A Very Nearly Tea

My husband says he will not visit my blog again until that nasty thing is off the front page. I really didn't have anything to say today, but I figure my husband is more important than my readership so I'll humor him.

So I have to come up with a post long enough to get the spider at least down below the fold so I don't creep him out just for stopping by to see what we're up to. He doesn't like spiders.

When we were first married, he'd run screaming out of the room whenever he saw one, demanding I do something.

Australia has more venomous spiders than any other continent.

He'd rationalize as I scooped the spider into a jar and released it outside.

There's one with fangs strong enough to bite through a child's fingernail.

He pleaded as I shook my head.

I don't know how he survived, unless all Australians run screaming from the room every time they see a spider. A somewhat neurotic survival strategy, and not becoming of other Australians I've met who seem to have a certain, uncanny lack of sense when it comes to our relationship with the wild.

For some strange reason, I suddenly want to watch Arachnophobia. Nothing like a good Creature Feature. Wonder if John will join me...

I have three daughters, one husband: He has a lot of work to do.



I'll get a black pair. Come to think about it maybe a black shirt too. Yes, yes....all black!

Bear lays on the floor, feet over his head and complains there's nothing to do. I stop cooing over the baby long enough to ask if he'd like me to find something. He takes that as his cue to leave, knowing chores will follow. They never have liked my cure for afternoon boredom.

Within two minutes, a fight has broken out in the playroom. There is much shouting and screaming about what I do not know. To be honest, I don't really care. Bear is bored and he has decided to pursue one of his favorite pastimes: annoying his sister.

It occurs to me to get out a game. That we really should do that sort of thing more often. Sitting around the table, enjoying each other's company, building memories. Sounds like such a pleasant family type thing to do. In fact, I begin to wonder why I don't do that more often. Why it isn't a regular part of our day or at least our week.

So I go to the game closet, which is a shelf at the top of the clothes closet. The children aren't allowed in there because they stand on top of the rods and bring down a whole closet of clothing. I can't reach up there, and need the stepladder.

PROBLEM NUMBER ONE: Games are not easily accessible.

Then I take a look at the games.

Candy Land

Its only redeeming feature is the giggle of the pre-reading toddler you are playing with. Which is well worth the time playing when you don't have a toddler swiping the pieces. And the fight breaking out in the playroom over who knows what amongst children who aren't the least bit interested in navigating their way through the gum drop forest.

Her knock-knock jokes are just as enjoyable and don't require as much attention.

Chutes and Ladders

You have got to be kidding me. This game has to have been invented by some evil genius desiring to zap the life out of parents everywhere. About half way through, I am cheering every ladder, sobbing over every chute, no matter who it is who is climbing or sliding. Victory means "game over" and that is my reward, regardless of whose little plastic man makes it first. I have been known to cheat at this game, helping young children who cannot count somehow miss every chute on their ascent.

Hilarious Headlines

This is actually a pretty good game. But Mouse is really just getting old enough to play it (never mind the age range on the box). Still, we have a problem with games involving mom and one child. Not much of a family game, and leaves the others with too little supervision and too much jealousy. And it takes too long. Long is ok when it brings us all together, but this game does not do that.

Most of the game would be spent trying to chase down whoever swiped the cards last. Not fun.

Ripley's Believe it Or Not

Eeeeh...same issue. "Family" games cannot entail much reading when only two of the five people playing can read.

Connect Four

A classic in game closets everywhere. Even ones you can't reach. A good Connect Four tournament can bring almost any family through a rainy day. It's just that, well, there is a limit to how much I can play. And my kids aren't good enough at it yet for me to have to actually try to win in order to win. A nice game among other nice games. Not so much when it is the only game you really sort of enjoy.

PROBLEM NUMBER TWO: I don't really like any of our games.

So a couple of weeks ago we were at Goodwill and I was pleasantly surprised to find a game of Pictionary, Junior in pretty good condition. It seemed to have all the pieces so I bought it, brought it home, stuck it in our game closet and forgot all about it.

That goes back to PROBLEM NUMBER ONE.

So while it is sitting, forgotten in a game closet, we go to Goodwill again. This time I find Cadoo and am pleasantly surprised to find it in pretty good condition. It seemed to have all the pieces, so I bought it, brought it home and left it on the table.

After dinner, we played it. We giggled and drew and laughed and ran about the house and acted things out and generally enjoyed ourselves. All of us. Together.

I was right, way back when, when I thought we should do this more often.

I think next we'll try Pictionary, Junior. Maybe I should get it out and leave it on the table before I forget.

My little L.E. Fant, who used to be only this big:

has made her first successful trip to the potty. All because Daddy bought her one of these:
to quell her fear of falling in and being flushed away.

Before you know it, she'll reach her next major milestone: talking back.

