our summer bucket list

This morning we stopped by our community garden spot to pick snap peas before heading to the library. Just-from-the-garden fresh and crisp, those snap peas disappeared in no time. “As sweet as candy,” my older son declared.

At the library, the boys each got to choose a book to keep for completing ten of the reading program activities. Then they participated in a dinosaur scavenger hunt. We checked out a week’s worth of reading material and arrived back home just in time for lunch. There’s much to savor in the simple summer routine that we’ve settled into, and Friday library visits are one of our anchor activities. (During the past three school years, it was just me and the preschooler.)

Summers also afford the chance to do things we may not get around to during the school year. I recently read an article in Minnesota Parent advocating for a realistic summer bucket list. I quite agree that an attainable list of meaningful family experiences and activities is better than an over-the-top list that goes undone. So I’ve written down some of the things that have been and I’d like to see continue to be a part of our summers:

attend VBS

make popicles

complete the library summer reading program

take swimming lessons

memorize a psalm

grow our own tomatoes

go camping

check out a new swimming spot

read one of the Chronicles of Narnia

participate in a Lego Mini Build

send the boys to Camp Clair

bake zucchini bread (because there is nearly always someone who wants to pass along one of those “too-big-to eat” monsters and we can only eat so many zucchini fritters)

We’ve already completed – or have in progress – about half of these. My plan is to hang on to this list for inspiration as we move in to the second half of the summer.

What’s on your summer to-do list?

 

little free library 37,184

Our driveway is right near the busiest school bus stop in the neighborhood. It would be the perfect spot for a Little Free Library, I’d  been thinking for some time now.

We’ve got a growing stack of books downstairs – books I thought we should hang on to in case we’d ever get a Little Free Library.

Then in mid-May we came home from the Little Free Library Festival at Minnehaha Falls Park with a brand new one. I’d won it by writing about why our neighborhood would benefit from a Little Free Library: we’ve got all ages of kids loitering nearby between 7 a.m. and 9 a.m. whenever there’s school, and most walk past our home again after getting off the bus at the end of their school day. Many of the kids have limited access to books in their homes, and I expect that new books to read are even fewer and farther between during summer break. Because access to books is a strong predictor of academic success, this Little Free Library would have the potential to improve the academic attainment of lots of kids.

Last week we drove to Hudson, Wisconsin to pick up the post and post topper for the Little Library. Thanks to my husband and a helpful neighbor with the right tools, the Little Free Library is now installed. They did it when I was away at work on Monday. Standing there near the driveway, that Little Library made me smile as I pulled into our yard.

“Charter number 37,184,” the mail carrier read from the official charter sign as he was dropping off our mail that day. His Little Free Library over on Western Avenue has a charter number in the 8,000s. How the numbers have grown since he installed his…
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Earlier this week I passed out invitations for our grand opening, taking the opportunity to explain the “Take a book. Share a book.” principle of Little Free Libraries. Then we put a reminder on the driveway this afternoon.

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Most of our guests are from an event-oriented culture, so kids started showing up before 6 p.m. We had lawn games ready. We had books to peruse, including the two new children’s books in the Karen language published by St. Paul Public Library. The oldest girl read a page of the Karen script, which simply looks like a baffling assortment of curlicues to me. We had summer reading program brochures from the public library. I asked the girls near the table if they’d been there. “We don’t have a car,” one noted. So the brochures all stayed on the table.

A little after 6 p.m., they asked me about cutting the ribbon, but I said we should wait 20 minutes. “Twenty minutes is a long time,” one boy complained.

But we found things to do. One child asked about the laundry basket of stuffed animals. So then we began a game in which each person got to try tossing balls into the target bowl. The stuffed animals were the prizes, I told them, if you get three in. “For real?” one asked.

“Yes, for real. You can keep the stuffed animals.” Suddenly a line formed. Every kid wanted a turn except my boys – they had no interest in winning back one of their own stuffed animals.

