Scientific Method to his Madness?

We intentionally teach kids scientific method, so they will begin to think analytically and experiment in real life.

So why wasn’t I proud when my 12 year-old employed scientific method on his own to figure out a new way to pop popcorn?

You judge. (His thoughts in green, mine in red, for obvious reasons.)

 Step 1:  Define the problem: 

Son’s thoughts:  I wonder…

Mom’s thoughts:  I’m pretty sure he skipped this one. The popcorn popper does an excellent job at popping popcorn.

Step 2:  Develop a hypothesis and explain your reasoning:

Son’s thoughts: If things heat better under pressure, I can pop popcorn in the toaster oven by putting the kernels under pressure.

Mom’s thoughts: I’ll give him this one. The hypothesis was reasonable.

Step 3:  Design your experiment:

Son’s thoughts: I’ll put some popcorn kernels in mom’s soup thermos and tighten the lid. I’ll then put the thermos in the toaster oven see if they pop.

Mom’s thoughts, had she had an opportunity to voice them: Nooooooooooooo! What is the soup thermos made of? Yes, there’s some metal. What else? What happens to rubber and plastic when it’s heated? How much did the soup thermos cost? ARGHHHH. That soup thermos cost $20.

Step 4:  Record data and observations:

Son’s thoughts: Ok, it’s heating. Hmmm. It’s starting to smell funny. I’ll go watch TV until the oven goes ding… What? Smoke alarm? What’s that smell? Uh-oh. Mom’s going to notice the smoke alarm going off. (Peeking in the toaster oven) This looks very bad. I’m very screwed.

Mom’s thoughts: What’s on fire? What’s that smell? Naaaatttttttteeeee! My toaster oven! My thermos! My newly renovated smoke covered stinky kitchen!

Step 5:  Publish & Explain your Conclusions.

Son: Methodology needs some tweaking, but when it all cooled down, I saw one kernel popped. Hypothesis confirmed. 

Cost of experiment

• $70 for replacing toaster oven and thermos
• Had to clean everything up and get dragged to Kohl’s to get new stuff
• Being right even though I’m in trouble—$ priceless

Mom’s thoughts:  [not printable]

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© Laura Hedgecock 2013

Romantic Doggie Bag

Image credit: Thekitchn.com

My husband’s work  travel has always taken place in spurts and life is definitely less fun when he’s away.

I remember one particularly hard week, stuck at home alone, feeling like crap, with two very-active-is-a-gross-understatement young boys. Matt’s week ended with a return to the area to wine and dine customers.

Around 11 pm, he called to say that he was not only finally on his way home, but he had a nice treat for me. Knowing me to be his “Forget chicken soup! I want chocolate!” girl, he knew the way to my heart. To cheer me up, he said, he was bringing me a doggie bag (Styrofoam box) with a luscious piece of French silk pie.

Since he was 45 minutes away when he called, I passed the time salivating like Pavlov’s dog and making decaf coffee to have with my romantic gift. By the time he arrived, I had a plate with two forks and hot coffee at the ready.

With anticipatory pomp and circumstance, we opened the box to a horrific sight.

Not what I wanted to see

The restaurant staff had mixed up their to-go boxes. Instead of pie, I was looking down at a gnawed on T-bone from some stranger’s steak.

Disappointed

After ranting that Matt call the restaurant and insist they deliver me some pie, pulling my hair out, etc., I realized it could have been worse.

I could be some German shepherd, salivating in anticipation of a juicy bone that his master called to tell him to expect, only to find one of the few things dogs aren’t allowed to eat in the box—chocolate.

At this years’ company party, we won a gift card to that swanky restaurant. I’m finally going to get that piece of pie.

© Laura Hedgecock 2013
Interested in sharing your memories? My website, Treasure Chest of Memories, has tips, resources, and a blog about memory sharing.

Garden Pariah

Ants on wet peony bud

You’d think the garden pariah would be the dreaded emerald ash borer or Japanese beetle. Sadly, it’s not the destructive insects that the garden inhabitants seem to want to vote off the island.

It’s me.

Nature lover. Animal rescuer. Bird feeder. Habitat builder.

The woman wanting to take pictures of flowers.

I’m grossly unappreciated—no, unwanted. Yesterday between rainstorms, I went out to take photos of wet flowers. Here’s the list of animals that ran, jumped, swam, or flew away before I even got remotely close to them. These are just the ones I saw….

• At least 10 frogs
  

  In the interest of full-disclosure, I have to admit that the tadpoles seemed to tolerate my presence.

• King Fisher (who I didn’t even see until he left in a huff)
• Woodpecker
• Crow
• Wrens
• Garter Snake
• Rabbit

On the positive side, when I stepped in an ants’ nest, they didn’t run away. They crawled in my shoes.