Since both Becca of Time Well Spent and the little Snoodle over at Snoodlings expressed curiosity at what I did in fact receive for Mother's Day, I thought (contrary to the thoughts I had yesterday on the topic) I might as well give in to the peer pressure.

At 7AM, the alarm went off, dragging me from my sleep. I realize that many out there might think that is sleeping in, but I beg to differ. First off, I'm a bit of a night owl and secondly I have another alarm, one that came with no doze button whatsoever, that wakes me up at 2, 4 and 6. Anyway, back to the 7AM alarm. It was calling me to start my 7AM meds to dripping into my arm. After sorting out the tubing, I pulled my little Mudpuppy close to me and he nuzzled into my embrace without waking.

This, predawn nursings and all, is way better than sleeping in.

Then it was time for the whole morning rush as I readied five young children for church, on my own and with no lifting of children. Doctor's orders on that one. And the drive to church. Thirty minutes of "discussions" with my son about how to behave in Sunday School. He was tired of them and sat staring out the window, mumbling answers to my scenarios. Frankly, we share in that sentiment, but until he is no longer exasperating his teachers on a regular basis, they will be a part of our llittle routine.

Then pick up. Mouse comes out hiding something behind her back. I catch a glimpse of yellow construction paper. A card she didn't have time to finish in class and somehow won't find the time to finish at home, either. From Bear, a flower. And words from his teacher.

He did great today. No problems at all.

The words were like music to my ears.

Until I turned around just in time to see him racing around the corner with little Mudpuppy in the stroller. Leaving Mouse to look after L.E. Fant and unsure where Bug had gone, I went after him. Oh so slowly. Being off the crutches is great, but it hasn't made me any faster.

If only I hadn't been so enthusiastic about finally being off crutches that I decided to take everyone to church on my own.

If only Bug hadn't needed to go to the restroom.

If only the other mothers who had recently dodged the stroller-turned-race-car didn't smile and wish me a happy Mother's Day in such an empathic way.

Finally all buckled into the car, I wanted to cry. Not so much because both Bear and Bug had darted off. Not so much because there was a certain feeling of helplessness at knowing this likely would not have happened if it weren't for my hip.

No. It's more that Bear had done so well in his class. I wanted to praise him. Let him know the nice things the teacher had said about him. Maybe even let him call daddy to let him know what a good day he had in Sunday School. Instead, I heard myself saying,

You will not be allowed to play outside today. Not only did you run away from me, but you left the building. That isn't safe.

He and Bug both grounded.

Boy was that a mistake.

Have you any idea of the volume...the sustained volume...two stir crazy children can attain in a small house? Wind sprints up and down the hall. Literally bouncing off the walls. And screaming. Screaming. Oh, the screaming.

And that seemed to set the volume for the house. Mouse came in to ask me a question and I had to remind her we were in the same room. Less than a foot from each other, in fact. Yet my ears were ringing.

They had more energy than the 900 square feet of this house could contain and it was coming out of their lungs.

And I was tired. Tired from lack of sleep. Tired from the recovery process of this hip infection. Tired of the noise.

And hey, what's this? What a thoughtful Mother's Day present!


No, no, no. Not for the children. The thought never crossed my mind. Taking it myself only crossed my mind once because it worked so well in the hospital and I have a full bottle and I've not taken any since I got home. Not even one.

But we did eventually make it through to bedtime. My least favorite days. The ones where I find myself monitoring the clock, counting down the hours...then the minutes...to bedtime. To quiet time.

But we made it. And I read to them. And I told them each how much I love them. And I prayed for them. And little Bug looked up, her wild curls flitting every which way as her eyes sparkled in the dim light from the laundry room.

Happy Mother's Day, Mommy!

Then she nestled down in her blankets with one of those happy warm glowing kind of smiles that expresses nothing but love and security and contentment.

Motherhood is not an easy task. It can be tedious, frustrating, seemingly thankless and even overwhelming. I know I am nowhere near doing everything "right," but all too often I'm not even sure what the "right" thing to do is. But then there are these moments, peppered through every single day.

Moments that can be easily missed. Moments that are like honey to the soul.

And suddenly it was a wonderful Mother's Day.

While transferring pictures for my entry on a lesson I've been learning in our homeschool, I discovered someone had gotten hold of the camera.

It looks like Bear will be exonerated.

Mouse, too, has a pretty good alibi.

Then there is a string of pictures, apparently the culprit's favorite subject. Gotta love this one:


Thank you my little Bug for a little glimpse of what goes on in our homeschool while mom isn't looking.

And don't touch the camera. Even if you think you can put it away before mommy notices.

