How to Make a Great Paper Box.

It’s a Good Thing!

Ever had one of those days? It seems ironic that just last week I was talking about “two mocha days”. Because, I had no idea then that Sunday would register off the mocha scale. It was just that bad. If it could go wrong, it did. It was fiasco central here yesterday.

Life is fairly chaotic here lately. IZ has been managing his own work chaos. We hear him feverishly typing but we’re steering clear to make sure he has space to deal with client melt-down. And, it’s end of term for Boy Wonder and the last minute push to get it all done keeps us crazy busy. Not necessarily a bad thing, unless of course, you realize that you have missed on portfolio item altogether. Portfolio items need to be mailed in and while school ends on Wednesday and that’s theoretically enough time to do the work, it’s not enough time if you have to mail the portfolio on Monday. Which we do!

So, in a classic, “Stop the Presses” move, the boy and I sat down and did the project. We will now attempt to make up for lost time today. It’s all good. Really, it is. It doesn’t matter that the boy has to tape his speech today and he seems to be coming down with a case of Laryngitis. Oh my.

The Laryngitis is self-induced, which brings me to the mother of all disasters: the church dinner. You’ll have to trust me on all the gory details. I’ve rehashed them all with IZ so much that I’ve driven my self to distraction. The wrong kind, too! The basics are such:

• We attended a newcomers dinner at the local Episcopal Church last night.
• We thought it was a family deal, it wasn’t. It was an adult deal. They’d hired (somewhat insufficient help) one 15 year old girl to watch a passel of kids.
• Hell broke loose.

(more…)

“You know, mom, I don’t think of myself as a change-resistant child.”

So, the boy and I played hooky from school yesterday. It’s the end of term and we have so many projects to finish, it probably seems a bit unwise to do so. However, sometimes when you’ve been working hard you just need a break. IZ had treated us to the late night showing (mercifully not the LATE LATE night showing) of the new Pirates movie the night before. Friday dawned late for us and we just couldn’t face doing anything else. As we are blessed with a day off on Monday, we have time on our side. Besides, procrastination is an art form and every serious student will tell you, a necessary part of the process.

What, you don’t write your best work under pressure? I thought so! So, stop your judging!

Anyhow, the boy and I decided to hit a few garage sales. We spent the better part of the afternoon hunting for treasure. I desperately need more stock for Thrifty Goodness. He, well, he needed a few lessons on the fine art of garage sales. I call it, “Take your child to work day.”

By the end of the day (what, you thought I’d pass on secrets to the internet. My, you people are optimistic!) he was a seasoned pro. At his last purchase the seller commented, “Wow! You’re really good at this!” as he’d managed to haggle the price of his item down to include 4 extra Star Wars figurines for only .50c more. He beamed. So proud to have figured out what he now calls the “code”. He played it cool and said,  “I learned it all from my mom.”

It was his day, yesterday. He came home with an arm full— some of which people just gave to him because he was so cute. Uh, how come that doesn’t work for me? Anyhow, I  only managed to take one photo yesterday. But it probably sums up the day quite well. This is Boy Wonder and his vintage Underwood. That he got for a mere $10 (they were asking $20).

Me? Well, I struck out. Usually, I come home with at least something to account for the hours, but yesterday was nearly a bust. Some days you score and some days you don’t. But, treasure comes in many forms—a day spent with a great kid being one of them.  Another lesson learned, I’d say.

Sometimes, when you’re starting a new venture you need a little helping hand. You know, someone who will post about your work and tell the whole world how great your new store, or project, or piece of art really is! Someone to tell the masses about the worthiness of your venture. Self promotion can be difficult for anyone starting out but especially tricky if you’re 10 and your mom won’t let you go door-to-door selling your wares!

Of course, it helps if your mom has a blog and an online store of her own—surely she’d help a 10 year old out, right? Yes, indeed, nepotism reigns supreme in these parts. What kind of mother would I be if it didnt?

So, without further ado: I present Boy Wonder Bazaar. This is the only pair in his wee store at the moment, but there will be more in the future. This is art, I’ve been told; clearly you don’t want to rush it!

I can vouch for these little lovelies—as I was a recipient of not just one pair, but two for Mother’s day. Each unique and completely handcrafted by the boy. I’m not sure what impresses me more: that he does this stuff on his own, or his attention to detail. Either way, you can imagine I was blown over. Now you can be too!

Who said nepotism was a bad thing?

Me: “Hey kiddo, what’s wrong? You seem a little sad.”

Boy Wonder: “Oh, no, I’m just thinking.”

Me: “Whatcha thinking about?”

Boy Wonder: “Oh, I’m thinking about physiology.”

Me: “You have some questions you need to ask me?”

Boy Wonder: “No, I’m just pondering the blood stream.”

And then he launched into a 10 minute explanation of his theories about the way blood moves through our bodies. Using all kinds of words that I have have to admit I don’t really understand. I guess he should have asked me if I had a few questions for him.

“. . .And that’s probably the reason our bodies don’t have touch sensors on the inside,” he concluded. Someday, I’m going to learn not to interrupt his pondering.

