Small Successes!

I'm exactly 1 hour and 29 minutes early this week for my Small Successes!
(If anyone is wondering just what the heck these are, click the logo. Or I'll just tell you. Three small accomplishments in your life to make you--or at least me-- not feel like I run 97,032 miles and not gotten anywhere.)

1. Marched for the library in the Orrville parade with two kids who didn't whine for a single second and didn't spend $4 on a fried pickle at the carnival.
2. Visited two absolutely lovely families and their homes in one day, giving me plenty to reflect upon over the holiday weekend. And, I might add, only got lost one time thanks to Gordon (my GPS) who doesn't know his way around Wayne County which is pretty fitting since we gave him an Aussie accent...
3. Baked 3 different types of cookies, only leaving one batch in the oven for 30 minutes while I talked to the neighbor. Also discovered a new recipe for butterscotch cookies that I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen in love with. (Moosewood Cookbook, y'all.)

Blog Tag, Photo-style

A fellow writer friend over at The Koala Bear Writer tagged me in this fun game. Here's my version...

When Annie was just the tiniest of babies, I'd take her outside and sit her on a blanket in the yard. Within seconds, she'd roll or crawl off until she she was totally surrounded by Earth. She was the only baby I've ever known to really love the feel of prickly grass or crunchy mulch, and I couldn't keep her off of it. She was coined "my dirt baby."

Late Winter/early Spring in Ohio is really not that pleasant, and this photo was taken in March when the entire outside was cold and damp and dreary. The wet and mud was just too much for me to haul the kids outside, but Annie wasn't going to give into the bad weather. At just over a year, she pushed the chair up against the back door, climbed up, and stared outside at the back yard. I had to snap a photo, it was just one of those simple moments of everyday life that are so easily forgotten, and yet so very important.

Now I'm tagging Sam, Becky, and Maureen.

The rules are:

1) Go to your photo files… Select the 6th photo folder or album.

2) Select the 6th photo in that folder/album.

3) Post that photo along with the story behind it.

4) Then challenge some blog friends to do the same!

New shoes are good for the sole and the soul

“God made dirt, and dirt don’t hurt.” I can’t remember when I first heard that, but it is most definitely my motto when it comes to raising kids. I have always wanted real kids, ones who aren’t afraid to go out and play in the mud, to come home with scratches and bruises, that consider jumping in puddles, and I have been blessed with such children. So actually, it’s more than my motto. It’s my excuse.
Last week I had to scrub, literally, the dirt off of my daughter’s legs. “That’s what you get when you creek walk,” she told me in her matter-of-fact way. And my baby manages to get dirt in the most peculiar places, as if when I wasn’t looking she took off all of her clothes, rolled around in the mud, and stuck a piece of mulch in her ear.
But more than anything, my son has proven to me a hundred times over, that my motto has come back to haunt me. Followers of this column recently read about his three-week underwear, and I can assure you that that is the tip of the stinky iceberg.
For all the dirt that sticks to that boy, his shoes take the brunt of it. And I, in my maternal wisdom, have learned that regardless of whether I spend $1000 or $1 on a pair of tennis shoes, he’s going to put them through the wringer, and what comes out of the wringer doesn’t much resemble shoes.
His latest pair lasted just over two months. Last week he informed me that there was a visible hole in the front and when I went to examine them I realized where that horrid smell that I thought was the dog was coming from. It was time to buy new shoes.
So off we went to the giant superstore to find the cheapest pair of sneakers I could find. Air soles? Ventilation? Special treads? All no match for this dirt-don’t-hurt-boy. It wouldn’t take long for the air soles to be filled with water, the vent holes to be filled with mud, and the special treads to be run off to bare nubs in the gravel.
Ten dollars later we were out the door with a pair shoes that might as well been made of gold. Kids get strangely excited when they get new shoes. Not five minutes from the store, he was begging from the back seat for me to cut the tags off, and after fiddling with a pocketknife while driving 65 MPH (not recommended), his shoes were on his feet.
“Mom, help me tie these,” he asked.
“Can’t, bud. Kind of need to drive the car here.”
Sister, a veteran shoe-tyer, chimes in. “I can help! I’m good at it!”
But not wanting to jeopardize the perfection of his new shoes, he had to lay down some ground rules first. “Don’t mess up the laces. And don’t touch the white parts. Are your hands clean?”
The shoes were up on her lap, and while pulling up the tongue, she had to investigate to see where the shoes were made. It’s a game lately for her, to see if she can find anything that was NOT made in China. Because he refused to take off his shoes, the two of them contorted themselves in every direction, only to find that the shoes were—surprise—made in China, all the while having one of those classic adult-like kid discussions. Such things were said: Look at these treads! Nice stitching here. China has lots of people so that’s why they make so much stuff. How did the shoes get here?
All in all, it was a good solid 10 minutes of discussion over a pair of shoes that I know isn’t going to last 10 weeks.
But, back to my motto. God made dirt, and dirt don’t hurt. I’m just glad that China makes cheap shoes.

