Vacation Food
Whenever you go on vacation, you have to eat. But if you just eat the same thing you eat when you are at home, then how does your body know it’s on vacation? Doesn’t seem fair.
Many people have some special food they eat on vacation. For a long time my vacation food was Gorp. This is because whenever my father took me on a camping or backpacking trip, this is what we brought along. A mixture of nuts, raisins, seeds, M&Ms—Gorp is salty and sweet and pretty much you could live off the stuff for days if you didn’t catch any fish or the rest of your food was eaten by a grizzly bear.
But one day I graduated from Gorp to beef jerky (teriyaki flavored). I think it must have been the melted mass of chocolate and nuts in a neglected Ziplock that did it in. Beef jerky has enough salt to preserve your body should you ever die on vacation and they don’t find you for a few weeks.
Massive salt intake turns out to be a problem, though, because on vacation I never seem to drink enough anyway, and eating a pound of salt only makes the problem worse. And it’s not sweet. Without sweetness it just doesn’t seem to count for vacation food. You might as well be shoveling down lunch in between a web design meeting and a trip to the accountant to see how much you owe this year for taxes.
So on today’s trip to the grocery store I passed the microwave popcorn. Perfect. A little salty and sort of healthy. Picked up a large box. Then a small box of the kettle corn variety for a little sweetness. We’re almost on vacation. Life will be good.
Until I got home. “You bought HOW MANY???” “18 in this box and 12 on that one. This is good stuff. Healthy. Easy to make on vacation. Kids love it.” “I was thinking maybe 6, but 30?!!”
It reminded me of the time she brought home 500 plastic cup lids (yes, probably a 10-year supply), but I couldn’t bring that up because then she would mention the time I bought a gallon of olive oil on sale and it went bad before we could use it all. Then we’d be back to me and I couldn’t think of another one. (I dare not mention the large quantity of shoes in her closet. That’s off limits for Filipinos.)
So she goes to the store and comes back with bold and spicy Doritos. Too spicy. Not sweet enough. I just can’t do it. But she loves it, and she only bought one bag. Or at least I only found one so far. Maybe I should check the car before we leave.
What’s your vacation food?
Treehouse Slideshow
Some Busy Boy readers have been anxious to see progress photos on the treehouse. This slideshow demonstrates the process over the last 30 months.
click for slideshow
NYC Photo Contest
Another trip to NYC, this time 10 photos. The photo with the most votes on this blog wins a prize for the photographer. Vote for your favorite. Only one vote per person, please.
One: Corner Office
Two: Rotunda
Three: Ceiling
Four: Guggenheim Sunrise
Five: Daddy Camera
Six: Guggentraffic
Seven: Reading by Castle
Eight: Jazz
Nine: Camera Kid
Ten: Statue
Fourteen Years Ago
July 1.
Beach.
Nerves.
Family.
Sunset dinner.
High tide.
Nerves.
Will you?
Yes.
He remembered the date and I didn’t, so the flowers were a genuine, sweet surprise. Four red roses, two pink. One for each of us, and a card to thank me for yes and six.
Yes all over again. And the six? Soli Deo gloria.
Caption Contest Winner
Congratulations to Snazzy Hippo for winning the photo caption contest. She got a pound of coffee from Baltimore Coffee and Tea. Yummy yumsters.
I hear 3 is tough, I’m ready!
Congratulations also to “Anonymous” for their timely, winning entry:
For everything there is a season…
A time to sweep and a time to be swept up into spring,
A time to play sports and a time to wear sporty red footgear,
A time to brandish the flintlock and a time to buckle on the swash,
A time to see the world through round rosy eyewear,
A time for everything under the sun!
Getting to Know Her
Geneva, now 16 months, recently took time out of her busy day to answer a few questions for her fans…
Q: How do you spend your time these days?
Gigi: Eat copious amounts, play, nap, eat moderately, play, nap, eat next to nothing, play, sleep. I like routine.
Q: How can you sleep with all the noise your brothers must make?
Gigi: I’m used to it. They’ve been in my face ever since I moved in. Frankly, it’s nice to get a little space at naptime. At the end of my nap, at least one of them climbs into my crib to wake me with a resounding, “WAKE UP! IT’S TIME TO PLAY!” So I take my space where I can get it.
Q: What new skills are you mastering these days?
Gigi: Well, I’ve recently stopped calling everyone “Daddy.” (It was bothering Mommy.) Now I call everyone “Mommy” instead…except Daddy. He has a special place in my heart.
