Self-motivation

In the summer of 2008, I posited the following:

June 2033: The Wife and I move to Seattle, live off wild blackberries and Grizzly-discarded salmon.

But here it is, 2010, and we are already here, in the Puget Sound. Confronted by the daunting cost of living up here, I never thought it possible...but it happened. The market had deflated just enough up here--and inflated just enough in our last area--that when a job opening came, we were able to make it work. 
I didn't have a lot to do with it working out the way it did, so I get excited when I see my--I mean our--children work things out on their own. 
For example, our second to youngest child (No. 5) is Shetland short. She would be a Munchkin, if Munchkins had shorter legs. Doctors aren't sure where her ankles end and her knees begin. For her, the only difference between sitting and kneeling is the direction her toes are pointed.
Solution: the Bucket.
The Wife keeps a five-gallon bucket of oats in the pantry (it would be a ten-gallon, but I swore off oatmeal in middle school(1)). No.5 pushes the Bucket around to where she needs to reach, and gets what she needs. It's always food, it's always quiet, it's always messy, and it's never shameful. That last one is the problem.
When caught, she doesn't fall on the food in a cover-up; she doesn't fling it off the counter and pretend she was searching for constellations; she doesn't suddenly "fall asleep." Rather, she proudly pronounces her conquest: "Eating!"
How do you get mad at that? 
So not only does No.5 get what she wants, she gets what she wants, unscathed.
And amazingly, she has found a sensible use for oatmeal(2)!
Unfortunately, No.5 is also very good at taking care of her messy diapers...at least, the wearing of such diapers.
She likes her diapers clean and unsoiled, so she will, when confronted with the down 'n dirty, remove the offending agent. Her trail of evidence (sometimes niblets, sometimes dollops) coupled with her proud declaration of "Diaper Off!" makes for quick frantic clean-up. 
Does this exasperate me? Mmmmmmm-hm. 
But I do appreciate that she is taking matter(s) into her own hands. 
What is funny confusing about all this is No.5's reaction to her own production when seen out of character--for example, in the bathtub. The few times she has relaxed in the tub a little too much, her little kneekles cannot propel her across the water surface fast enough. The (apparently) frightening sight elicits from within her a sob typically reserved for children who have fallen into a bone-chilling body of water: a sort of hyperventilating stutter-cry. She wants out immediately, but...I mean...she's dirty. So I have to turn on the shower and (gag) retrieve the (gag) bowel buoys with a (gag) cup or bucket (oatmeal, anyone?). 
And No.5 cries. And sobs. And hyperventilates.
I guess sometimes we ourselves are surprised by our own efforts.




1. Long story short: I didn't finish my oatmeal at breakfast. Came home from school...and it was there to greet me. I ignored it (barely; my gag-reflex was on high alert); my parents did not. I ate lukecold oatmeal for dinner that night. If memory holds, the rest of the family had steak and lobster. I don't recall how I avoided oatmeal the rest of my upbringing...dry-heaving? Hunger strikes? Becoming a carnivore?
2. To be fair, there are other sensible uses for this grain: brick mortar; hair gel; paper mache`; wood glue; ipecac substitute; garbage.