My only issue is the titling of the "boys" and "girls" books. That's absurd to me, and although I've read both books, I can't see myself supporting European-style sexism that my people never had. It's wrong.

They don't need a father, they need a dog collar.

Winners have been notified by email. If you didn't win one, you can still pick it up at any major bookstore or you can also order it online.

The cat was very relieved (for a while at least).

Take a film canister (yeah, before this digital stuff there was this plastic stuff called film), you need the clear plastic kind where the lid fits INSIDE the cannister. The gray kind that overlaps the top will not work. Get some dissolving antacid tablets (you know, plop plop, fizz fizz...not tums) and some warm water. Put 1/4 of a tablet in the cannister. Add some water. Quickly put on the lid. The cannister will POP way up in the air. You can leave it right side up or turn it over, it works both ways. My two boys will do this until we run out of tablets. This is an OUTSIDE activity.

Making goop: Take white glue and mix it with liquid laundry starch. The ratio is 2:1. That is, 1/2 cup glue to 1/4 cup starch. Or 1 cup glue to 1/2 cup starch, etc. Add some food coloring if you want. Mix in a bowl. If it is too liquid, add a bit more starch. My two boys, 8 and 10, spent over an hour playing with this stuff the other day. Add some army men or action figures for more fun. Will keep in a plastic zip bag in the frig for a few days. Do not eat.

it's a shame. i'd have bought it, if not for that.

Even better, there's a creek that runs through the back of the property. So there'll be frogspawn to catch, weird waterbugs to study, sticks to float downstream, elaborate mud sculptures to build, rocks to collect and polish.... The kid's only three, and I can hardly wait.

What I *don't* find neat, however, is that this posted item just also happens to be something the website has up for an add.

I really like this web page. Please guys don't let it turn into 'Add-o-rama'.

Generally, after the services, we would remain there for quite a while and do some extra Bible reading with the priest, a good friend of the family. On a particular Sunday in April, however, the priest was ill.

This was nothing new, as the priest, an old man well into his 70s, was ill quite a considerable amount. On such occasions, my father and I would remain at the church even longer, praying and studying much more than usual in hopes that our supplications and devotedness to God would help the Father heal faster.

On this bright April Sunday, however, it came as quite a shock when immediately after the services (led by a substitute priest), my father beckoned me to the car. I inquired as to where we were going, and as to why we were leaving church earlier than usual.

"You'll see," said my dad with a smile.

We drove for hours, well into the next state.

"Get out of the car," my father cheerfully said as we stopped in a clearing near a lake.

I did as I was told, and he pulled out two fishing poles from the trunk.

"But, Dad, isn't it the Sabbath?..." I protested.

Ignoring my comments, he thrust the pole in my hand.

"Let's fish," he warmly invited me.

Confused as to his seemingly dissipated piety, but happy nonetheless, I grabbed the pole and sat down next to my father on the riverbank. We fished for hours, laughing, talking, and making jokes; we did not discuss religion once. I could not believe that this was my father I was fishing with. I was having a great time, and on a Sunday, nonetheless, the day of the week I dreaded most!

Long after the sun had set, we packed up the fishing poles, as well the fish we had caught, and began to drive home.

During the long ride, I asked my father why he had chosen to do such a special thing with me. I could not help but wonder why he had seemingly gone against his religion to merely have a good time with his son.

He pulled over the car to the side of the road, looked me straight in the eye and said something to me that I will never get.

"Son," he said, "the most important thing of religion, of this religion, of any religion, is to love one's neighbor. You may not choose to be religious in later life, but remember this: be kind to other people. All people, even strangers. If someone is obligated to be friendly and inviting to strangers, how much more so to own son. I love you."

We attended many more services in the future, never going on another outing like that again. Although the priest's sermons, the musky Latin texts, and my father in his suit receiving the Holy Communion are all but a faint blur in my memory, I will still always remember that one particular Sunday in April, and the profound words of wisdom my father imparted to me on that day.

We loved Baseball. We loved the woods. We loved chasing various things and being chased. Thus the sport of Beesball was formed.

At first it was merely throwing a baseball (usually a wiffle ball as it had more action and didn't destroy the nest for "doubleheaders") at a bees nest in the woods and running. But, as all games and little boys minds do, it evolved into a test of accuracy, smarts and courage. The kid who could hit the bees nest, and actually be the last to run was the winner. As the summer wore on you could devise any type "armor" you wanted to assist you. We spent countless days and nights searching in sheds and the dump, everywhere we went always keeping an eye out for that one material that would give you the edge in beesball.

Crying was allowed by the little brothers, and numerous home renedies were tried and tested such as honey and mud etc.

The game died down as we couldn't find the nests but to this day, when my brother and I see a bees nest, it isn't long before that familiar buzzing and excitement fills the air like only a nice curveball can create in beesball.

Looking back, with all the allergies that have seem to spring up it's a wonder that nobody got hurt.

A tip for the curious: You can find a TON of free old downloadable PDF books (scans of originals, not plain text!) for boys (and lots more) on Google Books. Just go to http://www.books.google.com, enter "Boys" in the search window and (important!) make sure the radio button "Full View books" is checked (otherwise, you get a lot of promotional excerpts from modern books offered for sale as well). Select what you want and take a lookie. On the right of the page, there is a "download" button to save the file as a *.pdf.

I have gobs of old arcane out-of-copywrite books I've downloaded this way. Lots of old technical/engineering books, and many pertaining to peculiar social topics of the day like ettiquette, eugenics, the "crisis" of white slavery, the temperance & abolitionist movements, then-contemporary politics, etc. -- all stuff that will never be reproduced but offers a remarkable 1st source viewpoint on history of the day. Have fun!

Quick story. Summer, 1969-70ish. A group of USAF brats whose dads were stationed at RAF Lakenheath in UK. When parachutes got old or used (cool!) they were retired/destroyed. Somehow a few harnesses (minus silk and nylon cord) found their way to our house. My older brother and I got some rope, some friends, a very tall oak tree and a not quite deep enough pile of leaves and shrubby stuff. A few tests and sore ankles/crotches later, we remembered the obvious: "mattresses!" A very fun day followed by 2 very boring weeks of being grounded. The day sticks with us both. Haven't a clue what we did the rest of the summer.

I found him playing on his own in our backyard. I asked him what he was doing, and he replied, "Spraying bugs with Off, want to help?"

Yeesh.