Danielle's Thinkwell

A Non-Post, Topicless and Vague

2010-09-28T04:35:00.000-07:00

So sorry I have not been able to post recently. I'm going to college four days a week; between classes, homework, homeschooling, SCCK and working for my husband, I just don't have much time for spouting off on my blog. I even had such good fodder for a post, what with that psychotic drama teacher who left us hanging a week before Specials started...oh, yeah; I can't post about that anyway because it would be rude to slander her on par with how she is slandering SCCK. Nevermind.

I also have the evil satellite-from-hell, which frustrates me constantly. I really would rather post only when I'm at the office, mooching Wi-Fi off my mother-in-law. I have to remind myself that there are starving children in other countries who would happily consume my cast-off bandwidth. Gratitude - it's all relative.

I'm not sure if this was a compliment

2010-08-25T18:41:00.000-07:00

I was in the grocery store today, standing at the deli counter, when I notice a nice, elderly gentleman standing off to my right, smiling at me. I smiled back and gave a little head-nod his way. He's about 82 years old, with a crisp white button down shirt, two pens in the front pocket and creased, grey trousers. Moments later, he's shuffling in my general direction, clasping his pint of potato salad in both hands. I cast around briefly, figuring perhaps I'm impeding his quest for Kaiser Rolls when it dawns on me that he intends to talk to me.

Still smiling, he says, "I saw you as you walked over here to get your deli ticket, then you walked back to the vegetables, then back here again. And I must say, although you've probably heard it a lot of times, you have quite a nice pair of legs." Oh, thank you...wait, WHAT? I laughed. What else can I do? My legs are being assessed by Mr. Magoo. Okay, it was kinda nice to hear...weird, but nice to hear anyhow.

P.S. I haven't heard that since 1986, when Mike Sherman in my High School used to call me Legs.

Curriculum Line-Up for This Year

2010-08-24T11:47:00.000-07:00

Coming down to our last little smidgen of summer here, and that means just about all the curriculum is lined up and ready to go. Here's what I've got on tap:

* Magnificent Firstborn, Grade 8: Life of Fred Algebra, Apologia Physical Science, History Odyssey Ancients, Lightning Lit Grade 8, Sequential Spelling Book 5, Vocabulary - I can't think of the name of this now-discontinued program just at the moment. Volleyball through Park and Recs, Piano when I can figure out when in the world the lesson can happen, Art through the co-op.

*Dynamic Middle Child; Grade 5: Life of Fred Fractions, then Math-U-See Decimals and Percents (Zeta); NOEO Physics II Science; History Odyssey Ancients; Beyond Phonics; Sequential Spelling Book 2; Literature of our choice. Piano when I figure out a half-second to fit that in; Art mostly through Art Treasury and Art Skills by Usborne; Soccer through West Howard.

* He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Crossed Youngest Child; Kindergarten: Math-U-See Alpha and some Saxon for months, days, etc.; Phonics Pathways; Handwriting Without Tears; Daily reading of my selection; History - younger books on Ancients, History Pockets Ancients; Science - younger books on Physics; Musical Cultures at co-op for music; Art at co-op and some Art Treasury and Art Skills by Usborne; Soccer at West Howard.

Our Fantastic Homeschool Co-op Fall Schedule

2010-08-20T10:15:00.000-07:00

Today is the release date of South Carroll Covenant Keepers' fall schedule of classes. I'm pretty giddy about it. I'm the board member in charge of organizing all those classes and I think this fall's schedule is something to be proud of.

Our co-op offers Specials Day - a series of Friday classes, two semesters a year. Here's what my kids are signed up for this fall:

* Magnificent Firstborn - 13 Ultimate Frisbee, Iron Chef, Survival II (investigating hands-on wildlife and self-sufficient living skills) and Drawing.

* Dynamic Middle Child - 10 Ultimate Frisbee, Bridges: Engineer a Marvel (creating structures from K'NEX), Circus (Yep, that's a professional circus performer teaching our kids performance skills and balance/agility tricks), and Rubik's Riot, taught by a certain Brilliant Boy who can solve that crazy cube in less than a minute.

* Born-to-Negotiate Youngest Child - 5 KinderArt, Playdough, Musical Cultures Tour and Open Wide and Trek Inside, a Health class focusing on dental care.

The concept behind Specials Day is remarkable and unique among the co-ops offered in this area. It's a day to knock out a lot of those niggling homeschooling "extras" - P.E., Drama, Art, Music, Cooking, Sewing and a bunch of other classes - while seeing friends. Plus, every kid has a place to be, so there isn't that constant question of, "Well that art class sounds nice, but what do I do with my other kids while we're there?" We have both parent teachers and outside professionals offering classes at Specials Day. I'm quite proud to be part of this fantastic group and I'm totally jazzed about our offerings for this year!

Book of the Week: The Year of Living Biblically

2010-08-19T11:03:00.000-07:00

I recently finished reading The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs. Can I just tell you, A.J. Jacobs writes hilarious! In this book, Mr. Jacobs, a self-described agnostic, spends a year attempting to follow the laws and rules of the Bible as literally as possible. Although he often takes this to extremes that were surely not intended in The Word, it's rollicking fun to read anyhow.

The author reasons that since the Old Testament is more substantial than the New, he devotes 3/4 of the year specifically to attempting to fulfill Jewish law, figuring he'd leave the last 1/4 year primarily to New Testament commands. Mr. Jacobs, though not practicing any particular faith (prior to the experiment), is from Jewish roots. I think his pursuit of fulfilling Old Testament commands rings truer than his abbreviated focus on the New Testament. Possibly, he feels more connection to his Jewish heritage and it shows. I mean, a person could spend a whole year just trying to fulfill the directives that Jesus gave. (There's an interesting book concept as well.) There were a lot of potential subjects he could have canvassed in the New Testament that he never mentioned. (For example, I don't think he ever mentioned Communion.)

Anyway, I greatly enjoyed his forays in the weirder and more extreme religious tangents that exist. He met with Jews who sacrifice chickens, had his wardrobe dissected by a man trained to find mixed threads in fabric, sought out fruit from trees that were older than four years, went to a snake-handling church and built a hut (can't recall the Hebrew name for it) in his Manhattan apartment. Pretty funny visual, there.

He found that sometimes, even following laws whose purpose is not known, or that are generally disregarded in modern society, still can lead to peace and well-being. Examples of this are: wearing white garments, observing the Sabbath and avoiding certain foods. He also found that participating in rituals where he initially was uncomfortable, such as daily prayer, ultimately becomes integral to daily life.

This book was fascinating. I enjoyed it all the way through. If you're one to take your faith very seriously, you might not appreciate his literal application of verses you consider metaphorical, but it's still a vibe read if you can see humor in the sacred.

Book of the Week: "Mr. Darcy's Diary"

2010-08-10T11:07:00.001-07:00

I recently finished reading Mr. Darcy's Diary by Amanda Grange. Since I love Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, I expected to enjoy this book as well. The author writes the storyline of Pride and Prejudice from the perspective of Mr. Darcy. This was one of those books that started out great but left me a little cold at the end. For the first 3/4 of the book, the author wrote very convincingly. I could barely perceive a difference between the character designed by Ms. Austen herself more than a hundred years ago and the voice given by the modern-day Amanda Grange. This was not so much true as the book came to a close. Grange's version of Mr. Darcy comes to see the light too completely to be believed. He suddenly has no difficulty seeing his former behavior as arrogant and wrong. People don't usually come around one hundred percent, even if they do come around. It would have been truer if we could still get little glimpses of Darcy thinking he's all that.

Nevertheless, this book is a great diversion for P&P fans. I didn't mind terribly making it through the less-believable final quarter. If you like Jane enough to be depressed that there won't be any new novels out of her, might as well give this one a read. Darcy is a great character anyway, and I didn't mind spending 320 pages in his head.

I meant Sporting Goods!

2010-08-05T14:28:00.000-07:00

You really gotta watch what you type into your address bar.

I was on the phone for an hour with my satellite internet company (that’s a whole ‘nother post), trying to improve my connectivity, which has been yucky since inception. Because I live in lovely rural Carroll County, there are two options for internet: satellite or dial-up. I have satellite, however, my satellite is so bad, sometimes I think it is dial-up.

So, after fiddling with a bunch of stuff in my system tools with the Indian Customer Service guy on the phone, who, no doubt, is actually in India, I was instructed to “attempt to browse normally now.” So, I began to type different web addresses into my bar, to check out my web responsiveness. I thought it best to type in addresses I don’t normally go to, because I wanted it to load sites without the benefit of cookies. (Listen to me talking all techy, as if I know what I’m saying!)

Into my address box I typed the probable names of any store that popped into my head: LL Bean, Sears, Sports Authority, Target, Dicks...

Apparently, the address for Dicks Sporting Goods is NOT www. dicks (dot)com. I’m talking to a guy in India and my screen is popping up a half-dozen pictures that are definitely not selling sports equipment, although some of those girls looked pretty athletic. I scrambled about, frantically closing windows wondering, nay, praying silently that the rep on the phone is not tapped in to my system and seeing what pops up on my screen! (I’m still not sure about that.) I tried to act like nothing astonishing just happened on my end and re-typed the respectable, banal address for Sears.

Be careful, friends. Be very careful out there!

Groundhog Plays Soccer

2010-08-04T12:36:00.000-07:00

I looked out the window and saw my handsome German Shepherd Dog, Sergeant, going crazy over by the fence. It was clear he had discovered one of our nearby forest inhabitants, and it obviously wasn't a squirrel or a rabbit as he would already have scarfed them up. Fearing it may be a snake or a skunk, I ran outside to find....

a soccer-playing groundhog. I'll grant you, it's not what I expected!

Hideous though they are, I nevertheless found mercy for the fat, garden-decimating vermin. So, I called off the dog and gave Beckham a chance to escape. Can't you just picture a spoof Groundhog World Cup? That would be Must-See TV!

Book of the Week: "Have a Little Faith"

2010-08-03T11:41:00.001-07:00

I recently finished reading Mitch Albom's Have a Little Faith. I give it Five Stars.

The book is a look at faith through the eyes of Mitch's childhood Jewish Rabbi, "Reb," and a hard-luck, reformed criminal Christian pastor in Detroit, named Henry. Mitch's eloquent descriptions left me feeling like I knew Reb, or wishing I could meet him. I thoroughly enjoyed the author's open admission of having drifted away from his Jewish roots and his willingness to tell the truth about the challenge of keeping faith. I still find that challenge personally mysterious and at the same time, I have an awed regard for those who seem to find it easy, as Reb and Henry are depicted.

How interesting it must have been for the author to find similarities in the midst of such contrast: a Jewish Rabbi from an affluent community vs. an African-American pastor in the ghetto. Yet they both sang through their sermons. They both lost a child. By astounding coincidence, they both were nicknamed "Reb" by followers. And they both demonstrate the open, accepting, merciful love of God. I think Mitch Albom was moved by it. I certainly was.

I highly recommend Have a Little Faith to anyone who is open towards what God means to different people, or how God applies to themselves.

Toddlers and Tiaras

2010-07-29T10:45:00.000-07:00

Oh my. Yes, I have to comment. That show is like a train wreck from which you can't really avert your eyes, eh?

I was dog-ass tired yesterday for reasons that probably have something to do with my pushin'-forty hormones, so rather than do something cerebral, like read, or something necessary, like Swiffer the bathroom, I instead flipped through my round of favorite channels (Fox News, Food Network, The History Channel and TLC, in case you're interested). I landed on Toddlers and Tiaras, the TLC reality show that showcases families who have their little girls compete in glitz beauty pageants. If you've never seen the show, you should, if only for reasons of anthropological study. Those moms are a whole different kind.

So, you take a reasonably pretty little girl. You add a hairpiece, fake teeth, spray tan, a couple of outfits that cost hundreds of bucks or more, fingernails and more makeup than you'd see on a vegas showgirl. Then, you pay a coach to teach them how to present themselves on stage, which often resembles a "dance" you would see in the red light district. Picture six-year olds whipping off velcroed skirts to reveal the bikini beneath, while shakin' the "money maker" for the judges. (Which gives me pause as well...what 45 year old man wants to witness this? But I digress.) The kids also get to absorb all sorts of wholesome messages such as, "I'm the prettiest," or "I look good," or "It hurts to be beautiful," which one mom said about ten times in one show.

By far one of the funnier moments of irony was watching the awarding of the prize for "Best Hair." Best Hair? When their hair isn't even their actual, you know...hair?

The part I admit, I love the most is that the parents don't realize the show is making fun of them. TLC crafts the show in such a way that you can't help but see how out of touch the moms are. For example, they might have the mom saying, "Oh my daughter just loves to be on stage," and meanwhile, they show a frothing, rabid little girl screaming, "Noooooooooo! My dress is itchy!!!!!" I could laugh if I didn't feel so sorry for the kids. Last night, there was a clip of a mom estimating how much money they spend on pageants per year. The dress for the current pageant alone was $1100. Mom estimates, "Around 10 thousand." They asked the dad the same question. "Probably a couple thousand?"

Although I shouldn't talk about that. I wouldn't want to see the disparity if someone asked my husband to estimate how much I spend on homeschooling per year.

Last Organizing Post of the Series

2010-07-27T11:54:00.001-07:00

And now, for a word about bookcases. Plenty. That's my word! I have more than 1,000 books in my house. I actually counted them and I'm sure that says something about me. Probably not flattering, either. I know I'm not alone among homeschoolers in my endless acquisition of books. I even have numerous strategies for bringing books into my life. Among them:

* The public library, of course
* Paperback Swap
* The Amazon Kindle
* Freecycle

and naturally, bookstores, both brick-and-mortar and the on-line version. Amazon loves me. To prove it, they give me One-Click Buying and, should that seem too slow, Books In 60 Seconds on my Kindle. Really good for reading. For addictions, not so much.

Anyway, all those books need a place to be (yet another reason I love my Kindle). In my homeschool room, I have two bookcases and three cabinets. One of the bookcases is depicted above. That one is small. It's only about 4 feet tall. I'd love to change it out for a big, nice Pottery Barn modular unit, but that's not in the wallet for now. What is infinitely useful, but always scarce are bookends. Depicted above, you can see two fancy finial-type bookends; pretty, but I need dozens. Staples sells the cheap version, also depicted. They work pretty well. I have about twenty sets in my house, but I need about ten more. Tottering piles of books that flop over really work my last nerve.

My aunt once gave me a cute little doorstop, which I then used as a bookend. On the inside was a brick, but it was wrapped in fabric and decorated with tiny pillows and bolsters to look like a miniature sofa. Very cute! I don't really enjoy craft projects like that, but if I did, I would make a bunch of them. Or, if someone who is really crafty is stumped for a Christmas gift for me...

The cabinets in my homeschool room hold games and toys, curriculum and crafting materials/art supplies. Sometimes I manage to have these pretty well-organized. Other times, not.

So, you see, although I have a pretty good rep for being organized, I don't always have it all together. Nobody's perfect. If you find yourself buried in a disorganized mess, you can use my ideas to chip your way out of it. But you can still keep it real.

Organizing the Homeschool Room Part III

2010-07-26T15:59:00.001-07:00

Okay. Sorry I missed a couple of days on our organizing theme, but my daughter and I took a little trip down to Williamsburg, VA. Wow. What a nice place if you're into Early American History! The only real drawback was that it was 478-degrees. Okay, 105. But it was really astoundingly hot.

The picture above is my son's desk area. Each of my kids have a set of plastic drawers next to their desk for holding their curriculum. I like my daughter's best; she has six drawers. The boys have four-drawer organizers. I don't like it as well, because I have to lump some things together, such as materials for spelling, vocabulary and grammar in one drawer. It's a bit more fumbly than I really want it to be. The drawers come with wheels you can attach to the bottom. I found it was better for me without them.

There are also small desk-top plastic drawers that work nicely for staples, tape, erasers, pushpins, paperclips, etc.

Ideal for each desk area, if you can outfit them each as such:

* Trashcan
* Tissue Box
* Desk lamp
* Pencils/pens
* Scissors/ruler
* Bulletin Board/Dry Erase
* Curriculum Drawers

Each of my kids have a mailbox on their desk. These are discontinued now at Pottery Barn Kids. They are probably kind of corny, but my kids love discovering a little treat or note in there. When I'm on top of it, that is. Sometimes they ask for something in the mailbox and I make them leave the room so I can put something in there, which they then come in and take out, which kind of takes the thrill out of it a little bit, but oh well! (How'd you like that sentence?)

Two of my kids also got cute little Pottery Barn desk lamps back when I was ambitious about having the homeschool room just sickeningly cute and matchy-matchy. Reality intruded later. My youngest has a simple black desk lamp from Staples. So much for matchy-matchy!

More on Setting Up the Homeschool Room

2010-07-22T07:13:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, the simplest solution proves the most elusive. For years I've been confounded by pencil/pen holders. Don't laugh! I bet it's true for you, too! You know how it is. You need a pencil, but they are broken, or their erasers make a mess of things or the only writing utensils in the cup are one dried-up marker that came with a Happy Meal, a lipliner that you haven't used in ten years and the cheap pen that exploded blue goo all over the bottom of the cup. So, let's just make a clean break before the fall session begins. Throw away any pencil you hate, recap worthless erasers or chuck those pencils because they only tick you off when you use them. Toss all pens that don't write and all dried-out markers. If the cup is ugly, chuck that, too.

