# Monthly Archives: April 2012

## Math Appeal

Math always came easily to me, but I hated it anyway.  Figuring out worksheet after worksheet of math problems was tedious.  Memorizing the times tables was stupid.  Word problems were embarrassingly written.  And boring.  I also had some frustrating experiences with math teachers in school.  My 4th grade math teacher could only teach the material one specific way, so if I didn’t understand it the way she explained it, she’d just repeat herself until I gave up asking.

Asking my parents for help was a minefield.  My mother wasn’t confident about her math skills, so she deferred to my father, who got his bachelor’s degree in mathematics.  You’d think that would be helpful, but no.  My dad would show me one way to do it, and then I’d lose points for not showing my work the way the teacher wanted.

Despite slogging my way through trigonometry and calculus in high school, I am much less mathematically literate as I’d like to be.

Fortunately, my Little Boy is only 4.  My long dead knowledge of derivatives and probability can remain lost in time for now.  Like everything else in our unschooling, we like to work in layers.  Like a cake.  But made of math.

Layer one is the foundation.  We just work math into the conversation whenever we can.  When we’re cooking, we discuss the shapes of things, measurements, cooking times and recipe yields.  How many cookies does the recipe make?  How many servings in the banana bread?  If the recipe makes 8 servings, and we eat 3, how many are left for future meals?  When we’re shopping, we discuss prices, add and subtract items, check prices and compare them, talk about sales and percentages, and refer back to our budget.  He doesn’t get all this yet, but it builds a familiarity with numbers and prevents him from feeling anxious and fearful of math.

The second layer involves the more traditional school type stuff.  Books are a big deal with us, of course, and I get math books with exercises, problems and games, but I also look for math themed storybooks and easy readers.  The stories we just read at bedtime as he chooses, and we work the school-y books during the day when he says, “Let’s do math!” (which happens once or twice a week)  I also have dollar store math workbooks available.  Little Boy finds workbooks kind of boring, so I pay him a dollar on completion of a workbook, a dollar he may spend however he likes on our next excursion to the Dollar Store.  His interest in doing workbooks waxes and wanes.  At this point I don’t push anything.

Pictured: Math

The frosting layer of our math cake is of course, the games.  We play math games all the time.  One of our favorites is War.  Divide the deck of cards into two piles.  Then each pile battles the other pile one card at a time, high cards win.  We play aces low (since it’s kind of the deck’s “one”).  When we’ve battled through our whole pile, we count the cards we’ve won.  Whoever has the most cards won the war!  This is a favorite game for Little Boy and I to play at breakfast while we eat our oatmeal.

Another game we love is Pass the Pigs.  We tossed aside the traditional rules and scoring and made up our own game.   A dot and a blank side = 0, two dots or two blank sides = 1, a standing pig = 2, a pig on its back =3, and a pig on its snout = 4.  We take turns and the first one to 10 points wins.  Another fun breakfast game.

Yay for piggies!

We also love singing math songs.  The Leap Frog company makes DVDs about learning to read and do math.  Little Boy will watch those while he draws, then the rest of the week I hear him singing the songs to himself when he plays.  My favorite math songs are from They Might Be Giants.  I confess I’m not a fan of their grownup work, but the kids’ songs I LOVE.  We get the 123 one from the library, or we just watch them on YouTube now and then.  The songs are great, because he repeats the lesson over and over again as he sings and plays.  I’ll leave you with just one more.  It’s from the TMBG “Here Come the 123s”, and it’s how Little Boy learned the days of the week.  It’s also kind of my theme song.

Categories: Unschooling | | 1 Comment

## Library Loot 4/25/12

1.  Cat in the Bag by Sara Swan Miller

2.  Go, Huckle, Go! by Erica Farber

3.  Ben and the Big Balloon by Sue Graves and Helen Jackson

4.  Just Clowning Around: Two Stories by Steven MacDonald

5. Mr. Putter and Tabby Ring the Bell by Cynthia Rylant and Arthur Howard

6.  Friends Forever by Sally Grindley

7.  Lola Reads to Leo by Anna McQuinn

8.  When Cows Come Home by David L. Harrison

9.  Magic Science by Jim Wiese

10.My Half Dayby Doris Fisher and Dani Sneed

11. Seven Little Mice Have Fun on the Ice by Haruo Yamashita

12. How I Became a Pirate by Melinda Long

13. Old Robert and the Sea-Silly Cats by Barbara Joosse

14. Baby Whale’s Journey by Jonathan London

15. Miss Smith Under the Ocean by Michael Garland

16. Best in Show by David Catrow

17. I Would Like to Actually Keep It by Lauren Childs

18. An Island in the Sun by Stella Blackstone

## Picking Up Chicks

I love chickens.  Love, love, love, LOVE them.

