Bug the Builder...Yes, We Can!

It's funny how small things can be pivotal. How many parents have wrestled with their child over math lessons or homework to the tune of the plaintive cry of, "When will I ever need this?" Bug, at the advanced age of...um...eight, has succumbed to this syndrome while doing those quadratic equations the rest of us know as addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. Sigh. At this rate, I expect I'll hear the same from Princess in another month or two...

When his attitude became increasingly truculent, I decided that we needed some practical application and enlisted the services of Tool Guy. And truly, woodworking experience utilizes all of the functional math embodied in most third grade curricula. He obliged me, as he does in most all things.

Amazingly, this child who had heretofore shown no passion for anything other than videos and computer games (I do not count myself among those parents who see a budding Spielburg or Gates in such juvenile passions) developed an immediate affinity for woodworking. Now this is an avocation I'm thrilled to see him sink his teeth into. I'd much rather he wax on to strangers about the kerf of a blade than what level he acquired in even such as Math Blaster.

For his first project, he and Tool Guy settled on a bedside table in my honor, considering that a piano bench overflowing with my audiobooks, earbuds, and other multi-media accoutrement such as accompanies my night-time knitting excursions needs some help. Tool Guy did the ripping, but Bug did the rest. The centerpiece tool to this entire project was a commercial jig--doncha just love all of the lingo? Just wait until I start elaborating on mortises and tenons--which produces a superior assembly, both in strength and ease of execution. Within a surprisingly short period of time, Bug proudly presented me with a night stand that he had designed. Tool Guy assisted in dimensioning, but Bug's rough sketch of what he wanted still graces the wall of Tool Guy's shop. Bug sanded, assembled, stained, and shellacked this table. Amazing.



And when, proud papa that he is, Tool Guy flashed pictures of this table around as if it were Bug's baby pictures, Bug received his first commission to produce some bedroom furniture at some point for one of the mom's in our homeschooling co-op. Tool Guy and Bug were both so buoyant about its success that they decided to write to the jig manufacturer and wax enthusiastic about its merits and applaud them for marketing such a useful and efficient tool that even an eight year old could use to build quality furniture.

The response was surprising. On Thursday evening after trudging in late from a long day of homeschooling co-op, we were greeted at the door by a UPS package. I twitted Tool Guy, Mr. UPS-At-My-Door-Everyday, yet again for yet another internet order from his favorite jig company, but he declared himself innocent. And indeed, he was innocent. This time...don't kid yourself. The package turned out to include a warm letter of thanks for Bug's initial letter and pictures of his project. The letter asked that Bug consider building another project using the tool kit in the package, which was their latest incarnation of Tool Guy's favorite jig, and document the project for them.

The pair were beside themselves with excitement and acceded to my suggestion that we needed a new medicine cabinet for the bathroom and the project began in earnest. Meanwhile, the company PR rep was not idle. Shortly after the cabinet was finished and the last pictures and video clips were sent off to them, we received a phone call from the local paper wanting to schedule an interview with Bug. Heady stuff for an eight year old, no?

In addition to teaching Bug lessons about addition et al, this project has taught him a multitude of other things. Craftsmanship, creativity, a sense of self-confidence, and self-sufficiency. I want my children to learn that they can do whatever they set their minds to and not remain at the mercy of what the market provides. I think it was Bug who, when I was applying make-up one day and commented that I was almost out of a particular cosmetic, responded with, "Guess you'll have to make some more." Heh. But that's really the message that I want them to carry. If they can dream it, they can make it.

They can even make it if someone else dreams it. (Just don't sell it, alright?) One of the banes of Breatharian eating is the expense. Even the commercial preparations that are compliant with the diet are hideously...nay, exorbitantly...dare I say, usuriously expensive. Granny discovered this when she volunteered to underwrite providing the Hobbits with such commercial treats as they could have. She failed to reckon with the rising cost of food and the rising amount of such food that the Hobbits could consume. Quickly she cried, "Uncle!" and agreed to underwrite the ingredient purchases if I would do some cooking dangerously and reverse engineer the treat. It was an immediate hit. It has been requested to be part of our travel package when we do a road trip later this summer.


Grainless Granola Bars

Base "dough"

1/2 cup baking or whole dates
1/2 cup raisins
1/4 cup amaranth
1 T maple syrup
1/4 tsp. salt
1 cup seeds or chopped nuts (pumpkin seed and sunflower seed pictured)

Run ingredients through food processor or blender until blend incorporates into a ball.

Into the base dough, press 1 cup total of pumpkin, sunflower, sesame seed, walnuts, pecans, or any preferred seed/nut or any combination thereof. Princess is inclined to a pumpkin/sunflower seed combination, while Dog and Bug favor walnut. The seeds/nuts can be pressed into the dough with a fork or scraper, but I decided to let my machines to the muscle and used the dough hook on my Kitchen Aid. When the seeds/nuts are fully incorporated into the base dough, pull off approximately 1-2 T of the mixture and press into the bottom of a muffin form. This amount of ingredients yields about 12 granola bars. Alternatively, press the whole mixture into a pan and slice into bars.



Bug told the reporters, "I like it. And I'm good at it." On such things hinge significant things...a sense of math, a sense of accomplishment, and a sense of direction. And quality time with Dad. Doesn't get much better than that.