I realized that my Mason Jars (pint sized) were pretty and perfectly suitable pencil cups. I also realized that what makes more sense is to have three cups: one for pencils, one for pens and one for markers. And by the way, the only pencil worth having is the Ticonderoga pencil. I love these pencils so much, I will even walk all the way to another room in search of one. The erasers do their job smoothly and neatly and the pencils write nicely and sharpen well. The worst pencils I ever used were Staples brand pencils. Their erasers were horrid!

Holding Curriculum

I use magazine files to hold floppy curriculum or multi-part worktexts neatly. Some, as the black files seen in the picture, are utilitarian and can be picked up most anywhere: Target, Walmart and office supply stores. Others have a more decorative look, like the green files in the picture, which I bought at Michaels. The utilitarian version is less expensive and the nameplate made it easier to label. The decorative version didn't take well to labeling, but it looks a little prettier on an open bookshelf. At this point, I have quite a few magazine files, so if I was starting fresh today and owned none I would probably pick up five or six of the utilitarian style.

I will post another few pictures and ideas tomorrow. I hope this effort is helping someone. :)

How to Organize Your Homeschool Room

2010-07-18T11:56:00.000-07:00

For the next week or so, I'll be doing a series of posts on how to organize a homeschool room. Now, I know not everybody has a specific room that is for homeschooling, or that your homeschool room is also the Dining Room or Oma's bedroom when she comes, but still. This past week, I've been up to the waist (or is it waste?) in old paperwork, former spelling tests, filled-in worktexts and of course, books, books, books! I'm organizing our schoolroom and putting all the new books and curricula in place, which leaves the less-palatable task of removing the books and curricula that was there before.

But, it turns out I've learned a few things in the past eight years about how to set the room and desks up effectively and (relatively) inexpensively. I know the best way to hang maps on the walls, how to afford a desk for everyone and what method of organizing their books and texts works best for me. So, come with me on this little journey as we explore setting up the homeschool room.

In my first photo above, you see laminated maps hanging neatly on the wall. (If you're keenly perceptive, you'll also notice that they are out of level. More about that later.) My favorite product for hanging posters neatly on the wall is 3M Command Adhesive Poster Strips. (No, they're not paying me to say that, although I would take it if any 3M CEO's out there are looking for an advertiser.) I would also recommend that if you are going to hang two gigantic maps on the wall, don't get all giddy about it and struggle with hanging it yourself, convinced that you can eyeball-level it at close range. You can't. Wait till you have a second pair of hands to help you get that puppy on there straight as a Baptist preacher.

Looking back at the photo, you'll see what passes for desks in our schoolroom: Black 20X48" Folding Tables from Target. You see, only my glorious firstborn lucked out and got an actual desk, like firstborns everywhere, but I came to my senses for the next two. I don't have the exact price any longer, but the tables were around $30.00. The only disadvantage I've noticed is that they shake like a chilly Chihuahua when the kids erase a mistake. A fringe benefit is that they can be called downstairs for extra dining space when Aunt Marge and Uncle Frederick come for Thanksgiving.

By the same logic, folding chairs work nicely for desk chairs.

Come back again tomorrow as I throw out a few more organizational bones.

Fabulous Foraged Food!

2010-07-15T06:32:00.001-07:00

Blackberries! The deer have it right - there is no better time than summer to live off the land. My children love to go blackberry-picking in late June and July. We live on ten wooded acres full of blackberry bushes.

Picking blackberries is a wonderful bonding family activity. The walking, hunting and picking also burns calories (which you will earn back exponentially when you make the Cobbler below!) It's educational; I appreciate my children making the connection regarding the origin of their food.

How Do You Pick Them?

To pick blackberries, you will need:

*Blackberry bushes
*Clothing to withstand thorns and Poison Ivy
*Gloves, maybe
*A hook of some sort, to pull far away branches closer
*An optimistic collection vessel
*Cooperative children

Poison Ivy likes to hang out in the same places as blackberry bushes, and they even look similar, so be certain you can identify this insidious weed beforehand. (Poison Ivy leaves never have "teeth" on the leaf edges and do not have thorns.)

My kids and I use our marshmallow-toasting hook to pull in the branches, but lots of tools (hoes, rakes), or even a stick, could work for this job. Pick carefully, avoiding the thorns. This is where gloves could be handy, but I like to live dangerously, so I pick them with my delicate, white-girl hands. Avoid snakes, bees and overexposure to the God-forsaken heat. Mosquito protection can also come in handy. If you see a huge, hairy vine that looks like an anaconda with plugs, get the heck out! It's the mother-of-all-Poison-Ivy vines. Ask me how I know.

When you have brought home your delicious bounty, you can make it into Blackberry Cobbler. Although my husband whines, because this recipe is not a copy of his Mommy's Blackberry Cobbler (which is actually a pie), he nevertheless devours it. And you simply must have a scoop of vanilla ice cream, or at least a generous glop of whipped cream with the cobbler!

Blackberry Cobbler

1/2 + 1/4 cups granulated sugar
1 egg
3 T melted unsalted butter
1/4 cup milk
1 cup flour
1/2 t salt
2 t baking powder
1/4 t ground cinnamon
about 2 cups fresh blackberries

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Grease a 12x9x2" casserole dish. In a bowl, combine 1/2 cup sugar and the egg; mix well. Stir in the butter. In a separate bowl, sift together flour, baking powder and salt. Add into sugar/egg combination, alternating with milk. Mix well. In a separate bowl, combine clean, drained blackberries with remaining 1/4 cup sugar and cinnamon. Place the berries in the bottom of the casserole dish, then top with the batter. Bake 30 minutes. Serve warm with ice cream or whipped cream.

Happy foraging!

Favorite Things

2010-07-12T07:16:00.000-07:00

When I was a child, this was one of my favorite books. As an adult, my mother managed to score a copy at a yard sale after I mentioned to her how much I had loved that book and how much I would love to read it to my own kids.

In The Tales of Mr. Pengachoosa by Caroline Rush, a girl's pet hamster, Hammy, tells her a series of stories involving his grandfather, Mr. Pengachoosa. The stories are witty and imaginative and always manage to tie in with something happening in their real world. My favorites are "The Hunt," "The Wind Birds," and "The Snow House."

I had several hamsters over the course of my childhood. I remember sitting with my various hamsters and silently willing them to speak to me. In the book, Hammy explains that the reason not everyone hears hamsters is because "...you have to be a very still sort of person..." I would sit there thinking, "I'm a very still sort of person! Surely I can hear my hamster talk!"

I now share The Tales with my own children.

So, Dear Readers, do you have a favorite book from childhood that you are sharing with your children?

Rain!

2010-07-10T12:32:00.001-07:00

I almost forgot there was such a thing. The crunchy grass seems to be stretching up, drinking deeply. The 100-degree heat has prematurely grilled the grass. We've struggled to keep our precious plants watered. But today, at last, the rain has come, quenching the gasping landscape.

We usually complain about rain. It spoils our picnics, soaks our sports and makes a mess of proms, weddings and Easter Sunday. Yet when the rain tarries, we start to see rain afresh. We pray for it, long for it, sigh for it's absence. We want the rain to come, to satiate the vegetables, placate the pachysandra.

In a similar vein, today Kelly and I went to a friend's funeral. The young husband of a fellow homeschooling mom gave up a valiant battle against cancer. He died on Independence Day, prompting the pastor to remark, accurately, that it was his first Independence Day of true Freedom. The rain that came today is like the rain coming into the life of my friend. It brings the clouds of sorrow, but it brings cleansing tears. This young man doesn't have to fight any more, doesn't have to hurt or struggle. It is a dark cloud for my friend and her daughter, even as it quenches the dessert of the unknown, even as it washes the painful path of loss.

It seems to me that death could have been better designed.

Fragile

2010-07-08T13:23:00.003-07:00

In the past five years, I've learned something about windows and balls. I've had two incisive lessons. What I've learned is, it doesn't take a hard baseball to break a window. Even a relatively small ball, say a soft-sided juggling ball or a super-bounce rubber ball, are a smashing success. And I do mean smashing.

My first lesson took place five years ago, in the Family Room, with Professors Kyla and Collin. They deftly demonstrated that a super-bounce rubber ball can, in fact, shatter a window. Since my darling husband is many things, including a procrastinator, the window is still broken. Although both children served punishments for that mishap, the lesson apparently did not stick with Collin. Or else he didn't think it applied to juggling balls.

Collin and Mason were in charge of the second demonstration. They were in the Studio, which is essentially our homeschooling room, the long bonus room over the garage. Even way back on the other side of the house, I heard shattering glass. Moments later, a stricken Collin came in with the confession.

At least he was contrite. Grief-stricken, even.

They are both serving time, living out the summer without the dubious benefit of DSis, Wii, computer or TV. Personally, I wish it was like that all the time, because I have been amazed and impressed with the worthwhile uses they find for their time without electronic distractions.

So, here is my Studio window, custom-designed to match my Family Room window.

P.S. I should mention that philosophically, taking away electronics is not what I normally do to correct poor judgement. I see no connection between the two. DH felt the need to exact some sort of punishment and so he chose this. They do also have to work to pay restitution, but it wasn't realistic to have them work to pay for something so expensive and it wouldn't have been fair to Collin, since he can work much harder than Mason. On the whole, though, we almost never use "grounding" in the traditional sense.

Outliers

2010-07-08T06:27:00.001-07:00

I really dig that new picture in my header, but I have no bloomin' clue how to make it smaller than Goliath. Bear with me while I figure that out. I'm not the least bit techy.

The book I read this past week was Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. I found it fascinating! It certainly inspired me to do well in my homeschooling endeavors, as well as my self-education efforts.

In Outliers, Gladwell examines the factors that shape people, or groups of people, into exceptions in their field. It examines individuals, (Bill Gates, Bill Joy, The Beatles) as well as population segments, such as professional hockey players and the success of Asians in mathematics. The findings are striking and, often, surprising. It's not necessarily amazing talent that defines the successful, and not necessarily pure brain power. Practice, it turns out, really does make perfect, as it has been found again and again that the most successful have put in thousands of hours of practice - right around 10,000 hours, in fact. The 10,000-hour rule was exciting to me. It demonstrates how mastery is achieved by anyone committed to the time and effort to become exceptional.

I also found the findings on longer school hours (mostly in other countries) very interesting. It showed very plainly the set-backs incurred by a long summer break. It validates my belief that my kids should continue with Math, at the very least, throughout the summer.

Two thumbs up for Outliers. It's a fascinating book that demonstrates that success is achievable for anyone with the chutzpah to seek it.

The Mysterious Benedict Society - Book Week 8

2010-02-28T14:54:00.001-08:00

I have just finished reading The Mysterious Benedict Society" by Trenton Lee Stewart. As "kid lit" goes, this one is fairly good. I'm not sure if you'd call this Sci-Fi or a mystery, but it's somewhere between those two. The lead character is Raynard Moulden, a gifted orphan, who gets an opportunity to be part of a special mission. He and his orphaned cohorts form The Mysterious Benedict Society and act as spies at their weird special school, The Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened (L.I.V.E., as displayed on their red school flag...or is it EVIL?) Stewart does one fine job of crafting suspense. I didn't have to go far from one spine-tingling "Whatever will they do?" musing to the next. As the climax comes along, the story is moving at break-neck speed. However, the Denouement crashed along much too rapidly. So many threads had been lain down, it was bewildering to have them all explained away and everything tied up much too neatly in the last few pages.

The setting was a little baffling and left me feeling ungrounded far into the book. I'm not sure if Stoneytown Harbor and Nomanson Island are real places (in America?) or purely fictional. Later in the book, Holland is mentioned and so is Zambia, so apparently, it's on our "real" earth. But where? I gotta say that bugged me quite a lot. Maybe I somehow missed this important point, but either way, it never registered.

There was a wonderful plot twist regarding the character named Milligan that was a total delight. However, new information on the character named Constance Contraire was completely preposterous. Gotta love that wonderful name-crafting, though. Constance Contraire! What a perfect name for the character who is constantly contrary!

All-in-all, a clever book and an entertaining read. Kids in the 8-12 age range, especially boys, will most likely enjoy it.

Some Tears are Wiped Away, I Guess, For Some

2010-02-26T14:18:00.000-08:00

This is a long-due update to the Valley of Tears outcry I raised in December. Remember the lady I spoke of whose adoption fell through? The update is - it came to fruition after all. She got to adopt a newborn girl. By mid-January, she had her Christmas Miracle. I was speechless. And then never happens.

I struggle because I don't know what these things mean. I don't know if God was merciful or if she just "got lucky". Because - how can we speak of God's mercy when The Right Thing happens amidst so many examples of The Wrong Thing happening?

When a survivor was pulled from the wreckage of Haiti a month after the earthquake, some thank God for that miracle. But what of the hundreds of thousands not shown that mercy? Where does that leave them?

Book a Week - Week Three

2010-01-17T09:42:00.001-08:00

I'm sorry I'm all over the map on my blog, folks. I know I'm supposed to be posting about The Love Dare, but I've fallen off the dare wagon. I'm also a few posts behind on my general life stuff that I mean to do. And now, I've gone and added this Book a Week challenge with my buddies from The Well-Trained Mind forums.

*sigh* Anyway...I just finished reading A Simple Christmas by Mike Huckabee. It was an enjoyable read. I felt that I needed something relaxing and not too cerebral. This book met that need.

My complaint about the book is that it's not tightly edited. He takes three pages to say what would fit on one. There were also a few glaring word clashes. Once he said something like, "I can't verify the veracity of..." That almost hurt my ears. Two such similar words clanging together like that. Also, I got tired of every chapter ending with the refrain..."a simple Christmas. I realize he's trying to bring the theme back around each chapter but it got dull. Okay, Mike, it's a simple Christmas. We know.

Still, a very pleasant read. Good stories in there that really make you chuckle when you think of your own eccentric uncles or chain-smoking cousin or whatever oddballs make up your family history. Funny stuff.

So my book for this coming week is "Mansfield Park" by Jane Austen. I have never read that one before. I'm enjoying the language and the character development just as much as all the other Austen novels. Her word-craft rocks the house, people!

Unconditional Love

2010-01-03T13:33:00.001-08:00

Today's Dare is about unconditional love. I've pondered it before.

I would say that most happy, lasting marriages are not truly founded in unconditional love. It would not be true to say that I would stay married no matter what, that nothing Kelly could do or become could thwart my love for him. I'm just guessing, but I think it's true from his end, too. Yes, True love is long-suffering and tolerant; it doesn't look for a reason to part company. And yes, there is an element of choosing to stay married. But still. Unconditional love? I don't even think that is healthy, let alone practical.

If my husband smacked me around, drained the bank account to buy a boat, was cruel to the kids, kicked the dog and didn't go to work, would I stay? No. I would not. If I took a job as a stripper, left the kids alone while I partied, stayed mysteriously away from home on occasion, failed to buy food and couldn't explain all those calls on my cell phone, would he stay? No. He would not. I would even hope that he respected himself better than to subject himself and our kids to such a life.

Now, if we want to talk tolerant love, okay, I'm in. You stay with your mate even if they never put their clean clothes away, leave the suitcase in the hall for a month after a trip, bring the car home with the tank on E and forget to take out the recycling. Although that suitcase-in-the-hall thing is really annoying. But, yeah, you stay.

Today's dare still works fine, even if you question unconditional love. This is the Dare:

Do something out of the ordinary today, something that proves to you and to them that your love is based on your choice and nothing else. Wash her car, clean the kitchen, buy his favorite dessert, fold the laundry. Demonstrate love to them for the sheer joy of being their partner in marriage.

What do you think, dear readers? Do you love your spouse unconditionally? Do you think that is the ideal?

Valley of Tears

2009-12-30T09:48:00.001-08:00

Okay, I know I said I would blog about the Love Dare, and yes, I am still doing that, but I have to kvetch about something else today. This is open-heart time, so here, watch me spill it.

Some people will surely hate the semantics of this, but I've been trying to be a Christian. I am trying to find a place back to where I can say I trust God and love Him and believe that He loves me. But I do get stuck on what has happened to me in the past. Once bitten, twice shy. Sometimes, I get stuck on what happens to other people, even people I don't actually know. And so this is just what has happened recently.

A person I "know" only in the cyber-sense, whom I will call "Sue", has longed for a daughter for years. She posted last Christmas about her longings for a daughter and how infertility and difficulties with adopting have made this a longing that remains unsatisfied. Just before Christmas this year, however, an opportunity dropped in her lap. It looked like her prayers would be answered with this "Christmas miracle" and she would be able to adopt a baby girl. I hoped along with her. For her dream to come true would vicariously validate my own dreams of having another child. It would be a strong point in God's favor for the ol' "God is Good" column.

So, for a few days, we on the board were hoping along with Sue, waiting to witness a miracle. But when Sue showed up on the board, it was to say how it looked like the adoption was not going to happen. Her pain was palpable.

I completely get how this hurts. Her question is my question. Why does God stir things up, only to disappoint? Why does He seem to start something if it's not going to end well? I ask this all the time. Why do I long for another child? Am I wrong to long for another child, when it would take a miracle for me to have one? Am I wrong to give up hope, on the other hand, and admit that it just isn't in the cards? Is it selfish to want more kids? Or is it faith, the "substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen," in action?

This is why I can't get over the "trust and love" hurdle. Trust and love is natural if the object of your trust and love evidently is trustworthy. When you only get hurt in return, how can trust and love be expected? Honestly, these are times when the Christian walk looks to me like bad advice given to battered women. "Stand by your man! Remember the commitment you made! Deep down, he really loves you!"