Dear Mudpuppy,

Or "Little Tias" as Bug so affectionately calls you. There are no words to express the love and joy I feel as I listen to you contentedly nurse, stroke the softness of your newborn skin and smell the wonderful scent of little you. As you relax, I have the peculiar sensation of not knowing quite where I end and you begin. I could watch you sleep for hours (if you slept that long). But the most wonderful thing, little Mudpuppy, is that I am not the only one who loves you so much.

Already in the hospital, Bug and L.E.Fant were captivated by you. Their little hands were rarely far from you.

And those little hands still keep you close. When I hold you, they shower you with kisses. While you nap in your bassinet, they stop their play to peek over the edge and stroke your sleeping head. "Baby!" repeats L. E. Fant excitedly. And once when I tried to take you back from Bug, she asked, "Why don't you get you a baby?" as she tried to keep me from picking you up.

Everybody lined up excitedly outside the nursery to watch the nurse give you your first bath. If it weren't for the snack room, I don't think they would have ever let you out of their sight.


But who could blame them? Even as you began to protest, you were absolutely adorable.


Bear has been anxiously awaiting your arrival since he first knew you were growing inside of me. His excitement grew exponentially when he learned he was finally to have a brother. Even as you had barely begun to make your presence known through my oversized clothing, everyone we came in contact with knew you were coming and that you were a boy. The checker at WalMart. The stockboy at Super Saver. The lady bagging fish at PetCo. People on the street who made eye contact with Bear long enough for him to blurt out that his mommy was having a baby and that you were to be a brother.

I think it is common for excited parents to feel like announcing the birth of their babies to the world. Your big brother actually did so far as he was able.

Mouse has always loved babies, so there was little doubt she would become enchanted with you as well. Who would have guessed her enthusiasm for helping care for you would extend beyond snuggling with you and kissing those oh-so-kissable cheeks?

You may not care to hear it now, but there is something special in a sister who wants to learn to change even dirty diapers to help her baby brother feel more comfortable. If there is one thing we have learned about you in these few days, it is that you like to be warm and dry. You are the only one of five who actually likes being swaddled. And you will even stop nursing to protest a dirty diaper.

And trust me. A sister who hears that cry and stops what she is doing to help you out is a rare and precious sister indeed.

God bless you little Mudpuppy.

Love,

Mommy

Can you believe I almost missed this little beauty's birthday?

What do you think? Do you agree with the technician?

And a more complete view of the young man:


Isn't he the most adorable little tacker you have ever seen? He has a nickname, too. Mudpuppy, to go along with our other animal names. Perhaps I should add him to the sidebar as well?

Bear is quite excited to finally have a brother.

I speculated the other day that Kit Kat, Bug's little black gerbil, was pregnant. "How do you know that?" the kids immediately inquired. Intuition? The universal sisterhood of expectant mothers? I'm not sure.

She has always been quite a bit bigger than her mate, Buttercup, but has been appearing a little more rotund of late. But that wasn't really what tipped me off.

As Buttercup ran loops through the tubes, and Kit Kat merely raised a weary head before nestling back into her nest, I noticed.

As Buttercup got out four nights in a row, leading to hours long search and "rescue" operations and Kit Kat barely stirred from the nest, I noticed.

As Kit Kat struggled to make the small leap from the bottom cage to the tube leading to her food and water, I noticed.

As I heard Kit Kat labor to climb the tubes she once darted through as quickly as Buttercup, I noticed.

I noticed, and empathized. I so know how you feel, little Kit Kat.

Last night, however, she was restless. She paced the cage which is not at all normal for her, and drank quite a bit. She finally settled in to shredding the toilet paper tubes I had thrown in and lined the nest with the bits of toilet paper that were left on them.

Not surprising, this is what we discovered this morning.



Congratulations, Kit Kat and Buttercup!

School is well underway for most of us, and we are far enough into the year to begin feeling behind. Stressed, we begin looking over the fence at the Jones', where the grass is always greener and the children never whine. Meeting with other homeschoolers brings a mixture of encouragement and feelings of inadequacy as we begin to second guess those plans which looked so good on paper. If this describes you, you are off to a great start. After all, there is nothing mankind desires more or works harder for than misery. A brief survey of world literature reveals our fascination with sin, danger and tragedy. If we cannot experience it personally, we do so vicariously through what have become the classics. Even the quest for happiness robs our happiness in the end as Paul Watzlawick so aptly noted in his book, Anleitung zum Unglücklichsein (Guide to Unhappiness). To help you along the way to maximizing your unhappiness, I have written the following guide. Some of these steps may come naturally to you; others may require practice. With diligence, however, anyone can achieve the unhappiness they so earnestly desire.

1. Copy the public schools.

Buy desks, set them up in neat rows facing the front of the room and invest in a pointer. Even if you have only one child, make him raise his hand to answer questions. Schedule restroom breaks. Let the clock dictate your every move. Giving a toddler a megaphone is a good stand in for a disruptive PA system.

2. Choose your curriculum based on what everyone in your homeschool group is using.

Better yet, find a stranger online and ask her. Don't consider your temperament or your child's interests. After all, these other people have way more experience than you. Remind yourself of that continually when things are not going well.


3. Contact every curriculum publisher.

Make sure they have your correct address and get on as many mailing lists as possible. When you first get those glossy catalogs, you will think that this is having the opposite effect than what is intended here. The texture, the smell and all the neat stuff! But then you realize just how much stuff is out there. And how much stuff you do not have. There is always one more book and one more manipulative set to squeeze out of any budget. After all, you only have one chance to educate your children properly. Never let yourself become content with what you already have.

4. Make a clear distinction between school and life.

Do not consider the educational value of trips to the zoo, visits with grandparents and vacations. The more narrowly you define education, the more likely you are to avoid spontaneous "experiences" in favor of "the book." This also helps maximize the stress of wondering if you are doing enough.

5. Take everything personally.

Everyone has a bad day now and again. Even children. Use this to its fullest potential by taking these opportunities to question your parenting. When your child says, "This is boring," consider it a direct reflection on your character and personality. Think what it will be like when they talk to their bosses that way. Wonder what your homeschooling friends would say. Most importantly, try to isolate where you have gone wrong as a parent and fret over the permanent damage you must have caused.

This is intended only as a cursory introduction to maintaining general unhappiness in your homeschool. There are many other proven techniques for making yourself miserable and they all progress rather naturally to making those around you unhappy as well. For those of you who are more seasoned, or have just caught on quickly to the art of creating unhappiness, please feel free to add your own suggestions. I will add links to anyone who shares a proven technique for increasing the level of unhappiness in our homes. Even if it is not specific to homeschooling.

Misery loves company.

Two bloggers are so on top of things, they wrote their posts before me:

Yvonne of Grow Your Writing Business shares insight into how to kill your blog. (I'll be adding my own thoughts to the meme this weekend.)

Denise of Freelancing Journey lets you in on the secrets of failing at business.

homeschooling, humor

The most frequently asked question I receive from polite strangers has nothing to do with socialization and everything to do with latent fears regarding parenting. "How do you do it all?" They ask as my daughter bags groceries and I pay. I revel in the praise which comes as a welcome distraction from the questioning glances I receive shopping at one o'clock on a school day with kids in tow. Because I believe that these concerns about parenting ability actually underly most people's misgivings of homeschooling, I have decided to reveal my secrets.

Principle I: Delegate

There is no way one person can humanly get everything done that needs to be done in the care and education of four children on a daily basis. It is therefore imperative to learn to delegate. Teaching children to do simple chores is a necessity, not only for your own sanity but for their development. Here is my two year old sampling some cookie dough she and her sister made.


The eight year old may occasionally confuse teaspoons and tablespoons, resulting in some pretty salty pancakes, but that is where the taste tester come in. What stays in the two year-old's mouth is probably edible, unless it is a toy, bird seed or some random thing she has pulled out from under the bed. For the life of me I cannot figure out why toddlers, who stick everything in their mouths, are such notoriously picky eaters.

They even did a pretty good job at cleaning up after themselves.


The picture does not really show the flour and flecks of dough, but it does answer another mystery. The worst cup of tea of my life. Take a closer look:

An empty box of baking soda and an open sugar container. I think my taste tester has some 'splaining to do.

Principle II: Multi-task

Young boys have a peculiar knack for getting dirty. Really dirty. In fact, if you don't wash them once in awhile, they can be hard to recognize.

Now it is time to put some sibling rivalry and his affinity for making messes to work. While his sister chased him with the hose, I started a bath and a load of laundry. He then removed all of his extra clothing on the back porch and was carried to the bath. By the time he was done with his splash fest, we had another task to check off our list of chores. With the bathroom thoroughly soaked, all it needed was a good toweling off to be as spic and span as my bright little boy.


Principle III: Foster Independence

Young children are necessarily needy. And the more children you have, the more they all seem to need your attention at the same time. To ease the stress of being pulled in ten different directions at once, it is good to train your children to help themselves and each other as much as possible. Here is an example. Due to the small size of our house, we store most of our books in storage tubs, rotating them on a weekly basis. The rotations have slowed since their father was forced to Denver, however. My two year-old and my son decided that we needed to remedy this situation. Why bother mom? They have been raised to be independent, which I am sure is what possessed them to stand on top of the dog food bin to pull down a storage tub full of books.


You probably saw that coming. Fifty pounds of dog food and 200 books on the laundry room floor. This is where deep breathing, prayer and the self-control to just walk away come in. As well as the next principle.

Principle IV: Appreciate the little things

We all need our quiet place. And it is very good to go there before exploding. Especially when you are about to ground your two year old and four year old until their eighteenth birthdays for doing something they thought would be helpful. So take a deep breath and count to three.

