Fritz Loven

We subscribe to the Minnesota Conservation Volunteer Magazine—a little publication with a lot of pop when it comes to excellent info on Minnesota's great outdoors. Aaron picked up the most recent issue and latched on to an article about picnicking—something families did regularly prior to the invention of the TV. I have great memories of picnicking with my family growing up, and I actually have a collection of black and white photographs of my Great Grandma, Great Grandpa, and their children (my Great Aunt and Uncle, and Grandfather as children) all picnicking in the woods of MN.





So, all that said, Aaron and I decided to begin a new tradition and take the kids on a picnic at least once a week, making our way around our local state and city parks. We started with Friz Loven last night, and had a great time, though it started out a little rough . . .

We have begun to realize that Caleb often needs convincing when it comes to doing something out of the regular day-to-day routine. So he wasn't too game about going, at first. But once we arrived and he realized he was going to get to run wild in the woods, he was really game. Unfortunately, potty training put a damper on the start of the adventures and we ended up having to pull a diaper out of the car and let Caleb go pant-less due to over-excitement. Once we set up our picnic—fried chicken, ice-cold pickles, cheese, and fruit snacks, we were about to commence when Caleb fell off the picnic table bench and wrenched his shoulder. After the tears subsided and the limb was tested for strength and flexibility ("Raise your hand high over your head—really high—good!" Now, squeeze Mommy's hand really tight—super tight! Good!") and it was ascertained as whole and functioning, we continued with the picnic.










Once the crumbs were swept off the picnic blanket, we went for a little family hike down to the stream that flows through the park, looked for brook trout, and threw a few rocks into the water for good measure. The evening was relatively bug free (a minor miracle), and the evening sun filtering through the trees was absolutely glorious.

Overall—a huge success!

Now . . . where to next week . . .

Farm Fresh

For those of you who don't know . . . at the Red House, we have chickens.

I don't normally make this kind of a public confession as it tends to generate raised eyebrows and strange looks. But today I am feeling particularly brave.

I grew up in the country and kept chickens, and honestly, while town life provides the welcome convenience of a grocery, the movie-rental store, and the local coffee shop, all in close proximity, my heart still resides in more wide-open spaces.

Last spring, when Caleb was still wrestling with his ongoing eating/health issues (another story, another day), we found that eggs were the only form of protein he would/could consume without negative effect. We were going through about a dozen or more eggs every couple days, and so in a desire to provide my son with the best possible form of this food source, and because I have always had the secret desire to keep chickens again, Caleb and I drove to the small hatchery south of town and brought home a few downy chicks.

After the long process of community involvement/petitions/dealings with local government that resulted in a change of city ordinances, the RedHouse Chickens rose from their "grandfathered-in" status of legality to "fully-welcome" citizens, as north Brainerd city residents. They weathered the sinfully-frigid temps common of Minnesota winters, and now are providing us with about four eggs a day.

A few benefits, aside from the constant and continual supply of eggs: plenty of garden fertilizer, excellent composting, a relatively bug-free yard and immediate neighborhood, a "farm" experience for myself and my children, and the infinite delight of watching my son not only collect his breakfast, but eat it too—the incredible, edible egg.

Which came first? Definitely the chicken.

"Swimming"

I just had to share this picture of Caleb.

We spent the 4th with Aaron's family up north, and following a fabulous time spent participating in small-town old-style community games, (balloon toss, potato sack race, shoe kick, relay races, etc.), Caleb was pretty hot and sweaty. So, into the kiddy pool he went.

The look on his face clearly says it all:

"Can you believe I'm getting away with this much fun?!"

New House continued . . .

Well . . .

The new siding/painting project is almost complete!
I posted earlier on this process of reclamation, I am SO THRILLED with how the little red house has turned out. Beautiful!

I am posting a couple of pictures for the sake of comparison. What you can't see very well in the first photo is how the paint is actually being blown off the siding due to the wood rot. Lovely.
1. Before
2. During
3. Almost done! (the white/blue parts are not yet painted).

Doll Baby—4 months old

She looks like her daddy, no?

Dog Days of Summer

I adore this weather. For some, it's been a little cool, but for me the ideal temps are between 68 and 72 degrees, sunshine, cool nights . . . oh man. Heaven.

Last weekend, we had that scenario (for one day at least, the other was considerably warmer), and we spent the weekend at my parents' cabin. What a blast! Caleb was totally undone by all the sunshine, fresh air, time with both Mommy and Daddy, and we, likewise, had a great time—rested, played hard, and came home happy.

