Tidbits

I miss writing.  I am not sure how on earth I can fit it in.  Days blur by.  We homeschool.  We cook and clean.  We tend Grandpa.  We deal with the forest and it's surprises.  I try "to Art" (as my secret brain calls it), but am usually too tired.  So, blog-schmog.

But there are a few things happening that should really be recorded.

Jonah has begun reading.  Really, really reading.  Last year at this time he was agonizing through, "Pat can tap the map.  Tap, Pat, tap!"  One year later, and he is reading a 5th grade chapter book called  Because of Winn-Dixie (which he prounounces WINN-dixie, like Windex).  It is still a struggle.  He still gets stuck on words with b's and d's (bdbdbdbdbdb...wouldn't you?), and we bumble along together slowly, but HE chose the book, and he chooses it again and again every day at reading time.  And he choses every day to try, very, very hard.  I am in awe of him.  And because he loves being read to, he pays me for “extra chapters” in the books I read aloud to him, by reading TO ME for five extra minutes per mom-read chapter.  Deliciously, the author we are currently reading is the master of chapter cliff hangers, always leaving him wanting.

Tessa has begun high school.  It has been a brutal transition.  Tessa was a "casual" student in middle school, not worried or terribly serious.  Very chill.  But she is our first child to hold any interest in College, with its high degree of scholarly expectation.  Her online high school is full of teachers to hold her accountable that don't share her DNA.  She is newly motivated to succeed, and has already been heard to say, "But I'm ALMOST down to a B!!!"  It's uncharted territory for me as a parent.

Ellie is transitioning.  Adulthood is around the very near corner, and she is making plans.  She talks about moving out, and job plans.  She got her covid-belated driver's license today. She suddenly cares about school.  I hear the rustling from within her cocoon.

Adam is thriving in Utah.  He is learning to balance life.  Adam never learned to "hang out with friends" until the last two months of his senior year.  While the sudden joy of that discovery was really a relief to me (isolated and introverted teenagers worry mamas), there was a learning curve that took it's toll on his savings.  He has struck a lovely balance now between work and play, and is expanding his social circle, which was tiny for too long.  He has found a real  love-of-learning about all things Viking, which has expanded to history, archeology, ancient languages and even his own genealogy.  It's a glorious thing to watch, and I have been learning along side him so that I can understand all that he is absorbing.  This week I found myself touring an online Norwegian Viking museum, and attempting tablet weaving.  I failed, but I will keep trying.  I have a goal to make Adam a gift for Christmas; a woven Viking belt, a replica of the one found on the Oseberg Burial Ship.  Yep, I'm geeking out.

Ethan's not very vocal about his world, but work seems good, and he is coping well with lame car disappointments.  Between work and his own personal study, he has piled more skills onto his already broad knowledge of all things mechanical and electrical.  I'm so proud of him.

The sea-sickness Guy was suffering from the wildly rolling waves of his new principal job seems to be subsiding.  He is learning which wheels are truly in need of aid, and which will continue to squeak unappreciative to any amount of oil given.  We are finding a rhythm, which includes some later nights, and my learning an all-new jargon.  There should be an "Orientation for Spouses of New Admins", including a dictionary, program flow charts, and a little training on grief counseling.  The first two months were very hard.  Hard, plus covid.  Everybody is mad at school administrators, as though they knew this was coming and hadn't bothered to plan for it.  "Fair" has lost all meaning in a world where there simply are not answers, where need and demand outnumber available manhours threefold, and where people are screaming to get their never-again "normal" back, and they are screaming it at YOU.  Try stepping into that chaos on your first day.  Hard.  Really hard.

One more thing... I found a new doctor.  It's just the very beginning of what will likely become a long and difficult process.  But I am hopeful that by this time next year, I will show as much improvement in my health as Jonah has in his reading. 

Oh!  And Natalie lost her first two teeth, and one more is starting the dangle-dance.  There is a comfortable, if not slightly sad, predictability in that little detail.  I don't know what the future holds, but I do know that tooth isn't going to be there come Thanksgiving.  