Incentive or Bribe? Call it what you like, but my mama didn’t raise a fool. At least not in this department. Boy Wonder has a writing sample that must be mailed off to school by the end of the month and he was having such a hard time facing his final draft. In typical form, he had all the work done long before yesterday with the exception to that neat and clean final copy. Shocking, right? Yeah, not so much. He’s definitely his mother’s child in this regard: he’d rather keep his options open. A finished copy of work means, well, you’re done. We’d rather not start than choose to finish. It’s a gift, really.

He’s been pestering me to bake. Oh, not ME to bake, but to let HIM bake. On his own. “With very little meddling from you” kind of baking. He’s a smart kid, he knows that if he hits me at just the right moment, I’ll say yes. . . and if he doesn’t he’s a big fan of drip marketing. Drip, drip, drip: Oh, ok, you can bake cookies! Evidently, his mother didn’t raise a fool either!

As to not completely give in, I bargained a compromise: “You write your final draft by 3 and I’ll let you bake cookies.” He’s been taking lessons from his father because he countered, “For the neighbors, too?” S i g h. Right, like I’m going to say, “NO! You can only bake for us.” Ha! So, we made a deal. And darn if the kid didn’t get his end of the bargain done well in advance. Uh, huh… now who’s the smarty-pants?

He chose his recipe, Peanut Butter, and I had him read the directions through twice. He determined in order to have enough left over he would need to double the recipe, so we worked in a little math with fractions. Note to self: Have the boy do this for you from now on. He’s good with math, you’re not! And then he went to work.

He decided that he wanted to box his cookies and set about making origami boxes for them. Pink boxes with yellow ribbon: feels like Spring! He had quite the rhythm established by the end: scoop cookies, put them in the oven, fold a few boxes, DING!, take cookies out of the oven, repeat! The results were pretty good, too! He’s now our official goto guy for Peanut Butter Cookies.

I want to go on record here: the ONLY thing I’m responsible for in this whole thing is tying ribbons and donating flowers. Otherwise, this was his from start to finish. Oh, wait… I helped eat the cookies too.

As much as he enjoyed the whole baking process, I suspect what he really digs is delivering his goods. He was gone for at least 10 minutes to each house (save one)… I peeked from inside our entry door—watching him chat with the neighbors. They all stood and talked to him, raving about his kindness and inquiring to his day. He’s a really chatty kid and when I asked him why he wanted to do this he said, “Well, I thought it would be a good neighbor thing to do!” A box of Peanut Butter Cookies is a nice bonus for a chat with a sweet 10 year old. And darn, if to the one they didn’t stand there in their doorways being ever so pleasant.

The only real snag was with our neighbor, John, who is a man of few words. He took the cookies and said thanks, but he didn’t enthuse. He was one of Boy Wonder’s last stops, so the lack of enthusiasm was a bit confusing, I think. However, this morning the doorbell rang and there was John bringing our “dish” back. Inside, he had tucked 3 squares of yummy Ghirardelli chocolate and then wrapped it all back up. Apparently, we have very good neighbors!

It’s been a fierce morning. Occasionally, our mild mannered but overly talkative 10 year old will explode with theatrics that rival Mt. Vesuvius. There was some misunderstanding that led to the classification of treasure as trash… and trash gets discarded. Oh my.

Poor IZ. It’s moments like this when I’m thankful to be raising a boy—otherwise, most of this drama would be aimed at me, and I’m by no means the most patient of Boy Wonder’s parents. He can throw a lot at his dad without a nuclear meltdown being imminent.

But the drama led to a nice conversation. He’s 10 and I thought he’d reached the age where snuggling had to be on his terms. Turns out, I was misinformed.

Me: Well, this was a nice snuggle. How come you don’t snuggle anymore?

Boy Wonder: Because I’m not invited!

Me: Oh. I thought you had reached the age where we only snuggled if you wanted to, but what you’re telling me is that you’ve reached the age where we snuggle only if I invite you.

Boy Wonder: Right!

Me: Good to know.

Oh, I know they never outgrow the need to be loved on. But, it’s a tough line to walk knowing when and where and how without damaging those delicate boundaries being established we like to call autonomy. I had parents who didn’t understand the need to respect those boundaries and I struggle to this day because of it. I suspect this makes me more sensitive to the situation. I mean, don’t we all over-react to our own parenting at times? Surely, I’m not the only one out there playing the, “I’ll never do THAT” game!

Anyhow, we had a lovely little chat between the sniffles and hiccups. After we solved how to rescue his treasure we went on to plan our next big vacation. By the time IZ joined us for a family mocha break we were well into the giggling over the realization that Boy Wonder would be a teenager when we went to France. The thought of girls Ooh la la-ing his 13 year old self sent us into to fits of laughter. When I relayed a bit of our conversation, I was quickly corrected.

Boy Wonder: I did not say that! She makes things up.

IZ: Your mother is prone to do that. As are you!

Boy Wonder: No, she changes how things were said, I just leave things out.

I’m glad we got that straightened out.

Now, said treasure is in the very disgusting trash outside waiting for me to go through it. Yes, just call me Ms. Peace Keeper. I hear the UN is looking for good fierce help!

