Double Digit Plus One

When the Kid was a toddler and his age was asked, I was NOT one of those parents who held onto the month's stage.  Oh, he is 18 months, 24 months, 36 months.  No, the Kid was a year and a half, two years, three years. Last year he was double digits and being a deal to kids I did not steal this moment from him.  However, from this point forward he is now just 11, 27, 57.  He is not double digits plus one nor will he be one year shy of legal drinking or the big 4-0.  What this means is the Kid is simply eleven years today.  Eleven!

Every time I turn around another part of his childhood is gone. Take these feet.  Look how big they are, how long the toes are.  Is this normal?  Should the second toe be longer than the first toe? Don't mind he is standing on top of the table to admire his concerte chair tower, just notice the feet.  They are the focus here, not the fact that I am letting him stand on a table that is broken and wobbly.

Of course, there are days when he is still kid like in actions.  But then again what full grown adult does not like snowball fights?

When working with metal, he remembers to wears gloves without being reminded.  It happens this was cold and that helps.  But here he is helping with a smile.  A SMILE! Making a spiders web mess ensuring the job is done right the first time, but helping all the same.  As to why he has a flashlight on his head in the middle of the afternoon, well he is a kid after all.

Sometimes I catch glimpses of the little kid like in this picture.  Sweet, simple, innocent smiles. Ten thousand hair ties on his arm and a book in lap.  However, as this picture is taken at the club waiting for sailing, it only shows how adult like he is too.  Being productive while waiting for coaches to arrive when he could be just running around like a crazy kid.

Other times I go looking for the kid and see the mini adult.  Wanting all the sailing participants to have a swag gift when attending his local club regatta, he diligently (and sometimes painstakingly) made over 70 monkeys fist.  He thought of the idea, he found the perfect gift, he made sure I ordered the string.  When the going got tough, he sought out help in the form of an aide.  He found the aide and had the Planner help make the aide.  He made all the gifts.  Each took about 7-10 minutes each.  A few each day and over several weeks he was done.  What an adult thing to do.

Then again, there are the days where the kid is 100% evident.  The face may be thin and void of baby chunk, the attitude is kid.  The body is tall and lean, the muscles are weak and underdeveloped.  Look at him struggle to lift this box full of parts.  Stubborn and proud, he tried his best.

And when the solar eclipse lenses were rediscovered, he took every opportunity to use them and ahh in the amazingness produced, even if it is just from the regular sun.

Growing up must come in stages.  After having to strive and test his endurance to finish a challenging regatta, he was seen for days playing with kid toys. Hot Wheels, Tonka Trucks, and John Deere equipment.  Roads, bridges, and tunnels. Shovels, rakes, and wagons.  No adult actions here.

But every night as he is tucked in, I am reminded that while during the day he struggles with the internal conflict of kids vs adult, he is still my kid and I will let him kid as long as possible because there is plenty of time to adult.

In fact, there is too much to time adult and not enough time to kid.  So with his much beloved Raffi and his new found favorite blanket (it is sailing associated), he can kid all night and morning long.  If he wants to suddenly cuddle on the couch, so be it.

If he wants and wishes for LEGOS, so be it.  His needs are simple.  Sailing, LEGOS, Raffi.  Everything else is hit and miss, come and go.

He is a great kid when he is a kid.  He is a challenging mini adult when he is mini adulting.  Of course, having the Perfectionist Planner and the crazy mama as parents he has every right to have difficult adult days.  We make parenting interesting.  He makes parenting interesting.  Better interesting than boring.  Happy Birthday, Stinky Feet!

Halfway House

 

There are several modes of thought when it comes to job completion.  Depending upon the situation Plan473 has used all of them.  Everybody has used them all unless you are a freak of nature.  Even still, I bet there is that time.  That time that is hidden deep in the dark corners of your personal skeleton closet.  You can lie to others but cannot lie to yourself.

Get It Done.  The job may be done but it probably done wrong or not done to the best it can be done. The Kid falls into the position daily.  For example, the bed is made as in the sheets cannot be seen.  However, the edges are not tucked in and the pillows and stuffed animals are askew. I am not asking for military edges but come on.

The dog-o recently fell into this category.  Having never been a burying creature before, she recently decided this was the best way to ensure the bone remained hidden from the chickens.  What she fails to understand is that to bury is to be completely hidden.  Dig a hole, place said object into hole, cover hole.  Many woodland creatures with fewer brains cells do this daily.  Placing a bone on a pile of leaves a scratching over it as a cat would cover is waste is not burying.

Some would call Get It Done half-assed.  Not being half-assed was drilled into our head a child and carries into adulthood as guilt.  Daddy would say "what the point of doing it if you ain't gonna do it right. You've just wasted your time and mine as I have to fix/finish/complete it."  He's right.  Doing something right the first time is always easier.  Not always faster, but better.  Half-asses guilt is the worse type of guilt.  It is guilt that comes from when you know you can do better but didn't.  Even when the half-ass job was justified, the guilt still comes.  Such as the Shop Box or Work Box.  Neither one is complete just workable.  Justification says to get enough done to move onto the next project.  Guilt says the project will never get done if you don't do correct the first time.  The work may be half-assed, but the guilt is fully complete.

