family

What can be more essential than giving?

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thChristina at the Northern Cheapskate blog recently wrote about needing a new toaster cover. The old one doesn’t owe her a thing because it’s more than a decade old, a “well-intentioned gift” from her mother that initially left Christina embarrassed. It was an old person’s item. Women in their early 20s didn’t use toaster covers.

Eventually she appreciated the gift. Still, the idea of “needing” a new one made her laugh: “The toaster won’t feel ashamed if it sits on the counter in its natural state.”

It’s more than just a toaster cover, of course.

 

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Two little boys, all alone.

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I was at the post office today mailing two long-delayed giveaway prizes (sorry, Diana and Denise — they’re on their way!). A young man came in carrying an infant car seat. While waiting in line I saw him smiling at the baby and making the occasional funny face. What a loving father, I thought.

As I got into my vehicle I saw two little boys, aged about 3 and 4, in the adjacent vehicle. One of the children caught my eye and smiled. The car’s windows were rolled down. No adult was in sight.

I started to back out of the parking space — and then pulled forward once more. It just didn’t seem right to leave two kids unsupervised.

Eventually their dad returned. You guessed it: He was the guy carrying the car seat.

“What took you so long, daddy?” one boy asked fretfully.

Good question.

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Welcome to Copout Monday.

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My hat is off to grandparents who wind up raising their grandchildren. A mere half-day spent with my niece’s kids makes me want to lie down with a cold cloth on my eyes.

The boys are funny and sweet but very, very high-energy. Bless their hearts.

That’s why today’s entry is short. By the time I got back to my host’s home last night, I wasn’t good for much besides having a bowl of oatmeal and visiting a short time before crawling up to bed. And I’m only 52.

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Malachi and mud.

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malachi in mudThis grimy little guy is my great-nephew, who’s almost 9 and the luckiest kid I know: His mom lets him play in the dirt. Or, in this case, the mud.

They’d gone to Kincaid Park, where Malachi and some other kids thoroughly immersed themselves in play on the muddy beach. Alison brought along dry clothes so he wouldn’t wreck the inside of the family car.

“I did have to hose off his hair at the house, before his shower,” she said.

Playing in the dirt is truly frugal fun: Give a kid a spoon and some old plastic containers and watch her go to town. What’s more, science seems to indicate dirt is literally good for our kids.

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14 insanely cheap ways to have fun this summer.

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So the economy’s not so great. That’s no reason to give up recreation.

The best things in life are free. Some of the other things are cheap — say, a dollar or less.

Just off the top of my head:

Wash your car. Use an environmentally friendly soap. It’s a good excuse to squirt each other with the hose on a sticky day.

Hit the dollar store. Buy sidewalk chalk, a kite, some bubble-blowing stuff or a generic Frisbee. Then take it to the park. OK, so you may have to add a few cents in sales tax. You’re still spending a dollar, but being charged tax. (Not to split hairs.)

Create your own “drive-in.” Weather permitting, set up a TV in your driveway and screen movies outdoors. Kids are especially delighted by anything out of the ordinary. But don’t be surprised if grown-up neighbors also walk over to see what’s on.

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You can’t even tell perfect bodies apart.

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My Ani DiFranco T-shirts are fraying. Not before time, you understand: They’re from a 1997 concert in Anchorage, Alaska, which I reviewed. Originally they belonged to my daughter, who went to the concert with me.

The gray tee features a DiFranco verse:

“So I’ll walk the plank and I’ll jump with a smile/If I’m gonna go down I’m gonna do it with style/And you won’t see me surrender, you won’t hear me confess/’Cuz you’ve left me with nothing – but I’ve worked with less.”

The other shirt, a kind of an old rose/mauve color, bears a single lyric:

“Every tool is a weapon if you hold it right.”

Neither of us could have known that would be the last summer of Abby’s first life. Seven months after that concert she was on life support in the UW Medical Center’s intensive care unit. Guillain-Barre syndrome paralyzed her right up to her eyeballs and nearly killed her. She’d recover function but would never be the same.

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