Boy Scout Wannabe

The other day,  Jude came to me and told me he is big enough to be a Boy Scout now.  One has to be eleven to start in Boy Scouts, but this rule does not concern Jude, who frequently informs me of his maturity and how he should be the exception to such rules.

Apparently Jude perused Paul's Scouting magazine and came across a vintage picture of a Boy Scout.  He promptly hunted down his little brother's cowboy hat, put it on and told me he could be a Boy Scout because he had the proper hat.  Joel said, "You cannot!  You don't have a knife and you're not old enough to have one yet!"

Not to be deterrred, Jude sincerely informed me that he "would listen to the guy and do what he says and be a good boy."

About twenty minutes later, I was rummaging through the freezer when I happened upon a bag of peas.  "Oh!" I said to Jude, who was standing right beside me, "I don't have to buy peas after all because I already have them."  Then picking up the green bean bag I said, "I have to remember to make some vegetables for Paul to take to his Boy Scout dinner tonight."

Jude said, "Mommy, when I grow up, I'm going to be a Boy Scout and I'm going to like peas!"

Spaghetti Feed Fundraiser

Paul is a rather reserved boy, which is fairly typical of a firstborn (he is the firstborn son).  So it was a challenge for him to muster up the courage to go door-to-door selling tickets for his Boy Scout troop's spaghetti feed fundraiser.  In fact, I think hoped that by avoiding the task, the whole thing would just go away.  However, the day came when he had to try to sell a few tickets.  His Scout meeting was that night and he needed to show the troop that he had made an effort.

That morning, Daddy explained to Paul what he should say when someone answered their door.  By late afternoon, I told Paul that it was time, he must make a go of selling tickets.  Once again, I repeated to him what he should say.  Then, I had him practice, with me pretending to be the potential customer.

His brothers and sisters were quick to offer their assistance.  In fact, Lydia had the spiel down pat on her first try.  Joel brought me a piece of paper and asked, "Mom, can you write that down, 'It's a fundraiser.' ?"  Finally, I felt Paul was as ready as he would ever be, so we prayed and I sent him out the door.  He wanted to go by himself, but it was already twilight, so I insisted he take at least one of his siblings.  Plus, I figured a buddy might remember to relay relevant details, like the cost per ticket, date of the event, etc.

Lydia was sure she was perfectly suited for the job (and she was), but Paul did not want to take her.  So both Joel and Jude tagged along.  Joel wore his Confederate Army hat, Jude wore his WWII green Army helmet.

After they left, I prayed that the Lord would give my boy success.  I abhor the memories of my own childhood door-to-door peddlings and could relate to what Paul must have been feeling.  A little over an hour later, the boys came home, having sold all ten of the tickets.  I was told that the attendant Confederate soldier made sure to say, "It's a fundraiser!" at every door.

Last Sunday, we attended the big event with our friends, Paul's godparents, Brian and Julie and their family.  The Boy Scouts served, so we didn't see much of Paul.  His baby brother Isaac thoroughly enjoyed his meal, though.  Paul was tired when we picked him up later that evening, but he had done his job well.  Apparently, the event raised a total of $600, of which Paul raised $120 (largely due to some generous donations from family and friends).  Our boy is growing up.

Confounding Houdini

This is the way Isaac wears his pajamas.

Exasperated with putting his p.j.'s on four or five times a night before putting him down in his crib, we resorted to the backwards method.  He still is able to wriggle his little arms out of his sleepers, but he gets no further than his waist in the disrobing process.

I've tried several times in the last few weeks to allow Isaac to wear his p.j.'s in the traditional manner, but the temptation has proven to be too great for him.  Within a few minutes of putting his pajamas on, Isaac is found running gleefully through the house wearing only his diaper.  Back to wearing backwards pajamas, little Houdini.

Lydia is Eight

Lydia celebrated another birthday at the end of January.  We had a special dinner on her actual birthday and quickly opened presents after we ate.  Grace had a class that evening and Daddy was busy packing for a weekend retreat.  However, we celebrated in a little bigger way a couple of days later.  Grandpa Tom, Grandma Jane, Auntie Em and cousin Raphaella came here for a huge Mexican dinner and cake pops (Lydia's request) for dessert.

Lydia loves all things crafty.  She completed the projects that Grandma and Grandpa gave her within a couple of days of receiving them.  She recently unearthed a series of craft books my little brother had as a boy.  She's been creating all sorts of things from the ideas she's garnered from the books, including duck hats for herself and all of her little brothers.

We love our Lydia.  She's still a "dandy," as a family friend so aptly described her several years ago.  As a mother, I have a hard time keeping up with all of her  ideas.  She's always got something up her sleeve she wants to tackle, from science experiments, to a new piece of piano music, to a chapter book, to some overly involved art project.  I think to myself, "Don't you ever get tired, child?"  Apparently, she does not.  It's a quality that will serve her well in the future and for now, serves to teach her mom patience.

Making a Detestable Task More Delightful

The most dreaded chore in our house is cleaning up the school/play room.  After dinner one evening last week, I announced, "We're all heading up to the school room to pick up!"  Needless to say, my announcement didn't garner much enthusiasm.  Even I was less than enthusiastic.  Puke.  I know, such a first world problem--having so many toys that they morph into a den of chaos without the least bit of coaxing.  Nevertheless, the job had to be tackled as we were having little friends over to play the next morning.  I just needed to rustle up the verve to lead the troops into action.

So I asked Grace to pull Paul Simon's Negotiations and Love Songs out of storage in the basement.  The rest of the kids and I headed upstairs.  I began directing, "Jude, pick up all of the horses.  Joel, pick up the weapons.  Lydia, pick up the trains."  I started picking up the play kitchen stuff.  Soon, Grace got the music going and here's what ensued:

Local Militia Bakes Birthday Cake