Wild Kingdom

The snow has given Larry a few days off from work, allowing him time to just hang out at home and enjoy the scenery, loll around and smell the flowers, as it were. So he was enjoying the unaccustomed sight of a snow-covered landscape through our living room window the other day when he spotted something new. "Hey, kids!" he called. "Look at that bird near the feeder!" The children rushed to the window to behold a stunning feathered creature of the hawk variety. David, our resident scientist, was puzzled. "Hawks don't eat from bird feeders, do they?" he asked. "And where are all the other birds?"

Observant, that's what that kid is; more observant than his father, anyway. The dozens of sparrows, woodpeckers, chickadees which normally frequent the area around the feeder were gone - vanished. All, that is, except one...

What do hawks eat, indeed? Behold the food chain, kiddos, in living color!

We'll just check science off the homeschooling schedule for the week. Now if we could only get Susie to stop crying...


[hawk picture courtesy of wikipedia]

Regrets, I've Had A Few...

I told the younger children to find something to do (other than stand by my computer desk and shout questions at me) while I took some time to write a few bon mots. So now all three are competing to see who can best imitate the sound of a dentist drill. Hoist by my own petard, I am.

I'll be back later, after a much-needed lobotomy...

Beats A Lemonade Stand

Readers of this blog know that Rachel is a unique child. Not only does she possess an unusual interest in plumbing and exhibit an inordinate fondness for decapitating stuffed animals, but she also seems to have kleptomaniacal tendencies. Oh, nothing major - she hasn't taken to packing some heat and knocking off banks (yet); but we don't exactly leave money lying around the house. Once, on a trip to Target, we discovered 24 dollars in her cute little purse, 24 dollars whose provenance she claimed not to remember.

So, naturally, when I discovered money while unpacking her backpack from our trip to Grandpa's house, I worried. I pictured her growing up and just "finding" things in stores and at friends' houses. I imagined phone calls to parole officers and visits from whoever is in charge of juvenile delinquents. I wondered whether she'd be able to complete college while incarcerated.

I decided to have a talk with her about ownership and how you don't just claim any loose change (or bills!) lying around someone's house, even if Grandpa does think you are cute and wouldn't complain. Because, really, she's 7 already. She should know better.

"Honey," I began. "I found some money in your backpack."

"My money!" she said, happily.

"Now, sweetie, you didn't bring any money to Grandpa's last week. This can't be yours."

"No! It's mine!" Still happy.

Oh, dear, this was going to be harder than I had thought. She's not only a kleptomaniac, but a compulsive liar to boot. Just one step away from a hardened criminal...

"Sweetheart, you can't just pick up someone else's money..."

"I won it!" she said, proud as punch. "From Uncle Matt! Playing Texas Hold 'Em!"

That's my girl. But is gambling preferable to stealing? Or am I just rationalizing deviant behavior? And does this mean I won't have to give her an allowance?

[And yes, Rachel does talk in exclamation points. All! The! Time! It wears out my ears.]

Not Dead Yet

Well! I've been berated in the last post's comments for not showing up here for 6 days. I'm glad someone missed me. We had to travel for a funeral last week (my mother's, actually) and we just got back. The kids cried the whole time. For their grandmother? No. They were sobbing because we were missing a (rare) huge snowstorm back home. They spent all of Saturday watching the Weather Channel.

They cheered up considerably, however, when they realized the TV room contained a motorized recliner, something Grandma sorely needed in her last days. They were delighted that, at the push of a button, the chair would go slo-o-owly up and forward; another button, it would go slo-o-owly back down. They took turns. They were amused for far longer than the 15 minutes or so normal children would enjoy such a contraption.

An hour. They played in it for an hour. All the while watching close-ups of snow-covered cars and fallen trees; and listening to bundled-up weather correspondents squinting into the camera and talking about "Snowmageddon"....

And the next morning? As soon as I came downstairs, Rachel came running over to me. "Mommy!" she begged. "Can we play in the electric chair?"

Just one more thing to explain to those nice people at Child Protective Services...

Hey, CBS? Do The Right Thing!

I have found an excellent article about the Super Bowl ad featuring Tebow. Written by an ardently pro-choice woman, it lists the reasons that Tebow's pro-life ad should be aired by CBS on Super Bowl Sunday.

Well, I think it's excellent - some of you may hate it.

My favorite sentence:

If the pro-choice stance is so precarious that a story about someone who chose to carry a risky pregnancy to term undermines it, then CBS is not the problem.

How dare she muddy this controversy with logic? The nerve of that gal!