I am currently reading The Promise by Father Jonathan Morris. This line jumped right out at me today:

Religious faith is not blind. It is not irrational. It is about trusting and loving someone we have come to know. If you haven't come to know Jesus personally and as a providential God - one who is on our side - it is irrational to put your trust in him.

This is really the crux of the whole thing for me. I did come to know Jesus personally, but it does not look like God is on my side, therefore it is irrational to put my trust in Him. This is not quite how Father Morris meant it, but that is why it is a problem for me. I really, really wanted to see things work out miraculously for Sue on the internet community. It would give me hope.

Love seeks not its own

2009-12-24T11:18:00.000-08:00

The third day's dare is related to selfishness. Honestly, I think this one concept could be mined 365 days a year. We all have selfish tendencies. Some, more than others. Even when you complain about how selfish another person seems to be in your eyes, you are ironically demonstrating your own selfishness. If you say, "I don't like that that person doesn't pay better attention to me, what I need and want, isn't interested in me or my kids..," you are actually revealing your own selfishness, the selfishness you are projecting on the other person. It's almost funny.

Today's Dare goes like this:

Whatever you put your time, energy, and money into will become more important to you. It's hard to care for something you are not investing in. Along with restraining from negative comments, buy your spouse something that says, "I was thinking of you today."

I'm one step ahead on today's dare, actually. Yesterday, I was at Costco and I looked for the 17th time at the huge slab of beef tenderloin my husband has wanted me to buy for about 10 months. He had been to a party where they sliced one into steaks and he raved about how good they were. Only, I always balk on it, because that hunk of meat is never less than $60.00. The meat is $16 a pound! When I tell you that my bargain-hunting typical limit to pay for meat is $2 a pound, my dilemma will be revealed. Nevertheless, I caved this time and bought the tenderloin for Kelly, so he would be happy.

In my case, I would say a more relevant dare would be the first part, "...time, energy...". Really, it's not much skin off my nose to buy Kelly something. In most cases, he would rather me not buy something. But my time and energy - now there's a sacrifice that could get my attention. So, I'm tailoring the dare to sacrifice my time and energy this evening.

Love is Kind

2009-12-23T06:31:00.000-08:00

Today's Dare:
In addition to saying nothing negative to your spouse again today, do at least one unexpected gesture as an act of kindness.

I agree with today's dare, but to be honest, I'm a little stumped on carrying it out. Our marriage doesn't want for kindness. Nothing is really springing to mind that I could do today that would be kind and unexpected. I'm open to continue to look for the opportunity, however.

Yesterday's dare worked out fine. I don't think I said anything negative to my spouse yesterday. Honestly, it is more of a challenge with my kids, because I am with them continuously. I can name many more instances where I had to work for patience in communicating with my kids.

One unexpected gesture as an act of kindness...hmmmm. I will have to let it marinate a little while.

Love is Patient...

2009-12-22T07:52:00.000-08:00

I don't watch many movies. I find it difficult to commit two hours of my exceedingly small amount of free time to watching a movie when there are so many books to be read. But I've been meaning to watch the movie "Fireproof" for a long time, and so I put it in my Netflix queue and it finally arrived. So, after it sat on my nightstand for three weeks, I finally decided to watch it and invited Kelly to watch it with me.

It really was time well-spent. While I don't have a troubled marriage, I can see the benefit of The Love Dare, and the spiritual message of the movie did get to me. Wouldn't it be a lovely Christmas gift, to my husband, my children and even to myself, to follow the challenge of The Love Dare?

Day One of the Dare deals with Patience. Here is the Dare: The first part of this dare is fairly simple. Although love is communicated in a number of ways, our words often refect the condition of our heart. For the next day, resolve to demonstrate patience and say nothing negative to your spouse (I'm adding kids) at all. If the temptation arises, choose not to say anything. It's better to hold your tongue than to say something you'll regret." From The Love Dare, by Alex Kendrick.

I know that true, sustainable patience and love only comes from a deep connection to The Source of Love. I'm not too picky about names, but I call that God.

I had an experience once of profound, unconditional love. It was supernatural; divine. I had been reading a book by Max Lucado, I think it was called Just Like Jesus. There was a part in the book where Lucado talked about challenging yourself to continually place your focus on God, to constantly throughout the day bring your mind back to God. I was intrigued by it, so I tried it. For several days, I constantly brought my mind back to thoughts such as this: "Fill me with the Love of Jesus. Bring me to Your Will."

About a week into this practice, I was to attend an event with some people whom frankly, I didn't much like. They cussed a lot and drank too much and I usually barely tolerated being in their company. Strangely, though, when I met up with these people, I began to think they looked beautiful. I thought, (alias used here) "Sam looks really good tonight. I've never known him to look so nice." or "Look at Sue. She seems very pretty. I never realized she was so pretty." It sounds a little spooky and esoteric, so bear with me, but it dawned on me that I was seeing them as God sees them. Their bad language didn't bother me, their loud laughter didn't grate on me. I just felt unrestrained love towards them.

With such an experience behind me, one wonders why I didn't continue the practice. I'd be well into nirvana by now, I think! This was a while ago, though; before my trial by fire, before I lost what was most precious. I have not been patient or loving much since Lydia died. In the first day of The Love Dare, it says, "Anger is usually caused when the strong desire for something is mixed with disappointment or grief. You don't get what you want and you start heating up inside." Boy, is that ever true. I still have a lot of anger over losing Lydia. And I still have so much confusion over the spiritual meaning of that loss. When I hear people say things like, "God is faithful." or "God answers prayers.", my immediate reaction is to think, "That is not true." How can I feel otherwise? To what else does the evidence point?

I would like to tap again that Divine Love. It is beautiful, so lovely and beautiful to behold. I want that to flow out of myself, but I know it won't unless I reconnect with it's Source. And I am so afraid to trust. It has all come to nothing before, why should it be different now?

But I know I cannot be the wife and mother I want to be without it. I cannot fulfil even Day One of the Dare if I don't attempt to get back there. I will try but I am very uncertain.

The Way Boys Play

2009-09-26T17:15:00.001-07:00

When it's not feeling hectic and crazy, it is so fun to watch all three of my kids play soccer. This is Mason's first crack at it and he is a natural. 'Bout time all that energy got used to some productive purpose. Today was his second game and he scored four goals. He also put a mean block on the other team's striker just before the boy pegged a goal. Since he is in clinic, his team is co-ed. It really is a remarkable thing to watch the difference in the play of boys and girls.

Collin had a make-up game on Friday night, so we all went. (We've been splitting up on the weekends and I hadn't seen him play yet this season.) He has quite a nice, competitive soccer team. It was great fun to watch, especially since we won. The difference between boys playing and girls playing is very noticeable. The boys are so aggressive, so serious. They mean to make that goal, they are faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive.

I'm not on point of lumping all boys as warriors and all girls as nurturers. I'm sure I can point out a number of cautious, tender boys and a few blazing, blustering girls. And every team has it's variations in players. Still - on the whole, the boys play harder. There's a part of boys in which it is all about the conquest, the win, the beating of the opponent, the victory. Sure, girls like to win, too, but it doesn't have that desperate edge, that necessary quality.

My daughter played today, and they smoked the competition, too. It was a great game. But, there are the differences, all you have to do is look. A girl kicks another girl and looks stricken with remorse. Boys step on the opponent's head and never look back. Mason plowed an opposing player in his game. When he came off the field, he smiled and said, "I think I almost broke his arm!" Because I'm a girl, I was shocked and said, "And you should have said you were sorry, too!" Dad wasn't there, but I think if he had been, there would have been hi-fives involved.

Only Chicken Should Be Fried

2009-09-17T13:34:00.000-07:00

Chicken is good fried. I know, I know, in moderation, of course. Don't want the arteries to protest. But chicken is good fried.

Mothers - not good fried. Yet mothers are so often fried. If you wish to keep from being fried, there is constant pressure, sometimes subtle, sometimes overt, to jump into the basin of fat with the other Do-It-All moms and swim around in there until you are so crispy, you go on a bender when you see a lone, wet sock in the middle of the kitchen floor. "WHY can't you people just PUT your THINGS and your deeee-sgusting CLOTHING in the god-forsaken HAMPER!?!" Ahem. Not that I've ever said that.

I think homeschoolers are even more vulnerable than "normal" mothers to feel this pressure to join it all, sign up for it all, host it all, volunteer it all, lead-the-group it all and dash all over the county to try and give the kids "opportunities". Homeschoolers in particular have something to prove: "See? We're so social! We don't lack for friends, fun or fantastic extracurriculars!" I mean, it's awesome that homeschooling has come this far. I am thrilled that we have a thriving, fantastic homeschooling community. There are so many offers for clubs, groups, field trips, park days, hang-out days, trips, classes and tutoring that we could be gone every single day of the week, every time-frame of each day: morning, mid-day, afternoon and evening, all year long. Only that sort of begs the question of when we would actually learn to conjugate French verbs and find the circumference of a circle.

This year, I am a member of three different homeschool support groups...oh, no wait, four, actually, if you count my umbrella group. It is hard - sometimes even painful - to see all these cool things come continuously streaming into my e-mail box, begging me to join, host, participate or attend. I must say NO to most of them. At least, to many of them. It may even be somewhat detrimental to be a member of four groups. Ignorance is bliss, in a way. I have already said "Yes!" to soccer, a full day of Specials classes each Friday, a trip to Ellis Island, hosting monthly support group meetings, aiding at co-op on Friday, a women's retreat at church, twice-monthly Fun With Friends night, thrice-monthly middle-schooler Bible study and I think I gave a firm "Maybe" to apple-picking in late September. I was going to do Hiking in Harper's Ferry, (love it there!) but ironically, the trip was cancelled because none of the homeschoolers could pick a date that didn't have conflicting classes, trips or co-ops. I have said No to: Book Club for my kids, homeschool swimming, pumpkin park day, Not-Back-To-School breakfast, Oriole Park tour, Colonial Williamsburg homeschool days, Codorus State Park programs, drawing with nature program and now a writing group that my daughter would surely adore. And those are just the things I really want to do but can't, not nearly a list of all the opportunities available. I'm trying to get my kids back to piano lessons, but there is not a single minute available when I can do it and so can my piano teacher.

I am also planning my upcoming trip to Disney - a whole 'nother post, there!

People, are you with me? We just have to say No to some of this stuff. Especially if we homeschool. The mere mention of anything *else* that is planned for a Thursday evening is enough to trigger an asthma attack. Please put me in the slow-cooker. I really don't want to be fried.

Where were you?

2009-09-11T15:57:00.000-07:00

It's the question of the day. Where were you that fateful day, 8 years ago, when those towers fell? When the Pentagon was attacked? When a planeful of heroes went down in that Pennsylvania field?

I watched this morning the re-run of the original newscasts from September 11th. It still makes my heart hurt and fills my face with tears. Those images are seered in my memory. Remember those lost-and-found boards, growing more tattered throughout the week? They break my heart. Wind-whipped flyers, asking out "Have You Seen Me?" into the grey New York sky.

And the good side, too, though it seems hard to say that there could be a good side and almost crass to recall one. The goodwill, the altruistic human love that happened then. We were all in this together. Even Rosie O'Donnell was proud of George W. Bush! Strange, I know.

That day seemed so ordinary. My daughter was 4 and I was taking her to the pediatrician for a check up. When I came out of the appointment, I noticed the staff was acting strangely. Something was certainly going on, but I didn't know what. On my way home from the doctor, I listened to the radio. At just that time, the second tower was collapsing. I felt desperate and sick to hear what was happening. Once I was home, I did what most everyone else did: called my husband, called a few friends and then gawked at the TV for days, sobbed, prayed and despaired.

I wear my flag shirt today. I left the news on, wanting my kids to see the news, wanting them to connect even a little with how it was that day. But I know they do not really get it. You have to live it yourself before you really see.

Reality Sucks

2009-05-27T10:58:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, I had "Jon & Kate Plus Eight" listed on my blog as one of my favorite shows. And once upon a time, it was.

When I first stumbled on the show, Kate's hair was all one color and had not yet looked like two different haircuts, depending on whether she was going or coming. She bravely revealed her post-sextuplet belly, something I think we've all secretly wanted to see.

It's true that even in the early shows, she was snarky at Jon on a regular basis, but since I am a closet sarcastic myself, I didn't hold it against her. Some people have said she is amazingly Obsessive-Compulsive, but this also tended to encourage me. "If Kate can clean up around 8 little kids and not go completely bonkers, surely I can manage."

A few seasons ago, though, the show definitely lost it's appeal. It was like the wealth and fame when straight to Kate's frosted head. Suddenly, the children were always outfitted in gorgeous, matching clothes as they were flown all over the country gratis. It went from being an interesting show about the realities of raising so many toddlers and kids to Lifestyles of the Well-Endorsed. The Kids fly to Utah. The Kids go to New York. Perhaps on my part, envy was involved, but I just lost interest. When it was Jon Gets Hair Transplants and Jon Gets a Personal Trainer, I was pretty much done. Once in a while, I would wander over to TLC to watch old tapings, but pretty much done.

Now this. Ugh! What a disaster! Like so many, I tuned it to the season premier, mostly because I haven't read the tabloids. I wanted to hear from their own mouths what the status of the family had become. Only I left with more questions then I started. Could they possibly be more vague? I have no idea whether Kate does think Jon cheated or if she believes him, but is unhappy in the marriage anyway. Upon seeing snippets of previous season finales, it was obvious that Jon was done with the show, but Kate was totally blind to it. This is where I think they went far wrong. She seems to have been so caught up in the show and the book deals and the speaking engagements, she wasn't looking at her own family crumbling.

What makes me mad is to hear her whine about how it's so hard, and she's doing it all for the kids, and she's so annoyed with the paparazzi. All for the kids? That is a total crock! Kids do not need to be on a famous tv show! They need a mother and father together and paying attention to them. And the paparazzi? You invited tv crews into your lives to document your children's potty training, nap schedules, discipline issues and temper tantrums! And now you're mad that long lenses poke through the woods while you do your kids' birthday party? I mean, I'm sure it's annoying and I personally would loathe it, but that is what you sign up for when you say, "Yes! I want to show the world what it is like to live in my shoes!" When everyone now wants to see inside your shoes, how can you complain?

In the season premier, she must have said 27 times, "I'm doing this by myself." Well, buck up, honey. This is the reality for zillions of mothers who do not have nannies and helpers and book deals. I know of a homeschooling mother of six whose husband is in Iraq! She does it all by herself while her husband is in continuous imminent danger. Really. It's hard to feel sorry for Kate.

The ratings may have been sky-high for the season premier, but I am certain the show will bomb from here on out. How can it do otherwise? I don't want to watch the family who just had their vow renewal in Hawaii last year now fall apart. I don't want to peer in on scenes like the little girl hugging her dad tightly and saying, "I don't want you to go away again, Daddy." And this is The Learning Channel, people! What is there to learn in that?

For Lydia

2009-05-06T06:18:00.001-07:00

Do they have birthday parties in Heaven?
For the little ones, at least?
So you don't miss your six-year Princess party
dressed in Barbie pink with a purple tiara?
Who is invited, I wonder?
Other children, who never knew earth?
Other littles who left here too early,
their shattered mothers left wondering?
Do you run through the spring fields in Heaven?
Chase butterflies with silk and gold nets?
Are there dandelions to blow in a wish,
fluffy heads riding the breeze?
Is there summertime in Heaven?
Catching fireflies and sipping sweet tea?
Are there porch swings where one day I'll rock you,
as I should have already so often?
How old will you be when I see you?
Or is there even such a thing as age?
Are you a peach-faced little girl now?
Or forever a baby, a little whisper?

The Twilight Zone

2009-03-19T11:56:00.000-07:00

I almost bought it a few months ago, fresh from hearing a friend gush about the book series beginning with the book Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. I was at Borders and had the hardback in my hand, it's spooky monochrome cover calling to me. I knew this series had a huge following, enough to warrant a movie version. As it happened, I decided then that I just didn't quite want to fork the money over for it at the time.

But as I was in Costco Sunday, eyeing that inviting bibliophile's paradise, the bargain book table, I spied a copy of Twilight for just $6.89. I decided to see what all the commotion was about. I bought my copy and envisioned myself being drawn into a fantasy tale that some have called, "The Next Harry Potter!"

Well, at the risk of offending droves of pre-teen girls, Pu-lease! The book is lousy! I barely liked any of it.

*FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVEN'T YET READ IT AND DON'T WANT IT SPOILED, DON'T READ ON*

For starters, the first-person point-of-view was not effective. I felt like I was trapped in this silly girl's myopic brain for three days. There was no opportunity to appreciate other characters, or to really even care about them.

Secondly, the book is essentially, a romance novel. Now, I realize I should have known this. I hate that genre. I was banking on the fantasy element, but really, it has all the sappy crap I hate in romance novels. The mercurial moods, the silly he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not shifting that doesn't do a thing for me. Also, if I had to read one more description about how carved-out-of-marble, Adonis-like, impossibly gorgeously, dazzlingly, breathtakingly, sparkly, beautiful Edward was, I was clearly going to chuck the book in the fireplace.

Also - setting. Okay, I know it was important that they were in this awful, rainy town, but how many times can I really read about yet another version of rain? Now it's a mist, now it's a drizzle, now a downpour, now a wet snow, merely overcast today, but back to a drizzle the next day. Seriously, every time Bella looked out the window, I was inwardly pleading, "Don't say it! I don't want to know!"

The climax of the book felt so manufactured. It's not enough that Bella's supposedly in constant peril because she's in love with a vampire and she's fraternizing with his family of vampires, but what do we need to bring the story to it's climax? ANOTHER VAMPIRE! Only this one isn't civilized; he actually does what vampires do; he hunts her. And then, the vampire family does just what you would expect a family of vampires to do for the human girlfriend they met only once - they fly and drive all over the west to protect her. HUH?! Yeah, that would happen.

God, please let Rowling write us another series. Desperation is the only thing that could drive someone to hope Twilight is "the Next Harry Potter!" It was only slightly better than the paperbacks in the supermarket next to The Enquirer.

Why Socialism Doesn't Work

2009-02-17T14:32:00.000-08:00

Socialism is a buzz-word now, especially among conservatives. I am against socialism. I am Libertarian, which means I believe in personal liberty and free markets. Personal liberty and socialism are antithetical to one another.

I'm sure you've heard about the lady who had the octuplets, in addition to her current six children. You have learned that they were all conceived via IVF and that the mother is without a life partner, living with her bankrupt parents. Here's what I think is interesting: It's not the first time we've heard of extraordinary multiples. There were the septuplets, of course, and the Dilleys with their sextuplets and now the blossoming of tv shows like John and Kate Plus 8, with their twins and sextuplets. Any of these multiple births seem pretty crazy, but none have attracted vitriol the way the octuplets have. Why? Because this woman intentionally brought these babies into the world without the ability to raise them on her own dime. She was on public assistence already, to say nothing of the expenses of raising the octuplets as well.

This is what is inherantly wrong with the socialist model. You wouldn't see the same level of anger about the octuplets if the woman were very wealthy. For point of fact, how about Angelina Jolie, whom the octuplet mom admires? Sure, people think she's a little nuts to give birth to and adopt many children in rapid succession, but nobody gives a hoot what the tab is going to be. Why? Because Jolie is not paying for her children through your money and mine.

See, socialism only works if everybody does their life equally. If they work equally and consume equally. The moment anyone seems to be getting an unfair piece of the pie, socialism generates animosity. Someone who has ten children is using far more resources than someone who only has one, so the person who only has one feels that they are getting cheated.

This attitude is also visible regarding the recent bail-outs. Before the bail-outs, nobody cared if a few CEO's flew all over the country in Leer jets. But once government money was in the mix, once you and I became unwitting supporters, suddenly it mattered a lot! Because we wonder why they can't just fly coach like everybody else and save a few hundred grand of OUR money. If they are in such dire straights, we rightly ask, why should they go to a spa in Vegas for a lavish party? But if the company was left to stand or fail on its own merits, the CEOs would have to either decide for themselves to fly coach or drive or else watch the company crash and burn on their expense accounts.

What I love about teaching history to my kids is all the great stuff I learn along the way. Take Captain John Smith, for example. Captain John Smith was such a strong leader was because he rejected the socialist systems that the first settlers had put in place. They were trying to create a "commonwealth". Everyone would raise the crops and then everyone would use the resources. Nobody owned their own personal land; it was all owned in common. (Actually, it was own by the natives, but that is another soap box.) John Smith rightly saw the trouble with the system. If the land wasn't their own and if they could just get food from the common store anyway, nobody particularly cared if the lot they tended grew well or not. I love this quote from my kids' History book "A History of Us: BK 2", where John Smith says,

"When our people were fed out of the common store, and laboured jointly together, glad was he who could slip from his labour, or slumber over his tasks, he care not how; nay, the most honest among them would hardly take so much true paines in a week, as now for themselves they will do in a day."

That, my friends, is the secret of capitalism. People take pains if they will directly benefit; they take naps when it doesn't matter how hard or little they work. Once people had the freedom to work towards ownership of their own personal plot of land, they put in the work necessary to make it prosper.

The Duggar Thing

2008-12-29T17:10:00.000-08:00

Everyone has been talking about it, so I might as well, too. Now that Michelle Duggar has recently given birth to her eighteenth J-named offspring, the Duggar family again crops up in (mostly negative) conversations everywhere. Arriving just in time to be Christmas party small-talk topical probably only increased the popularity of the Aren't-The-Duggars-Totally-Nuts subject. So, I might as well express myself too.

First, I will say I share the sentiments of many. I can barely get my head around what that would actually be like. At our family Christmas party, all thirteen of my Cumberland nieces and nephews, plus my own three kids posed for a picture. This is what the Duggar family actually is all the time, plus two more! It is simultaneously fascinating and slightly horrifying to contemplate.

The Duggars, along with a small sliver of the population nicknamed "Quiverful" families, believe that they should have all the children that would naturally occur in the course of their fertile years. They reject birth control and sterilization.
Many people - even Christians - utterly hate the Duggars. The interesting thing to me is that people like the Duggars are the only Christians who actually carry their beliefs about God's sovereign plan in creating life to it's full and logical conclusion. Here are the Christian beliefs that apply:

1) God intentionally designs every single person for His express purpose.
2) God's will is always superior to human will.

Is any person accidentally created by God? Are there people God would rather not create, but since the silly humans fail to use birth control or become sterilized, He just has to go along with it and make another person? Does God need people to intervene and make it impossible or improbable that they will bring another life into existence?

The argument against it, I've heard, is this: "Don't you think God means for us to use our brains?" This is a condescending way of saying, shouldn't we intelligently avail ourselves of medical means of limiting children? Actually, I would say the answer is No. The Bible gives constant examples of how God wanted people to do what made no sense to their human intelligence. What happened to Abraham? He started to think maybe God must have meant something else when He said He would be the father of many, because God surely didn't mean it would be with Sarah! She was way too old! So, Abe worked out a plan to conceive with Hagar, Sarah's servant.(Actually, I think Sarah nagged him about and then later regretted it.) Anyway, none of that worked out too well. God actually did mean he would be the father of many through Sarah after all.

As unimaginable as I think it is to have a family like the Duggars, and frankly, I don't envy Michelle, I think they are right to put their money where their mouth is. It's better than being one of the majority of Christians who simultaneously believe two incongruent things: that God purposes every life and yet, that they must control their childbearing. Besides that, the Duggars have serious nerve. I don't think I'd be a big fan of holding my extreme beliefs up for national criticism. More people hate them than admire them and even people who admire them in some respect still tend to feel, "Better them than me!"

Okay, now I've gone over the philosophical point of my post, but I still have lighter things to say about the Duggars. Although I watch the TLC show with deep fascination, there's still a lot I would love to know. So, here is my Top Ten Questions to Ask the Duggars:

1) How can Michelle's body parts actually hold up for all that? I don't mean this in a rude way. I've had four babies and I know what can happen to relevant muscles, organs, skin, etc. I'm actually surprised she hasn't suffered serious pelvic collapse.

2) How in the world does the homeschooling work? Seriously. I'm wondering if the younger kids' "buddy" is responsible for teaching reading, writing and 'rithmetic. Because how could Mom ever spend the individual time with what has to be at least six or seven pre-fluent readers?

3) How does medical care work? Do they all go, say, for six-month dental checkups, or are they crisis-only in their approach? I just took three kids to the dentist to the tune of four hundred bucks. The next week, Collin broke his front tooth and I spent another four hundred plus getting that fixed. How the dentistry of 18 kids can work out is unimaginable.

4) How do you mentally keep abreast of eighteen kids? I mean things like who's at what stage of adolescence, who needs to start potty-training, who needs more kisses and hugs, who really needs some personal time with Mom, and so on?

5) What do they do for birthdays? Do they give Christmas gifts? I'm figuring there has to be a month or two that holds three or four birthdays. Do they celebrate each child? Or would that just be totally unfeasible?

6) Do they have toys? Do the children get to have personal possessions or is everything just group belongings?

7) Why no dancing?

8) Does Michelle ever lose her patience?

9) How in the world would anyone ever get a husband to go along with this?

10) Why, having exhausted all those J-names, haven't they had a Julia? Come on! Dad was rooting for Julie Grace for this most recent baby and I was all, "YES!", but no, they went and picked out a hyphenated name with a weird middle name. Darn it. Should have listened to Dad. Oh well. Maybe the next one will get to be Julie. So, Michelle, go with Julie next time. Let me enjoy this one vicarious pleasure with your prodigious procreation. Julie Faith.

Big Brother

2008-12-11T12:07:00.000-08:00

Imagine this: Suppose you had your first baby six months ago. In the mail, you receive a postcard from the county government. You have been scheduled for your first parenting assessment. Now, in this imaginary scenario, you are not surprised, because you know there is a state law requiring you to meet with a county official twice-yearly to assess your child's progress, but you still resent the implication a little bit.

You arrive at your appointment and meet a fairly attractive middle-aged lady with very bright lipstick. Before you have even sit down, she politely, but probingly, asks, "So, do you follow any particular parenting program?" Since you are the embodiment of all things antithetical to a parenting program, you smile and say, "No, I'm eclectic. I go by feel."

She skootches a three-page document across the table at you and, along with general questions you knew she would ask, there are also quite a few pretty intrusive questions, questions that far overreach what you are legally obligated to provide. The official wants to know if your child has their own bed and bedroom and if they sleep in it always, sometimes or never and where they sleep if not their bed. She asks you to provide a sample menu of what your child eats in a given week. You tell her you engage in a lovely evening activity of reading bedtime stories and she tells you next time she needs a book list and receipts from the library, indicating that you actually have checked out books. When you tell her you take your child to Kindermusik, she asks if you have brought any cancelled checks to verify that. You find yourself annoyed with these questions and you know she is going outside the bounds of the law, but you also don't want to rub her the wrong way, because she has the power to declare you unfit.

She wants to know if your child has hit all the appropriate milestones for her age. She's dismayed that you admit the child does not sit on her own yet. And she would like to know just how long you intend to breastfeed because, while a year is encouraged, clearly anything beyond that would be unusual. And it goes without saying that she expects a verification form from your child's pediatrician, stating that the child appears to be healthy.

You may chuckle at the absurdity of the government intruding so thoroughly into family life. But if you are a homeschooler and have reviewed through your county Board of Education, you may not find it so absurd. For those of you who don't know, in Maryland you must either homeschool under an umbrella who sets the educational policies or you must be reviewed twice-yearly by a representative from the county Board of Education. This is only the second time in my homeschooling career that I have chosen the county option. Finances drove my decision, as this "service" is provided by the government, but the umbrella is paid out-of-pocket. Both of my county review experiences have been parallels to my analogous story above.

I know that some would say the review process is an important "safeguard", so the few wackos can be identified. But, if that is true, why aren't all parents being supervised by "officials"? How do we normally identify someone who is neglecting or abusing their children? One or more people who know the abuser will report the family to the authorities. Why the big fear that homeschooling couldn't be done this way?

It strikes me that the homeschooling review has a "guilty until proven innocent" feel to it. We must prove our children are being taught math. We must document that they are learning science. (Which is the one that peeves me the most, by the way, since science is not about filling blanks in a worktext, but is about doing things and having actual experiences.)We must give evidence that they have learned history. I swear we could build a scale model of the Eiffel Tower out of toothpicks, but if I didn't give them a damn piece of paper to fill out about France, it would mean nothing to the county reviewer.

The irony is that, as annoying as I found the review to be, Maryland has some of the most agreeable homeschooling laws of any state in the northeast. Its Pennsylvania that sends shivers down the spine of the even the most dedicated homeschooler, with their onerous portfolios and evaluations and attendance logs. Attendance logs? What a ridiculous concept to learning! I haven't attended school in a couple of decades now, but I daresay I haven't stopped learning. But I digress. Better Maryland than Pennsylvania. And better now than prior to 1980 or so, when homeschooling really started to gain status as a valid choice. But even with our fairly easy-to-comply-with laws, the idealistic Libertarian in me does taste bile at the thought of another county review. I resent being treated with a skepticism usually reserved for ex-convicts.

Undone

2008-11-11T14:08:00.000-08:00

I'm going public. I'm just going to throw it out there, so you'll all know. At my age, and with all I've been through concerning bringing life into this world, and seeing how I have the requisite 3 children, I know the expectation is that I'm "done". Finished with bringing up babies. Certainly my husband has said that he's done, which does tend to make me done by default. But in my heart I am so not done. I'm actually coming undone.

I know all the arguments as to why I should be done. They are even good ones. I've tried to come to appreciate all the perks I'm supposed to be so happy about. Everyone sleeps through the night around here now. Everyone uses the toilet. My ass is reasonably firm again. Travel has gotten easier, if not any less expensive. I even have a few hours a day to just do whatever I like. There's room in the car for groceries AND kids. Everyone has their own bedroom. I've tried to savor all of these benefits. But none of them is as lovely as raising another child would be. I could postpone all of those fringe benefits another three years for the joy of having another child to raise.

I know I'm a terrible candidate for having another baby. But that's not the only way to bring another child into our lives. I fantasize about adopting; I dream in Chinese and Russian. I literally had a dream last night about a little Eastern European girl named "Dasha". Over and over I kept saying "Dasha" in my head and when I woke up, I could not forget that thought.

I was just reading a book called "Comfort" by Ann Hood. A gripping memoir about the sudden death of her 5-year-old daughter, I sobbed and nodded the whole way through. Towards the end of the book (spoiler, here), she had endeavored to have another baby, but was not successful conceiving. I had this sense of coincidence building and thought, "Watch. I bet she adopts a little girl from China." Which is just what she did.

I asked Kelly if he would consider adopting. Unsurprisingly, he said no. I cried and cried, though, as if I thought he might just say something totally off-the-wall, like, "Wow! I was JUST thinking that! Lets print off the I-600A right now!" But no. He said no. It wasn't a strident no. But I do think he really just wishes I would get on with my life and stop wanting another child.

I would even do that, if I could just do that. I've tried. It doesn't work. Now I'm starting to feel a little desperate about it, because we really are running short on time. I've even felt I should stop ignoring God and plead with Him, since that's the only shot I have. I try to pray about it, but I get all tangled up in that whole "God's will" issue. I've prayed for a baby before and look at how that ended up.

I think there are people for whom it never works out. They never do wind up with the family they had hoped for. So, why should I be any different? But I hope I am. I hope I am right to still want children. I hope I am right to not be done. I might as well hope because in the end, that is all I have anyway.

Can You Hear Me Now?

2008-10-21T18:45:00.000-07:00

Hi. I'm back. I'm sorry I've let my blog lay fallow, if there are any people out there in cyberspace who rely on my whining and kvetching to lift their spirits. "At least I'm not as bad as her!" Misery loves...someone who has it worse.

Anyway, it could only be so long before I would be pissed off enough about something to make time to spew it on my blog. And so I am. I hate Verizon. I loathe that monolithic, greedy, bureaucratic monopoly inside-out.

Our phone lines at Kelly's office have never been optimal. They have failed many times. But waaaayyyy back in June, one line failed completely and the other was spotty. After several attempted repairs, finally a repairman told my mother-in-law, as I listened, that Verizon would have to come and lay new cable. There was no way, he said, that these lines would work.

Well. A week or two went by, but no repairman came out to lay cable. At this point, I can't begin to relate all the phone calls and repairs (or "repairs") that began to happen, but the end point was this: The fax line was dead as Arizona road kill for six weeks and the phone line had several periods of no service. However, I was completely and totally unable to get anyone in that despicable company to reduce the charges in a corresponding way. Apparently, right around the time that the repairman came and said they would need to lay new cable, they closed the file as a done deal. So, according to their records, they only have something like a week in June and one in July written down as no service.

I've wasted an astounding amount of time on the phone with Verizon during these months, either trying to get someone to come fix the line for certain and for good or trying to get an appropriate credit to our bill. In the first place, they have that maddening voice-activated routing system, "Say 'repairs'; Say 'pay bill'; Say 'purchase services'..." But never will they tell you how to reach a person. Here is a tip: Say "Customer Service". They won't ever offer that as an option, but it does route you a little more quickly to a person. During one call, I asked the clerk if there was a direct line I could call to get her again, so I would not have to continuously re-explain this whole story and she said, "No." During another call, the billing department said I would have to speak to repairs if I had a discrepancy about how long the phone line was out and when they transferred me to repairs, guess what they said? "We have nothing to do with your bill. If you have a problem with your bill, you have to speak to billing." Explaining that they just sent me from there helped not at all. Back I went, only to be told again that billing cannot adjust a bill unless repairs agrees that the line was out during that time.

I called when my first bill arrived while the line was still broken. I said I wanted credit, since the line had been broken for this entire billing cycle. That's not how they do it, I was told. I am to pay the bill and when the line is fixed, then they will issue the credit. Say what? I told them I would not do that. I am not going to pay in advance for a service that was not rendered, only to have to call back and beg for a credit. And as it happened, they didn't issue the correct credit anyway.

The bill went unpaid. I told my partners that I was just going to pay it and accept that they screwed us. It was not worth the aggravation. It was worth the $40 to not have to mess around with it any more. Well, my partners were not thrilled. What about the principle involved here? You're just going to pay what you don't rightly owe so you can be done with it? Yes, I confirmed. I care about the time I'm wasting and the emotional toll it takes more than I care about fighting for the principle and forty bucks. So, my partner said he would try and get a decent credit back.

But he didn't succeed. And he really didn't have the time to waste on it, either. One call, he asked to speak to a manager and they hung up on him. Another, he asked to speak to a manager and they wouldn't transfer him.