One.



Two.



Three.


I bet you feel better now. It works for me every time. And simply cleaning up the mess was a much more reasonable consequence, don't you think?

Principle V: Everything is Educational

Life is bound to interrupt your school day now and again. Not nearly as often as the PA system in a public school, but it does have a way of cropping up on you. Before fretting too much at how far you are getting behind, remember that there is educational value to be found in everything. Whether it is a trip to the beach,


a torn toy,

or even just cleaning the laundry room while mom holds the baby and talks to the ceiling, there are lessons to be learned. And it is in this daily walk that we teach them the most about how to live and what is important.

homeschooling, parenting, education

Ian Lewis, UK minister for older people, has an interesting proposition for the public schools in Britain, something I think would be worthy to pursue here in the states.

'I would like to see older people having their lunch at a local school, acting as role models and mentors for the kids, and then perhaps local families "adopting" older people to tackle the scourge of loneliness and isolation,' he said. 'At lunchtime in every school in the country, why couldn't older people be sitting down with pupils and sharing lunch instead of doing it at an older person's lunch club or at home?' The Guardian

Rather than sitting in the institutionalized setting of the nursing home, separated from family, friends and community, they could eat lunch with the kids at school. After all, they a lot in common with children in the institutionalized setting of the public school, separated from family, friends and community. The potential benefits to both are obvious.

The elderly have the opportunity to share their values and experience with a younger generation, helping them to find purpose in their relationships. A sort of social continuity is shared, in which the elderly catch a glimpse of a future that will exist beyond them and children catch a glimpse of a past that existed before them. School children will have the opportunity to interact with people from diverse backgrounds and gain respect for the elderly. They also will have an opportunity at more individual attention, with older adults tutoring them in subjects they need assistance in.

Surrogate grandparents for children, surrogate grandchildren for the elderly. It is the next best thing to home.

The ending of the tradition of several generations of a family living near each other, and the scattering of families across the country, meant that 'older people are living in communities without any real family networks or support', said Lewis. 'This would be a way of making sure that people without families could feel part of a family as well as part of a community. That can make a real difference to our sense of wellbeing, and it doesn't happen a lot any more.' Ibid.

Tell me again why socialization is a problem for the homeschool? Mr. Lewis is absolutely correct about the break down of the family and the need for all of us to feel a part of a family and of a community. He offers a creative solution, and I commend him for that.

But in this solution, he highlights an inherent benefit of homeschooling, which for many of us goes well beyond the curriculum we choose. It is a lifestyle, one that tends to be family-focused. It allows and even encourages parents, grandparents, neighbors and friends to each share their unique perspectives, knowledge and experiences to further the education of the child. In the ideal, the homeschooled child is integrated into his family and community, and both the child and the community benefit from the relationship.

education, elderly, socialization, homeschooling

It is official. My husband was forced to Denver and we just saw him off. He should be seeing his first glimpse of the Rockies in a few hours. It has been looming over us for a couple of weeks, now. Denver is so very far from Lincoln. Eight hours. And his train does not come this far East, so we are on our own.On our own.

I know scripture says I should not worry.

Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Matthew 6:34

Yet I worry. The fretting over the last two weeks or so has done nothing to change the situation. Strangely enough, the phone call actually gave me a sense of relief. I no longer have to worry. Now, I can begin planning. I suppose the worry was my own way of attempting to keep control, anyway.

I still have plenty I could worry about. How long will this be? He only has the hotel room for 60 days. Will be able to find (and afford) an apartment in Denver? At what point to we decide to sell our house and follow him out there? What if the house does not sell? It sat on the market for six months before, with only two showings. What if it sells, we find a house out there, love it and he gets forced back here?

For the next three years, Lincoln is his home base and he can be recalled anytime.

All that has not quite hit home, yet. Right now, I am thinking about taking over his responsibilities in the home. And getting the car serviced so that we can drive out for our first visit next week.

Our first visit. My children will only get to visit their father and we do not know how long this will last. After all, he could get bumped back before he even gets to Denver. Not knowing makes preparation difficult.

In the meantime, what is there to do in Denver that a homeschooling family just shouldn't miss?

And now you see why I have a love-hate relationship with the railroad. The downsides are obvious. But it is still the reason I am able to stay home with the children. I have enumerated several blessings, both generic and specific to this situation. I even get twinges of excitement over the opening of possibilities in a direction we have never considered.

But then we are back to not knowing.

Why did we choose to homeschool? My husband says it was "impressed upon him that homeschooling was God's model for the family."

I said,

Homeschooling? You are nuts. Homeschooling is for over-controlling parents attempting to live their lives through their children. It is for people who place greater importance on spelling bees and academic success than the needs of their children as they force-feed them knowledge at the expense of childhood.

