Monthly Archives: September 2016

I do too plant seeds!

Posted on by
2

Milo sat at the table, eating his oats and fingering a seedling growing kit.  It’s a charming Kiwi thing, to give out a free seeding growing kit with a $40 grocery store purchase.  “You don’t know how to do this,” he taunted.  “You haven’t planted before.”

I looked at him quizzically.  Could my own son really not know what I do for work?

“We plant millions of plants at the greenhouse,” I said, reaching for the kit.  “What’s that you’ve got?”  I squinted at the little label that came with the box.  “Basil?…. Or Baahhhsil?” I re-pronounced the word, realizing that he may only know the Kiwi vernacular.  “We plant lots of bAYsil at work.”

“But do you plant it?” Milo was incredulous.

“Well….nnnoooo….not usually.  The last thing I planted was peppers,” I admitted, “several weeks ago, for an experiment.  The machine plants basil.”

Milo gave me the “I told you so” look.  “A machine plants basil?”  Obviously it wasn’t done with my very own fingers, so it didn’t count.

“It does,” I assured him.  “These little needles that are hollow suck up the seeds from a tray with a vaccum—shlurp!” I held up my fingers and flapped my wrists in imitation of the seeding machine.  “Then they spin around and dump the seeds in the tray—plop!  It does it again and again, until there are three-hundred and thirty-eight seeds in a tray!”  I don’t operate the machine, so “we” plant the seeds at Zealandia in the royal sense, but I felt that level of detail was unnecessary for my son’s education.

“Well, we plant these at school.”  Milo was only slightly impressed by my machine impersonation.  “This little thing is coconut fibre,” he said, holding up a flattened round disk.  “You add water and it puffs up.”

Sure enough, he did know how to soak the coir (coconut fibre) and scoop it sloppily into the paper pot, covering the tissue paper impregnated with basil seeds carefully with a thin layer of tissue paper. Hurray for school.

Sure enough, he did know how to soak the coir (coconut fibre) and scoop it sloppily into the paper pot, covering the tissue paper impregnated with basil seeds carefully with a thin layer of coir.  Hurray for school.

“We have coconut fibre at work too, except it comes in big slabs, and we really don’t use it that often.”  I could tell I was losing his interest.

“Am I going to see William today?”  He was on to the next subject.

“No, tomorrow.”  I resolved to bring home a picture of the basil growing in the greenhouse at work to prove to my son that…that what?  That I do work?  But I didn’t actually plant that basil, and neither did I water it, nor will I transplant it, nor take the customer orders, nor load it for dispatch.  What I do is rather abstract, and I guess I don’t blame him for not understanding it.

"See Milo, here's the basil that grows at work. Thousands of seedlings!"

“See Milo, here’s the basil that grows at work. Thousands of seedlings!”

More basil. "See Milo!" He grinned. He still knows I didn't actually plant it.

More basil. “See Milo!” He grinned. He still knows I didn’t actually plant it.

 

Independence Days

Posted on by
1
Milo seems to be entering a new era of independence. Along with making his own breakfasts, he has been walking himself home from school as well. His buddy Ash (on the blue scooter) walks with him, and us moms wait at the end of our driveway for the boys to make their way around the school grounds. It's a bit like I dreamed it would be when we moved into this house across the street from the school....except I had envisaged Naomi napping and mommy having some quiet time before Milo's return.

Milo seems to be entering a new era of independence. Along with making his own breakfasts, he has been walking himself home from school as well. You should have seen the expression on his face the first day he tried it–I’d call it radiant.  His buddy Ash (on the blue scooter) walks with him, and us moms wait at the end of our driveway for the boys to make their way around the school grounds. It’s a bit like I dreamed it would be when we moved into this house across the street from the school….except I had envisaged Naomi napping and mommy having some quiet time before Milo’s return.  Ah well, Naomi does make a lovely welcoming committee.

Milo spent an hour on Sunday morning building this fort, weighing the blankets down with milk jugs (still full of milk). He was quite proud of the outcome, insisting he had made it big enough for me to squeeze in as well. Hum. I explained that Mommy's hips aren't quite as narrow as his, but I stuck my shoulders in to try it out. I used to love fort building too.

Milo spent an hour on Sunday morning building this fort, weighing the blankets down with milk jugs (still full of milk). He was quite proud of the outcome, insisting he had made it big enough for me to squeeze in as well. Hum. I explained that Mommy’s hips aren’t quite as narrow as his, but I stuck my shoulders in to try it out. I used to love fort building too.

Naomi had her own friend over this morning, a new era for her. The girls played quietly with a game while I sewed. Then the giggles turned to whispers and the whispers to silence, and I thought I had best investigate. The trail led to an open pantry cupboard and two pairs of little pink socks hiding behind the chair. They were sneaking granola bars. Could be worse!

