During this week when we should be focused on Science Fair, we are working on individual projects.
Apropos of apparently nothing, given that no work on the SF is progressing (at least not at our house - it has morphed into a group project, so other households are involved), I am advised that the SF project - theoretically - consists of using a vortex ring generator to demonstrate how tornadoes and water spouts achieve their rotation. Translation: someone's parents (knowing "the group," that would be Parnell and me) will have the joy of cutting the bottom out of a 5-gallon trashcan, supervising the installation of a membrane over the bottom opening (evidently, this involves cutting up a vinyl shower curtain) and then standing by while "the group" swings the trashcan in a certain way so as to cause air to belch out of the top opening. Oh, and someone (that would be me) has to borrow a fog machine from her administrative assistant - because the fog helps you see the rotation, or something.
The vortex ring generator concept was adopted after the "use coffee grounds to kill snails" idea was summarily rejected by "the group." (Don't worry - I'm still killing snails on my own time.) I suspect that its primary appeal is that the trashcan, once modified, will make a lovely percussion instrument.
These are eleven year-old boys, after all. Geeky ones - but still eleven year-old boys.
While we are not working on SF:
I am rehabbing a plantar fasciitis issue with my left foot. Lessons learned: music makes housework go faster. Six hours fly by - SNAP - like that. Music also leads to dancing. High energy dancing for six hours while cleaning the kitchen - BAREFOOT - is not a good idea. Suddenly I'm starting to see the appeal to carpet. Because six hours of jiving on hardwoods and cold, hard tile, while scrubbing/mopping/etc., followed by a hard workout (in shoes, thank you very much), followed by yardwork - yeah, apparently a recipe for orthopedic disaster. But, on the bright side, the small turquoise silicone rolling pin that I picked up at Tuesday Morning simply because it was cute has proven to be an excellent rehab tool. It now resides under my desk at work.
Dad is seeking to solve "The Great Uniform Shirt Mystery of 2011." Suddenly, the kids don't have any school shirts - at least, not short-sleeved ones. The long-sleeved polos, oxfords and turtlenecks are present and accounted for: I packed them up a week ago - and, of course, the weather turned cold immediately thereafter.
But the whereabouts of the short-sleeved shirts are in question. And, trust me, there has been a fair amount of interrogation (you can take a litigator out of the courtroom, dot-dot-dot):
"Did you pack them up last fall?"
"Nope. There was room for them in the closet, so I left them in the closet. Precisely so that we wouldn't have to deal with this issue."
"Are they in the bag with the long-sleeved shirts?"
"No. Give me some credit here. HEY - DON'T OPEN THAT! Because it took me ten minutes to zip the Space Bag, that's why. I was bound and determined to get all of the shirts in one bag, and I succeeded. And now look at what you did. I'll never get them that compressed again."
Again, taking a walk on the bright side (it's so lovely and gosh-darned BRIGHT over there; makes me want to stay awhile), we're caught up on the laundry. HAD to do the laundry, to see if the short-sleeved shirts were on the bottom.
Nope.
The hunt continues . . . .
In the interim, Connor has scattered LEGOs over every square inch of floor space in his room and is coming up with creative excuses why he can't pick them up. I suspect that he dumped them out in connection with a project that he and Parker were working on over the weekend, sorted them into piles by size and functionality, and then realized that it was going to be a major ordeal (well, in his mind) to gather them back up. So he keeps thinking of ONE MORE cool project that he has to build before he puts everything away. I am not complaining too much, because as he's reaching for excuses he is stretching his brain. Last night he built a dead-on replica of a Sherman tank - pretty much from his own imagination.
And, finally, Parker is perfecting his Dutch accent. Methinks that he and his brother have appropriated the "Goldmember" DVD again. I would try to retrieve it, but there are too many LEGOs on the floor. So now I have a six year-old wandering around, calling his dad "FAH-zher," a la Mike Myers.
Wonder if "the group" would consider shifting "the topic" to something in the realm of behavioral psychology. Because we would make for some fairly interesting lab rats, if I do say so myself . . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment