Popsicle Terrorist Camp

The kids and I were making popsicle stick bombs yesterday, and I got to wondering, does this teach them the fun of explosives? Am I creating future terrorists? I console myself with the knowledge that the thrill of blowing things up is inherent in the male gender, and has been a part of the male experience since the Stone Age/Garden of Eden, however you look at it. I'm sure Adam took a few of those lucious fruits and lobbed them, just to watch them splat. And maybe I'm being sexist - Eve may have enjoyed it just as much. I know Esther was having a blast (no pun intended) with the popsicle sticks. Caleb even invented a few new designs. Doesn't he need a haircut though? All three kids have a thing with building "forts" and I've tried to ban them but I guess I'm not specific enough. And the only reason I have tried to ban them is because they dump all the cushions off the couch and loveseat, haul out all the blankets in the house, spend hours constructing complex but unstable tunnels and dens (using things like potted plants and computers to anchor the edges of blankets), and then promptly begin to fight over the proper use and ownership of the elaborate. Then they get in trouble and get sent to their rooms and who has to clean it all up? mmmmmmeeeeeeee.

Still, I didn't specifically outlaw building a fort BEHIND the couch, I just said no using of couch cushions, so here is a picture of their latest creation. A few hours after the photo was taken, the plants did indeed take a tumble. Those are some hardy spider plants - they get dumped several times a year and yet they are still alive (and that is no easy feat for any plant in my house).

I do have to brag on Josh today. He has joined a county children's choir, and loves it. Finally we've found his niche! Today I drove the carpool, and planning to go grocery shopping, grabbed a water bottle for the road. I was trying to drive and open the water bottle - it was new and had a safety tab thing on it - and had it between my legs to secure it. I got the bottle open and my incredibly muscular thighs (ha ha snort!) put just enough pressure on it to geyser about a cup of water right into my lap. I hopped up out of my seat, grabbed napkins, knowing full well I had just soaked myself in a rather inconvenient spot, and had one of the kids hand me one of those reusable shopping bags to sit on. And yes, I continued to drive throughout! Bless those county roads... How am I supposed to walk into Sam's Club looking like I had just wet my pants? Then Josh came to my rescue, and offered to let me tie his jacket around my waist to disguise the obvious wet spot. Thank you thank you, my sweet boy! He didn't even mock me like a normal ten-year-old would!

I also have to publicly thank my neighbors Brandon and Kristin for coming to our rescue on Monday night. Mike finally got me to cut his hair, and 2/3 of the way through, the electric hair trimmer I was using gave up the ghost. I knew we needed a new one - it was so dang dull. Still, Mike was left with a sizable topknot of hair, and it was 10pm. I knew Brandon and Kristin would still be up, so I called with the hope that they had one I could borrow. They agreed only if I brought Mike down so they could see, and actually had a brand new set they were about to take back (Kristin finally admitted to herself that she had no desire to cut anyone's hair) and I was able to just buy it from her. So now I have a nifty new hair trimmer set, complete with an eyebrow guide. Anyone's eyebrows need a trim?

I know this post is all over the place, but I also needed to share my good experience with my grandparents on Tuesday. About a year ago, I felt the distinct impression that I needed to get their oral histories documented. I made one attempt to video my grandparents talking about their early life, then found myself too busy to keep it up. A few months later, my grandfather had a stroke that has left him unable to fully verbalize his thoughts, and it frustrates him a great deal. I have missed my opportunity with him and I will always regret it. Part of that guilt has motivated me to spend one day a week down with them (they live about an hour and 15 minutes away), and just help them around the house with whatever they need. My parents (who live four houses up the street) will help with Esther, though she seems to be the highlight of my visit to them anyway. This week I pulled out lots of the dead plants and just helped clean up their yard a little, and Jason (who had a day off of school and wanted to come) washed windows. They were so grateful, and it made me feel fantastic to have helped in some way. My dear grandpa, who has always been so sprightly and funny, struggled with what he wanted to say. I knew what he was thinking, so I just told him I loved him too. I know my time with them is limited, and I am determined not to let this precious time slip away.

I invested a few months ago in a BBC set of movies based on Charles Dickens novels, and just finished watching "Martin Chuzzlewit." Awesome. It deals with aging and heirs and those who love with no thought of being included in the will. I'd never even heard of the book, so I'll have to add it to my list. I want to watch some of the others, but I also want to read the books too, so I'd better get cracking. I'm almost finished with "Great Expectations" which I have read before but love even more this time. Can't wait to see the movie for that one! Speaking of movies... I am proud to say I am NOT going to see the Twilight movie this weekend, but only because we have a Housley family party at the same time that my sisters are going to see it. Rats. I've decided that books (and movies) like the Twilight and Harry Potter series are like M & M's - yummy, and I can munch right through them, but books written by Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, these are fine Swiss chocolates that have to be slowly savoured. Not as easy to get, but infinitely more satisfying. Trust me to come up with a good chocolate metaphor.