Perhaps that explains my corollary fascination with built-in beds. There is something so– so– nnnnnng* about a bed built in to a wall, complete with a door, lots o’pillows, and maybe even curtains to hide it, that when I was designing the house I made a bed-sized nook in one of the kids’ rooms, thinking that someday I might build a bed into it.

That day came last Saturday. For less than $50 for raw lumber and a sheet of OSB, friend Fred and I built a bed nook in one afternoon.

After a bit of drawing and a lot of measuring, we built a horizontal frame out of 2x4s, hanging it from the walls about 8″ below where the knee wall meets the sloped ceiling. This leaves just enough vertical space for the mattress and blankies. We slid the OSB in on top of the frame and nailed it down; to prevent the mattress from snagging on the rough wood surface, I then stapled an old sheet down along all edges. Now the platform was ready for the mattress.

For the doorway, I cut two 2x10s to fit between floor and ceiling, and secured them with a vertical 2×4 brace nailed to the wall behind each one. The top of the doorway is made from 1×12 boards of pine shelving, about $6 each at Home Depot. We cut a curve in one and tacked them up one below the other.

As you can see, for the kids it was love at first sight. To prevent arguing, hey will take turns sleeping in the bed nook. it’s Abby’s turn for two weeks, and in the meantime Katie spent two nights (and the better part of three days) curled up underneath with a book and a reading light. We’ll use that space for storage eventually, and a door on that opening will complete the nookiness of the bed on top. It still needs to be stained, and I have to concoct some kind of ladder, but there you have it. From notion to drawing to tools to reality in about three days. Love that!

* While making this noise in your throat, cross your arms, grab your shoulders, and shiver as if you’re feeling snug. See? Nnnnng.

Granola has acquired something of a bad name because of its association in the vernacular with vapid environmentalism. While I don’t hug trees, I do love granola. It’s cheap, healthy, cheap, delicious, cheap, filling, and cheap; and its variety can be almost infinite. (I grew up on unbaked granola and never liked it; but that’s okay—it’s still granola.) And did I mention it’s cheap?

After months of experimenting, here’s the variety we like best.
Heat 1/2 cup butter, 1/3 cup honey, and 3/4 cup of packed brown sugar and heat until it’s melted together.
In a large bowl combine the following:
7 cups rolled oats (not Quick Oats)
1 cup chopped pecans (or almonds: we have a nut-chopper so can buy raw whole nuts at the store)
1/2 cup raisins or dried cranberries
1/2 cup coconut

Mix well and add the liquid mixture to it, toss to coat, and bake at 325 for 25 minutes on two well-greased cookie sheets. This yields enough to feed our army for some time, so you may want to half the batch. When baked, remove from oven and scrape immediately into a non-plastic bowl and let it cool. Store in an airtight container. If you try to scrape it off the cookie sheets once it’s cool, you won’t be able to. You’d need methylchloroisothiazolinone to get it off.

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*I learned this word from my friend Jeff when I was about 15. It’s one of the ingredients in shampoo, but it’s not the longest word I ever learned. That honor belongs to pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, followed by floccinaucinihilipilification, and then that old chestnut, antidisestablishmentarianism. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” doesn’t count.

**Now really, do you want to eat food made in a factory? Blah! (Froot Loops don’t count; I have a bowl of those once a year or so, and by the time I’m done with it I’m good for another year.) I smirk every time I see the word “natural” or “healthy” slapped on a tray of frozen goo. Did I ever tell you about the time I was at corporate headquarters of Kraft “Foods” in Illinois? No? Half the employees were walking around in white lab coats. They were chemists, not cooks!

In this economy, it’s hard to know how you’ll be able to afford retirement in a couple of decades. Of course, at this rate I am not convinced that 401(k)s, Social Security, or any other traditional method will be worth anything when I reach that age, no matter how carefully I’ve squirreled away my buckage. What’s our secret? Our kids.

What you see here are two U.S. Savings Bonds, each won by one of our older children in a regional essay contest called “Patriot Pen.” Emma won hers last year; Becca’s just arrived recently. They win writing contests, art contests, Prettiest Red-Haired Student contests, I don’t know what all. Emma has over $500 in her savings account, most of it from contests she’s won. It’s like that wonderful little book called “The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio,” except our circumstances are not nearly as bad as theirs.

Keep doing that, kids, and you’ll be supporting us in our dotage. (Of course, the way things are going, that may happen anyway.)

People look at our family and gasp, “How will you pay all that college tuition?” or (my favorite) “How will you pay for all those weddings?” We won’t. Our kids can pay their own way, like we did; and we’ll help them however we can. Of course, it helps that they can win a contest occasionally.

It was excellent packing snow, the kind that holds together firmly and squeaks as you roll it into a ball. Before long we had a good base and midsection for the snowman, and Katie and I were going at it hammer and tongs when we realized we were both making a head. So we put hers up as a head, and I rolled mine a little larger and made the base for a second snowman. By this time the other kids had arrived from the driveway, and after another hour of enthusiastic labor this was the result.