Naomi had her own friend over this morning, a new era for her. The girls played quietly with a game while I sewed. Then the giggles turned to whispers and the whispers to silence, and I thought I had best investigate. The trail led to an open pantry cupboard and two pairs of little pink socks hiding behind the chair. They were sneaking granola bars. Could be worse!

A five year old’s guile

Posted on by
1

“Milo, what are your plans with that shovel?”  When Milo’s moving that quickly around the corner of the house, my suspicions are aroused.  Call me a pessimist.

“Just going down to the bridge.” He paused, looking around in what I took to be a guilty manner.

“Ok, but you know that the stones need to stay on the bridge, right?”

“Yes, mom!”  Naomi hurried after him, bucket in hand.  I resumed my weeding.

A moment later they reappeared on the patio, bucket and shovel at the ready, laden with stones.  Milo quickly positioned his shovel under his bike jump and started tipping.

“Milo, NO!  Stop!” I commanded in vain.  He feigned deaf and the stones clattered onto the concrete.  “I told you not to take the stones off the driveway!” I’m exasperated.  There’s nothing like blatant disobedience which also involves a mess to get my ire up.

“I’m building my jump up higher!”

“Not with those stones.  You’ll need to pick them up before you’re allowed to go inside.”

“But Naomi needs to help too!” he whined.

“Come on, I’ll help Naomi, you pick up yours.”

I’ll spare you the rest of the dialogue.  It doesn’t get any better.

He lost interest in the bike jump after that and the two of them disappeared indoors.  The birds chirped.  The sun shown.  The quiet was lovely…but vaguely suspicious.  I poked my head through the door, wondering if they were unrolling toilet paper (the current favorite pass time).  But instead I smelled nail polish.  They aren’t allowed free reign of the nail polish!  I followed my nose to the dining room table where Milo was liberally coating Naomi’s and his own finger tips with pink and purple lacquer.  There was surprisingly little on the table, but I was still not impressed.

“Milo!  You have to ask before getting out the nail polish, because I want to control where it goes!”  I swooped up the jars and consigned them to a high cabinet….which no doubt they can reach with their monkey-like climbing skills anyway.

Milo pouted.  I returned to the outdoors.  Upon returning I discovered that I had stimulated the muse for the little man.  He was just finishing his first chapter book.  The first four chapters of “Mommy the Pest.”

He wrote chapters 5-8 after I complained about the negativity, but he’s certainly prouder of his original work.

Just one minute…

Posted on by
1
Have you ever felt that the whole world was conspiring against your moment of solitude?

Have you ever felt that the whole world was conspiring against your moment of solitude?

Sunday morning.  Breakfast was made.  Kitchen was cleared.  Kids were playing happily, so flopped on my stomach in my bedroom to read the last chapter of my book, “Don’t Let the Goats Eat the Loquat Trees.”

2 minutes in I hear a swish as the door is pushed open.  “Mommy, what you doing??”  Naomi came around to the far side of the bed to look me in the face.

“Reading, honey.”  I kept the answer short in the vain hope that she’d get bored and go away.  Instead she grabbed hold of the comforter, found a toe hold, and hauled herself up onto the bed.  I carried on reading.  She bounced over to the shelves at the headboard, pulled down my paua shell filled with little stones, and tipped it onto the bedspread.

“Naomi!  Stop that.  Go away.  Get off the bed and go out of my room!”  I collected the stones from in and around the blankets, plopped her on the floor, shepherded her quickly through the door and closed it firmly behind her.  She can’t read the handle when it’s latched.

I had been back to my book for three minutes when I heard the latch again.  “Mom, what are you doing?”  It was Milo’s turn to enquired.

“Just reading for a minute, can you go play?”  He started the ascent of the bedclothes, and I abruptly cut him off.  “I don’t want you in my room, go play!” I commanded, pointing towards the door.  “One….Two….Threeeeee!  Close that door behind you!”

I pondered how heavy a dead bolt would have to be to keep the kids out of the room and made a mental note to peruse Mitre 10’s hardware section sometime soon.   Hardly a minute had elapsed before I heard the door again. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Jeremiah asked.

“I’ve got half a page left to my book, and I just want to finish it!” I flung back in frustration.  “I need a hidey hole!  Or perhaps a second floor room accessed by a trap door with a pull-up ladder!”  He grinned.  He’s used to my eccentric outbursts.

The world keeps on turning…

Posted on by
3

Whatever my personal woes may be, the world keeps on turning, turning.  It’s a good thing too, because we’re headed into spring.  NZ has enjoyed an El Nino winter, which for Canterbury means less rain and more sun than usual in the winter months.  The farmers complain about drought…but then if they complain about everything.  It’s human nature.

I’ve been practicing the discipline of savoring the  small things.  Here’s a sampling:

My Beautiful Baby, amongst the cherry blossoms. We made little blossom babies with kowhai bodies and cherry bud heads, but their heads kept falling off. I wonder if I looked like that when I was little?