Fallen Fringe

There really is magic all around our woods. The music of the forest air is strange and melodic.  The dappled sunlight dances off of the fawny backs of dear and their babes.  Almost daily Jonah and Nano find lovely sparkling stones, cool, bendy sticks and blushing feathers on the ground.  Everywhere I go, I find myself scanning around my feet for the pretty plumes.  But on a walk to the lookout a few weeks ago, we stumbled upon the scene of foul play (forgive me, but really, how could I not?!).  It was little Natalie, her eyes so near the ground, who noticed the vermilion vestiges scattered on the forest floor.  A veritable explosion of plucked pinions.  She stopped, gathering them in her tiny hands, then toted them all the way to the lookout and back.  Treasures carried by a princess, most certainly.

A few days later she searched diligently in our Birds Of North America book, comparing each quaffed quill to those in the pages, to no avail.  My best guess had been the Black Headed Grosbeak, but the book said, No mama, you are wrong.  So we wrote a pleading petition to an ornithologist; sent pictures - the works.  

In one short day we received our response.  And the results are...

The Northern Flicker Woodpecker.

The kind and very informative email came with a most unfortunate post script.  We were instructed to return the feathers to the forest.  Apparently, anti-poaching laws state that one may not keep any foundling feathers, because it cannot be proven that they were not procured by nefarious means.  You can't just look at a feather and tell if it simply fell from the sky, or was plucked from an assassinated avian.

We can apply for a permit, like real live scientists,

 to be able to catalog and keep our coral calami (I know that one was a stretch.  Calamus is just the quill part of the feather, but ya' know, I needed a feather related C word).  

In the mean time they must go back out to nature.

Do you think our back porch

 is close enough to the forest?

A Bottle of Mud

See, Jonah-boy likes to make potions.  

Well, sometimes they're science experiments.

He calls it school.  

There is always water,  

There are usually a variety of botanicals;

 leaves, grass clippings, flower petals. 

Far too often,

  illicit food coloring is involved.

  Always, the concoction is carefully brewed in a plastic water bottle.

When it's a science experiment, I'll often find it on a table top, a bookshelf, or in a cupboard.   Now, potions on the other hand, they might be in a drawer, a treasure chest... under a pillow. 

Cuz, you know, 

mysterious.

This time it involved a boy's best friend; dirt.

(you do the math: dirt + water = ____ )  

I don't know if it was molecular or mystical, because I never saw it this particular fusion first hand.

 I only saw the aftermath...

A seriously clogged drain. 

 I called Jonah in and showed him the cistern of slop.  

His mouth dropped open when he realized the mechanics of mud in pipes. 

 "Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry."

And he really was.

And he figured that was the end of it, 

so he turned to walk away.

"Hey, buddy, guess what?

"What?"

"Today, you get to learn how to unclog a drain."

Talk about natural consequences, baby!

(fast forward past the extraction of the six inch girl-hair plug that turned out to be the real problem, cuz' EWW!  I gotta say, though, Jonah was really proud of how he wrangled the tangled tresses out of the drain with a shish-kebab skewer. 

Re-spect.)

But, as any home-plumber knows, the end of the clog does not mean the end of the job.  As I was putting the plug assembly back together, the tired old plastic pivot nut snapped.

Hence, on to...

...the internet (to learn that it's called a pivot nut, because the guys at Lowe's look at me funny when I call things Doo-Hickies).

...the hardware store (to learn that they don't sell pivot nuts by themselves.  Of course. Because that would be too simple).

...home, with my new drain assembly (to learn that the new pipe is an inch too short).

...the hardware store (sigh.  Seriously.  It's a conspiracy)

....home and under the sink...

with another little helper.

So Jonah learned how to unstop a drain, and also that the magic leaks out of the potion once you dump it in the sink.  I learned that Guy is right.  Plumbing is stupid.  And expensive.  And a conspiracy.  And, I hope, Nano learned somewhere in her little brain that girls can fix things.

All that learning from one little bottle of mud.

Not bad.

I guess Jonah-boy is right.  It really was school.

Let me take you on a little tangent

Last night we had donuts for dinner.

My kids told our neighbor all about it when they took a bowl full of donut holes over to say thanks for the cup of milk we had borrowed to make them.  When Doug told his wife, Betty, of our sumptuous supper, she refused to believe it.  It just didn't sound like something I would do.  Well, I do now!

If you know me well, you know that I have the skill of tangents.  No, not the math ones, but the start-and-stop story-telling that is a bit like my mother's "Refrigerator Soup", a little of this, a little of that, all somehow coming together to make a nice, if not somewhat perplexing, final product.  Some folks hate it.  "Get to the POINT!"  they scream in their heads.  What can I say?  It's the way my brain works.

So buckle up.  Here comes one.

The homeschool model we follow (Thomas Jefferson Leadership Education or TJ Ed), is sometimes confusing if not down right frightening to a lot of folks.  There are a few simple concepts.  Kids are hardwired to learn.  It is what has kept us all from still being in diapers and sucking our thumbs as adults (well, most of us).  If we get out of the way and stop being academic bullies, kids will gravitate towards things that they want to learn, and in the process they will learn a bunch of other cool stuff.  If you push 'em, they push back (I think that's a science concept, isn't it?  For every lame parental action, there is an equal and opposite resistant kid reaction...), if you force, they stop learning the groovy thing you are trying to teach them and start learning how to hate learning.  Also, like that whole "If you build it, they will come" notion from Field of Dreams, if you inspire them, they will want to learn. 

In traditional schools, topics are separated.  Though there might be some amazing math concepts in the building of the pyramids, we are told to stick with the history on that one.  Math is for another hour.  With TJ Ed, we are encouraged to allow kids to go with the learning flow, to open up an idea and see where it takes us.  Tangential learning.  This is very hard from the conveyor-belt educational standpoint in which most of us were raised.  What happens if we never get back to the first topic we started with?  What happens if we jump around too much?  We can't just go all willy-nilly, exploring history and literature and other such compartmentalized topics without a map!  What if we get lost and DON'T LEARN ANYTHING?!?!?

Yah, that's gonna happen. 

So I have begun to embrace the tangent.  It started out small.  Tessa saw the word "albatross" in a book and asked what it was.  We looked up a picture, and compared wing spans with other birds. Then I remembered my amazing 7th grade English teacher, Mr. Clerkin, from Scotland, who had us stand each day and recite stanzas from "The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner".  I still have them memorized. So I found a reading of it on YouTube set to old illustrations, and we listened to it, all 27 minutes of it! Then we listened to certain parts over again.  The girls were blown away by the dead crew becoming reanimated by a legion of angels as they piloted the ship back to land.  "Zombies!"  they laughed.  It was full of hard words and thrilling twists, and a moral that was not missed by the girls.

A few days later I mentioned on facebook my "Albatross Painting" that is long, long overdue and needs to get done so I can be relieved of the burden of it.  Ethan asked about why I had called it that, and Ellie told him about the story of the Ancient Mariner who killed the albatross and was forced to wear it around his neck as a reminder of his folly.  It was pretty darn cool to have her tell him what my reference had meant.

Then last week I was wanting to teach the kids about French Impressionism.  I began with the early influences of Japanese prints and, well, before I knew what was happening, the kids were all wearing kimonos and we were watching ancient Kabuki theater revival and practicing Kabuki Mie poses,  and coloring the traditional face paint of the villans (blue), good guys (red) and spirits (brown) on prints of 200 year old images.  We spent 3 hours watching dance battles, and even Jonah didn't seem to notice that, um, we don't speak Japanese.  We never got back to impressionism, which bothered me at first, but as the kids chattered away at Guy at the end of the day about our amazing school time, I was able to let it go.  Who cares what I thought they should learn?  They LEARNED!

Then yesterday I really GOT IT.  I didn't resist; I jumped into the River Tangent and let it carry us. We were reading a great book called Little Britches by Ralph Moody.  We read it a few years ago, but a classic can be a source of learning over and over as our lives change and we take on new challenges.  In the book, the boy talks about being picked up by a pack of cowboys and ridden home amongst their thundering horses, their revolvers flashing in their holsters, and how he was sure that was what it must have felt like in "The Charge of the Light Brigade", a poem his mother often quoted from memory.

You know what came next.

We read the poem, watched a little dramatization of it, and saw pictures of the few survivors of that fateful band of brave young men.  I never knew anything about that battle until that moment.  I guess I missed that one back in school.

Then,  back in our book, a neighbor feeds the boy homemade donuts.  Do you see where I'm going with this?

We measured, doubling fractions and then reducing them.  We did chemistry as we mixed milk and vinegar and watched the fats curdle.  We experimented with the heat of the oil and learned at what temperature the baking soda released the maximum amount of gas for the fluffiest donuts.

And then we had them for dinner.

When I was a kids my mother would make donuts about once a year and then let us have them for dinner.  

But that's another tangent.

Math and Mercy

All year we have been looking forward to the last day of school.  Yah, 'cuz duh, it's the last day, but also, because of the ice cream.