I had never considered having chickens as pets until I did some gardening and landscaping work for a friend (who is a Master Organic Gardener).  She had this mobile, A-frame chicken tractor that she moved around the yard.  The chickens clucked and scratched quietly.  They were adorable and their sweet little noises made me feel so peaceful.

I wasn’t in love yet, but I knew I wanted chickens. So, when my Herban Cowboy and I bought this house almost 3 years ago, we started planning for chickens.  Here’s the Green Goddess Gardens Guide to Getting Chickens.

Otherwise known as "Yard Birds".

Step One (THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT STEP!):  Neighbors.
Talk to them.  I told mine I planned on having a few chickens in the backyard and asked how they felt about it.  No roosters, and the girls would be confined to the yard.  I reassured my neighbors that if they had ANY problems (noise, bugs, smell) that they could contact me and I would take care of it immediately.  Even now, two years later, whenever I’m chit-chatting with folks I make sure I ask if my girls cause them any trouble.  Neighbors can make or break an urban homesteader.  If you don’t think you need to keep civil relationships with your neighbors because you’re within your legal rights to own chickens, I urge you to open another tab right now and google “Roswell Chicken Man.”

Seriously. "Roswell Chicken Man". We'll wait.

Step Two:  Research!
I checked out stacks of library books, watched endless YouTube videos, and browsed several websites and forums.  I researched coop designs and prices, comparing the costs and approaches (pre-fab coop?  DIY?).  I gathered information about where and when to buy chicks (local breeder?  feed & seed store? online hatchery?).  I also had to find out if it was legal for me to keep chickens in my backyard in the city limits (it is).

You can also keep them in your bathtub. But I wouldn't recommend it for long.

Step Three:  Spend money (but not too much!).
We found a pre-fab coop on sale online for a fraction of what it would cost us to gather materials and build it ourselves.  This was awesome, because I LOOOOOVE putting together furniture.  I sat under the carport for two hours, happily sorting hardware and deciphering instructions and sweating.  We found some week old chicks at the local feed & seed store, so we grabbed a handful of baby chickens, an automatic waterer, and a big bag of feed.  We also bought a roll of chicken wire to make a pen to keep them in during the day.  The entire initial set up cost about \$250, and most of that was the coop.

Our simple setup.

Step Four:  Protection.
It turns out that almost everything eats chickens.  Feral cats, stray dogs, hawks, possums, raccoons and snakes — and that’s just here in town!  If we lived out in the country, there would also be foxes, bobcats, and scores of other hungry critters.  During the day, chickens need protection from hawks while they’re in their yard.  At night, the coop needs to be a fortress, keeping out persistent varmints, some of whom have hands to open door latches and others that love to dig under fences.  No matter how vigilant you are, you will lose some.  The very first day we had our chicks, a feral cat figured out a way into the pen and stole one of the new chicks.  We didn’t even get a chance to name her.  And just recently, a red tailed hawk found an opening to dive into the chicken yard, killing Little Boy’s favorite hen Betty.  We have since taken greater precautions to protect the other girls, but nature eventually finds a way.  It’s only a matter of time before some other varmint finds a way to get at them that we haven’t thought of.  This is a downside of owning delicious pets, but it is, after all, just the way life is.  Nature is an ever-escalating arms race between predator and prey.

Betty was so sweet.

Step Five:  Flock maintenance.
Chickens are easier and cheaper to keep than cats.  In the morning, I let them out, throw down some feed, and make sure they have water.  In the evening, I close up the coop after they’ve gone in for the night, and I collect the day’s eggs.  That’s it.  Done.  Of course, that’s the bare minimum.  We end up hanging out with “the girls” WAY more than that.  I keep a bowl on the kitchen counter that I toss chicken snacks into.  Leftover scraps from a meal, wilted produce, vegetable/fruit peelings and cuttings, stale bread, stuff that dropped on the floor– we collect it all and then go throw it to the girls, who turn it into fertilizer within 24 hours.  When we’re working in the garden, we let them out of their yard and they go NUTS eating bugs and weeds and scratching around in the compost pile.  Sometimes I sit on the glider bench and knit while the girls give themselves dust baths in the dirt behind me (they’ve dug up huge chicken wallows back there, but they’re so adorable kicking dirt up on themselves that I don’t care).