So you might say we both had strong opinions on the matter. With me being the way I am, it is actually rather surprising that the discussion did not end there.

I am not quite sure exactly what brought me from my initial reaction to my dubious agreement to "try it out" for a year. For kindergarten. Because it isn't required in Nebraska, anyway. But I can say that it was the most frightening decision of my life. Much more went into it than simply figuring out what curriculum to purchase and setting a schedule. I taught pre-K and first grade in the past and had little doubt of my ability to teach my daughter. Turning in my resignation, however, made me physically ill. I was scared...terrified. It was a tremendous leap of faith, and I was not sure that it was one my marriage would survive.

I had been raised more or less "in the system." I went to daycare, public school and was a latch key kid from the third grade. My mom was a career mom, clawing her way into management at a time when there was no such thing as a "glass ceiling." "Brick wall" would have been more apt a description. She eventually gave it up...for us...but I won't pretend that latent, feminist notions did not have something to do with my fears. The real story, however, goes much deeper.

When I graduated, I was going to have a career. My children, I thought, were better off in a good school and a good daycare with a mother who was satisfied and challenged in her work to come home to. I had the degree and the earning potential. Why should children hold me back? Because I had not yet met my daughter. I hadn't held her, smelled her, marveled at the tiny miracle in my arms. I had never known a love like that, never dreamed it even possible.

But at three weeks old, that tiny miracle captivated me and I realized how silly I had been. I did not care what it meant, what kind of house we would end up living in or what kind of car we would drive. I wanted to be her mother, and my heart ached at the thought of moving into the career world where I would have to leave her behind. I was ready to make the sacrifice and it did not even seem to be such a sacrifice. More like a burden lifted.

While mulling over these thoughts, my husband came in. He had quit. Walked out. Left our sole source of income while I was on maternity leave. And did I mention we were living at my parents' house? It wasn't the first time he had done this. He suffered from depression and employment seemed to be a particular issue. But it was the first time it mattered.

In the past, I had attempted to be the supportive wife, understanding of his difficulties, taking his side, trying to make him feel better. But that day, as my dreams vanished, something snapped in me. I will spare you the details of what was said, what was threatened and just how much I really meant it. And although he went back and repaired the situation at work, I knew that I could not depend on him. I would never be able to put myself in that situation again. No, I could do it to myself. But this tiny miracle was dependent on me to give her stability. I wasn't looking as high on the career ladder anymore, but I was going to do everything in my power to ensure that she never had to worry about basic necessities.

Fast forward six years. And you understand the trepidation with which I handed in my resignation.

That was three years ago and this blog is a testament to the passion I have for homeschooling. Like my conviction to motherhood, my conviction to homeschooling came late. I had to hold it in my arms and feel it in my heart before I realized the difference between my perceptions of the task and the reality of it. But I learned, and have not looked back.

This post is part of Back to Homeschool Week hosted by Randi at I have to say..., where you can find more posts from homeschoolers discussing what led them to homeschool.

Photo credits: that beautiful little bundle of joy is actually my youngest (of four). The artwork is My Hobby by Gustav Bjorck available at powellhistory.com.

homeschooling, parenting

Yesterday, I got my hair cut and, not being well-versed in idle chit chat with complete strangers, I was relieved that my hairdresser did not have much to say. A neighboring patron, however, more than made up for our silence. As she pried into the social lives of everyone in the room, I wondered why it was that we were the ones made uncomfortable by her breaking the unwritten code of hair salon conduct.

Are your parents still married?

Um, no.

Why not.

(no answer)

Why not? (louder)

Um, my dad is an alcoholic. Mom got tired of it.

Said customer then launched into a lengthy rant about alcoholics and how she did not blame the stylist's mother one bit. Even as the stylist became quieter and more noticeably agitated. I thought she was about to burst into tears, but another customer spared her with a question and a topic change.

Amidst offending my stylist to the point she had to leave the room for a moment and ruffling the feathers of even the elderly lady next to her who seemed the only one willing to set clear boundaries as to what conversation was appropriate, she said one thing which stuck with me.

The elderly lady had just gotten her hair colored. While they chatted about that, the stylist asked if that was something she was considering.

Goodness, no. I've earned every one of these gray hairs.

An interesting perspective. I have always hoped I would be able to grow old gracefully. Take wrinkles and gray hairs in stride. I suppose it helps that I have never particularly prided myself on any aspect of my physical appearance, but I still wonder if it will all be as graceful when it strikes. My first gray hairs I discovered in college, for me, merely added one more color to the interesting rainbow that is my natural hair color. I'm not so sure I will be so amused when they turn to visible streaks.