Just before it was officially time to start, I walked down the row of apartments on our street and invited the people who were loitering about outdoors to come to the party at the end of the street, where our house is. I read Inside This Book: (are three books) by Barney Saltzberg. I had selected it because of its kid appeal and because of the last line in the book, “Because books are better when they are shared.” Then we had our ribbon cutting. It happened so quickly I didn’t get a very good action shot.

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Kids scrambled to grab a book from inside and stood or sat to peruse their selections while I got the ice cream out of the freezer. The books were quickly set aside once we started serving root beer floats. As the kids were leaving, one friend pointed out that the library was still full. Apparently, I hadn’t explained very well that they could take a book home, so most of them put the books back. One girl asked me if she could take the princess book, but maybe most of the others didn’t really get it.

As the last guests were leaving, one of my sons noted, “No one except Karen people came. Why?” And he wasn’t far off – of about 30 people who came, 29 were Karen.

“Maybe because they’re the friendliest,” I said. As I pondered it a bit more, I wondered whether it’s because their schedules aren’t so packed that they have time to join an impromptu party with a little bit of homemade fun. Or could it be they’re from a culture that understands the value of getting to know your neighbors?

 

 

a day off?

Last week, I informed my five-year-old that the coming Monday was Memorial Day. I told him daddy has a day off work, and his brother doesn’t need to go to school. “And I’m going to have the day off from washing dishes!” he informed me.

We heard that refrain a few more times on the weekend, that Monday he gets a day off from doing the dishes. That’s like the only consistent chore he has, washing dishes once a week. Generally, he still enjoys it. What powerful cultural forces are at work here?

After breakfast on Monday morning, I insisted that he march into the kitchen and get the dishes washed. “Why?” he whined.

“Because we didn’t take the day off from eating.”

Isn’t it better to learn these lessons when one is young?

 

bedtime: glaring inconsistencies

“Why do we have to go to bed when it’s still light out?” my five-year-old asked.

“Because mommy wants you to be well rested,” I said.

“How come you’re worried about us, but you don’t get enough sleep?”

“You’re right – sometimes I stay up too late because I have a lot of work to do.”

“Tonight you should go to sleep at 7:30, like us,” he suggested.

“Grown-ups don’t need as much sleep as children.”

“Why not?”

“That’s the way we were made. Maybe it was meant to be a gift for the grown-ups.” (Those precious hours between when elementary aged kids go to bed and when you do are a gift, aren’t they?)

“It’s not a gift for me!” he said.

 

in the garden

 

 

Saturday afternoon my eight-year-old and I went to work on our new garden plot. My five-year-old screamed a great deal because he had to stay home with his daddy, but it really was the right decision in terms of getting work accomplished. For two and a half hours, my older son and I hoed, removed rocks and large roots, hauled garden-ready compost, raked and leveled. “Why are you smiling,” he asked at one point. I was just happy to be outdoors, working alongside so many other gardeners. He was ready to be done well before the work was done, repeatedly asking when we were going back home, but I made us stick with it until our plot was covered with a thin layer of compost.

Upon our return home, I consoled my younger son by telling him I’d take him to the garden on Monday.

That was indeed our destination Monday morning. We did some more root removal, compost hauling, and raking. We brought our seeds along, but ended up just working the soil that day. We returned Tuesday morning and planted broccoli, bok choy, onions, radishes and lettuce.

I grew up pushing a wheelbarrow around, but it had never occurred to me until this week that this is a new experience for my sons. Both wanted to try it. Both discovered that a wheelbarrow full of rich black compost is quite heavy and sort of tippy. Even leveling out piles of compost with a garden rake isn’t as easy as it looks.

We had always had a garden when I was a kid. At the time I would have never said I enjoyed gardening, but I did learn some useful skills in the process. So I bring my city boys with me to the garden, wondering whether they’ll ever take up gardening when given the choice. In the meantime, I hope they’re learning a few things, perhaps about the value of work or the joy of growing some of your own food.

Perhaps creating a few memorable moments as well… Yesterday my younger son was there when some women from Burma called me over to their plot, pointing to a tiny garter snake several of them were eyeing suspiciously. It doesn’t bite, I told them, and it isn’t dangerous. I used my most simple English. Whether they understood me or not, I could tell they didn’t believe the snake was harmless. Probably because in Burma, snakes may well be dangerous. I just scooped it up with a small shovel, carried it to the edge of the garden, and tossed it into some taller grass. Only then did they resume their hoeing.

