We are drowning in acorns around here. They are falling from the sky by the dozens, and at night, when the wind blows, I can hear the thud thunk of acorns hitting the roof and gutters. On Tuesday I slipped out to check the mail, while dinner was cooking on the stove. I had almost made it to the mailbox when a huge acorn fell from the oak tree in the middle of our yard and smacked me square on the top of my head. It hurt! I've truly never seen so many of them my whole life. This is what our front path looks like right now:

And we have collected buckets of these--they are shiny and round and firm. There's something pleasing about a handful of acorns, really, unless one hits you on the head, or you've twisted your ankle on one, or it's beamed the top of your car and left a dent. When I was growing up, my sister and I loved acorns. We liked to collect the ones like this:

that look like little heads with caps on. And we made tea sets out of the cups for our tiny dolls. Acorns were harder to find back then, which made discovering a perfect one all the more special. Now we have buckets of them everywhere, and the novelty has worn off a bit.

If you find yourself in D.C. with Lego-crazy kids (or Lego-crazy grown-ups) then make sure you stop by the National Building Museum before September 3. 2012 and visit the Lego Architecture: Towering Ambition exhibit. Not only is it truly an amazing experience to see famous buildings recreated out of Lego bricks, but the exhibit also has a huge room filled with Legos and Lego tables where kids of all ages can lose themselves in the process of building and creating. We didn't show up at the museum until 4:00 the first day, which gave us only about an hour of time before it closed. My ever-patient husband took L. back there the next day, even though he was completely exhausted from walking around Mount Vernon in the heat. Getting to go back there was the highlight of L.'s day, though, and it was completely worth it.

L. fell in love with the architecture of the museum building itself--the towering atrium, the tall columns, and the way the light came in from the arched windows at the top.

Once inside the actual exhibit we first looked at all the Lego buildings. My kids will never see the Twin Towers in person, and it's always a sobering experience to gaze at them, even when they are reconstructed in smaller scale out of Legos. Maybe seeing the towers built of Legos was even more compelling; somehow leaning in close and seeing those tiny bricks that so many associate with childhood and the magic of creative imagination at work seemed extra jarring juxtaposed against the very real and violent memories of that day. L. stood a long time looking at the towers. I know he's seen pictures of them before, but they seemed--I don't know, more real.

Can you stand one more post about what to do with those treasures from the sea? A good friend of mine shared a great way to turn the small shell fragments and rocks and sea glass into beautiful and unique pendants.

I wish I had collected more of the small shells and shell pieces instead of always looking for the larger, intact shells and rocks. You can varnish the shell fragments and use jewelry glue to attach a bail to the back of the shell you want to use. I bought two small bags of bails at our local arts and crafts store. Just make sure you think about whether or not the bail you use will fit any of the chains you have, although you can probably find inexpensive silver chains to match the pendants if you want to give them as gifts.

T. enjoyed sorting through all the small shells we had collected, and helping with the varnishing part. I had to keep her away from the glueing step since the super-strong jewelry glue is toxic and I didn't want her getting any on her fingers.

Small oyster shells and pieces of sea glass work really well, and I have a collection of these waiting to be turned into unique gifts for family and friends. Next time we go to the beach I'm going to make sure I bring home a collection of smaller shells and interesting smooth rocks so I can make more of these.

Have a happy weekend! L.'s birthday party is tomorrow-I'll post about it on Monday!

If your family is like mine, you come home from trips to the beach laden with shells and rocks. I can't imagine spending any length of time at the beach without stooping, at least once, to pick up some treasure thrown from the sea. The waves curl in with a rush and drag and there, spinning in the foam, you catch sight of some bright shell, or interesting rock, tumbling end over end. T. and L. and I brought back buckets of shells from our trip last week. We found many of them on a desolate strip of seashore just outside Rodanthe in the Outer Banks. But we also found some interesting ones at our own stretch of beach, particularly first thing in the morning, and in the evening, just before sunset.

Bits of shell like this one, twisted and broken by the waves to resemble a rose:

Oyster shells and mussel shells can be extraordinary--flattened into slipper shapes, or beaten smooth by the sea until they feel smooth like marble.

Shells always look their best when wet, though. They gleam and glisten, and all the colors seem brighter, somehow. Then you take them home and, like your beach memories, the shells lose their gleam and their finish becomes dull, less intense. When my sister and I were teenagers, and in Greece for the summer, we devised a system for preserving the sheen of rocks and shells--that "just pulled from the sea" look that makes them so appealing. We took a jar of clear varnish and, while the grownups were napping inside, we'd sit on my grandparents' balcony and varnish away, exclaiming over how the finish brought the shells to life again. Yesterday T. and I spent the afternoon varnishing our own shells and rocks, and spreading them out to dry across the kitchen table.

Best present ever for a ten-year old boy:

One thing I always appreciated about having very small kids was how easily entertained they could be by the simplest, smallest of things. If we had a long napless afternoon stretching ahead of us, I would swallow my frustration and exhaustion and walk L. down to the nearby park/lake where we could easily pass an hour looking for sticks, or rocks, or throwing small stones into the water. I used to take T.

Saturday was what we call a "Lego day" at our house. From the minute L. woke up to almost the minute he went to bed, he spent hours with his Legos, building one Star Wars battle cruiser after the other. It didn't hurt either that I took him to his first play date in months--at the house of a fellow Lego-enthusiast. They spent almost two hours at opposite ends of the boy's playroom, each engrossed entirely in their own Lego creations. It was, by all counts, a most successful play date.

A few weeks ago a friend of mine posted on her Facebook page that her little son had somehow tipped the entire Christmas tree over onto himself. He wasn't hurt, thank goodness, but several ornaments were, and when I read that I winced inside for my friend. When you set up a tree year after year, and you have kids and loved ones who make or give you ornaments each holiday, inevitably there are going to be quite a few that you keep close to your heart.

The other day I was lamenting to Scott that T. could really have used a little sister--maybe just two years apart in age; someone she could play with, someone who would fill in the gaps (or chasms, as the case may be at times) in her relationship with her brother.

Now, with exams almost behind us, and with only three weeks left in L.'s school year, and six weeks left for T., we're starting to think (worry) about the summer. We're already in the process of registering T. for a week-long day camp--something to keep her busy in August after swim team is over, and L. is back in school. I'm also working on a list of activities/day trips I'd love to do with the kids.