The glory of young men is their strength: and the beauty of old men is the gray head. (Proverbs 20:29)

Our culture venerates youth. Beauty, vigor, spontaneity, impulsivity and a lifestyle devoted to the here and now are held in high regard by a society fearful of growing old. In a recent email exchange, someone made a slightly condescending statement about "those of us who were able to maintain a childlike view of the world..." I know what is meant in that, and frankly the person did not know me well enough to judge my view of the world based on what little I had revealed. But it left me wondering why this "childlike view of the world" is so highly esteemed by adults. Are we not to be raising chilren to adulthood, not regressing ourselves back to childhood?

But we hate the thought of getting old, either physically or mentally. In My Generation by The Who, lead Vocalist Roger Daltrey sings,

Things they do look awful c-c-cold (Talkin' 'bout my generation)
I hope I die before I get old (Talkin' 'bout my generation)

In 1965, Daltrey even vowed to commit suicide before he reached 30 because he did not want to grow old.

And everyone in my generation should remember this one:

I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys R' Us kid.
A million toys to choose from, that I can play with.
From bikes to trikes and video games,
It's the biggest toy store there is...Gee Wiz!
I don't wanna grow up,
'Cause baby if I did...
I wouldn't be a Toys R' Us kid!

Why don't we want to grow up? And why do we seem to have so little respect for the experience and wisdom which comes with aging? We prefer to depict our parents and grandparents as dottering old fools, teetering on the edge of dementia then afford them the honor earned by their years. At the same time, we identify with teenagers in our dress, activities and speech, denying to all (and most especially ourselves) that we will ever be like the generations which precede us. When that fails, and we are confronted by our age, we hold on to the notion that we are still "young at heart."

When was the last time you thought that the beauty of any person rested in a gray head? And as we look forward to each gray hair with increasing dread, do we not take away some of the joy of the life we have been given? I'm not sure what he was referring to exactly, but La Bruyere apparently once said,

Most men spend the first part of their lives in making the latter part miserable.

Excessive fixation on trying to defeat the effects of time seem destined to ensure us of just that.

Now it is abuse to not kiss a guy before marriage?

Michelle looks happy enough, but it can't possibly be real. Not when:

her parents so brainwashed her from the time she was not capable of making an informed decision, and then insulated her from society to maintain that indoctrination so severely, that this girl has reached college age having never been kissed by a boy (or a girl, presumably) and is happy about that. (emphasis in original).

And how dare she be happy about it. Unfathomable. This is why we need public education and sex education starting in kindergarten. Not so that children can be protected from venereal diseases and unplanned pregnancies, but to make sure they don't live a life of regret.

These, dear Michelle are the things we regret in life. We regret the things we didn’t do. We regret not kissing our English teachers. I hope you come to that realization sooner rather than later, before the regrets pile up so high they eat you alive when you finally notice them. Ibid.

I'm not quite sure what to say, actually. But as the apparently fictional author says in response to an administrative correction to the use of "dismissive or insulting name calling,"

This may have been one of those times [I have been slightly obnoxious], but I do find it utterly shameful that this girl has been so... sorry, I just can't fully articulate how I feel about the damage that has been done to Miss Vitt. It is beyond the pale. source

It is so much better to have them forced from their families and taught the pleasures of free love from kindergarten.

Why this reminds me of this old quote, I am not sure:

Let me seduce the boys of England and the oldsters may totter unconverted to their graves. Then these boys, become men, may bring about the new Heaven and the new Earth...but without an army I am useless...give me my army, young men; and we will sweep these dogs into the sea."
--The World's Tragedy, p. XXV

Or this one (my translation):

The co-author of the Hessian Sexual Education Guidelines stated several years ago, "We need the sexual stimulation of the students in order to bring about the socialist restructuring of socety and the do away with the obedience to authority, including the love of a child to its parent.

from: Gruende fuer Homeschooling (Reasons for homeschooling)

Poor, damaged, girl. Never abused by a man and happy about it.

I don't know what else to say.

homeschooling, Christianity, sexuality, abstinence

The fact that brand loyalty begins by the age of two, with children recognizing brand logos by the age of three is old news. In fact, the research was published in the early 90's. It is a fact commonly exploited by early reading programs. I used it in my preschool classroom under the innocuous name of "environmental print." We spent reading time cutting out logos and gluing them in little books so my young charges could learn the letter "M" from a McDonald's sign, "W" from WalMart and "C" from Coca Cola.

I never really viewed these activities as preparing the children to become consumers in the market. In fact, I viewed it more as exploiting the fact that they already were consumers to a higher end.

My children do not watch very much television and virtually no advertisements. That does not make them less aware of the brands around them, and even my two year old recognizes her favorite haunts by the logos out front. But they do not seem to have the fierce loyalty I remember as a child. Last year, my daughter saved her money for some My Little Ponies. When she got to the store, she realized that there were other ponies there for a lot less money. She was thrilled to get two "off brand" ponies instead of one My Little Pony, and saw nothing different between them other than the price.