The kids worked this year on memorizing times tables, and as incentive, the moms (Kathy and I) dangled a banana-split flavored carrot - first kid to memorize all of their times tables got to have a banana split party, hosted by the other family.  Each item in the sundae was connected to a number... 0's = Dish, 1's = spoon, 2's = banana - you get the idea.

Of course, Owen won the honor of not hosting the party by finishing first.  He knocked it out of the park, as usual.  The rest of the kids dragged along learning just the easy ones, or the ones that were coupled with their favorite items.  Tessa realized she had only earned a banana and sprinkles, and moved ahead to earn some ice cream before bothering with toppings (6-9) or a cherry (12).  Ellie puttered along, not trying too hard, and not making much progress.  She figured she had time to spare. 

The day arrived for the party.  I told my girls they had to actually know the tables, not just have checked them off weeks ago, only to have forgotten them.  It was then they realized that they hadn't earned much.  Time was almost up.  There ensued a mad rush to learn and earn toppings.  But it was too late, and Ellie found herself with only a banana and two scoops of ice cream earned.  Tessa had a banana, one scoop and sprinkles, but seemed to take it in stride, knowing that this would not be the last banana split she would ever eat in her life.  But as we were dishing up the fancy treats into fancy boats, I noticed we were one child short.  Ellie had gone missing.

I wandered the house and found her under her quilt, tear streaked and tragic.  She was sad to be missing out on all of the choices, she was miffed that there had not been more time (only 4 months!), and she was embarrassed, first that her sundae would show to everyone in the room how little she had earned, and also that she had been, as she put it, "a cry baby".

I tried to comfort and encourage, but the bottom line was this: she had made her choice when there was time to choose, and now, in fairness to everyone, she must live with her choice.  But it broke my heart.  I remember missing out on a party that my 5th grade teacher offered each Friday to kids who had gotten all of their homework in.  I had cried, and the teacher wanted to just let me come to the party, but I knew I didn't belong there.  That almost felt worse.

As Kathy and I tried to coax Ellie out to enjoy what she had earned, we exchanged troubled expressions with each other.  We knew how much this hurt her on the pain-scale of an eleven year old girl.  We knew we had to be fair to the kids who had worked hard for their reward.  As Kathy and I scooped ice cream for Ellie, we found ourselves being a bit generous with the size of scoops we gave her, somehow compensating a little for what would not be there.  We wanted badly to show her Mercy.  It was so tempting to just give her a full sundae, but it wouldn't be fair to the rest.  I think "fair" was redefined for me that day in some subtle ways.

I have always told my kids, "Fair is not 'everyone gets the same'.  Fair is 'everyone gets what they need.'  It would be fair if we all got wheelchairs, but we don't all need them."  The lecture resolves with me explaining how the perceived injustice they are whining about now isn't what they need, necessarily.

I am learning that just as the reward was tailored to the effort of the individual, in the future I need to consider the requirement.  We had not required Jonah to do any of the math memorization.  He's three.  Lauren had memorized a few addition and subtraction facts, but earned her whole sundae, not for what she retained, but for how hard she tried.  But we had clumped all of the other kids together just because of their ages, neglecting to consider temperament and attention levels.  Maybe that wasn't quite fair.

I think in the future I would have a different set of expectations for each child.  One might be based on effort, another, quantity... speed, scholarship, time spent; possibly as many ways as there are children.  It would seem that in this way both Justice and Mercy may be served.

Ellie didn't eat her ice cream until the Jensen's had gone home that day.  By then she had been able to enjoy it a little.  She came to me later and asked if we could try again, feeling that next time she knows she would work harder.  I told her that sounded like a great idea.  Second chances and Mercy go hand in hand.

Landing the Big Promotion

Back in the early 1700's when I was a kid, our parents threw us out of the door in the morning after a hearty bowl of oatmeal, and let us back in if we could show them a decent report card at the end of the day.  Those were simpler times, when your teacher could snitch on you for rotten behavior and not worry that they would get sued.  When you took your lunch to school in a metal lunch box, and only graduated once, not every time you moved up a school.  Ah, the good old days.

I wasn't a terrific student.  Maybe okay, but I was no award winner.  So I am all the more impressed when one of my spring-offs makes happy ripples in the pond of his or her life.  

We got an invitation to the Middle School awards ceremony for Adam.  It didn't say what he would be getting, so the event held a little mystery for us all, even Adam.