In my mind, my childhood was idillic. I grew up in the country, had a horse, and lived by a lake. Everyday was spent in the woods or in the water, and nothing can compete with the memories I have of my childhood summers. Last weekend was like reliving those days. What a blessing.

To the Dog Days of Summer. May they never end.

Bedtime Blues . . .

So, rather than writing a synopsis for my most recent project (really overwhelming), I am blogging . . . and procrastinating. :)

Oh my word. Where to start. You know when you hear horror stories from your mom about that one particular thing you did over and over (generally something naughty), and that thing categorized you as a tough—(fill in the blank: eater, sleeper, etc.) Well, I was not an easy to-bed-we-go child. Seriously. I wrote the book on things-you-can-do-to-extend-the-bedtime-process.

Woh. See, I've always been a procrastinator!

Anyway, that gift I gave my parents has now been returned to me. Tenfold. My son, my sweet-natured, easy-to-bed, will-sleep-anywhere child has become a changeling. Some sinister creature has replaced him and now the bedtime routine has become AT LEAST an hour-and-a-half long process.

Right now, Caleb's bedroom is FINALLY quiet, and I am exhausted from trying to get him to sleep.

The scenario goes something like this:

Me: "Hey Caleb, time for bed in five minutes, Ok bud?": (like it's an option. *drips sarcasm*)
Caleb: (*totally continues whatever he's doing like he didn't hear*).
Me: (*Repeat self several times until response from red-headed boy is evoked*).
Caleb: "NOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (*heart-wrenching wail*)
Me: "Yep. Five minutes."
Caleb: (*Back to playing and ignoring*).
Me: (*begin the mental countdown*).
Me: "Ok Bud, bedtime!" (*cheerful loving mother voice*)
Caleb: "NOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (*another heart-wrenching wail*)
Me: "Yep."
Caleb: "Two mintues."
Me: "Nope. Bedtime!" (*cheerful loving mother voice, again*)
Caleb: "I need a snack for the road."
Me: "No Caleb, you had dinner and we already brushed teeth. It's bedtime."
Caleb: (Much wailing about denied snack).
Me: "Up the stairs, Caleb. It's bedtime."
Caleb: "I need a . . .(fill in the blank et. infinite).
Me: (*Not so loving mother voice*). "Caleb, up the stairs. Now." (Sometimes he complies at this point, but more often than not he insists on picking up his toys, which never happens otherwise, or some other equally helpful task. Often, I end up carrying screaming, fighting boy up the stairs to his room. Once we have arrived in the room the process begins all over again).
Caleb: "I need a drink. . . . I need my animals (stuffed), . . . I need my cars . . . I need . . . need . . . " (et. infinite)
Me: "Bed. Now."
Caleb: "NOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (* heart-wrenching wail, throws himself from bed to floor*)
Me: "In bed now or Mommy will have to spank you."
Caleb: "Hard?"
Me: "Hard."
Caleb: (*considers options*) "Spank me."
Me: "Ok." (*spanking ensues* back to the bedroom with semi-remorseful child).
Caleb: "Sing to me Mommy?" (This is another procrastination technique, but I can't resist this one, which he knows. I comply.)
Me: "I love you Caleb. Goodnight."
Caleb: "I need a drink."
Me: (*sigh*) "No Bud, you already had a drink." (*cue wailing*)
Caleb: "I need to go Potty."
Me: (*Deep breath*) "Do you really have to go potty?" (This is last-resort material on Caleb's part).
Caleb: "Yes."
Me: "Go."
Caleb: (*bright smile*) "I go quick!" (*goes potty and dawdles severely on the way back until I am forced to carry him*)
Me: "Now Caleb. Bedtime. I love you."
Caleb: "NOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (*another heart-wrenching wail*)
Me: "Do you need another spank?"
Caleb (*considers options*) "No." (sometimes he says 'yes' and we have to do that routine again.)
Me: "Bedtime."
Caleb: (*FINALLY climbs under covers*) "I have a question . . ."
Me: "No questions. Goodnight." (*makes way to door way*)
Caleb: "Mommy! Mommy!" (*very urgent*)
Me: (*sigh*) "Yes Caleb?"
Caleb: "You my best girl in the whole world."
Me: (*melts in a big puddle on the floor*) "I love you Buddy."
Caleb: "Love you Mommy."
Me: "Goodnight." (*exits door and steps out closing it behind me.*)
Caleb: "MOMMMMYYYYYYYYY! I NEED A DRINKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!"
Me: (*sigh*)

At least I know where he gets his procrastination tendencies.