 

new books to check out at your library

We recently read this year’s Newbery Medal winner:

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CJ, a main character in the book, reminded me of my own boys – of how they have responded to helping our “often overlooked neighbors.” My boys may come reluctantly, sometimes complaining, but by the time it’s over they’re glad they were included. The no-nonsense grandmother in the story made me smile. And pointed out a truth that transcends generations: “Sometimes when you’re surrounded by dirt, CJ, you’re a better witness for what’s beautiful.”

We also picked up the 2016 Caldecott Medal winner at the library:

Finding-Winnie

“If the bear’s so famous how come I’ve never heard of it?” my eight-year-old asked. Once we read it, we discovered it was about a bear we’d heard of – and read about – before: Winnie-the-Pooh. The mom in the book is telling her son a bedtime story, a true story about the boy’s great great grandfather and a bear he found on the way to his assigned post as a veterinarian during World War I.

My favorite part of the book is where the boy says he doesn’t want the story to be over. His mom tells him, “Sometimes you have to let one story end so the next one can begin.” The boy wants to know how you know when that will happen. “You don’t,” the mom says. “Which is why you should always carry on.”

A brand new book of concrete poetry was another fun read:

pict wet cement

This book includes poems that allow the reader to look at and think about common things such as a firefly, hanger, balloon, and xylophone in new ways. The last poem challenges readers to give poetry writing a try.

 

 

 

homemade jam

Last month we broke open the seal on our last pint jar of mulberry jam. It took us back to the summer days when the mulberry tree on the Elmhurst Cemetery fence line was laden with ripe fruit. “I wish we could pick mulberries now,” one son said.

We recalled how the tree had been loaded with mulberries and we’d gotten permission from the cemetery manager to pick the berries, promising him some mulberry cobbler in return. He was surprised some days later when we actually delivered the warm dessert, fresh out of the oven. “This cobbler is best the first day,” I told him. He responded by saying we should help ourselves to more mulberries if we like.

Throughout the month we picked enough for two small batches of mulberry jam, three cobblers and over a month’s worth of smoothies. Plenty of the berries also went straight into the boys’ mouths, staining their lips a deep purple. One time when we were picking, my younger son climbed the chain link fence to reach some berries that were higher in the tree. When his older brother attempted the same thing, he scratched his knee. I sent the crying boy and his younger brother home together. Daddy was there to wash the wound and wipe away the tears…

Now the last of the berries are gone -I scraped the jar clean this morning – and the apple butter we made last fall is history too (we shared, really). I was trying to figure out what sort of jam to make this time of year. I pulled out Old-Time Farmhouse Cooking for a bit of inspiration and found “Anna’s Carrot Jam,” coming from a newspaper clipping circa 1914. “Composed of the humblest ingredients, it never fails to prove a pleasing combination,” the author claimed. I had never heard of carrot jam before. I did a bit more reading and found some other recipes courtesy of the World Carrot Museum.

My preschooler and I gave it a try this morning. I peeled and cut up about a pound of carrots and simmered them in a little water until tender. After I had drained them and tried to mash them I realized I should have cooked them a bit longer for easier mashing. Nothing that additional cooking time and an immersion blender couldn’t fix, though. We added two cups of sugar and the juice of one lime, cooked the mixture a few minutes, put the blender to work, and then simmered the jam until it jellied. “Someone might think it’s marmalade,” my son said even before he tasted it. I couldn’t argue – it is orange with a fairly strong citrus flavor. He sampled it and pronounced it good. I told him that he doesn’t need to tell his brother (who has a strong dislike of cooked carrots) what’s in the jam. Final reviews will be out after breakfast tomorrow.