It was my son, however, who gave me more pause for reflection on brand loyalty. When he began toilet training, we purchased him Cars underwear. He loves cars anyway, and particularly anything dealing with that movie. He was happy with them, and didn't see the need for wearing pants for awhile since they only covered the best part of his whole outfit.

When he was finished training, however, I purchased a package of normal white underwear. I was planning for accidents, not looking for extra motivation to get out of a diaper, and I could get twice as many for the same price. Guess which he prefers? The white ones.

He couldn't care less about brand loyalty. He wants the ones he perceives to be "big boy" underwear. He isn't identifying with the market, but with his father. That is a much better place for a child's loyalties to lie.

family, media, culture, brand loyalty

That a pastor can so succinctly summarize my thoughts on the condition of the family doesn't really surprise me. The 1861 date did a little. It sounds so much like today (emphasis mine):

It is a fact conceded by all, that the constitution of the Christian family, and its social and spiritual relations, are not as fully developed as they should be. In this age of extreme individualism, we have almost left out of view the mission of home as the first form of society, and the important bearing it has upon the formation of character. Its interests are not appreciated; its duties and privileges are neglected; husbands and wives do not fully realize their moral relation to each other; parents are inclined to renounce their authority; and children, brought up in a state of domestic libertinism, neither respect nor obey their parents as they should. The idea of human character as a development from the nursery to the grave, is not realized. Home as a preparation for both the state and the church, and its bearing, as such, upon the prosperity of both, are renounced as traditionary, and too old and stale to suit this age of mechanical progression and 'young Americanism.'

The Christian Home As It Is In The Sphere of Nature And The Church, Reverend S. Phillips, 1861

One of the greatest debates in America today is what even lies at the foundation of society: the individual or the family?

Since Rousseau at least, western culture seems to hold that society is based on the individual. Consider these well-known sayings and what they communicate to us:

To each his own.
To thine own self be true.
Look out for number one.

Families get in the way of this view of society because families have the habit of passing on traditions, patterns of behavior and ways of thinking to their offspring.

It entails a view of liberty, but very different from our historic conceptions. It is more closely related to the libertine, also known more recently as the freethinker.

lib·er·tine

n.

1. One who acts without moral restraint; a dissolute person.

2. One who defies established religious precepts; a freethinker.

We have replaced the mission of home as the first form of society. Hence the need to separate the child from the parent and teach him "different points of view." In other words he must be liberated from the tyranny of the family, as Aldous Huxley did in his final work Island.

Home is no longer necessarily viewed as a haven, a sanctuary or a refuge from the world. Instead, the state is viewed as a haven from the family.

As Allan C. Carlson and Paul T. Mero put it in The Natural Family,

Public authorities actively subvert parental rights and authority, substitution a state morality. Children learn that their futures lie with the modern State rather than the pre-modern family. (p. 70-71)

We are quickly setting a new foundation for society, and its effects are being felt.

family, education, socialization, homeschooling

A church in Tampa, FL is planning on building a daycare center and preschool it says "the neighborhood desperately needs."

We target working families that can't afford a quality pre-school.

I hope that means that they will be providing a quality pre-school at an affordable rate, but the marketing language directed at people has always bothered me, particularly when used by churches. We aren't "targeting" anyone. But the statement seems almost perverse considering the difficulty this proposed daycare/preschool has caused.

It is to be built next to an apartment which houses sex offenders.

The owner of the complex warned the church prior to filing the paperwork and also asked the council to deny the daycare. It went ahead and approved the permit Thursday. At least the apartment owner recognizes that this might not be a good idea. Why is nobody listening?

I think the closing paragraph of the story holds a clue.

State law says that sex offenders can’t live within 1,000 feet of a school or daycare center, but attorneys disagree what will happen in this situation. Once the daycare center opens the church believes the sex offenders must leave, but the apartment owner says sex offenders already living there will be grandfathered in. TampaBays 10.com (emphasis mine)

I know nobody wants sex offenders living next door. That is why Megan's Law has been so popular. But it also has caused some problems. I know some people are very concerned about the perpetrators rights to privacy after they have completed their sentence, and for some crimes that is an appropriate concern. Even for some people labeled as sex offenders. The recidivism rate for sex offenders is actually lower than for other criminals, but is that indicative that incarceration is working to reduce the problem? Some estimate that the average person convicted of molestation has actually had over 100 victims before conviction. How long will it take to catch him the second time, especially since victims are most frequently the children of friends and relatives?

Still, where are they to live? And when they finally find someplace, it is hardly just to drive them out because the community has decided it would prefer a daycare. If this church wants to expand its ministry opportunities, perhaps it should look into ways to counsel convicted sex offenders rather than offer daycare services to working parents.

preschool, daycare, Megan's law