Gathering for treats.

A Few Words of Caution.
Chickens themselves are irritating varmints.  As much as I love my girls, I have cried and cursed them more than once.  They will escape their enclosure, tear up your garden and landscaping, eat all the grass in your yard, and poop everywhere you walk barefoot.  They can fly higher and run faster than you think (even with their wings clipped).  They have sharp eyesight and hearing and, contrary to popular belief, they are clever and have amazing memories.  They are also annoyingly persistent.  We are always plugging fence holes, repairing netting and fishing line barriers, and trying to figure out how Daphne and Mavis managed to get out into the back lane AGAIN.

Pictured: Little destroyers, scratching up the mulch around the dogwood.

Chicken Zen.
I’ve had chickens for two years now, and I now cannot imagine living without them.  I can’t imagine having a garden without them, either.  Food gardens, composting, and backyard chickens are such a fabulous mini-eco-system.  Our waste, the compost, makes nourishing soil in which we grow our food.  The chickens give us 2-4 eggs a day, aerate the soil, turn the compost pile, and eat the insects that attack the crops.  The garden provides food for us, the chickens, birds, squirrels, butterflies, and bees.  I love being out in my backyard with all the buzzing of insects and clucking of chickens.  It’s peaceful to sit in my little patch of green and unkempt nature, tucked away in this shabby Savannah neighborhood.  Add my knitting bag and a glass of wine and I am one happy Cowgirl.

Sharing the bounty of the garden.

Picking Up Chicks.
Since I’m clearly addicted to having chickens, AND we’re down to 4 chickens from our original 6, AND it’s springtime — we totally got new chickens yesterday.  Two white Ameraucana pullets, bred and raised locally.  They are plain white girls, but their eggs will be bluish green.  They’ve got their grown up feathers, but they’re still making the baby chick peeping and cheeping noises.  It’s disgustingly cute.  We’re keeping them separate from the big girls for a week or so, until everybody gets used to being around each other.  Then we’ll integrate the flock, and in another two months or so, we should start seeing blue eggs show up in the nest boxes.  I’ve been so excited about the new chickens that I keep squealing like a little girl out of nowhere.  It’s REALLY embarrassing, but I can’t seem to stop it.  I blame Minerva Louise and Pearl for being so adorable.

Pearl and Minerva Louise, stinking up the quarantine pen with their cuteness.

## A Special Perspective

Hanging out with Uncle Buddy.

My uncle is the R word (retarded).  I’ve also heard him referred to as special, handicapped, or disabled.  All these words are supposed to have some sort of negative stigma attached to them, so I’m never sure which term to use to describe my Uncle Buddy.  He’s an old man now, my mom’s twin brother.

He and my mother both seemed perfectly normal when they emerged from my grandmother 60-something years ago in rural Georgia.  But as the years passed, Buddy didn’t grow as tall as his twin Sissy.  He kept falling off his bike.  He couldn’t keep up in school.  Then he started having seizures.  By the time he was 11, he had to be sent to Gracewood Institute in Augusta, a One-Flew-Over-The-Cuckoo’s-Nest kind of state institution for the mentally and physically disabled.

There’s a lot about my Uncle Buddy’s life that I don’t know.  I don’t know what it was like to be separated from his family (there were 5 siblings), especially his twin, my mother.  I don’t know what life in Gracewood was like in the late 50s.  I don’t know what kind of medications or treatments he’s been subjected to.  I don’t know what his relationships to his minimum wage caregivers have been.  So much of his life will forever be a mystery, mostly because he can’t communicate very much.

I do know some things.  I know that my grandmother kept her family together.  On visiting weekends, she’d be up before dawn, preparing a picnic lunch, including fried chicken and a coconut cake (Buddy’s favorite).  The kids would be groomed, and crammed into the car with the picnic lunch and my grandfather.  They’d tootle on down the road to Augusta from Hinesville, check Buddy out of Gracewood, and spend the next few bittersweet hours playing and eating and being a real family.  Then Buddy would be left behind, the rest of the family would go back home, and everyone’s hearts would break again.  Buddy hated Gracewood.

