My contribution to the fence and playhouse is holding a few rafters in place, buying gatorade and klondikes, and spending TWENTY-SEVEN days straight with the children. Yes, you heard me correctly. This week I've been putting them to bed every night. Tonight we suffered the second flour-eating incident of the week (that's when Bea waits until I've cleaned the kitchen to clamber onto the counter and eat handfuls of flour from the gallon jar I keep there for baking), an assault with a building block (middle child), and much moaning from one eight-year old, who is also a very active informant. Three days in the nineties has made us all a little fractious, though overall--and now that I am more clear-headed due to five minutes without any children--the three weeks of construction have been enjoyable and relatively facile. I am ready for a bit of a break though, and I'm sure Martin will be, too.
The reason, my dear friends, who are scratching your feminist heads at this division of labor--the reason is that if I had built either fence, playhouse (or last year, shed, and the year before, our front fence), they would have all been laughable disasters. I say this because I know myself and my mathematical and spacial limitations. I don't know how good I am at being with my own children--I'm grateful that they are all alive! But this is about division of labor and who's naturally inclined and talented, not about who's swinging a manly arm with a hammer attached and who's suckling the brood. Martin shows a remarkable aptitude for building, which is foreign to me, coming from a family who only raised a hammer to hang pictures.
Note that the fence ends abruptly on the side yard? It LOOKS weird, but it's planned--our forsythia hedge, which is somewhat smallish at the present moment, will someday meet the fence and carry on down the side yard in style. And the big blue shade tent is just in the Children's Garden temporarily, to give Martin some respite--usually it's over the adirondacks (until our fruit trees grow bigger and stronger.)Also, that funny little bit of deer fence is only temporary.
He just came in; he says that if he gets up at five in the morning, we may just be able to leave after breakfast to go on our overnight trip to Deep Creek, Maryland. Five a.m. is a wonderful idea, don't you think? I'll pat his back as he rolls out of bed: Good job, darling! Keep the old cylinders firing!--and all that.