So, last week, I said to him, "We have to pay this damn bill or they are going to turn off the phone." Two minutes later, Kelly calls me and says, "What is wrong with that stupid fax now? I tried to have someone send a fax and it says it's disconnected!"

Oh. Great.

So, today, I open the mail and there is a notice of termination, saying they will terminate service this coming Saturday if they don't receive payment. Interesting, since service is already terminated. So, through my seething anger, I have to call this god-forsaken company yet again and try to get the service reinstated. (I paid the bill last week.) Again with the passing around. Again with, "I don't have anything to do with that if financial services still has a disconnect flag on your account." And then passed back, "We show your balance at zero, so it's up to repairs to reinstate your service now."

After this going on for about twenty minutes, I finally got to the only human being with a soul that works for that tyrannical behemoth. Mrs. King. God, I love Mrs. King. Although she was not much more able to do anything than anyone else had been, she seemed to be trying, a first in my experience. And she seemed to care, another first. Bless her heart, she told me that she would try the number herself first thing tomorrow morning and if it had not been reinstated yet, she would personally call my cell and tell me there was still trouble. Miraculously, they did come through and reinstated the line today and Mrs. King left a message on my cell, just letting me know.

This is my tale about the danger of monopoly. What option is there for phone service that does not include that despicable company, Verizon? Don't they own all the cable, all the repairmen, all the trucks, all the lines? (Someone out there might now be screaming "Vonage!" and maybe that is the answer, but I'm still too techno-stupid to be sure how to make that happen.)

So, Verizon - Can you hear me now? You are the lowest of dust-eating vermin. I am convinced that you make it so difficult to get appropriate customer service on purpose because you know that people will come to the conclusion I did - that it is better to cut my losses and pay your damn bill than to waste literally hours trying to get an unjust charge settled. I spit in your face. You are what is wrong with humankind. You are greedy and insensitive. May it all blow up in your smug, rude face.

Traces of Traci

2008-07-17T13:11:00.000-07:00

My sister, Traci, liked to give gifts. She and my mother are very similar in this way. They love to find little knick-knacks and trinkets to give people. Traci often bought things at yard sales or thrift stores and then gave them to me, my husband or my kids. To be honest, it got on my nerves. I'm a person who likes things uncluttered and it never helped to have someone piling gifts in the front door while I was trying to push the excess out the back door.

But now I realize my attitude was all wrong. Really - should I have been annoyed by someone who was too generous? Whose symbols of love were overly abundant? Considering the amount of selfishness in the world, this is hardly a problem.

Now that Traci is gone, I look around and the traces of her are everywhere. She's left a trail of gifts, some wonderful, some silly, some a little absurd, but at least she left a trail. Her trail of gifts was a trail of love. I went to put a band-aid on Mason's finger yesterday, and even there, in the humble bathroom cabinet, were two boxes of jazzy-looking band-aids given to the kids by Traci. Is there a bathroom cabinet anywhere among my friends or family members that holds something so silly and precious from me? I would have to say not.

I have never read the book The Five Languages of Love, but I know the gist of that book. It's about how different people "speak" and "hear" love different ways. Some feel loved by acts of service. For some, it's physical touch. (That seems to cover most men.) For some, it's words of appreciation. (Hear, here.) Some like an investment of time. And for others, it's giving gifts. I would say that gifts are the least important of those things for me. Which is why all those gifts never really turned me on.

But I sure am glad I have them now. Each little one is like a lasting love-note from Traci. Thanks, Traci, for the ceramic hummingbird, the purple velvet negligee, the Anne Gedes book, the rubber stamp of an angel. For the jazzy band-aids, the fuchsia kitten, the "Sissy and Smooch" set, the dress-up poodle and the soccer-ball gum you gave my kids. And the airplane picture frame, black travel case and Home Depot card you gave my husband. And all the other stuff, too. I probably didn't say it just then. So, thanks. You gave us a lot of stuff and I wasn't always thrilled, but it took losing you to see what you gave. You gave continual reminders that you cared, love-notes that remain even with you gone.

Time

2008-06-22T15:20:00.000-07:00

It always seems there will be more time later. Time to hear a loved one's voice again, time to share a meal. Time to paw through a thrift shop together again, time to take another photo. But sometimes, time runs out all of a sudden.

If I had known my sister's last day was rushing towards me, if I had known time was about to run out, how very differently I would have treated the time.

My sister's time ran out on me and who would have ever guessed? On Wednesday morning, she never woke and no one knows yet why. It takes scientists and doctors, clinical and detached, to discover why her time ran out at 42. And I am left with regret. Her voice was only a phone call away; how I wish I had recently heard it. Her zany humor was available to me whenever I would have planned to spend a day with her. Did I think I didn't have time then? I don't have time now.

I found a note she wrote me when Lydia died. She was living in Florida then, but urged me to come see her at a moments notice, if I ever needed time to clear my head. Why didn't I? She told me if I needed anything at all from her, I could have her on the next flight out. I wish I had taken the time.

She told me I was "absolutely precious to [her]". If only the time was not up, that I could experience again her boundless love.

Goodbye, Traci. You are absolutely precious to me, too. I'm sorry I did not take the time to show you.

A Book All Women Must Read

2008-06-04T19:25:00.000-07:00

I was diddling around in the library today, waiting for Kyla to pile a half-dozen cat books into her tote, when an interesting title snagged me from a nearby shelf: What Did I Do Wrong? When Women Don't Tell Each Other the Friendship is Over by Liz Pryor. I was hooked immediately. You mean this is a universal female experience? I had no idea!

Has it happened to you? Have you been merrily going along with someone, maybe even approached best-friend status, when the ass dropped out of the whole operation? The phone? Abruptly silent.
E-mails? Absent. Dinner invitations? You're eatin' alone now, friend.

I'm only half-way through reading the book, so I can't say for sure if there's any useful help here. But if you've ever been inexplicably dumped by a friend, there's commiseration in spades. Or maybe you're the dump-er. I've done that, too. There was that one very pretty, super-fun friend I met years ago when my daughter was a baby. At first, I thought she was a lot of spontaneous fun. Then, I realized she was a psychotic, unstable powder keg who couldn't have carried out a day as planned unless she was straight-jacketed and wheeled around on a dolly. There was another chic I was getting friendly with once until she went postal over my daughter not coming to her daughter's birthday party. Apparently, two months prior I had signed some sort of blood pact that I positively wouldn't have other plans that day.

All that is not too big a deal if it's a newish friend you've just had one or two coffees with. Beg off a few times and the hint is gotten. The book is about the stunner that happens when a very close friend just bails, leaving you wondering what the hell happened. That happened to me years ago and it still hurts. Could it be that she just decided she didn't like me anymore? That is such a bitter pill to swallow. Don't we all want to believe all people should like us? At least all people that matter?

The book says - and I concur - that society doesn't even acknowledge the pain that can come from the demise of a friendship. If it's a marriage breaking up, or a love relationship, there's a whole section at the bookstore on coping. Hell, there are even books about grieving the loss of your job. But a dissolution of a friendship hurts at least as much, not that I know about divorce, but I'm guessing. The basic message is essentially the same: You no longer count with me.

See, the thing is that women are rarely straight with one another. And even if we were, would that make it hurt less? Which is worse: having a friend dump you while you wonder for ages why, or having a friend tell you straight up that they are sick of hearing you whine about your troubles, sick of you using big words, think your husband is lazy and besides all that, they can't stand the way you chew?

It's not any easier to be the one who wants to end the friendship. There is no bloody way I would spell out exactly why I want to end the friendship. No possibility. I am like most women, finding myself a little too busy until the dump-ee gets the hint. Fortunately, I've hardly ever had to dump a friend.

Wait. No. It is easier to be the one who wants to end the friendship. The fallout from being dumped lasts ages and ages. It strikes at your self-worth. It makes you wonder if you are bad, annoying, ungracious, obtuse, ugly, foolish, arrogant, myopic, egocentric, harsh, careless, thoughtless or just have halitosis. Then you think, no, it's just that she is. And besides that, she has bad taste in clothes.

Maybe it is better if the dump-er just spells it out. Then you can flatly deny it and get on with your life.

Perfect Attendance

2008-05-13T18:43:00.001-07:00

Well, Kyla's chorus group has finished up for the year. Seven months of Tuesday practices - on reprieve until next September.

So, we had the Awards Night. I admit I have been more excited than Kyla about the Awards Night. Because, you see, I knew she was lined up for a Perfect Attendance pin. Twice in the last month the directors checked her attendance records with me and I checked it off. Yes, she has been to every practice and every performance.

The irony in the whole thing is that I hate the concept of an award for perfect attendance. Perfect Attendance has little to do with commitment; it has a lot to do with luck. Can you squeak through seven months of flu season without picking up the bug? Can you resist the Rhino virus swarming on doorknobs and telephones everywhere? If Aunt Martha sneezes on you over Thanksgiving dinner, does that really reflect poorly on your level of commitment?

As homeschoolers, we have the good fortune of being able to plan a ski trip during the week when the slopes are empty. However, I planned ours not to interfere with chorus, because winning that darn pin loomed on the screen of my mind. As I considered how much more I was paying to include Friday, instead of Tuesday, it did momentarily occur to me that I was a gigantic horse's ass for shelling out all that dough so Kyla could possibly still win the ninety-seven cent pin.

So, there was the rushing around and getting to the Award Night and the clapping as children received their Certificates and Bars for participation. After each round, the director would say, "And have I missed anyone?" - No, no mistakes, everyone got their certificates and bars. And then, at the pinnacle of the evening, all that we've been waiting for, they read out each marvelous child who remained healthy all year. And I clapped for each one. Until the end of the list. They didn't call up MY CHILD! I stood up to gain the attention of the director, but she didn't do that, "And have I missed anyone?" thing again, she just started walking in the other direction! Idiotically, I strode across the room calling her name. By the time I had procured the eyes of every single parent, grandparent, aunt and uncle in the entire room, the director finally looked my way and I set her straight. To my hideous embarrassment, I called right out, "My daughter had perfect attendance!" The only slight relief came when another parent piped up, "Yeah, mine too!" So, after I paid the price by being a gigantic idiot bonehead in front of two hundred people, they gave Kyla her dime-sized "golden" pin.

I've decided. I will never again strive to have Kyla win that stupid pin. There could not be a more pointless award. I'm not sure why I lost sight of that.

I think next year I'll just order my own cheesy pin that says something like, "Outstanding", give it to Kyla and call it a day. And go skiing from Monday through Thursday when the slopes are empty and they practically give the lift tickets away.

Danish Mystery

2008-04-30T10:30:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend, my husband went to our beach house for a clean-up. Somewhere along the line, he picked up a Pecan Danish by Entemanns. When he came home, he still had most of it left over. He invited the kids to have it for breakfast the next day.

Danishes and Donuts alike have always mystified me. How come they pass for breakfast? A danish is basically a piece of cake. A donut is basically a piece of cake. You can even get it with chocolate icing. Yet, if you had a piece of cake with chocolate icing for breakfast, you would have to go to confession. Imagine the mother who would pass out birthday cake to the kids for breakfast! Reminds me of that Bill Cosby snippet, "Dad is great! He gives us chocolate cake!"

How did pastries ever come to be viewed as breakfast food? I blame the British! It seems like the British would do that. Am I wrong here, people?

She was a good bathing suit saleswoman

2008-04-21T11:43:00.000-07:00

I can't move my legs. They were just fine a week ago, but now I can't bend over to wipe up the splattered spaghetti sauce without contorting my face in agony. I'll pay a child a dollar, just to tie my shoes for me. And how did I get in this disastrous state? It all started with a trip to the bathing suit store in Columbia Mall.

My husband planted the seed, so I blame him to start. Then, that charming sales girl watered it. I had my right hand on a perfectly age-appropriate one-piece suit. My left brushed the considerably smaller bikini male fantasies are made of.

The short, bubbly sales girl came to my aide. "Hey, girl! Can I help you find sumthin today?" She asked jubilantly.
"Well, I was planning to get something like this," I started, pushing forward the suit that covered most of sins I've committed against my abdomen in the past 12 years.
"But, my husband would like to see me buy something like this." I touched the bikini gingerly, as though it might burst into flames at any second.

She sized me up. "Girl, you could wear that bikini. Let me see your stomach."
"I've had four babies." I apologized, as I pulled up my perfectly age-appropriate Lands End button-down shirt in inexplicable obedience.
"Girl! Make your husband happy and get in that dressing room! Get your hand off that old-lady suit and let me dress you!"

Before I knew what was happening, I was standing in the poorly-lit cubicle, appraising myself in a bikini small enough to fit in a napkin ring. The bubbly sales girl tossed an endless stream of suits over the door, many of which require hair-removal procedures named for South American countries. Eventually, though, through her barrage of compliments, I convinced myself that I probably could wear a bikini, if I would just get back on track with my workout.

Ah, that is the point, my friend. I jumped back into the weight-training routine I once did many babies ago, as if I had never taken an ice-cream-sundae-filled vacation of several years. And my quadriceps are definitely holding it against me.

It is good, though. (At least it will be once I recover. Mental note: go easier next time.) I've got a concrete goal. I want to live up to that suit! Here is the suit that will either kill me or spurn me into a hardbody:

Wish me luck!

Protest: Down with snacks!

2008-04-07T13:22:00.000-07:00

I know I'm risking unpopularity by saying this. My husband told me, "You are in the minority." I'm sure he is right. All the other soccer moms go along with the program. Yet, perhaps somewhere across this great nation there are 3 or 5 other soccer moms who feel as I do. It is for them that I write. For them, I risk alienation on sidelines from Mt. Airy to Hagerstown.

I really resent the concept of the soccer snack.

It probably started out innocently enough. Perhaps there were a few coaches or generous team mothers who often brought a boatload of Oreos and Gatorade to the games. This made the other parents feel guilty, so they decided to share the task of feeding overpriced junk food to the athletes. So, they started out with a voluntary sign-up, which wasn't really voluntary, given the peer pressure.

What have we now? We have an obligatory list onto which our names automatically are written, which binds us to cram one more task into our overwrought brains. Now, not only do we need to discover where on God's green earth West Mountain Elementary School is (past the 12th dairy farm on the left), we also need to bring goodies for everybody. And a chair. And sippy cups for the preschooler. And water. And wipes. And bug spray. And a potty, just in case.

The thing is, lots of people bring snacks anyway, particularly if there are little siblings. When buying snacks for everybody, there's always that concern of just how healthy will the kids tolerate vs. just how junky you can go before the parents disapprove. And then you have all those food allergies out there, threatening to swell the goalie at the mere suggestion of peanuts. Couldn't we just bring snacks for our own families if we want?

One year, we had a coach who seemed (thankfully) to be fairly against sugary snacks, so he suggested that we all stick to the same snack: oranges. This was better in some ways. However, have you ever bought 12 oranges off season? It equals the cost of throwing a smallish party. And then you have the sticky-hands factor, so bring wipes and a trash bag also.

The idea originally was to spread around the cost and effort. Only now, it increases everybody's cost and effort. It's similar to the idea behind governmental health care. Instead of no one person paying more than others, everybody pays. Besides, do the kids always need a snack?

P.S. to my kids' fine coaches. Ignore this. I'll bring the snack as scheduled, as every good soccer mom does. I stop just short of real activism and merely bitch about things.

Wit with Words

2008-04-03T15:07:00.000-07:00

I was visiting a writer's forum that I frequent at Writer's Digest online. One poster came up with a hilarious post titled, "Nome de Plume" (although it technically should have been Nomes). The premise was to come up with witty pen names for imaginary book titles.

At first, I couldn't come up with a single one, though I laughed out loud at those that others offered up. But I guess I put it in the crock pot of my mind, because as I was cleaning the kitchen this morning, they were coming fast and furious. Here are some of them:

"Revitalizing Americas Farms" by Bill D. Barnes
"Public Transportation Options" by Anita Carr
"Fun with CB Radio" by Mia Handel
"Disguise Your Baldness" by Donna Hatt
"How to Cope with Disaster" by Kerry Ohn
"Developing Patience" by Terry Long
"Winning Through Passivity" by Dwight Flagg
"How I Handle Difficult Women" by Frank Lee DeBeers
"Attracting Songbirds" by Robin J. Cardinal
"Win at Poker" by Holden Card
"Weather Forecasting Made Simple" by Will D. Weatherby

and, okay, this one is kinda dirty, but:

"Overcoming Erectile Dysfunction" by B. Holman

I had an absolute ball with this. Think up some of your own. I bet my mother would be great at this. I posed it to my daughter and she came up with this one:

"How to Cook a Perfect Homemade Meal" by Amelia Cook

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

What Homeschooling Looks Like

2008-03-11T12:54:00.000-07:00

I think the rarest commodity among homeschoolers is published reports of what a homeschooling day really looks like. I also think it's a commodity in high demand. Homeschoolers want to know what their fellow homeschoolers do. Thinking-of-homeschooling-maybe types no doubt want to know. Possibly, those who wouldn't homeschool if you paid them would like to read it, for voyeuristic reasons.

There are a few reasons why this may be:

1) Days vary. They are not the same in one household.

2) It's hard to streamline the information. It quickly becomes baffling if you say, "Then, the 5th grader does English and Spelling, the 2nd grader does English and Phonics, but doesn't take as long as the 5th grader and, meanwhile, I'm juggling poster paint, smocks and water changes for the preschooler."