I remember when Uncle Buddy could still walk around.  That was when I was little, in the 70s.  Buddy’s balance wasn’t the greatest, and he had massive scars on his body where he’d taken some nasty spills.  That’s why he wore the football helmet.  Yes, you read that right and I am not making that up.  The stereotypical “retard” joke is the guy wearing a football helmet who talks funny and falls down a lot.  Well, in the 70s, that was totally my Uncle Buddy.

His body has continued to deteriorate gradually, so that now, in his 60s, he is wheelchair bound and can’t move much except his head and hands.  Quite honestly, I don’t think anyone expected him to live this long.  And yet here he is.

And he IS here.  He is mentally retarded, but his mind hasn’t deteriorated at the same rate as his body.  Buddy is still here.  He laughs at my jokes and wants a hug and asks me about things we talked about in our previous visit.  He gets tickled to the point of tears when my sister and I “fight” over which one of us is his favorite.  He gets grouchy and doesn’t like some people.  Sometimes he finishes my mom’s sentences when she’s in another room and drifts off.  He talks about love all the time (it’s pretty groovy).

Just last year, Buddy was moved from Gracewood (where he’d lived for over 50 years) to a house near Savannah with 24 hour care and a wheelchair bound roommate named Philip.  My mother and her sisters worked and worried over the transition in his care, coordinating it all while traveling back and forth from Texas and South Carolina to Georgia.

During the day, he goes to the Coastal Center for Developmental Services.  He calls it his “work”.  So today, my mom came and got me and Little Boy.  I packed a picnic lunch:  tuna salad, homemade bread, spinach salad, carrot and red bell pepper strips, hummus, lentil dip and a banana.  We crammed into Grandma’s car and met Uncle Buddy at work for lunch.  It was 80 degrees and sunny.  We ate at a shaded table out back by the Center’s vegetable, herb, and flower garden.  A gorgeous day.  Smiling faces.  Happy bellies.  Lots of love.

Well, mostly lots of love.  Today Little Boy confessed that he gets “bored” when we visit Uncle Buddy.  I told him I do, too.  He gave me that look he does when he’s trying to figure out whether or not I’m messing with him.  “Seriously?” he asked.

“Seriously,” I said.  “It’s totally boring.  I mean, we just sit there mostly, right?.”

He looked puzzled.  “Then why do we go?”

“Because it’s not boring to Buddy.  This lunch is just a little boring to us, because there’s no cartoons or rides or magic tricks.  But to Buddy WE are the magic.  He loves his family more than anything.  We can fill his whole day with love and smiles with just a little bit of patience and some homemade bread.  It’s a pretty cool gift to be able to give, when you think about it.”

We rock the picnic lunch.

He considered this.  “Mommy,” he finally declared, “I want to go have lunch with Uncle Buddy.”

I grinned.  “Me, too.”

Then we pinkie swore that we would mind our manners and not use any rude words out in public today.

Categories: Telling Stories | | 4 Comments

## Library Loot 4/17/12

1.  Joe and Sparky Get New Wheels by Jamie Michalak

2.  Dragon’s Easter Egg Hunt adapted by Mae Sparks from an original TV episode by Steve Westren

3.  Happy Pig Day! by Mo Willems

4.  Iris and Walter by Elissa Haden Guest

5. I’ll Save You Bobo!by Eileen and Marc Rosenthal

6.  An Annoying ABC by Barbara Bottner

7.  What Happens to Our Trash? by D. J. Ward

8.  Snow Rabbit, Spring Rabbit by Il Sung Na

9.  Rubia and the Three Osos by Susan Middleton Elya

10. Swirl by Swirl: Spirals in Nature by Joyce Sidman

11. The Boy Who Cried Alien by Marilyn Singer

## Go Fish

This pose is the Herban Cowboy's version of "Blue Steel".

Went fishing this weekend.  Just me, my Cowboy and our friend D.  Little Boy was at my mother’s house, so we were able to stay down at the dock for hours without him whining about being bored or going home.  He’s not quite old enough to enjoy the Being Still part of fishing.