of child’s play – and life

Last week our preschooler had a friend over to play. They started out by pouring out the contents of the toy box and picking through it for the most interesting things. Those items in the toy box are rarely touched these days, but when looking at them through a new set of eyes, my son did end up thinking a few of them were worth his attention again, at least for part of an afternoon. But it wasn’t too long until they pulled the marble ramp from the closet, followed by the wooden train set. They played with each for a good ten minutes before casting about for something else. Then my son started creating something out of K’nex while the other boy became engrossed in the workings of a submarine. Soon it was time for each to revisit their favorites among the toys scattered around the living room and one bedroom. I heard marbles going down the ramp again…

When the play date was over, we had a lot of things to pick up and put away, but I had good help. And I have few complaints of this kind of play: two boys enjoying each other’s company as they mostly do their own thing, but everyone once in while cooperate to make things go better – or have a brief conversation.

Somewhere along the way, play tends to get more complicated so that by the time you’re eight you’re much more likely to be absorbed in someone else’s script. Earlier this year and at the end of last, our second grader was consumed by Star Wars. (No coincidence that it started shortly before the release of the latest Star Wars movie.) There was – and still is – a lot of Stars Wars going on at the school playground, if my son’s stories are any indication. The boys who have seen the movies or have some other good source of Star Wars information are the ones who get to tell everyone else how to play. They teach the others the names of the good guys and bad guys, explain who does what, when and how … In such games, my son is a follower. He hasn’t seen the movie – and most probably won’t for several years since it is rated PG-13.

Maybe that’s not quite as big of a deal now as it was three weeks ago, though. Because that’s about when our second grader came home with four Pokémon cards that Eli had given him at school. Since then there has been no rest about adding to his “collection.” More specifically, he believes we need to go out and buy some more cards. Right. Now. (I’ve put him off till the end of February at least. I hope they’re on to a new topic by then.) It’s the same scenario about following someone else’s script. The kids with the most knowledge about the Pokémon trading card game are the ones who dispense information about this fictional world, including details such as who is a “fire type” – and what that even means.

Every day I am reminded what a heavy dose of pop culture comes with public education. I’m left with a lot of questions about how we as parents help our son navigate that, especially as the pop culture values seem to grow more and more divergent from our own.

on the subject of pets

“Mom, I wanna get a potbellied pig,” my five-year-old told me yesterday.

“Where are you going to keep it?” I asked.

“I don’t know…They defend their owner,” he said.

“From what do you need to be defended?”

He didn’t have any real answer for this question either.

But it’s only a matter of time until he learns that he’ll need to think through his proposal before he presents it to his mom. He could take a cue from his older brother.

The last time our eight-year-old broached the subject of pets he was lobbying for a snake. He said I wouldn’t have to feed the snake – he’d do that himself. I said that’s right: when you get your own place and your own snake you’ll be the one to feed it. And as far as I’m concerned, the only pet we’ll be bringing in to our home anytime soon is a pet rock.

“Rock?” he asked.

“Yes, a pet rock.”

“But a rock doesn’t DO anything.”

“Exactly.”

To the boys, I suppose I sound just as infuriating as my dad used to when we asked him to get us a horse. (Because, you know, all the cats and cows we had on the farm weren’t enough.)

Perhaps one day my boys will be on the other side of the conversation. Then they’ll understand my point of view.

what’s the cook to do?

It’s time to cast my net wide for ideas of how to deal with the complaining that accompanies the start of meal times far too frequently. It can become demoralizing to hear “ew” and “yucky” on a regular basis when I’m serving up dinner.

One potential solution: it’s time to put the 8-year-old to work in the kitchen. I’m not sure I’m ready to hand over the planning and the bulk of the food preparation for even one meal a week, but in the long run, the benefits will out-weigh the inconveniences, right?

Another idea came to me while checking my inbox this morning. It was prompted by my word of the day email. Today I learned the word rechauffe (ray-sho-FAY). The first meaning given was “warmed leftover food.”

This is just the word I need to add to my vocabulary. It sounds so sophisticated, so exotic. Not that my sons like exotic, but it’s all about the marketing sometimes.

I can imagine the conversation already.

Son: What’s for dinner, mom?

Me: Rechauffe.

Son: What’s that?

Me: Wait and see.

Son: Just tell me.

Me: It’s really good…