I talk all the time—full sentences, with inflection and everything—but there seems to be a language barrier. I get answers that have nothing to do with what I just said. I overheard Mommy and Daddy talking about Benjamin Franklin, and when I tried to chime in about his 13 virtues, they gave me a completely non sequitur response. “Yes, that’s a dog outside, isn’t it?” So now I’m focusing on more solitary pursuits, like teaching myself to read.
Q: Very impressive. How about ambulation? How do you get around?
Gigi: I’m pretty fast on the stairs, but I find walking too pedestrian. I’m sticking with crawling. The boys are forever coaxing me to walk, but I find if I put my lungs to good use and throw in some dramatic gestures, I can usually get what I want with a minimum of effort.
Q: You’re the only one with your own room for now, but I’m guessing there’s some sharing in your future. How do you feel about that?
Gigi: I don’t share. Period. It’s just a boundary I have.
Q: I’ll put this next question delicately. I’ve heard it said that some girls can be a little more emotional than their male counterparts. Would you agree?
Gigi: I’ve certainly seen it with other women, Mommy especially.
Q: Maybe that was a little too delicate. Let me rephrase. Are you more emotional than your brothers?
Gigi: [Clearly distraught.] I can’t help it if I’m the littlest one who gets blamed for everything! And sometimes Daddy says no to me, which crushes my dreams! If only he knew how it hurts my feelings…
Q: Let’s take a break while you gather yourself. Tissue?
Gigi: [Signs "please." Sticks thumb in mouth, signaling end of interview.]
Spencer at 3
He doesn’t have to say a word, and yet strangers often approach him to strike up conversations. (If he’s in the mood, he obliges.) We’ve met many nice people this way.
He talked early and has never stopped, except to sing. He uses spoken language skillfully and possesses more social intelligence than we’ll ever have. Gestures flow effortlessly—a flirtatious tilt of the head, a finger raised in emphasis, a slight frown to indicate thoughtfulness.
He came from us, but he’s nothing like us. He’s funnier. More extroverted. Better at sports.
Spencer, you delight and mystify us. We love it both ways. Happy Birthday!
Birthday Smoke
Peer Pressure
Recently I went away for a weekend with some old friends. We did the usual girl things (ate well, shopped a little, talked a lot) and discovered something about ourselves: we all struggled with staying up later than we—and our husbands—thought we should. Any mom knows that those quiet hours after the kids’ bedtime are not to be squandered, so we packed them with To Do lists that would put Martha Stewart to shame. But that uninterrupted time came at a dear price: a grouchy wife/mom trying to meet the unrelenting needs of a busy household while conveying the love of Christ to the demanding little darlings.
So we made a pact. A secret one.
We set bedtimes for ourselves and agreed to keep them. Wakeup times too. We also set a deadline four weeks away, made some contest rules, and established a sizable reward for the most disciplined mom…cold hard cash. Then we went home reveling in the joy of knowing we were about to surprise our husbands with a happier wife.
Scorecard
Week 1 was easy. It was motivating to know that dramatic life change was just around the corner. Some husbands even noticed the difference, and the kids definitely noticed a happier mom.
Week 2 was pretty easy too. Except the laundry was beginning to pile up (who has time to fold it when you have to be in bed by 10:30?) and homeschool planning wasn’t getting done anymore.
Week 3 was a real struggle. The body clock was willing to consider change but could easily be persuaded to revert to its old night-owl ways, and now there was no denying the backlog of housework. I lost a point staying up late to do laundry and make a book list for a curriculum fair. (Homeschooling is the perfect excuse to buy more books. As if I needed one.) But I only lost the one point. I was still in the running.
In Week 4, something happened. Actual life change. I couldn’t keep my eyes open past 10:30. I officially became a morning person, waking before my alarm and falling asleep before my husband.
I may have lost the contest (by that one point!), but it felt good to act like the grownup I pretend to be—someone who does what she’s supposed to because it’s the wise thing to do. For next month, I set a stricter bedtime, which I just violated while writing this post, and added an extra goal—decluttering for 10 minutes a day.
So to all my HH sisters, thanks for the best kind of peer pressure! (By the way, this is my grace night.)
Bucket and Pulley
If you don’t have a bucket and pulley, do you really have a treehouse?
Begging for a bucket
But how to do it? We need a plan.
Bucket/pulley anatomy
This is not really for kids to swing on or for carrying large loads, but we’re talking boys here, so anything’s possible. What could support such weight?
A simple triangle you can really lean on and a pulley rated for 200 pounds
I was going for a wooden bucket, which is still the dream, but it turns out they are very expensive. In the meantime, the practical mother suggested this cheap galvanized pail. Hey, you can’t go too wrong with a pail, can you? (Yep, that’s a noose knot. Tied that myself I did.)
Insert supplies here and hoist away
Now we just need to put it all together. Stay tuned.