Hmmm. Maybe I should stick with being an ogre. Maybe I could change my name to Fiona.

© Laura Hedgecock 2013

Interspecies Attractions and My Failure to Read Social Cues

Take me to a cocktail party and I’m hyper alert to social cues. Eyes wandering? I assume you’d rather be talking to someone else. Lack of enthusiastic nodding? Your interest has waned; time to shut-up, Laura. I won’t even go into the looking at my chest, or worse—your focus is slightly off my eyes. Did I grow a zit on my forehead?

Obsess much? Oh yeah!

However, when it comes to the animal kingdom, I forget all that self-consciousness in my desire to connect interspecially. (No, that’s not a spelling error. It’s a made up word.)

Just this week I had two significant reptilian contacts.

Monday evening, my husband reported a turtle crossing the driveway. I grabbed the camera and took off to find an attractive red slider moving at break-neck (turtle) speed. My hands-off policy failed when I saw something attached to her (or his, I really don’t know how to tell with turtles. You know, the shell and all that…) back.

Gently stopping her resulted in her peeing her body weight, which was a pretty significant social cue that my affection for her wasn’t going to be returned. On closer inspection, the “something” turned out to be a leech. With hubby’s “help” (If you consider standing to the side saying “Ewww,” “Maybe you should put salt on it,” and “be sure to wash your hands, honey”), I removed the leech by rubbing it off with a small twig.

Neither the turtle nor the leech was appreciative.

Not BFF’s. Not even close!

Later that evening, while I was attempting to dig a cattail out of the pond, a frog jumped out and landed in the grass a foot away from me. I should have been content to simply admire him. (Again, I really don’t know how to tell frogs’ gender either, unless they’re actively mating, in which case I assume the one on top is the male.) He made the mistake of making eye contact.

In my defense, there was a slight gloat to his demeanor. “Lucky mah dirty ass is camouflaged. Stupid human eyes can’t peep me up in tha grass!” (Credit: Pond lingo courtesy of Gizoogle.net) I replied—yes out loud, but don’t tell anyone, “I can see you, you know.”

His little froggy smirk continued. “No, you can’t. No, you can’t. I’m just one foot away, and you can’t peep me.” After I gave him the gentlest of touches on his little froggy head, he sprung away.

Not interested in human contact…

Spurned again.

I’m pretty certain I heard a “biotch!” as he left.

© Laura Hedgecock 2013

Text Conversation

I love being able to text my teenage sons.  I can’t even imagine how my mom got through life without that luxury (although it would actually explain some of the extreme worrying….).

But there’s a couple of disadvantages to texting.  When you text, what you said is there for you to see, in black and white (or green and grey–whatever, you get my drift.)

One night, I was missing my freshman and decided to look through at all our loving conversations.  (I delete all the ones that just say OK or Can you add money?)  When I found this one, I realized that not all conversations should be memorialized (or saved…. or mentioned).

Me: Can you eat at work?

Son: idk  why?

Me: Cause I grilled pork chops, but Tucker got 2 of them. Got one back. Dad’s eating half of that one. But now I don’t have enough.

Son: lmao

Tucker is our dog. Time to switch to Snap Chat?

© Laura Hedgecock 2013

Busy Pond

We’ve had a long winter here in Michigan, but it seems as if all of nature was lying in wait. Plants are growing with a vengeance, the fruit trees bloomed out in record time, and the birds and frogs are constantly singing.

The red-wing black birds have started at least two nests and the males scold me anytime I come near. 

And, apparently, the singing frogs haven’t just  been “whistling Dixie.”

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Kindness not Forgotten

A year after both my parents were killed in a car accident in Alaska, I traveled there with my husband and kids to see the accident site and visit a newfound friend, the state trooper who was in charge of their case.

The accident took place within a National Forest, but the forest rangers agreed that I could plant flowers by the road as long as they were native Alaskan flowers.

The grief counselor at Life Alaska helped me locate a native plant nursery. Like every other Alaskan we encountered, the nursery owner was a kind person. Not only did he help me find two large forget-me-not plants, he also found native blue poppies to compliment them. Then he refused to take my money.

That was in 1999. Years later, my aunt and uncle visited the site on Hope Highway and noted that the forget-me-nots had spread quite nicely.

I’ve never forgotten the kindness of the nursery owner. I think of the owner every year when our Michigan forget-me-nots turn my garden and pond’s edges blue.

Today, out of curiosity, I looked to see if they are still in business. They are and I am surprised that I never noticed their name before. Here’s to Forget-Me-Not Nursery in Indian Alaska.

© Laura Hedgecock 2013
Want to write about your memories? Check out my memory-sharing website Treasure Chest of Memories.