But I am.  That’s my favorite part.  Just standing in the wind, watching the ripples on the water, the sun rays through the clouds.  Listening to the lapping waves and the seagull cries.  Smelling the marsh and feeling the movement of the tides.

It’s a good thing I like the zen of fishing because I suck at the actual fishing part.

I very rarely catch anything, although to be fair, nobody else down at the dock seems to either.  We probably need to find another fishing spot.  One where people catch things besides crabs and slimy sucker fish.  It’s a good thing I don’t need to live off what I catch.  I might waste away to normal.

Yesterday our friend D joined us, and even though she didn’t catch anything either, it was nice to have an experienced voice coaching us and our puny poles along.  A few changes we need to make in our setup:  bigger poles, stronger lines, better bait.  Maybe I can post a wanted ad on Freecycle for a nice fishing pole or two.  If I find something better for the grownups, then the Little Boy can have one of the wimpy poles.

Next time, bigger poles. I'll get you, my pretties. You can't hide forever. Muahahaha.

To be honest, I don’t know what I’d do if I actually caught a mess of fish.  I’ve never cleaned one in my life.  I’m a little grossed out by the prospect of it, but I think I could do it.  One of my wishes is to be able to eat fish that I caught about once a week.

I think I’m going to bake D a fresh loaf of bread and invite her fishing again.

I just sat here for 15 actual minutes trying to come up with a clever title for this post.  Clearly I have failed, but decided to press on anyway.

Back when the Herban Cowgirls were blogging at “Hex and the City” I did a post about homemade laundry detergent.  <http://herbancowgirls.wordpress.com/2010/05/18/the-neverending-laundry/>  That was nearly two years ago, and I’ve been washing with my homemade soap ever since.  And I have spent less than \$10 on ingredients in that time.  You heard me.  Ten.  Dollars.

Today I’m making a fresh batch, and I’m using this recipe from the Simple Dollar:  <http://www.thesimpledollar.com/2008/04/09/making-your-own-laundry-detergent-a-detailed-visual-guide/>  I finally found washing soda in my area, so I’ll be interested to see if I can discern any difference between my old formula and the new recipe.

The cleaning cabinet in my kitchen. Washing soda, borax, and baking soda nestled in between the kitchen towels, cloth napkins, and cleaning rags.

I love my homemade laundry soap.  One batch lasts months, my clothes don’t have an artificial perfume smell, and it costs pennies a load.  I keep the big batch in the bucket I make it in, but I’ve got an old detergent bottle that I pour some into to work from.  It is kind of a pain to pour off more detergent from the giant bucket, but it’s way less of a pain than driving to the store and spending up to \$12.99 when the bottle runs dry.

Herban Cowgirl Laundry Wash

Once last summer, my shirts got a bit “pitted out” (South Georgia summer is harsh y’all).  I broke down and bought a bottle of commercial laundry detergent, thinking my clothes just weren’t getting clean enough.  The laundry came out with shirts that smelled like armpits and perfume.  I was so annoyed.  I ended up tossing one shirt as a lost cause, and alternating vinegar and baking soda treatments worked on the rest of them.

In short, I love my homemade laundry soap.  It easy, cheap, and quick to make.  Win.  Win.  WIN.

Categories: Possum Living, The Homestead, To DIY For | | 2 Comments

## Library Loot 4/11/12

1.  Jumping Into the Pool  by Joanne Meier and Cecilia Minden.  This one makes no sense.  I really hate the Herbie books.

2.  Exploring the Solar System by Amanda Doering Tourville.  One of our school books this week.

3.  Little Treasures: Endearments from Around the World by Jacqueline K. Ogburn.

4.  Moonlight by Helen V. Griffith.

5.  I Wonder Why Leaves Change Color (and other questions about plants) by Andrew Charman.  Another school book.

6.  More by I.C. Springman.

7.  Prudence Wants a Pet by Cathleen Daly.

8.  A Girl and Her Gator by Sean Bryan.

9.  Jammy Dance by Rebecca Janni.

10. No Two Alike by Keith Baker.

11. Black All Around! by Patricia Hubbell.

12. Seababy by Ellen Levine.

13. And Then It’s Spring by Julie Fogliano.

14. Larf by Ashley Spires.

15. I Like Things by Margaret Hillert.

16. DC Super Friends: Crime Wave! by Billy Wrecks.

17. Olivia and the Rain Dance adapted by Maggie Testa from the screenplay “Olivia Makes it Rain” by Michael Stern.

18. Zack’s Alligator and the First Snow by Shirley Mozelle.

19. The Witch Who Was Afraid of Witches by Alice Low.

20. At the Beach by Patricia M. Stockland

## Going Viral

Rawr Mommy! I'm a vampire! Mommy? Why are you moving so slowly Mommy?