Best of the Best.  The job is done to the best of the best that it can be done. Daddy had his own lawn business for years and years and had no patience for anything but perfect for yard maintenance.  It did not matter if the yard was in the elite district or in the ghetto, his work was primo.  Grass is collected not blown into the street for cars to sweep away. Leaves are collected not mulched into the yard (unless requested).  Trimming is done with both string and blades to keep crisp lines.  Yard work is art and a representation of your abilities.  Nobody buys crappy art.

Having worked for him since I was ten, then taking over the company myself for a bit as an early adult, I too have NO patience for less than perfect yard work.  The Planner having worked for him as a way to spend time with me (what young love will do), he too has little patience for scraggy yard work.

Plan473 does not believe in park-like settings.  We want natural landscaping to beautify with so as to attract wildlife.  There are times, grasses are three foot tall and only walking paths are maintained.  Then there are times such as in winter when the yard is trimmed and mowed to perfection.  American Beautyberries, wild butterfly plants, coral both bushes and vines, brambleberry, and numerous other native grasses are all removed and prepared for winter months.

Mowing takes hours.  Trimming takes all day.  Sometimes two. But when it is done, boy howdy what a picture.  Nothing but the best of the best job done.

On a side note look how well the trees have bounced back 14 months after Harvey.  They will never be what they were before but they are making some nice headway.  All this rain has been sure to help.   Halfway trees are better than no trees.

Speaking of halfway, Plan473 has turned into the underground poultry halfway house.  A friend of mine works for the local bird rescue center.  Not certified for game birds, she asked if I had room for one very frightened young bird.  Unsure if was male or female, if it would be accepted or not into our flock, or if she would stay once allowed out of the coop, we brought her home at the beginning of November.

Poor thing was attacked and missing feathers on half her back, half her neck, and half the side under one wing.  After being left in the dog kennel for a week, the kennel door was left open to allow access to the coop on the bird's terms.  There was some squawking and pulled feather as the pecking order was realigned, but the new bird found Plan473 satisfactory.  As with all the other birds (who are not pets as I keep reminding the Kid) the bird was properly named B.U. (pronounced boo).  Under the circumstances, the name is fitting as the bird is Butt Ugly.  I wanted to name her Darth Maul after the Star Wars character but was decided against.  "All of our birds have unique names!", squawked the Kid. And yes, I named her B.U. as the Kid named all the other birds.

Since Plan473 doesn't like to do things half-assed, another chicken arrived through the underground halfway channel.  This one, similar in breed to B.U. arrived under his own accord right after Thanksgiving.  He is skittish and thin and not accepted into the pack.  Some of the hens tolerate him if he is close by but others become agitated and chase him.  The rooster is beside himself as he feels his pack stance is threatened.  He never lets an opportunity to chase the young rooster slip by.  The rooster chases the young rooster to the far ends of the property and then returns to flock his hens.  This action then enrages some of the hens who don't want to be flocked about.  These have been some tense days for the chickens.  With time, I am sure they will all settle into their routines again.  To think I just wanted a few chickens to help with the bugs and to lay a few eggs.  Now there are 10 hens, 2 roosters, and one unknown.  If the young rooster stays much longer, the Kid is going to name hmi so he better decide quickly. Unlike myself, the Kid will plan and debate over naming the new chicken.  Names are not given with half-assed thought, they are chosen.

There are many jobs at Plan473 that are completed in the half-ass fashion.  They were done out of necessity, not a choice.  When but given a choice, jobs are done and completed in the Planner perfectionist style.

Perfectionist: This is the job that is completed above and beyond resulting in excess.  Jobs in this category usually takes too much time and cost too much.  Yes, the job was done and it was done right but it could have been done quicker and easier and just as completed without errors.


Such example is the halfway step. Stepping in and out the Rainstream door with an overflowing laundry bucket, bags full of groceries, and carrying the dog can be challenging.  The step is quite high and sometimes requires the use of holding onto the door itself for support.  Being the trailer is fifty years old, bearing down on the door is causing the door to sag.  To fix this, I asked for a simple half step.  As you can see, this was not a half-assed job completed.  This step is just one of the many examples of the Planners perfectionist taking control.  Is it a nice step, yes.  Could it have been done simpler, maybe?  Did the screws need to be positioned symmetrically, no?  Alas, it works and I did not have to make it.  Let me assure you, had I made it the final result would have been closer to half-assed as I lack the skills to make it this nice.

Half-asses jobs have a time and place and are not always bad in connotation. I prefer to make tasty lemon deserts with lemons.  It's all about perspective.  Just like this hummingbird feeder.  To me, it is murky and needs cleaning.  To the honey bees, it is perfection.

Perception.  The glass is half _____. With rain, comes ______.  From dark, ___________.