Watch an Engineer Build a Playset

My crafty MacGyver has been busy since the beginning of August. He's been building the kids a swingset/playhouse in the backyard. They decimated the old one, so he decided that it was more practical to make his own from scratch so he could make it extra sturdy.

I think he succeeded. I'm fairly certain this thing is built better than our house.

Here's a fun little video of his progress. He makes it look so easy!

Watch an Engineer Build a Playset from scratch in 44 seconds HERE.

Bittersweet - October Flash Fiction #1

It’s the way of this life in its present state that every moment of bliss is infected with the reality of transience.

A mother held her two-year-old. She breathed in his freshly bathed scent. She stared at every line of his features, the softness of his skin that was quickly fading away the taller he grew. She marveled that once he had been so small, so helpless. Now he filled her lap and his long legs dangled at her side.

These moments didn’t come often.  She knew she should revel in it. She knew she should hold him tight while he was willing and savor every last moment of the time they had left as mama and baby.  She stared at the mound of laundry that waited for her attention. She thought of the tower of dishes. Not to mention the floors that must be swept and the grimy windows.

It wasn’t that she wanted to do those things more. She didn’t exactly relish accomplishing those things when she knew they would just as quickly be undone in the remaining hours of the day.

She supposed the truth was that the longer she sat there with him, the longer she felt his little frame within her arms and smiled at his lisp as he spoke quietly to her – the more it would hurt when his body decided it must move and he pulled himself away.

It made her throat thick to think of him growing up. Not needing her in this way anymore. But there simply was not an option to pause his life so that she might grow used to the idea of his childhood slipping through her fingers.

Oh, for the day when this little bit of bliss was eternal. When every beautiful moment she had ever known would be captured forever, and time would no longer be her demanding enemy.

He pulled away. Ran down the hall shouting gleefully with the carefree nature of youth.  She watched him go with a lingering pain in her being. But she was also thankful. For his life. For his health, his growth, and his changing mind and being. As much as it hurt to say goodbye to the sweet moments of her baby’s life, she knew sweet moments – different moments – would follow in the days to come.

For it was the way of this life.

Laura's Home

"Then pa looked straight at Laura and said, 'You girls keep away from the camp. When you go walking, don't go near where the men are working, and you be sure you're back here before they come in for the night. There's all kinds of rough men working on the grade and using rough language, and the less you see and hear of them the better. Now remember, Laura. And you too, Carrie. 'Pa's face was very serious.

'Yes, Pa' Laura promised, and Carrie almost whispered, 'Yes, Pa.' Carries eyes were large and frightened. She did not want to hear rough language,whatever rough language might be. Laura would have liked to hear some, just once, but of course she must obey Pa."

- Laura Ingalls Wilder (By the Shores of Silver Lake)

I spent my early years reading Laura's collection of memories in the "Little House" series over and over and over. I would say that she was probably one of the most significant influences on my thinking as a child, probably because I had quite a bit in common with her.

Recently on our family vacation, we were able to tour Laura's home in Missouri. This was her home until the day she died, the place she lived with her husband Almanzo and her daughter Rose; this was the place that she sat and wrote by hand all of her memories as a story for children at the insistence of Rose, who had already become a prominent author by that time.

There is something about Laura that speaks to us all. If we didn't grow up with her voice in our head as we read, then we saw the television series based on the books (very loosely based on the books) or we at least knew something basic about the little woman who grew up as a pioneer. But I thought of Laura as a dear friend. I think that was her intention when she sat down to write her stories.

So my daughter Spirit and I were elated to explore her home and the museum that housed the collection of her belongings, many straight from the pages of her books. We were captivated by the sight of Pa's fiddle, the "Give us this day our daily bread" plate that was saved from the fire that destroyed their home, the many pictures of their family and other mementos that meant something to anyone who was touched by her delightfully descriptive words in her books.

If you are ever in Mansfield, Missouri you must take some time out to see Laura's home and memories. Here are a few pictures for those who are unable to see it themselves.

"We'd never get anything fixed to suit us if we waited for things to suit us before we started."  -Laura Ingalls Wilder 

Laura Ingalls Wilder Home website