dirt don't hurt

Thanks to all of my readers who have sent me their favorite oatmeal recipes! If you've got a good one to share, post it in the comments for all to read! “Dear, I love you and everything, but this is the worst dinner you have ever cooked in all of our ten years of marriage.” All of that from one meal that Wilford Brimley told me was “the right thing to do.” But I guess it wasn’t “the tasty way to do it.” I have this odd relationship with oatmeal. Always have, always will. I think it stems from the fact that I figured out, at a young age, that if I taught myself to like things that other people didn’t want, I would have more. The revelation hit at Girl Scout camp when I watched so many mistakenly burnt marshmallows go into the fire. With the limit set at two per girl, I quickly upped my intake by offering not to waste the burnt ones. It naturally follows then that I also learned to like black jelly beans, mushrooms, and prunes. Added to the list is oatmeal which was never reall...

A snowman's life Is a pitiful thing, When it ain't exactly Winter And it ain't exactly Spring.

The rest of the world has moved on since Christmas. No so in my house. So very long ago, at our Christmas Eve church service, my son actually paid attention. All of those Sundays when I thought he was just swinging his legs back and forth and staring up in the dusty rafters remain a mystery. But on Christmas Eve, he was listening. I know he was listening because the priest’s homily was all about the season of Christmas. He spoke about many things, but he mentioned at some point that Christmas was not just a day, but an entire season. And by kid standards, seasons last forever. Summer may fly by in the blink of a lightening bug, but winter, in the eyes of a child is longer than time itself. And therefore, according to my son, Christmas lasts until at least March. I know this because he told me. “We have to leave the tree up until at least March. That’s what I learned in church.” So as long as we could, we left up our Christmas tree. I admit I enjoyed the soft glow of the lights as they ...

We had a great day today, romping around at a winter program for kids at The Wilderness Center . We learned a few things...the kids can now tell the difference between moss and lichen, we know that they recently discovered that the red bat hibernates under leaf litter, and how to identify the beech drop. I also realized that my kids have been paying attention all of these years. They were whizzes out on the trail, spotting animal trails and tracks, bird and squirrel nests, etc. I was a proud mom to say the least. But what makes me even more proud was the conversation we had on the way down there, about why they love the wilderness. In perfect kid form, they argued about who likes it the most, and why they like it so much. "It's everywhere you look. You just need to pay attention." "But I think it's so cool because, it's like, beautiful and science all together." "I like it more." "No, i'm the wilderness kid." "Well, you...

It was my lucky day. I was actually going out to dinner in a nice restaurant with my husband and other people, all of whom were adults. Commonly called a RWC, a Restaurant Without Crayons is something special, especially when you consider that the placemat doesn’t double as an activity pad and a menu serving hot dogs. In a life of motherhood like mine, this doesn’t happen very often. It’s practically the Halley ’s Comet of my dinner hour life. And so I began on an evening of preparation for a single and wonderful meal without my kids or my diaper bag in tow. It started off with a bit of a morale booster when my six-year-old son said exactly this to me. “Who makes the best dinner and is the most awesome mom in the world? THAT lady,” and he pointed to me with his tiny fingers held like little pistols and he clicked his tongue as if he were calling a dog. Keep in mind that the world’s best dinner according to my kids is anything that contains plain noodles and steamed broccoli which is no...

Call it an impulse purchase, but a few months ago I couldn't pass up " The Book of Totally Irresponsible Science ." It was calling my name. Literally. Although all of the experiments haven't worked perfectly for me ( c'mon , I burned through about 2 dozen tea bags and nearly set off the smoke alarm for trying to make the hot air balloon) but one experiment was way too fun. So if you're home on this Martin Luther King Day with kids driving you batty, here's a disgustingly fun way to amuse yourselves and pass the time. Turning milk to stone. (I would post a photo, but my camera is having some charge issues.) YOU NEED: 1 1/2 cups skim milk microwave safe mixing bowl 4 teaspoons vinegar microwave strainer YOU DO: 1. Mix milk and vinegar in bowl. 2. Microwave on high for 60 seconds. 3. You'll notice that the liquids and the solids have separated. Pour through the strainer. 4. Let the solids cool just a little until you can touch them, and then mold...

Avid readers might notice that I recently changed the name of this blog. I wanted a catchier name, something that summed it all up in one happy little phrase. After much deliberation and a vote or two, "dirt don't hurt" won, hands down. It comes from the saying, "God made dirt, and dirt don't hurt," something that I've heard and said over the course of my lifetime, mostly when someone in the crowd is ewwwing about dirt somewhere on their body. Personally, I love dirt. It's good fun stuff, especially when it's got a little water mixed in with it. I know this because I have many photos of myself, all pretty much looking like this one (taken waaay back in the late 90's) I also know I love dirt because I refuse to wear gloves when I garden and boots in the creeks. If you've felt the good feeling of dirt under your nails and between your toes, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, you should. My children are learning...