My Beautiful Baby, amongst the cherry blossoms. We made little blossom babies with kowhai bodies and cherry bud heads, but their heads kept falling off. I wonder if I looked like that when I was little?

A whole hilltop at Halswell Quarry is capped with brilliant yellow wattle trees. They're stunning, zillions and trillions of sunshine pompoms. They're from Australia, but I don't hold that against them.

A whole hilltop at Halswell Quarry is capped with brilliant yellow wattle trees. They’re stunning, zillions and trillions of sunshine pompoms. In this instant my favorite color is yellow.  They’re from Australia, but I don’t hold that against them.

This breakfast scene may look run-of-the-mill, but it represents a mammoth leap forward in child rearing. They got this breakfast by themselves, while their parents were still cozily tucked in bed. Well, to be more precise, Milo prepared the oatmeal for himself (including pouring boiling water) and the cereal for his little sister. No milk was spilled, and though I can't guarantee how much brown sugar was consumed, I'm really not bothered. We got enough sleep. Woke up naturally. We felt great.

This breakfast scene may look run-of-the-mill, but it represents a mammoth leap forward in child rearing. They got this breakfast by themselves, while their parents were still cozily tucked in bed. Well, to be more precise, Milo prepared the oatmeal for himself (including pouring boiling water) and the cereal for his little sister. No milk was spilled, and though I can’t guarantee how much brown sugar was consumed, I’m really not bothered. We got enough sleep. Woke up naturally. We felt great.

The forecast was for a "fine" day, meaning sunny and warm, but in the misty back yard that promise seemed unlikely to be fulfilled. "You wondered what it was like inside a cloud," I reminded Milo. "This is it. Cold and clammy." How do you suppose those minuscule drops line up like perfect pearls on the spider strands? Turns out spider silk is NOT perfectly smooth, but instead has little fluffy clumps spaced regularly along its length which catch and hold water better than the smooth stretches between them.

The forecast was for a “fine” day, meaning sunny and warm, but in the misty back yard that promise seemed unlikely to be fulfilled. “You wondered what it was like inside a cloud,” I reminded Milo. “This is it. Cold and clammy.” How do you suppose those minuscule drops line up like perfect pearls on the spider strands? Turns out spider silk is NOT perfectly smooth, but instead has little fluffy clumps spaced regularly along its length which catch and hold water better than the smooth stretches between them.

That's Thomas the Tank Engine that he's riding at Sumner beach. He and Naomi spent a contentedly busy day there last weekend, moving sand. There's no end to a child's fascination with the stuff, and I confess that I also relish a sculpting challenge now and again.

That’s Thomas the Tank Engine that he’s riding at Sumner beach. He and Naomi spent a contentedly busy day there last weekend, moving sand. There’s no end to a child’s fascination with that stuff, and I also relish a sculpting challenge now and again.

Instead of the Pale Green Pants with Nobody Inside Them, we have the Bright Pink Gumboots with Nobody Inside Them. The kids are amazingly cold tolerant when it comes to winter beach water, and Naomi decided that no boots were better than wet boots after a surprise wave filled them with water.

Instead of the Pale Green Pants with Nobody Inside Them, we have the Pale Pink Gumboots with Nobody Inside Them. The kids are amazingly cold tolerant when it comes to winter beach water, and Naomi decided that no boots were better than wet boots after a surprise wave filled them with water.

Milo theorized that if he coated Thomas the Sand Train with "cement" (wet sand), that it would never wash away in the tide. We didn't stay long enough to disprove that theory.

Milo theorized that if he coated Thomas the Sand Train with “cement” (wet sand), that it would never wash away in the tide. We didn’t stay long enough to disprove that theory.

"Mommy, can you wipe me?" "Mommy, can you WIPE ME!?" The summons repeats itself with such volume and regularity that she can't hear me yell "I'm coming" from the next room over. Never mind. The poop is in the potty with reassuring regularity these days, and wiping a toilet bum beats changing a diaper any day.

“Mommy, can you wipe me?”
“Mommy, can you WIPE ME!?” The summons repeats itself with such volume and regularity that she can’t hear me yell “I’m coming” from the next room over. Never mind. The poop is in the potty with reassuring regularity these days, and wiping a toilet bum beats changing a diaper any day.

Every year the daffodils burst through the grass at Hagley Park. Whole swaths of grassy river banks under the naked oak branches turn cheerful, and with them the residents of Christchurch. Winter must be finished.

Every year the daffodils burst through the grass at Hagley Park. Whole swaths of grassy river banks under the naked oak branches turn cheerful, and with them the residents of Christchurch. Winter must be finished.

Are all kids naturally happy creatures? Maybe not, but I'm lucky that mine seem to be.

Are all kids naturally happy creatures? Maybe not, but I’m lucky that mine seem to be.