Little Boy picked up a virus a few days ago.  A day of being whiny and watching DVDs in bed, a little runny nose, humidifier in his room, lots of snuggles.  No big deal.

Until it hit my big body.  Now my throat, nose and sinuses hurt, I’m achy all over, swollen glands in my neck, skin hot and cold, coughing and sneezing.  I hate everything.  And of course Little Boy is fine today.  Will the virus run its course in 3 days for me, too?  I doubt it.

As crappy as I feel, I am grateful for my possum living lifestyle on days like today.  I don’t have to dose myself with OTC drugs that mask symptoms, but seem to lengthen the duration of illness.  I don’t have to get dressed up and go to a job, pretending to function all day long.  I don’t have high pressure deadlines to reach.  I always hated that about the world of work.  Even if you’re sick, you have to show up, since the office/store/restaurant only scheduled the bare minimum of people to cover all the work that needs to be done.  If you take a sick day, every one of your co-workers has a shittier day picking up your slack.  And even when you own your own business, you’ve got to show up, since everything grinds to a halt or explodes if you look away for five minutes.

So I’m taking a real sick day.  The kind every person should be entitled to in order to nourish their health.

The view from the glider bench in my Green Goddess Garden.

First of all, I’ve made a little nest in my bed.  Laptop, tissues, linden infusion (yum!), cell phone, book.  Little Boy is watching Dino Dan and drawing.  In a little while, he’ll bring a stack of books and workbooks to do some school while snuggling in bed with Mommy in our jammies.  Whenever I can drag my butt into the kitchen, I’ll start a pot of chicken soup with an organic chicken I got for free because it was freezer burned.  Maybe we’ll sit outside later for some fresh air and sunshine.  Lots of strong herbal infusions, lots of rest, lots of responsibility shirking.

I feel very fortunate today.  My only regret is that I can’t take ibuprofen for my body aches, because it will get rid of my low grade fever, which I’m using to burn the viruses out of my miserable body.

## Back to “Normal”

Puppets:

Finally finished the Juliette Gordon Low show for the Puppet People.  It’s fabulous.  There will be performances, and a video production to orchestrate, but the serious crunch is over.  Little Boy is adjusting to NOT going to the puppet studio every afternoon.  He’s a little let down about it, but he’s decompressing nicely.

Little Boy and his best friend O, wearing puppet monster feet. Good times, good times.

Unschooling:

Now that our big puppet project is over, we have more hours in the week available to do school type stuff.  We’ve got another solar energy experiment to try, writing to practice, and lots of books to catch up on.

Our favorite part of homeschooling is the dress code.

Gardening:

We’ve got seeds to plant (corn, cantaloupe, pickling cucumbers), and a few seedlings to transplant.  Water the garden, weed the strawberry patch, re-mulch the beds that the chickens got into (grrr!).

Seeds started in saved containers. Red bell pepper, cilantro, parsley, chives, basil, holy basil, cucumber.

We’ve got fleas.  Uch.  The Herban Cowboy and I spent Sunday shaking rugs and blankets, sweeping, spraying, vacuuming and moving furniture.  I’m so annoyed with the fleas, but FINE.  Whatever.  I should thank the fleas for lighting a fire under my butt and forcing me to clean my house.  As much puppet stuff as we’ve been doing, housecleaning has definitely fallen by the wayside.  All that’s really left to tackle is the bathroom….

Clean kitchen with flowers from the azalea bushes out front (picked especially for Mommy).

Animals:

The flea problem is unfortunately going to require toxic chemicals.  Frontline or some crap like that.  As for the chickens, they need their coop cleaned, but it’s a little thing, so it only takes about 15 minutes to scoop it clean and throw fresh wood shavings in there.

SO glad we went with the small coop.

*******

The To Do List is long today.  But the good news is, the Herban Cowboy will be home by lunchtime.  Which means there will be twice as many hands working the To Do List, and twice as much playing when we’re done with the chores.