At the ceremony he was called up early in the program to stand with the other Honor Students in recognition of a GPA over 3.0.  Not bad for a kid who jumped over from homeschool in January.  I thought it might take him a while longer to get his bearings in public school, but he seemed to have no trouble at all.  He had come home each day, done his homework without being asked (I know, cool, huh?), and generally made pretty good choices.  Honor student material for sure.

Then came the rest of the program with high honors and uber-high honors, and "I-will-be-performing-brain-surgery-in-10-years" honors. There were a few kids that were up 5, maybe even 8 times.  I became one of their fans just listening to all the things at which they excelled, and feeling glad to know that my kid was brushing shoulders with them. 

Then Adam's favorite teacher got up to read out his award winners.  He paired each with a quote, and toward the end of his list, he said, " "With great power comes great responsibility." In a really difficult 7th and 8th grade class, this guy always chose to do the right thing!"

I knew what name he would read next.

Adam.

My eyes were already filled with tears because I knew this about Adam.  His teacher had sent an email early in the semester saying the same thing; that no matter what the rest of the class was doing, Adam could be counted on to be doing the right thing.  Always.  Of course, I hadn't needed to be told.  We know this about Adam.  I mean, sure, he's not perfect, in fact, about two months ago he may have rolled his eyes at me, and his room has the funk of death, but his moral compass is always pointed in the right direction.  I have actually seen Adam abruptly walk away from a situation that seemed to be heading for trouble.  He's a good kid.

Later in the week there was a promotion ceremony.  I'm not sure why.  They are all heading off for High School whether they like it or not.  500 people crammed a quad in 90+ degree heat with camping chairs and strained to hear their special kid's name called on the crackly and muffled loud speakers.  

But though all of the hoopla seemed unnecessary, I still got excited when Adam's name was called.  I got on tip toes to see over the heads of the crowd that now crammed the quad shoulder to shoulder, and yelled a little "Yay!" in the .04 second pause between his name and the next.  It's easy for my mind to rush ahead to the real graduation we will attend in four short years.  I suppose it was good to have this dry run as a reminder to enjoy these last few years with him in our nest.

*****

I am very proud of you Adam.  I imagine you may not read my blog posts until you are a grown up, but I know you will have always known how proud we are of you.  You are sensitive and kind hearted.  You will be a great man, and I know, because you are a great young man.  You are a hard worker, an honest person, and a youth with integrity.  I love you.

Adam and Jessica went to kindergarten together
and remain supportive friends

Quite the little crowd.  Jonah refused to be in the picture.

Oh, Nellie! It's Soap Box Time Again!

Lunch for "Mom!" made by the girls 

I grounded my girls from school.  For two days.  You heard me!  Grounded!  How can I get away with that?  Well, because we homeschool, that's how.  The How is a minor detail though.  What matters here is the Why.  But before I get to that, first you have to muck through the foam from my soap box.  Buckle up, Buttercup.

 Few conversations illicit as many opinions as Homeschooling.  Oh, there's the whole Baby-in-the-bed topic, and the Nursing-a-toddler and Homebirth (guilty on all three counts, 15 counts if you consider me a repeat offender), but those are the topics that fall under the "You-do-what-you-want-with-your-baby,-ya-loonie!" clause, which most folks leave alone.  They figure if they turn a blind eye for a year or two, you'll get over it or at least stop having kids, making it all go away.  But when you Homeschool, you have to either grow a very thick skin, or go underground.  If you say the word "Unschooling" in public, folks imagine that your kids spend their days in fur loin cloths, chest pounding with filthy fists.  Certainly the only reading they must get is from cereal boxes and comic books, and if they are lucky, a little science during Shark Week.  I don't claim to be an Unschooler, but looking at it through the goggles of Public School it might seem that I am.

In order to understand HOW homeschool works in our house, you would have to detach yourself from a few long-held beliefs:

1.  Children must be taught on a daily schedule

2. Children must be taught specific things at specific ages

3.  Children must be taught by an adult

4.  Children must be tested to make sure they are learning

Now, I get it, you might accept that there are indeed a few (very few) exceptions to these rules, but for the most part, even most homeschooling families buy-in to one or more of the above statements.  But humor me for a moment; what if these beliefs you have held since the day you first smelled the aroma of chalk dust mingled with hot black-top and tatter-tots are wrong?  What if the best way for a child to learn is not currently being practiced in public schools?  (Gasp!  Did she really say that??? How dare she!!!).  Now, I am not saying that the way I do things is "the right way" (that's what we homeschoolers say to the rest of the world, but that is a lie.  We totally believe that it IS the right way, for us at least).  So if you can suspend your belief in the "Educational System" for a moment, and hear me out, the school grounding I mentioned earlier will seem a lot less like neglect and a lot more like calculated reasoning with an expectation of high return.

Here are the ideas I ask you to use to temporarily replace those listed above:

1.  Children must be given opportunities to learn mingled with daily life, when ever that best fits into the day and week; learning happens all the time, any time.  

2.  There is no ideal age that should be waited for to learn anything.  End of story.  Yeah, yeah, I know about the studies, but since our current system is ignoring those studies, so must I for a moment.  Indeed, math is apparently best taught to young adults  (hmmm, not 6 year olds?  Imagine!).  What I mean here is inclusive, not exclusive.  If a 6 year old WANTS to learn geometry, he should get to, and not be told to wait till high school!  Desire drives learning.

3.  When adults provide a supportive environment, children become their own teachers most of the time.  They also learn a ton from each other, and from watching your example of self education.  When they are further on in their learning, it is appropriate for them to have mentors, but that is pretty far down the line.

4.  There is no way in the world to quantify what a child who is given free range over his own education has learned.  Give it up.  You can measure information gathered, but not the knowledge and wisdom acquired for the use of that information.

Here are a few other important ideas to help you get my drift:

The problem is that "we" (you know, as in We the People) have it all backwards.  We try like mad to cram knowledge into little heads starting as young as age 3, during what are called the "formative years".  There is so much emphasis on academics that there is little time to teach our children the core values that our society is swiftly and tragically losing a grip on; things like honesty, integrity, the ability to see a need and fill it, excellent work ethic, empathy, true charity, and so on.  It is during the early years when these most important life lessons are taught, or missed.  If we wait until a child is already coming apart at the seams to try to instill values in him, say, age 12 and up, we have pretty much MISSED OUR CHANCE.  It is then that we struggle against the call of media, social pressures and hormone drive, trying to remind the child of the values we wished we had instilled a little better before now. 

So as a homeschooling family, my main focus for my children - my first goal- is to teach Character.  We talk daily about, and do things to work on the following:

- The difference between right and wrong, 

good and bad, true and false

 - The value of work

- The value of play

- How to fill the needs of people younger, smaller, or more helpless

And I am not kidding when I say that I believe these are the skills that will be the most valuable to my children in their lives.  They certainly are in mine.  That is not to say that academics are not of tremendous worth, but academics can be easily learned by an individual with such a strong foundation.  

(Geez, when is she going to get to the part where she grounded her kids from school?)

Right now.

*****

The girls were being FIVE STAR BRATS.  They were squabbling and even hitting, they were yelling and demanding and tantruming (oh, yes.  Evil, I tell you).  So I said...

"Wow.  This is so sad.  Clearly we have been not been focusing enough energy on our core values.  This is certainly not the way I want my children to grow up behaving in the world.  Obviously, you two are not ready for the privilege of school.   It looks like we need to take a break from school and get back to working on Character.  We will spend the day working, and we will work every day until I see that you are really ready for school."

(Okay, I probably didn't sound quite that noble, but that was the gist)

"NO!!!!!!!!!"  they cried!  "We want to do school!!!!" they bellowed.

"No, I am really sorry.  I can't let you do that.  I would not be doing my job well if I let you go out into the world with that kind of attitude.  It stops today."

They cried honest-to-goodness tears.  Oh, and they worked.  I worked right along side them.  They learned the skill of scrubbing out a toilet with a pumice stone.  They learned how to fix the drain stopper, and how to look around the room and notice things like dust on the light fixture, and then take care of it.  They learned how to clean out under a sink and re-paper the shelf.  There was learning going on, for sure, and it went deep.

Sadly, we had to take two days for the girls to get the point, but they got it.  And if they forget, I imagine all I will have to do to remind them will be to ask them if we should take a day off of school for more Character building. 

*****

This is not the end of this post, though (I know, shut up already, right?), because I feel like you need to know about the next day.  They were so excited to get back to school.  "Can I do math mom?"  "Can we do states?"  "Can I read?"  "Will you read us an extra chapter, please?"