He always said I’d be working for him someday, but I had NO idea it would be this soon (or for so little pay!). Meet my boss:

Yep, I’ve been “hired” by my kid to be his fulfillment/shipping department. It’s my job to handle all the payment transactions and make sure that if you’ve ordered a Bag Bag you actually get it!

On an up note, people have been incredibly generous with Boy Wonder’s venture. For those of you who have already purchased a Bag Bag, thank you!! You ROCK. But the goodness just doesn’t stop! I mentioned what the kiddo was up to when I ran into JoAnn’s for Bag Bag supplies and the woman behind the register gave me 40% off everything in my shopping cart that was regularly priced…(they’re only suppose to let you use one coupon per item per visit!) and she stuffed my bag full of 40% off coupons. Then the station manager at the radio station where Bug is a DJ has approached Bug about recording a radio spot for Georges. And THEN… his first check came in and a lovely man included an extra $5 for Heifer International. You good people never cease to amaze me!

And I should take the moment to let you know that whether you buy a Bag Bag or not, Heifer International is a great organization to support. A gift of sustainability is a gift that keeps on giving. Check them out.

Now, I must go. The Man is calling; I hear I have to get back to work and stop blogging on company time.

My kid is a thinker. He has feelings, but he tends to run with his thoughts. Given a choice between telling you how he feels and what he thinks, there is no choice. He’d rather build you a robot than talk about his emotions. Rather design you a card or picture on his computer than actually write one by hand. I sometimes find myself struggling to relate to this deeply analytical child—as his way of being in the world is very different than mine.

He is also 10 and quickly reaching the age where the stories about him are no longer “cute” and “funny”—but limited by his need for privacy. He knows I blog and he knows he plays a big role in this world of mine. He’s ok with me telling you the good stuff and with my posting photos, as long as he isn’t “embarrassed” by it. At two you can get away with sharing so much, even at six and seven. Let’s face it, at that age they are doing stuff that warrants conversation. Those little wisdoms that come bounding out of their limited experience are too good not to share. Right?

At ten… not only are the things he’s doing too complicated to share—how am I supposed to explain that he’s looking for molecular modeling on the internet and can’t find anything that isn’t attached to a University when I’m not sure what molecular modeling is—but they are private in nature. It’s stuff you might not want your mother telling the world.

It’s not just about dignity… although I’m trying hard to maintain mine while protecting his. It’s also about being willing to let another person own their own story. I have some time before he looks at me and says, “This is my life and it’s off limits”—but it’s coming. At 10 he has his own blog and his own stories to tell. He is finding is own voice and the line between what part of the story belongs to me and what is his by virtue of experience is getting so hard to see.

I’m hoping, that by taking this first step to letting him go, letting him be in charge of his own story, that the later letting go will be easier. Of course, it won’t be. But practice has to help—if only in teaching of the doing.

These are lessons I’d rather not have to learn.

Today, IZ and I were called downstairs and presented with the card above. The text on the front reads:

Your love is great. So great that in order to give it back I had to wrap it in these three poems.

The inside has the following handwritten poems.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I love spending time with you.
Rather a sewing lesson or a video game,
I love the fun you put in my name.
In or out , you’re always about,
Whenever I am in doubt.
Sometimes I’m frustrated there is no doubt,
But you can fix it before I shout.
Whenever you can you say OK,
So we can all shout Hooray!
Young or old you will always
Make me feel the Love you hold.

Mom
Kind, Happy
Loving, Feeling, Exaggerating
A happy good person
Thank you

Dad
Scientific, Enthusiastic
Thinking, minding, examining
Another good happy person
Thank you.

He closed his little love note with these words:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thank you for all the wonderful things you have given me. Now I give you these poems to express my feelings about you.

It was that last line that sent my tear ducts into overdrive. Of course, it’s not cool to be crying over these things…

Boy Wonder: So, do you like it?

Me: Like isn’t a strong enough word, kiddo. It’s beautiful, these words are beautiful and I love it. I love YOU!

And here is the moment. Where I once would have posted those words without a second thought, I paused. I held his little card in my hands and said, “So, do you mind if I share your words on my blog?” He just smiled and said, “Nah, you can! It’s ok. Honest.”

I find myself overwhelmed a lot these days and he’s not the least of the beauty in my world. As I sat there looking at his card, breathing that moment in I was impressed with his willingness to put to paper his feelings. This wasn’t a gift of a robot or an invention or his newest theory on atomic science. Instead, it was like being handed a flashlight in a dark tunnel and discovering that you are surrounded by astonishing beauty. In making his card, he moved out of his own world and attempted to meet me in mine. Pencil and paper and watercolors and crayon—the stuff of my soul was handed back to me in the most tender of moments.

I almost didn’t write this—I almost held onto it… but even at ten the wisdom that comes bounding out his experiences is so worth sharing. So, I share while I still can.

And then, my thinker child went back to thinking. I thanked him for his gift and said I’d be keeping his words forever. He smiled at me and said. “You know if you don’t want to type all that out, I have it saved on my computer.”