Small Successes

Small Successes this week:

1. Remembering to write down my Small Successes! (I forgot last week...not very successful.)
2. Sewed the girls matching skirts which is quite an accomplishment because sewing is not something I really know how to do.
3. Had an extremely productive day today, including going shopping with three kids hyped up on donut sugar and mowing the lawn in 85 degrees!

A short story about a tall tree

I wrote this for an assignment, "a story about your childhood." Just wanted to explain the randomness of such a sweet story!

We didn't spend much money on fancy flowers or trees at the cottage. It was just a little cement block house in the woods and even though the forest was endless and the lake enormous, the land we owned was tiny.
But it was ours, and we wanted to surround it with the nature that surrounded us. Local plants, you might say, which is why one day my dad and I set out with some buckets and a shovel in search of a few saplings.
"The woods are full of them," he said.
And so we went, trudging over the hills for what seemed like hours and hours before we headed home, my dad carrying the buckets and I dragging the shovel behind me. Our hands were dirty, but we both smelled of pine sap from the load we were transplanting.
After a quick glass of iced tea, it was time to get planting, which we did without whine or fuss. We put a few pines down by the lake, a few along the driveway, and just a couple behind the cottage. With the shovel patting down the dirt on the last one, we left them be, their future up to Mother Nature and the storms that came down off the hill.
Weeks or months passed and on another trip to the cottage I noticed that one of the trees was looking rather puny, its green branches small and kind of droopy, and the entire thing tilted down hill like it had been pushed over by a thundering gust of wind. I couldn’t bear to see it like that, so with the grace of my eight-year-old hands, I righted the little pine and tucked it in. Using my best Tinker Toy skills, I collected small sticks and twigs and built a log cabin around the little tree. Round and round I worked until it was well protected for the upcoming winter, and on each returning visit I checked the construction and made any necessary repairs.
Sure enough, I fell in love with that little pine tree.
My parents sold the property when I was just old enough to take my own children there. Although they were very young, I still could barely believe they were tromping over the same ground and around the same trees that I had so many years ago.
Before we handed over the keys, I posed my children in front of my pine tree for one last photograph.
“Why do we need to stand by this giant pine tree?” the oldest asked.
“Exactly,” I answered, and snapped the photo, in awe of what a little love can do.

Three cheers (and soy lattes) for the toad!

The little toad in the fairy house poem won me some Starbucks cash.
I never knew I loved toads so much...but now I do.
Read more here and check out the rest of the Zook Book Nook blog too, she does an amazing job with it!

Fairy house has a new renter

Earlier this year we constructed a fairy house in the backyard. (details here) Since then we've been patiently waiting for the fairies to arrive, but apparently we've attracted other such visitors.

We think he's waiting comfortably on his bed of moss for us to use our little iron-weathered sandstone dishes to serve him a little toad tea party.

And little toadie will never know, but he's also inspired 20 little lines of verse, which I'm sure I'll tuck away for the kids someday... Thanks to Kim at the Zook Book Nook for inspiring me to write this little poem.

Wooded lot, new carpet, dishes provided

To build a fairy house, one must first
Think just like a fairy.
Things that sparkle, things that glitter,
All colors light and airy.
Make sure to add a touch of moss
For their dainty little feet.
Add flowers for some decoration
And to make the air smell sweet.
Prepare to serve your fairy guests
With tiny cups of tea,
Provide them with cups and saucers,
In natural community.
But be prepared, as fairies go,
These mysterious little creatures
Come in all shapes and sizes,
Complexions, facial features.
For when you build a fairy house
Or fairy hut or tent,
You’re welcoming the fairy world
And you never know who’ll rent.