I didn't need to walk anyway

When I was a kid, I remember frequently enjoying a ride on my dad's foot. Now, my kids enjoy it, too. This is a bit ridiculous, though:

Three kids, two legs!

I can eventually trudge over to a doorway, and hang on to the jamb while I swing my legs (and their passengers!) to a little tune I made up:

Swing Fiona, back and forth!
Swing Fiona, drop her on the floorth!

Swing Fiona, to and fro!
Swing Fiona, don't let go!

Swing Fiona, up and down!
Swing Fiona, drop her on the ground!

The kids rarely make it through all three verses before they're lying on the ground, laughing their heads off.

Walk? Who needs to walk?

First day of school

See? I told you I was behind...

Fiona is off to first grade, and Aiden is off to preschool for the first time.

The traditional picture on the front porch, each in their favorite outfits.

Both schools are in easy walking distance.

I'm amazed that they bothered to put any vegetation in front of this sign before the first day. I assure you, we weren't the only people telling this particular story with cameras.

At the classroom door, it was very easy to see the difference between Fiona's and Aiden's personalities. Fiona got to the doorway, and froze:

Fiona's hesitation at the door was just long enough to capture this perfectly.

Then, she immediately started seeking structure: "Where's my desk? Where do I put my lunch? Where do I put my backpack? Where...." ...is a high, semi-panicky voice.

Mrs. Burgher was unfazed.

As we left, she was immersing herself in the experience as fast as she could.

Then, it was time to walk the two blocks to Aiden's preschool.

And then there were three. Plus Daddy's shadow.

We got to Aiden's classroom, and he walked right in. Right past the teacher. Right to the toys. Adjustment? What's there to adjust to?

Oh, this looks like fun...

Tomorrow, I'll be posting photos from their high school graduations. Hyperbole, yes, but then, consider: Fiona is seven. Somewhere between a third and a half of her time in our nest is already gone. Better enjoy it while it lasts!

Sapo Verde a Ti

Hang around us long enough, and you will eventually be here for a birthday. And we Kerrs don't settle for a standard "Happy Birthday" ...we may very well wish you a green frog: Sapo verde to you!

This started when we lived in Costa Rica, where, inexplicably, people preferred to sing "Happy Birthday" in English, or as close to English as they could. (I've encountered this attitude in many places, but a Portuguese friend explained it most succinctly: "When we get to heaven, we will speak in Portuguese. But we will still sing in English." All the good songs are in English. Now you know.) If you're familiar with a Latin American accent, you can start to see how, with some enthusiasm and vague familiarity with the words, happy birthday can start to sound like sapo verde. Green frog to you!

* * *

So Aiden is five now. He spent most of the day jumping around with a five-kilowatt grin on his face, just absolutely delighted to be FIVE. I gave him one present at breakfast (which also seems to be more Kerr family tradition than anything else) and by the time I got home from work, Paul and Martha were also there.

There were presents; there was cake.

There was a fun game of catch in the backyard with Aiden's new foxtail ball.

Wait, where's that ball going?

There was a lot of questionable throwing technique.

There was giggling and laughing until certain birthday persons could no longer stand up.

Much of the rest of the weekend was spent reading the "funny cat book" (Martha gave Aiden a Garfield compendium) to Aiden and Fiona. I'd forgotten how much I'd latched on to that comic when I was about that age. I didn't get half of it, fresh off the plane from Costa Rica (What's this "lasagna" they keep talking about? Wait, it's pronounced how?) but it didn't take long for me to catch on. I'd also forgotten how much physical humor there is in it; the kids think it's hilarious. I guess I've forgotten what it's like to be a kid.

...a kid who understood sapo verde, but not lasagna.

Wonder what our kids will think is perfectly normal?

It's a Tree! It's a House! It's a... Treehouse!

July 5, 2010. No, it's not, as rumored, the date Doc and Marty go forward to in Back to the Future II (That'd be October 21, 2015; we still have a few years to find out if we get hoverboards.) Around here, July 5, 2010 was Treehouse Day.

It was one of those ideas that was ready to happen. When Paul asked me my plans for the day off, I admitted the only thing I'd thought of was that it might be a good day to build the treehouse. Turns out that he was calling to suggest the same thing. I've been making plans and accumulating pieces for several years, but everything came together this time.

