Apples

First there are buds and flowers, sometimes with snow...

Then there are little green apples...


Then there are red apples...

Then there are picked apples in the bucket...

Then there is pie, preferably a la mode...

And it was good. We also made applesauce last week, but certain children didn't like the texture. I'm contemplating a food mill.

Poetry, part 2

This evening Eli was working on the poetry project again. His assignment included writing an "I don't understand" poem. He wrote this without any help from anyone:

I do not understand
Why people don’t take the time
To look at the world around them.
To see what wrong things are happening.
To see the people who are hurting.
Why nobody helps anybody else.
Why there’s no more trust among friends.
All the bad decisions we’re making.
The wars over seas and on the home front.
I do not understand
How we can survive, let alone live
In the turmoil and the chaos
Spreading throughout our society.
But what I do not understand the most,
Is why nobody ever seems to care.
Why nothing ever gets done
To try and change things,
And how even if you told them to,
They still wouldn’t listen.
So what can we understand?

Talk among yourselves...

Poetry

Eli has been trying to finish up a big unit on poetry at school. He's had to write in several styles/formats. One was a "poem to a person." He had a little help from me in tidying this up, but he chose to write to Briggs about the night Briggs was born:

This is a poem to my brother, Briggs.
I remember the night you were born.
Early in the evening my mom said, “It’s time!”
She called the midwife who came over pretty quickly.
Then we called my friend, Mrs. Prather, whose job was to keep me company.
Soon afterward my mom, my dad and the midwife
Went to the bedroom where you were born.
I talked with Mrs. Prather about what was going on and slept some.
Later, after everything had calmed down, early in the morning,
they let me into the room to see you.
You were really tiny, wrapped in a blanket, with a cap on your head;
Your eyes were closed.
I crawled onto the bed with mom and you.
She was tired but happy.
You were quiet. (That changed.)
Mom and dad made me sit on the bed in order to let me hold you.
I felt overwhelmed. I felt proud and excited and happy.
I felt like a big brother.
It was a big night for both of us.

Later in the evening I let Briggs read the poem. He was pretty proud. I think we all were.

Nutella: the gateway chocolate

I bought a new tub of Nutella on Tuesday. I had a hankering for a toasted sesame bagel with Nutella. Our local grocery had both, though they only had a large-size tub of Nutella. They had the smaller size on sale a couple of weeks ago and still have not been able to restock.

Shannon came into the church kitchen while I was spreading the Nutella onto my bagel, and stirring my coffee. As she eyed my plate and analyzed that I was doing, it was obvious she was hungry too, and so I offered her a bagel and the option of some of the Nutella. She had heard about it but had never tried it. I later saw her walking around the office with a goofy grin on her face; and she talked about it all morning. She’s hooked.

Fast forward to the evening. I had brought the leftovers home and stowed the bagels, but inadvertently left the Nutella on the counter. Calvin and Libby got home; Libby went back out to a meeting. I was home with all three boys. The most one can hope for in this situation is quiet, which was finally achieved with Eli in the basement and Briggs drawing at the dining room table and Calvin playing with toy cars in the living room (not quite our three boys, three floors separation perfection, but good enough for Tuesday afternoon). But even then one has to be on guard that something nefarious is not afoot in the midst of the quiet. At one point I heard Calvin make his way to the laundry room, presumably to the toilet (sheepish departure from the living room, laundry room door closed). I didn’t think too much of it. In a few minutes I asked Briggs if Calvin was still in the toilet; he reported that he was and that the door was locked. Still it was fairly typical scenario. Calvin finally came out and walked through the living room back toward his cars. I noticed some sort of schmutz around his mouth. Thus:

Me: Calvin, did you eat something?
Calvin: No, Daddy.
Me: Did you eat a PopTart. (There had been some chocolate ones lying about.)
Calvin: Nope.
Me: Did you go poop?
Calvin: No.
Me: Did you go pee?
Calvin: No.
Me: What’s on your mouth? (By this point I was walking toward the laundry. I had Calvin by the hand.)
Calvin: blank stare
Me: Did you eat some chocolate? (Not that I had put anything together yet and I didn’t really think there was chocolate lying around.)
Calvin: No.
Me: Did you make a mess in my kitchen? (Even if he hadn’t eaten anything, he still could have made a mess with something and gotten it on himself.)
Calvin: Nope.
Me: Did you make a mess in the laundry room?
Calvin: No.

By this point Calvin was pretty sure he was off the hook because he had not done any of the big things that would get him in trouble and so he started walking away. But at the same moment I had arrived at the laundry room and seen the tub of Nutella, lid off, with a baby spoon sticking out of it. More than 1/3 gone. Libby and Calvin a couple of months ago had worked out that this was “chocolate peanut butter.” And I knew he liked it, even more than regular peanut butter. (I know, maybe he's not really my child, right?) So there wasn’t any way I could really punish him; he wasn’t really in trouble. But the whole scarfing-it-down-with-the-door-to-the-laundry-room-closed-with-a-sheepish-grin-on-his-face image has me just a little nervous. Note to self: Nutella needs to stay in the cupboard, even though Calvin knows where it is and knows how to move the trash can off the kitchen stool, and then move the kitchen stool into position beneath the correct cabinet and then climb up on the stool and then onto the counter to get it.

Pssst, hey kid…wanna try this?