Fools and Children

It is generally to be expected that children of a certain age will require less supervision than ones of a younger age. I've watched with envy as other moms pass off responsibilities to their maturing youngsters, enjoying greater liberties even while having much smaller ones underfoot. It was with such burgeoning expectations that on a morning when I was running behind schedule, I tossed back over my shoulder to the Hobbits heading out the door, "You're surely old enough to know the rules and I hardly need to helicopter over you, right?" Listening to the chorus of assent, I informed them where I'd be and admonished them not to kill each other. I failed to mention not killing themselves. An important distinction, it turned out.

I've been a mom for almost twelve years, so I've done this for a little while. I've heard and even affirmed the chestnut, "When you can't hear them, go look for them, because they're up to something." Rookie error. No doubt. I got out of the shower and proceeded to proceed with my day, checking things off of my tyrannical to-do list. I vaguely remember thinking that they had come so far, matured so much, mellowed so significantly to be playing together so well. Must be the diet stuff, no doubt of it.

Rookie error. No doubt.

I was shaken out of the hazy-fringed, pinkish fantasy by an ominous crash in the vicinity of our back deck. Trying it imagine what it was that had caused such a loud noise, I dashed toward the back door to see a ladder laying on the deck and the blur of Dog, scuttling for cover. To tease the details out of what happened weren't so direct as what I'm relating and took quite a bit of time to unravel, but I did manage to find out what had happened.

It seems that the three of them had invented some kind of pitch and catch game between the deck and the ground, involving a Woody doll...or is it more politically correct to call them "themed action figures?" At any rate, this Woody--as much abused as his big screen doppelganger--ended up on the roof and stubbornly refused to come down. Smart Woody. Not to be deterred, these squabbling siblings were able to truce long enough to devise a plan of appropriating a ladder, bringing it up to the deck, and climbing up to retrieve the...action figure. Who was seeing a great deal more action that Disney ever imagined or intended, given his subsequent bedraggled appearance. This worked well for a few times--apparently all of the times while I was still in the shower--and they were actually throwing the doll up there for the purpose of retrieving it. Until Dog hit his knee on the poorly placed ladder and managed with that blow to knock himself off the ladder, barking his knee and obtaining quite a lump from the ladder's descent to the deck. I couldn't decide whether to shake my head or laugh. I think I did both. He was most incensed because Princess, of the Amazon stature of five years old, failed to hold the ladder securely enough to avoid this.

Where was Bug in all of this, you ask? Oh, when his exit from the roof disappeared, he availed himself of gravity and jumped off the roof at the front of the house. I kid you not. It should be noted, for the sake of everyone's cardiac stability, that our house is a low-slung bungalow which sits on an incline and the lowest part of the roof is actually the front of the house. I can stand flat footed and reach the top of the roof with my hand. But for an eight year old, even one who is tall for his age, that is quite a jump.

Dog was quite offended. I'm not sure exactly why. I didn't laugh in his face, nor did I yell at him for being stupid. I didn't ground him or exact any punishment or consequences for it, though I did try to explain to him why it was ill-considered behavior. He disappeared in a sulk and when I noticed that he'd been off my radar for a while, I asked the other Hobbits if they'd seen him. Nope. My last sighting of him was the vicinity of the van, so I suspected I knew where he was. Sure enough. Sulking in the van. I hopped in and sat next to him.

"So is this what running away looks like at your age?" I asked. He muttered that he wasn't running away. Somehow we managed to get the conversation going again and he poured out all of his tweener frustration. I listened, sympathized, and reminded him that if he was being an eleven-and-a-half year old for the first time, then I was being the mother of an eleven-and-a-half year old for the first time. We chuckled and walked away friends again. Though I'm still not sure what I'd done wrong in the situation. Other than take a shower.

The Hobbits like sweets, but for comfort foods, nothing beats fried anything. The moment seemed to call for comfort food, so Bug asked if I would make up fried onion rings. He even suggested the application, though I was mentally heading in the same direction when he made the suggestion. He's the one making his own breakfast these days...scrambled eggs. The next generation's chef, that one.

These onion rings take a bit of advance prep, but are, in Dog's words "awesome" and Bug concurred, asking, "Who wouldn't like these?" That's a five star rating in our house.

Grainless Fried Onion Rings

2 onions, sliced thinly and separated into rings
2 cups tapioca starch
2 tablespoons seasoned salt
lard

Take sliced and separated onions and soak in cold water for a few hours or overnight. In a plastic bag, measure the tapioca starch and seasonings and shake to mix. Drain the onions and toss into the plastic bag, shaking and mixing thoroughly to coat. Remove onions and spread onto a large platter or cookie sheet. Spritz with water from a spray bottle until the flour is damp, but not so much that the flour is rinsed off of the rings. Place in the refrigerator for a few hours, then repeat the procedure with the bag of seasoned flour a second time. Spritz lightly a final time and leave the rings in the refrigerator for at least a few hours or ideally overnight.

When ready to cook, heat lard in cast iron dutch oven or skillet to frying temperature and scatter rings in hot oil. Fry for 2-3 minutes or until desired crispness. Remove and drain. Enjoy!

When I spoke with my dad later that week--he was out of the loop, working on a hurricane relief crew on the coast--I shared the story. He laughed, too. I told the story of the neighborhood kids, including me, climbing up on the roof of the pump house located in a no-man's-land in our neighborhood. He informed me that he was aware of the practice, but let us stretch our wings, as it were. Then he shared a few of his childhood horror stories. Generational ties.

There's an old expression that God protects fools and children. Good thing that, since we seem to have a double dose of both.