One of the remarkable things about this project was how little I spent on it. On the actual building day, my total came to $8.05, which included four medium-sized bolts and a chocolate bar I bought to appease Deborah. Nearly everything else was provided by one means or another: old shipping pallets from work, extra 2x4s from other projects, the ladder I'd built for our bed when Deborah was pregnant, and — perhaps most amazing of all — an entire pier's worth of heavy-duty treated lumber that washed ashore during the big flood of '09 which no one would claim, and no one would take away. We're talking twelve-foot 2x10s. The kids' wagon got a real workout that day, bringing that back. It's been sitting under my carport for more than a year, ready and waiting.

Laying out the pieces.

I've been planning this treehouse for a very long time, but when it came down to it, the pieces and the tree itself all pointed to something very different. I knew the general principles of how I wanted to build it, but the specifics suggested themselves as I went along: the width of the pallets, the angle of the branches, the height of the ladder, the amount of good wood on this board. The design I ended up with was much simpler than what I'd set out to create, but left plenty of room for expansion.

Good help is invaluable with a project like this.

I had the morning to myself, oddly enough — observed holiday or not, the kids still had swimming lessons, piano lessons, lunch, and nap time, which meant I had a chance to work on it without interruption until early evening. This was excellent, especially since the early stages involved a lot of shifting pieces around and staring off into the distance as I contemplated how things would work together! Paul showed up in the early afternoon, and that made things go much more smoothly. He confirmed my math, helped me thread pallets onto 2x4s, braced boards, measured, and asked his usual insightful questions.

When there's only one of you, you have to get a bit creative if you want to hold a board in place and screw it on. I wound up using a lot of clamps and straps until Paul showed up and lent me a hand.

A good treehouse design takes into account the fact that you are not just building a house, you are building it with a tree — a beautiful, amazing, living thing. Trees grow, and sway in the wind. They get sick if not cared for. They don't appreciate having their circulation cut off any more than you do. When it came down to it, I used the absolute minimum attachment points I could — three — made them rock-solid, and made them so that they could move and grow with the tree.

I used spacing blocks and a flexible design to leave the tree room to grow. I removed the blocks, and I can also back the bolt out later as the tree grows.

I blanched when it came to actually putting the bolts into the tree (these weren't tiny nail-holes!) but all the research I'd done said that this was the best way to maintain both the strength of the tree and the treehouse. I felt awful drilling into the solid walnut (a poem on the experience is here) but the tree had already started to heal by the time I ratcheted each bolt into place. You have to work quickly with healthy trees, as they start sealing themselves around the intrusion right away!

Implements of construction. I wish I'd stuck something in here for size reference; the bolts are about as thick as my fingers (and I have thick fingers!) and weigh nearly a pound each.

Getting everything to work together was an interesting challenge — I didn't have a good reference point to measure from, the terrain sloped a bit, and the trapezoidal frame was playing tricks with my eyes. I finally had to use my level at both ends of the main boards, and across the diagonals, until everything read out as level... and then hoped that nothing shifted while I was drilling the holes for the bolts!

Squaring things up. Golly, it doesn't look right at all...

...but the level says it's right on, all the way around. Trust your tools, trust your tools.

If Daddy can't play on it, can't nobody play on it. That's not selfishness, that's safety! Even with the temporary uprights held on by clamps, the cross-beams support me quite nicely. I jumped up and down on this thing before I let the kids come up!

Perhaps my proudest moment came when I finally had all the uprights in place. Paul and I had both done the math, and came up with the same answer as to where to cut the boards, but I was still apprehensive that we had left some value out of our calculations.... nope. Perfectly level. For someone who struggles with math as much as I do, this was a victory.

Putting on the finishing touches. The upper railing/table/bench came pre-carpeted — originally to protect a boat, but now to protect little ones.

I was screwing down the final boards when the kids came out, still a bit bleary-eyed from their naps, and bemused by the transformation that had happened in the back yard since they had last seen it. They climbed aboard in awe and wonder.

All this happened while we were napping?

OK, we'll let mommy up, too.

Paul had anticipated Treehouse Day well in advance, and had a present for the occasion waiting in his car. What does a tree fort lookout need? Why, a pair of binoculars, of course!

