Birdhouse

Jack had a day off today -- his "Spring Break," really, after a slew of snow days wiped out the other days off -- and I was thinking last night about what would be fun to do. It rains six days a week, so I didn't really factor outdoor activities, but I wanted to do something kind of different. So for some reason, maybe I got the idea from an article in the paper, or maybe I'd been thinking about it for a while, I decided that Jack and I would make a birdhouse.

Jack had a morning playdate, and then he came home, and he wanted to work on his "Rocket book." It was a bunch of colorful pictures, stapled together, of rockets. And he wanted me to draw with him, and so I did. I sat at the little chair at the art table downstairs -- the best Christmas present we got him, I think -- and drew rockets. Jack explained how they all had to be firing either flames or bullets (I chose flames), how they all had to be different colors (done; his were far more colorful than mine, but I did OK), and how they all had to have names. And when I wrote a little name in the footer ("Flame Thrower") he said, "No no, they all have to have big names across the top of the page." So I wrote it in big, and he smiled approvingly.

It's great drawing with Jack; everything has a structure, and he explains how things should be drawn, and then colored, and how the rocket flames need to be all across the bottom of the rocket and stuff. And if I finished early, he said I should do more; and he was only going slower because he was doing his very best work. And we finished and he was happy and he stapled the book together. "ROCKET BOOK."

Then I told him we were going to make a birdhouse. He said, "How?" And I said, well, I'm going to get some scrap wood from behind our shed (a big board) and saw it into pieces and nail them together, and we'll paint it. And he said, "Can I help?" And I said, You bet.

My Dad has actual carpentry skills; I just have the ones I picked up from him and occasionally have used over the years. But I can see something in my mind and saw straight lines and hammer nails, so that was enough. Jack held the boards while I sawed them -- just kidding! -- he watched while I sawed, and helped a little with hammering the nails. When I ran out of nails, I sent him down to my toolbox to get more, and he agreeably headed off and came back later with a handful of them. I sent him back for a screwdriver; he came back with 5 of them. It was awesome.

And we built the thing and it looked OK. I used a small saw and a hammer and chisel to make a bird-sized circle in the front, and tomorrow I'll find a dowel or something for the birds to stand on while they're admiring our craftsmanship.

I asked Jack what color it should be. He said, "Red." Which was fortunately one of the handful of colors we had, the leftover paint from the previous owners' red dining room. I found an old T-shirt and draped him in it, covered the kitchen floor with newspapers, and sat him down with the can of paint and an old brush. And he slathered it in a thick coat of red, and it was good.

Put Jack to bed tonight and asked him what the best part of his day was. He could have said the rocket book and he could have said the playdate, but instead he said, "Building the birdhouse." So it was a really good day.