3) You can't win for the scrutiny. If you sound really on the ball, some people will say, "You're too pushy; try unschooling!", or, "Don't you think they're too young to learn that?", or, "That's why I could never homeschool!", or, "You LIE! Nobody can do all that!". If you sound really laid-back, they will say, "You mean you're not teaching Science every day?", or, "This sounds like educational neglect." or, "When will they ever learn to diagram a sentence?". Other people's expectations: Sheesh!

But, I thought it would be fun to summarize a day for you. Here's kind of, generally, what Monday is like around here. I picked Monday because that is the most consistent day all school year.

I get up around 6:30am, but don't be too impressed; I don't do devotions or anything else remarkable. I lay like broccoli in front of the news until the coffee kicks in.

The kids are more or less free to sleep, but 8:30 is about as late as I can stand anyone to still be in bed. Collin and Mason are just about always up long by then. Kyla - hardly ever.

We start schoolwork around 9:30am. No, we don't say the pledge or sing Bible songs for 1/2 hour together, although that's perfectly nice for others if they do it. Typically, we do sit-down schoolwork in the playroom; both the big kids have desks. Little man has an ugly plastic desk that used to be a Fischer Price highchair. Not that it matters, because he's never been known to sit in it for more than 2 minutes at a time.

Kids do Math first. Monday mornings is a new concept, so they each watch an instructional DVD before their lesson. (I have a portable player with headphones.) It is not uncommon for me to be scoring 3 days worth of last week's math now. :) I am also just now filling in their weekly plan books with what I hope to accomplish! After the video, they do two pages of Math. Hopefully, they won't drag it out for two hours. If they are on the ball and understood the lesson, this may take 20-40 minutes.

Kids do English second. Kyla has an English worktext from Bob Jones University, Spelling Power and Literature. Collin has English worktext from BJU, Explode the Code Phonics, Reading practice and Literature. Kyla does most of this independently, except for being given her spelling words. Literature is any book of her choosing; she reads extensively. Collin needs frequent input on English subjects and cannot do them all independently. Literature may be a book of his choosing or it may be mine. I usually read it aloud to him.

Commonly, it is nearly lunch time by now. Mason may have done any one of 1,000 things during this time, not all of them desirable. Generally, he plays, draws, paints, plays with sand or watches a video while we do schoolwork, but believe me when I tell you, this is THE hardest facet of homeschooling for us right now. He doesn't play quietly, independently. He doesn't play quietly with others.

We have a long lunch time, because it's not too worthwhile to try and get everyone re-organized only to stop again when it's time for Mason to take a nap. He goes down for a nap at 2:00, with much fanfare. I read to him and play music.

After he's asleep, we do Social Studies and Science. (But not always; sometimes I just go blog!) These may be based on a book, a DVD, a project or activity. I'm really bored with our Science right now, frankly. I'm sick to death of rocks. And I haven't even opened that whole Creation vs. Evolution can of worms I meant to do this year. The kids also practice the piano (we have headphones) and do their chores. After that, they can do whatever. Computer, trampoline and bike riding are Collin's favorites. Computer, drawing or playing the piano are Kyla's favorites.

Dad often gets home between 4:00-5:00pm; I realize we're lucky like that! Collin likes to join Dad outside until dinner. We eat around 5:45 on Monday nights, because Kyla and Collin leave for piano lessons at 6:15. Although, last night it was more like 6:02, because I didn't get the potatoes on early enough. So, we had a lesson in speed-eating. ;)

Everyone is supposed to shower and brush their teeth around 8:00-8:30; Mason goes to bed, but not simply. Kyla and Collin take care of their rabbit and hamster, respectively. Kyla often reads for much later than I'd like to broadcast to everyone. I often read to Collin after Mason has gone to sleep.

And then, I have a few lovely hours to do whatever I like until I collapse!

So, there you have it: a typical day. Except that no day is typical and every other day of the week has a different rhythm. So, now, whisper amongst yourselves your evaluations! Just don't tell
me what you think!

Mason's Diagnosis

2008-03-03T19:03:00.000-08:00

Well, now that we finally went to our appointment at the prestigious neuro-developmental center in Baltimore and endured the two-hour analysis of our son, we learn that he suffers from.....nothing. Difficult Child Syndrome. Parenting Effectiveness Deficit Disorder. Something along those lines.

They say he's normal. So, why do I still feel that nagging concern at the back of my mind like you get when you're on a flight to Orlando and can't remember if you unplugged the iron before you left? I just don't think I managed to communicate my concerns. At one point, the psychologist (or whatever her title actually is) asked how I would discipline him if he kicked someone. I didn't answer that effectively, mostly because he doesn't go around kicking people. I think when I said, "I'm not really sure
what I would do...", she figured she had arrived at the problem. Just teach these people how to manage a 3-year-old and everything will be fine.

I knew it was going wrong when she was describing a Time-Out method and stated that, "Struggling against a time-out shouldn't continue beyond about three times with this method." HAAAAAA! If Mason's behavior shaped up in ANY respect after the third time of managing the problem, it would be a miracle! That was the whole point of why I think there's a problem!

I was also disquieted when I read the report, which states, "Mason's parents feel that he is a much more difficult child to raise than their other two children." This is true, but is not the point! A more accurate statement would have been, "Mason's parents feel that he is a much more difficult child to raise THAN MOST."

Her phone number is on the bottom of the report, along with an invitation to contact her "anytime". I'm tempted. But I also just want to forget about it for now.

I feel like I wasted time off on rabbit trails about time-outs and how to do them effectively when I should have been telling her every single wacky thing he does that I can think of. Why do I still have to heed the "Choking Hazard: Not for Children Under 3 Years of Age" warning? Can't give Mason small pieces! Why can't he play with toys that have more than, say, six pieces? In 3 minutes or less, he will throw them pointlessly all over the place. Why do I still give him mostly board books? Because he destroys books with paper pages! Why does he shout out for no apparent reason? Sometimes "obscenely"; i.e., 'Poopies!' Why does he relish the dog food? Why does he draw on his face? Why does he eat crayons? Why did I find him with pushpins in his mouth a week ago? Why does he cry about the same things a zillion times, even though he knows it will change nothing? Why does he binge or starve like Ashley Olsen, rather than just eat a little food at each meal?

I feel quite lost about the whole thing. I'm glad he's not considered on the autism spectrum. I'm pretty amazed they didn't pin him with ADHD. I'm relieved they didn't have their prescription pad handy. But I'm frustrated to have no explanation for Mason's behavior. I'm left again to gritting through it, waiting for him to grow out of it and a improving my discipline technique, as if I haven't been disciplining him all along.

Two good things that came out of the appointment: 1) I know he is intellectually normal; and 2) I discovered how much he likes to have a useful job. She encouraged me to give him work to do. This is most definitely good for him. If he puts all the napkins in the hamper after dinner and I tell him what a good helper he is, he is radiant. Pity I can't do that ten hours a day.

He is so blessed cute with those blue eyes like early April mornings. But, God is he exhausting! This is my one, rare admission about something with homeschooling being hard. It is hard to occupy him in a meaningful way while we're doing schoolwork, because he has the attention span of a gnat. I could spend 17 minutes getting him set up to paint the next poster paint masterpiece, but it's only buying me three minutes of actual freedom. And then I have to clean up. Except that today, I was doing this "give him a job" strategy, so I let him waste a load of paper towels cleaning up his spilled murky water himself.

It makes me burn with curiosity about the Duggars, or other families even a mere half the size at eight homeschooling kids. Yeah, I know they have the whole "buddy system" and that Maxwell Chart from Hell hanging on the wall that tells everybody what they are supposed to be doing at a given time. But, honestly, out of 17 kids, didn't they get a hard one along the line? I only have two other children to help and they mostly do their main work independently. But still. Kyla needs me sitting right with her for math at the moment. And Collin needs that for English. And Mason needs some sort of intervention every blessed nanosecond. How do the Duggars do it? Maybe when the last kid is up and out, if they can still write, they will explain it all. But by then it will be moot for me, darn it.

It's Easy to be Green

2008-02-24T18:06:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I feel a little smug. It's so popular to talk about Saving the Earth, now that Gore went and brought An Inconvenient Truth to the masses. Now that most scientists finally agree that it would be better not to trash the planet. But at the risk of sounding like I'm tooting my own horn, (which I am, though), I was green way before it was something to be proud of. Reminds me of a country song: "I Was Crunchy When Crunchy Wasn't Cool".

Okay. So, it's true I don't live in a straw-bale house and I pretty much only ride a bicycle in front of the TV with a cup of coffee on the windowsill, but still there are earth-friendly things I've been doing for ages that you could do, too. Here is my handy-dandy, quickie list of things that take barely any thought, but save money and generate less trash:

* Cleaning cloths, not Swiffer dusters
* Washcloth, not Wipes
* Sponge or dish towel, not paper towel
* Cloth napkins, not paper napkins
* Carry a water jug with you and fill it from the tap. Empty water bottles create an enormous amount of trash! If your home water is "bad", consider having a Reverse Osmosis tap put in.
* Reusable lunch bag, not paper bag.
* Compost.
* Juice in a cup, not a juicebox.

With a minimal amount more effort, you can do these:

* Use homemade cleaning products. See book Clean Home, Clean Planet on how to do this.
* Make homemade pizza dough, pizza sauce, spaghetti sauce, waffles, cookies. Homemade pizza is very cheap, delicious and takes barely more time than ordering and waiting.
* Buy used clothing or other goods.
* Freecycle - an on-line list where you can give away/pick up things locally. Save money and reuse things.
* Cloth hankys. Yes, there is such a thing. Look up "Hankettes" on the web. Maybe I'll stick the site in here when I get a chance.

If you really rock and want to be Ultra Mother, do these:

* Garden. Can your own veggies. Canning your own veggies is Ultra Green! Bonus points if the jars you use were your MIL's from 1947!
* Hang laundry on a clothes line. I admit I haven't done this in a couple of years.
* Cloth diaper your babies. Ditto this.
* Breastfeed at least one year. Bonus points if you use no bottles - scary news about plastic bottles lately!
* Throw a party and serve everything on real plates with real forks and knives. Serve water in a pitcher and pour it in water goblets.

There are other great things, but the above are things that are within my experience. Here are some I've never done:

* Get milk from a creamery in the glass bottle, which you return for more milk.
* Go a year without buying anything (as in clothing, shoes, toys, books - yeah, stop me right there! - decorations, etc.)
* Give only non-material gifts; a dinner out, a bowling trip, a picnic.
* Buy bulk products and fill your own containers repeatedly.
* Use cloth female products or a Diva Cup (google it).
* Live in a teepee. Okay, I'm kidding about that!

Lastly, a few principles that lead to green planet and green pockets, too:

* Before you buy something, ask yourself if anything else you have will do this job. Is there another way you can use this thing without buying it? How will it be disposed of when you don't need it anymore?
* When you have used something, ask, can this be used for something else? By someone else?
* When you no longer need something, pass it on. I recall Deepak Chopra said something in The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success that stuck with me. He said, "Money is like blood, it must flow." He said that hording it and holding on to it stagnates it or something along those lines. I think the same thing about possessions. Let it flow, pay it forward.
* Recycle and Reuse - but in a contest, reusable is better than recyclable. Every day, you can fill the same water jug. That's better than buying 365 water bottles that have to be manufactured and shipped all over God's green earth, and then have to be carted off for recycling and use resources all over again to recycle them into a poly-fleece dog sweater!

And here's my A-list of the most ill-conceived disposable products ever:

* disposable cutting boards
* disposable baby washcloths
* plastic baby utensils meant for one use
* single-use toilet brushes
* single-use dishwashing sponge

In closing, don't be hurt if I've picked on The Product You Can't Live Without. I have my favorite non-green environmental disasters, too. (Can everyone say "Escalade"?) I'm not the embodiment of all things green, Mother Nature. But some things are so simple to do, yet our culture says, "Look how easy, you just throw it away..." I'm asking you to re-think what you throw away. I can just imagine my grandmother hearing about Kleenex tissues for the first time. "Why would anyone pay good money for a handkerchief that you throw away after one use???" Think about it!

Testing My Techy Know-How

2008-02-22T18:44:00.001-08:00

(This should be good!)

Hopefully, this is an adorable picture that hints at how mischievous Mason is.

...And voila! Apparently, you can teach an old dog new tricks. Oh, the world that just opened up to me now that I know how to insert a photo into the body of my post!

Potty Update

2008-02-21T18:49:00.000-08:00

I'm sure everyone has been waiting for an update about Mason's potty training. Although, now I hear the proper term is supposed to be "potty learning". That's just dumb. It's training, folks. Very similar to house-breaking a puppy. Show them where to pee. Avoid having them pee elsewhere.

Anyway, Mason has been making great strides in the #1 category. He hasn't had a pee accident in several days, which has definitely taken the edge off my laundry duty. He tells me when he has to go; "Mommy! I gotta go pee!!!" with his impish little smile. So cute. I'm still too paranoid to risk leaving a pee trail at Target, so I put him in pull-ups when I'm dumb or desperate enough to leave the relative safety of my home. However, on our recent errand day, he did keep the pull-ups dry the whole time. Lightning McQueen icons on the front remained intact.

We only have to make it over the #2 hump, and then we'll have heaven in our hat. I think he recognizes when a poop is imminent, he just doesn't have to patience to sit there that whole long time. (Not patient? Where would he get that?) My MIL handed me a newspaper article written by that bonehead prat whose name escapes me right now, although I think it's Jewish. He's an older fellow, who always seems to think that no children raised in the "good ole' days" had any issues because their old-fashioned parents just made it happen and didn't coddle them. Which begs the question, "Why do psychotherapists make money, then?" In his infinite wisdom, he first of all can't understand why parents no longer train all children to use the potty long by age two. See, I'm eternally grateful that most people no longer use this standard. I think the younger the child, the more probable that it will take a long time and a lot of frustration. Anyway, having a toddler in underwear is no picnic. Diapers are way easier. Why rush it?

So, the old fart says it's easy to train children to poop on the potty. Just strip them off after breakfast, tell them the doctor says they have to poop on the potty and then leave them there until it happens. He seems to think this works perfectly for all children. Just. Like. That.

I admit I tried a variation on this theme. It worked not at all. Mason cannot bear for me to leave him alone like that! I think he was abandoned in a past life! Clearly, it wasn't the path to poop success for us.

My SIL tried it, too. Her son didn't freak out about being left alone, but he didn't quite produce the desired outcome, either. Apparently, he didn't want to let his precious bundle fall down into that potty unnoticed, so he brought it in his hand to his mother. :) Funny the old fart never mentioned that possibility.

See, that's the thing. Kids will throw ya. The infinite possibilities available to the human mind are not wasted, even on the young. If you think you've devised a fail-safe method to get them to do anything, think again. The best you can do is try and get them to want the same things you want. Then again, that generally works better in all human relationships.

Maybe it really is potty learning after all.

Funny Money

2008-02-15T13:19:00.000-08:00

I subscribe to Money magazine. Sure, I love the tax tips, advice on how to make a dollar stretch and, most of all, the annual Mutual Fund Scorecard. But one of my favorite sections, which always strikes me as humor, though it isn't intended to be, is the "One Family's Money" section. Every month, I flip right to it.

The idea behind "One Family's Money" is to profile a family who is having some difficulty with their finances and show them ways to fix their troubles. The part I find funny is that the family nearly always has an income of $100K or more.

This month's feature is about a divorced father who has custody of his four teenage children. Now, I am certain this situation has plenty of pain involved, and so I'm not making light of the situation itself. And I do commend the dad on the sacrifices he's making on his children's behalf.

But, since the article is specifically about money issues, I have to interject. First, it mentions how he had to take a $45,000 pay cut in order to live near the children's mother. Ouch! That hurts. However, he's making $156,000. (How will he ever survive?) Then, it mentions how having four children under his roof has inflated his grocery bill to $1,500. HOLY CROW!!! That's more than twice as much as I spend on a "bad" month! If I were his financial advisor, I'd start right there. Here's a tip: make your own waffles.

It goes on to say that in one trip to the sporting-goods store, he dropped more than $1,000. What did he buy? Kayaks for everyone?

As a side-note, the article also rolls out a little pity-party for his "opportunities lost". First of all, he had to turn down a promotion that involved long hours. If he had stayed on that path, he'd be making $500K now. The article says, "Once the kids moved in, he lost a lot of freedom too. His evenings filled up with recitals and emergency trips to the dollar store for school supplies. He had to cook or pick up dinner..." Oh, cry me a river! Gee, what must it be like to have to spend your whole evening taking care of the kids, running them all over God's green earth and even making a meal?! I'm sorry: no pity at this well. It's pumped dry on myself, thank you.

What I'd really like to see is Money printing articles about a family who really squeezes by. Show me the financial plan of a family of five living on $50,000. That is what really makes fascinating, informative reading. That's why we loved The Tightwad Gazette. The woman had a $50 budget for clothing for her family of eight. Per year!!! I always wondered what she did for bras, underwear and socks, since that alone tallies up to probably $300.00 per year around here. Although it's possible I don't really want to know!

We all make choices and prioritize, so I'm not really picking on someone who apparently eats steak and shrimp every night, given the outrageous grocery bill. But I find it a bit kooky that Money always profiles a family with fistsful of money and then says, "Whatever will they do???" It would be so much better the other way. Gosh, I'm not even a numbers kind of gal, but I am positive I could tell the poor dad how to improve his money situation.

One last tip: your daughter could live without Abercrombie & Fitch.

This is me, See?

2008-02-02T18:38:00.001-08:00

Political Ideology Quiz
created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Libertarian

You're a libertarian. That kind of means you're a right wing Anarchist. Go buy a gun, some gin, and wait for the hippies to show up.

Libertarian

97%

Anarchism

80%

Republican

53%

Democrat-

33%

Socialism

13%

Fascist

Potty Mouth

2008-01-28T11:55:00.000-08:00

Could there possibly be a task of motherhood that I despise more than potty training? I think not. I have heard claims of 2-year-olds happily abandoning their diapering days virtually the instant they are tempted with the promise of a fine-looking pair of Big Boy Undies; however, I have not witnessed it first-hand. About the only thing going for me at this point is that I gratefully live in an era that has become less obsessed about how old a child is when they reach this milestone. Now, it's generally only people born before 1960 that might raise an eyebrow at 3-year-olds in diapers. (Or Pull-Ups, better known as overpriced diapers you can change standing up.)

Though I have taught two kids how to read, add, multiply, spell, write and recognize a liberal, I still consider myself a colossal failure at communicating the lesson of basic sanitation. With my first child, I didn't really try at all until she was nearly 3. She learned "number one" almost immediately, but chronic constipation made "number two" a lesson that lagged for ages. On my incompetent pediatrician's advice, I constantly gave her prune juice, which never helped at all. I switched to a wonderful, earth-mother-crunchy pediatrician (whom I had to leave eventually because she dropped my insurance). She recommended increasing magnesium intake naturally, for which nuts are apparently optimal. One Planter's Cashew jar later, my daughter became regular and never had another day of constipation. So, she became potty-trained when she was 3 1/2.

I thought I had it in the bag with my second child. I tried the old lady method of putting them on the potty when they were little infants, so they would get used to it. That aspect worked out great. He was not afraid of the potty, nor rebellious about sitting on it. Before he was two years old, I could take him to the potty any time and he would non-challantly sit there until he peed. However, he didn't personally care about going to the potty. He saw no particular benefit in being dry, so if I wasn't on the ball, he would be wet (or messy) and happy as a clam. If I had really wanted to, I could have put him in underwear, taken him potty every hour or so, washed two or three pairs of accident pants a day and called him potty trained. Then I could be one of those moms who walked around saying he was potty trained before he was two. But this prospect did not appeal to me. "Potty-trained" to me means they know and care where they're supposed to do their business. They make an effort to go potty themselves or enlist help when the need arises, at least 80% of the time. If they would sit happily in a filthy puddle should you not take them potty in a timely fashion, they are not potty trained, IMHO.

Anyway, I put him back-and-forth in underwear, in pull-ups, underwear, pull-ups over the next two years, waiting for him to reach a point where he would care. He's such an easy-going chap, bless his heart. He never did care until I upped the ante shortly after he turned four. Since he was wild about Burger King at the time, a place you can hardly pay me to go, I let him know there was a flame-broiled patty of mashed-down kangaroo meat in it for him if he could go a week with only smiley faces on his potty chart. Thank God for fast-food bribery. It worked like a charm.

Now I'm facing this monster task of motherhood for the third time. This is my second attempt at it, after a false start in August. At that time, Mason was just shy of three and showed all the "signs" (whatever the heck that's supposed to help) of being able to use the potty. At first, we were wildly successful. He peed in the potty 97 times before lunch. He was "telling me" - i.e., he cared, which is the acid test for me. Then, he took a nap. Someone secretly switched him while he napped. He woke up thinking the potty was the Tool of the Devil. He wouldn't sit on that thing, even if there was a cheeseburger in it for him. If I "gently insisted", it was like trying to sit him on a hedgehog. So I did what any weak-willed mother does. I gave up.

The weird thing was, he did like to go potty in potties away from home. Kind of the reverse of most kids. We would be in church and he would squeal in a weird falsetto, "I got to PEEEEEEEEEE! I got to PEEEEEEEEE!" right in front of Sister Callahanto. So, I knew he was capable of all elements of pottying. He just wasn't going to do it on my say-so.

Now that we're in the dead of winter and our activities are at a minimum, I thought I would revisit the potty concept. I was planning to take a week in February for an intensive, week-long potty workshop. Since I've discovered kitchen timers help my transition-phobic child go along with the program, I was planning to use timers to help the process along. Then, Friday night, for reasons I can't explain, I impulsively decided to resume potty training that instant. I decided I would muscle through the inevitable crying. Of course, Friday night was a terrible night to start, for the very reason that interruptions would be constant all weekend - wrestling matches, errands, sleepovers, church. However, I went along with my ill-conceived plan.

Not surprisingly, he did cry on every trip to the potty, but he mostly sat and then would be happy over his success. The timer did help, but over the weekend it was too inconsistent to be very effective. Today, the timer is helping much more, since we've been home all day. We even got to a few instances of him telling me - again, my acid test of potty training.

I know there are some who would say that you shouldn't be training a child who cries. (A younger version of me would say that.) But for Mason, crying is part of the recipe. For him, mild tears are his usual state and only if he's going ballistic do tears concern me. Thankfully, ballistic hasn't happened this potty-training round. Perhaps cute Thomas the Train underwear are not far off in his future. We'll see.

Telling Stories

2008-01-14T12:05:00.000-08:00

At church yesterday, the pastor talked about how our "stories" can help other people. For example, stories of painful things we've been through, or even are currently going through. Then, we had two church members tell a story of their own.

The first man told a bona fide tearjerker. If he had titled it, it would have been called, "Coincidences - or not". At the story's beginning, he had not been going to church, but "coincidentally", he and his wife both had the urge to find a church. They wound up at Cedar Ridge. Shortly after that, their son had a bad fall at the park and had to go to the ER. Which was lucky, actually. Because that is how the doctors discovered he had a rare throat cancer that has no outward symptoms. It was so fortunate, he said, that they now had a church community, because they could not have made it otherwise. Thankfully, their son was able to beat this cancer, a cancer that is nearly always fatal, simply because its stealth makes it undetectable until it's advanced.

Man, we all love a story like that! That's a story that bolsters our faith, moves us to believe that God has our back, makes us feel we're on the right team.

At the risk of sounding bitter, though, I cannot hear a story like that without comparing it with my own. My story is the reverse. At the beginning of my story, I was not an unbeliever. Me and God were buds; very tight. I was at the pinnacle of my faith. My faith that God had my back could not have been more certain. I was pregnant with my third child and believed myself to be so blessed and rewarded by God. I suppose I was arrogant. Subconsciously I think I believed that my life was so great because I was such a good little Christian. It was a very simple formula; trust in God and everything will turn out lovely.

It never entered my mind that this baby that I thought was proof of God's great love for me could die. Doesn't that happen to other people, you know, bad people who believe the wrong things? It never entered my mind that God's blessings can be rescinded at any time, without warning, without explanation. What could be more senseless than a baby who dies on the day of her birth? What is more impotent than a life that ends before it begins?

I have such trouble with My Story, because it is the antithesis of that awe-inspiring story Mr. Steve told about his child. In his case, the God he did not previously connect to said, "Here I am! And watch what I will do!" In my case, the God I was sure was there seemed to walk away, turn from me without reason, torment me for no purpose. What would Mr. Steve's story be if there were no "coincidences" that saved his child? His story would be my story.

I know that there are people who do go through horrible tragedies and come out with greater faith. The thing is, I have no idea how they do it! How do you continue to pray when you've had prayers answered with a heartbreaking "No."? I haven't been able to pray much since Lydia died. For every answered prayer, there is someone else, grief-stricken, whose prayers are not answered.

Some say that the purpose of tragedy is to refine our character. It is true that I am forever changed - in some ways for the better - by losing Lydia. It obliterated any notion I had, subconscious or otherwise, that I was specially loved and protected by God because I was so "good". It sensitized me, exquisitely, to the pain of others. Still, that cannot be the purpose. Could better character ever be a fair trade for the life of your child? Would you take that offer? Besides, losing Lydia shattered my faith in God and people. God, being omniscient, would have known that would happen. So, if He went ahead as planned, He would be saying He didn't want me anyhow. I think maybe that is not so.

That's the other reason why My Story makes such a shitty one. It's not resolved. There's no denouement. I'm still in Limbo, waiting for something to make sense. I may die waiting. I keep trying to hang on to some notion of Faith, without any good reason to do so. I'm like a battered wife who's still trying to find a reason to stay. (There's that battered wife metaphor again. People will start to wonder.) I still call myself a Christian, while my beliefs are downright heretical.

I keep trying. But it's a puzzle.

Misnomer

2008-01-03T11:26:00.000-08:00

When my first two children moved from a crib to a bed, I got double beds for them. I reasoned that this would be ideal any night they had a nightmare or were sick and I chose to sleep in their bed with them. I was pleased with this arrangement, although they rarely woke at night by that age.

When Mason moved into a bed, however, someone had a twin-sized mattress they wanted to unload and, being the cheapskate, I took it. Naturally, he would be the one who wakes up 50,000 times a month and requires a lot more bed-sharing than the other two.

So, last night, as I lay in his bed with a heel in my backside and an inadequate amount of choo-choo comforter on my tenth of the bed, I pondered the name "Twin-sized bed". How did that name ever come to be? Twins are two, so far as I know, yet a bed that sleeps two is a "Double". Perhaps the namer had spent the night with a 3-year-old in a twin-sized bed, and concluded that it's as roomy as twins in utero. But, really, logic would clearly dictate that it should be called a "Single". Then, Queen-sized beds could be called "Talls". And King-sized could be called "Frigid"...err, "Spacious".

I hate things that have bad names. That's why I'm not voting for Huckabee.

Weirder Motherhood Moments

2008-01-01T16:16:00.001-08:00

New year, fresh start. That's what they say. Yet, other than taking the two big kids to see Alvin and the Chipmunks, my day was mostly made up of the usual mundane tasks. But someone - most probably a young son - managed to break up the monotony of emptying trash cans. As I emptied the cute, white, cottage-style trash can in the boys' blue-and-white adorable bathroom that looks straight out of a Nantucket beach house, something WET trickled out of the bag. I only had to wonder what could be wet in there for a few seconds before my SENSE OF SMELL informed me exactly what was wet in there. Seems someone managed to use the trashcan as an impromptu potty. Hard to explain, seeing how the actual toilet is 3 inches away. Unless poor aim is to blame.

Now WHAT IN THE HECK would prompt some child in the household to choose such a plan of action??? I puzzled over the question as I washed my hands 76 times. Then I called a certain young man upstairs, and asked him why I was discovering such leavings in the trash can. He, naturally, couldn't explain it. When asked directly, "Did you pee in the trashcan?", suspect looked thoughtful and then pulled the Clintonesque, "I don't know." Now, I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but I reckon if I peed in a trashcan, I could pull that from my memory banks, so that was as good as a confession, I figure. With that, I made a plain statement, "Don't pee in the trashcan. It's disgusting and unsanitary. Okay?" Our pact now secured, he skipped off to carry on with hopefully more useful pursuits.

The things you don't know about until you actually are a mother....! (If you're reading this and you actually AREN'T one yet, you're probably shaking your horrified head and saying, "Well MY child will NEVER do something like that!" Write that down. It will be funny to review later!)

Happy New Year, everyone! Cheers to all the Moms out there, wiping up pee everywhere! May your New Year include a reasonable amount of take-out-food, a few great Sugar-Plum Martinis and a really stunning pair of unsensible shoes!

Downer

2007-12-30T11:55:00.000-08:00

Today, I'm not quite so chipper about Mason possibly being diagnosed with HFA. I've been reading a lot, trying to gather information, and the more I read, the more I see Mason in those articles.

Mason woke early this morning, wanting to begin his day, but through tag-team mother-father efforts, we managed to nag and convince him back to sleep. He slept for 3 additional hours. I was brimming with - it turns out - false hope, for a better day. He still went postal over a diaper change, as typical. And putting him down for a nap was no picnic, either.

I'm swimming with self-pittying thoughts like, "This is going to be my life - managing melt-downs ad infinitum." Whereas, at three years of age my older two kids were just coming into the best part of child-rearing, my little man is displaying behaviors he will not outgrow. I guess. I'm still learning.

I read up on Wiki all the proposed treatments for HFA, from the proven to the ludicrous. (Case in point - the Son-rise program, which hopes the child will come to choose non-autistic behaviors through parental love and acceptance.) Initially, I was excited to learn about ABA - Applied Behavior Analysis - until further research tells me the child needs 25-40 hours a week of work in ABA in order for it to be effective. How can that be done?

Now I will be cutting my thoughts short, because I have to go run intervention yet again; Mason's nap just abruptly ended one hour after it's laborious beginning.

How the Appointment Went

2007-12-22T09:25:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm happy to report that Mason's appointment with the pediatrician went pretty well. The doctor did listen to me. Surprisingly, she didn't reckon I was just a bone-head at-home mother who has to endure a tantrum every so often. Even more surprising, the labs and referrals she wrote up included each and every thing I had as possibilities on my list. She recommended the following screenings: blood sugar level, thyroid, lead and anemia. She also recommended that I get an appointment at Kennedy Kreiger for assessment of high-functioning autism.

On the surface, that sounds like such a frightening word; nobody wants to hear "autism". But high-functioning autism is not a major tragedy. I'm positive I know a few adults walking around undiagnosed, clearly possessing the traits of HFA or Aspergers, perhaps even a few in my own family tree. (I have a big family; hopefully they'll all think I'm talking about someone else!) Mostly these are just the really brainy people who don't like a party.

In any case, it's a relief to hear a doctor agree that something more could be going on here than stubborn-child-with-tired-mother syndrome. It brings a fresh wave of patience into the dynamic. Knowing that Mason simply may not be able to control his emotions is easier to manage than thinking he just won't.

The only thing that didn't go well was a conflict we had over Mason's vaccination schedule. He is "behind" according to their absurd, intrusive schedule. This is a new doctor in the practice; the more reasonable doctor quit to raise her kids, dammit. I have delayed getting the MMR (measles-mumps-rubella) vaccine for the time being, for the very reason that I thought Mason had extreme behaviors for so long. Although I'm 90% sure that autism is at most tangentially related to MMR, I didn't want it nagging the back of my mind. If he had the shot at the usual age and then seemed to develop autistic-like symptoms, it would really bug me thinking maybe the shot had something to do with it. But, if he received a diagnosis of an autism spectrum disorder without ever having had the MMR, I could feel confident that (at least for us), it had nothing to do with the shot.

Anyway, I told the doctor I was willing to update some shots, but I was holding off a while on MMR and I haven't decided about Chicken Pox. She said, "Well, let me just tell you that if you're not planning to get the shots, I cannot be your doctor." Okay. Don't beat around the bush or anything.

I think this sort of medical bullying is wrong. And that's really all it is. Obviously, she feels that all children must have all the shots on the schedule and so she's going to strong-arm anyone who seems to be noncompliant. Yet, even the CDC openly states that vaccines are not 100% safe and that side-effects, even fatal side-effects can occur. But, when it's not your own child, I suppose it's just the few eggs you have to break to make an omelet. It always seems like that when it's not your child.

I do believe that vaccines are one of the most wonderful inventions of modern medicine. Our grandmothers never questioned it, probably because they lost a friend or a sibling to horrible diseases like Polio and Pertussis. However, I do question the current schedule of dozens of vaccines. I do think we could have gotten along fine without the Chicken Pox vaccine. Geez, they even have vaccines against ear infections now. But the "mandatory" bullying of parents to inject things into their children, or else be doctor-less is entirely WRONG.

Makes me want to be a pediatrician, just so I could be a good one.

Countin' the Days

2007-12-12T12:29:00.000-08:00

It's December finally and I'm counting the days. Not until Christmas; until December 20th. Why December 20th, you wonder? Well, let me just tell you.

My dear 3-year-old, Mason, has been a challenge since he could roll over. I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out how best to help/manage him. He has been on special diets. He has had a few medical tests. I've changed my mind about how best to discipline him 18 times. Not originally a spanker, I did reconsider that position a time or two...or ten. But I would come back to this basic fact: a light spanking doesn't remotely influence Mason's behavior. Which would leave only...what? A severe spanking? The only possibility that spanking could perhaps change his behavior would be if I spanked him so painfully and so often that he feared me. Which I will not do. So, we're back to what to do?

As he was rounding the corner out of the "terrible twos", I revisited this worry nagging at the back of my mind. Shouldn't the incessant tantrums be tapering off by now? Shouldn't he realize by now that when I say I will change his diaper, I will, and there isn't a whole lot of point in going ape shit about it? Then, as I sat in the waiting room of the hair salon, I started reading an article in a magazine about a woman whose son was finally diagnosed as Bipolar, after her wondering for ten years what the heck was up with him. It freaked me out slightly and I had to Google "Bipolar-early onset" twelve times before I could breath normally.

The insidious thing here is that I cycle between thinking he's a normal, if high-intensity, active, child and thinking he's definitely abnormal. A friend of mine, who also has a challenging son, described it well. She said, "It's almost like a battered woman. When everything is going okay, you forget what you were so concerned about and tell yourself it's fine. Then, you have a bad spell and you feel desperate for help right this second." (Okay, I paraphrased and embellished there, but that's the gist.) It really is like that.

In November, we were having one of those bad days. Mason was going ballistic about every imaginable thing all day long. He had had several bad nights in a row, complete with night terrors about spiders he was sure were in his bed. I called the pediatrician and told them I needed an appointment to discuss "behavior issues". (One of my main problems in life - understating the problem to the people who can help.) The receptionist came back with an appointment in January. Say WHAT??? Fortunately, at just that moment, Mason went psychotic because I didn't let him play with my PDA. I practically screamed into the phone at the receptionist, "Do you HEAR why I need to come in SOON?!" That's when she found me an appointment December 20th, which was still a month away.

