Getting Away From It All... Right Behind It All

I am not even going to bother trying to excuse or explain the absence of entries on this blog since summer. I've tried in the past. Made New Years resolutions or Faustian deals or promised myself treats I clearly did not want badly enough to keep me blogging steadily throughout the course of the year. The fact is that there are apparently not enough caffeine molecules in the universe to create wit in my brain 52 weeks of the year, and I otherwise lack the discipline. That said, after a long absence that you can all just forgive already because I used the word "Faustian" in this opening paragraph, here I am again!

And what I am contemplating is this:  

In general, we try to be good parents. Like we try to make sure the kids eat vegetable at least once a week and we don't condone WWE maneuvers wherein one child jumps onto the other child's lower back from the height of the couch. We try to say things like, "Will you please go watch a movie so I can get this done!?!?" only once a day or so. I even drag myself away from the riveting pastimes of "cleaning" and "taxes" to spend time whupping them at Monopoly. I use the term "I" there because the man of the house doesn't "do" board games. And I use the term, "Monopoly" because my nine year old has actually surpassed my skills at chess. You're only allowed to mock me about that if you know what the castle shaped players on a chess board are actually called. 

Anyway, part of being good parents is getting the kids out of the house on occasion. But when the man of the house gets home after a week working away from the house, he doesn't particularly want to leave the house. Who can blame him? I spend all week in the house and I still don't particularly want to leave the house. But the kids are another matter. They would likely set fire to the house if they were sure it meant getting out of it for a while. So we had to find a solution as well as an outlet for that budding pyromania where no one would get hurt. The long and short (but mostly long) is that we have had to find ways to get ourselves out of the house on weekends without actually having to leave home behind. Going out into the yard doesn't work. It's too easy to look around there and see things that ought to be done. Chores-- Bah! Humbug!



The Hill (otherwise known as  most of our yard) is good for a few minutes of entertainment, especially now, when we've had snow, followed by ice, followed by snow. That creates the perfect sledding environment for severe injury and possible dismemberment. The problem is that lugging the sleds back up the hill quickly tires us. It's like waiting in line for the Mean Streak at Cedar Point for an hour and half only to have the ride over in four minutes. Cost-benefit analysis fails to impress.

So, being creative folks, we've taken up the time honored hobby of traipsing off into the woods and starting fires. Why are you looking at me like that?

There are always things to see in the woods after an ice storm. There are icy trees, and icy grasses, and icy rocks, and icy moss, and icy... ice? There are also probably deer and rabbits, but two boys make too much noise to see any of them. That's okay. Really it is, because boys are meant to make noise and climb things and eat the icy ice. Sort of like monkeys, really, except I don't know how monkeys feel about ice.

Traipsing and ice munching turn out to be a cold business. That's where lighting things on fire comes in. Well, that and really how do you know you're having fun if fire isn't involved? So after we hiked to Where the Moderately Untame Things Are, we started a little camp fire in the snow. This involved dry cedar sticks, leaves, magnesium, a Swedish neck knife of some sort, sparks, and a great deal less swearing than you might expect given that there were two children present. Also, a butane lighter when the kids weren't looking, because a real Bushman knows that the first rule of survival is "Always cheat."

In all sincerity, it wasn't that long of a walk. Just back through the fields behind our house and into a twenty acre wood, barely more than would qualify as a copse. A hilly walk, with lots of variety. A walk with birds, and tiny streams, and sparkly sunlight on ice. And a tiny campfire by a cedar tree with thick grape vines and lots of character. It wasn't far away, but it was away from it all. The sort of place you can forget that bills and body aches and defunct car batteries and b.m.i.'s exist and just relax with a cold butt in the snow and warm heart by the fire. It's more relaxing than you'd think. At least, it works for us. Now if only the phrase "freezing our butts off" was more literal and less euphemistic...