Close your eyes and hold out your hands....

I see you!
(This is my favorite picture of the day. Love the lighting and the expressions.)

The rest of the evening was clean-up. I still need to seal and stain some of the boards, but I'm not terribly worried about it. The nice thing about how I made it is that all the supports are treated wood; the flooring is completely (and easily) replaceable with a new set of pallets.

All this, and friends, too! Ava, from two doors down, became the first guest in the new treehouse.

So this is Stage I. There's more in the works — we need a pulley and basket, some windows, a hose-phone, and there's still that large crate lurking on my trailer, underneath a tarp, promising all kinds of potential. For now, though, it feels wonderful to have this up, and to hear the kids' excited voices. It makes so much work so very much worthwhile!

Power from the Sea

As I was standing around fixing things — on average, I fix a toy per day; the washing machine makes a good workbench — Aiden brought his dinosaur flashlight to me.

"Daddy, can you fix my dinosaur flashlight?"

It's a wonderful flashlight; it roars when you turn it on, and it's constructed in such a way that a kid can't disassemble it — a fact that has occasionally made it the only working flashlight in the house. It just needed new batteries, but I didn't have any in the right size.

"I'm sorry Aiden, I don't have what I need to fix your flashlight right now."
"What do you need?"
"Two C-cells."
"There's some in the fishtank."
"There are batteries in the fishtank?" I prepared to panic.
"No," said Aiden, with exasperated patience, "there are seashells."

He was so sure he was being helpful, I hated to tell him that I just needed batteries!

Adventures of Summer- Swimming

(Guest blogger: Deborah)

Now that school is out for the summer, I have been going on all sorts of adventures with the kids.

The first adventure was swimming lessons. Fiona is in level 2 now, but it's Aiden's first year. We went each day, first thing in the morning for nine days. I didn't even get them dressed, but just had them get their swimsuits on each morning. Aiden has about 5 swimsuits- one that we got last year that still fits, some hand-me-downs from two other families, and this wet suit that I got at Kids' Market. I think he looks soooo cute in it. :)

One day, Aiden felt his wet suit before he put it on and said, "Is this a wet suit?"
"Yes," I replied.
"No it's not!" he laughed, "It's a DRY suit!"

Here is Fiona swimming with her teacher, and later standing on the diving board. She stood on the board, getting more and more nervous. Despite our coaxing, she finally turned and got back off again. For the rest of the day, I talked up jumping off the diving board. We talked about why she didn't jump off, and what to do when you're scared, and the correct procedure for jumping off a diving board. We acted it out with her animals. I told her I would give her ice cream if she jumped off all by herself.

The next day she got to the end of the diving board and paused. I was hopeful that she would jump, but she still didn't do it. There was only one more day of swimming left.

The last day of swimming lessons, Aiden's class went over to the diving board. (The teacher was in the water with a floating thing to catch the kids.) Little did I know that Aiden had been listening carefully to all the things I had been saying about jumping off the diving board. He was so excited. He ran right over and wanted to be the first one. He got to the end of the diving board and fearlessly jumped right off. As he proudly climbed back out of the water, I promised him ice cream, just like I had said for Fiona. Later he jumped in again, and asked if he could have two ice creams since he did it twice, but I said No, one was plenty.

Fiona's teachers put a life jacket on all of the kids that day, and that gave Fiona a boost of confidence enough to jump off by herself, so she also got to claim her ice cream. On the way home from swimming that day, we picked up Andy at work and all went to Dairy Queen together.

Oh, and here is what Risanna did at the pool — charmed all the parents!

Apple

Sometimes you're just in the right place, at the right time, in the right light, and you happen to have two cute kids, and they happen to have an apple, and you happen to have a camera.

Admittedly, this was inspired by Twilight.

This is how I picture Aiden. So earnest. So amazed.

I swear I didn't pose this one. All I did was hold the camera and press the shutter. No cropping, no color correction, nothing — this is as it was shot. The kids did the rest.

Hey, look what I got!

I got some big boxes in the mail. Look what was in 'em!

Deborah says this one looks reminds her of Narnia.

Tell a story, Daddy!

Every night, I tell the kids a story once I've tucked them into bed. The fun part is, I do it the hard way: I take requests.

Requests typically involve things that we've been doing; games we've played, books we've read, floods we've paddled down the street in, cheeses we've bought at the store. To make things more interesting yet, I try to take into account what both kids have asked for.

Last night, we did (1) Everybody in the whole world going to the moon; and (2) pie. (Why, the story just writes itself!)

The story of Pie on the Moon

Once upon a time, maybe a few days ago, Mommy made some pie. [She did, by the way; it was yummy.] This time, though, she experimented with the recipe, and added just a little touch of something special. Little did we know, that that something special made the pie come alive. This pie could walk and talk, and it climbed out of the fridge where it was cooling, and wandered out of the house into the back yard. "Hey, wow, look at all this!" the pie said, "there are trees, and sky, and a wagon, and... IS THAT A SPACESHIP?

Well, it was. It was the very spaceship that Daddy had built out of a dryer, two rakes, and a few parts he borrowed from the old car, and that Fiona and Aiden had flown to the moon so many times. "Cool!" said the pie, "I always wanted to go to the moon!" So, it climbed in, and somehow worked the controls, and it blasted off from the back yard, flying up, up, up, through the blue sky, until the sky turned black and the stars twinkled and shone brightly all around.

On and on the pie traveled, for three whole days. Then, it got to the moon, and gently touched down. It didn't need a spacesuit like the kids did — it was just a pie — so it got out and started walking around, tasting bits of cheese from the various boulders of colby, cheddar, and havarti. "Hey, look, it's an old camera!" said the pie, and switched it on. Moments later, every television on earth showed a picture of a PIE... on the MOON. [The kids were howling with laughter at this point. It's a wonderful sound.] "Hello everyone!" said the pie, "I'm a pie, and I am on the moon!" And everyone on earth looked at each other, and said, "There is a PIE, and it is on the MOON. Let's go see."

So they all got into their rocket ships, and all blasted off to the moon. Three days later, they all landed — all six billion of them! — and started looking for the pie. "Is it an ALIEN in a flying saucer?" some demanded. "Can we EAT it?" others asked. "Can we get its autograph?" asked still more.

But the problem is, six billion people weigh a lot. That made the moon very heavy, and that also made the Earth a lot lighter. And that was very bad, because one started speeding up, and the other started slowing down! All the scientists started running around, yelling and waving their arms! "Oh no!" they cied, "Now, instead of a month, we'll have mon, and instead of a week, we'll have a wee, and instead of a day, we'll have a d! Oh, no!!!

So everyone jumped back in their spaceships, and went back to earth. And the world went back to its normal speed.

Well, everyone went back, that is, except two little kids. They stayed on the moon, and went and found the pie. "Hello," they said, "you look a lot like the pies that Mommy makes. Would you like to come home with us?" The pie said "Sure!" and they all climbed into their little spaceship, and sailed across the starry sky, down into the dark blue of the upper atmosphere, down into the blue of the sky, and down, down down, until they touched down gently into the back yard. They carried the pie inside. "Oh, there's that pie! Where was it? I've been looking all over for it," said Mommy. The kids just giggled to themselves, and then Daddy came, and he picked them up, and tucked them into bed, and told them a story. And then, he gave them a hug and a kiss, and he said, "I love you! Good night! ....the end."

*  *  *

While I was doing just that, Aiden piped up in the darkness. "What did they do with the pie?"

I paused for a moment. Eat it? No, I can't say that... better go with what the kids know. "I don't know, Aiden, what do you think they did with it?"

"They put it in the fridge." Ah, of course.

"And that's exactly what they did."

Fiona piped up next while I was giving her the requisite hug. "Hey Daddy, tomorrow, tell a story of a HUNDRED pies, and everybody on the planet going to the moon."

"OK, but that — is a different story, for a different day."

Good night!

Aiden's Recipes

Aiden: You know how you make a elephant-hippo drink?

Me: How?

Aiden: You put a elephant-hippo in a glass of water. It tastes like elephant, but it's not really elephant. It'a actually hippo.

Truly All-Terrain

Only the most talented drivers can maneuver their vehicles across the high mesas, in deep snow, next to perilous cliffs.... and make it look cute.

You give a kid a present...

...and they play with the boxes.

Ooo! A box!

What's in it?

Ack! A sister!