that, can I have it?"

This is the boy who gazed with such deep longing upon an old, no longer in use DISH satellite, way up high on a telephone poll at my grandparents house, that my grandfather could bear it no longer. He climbed a ladder, unscrewed it and brought the thing down. 

We hauled that baby nearly 250 miles home, and it now resides beside his bed. He's still not sure just what he's going to do with it, but it's one of his most prized possessions anyway. 

So, you can imagine his delight, this creator of mine, when it was suggested that he spend an hour a week with his grandfather, an electrical engineer, making "stuff that really works."

His Saturdays with Grandfather are sometimes referred to as "Inventor Club" and sometimes "Engineer Club" depending on which monicker holds the most magic for him at the moment. 

On their first meeting they built a "Battery Checker." On the next, they outfitted it with wires and magnets and learned about the relationship between magnetism and electricity. 

He's plumb over the moon. Lit up like Christmas, head to toe, and that's precisely what matters. 

I don't know if he'll retain his lessons. I can't say with any certainty that plunging a curious 6 year old into an early engineering course will land him a scholarship to MIT someday, but I do know that he's gaining some very important knowledge. 

He knows that the people who love him value his passions. He is learning that we will go out of our way to help him find his. He's growing to understand that with a little work, and some guidance, he really can bring his imaginings to life. 

Those are lessons that will serve him well. 

Plus, I just think it's truly priceless, a grandfather passing his passion and knowledge, his craft, down to an eager apprentice. The memories they are making together will undoubtedly be held dear in each of their hearts. 

Grandfather mentioned that he might start up his own blog and share their adventures. I told him that I felt sure that lots of you folks would be excited about simple projects for mechanically inclined kiddos. Am I right? 

Also, I'm on the hunt for inspiring stories for my little inventor. At the moment, we are reading The Invention of Hugo Cabret which is wonderful on so many levels, the most important being that it has my man on the edge of his seat, and also asking lots of questions! 

Next on our list is Homer Price, and after that, The Marvelous Inventions of Alfred Fernald and also the Mad Scientists Club. Please leave us a comment if you know of any other great stories about contraptions, inventions, scientists, machines and the like. At the rate this boy devouring "mechanical stories" we're going to need a LONG list!

Backyard Battle Royal

 

Our dear sweet Papa treated me this afternoon to a little alone time. He came in from his office, declared that it was "pool time!!!!" and after much squealing and pushing and "mama where's my swimsuit", "honey, don't forget the sunscreen." giggling and door-slamming they were off. 

The house was blissfully quiet. 

I got myself a popsicle, and prepared to sit (SIT!) and just surf and write and listen to all my backed up episodes of This American Life when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter... 

Chickens were squawking in a way that even an untrained poulty farmer like myself recognized as, "COME QUICK!"

This, friends, is what I saw:  

Remember Matilda? She's a tricky one, that old gal. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of her since that first time, and had long since given up on her. 

Turns out she's been around all along, and has four young-uns now. 

Good heavens. 

As appalled as I was though, watching them tear up the grass, it was nothing compared to the complete and utter horror expressed by my gals. 

Oh how I wish you could hear the clucking. It sounded something like,

 "Have you ever?"

"Not in all my born days!"

"Well there goes the neighborhood."

"It isn't bad enough that we have to put up with boys chasing us all day? Now we have to share the yard with these no good punks too?"

"What has the yard come to?"

Every now and again, one of the girls would gather herself up and run at the armadillos, her sisters squawking and flapping her on. 

 

And then just as she got near the snorting hard-shelled masses, she'd  turn tail, and run back to her posse, swearing under her breath. It was like a real live game of chicken!

The girls would huddle up again, drawing their feathery petticoats about them, discuss things over and send a new spokeswoman in to tell the miscreants to hit the road. 

The armadillos, like rowdy teenagers skateboarding in the parking lot of the BINGO hall, could not have cared less what the old biddies thought of them or their fun. They burrowed and snorted on. 

This went on for quite some time until finally, apparently, the last straw was laid down. 

All four armadillo backsides where turned toward the ladies in unison. Then, one unceremoniously flipped shell and showed the old gals his boy bits. 

 

My girls, shocked out of their bird brains, marched off in a ruffled huff and spent the rest of the afternoon clucking their disapproval from the bushes.

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon looking into live traps. 

So much for peace and quiet. 

Losing My Marbles

We brought home some marbles today. 

 

They thought this was great fun. 

I thought it was, well, an apt metaphor for our days. 

They - motion made flesh, laughing, shouting, marveling over their skill, the colors and the speed, the newness, the wonder. 

I - worrying about lost pieces, trying to explain the rules of the game, chasing, running in a million directions, striving to keep up, keep it together and finally...

 letting go, giving in, putting aside my preconceived notions to listen, as they show me the new rules, of the new game that is all their own, a game that is 

livelier, 

funnier, 

better than the one that I set out to teach them. 

I'm trying, men. I'm trying to let go, to be okay with losing my marbles, if it means learning to be more like you in the process. 

Brought to You by, Blue Yonder Productions!

We spent the weekend planning and plotting, reading and choosing, drawing and editing and in the end, making these two movies. My little filmmakers sure hope that you enjoy them!