The good part about having to wait a month has been that I have documented what goes on every day and every night. I'm putting together a synopsis on a calendar, so I have a quick-start chart for the doctor to look at, since I reckon it's improbable that he'll read 57 pages-worth of The Mason Show. This way, he'll be able to see the erratic, unpredictable chaos in shorthand.

Right after I made the doctor appointment, we had about a week of "normal Mason". There I was, the battered woman again, thinking, "I feel stupid telling the doctor he tantrums endlessly. I mean, little kids do that. I'm probably wrong. He'll probably tell me I'm an idiot and I got lucky with the first two really cooperative children. I probably had PMS when I made that appointment." (Which I did, actually.)

Last night, though, Satan Spawn Mason showed up again. I didn't know whether I needed a doctor or an exorcist. I had to take Kyla to do a chorus concert at the mall. There's my daughter, singing like the Heavenly Host, and there's my son, rolling around on the floor like he's possessed. An elderly couple was glaring at him out of the corners of their eyes, no doubt thinking, "God, what an awful brat!" The nicer people said, "Boy, he has a lot of energy!". I just smiled wanly and looked at my watch.

I really want to find out what's up with Mason. The Demonic Mason cannot be normal. Something has to be provoking it. And why, I wonder, do the nightmares coincide with the rages? He'll sleep normally for weeks and behave okay. Then, he'll have horrible nights and worse days for a few days. Why?

I'm worried the doctor won't listen, or won't care, or won't want to get to the bottom of it. My husband thinks I'm setting myself up for disappointment. "You'll probably be more frustrated when you get home than you were before you went." Always the optimist.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day. And I actually hope I have one more bad spell, on December 19th. Then, maybe I won't forget how desperate I feel right at this moment and how really worried I am for my son.

Here's to answers: hope for the best! Feel free to pray for us if you like that sort of thing.

That Ancient Question

2007-12-03T18:54:00.000-08:00

One thing I like about the church we've been going to is that there aren't any canned answers from the pulpit. Some people rail against this type of church, because they find its lack of dogma heretical. All I know is that without a church like this one, I couldn't go to church at all.

This past Sunday, the pastor was talking about the hardship that Mary and Joseph faced, hardships we generally forget in our romanticized nativity stories. To illustrate, he told a story about his grandmother. His grandmother suffered a major tragedy during World War II, when the German air raids made a direct hit on their garden "bomb shelter", killing 11 of her 13 siblings. The only 2 surviving brothers, ironically, were off at war.

There were some interesting "coincidences" in the way events unfolded. Circumstances worked out such that the grandmother had not been able to be there that night. If she had done what she intended, she would most likely also had been killed.

What I like about the pastor is that he didn't whitewash the two ways of seeing this. One could say God spared her. But then, it begs the question, why not spare the other 11? Of course, he has no answer; this is not a new theological question. But I like that he's plain enough to say so.

This is the very question that goes through my mind in an endless, dizzying loop. How can we ever be grateful for some good we perceive as coming from God without wondering why He would also allow the bad? I'm thankful for the three kids I have. And I'm damaged over the one I lost. I have not been able to see how one can suffer tragedy as a Christian and not be nagged by this question forever after.

Another thing I appreciate that the pastor said was that his grandmother never really did heal from that loss. It affected her emotionally forever. This is another plain talk fact that I too seldom hear among Christians. In Christian circles, everyone wants to hear how someone remained "strong" in spite of tragedy. Or even better, tragedy upon tragedy. Job is admired. It is a great smudge upon a Christian not to rise from the ashes like the Phoenix and proclaim that God is good. It really isn't popular to be shattered. Nobody had a good word for Humpty Dumpty, who couldn't be put back together again.

There was another interesting feature to this story. The grandmother most missed a little brother named George. The pastor later learned that Grandmother was fond of the pastor (Matthew) in part because he looked like George. When Matthew had a son of his own, he named him George, without knowing this was the name of the favorite brother of his grandmother. And it turns out, little George looked even more like the great-uncle George than Matthew had. And so, the grandson George was a favorite of Grandmother. So, if you invoke Providence again, it's as though the grandson redeems the loss of the brother in a way.

But not really. Why not have an Uncle George that gets to grow up
and the little grandson George? What would have been wrong with that?

The reason Suffering poses such a problem theologically is because there is no way to put these three elements together: 1) Omnipotent God; 2) Omniscient God; 3) Omnibenevolent God - and still come out with suffering. How can tragedy be if: 1) God has all power; 2) God has all knowledge; 3)God always does the best thing? Every possible explanation manages to be lame when you are the one with the suffering.

Anyway, at least the pastor is good enough not to give the lame excuses and try to sound righteous.

Mom's Behaving Badly

2007-11-12T12:30:00.000-08:00

Right after "Why do you homeschool?", the second-most-often-asked question I get from the non-homeschooling curious is, "How do you do that?" Today, I'm sorry to say, I would probably answer, "Badly". (Or "Poorly", if I care how my grammar sounds.) But "Badly" is probably more the word, since "bad" is what I would call the behavior of any child who threw the Science book across the room, as I did today.

See, I've always had this grandiose theory about how Science should really be taught. Textbooks? Anathema! Fill-in-the-blanks? Perish the thought! I combine Kyla and Collin's science into one. I plan my Science program for the upcoming year some time between March and August. And then I buy marvelous books, a few kits and some supplies and guides for experiments.

The experiments are usually the first to go. Geez, how I hate doing them! How I hate looking around the house for a metal brad that makes the doo-dad spin on the ram-a-lam-a-ding-dong. And it may be that empty soda bottles lie around most homes, but I don't have one, unless you include an ancient Sierra Mist, still full, sitting in the Dining Room buffet cabinet, left over from a party I had in 2004.

One year, I even bought a kit from a major supplier that did include practically everything you need to do an experiment a week all year long. But after I spent about 8 weeks demonstrating every possible neato thing a magnet can do, I got bored and canned that, too.

Today, I opened up the kit I had bought to make a volcano. This was to enrich our Earth Sciences study we've been doing. As I read the directions about what to do with the plaster, I froze up. I'm not mixing up plaster today. Prob'ly not tomorrow, either. Or any day after that. Basically, they can do this right after they purchase their own home.

So, I went for the one element in our Science program that is not so easily influenced by my lack of inertia. The book. It's a nice Usborne Internet-Linked book I bought at a discount. The "Volcanoes" chapter now firmly behind us, I prepared to introduce them to "Climate". So, we sat on the couch and I began to read about the earth's atmosphere. Mason, however, wanted to sit on my lap. But only for 16 seconds. Before I had read through three paragraphs of incomprehensible babble about air currents, he had caused 27 different calamities. Collin was on my right, and although I had sent him to the bathroom twice today to brush his teeth, there was still a noxious green cloud wafting towards my nose from his direction. Mason was sent to time-out, right between the Troposphere and the Stratosphere. While in time-out, he emptied half a tube of A&D ointment onto his "boo-boo" on his toe (and everything within a 2-foot-radius). After I cleaned up that minor disaster and brought Mason back into the good graces of family life, I attempted once again to illuminate my progeny regarding atmosphere. You ever read through a few lines of text and have a simultaneous dialogue going on inside that goes, "I might as well be reading to the tuna fish, because if any of this makes any sense to them or is in any way memorable to them at all, I'd be astonished!" After that bit of cheery self-talk, it really only took one more squabble between Collin, fighting to remain in suffocating proximity to me and Mason, trying to unseat him, for me to go ballistic. The Usborne Encyclopedia of Planet Earth went whizzing across the room, demonstrating a little "air current" of my own. "FORGET IT! Enough! What am I WASTING MY TIME for???!" I fumed at my bewildered young. Mason was unceremoniously air-lifted off for a nap that I need more than he does. Kyla and Collin just exchanged looks in astonished silence. (Until the UPS guy came, which is some sort of small thrill for them.)

In all probability, the error was my own for trying to do this part while Mason was up. It's better done while he naps, experience has shown. Actually, nothing described here was rare, except for my own tantrum at the end. I guess we all have a breaking point.

Right now, textbooks are looking very attractive.

Level

2007-11-02T18:44:00.000-07:00

I've had two main wishes for most of my life. They are mutually exclusive; if I had either one, the other would be moot. Here they are:

1) That life would slow down. That it would be 20% plan and 80% wingin' it. That there would be nothing urgent for several months.

OR

2) That I could just accept that life doesn't slow down. That I could be happy with 80% plan and 20% wingin' it. That I could be comfortable with everything being urgent all the time.

It seems that since puberty, I've vascillated between feeling competant and on-the-ball, to crashing and just wishing I could get off the ride. I'll have all these great ideas and be like, "Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" and then a few weeks later, I'm all, "Man, would everybody just GO AWAY?!" I wonder what it would be like to just be level.

And really, I know what the problem actually is. It's not that it IS urgent all the time, it's that I make it that way. See, every mom has to get Halloween costumes together for her kids. But my resident perfectionist cannot bear to spend $35.00 for a glued-together, no-hem, trash-looking Wal-mart costume. So instead, I spend an unmentionable amout of cash purchasing white sparkle taffeta, irridescent blue fabric with moons and stars, sheer sparkle fabric for the sleeves, white cording, lining fabric, interfacing, thread and a pattern. Then, I spend dozens of hours crafting a "Moon Fairy" costume suitable for Broadway. Okay, maybe not Broadway. But it was freakin' gorgeous!

I do get a rush of extreme pleasure after I've indulged my stratespheric standards and come out with something amazing. But while I'm sewing in the Dining Room at 11:49pm, I wonder what the heck is wrong with me. Doctors have perscriptions for just this purpose!

I don't know what the tragedy would be if I had the kids wear crappy costumes for Halloween. Or if I made Hamburger Helper for dinner one night. Or even if I said, "Sorry, folks. I'm not making dinner tonight. Look around. There's food here." What if I brought the car home with barely enough gas to get to the station the next day? What if I wrote a big check without any idea what the balence was in my account?? WHAT if - this is hard to imagine -but WHAT IF I failed to have a back-up quart of Half-n-Half??? The possibility that there might not be enough cream left for everyone to have coffee as they like...man, that's rebellious! Just think of the chaos that would ensue!

It was only in the last few years that I stopped much caring whether I showed up perfectly on time for things. Actually, it hardly ever matters if you're late. If the family picnic is at 2:00, what happens if you come at 2:20? I discovered that nothing much happens. (Well, there's bound to be someone who is disgruntled about it, but that's family for ya.)

Maybe I'll just chip away at all these things that I think are so urgent and when I'm 87 and it couldn't possibly matter anymore, I'll finally be relaxed. So, I'll try to let things go a little. Maybe I'll simplify dinner. Maybe I'll turn down a request or two. But I'm NOT stooping to junky costumes! That would just be crazy!

Can't We All Just Get Along?

2007-10-29T18:59:00.000-07:00

I belong to an ecumenical, Christian homeschooling co-op. It is full of lovely, intelligent, decent families.

Recently, though, some of the women were dismayed to learn that there are a few Jewish members in our midst. Several rallied for stricter controls on membership approval. According to these purists, we must ensure that every person signs the Statement of Faith, signifying their commitment to the tenents of the Christian faith. Opinions among the board members were split. The solution was to mass e-mail the members. We were given two options.

Option A: All potential members must sign a statement of faith. No exceptions are made.

Option B: A potential member may join without signing the statement of faith if they are recommended by another member, meet with the board members and hold no leadership position.

Actually, though I voted for Option B, I think even this Option is more stringent than necessary. In the first place, the group's name and materials overtly describe a Christian group. I hardly think non-Christians are lining up for entry. Secondly, there is no danger in allowing a non-Christian to join. Oh, I understand the fear. The fear is that if we don't require people to state their faith, then we could get some "really bad religion" people in there and then how could we kick them out? The fear is that our children might sit next to a child from one of those other, wrong religions and those children might tell our children Jesus is not God.

But I believe that "perfect love casts out fear". I know the Jewish members. And I like them today as much as I liked them before I knew they were Jewish. They teach classes that enrich the lives of the children. Their children are friends with my children. And they are intelligent, loving, decent mothers who homeschool their kids, too.

When Jesus walked the earth, the religious leaders of the day were shocked and horrified at the people he consorted with: tax collectors, lepers, prostitutes. He broke bread with hated people. He spoke to the woman at the well, a social outcast, who had had five husbands. Jesus condemned those who were more concerned with the letter of the law then helping those in need. Would Jesus require people to sign alligience to His faith before joining his group? (If he did, ironically, it would be Judaism!)

In our co-op, 100 families get along, even though we come from many denominations. Catholics, Baptists, Episcapalians, Presbyterians, Pentacostals, Methodists...we all operate together without problems, despite differing doctrinal beliefs. What is the difference if someone does not believe all the tenents listed in the statement of faith?

I don't think division, exclusion and separatism in any way reflect what Jesus was about. Exclusive people spread unhappiness and ill will. Accepting people spread community and love. I vote for acceptance. I embrace love.

My Hero is Gay

2007-10-22T13:54:00.000-07:00

J.K. Rowling dropped the bomb, if you haven't heard. Turns out Dumbledore, my favorite Harry Potter character, is gay. (Or was gay, since he died before the series ended.) Now frankly, I wouldn't care about this personal detail, even if he were a real person. Straight or gay, I still love the wise old wizard.

But I'm disappointed that Rowling decided to present this particular backstory. What was wrong with leaving this part of Dumbledore's past cloaked in mystery? (Just wait 'till Rita Skeeter hears!) This is just going to give the fanatical Dobson-worshiping homophobes another reason to crusade against the Harry Potter books. Having never cracked a cover, they will assume there are gay references throughout the books, "indoctrinating" children to turn gay. Really - didn't we Christian-types who love the series have trouble enough defending Harry Potter against our slippery-slope-paranoid friends?

I am raising my children with an aim towards tolerance of other people who live their lives differently. But learning to be tolerant of different sexual behavior can wait until they are old enough to know about sexual behavior. Which is hopefully not soon.

My daughter is bound to discover this tidbit. So, what is the benefit of her knowing that Dumbledore was gay? And he was in love with Gellert Grindewald?

I don't get it. Jo, you shouldn't have done that.

The Outcome

2007-10-19T04:51:00.000-07:00

Wrestling won.

Reluctant Soccer Mom

2007-10-18T18:56:00.000-07:00

I figured it would be good to do that local-sports-team thing with my kids. You know, get some exercise, learn teamwork, catch up on all that missed socialization (like learning the charming phrase, "Ha!Ha! Lick my butt!" which Collin surprised me with recently). Kyla and Collin have both played spring and fall soccer each year since they were four. I've been okay with that, although I resent the interference with our evenings sometimes.

Last winter, though, my husband, Kelly, signed Collin up for wrestling. Visions of by-gone glory days in mind, no doubt. It might even have been glory days for me, too. Wrestlers have always had a pull for me.

So, Kelly has been revving up to sign Collin up for his second season of wrestling. Collin has told him plainly that he doesn't much like wrestling, to which Kelly's response is to initiate a "take down" in the family room. See, Collin; it's so much fun! Yeah.

I've been on the fence about this whole issue. I never wanted to be one of those scrambling families, rushing the kids off to sports endlessly, season after season, year after year. And yet, here we are. How can that be? I have become the Soccer Mom I used to bad-mouth! I would be most content to stick with spring and fall sports; break for winter and summer. But, there is my husband to consider. I do care what he wants for them, too.

And then, there's that whole problem of Collin saying he doesn't really like wrestling. I'm not sure where I stand on that, either. On the one hand, I do think sometimes you have to help kids try things, get past the little hump of resistance. On the other hand, that's another kind of parent I never liked much - I wrestled, therefore so must my son.

Collin's soccer coach, it turns out, just asked Kelly if Collin was available to do indoor soccer for winter. Coach is putting together a team and would like to have Collin on it. Kelly was non-committal; he doesn't know what to do about Collin's reluctance to wrestle, either. Tomorrow is the last day I can sign up for wrestling, so I have to prod the issue. Man, I hate that.

I'd rather Collin go on the indoor soccer team. He loves soccer, believes he is good at it, and has an excellant coach. But, darn it! That means we're doing soccer three-quarters of the year! Still, it's better than dragging him to a sport he's not interested in.

We have to decide tonight.

The Thinkwell

2007-10-15T13:07:00.000-07:00

I talk to myself. I've done it as far back as I can recall. I remember as a little kid, maybe 6, walking around and around and around a tall tree stump in the backyard. There were roots that surfaced the ground in a little pattern and I would hop the pattern and talk to myself for hours. Well maybe not hours. A long time. Some undefined long period of time.

People who know me well are aware that I talk to myself. Thankfully, they hardly ever mention it.

So, I thought a blog would be just the thing. Kind of like a Pensieve. A place to store the silver threads of my endless thoughts. Maybe I will be less-often noticed at stop lights, chatting away to an enamored audience of one.

Happy reading!

The Premier Post

2007-10-15T12:23:00.000-07:00

Here it is....The Very First Post on my blog! Wow! See, you can always tell someone who is older than 30 by how astounded we are when we dip our toe into the pool of technology and come away with some measure of success!

Thank God for templates!

More fascinating insights into the world of a homeschooling, slightly OCD, libertarian mother-of-three coming soon.