And each time I said "sure" you would have thought I had said they could have ice cream for dinner.  Because, you see, they VALUED it.  It became a coveted privilege, not a dreaded expectation.  It doesn't hurt that I allow them to choose what they will study.  As long as they are working on something, it's all good with me.  Am I worried that they are not learning enough?  

The other day Tessa demonstrated that she knows all 50 states by shape, frontwards and backwards.  Its her thing these days.  Ellie figured out how to put a bed together without any instructions, and has been teaching Tessa how to cook french toast, and can recognize the Brazilian flag, among about two dozen others.  

Am I worried?

Only that I will get in the way.

First Day (of school) or (the rest of your life)

I get a little fixated 

on beginnings and endings.  I see them so symbolically that I can hardly function within them on a literal level.  I mean, who can enjoy birthday cake when you know this will be the last ever second birthday 

you will ever, ever, ever celebrate with your child!?!?

So my current fixation plays out thusly 

(I know, not a word, at least not in this century):

Last year was my year to "get it all figured out" (homeschool, that is.  I have allotted an entire decade to figure out LIFE.  Wish me luck).  So, this year I should be prefect at it.  OK, not perfect, but totally cool-calm-and-relaxed, man.  

I should have no more doubts, fears or hang-ups.  Smooth sailing.

Ha. 

I have been the one feeling a bit nervous.

We did OK today staying on our routine; exercise, chores, reading, science...

and at some point during the day, somewhere between learning how to fix the electrical system on the doll house (thank you Gatlin, for the lesson and help!) and teaching Ellie how to make chicken noodle soup from scratch, I began to think about "the first day of school".  

For me, as a child, that meant the excitement of new clothes, new shoes, and hair ribbons- those chunky yarn ones.  By the sixth grade it meant a daily stomach ache and throwing up every morning for the first two weeks of school.  At first school was fun, but soon enough it had become terrifying and dreaded.

Even around here it used to mean new backpacks, new lunch boxes, and a picture taken on the front walk as we headed to the car.  Today was different.  Today school meant getting up much earlier than our lazy summer routine, but other than that, there were no jitters, no new clothes, no huge change. 

But by the end of the day something had changed for me.  My neighbor was showing me, with disgust, the assignment her 6th grader had been given.  Her son stated "They are totally giving me college work!" with a head shake and an eye roll.  Mom mentioned she might complain, holding it out to me for my commiseration

 (that IS a real word.  Look it up.).

I read the work.  It was pretty detailed reading, I will admit.  But what I really thought inside my head was, "Well, yes it's challenging.  Isn't it supposed to be?",  realizing that I wouldn't mind reading that text to all three of my home-educated kiddos.  The difference being, we would read it, discuss it, look up words we didn't know, and maybe even go find some follow up information online to learn more.  We would do it together, and each kid would work at their own level of capability.  There would be no test, because I would be able to tell if they understood.  It would never have occurred to me that it might be too difficult, because we work on difficult lessons all the time, and I know that if I take care to explain, even little Tessa gets a lot of the concepts.  

And if she doesn't, I am so OK with that.  

She has the rest of her life to learn.

I began to feel sorry for kids who are isolated in public school,

 expected to do so much learning alone.

This evening as I coached Ellie through making her first pot of homemade chicken noodle soup for her daddy who lay sick in bed, our brains were wrapped up in the science of it.  Interesting how the carrots took a little longer to soften than the potatoes, how the pasta swelled, the way the broth boiled, the movement of the steam.  We talked about our use of leftover chicken with new ingredients, and how that can be done with a lot of things, and not just with cooking.  We talked about time management, how each item is added in a certain order, and how we can take advantage of our waiting time by tidying up the kitchen.  

By the time dinner was served, I had:

- a healthy meal for my sick honey

- several grateful and complimentary soup-lovers around the table

- fewer left-overs in my fridge

- an opportunity to teach my daughter cooking and science 

and planning and re-purposing

and 

- a confident and proud 9 year old

who can now make soup

(and hook lights up to a circuit!)

(I wonder which skill she will use more in her life?)

It was a good first day, 

if you can even call it that.

The River Goes By

 

"Me" - Jonah says when he sees this picture.

"It's the perfect time of day

to throw all your cares away.

Put the sprinkler on the lawn,

and run through with my gym shorts on.

Take a drink right from the hose,

and change into some drier clothes.

Climb the stairs up to my room

and sleep away the afternoon."