I took this picture from the living room window when we had all come in for lunch. (I was ready for a nap, too.) Some elements obviously came from inside the house, and the snowdad’s eyes, nose, and buttons came from a “snowman kit” Mom had from somewhere. (His nose is a plastic carrot, which subsequently fell out and Honey chewed up. Everything else came from the flowerbed just under the living room window. Dad’s tie is an iris leaf. Mom’s eyes and earrings are the center parts of daisies (some straggling petals even formed “eyelashes”). Her eyebrows are flower stems, and her lips are made of two leaves. I suggested that the parents hold hands, and the kids made it work using two sticks with snow packed around them. Dad’s muscles and Mom’s shapeliness are Emma’s handiwork, and Becca did the hair. The younger kids made the snowkids, which are small because by this time we had used or trampled most of the snow in the front yard.

This snow family is by far the most elaborate snow sculpturing we’ve ever done, snow forts included. Maybe we can top it next year, on a day with lots of tight-packing snow, when we haven’t had to shovel the driveway.

Last night it was my turn to teach the lesson, and the assigned topic was “Aaronic Priesthood” (the lesser or preparatory priesthood of the Church, to which worthy young men ages 12-19 are ordained). We have a house full of girls, and I’m not sure how much they understand of this topic. Besides, I was tired after a long day. So we decided to turn the lesson into a game. Jeopardy!

I made a list of twenty pertinent questions of varying difficulty, four each under the headings Who, What, Where, How, and When. Meanwhile, Abby and Katie were cutting five different sheets of construction paper in to quarters, and labeling each quarter with a 2, 4, 6, or 8. The hardest questions were worth 8 points, the easiest, 2. The kids taped each paper under its heading on to my drawing table, which was raised almost vertical and turned 90 degrees so we could see it from the bedroom. The family sat on Mom & Dad’s bed (or ran around, depending on age) and took turns asking for categories (“’Where’ for 6 points!”), and I would ask the associated questions. It worked pretty well, only took about ten minutes to put together, and I’m not sure that they learned absolutely nothing. With kids, you might not know until years later what they learned.

After FHE come family prayer and the nightly Toothbrush Battle (kids go in the bathroom and flip water on each other and run around gnawing on each other’s toothbrushes, scrubbing the kitchen chairs and the dogs’ noses, and inventing new places to lose their toothbrushes. I think we’ve bought more toothbrushes than France. Once I found one under the piano. What does that have to do with brushing their teeth at night?). Afterwards comes the so-called Lights Out (do the lights actually go out? Well, sort of), Dad stokes the fire, Mom lets the dogs out, then in, the doors are locked, the dogs go out again, Natalie has somehow been magically transported in to Jacob’s room where they are gleefully battering Barbie with trucks, the dogs come back in, Mom hollers “Lights Out!” for the third time, the dogs come in, Dad reads the last chapter of “Nancy Drew and the Clue of the Dancing Puppet” to Abby and Katie (phew! Now for some real literature: tonight we’re starting on The Hobbit), the lights go out, and peace reigns. That’s a typical family home evening, after our Family Home Evening.

Recently I wrote an article for a local magazine about how I take our kids into the local wilderness for hikes, Jeep jaunts, and backpacking trips. The article detailed places readers could take their own kids, but its focus was really about spending time with kids. One accurate measure of our character is how we spend our time; and though I’m a reasonably busy guy, I try to spend my discretionary time with the people who matter most. I love people, but nobody matters half as much to me as my family.

Children are in the cross-hairs of so much that is useless, vulgar, dangerous, or just plain stupid that if Jess and I want to “train [our children] up in the way [they] should go,” we are just going to have to do it ourselves. For me, that means spending time with them. Kids start out liking what we like because they don’t know anything different; ergo, our kids like spending time outdoors. (They don’t like working hard outdoors yet; but neither did I when I was a kid.) This picture at the trailhead to Cliff Lake is allegorical. Dark woods, bright sun; a happy family held close at the beginning of life’s adventure. They’re at the trailhead with Dad, and they’re happy.

I’m not neutral about what our kids learn, and they know it. Ours is a disciplined home, and there’s always plenty of work to do; but it’s also a happy home, full of laughter, learning, music, and love. Yeah, I know, they’re just entering the teenage phase (Emma will be 15 in January), but we think they’re doing very, very well. Need an outside opinion? Ask any of their teachers or friends, at school or church. (Boasting session concludes here.)

At the bottom of this post there is another picture, taken the morning after the one at the top of this post. (Click on it and take a look.) This picture too is allegorical; the children are at the top of 7,714-foot St. Paul Peak. No, it’s not a tremendous altitude compared with other mountain ranges, but it’s over a mile above the valley floor. It was a tough hike; there is no trail. But they were fine, uncomplaining and cheerful.

They came up here with Dad.