-Bare Naked Ladies 

(for my slightly more "mature" readers 

(Hi Aunt June and Sandy!), 

that's a band from the 90's)

(song here)

***

The lyrics from this song 

 have been playing in my mind lately like a soundtrack to my days.  

They seem to epitomize summer.  

Long sticky days, breezy nights with their hot breath 

that starts to cool as the last glow fades from the sky.  

Rainbows of fruit that I can't keep stocked in the bowl on my table, 

and the sticky little fingers and chins of those who devour them.  

Wet swimsuits on the garage floor (though I scold, of course), 

and dirty, bare feet.  

Late mornings and late evenings, and long visits from friends.  

Sprinklers and hoses and grass clippings.  

Firelight and candle light and barbeque plumes.

Though most of the schools in California have made the freaky leap to school starting as soon as the beginning of August, Ethan's school starts (ahhhh!) the day after Labor day (Thank you, whoever you are, that knows that no child can learn anything before the tomatoes are even coming ripe on the vine!).  And because we homeschool,  

AND BECAUSE I CAN,

 I am starting the littler kids back to school the same day.  

But strangely, as the summer days blur into each other, and the windows darken sooner and sooner at the end of each day, the feeling of school is coming upon is.  The other morning, as I read the last few chapters of Jane Eyre (even though dishes and laundry sat competing with the gathering drifts of dust), I became aware of a quiet that had settled over the house.  Jonah played a softly as the girls sat together pouring over workbooks I had brought home.  Adam hung spellbound over his new-found novel.

It felt like we were in school.

And for the first time in my life,
- in my life as a student and as the mother of students-

I felt excited about school starting.

The summer has passed by us like a lazy river that has now picked up speed. 

Ours has been a summer of play and some work,
and of late nights outdoors by the fire.

I can't think of a Summer in years that I have enjoyed more.

And yet I don't think I'll mind so much 

to see it go.

Welcome, Summer!

 

On the last day of school it is our long standing tradition to consume ice cream in some form, be it a simple cone or a sundae at home.  This year we had more to celebrate than could be handled by a mere single scoop at Rite Aid.

First year of homeschool - check

First year of high school - check

Last year for Guy to deal with certain unnamed challenges at work - double check

Oh, and in case you want to have a gluten free/dairy free fest, you can't go wrong with a banana split, hold the ice cream, whipping cream, chocolate sauce, caramel, and sprinkles (gluten-filled, who knew?).  That means sorbet and fruit sauce.  She didn't even complain.  Man, I would have!

 Whoops.  They accidentally made the Jumbo Sundae instead of the Jr., and brought it anyway.  

Ellie was a little daunted.

 No worries, Jonah is happy to help.  

 No eye contact or smiles, but at least there's no hand in my lens.

It weighed more than he does, but he polished it off!

Things I am grateful for this school year:

Support from my little homeschool community... Kathy and Amanda have seen me through many homeschool tears.  No, not the kids' tears, mine!

Tyler.  He has been such a gentle presence in Ethan's life.  Thank Heaven for 

my children's friends.

My patient husband who single-handedly got one of our children through his particular grade ( you will have to guess which one, as I am holding true not to blog specifically about this individual, but I will give you a hint:  He is not homeschooled, and he doesn't wear a diaper).

My husband again, for supporting me in my continuing scholarly pursuits.

My husband again, just 'cuz he's cute.  

What can I say, I have a short attention span.  

Mention my sweetie and I get all googley-brained.

Watching my kids get excited about owl barf, Egyptian mummies, 100 year old books (Our latest fave: Freckles by Gene Porter Stratton), and anything that includes food coloring, baking soda and vinegar.

Knowing what my kids know, what they don't, and knowing how not to freak them out about any of it.

The state we live in that will give my kids funding for their interests, which have included:

gymnastics

fencing

Lego engineering

rocketry

ancient history and art classes

a fabulous microscope

at least 8 reams of paper

really good art supplies

and countless other books, CDs, computer programs, games and online classes.

It would have been a much duller year without them.

That we live in a country that allows my children to become educated, boys and girls, and the promise of choosing their future occupation, government and religion.

Things I have not missed this year:

Buying the dang tissues, soap and pretty much everything else for my kids classes.

Carpooling.  

No wait, that wasn't the bad part, actually that was awesome because it guaranteed me multiple contacts with Ellen every week, which I really miss.  No, it is the DRIVING 

and the stupid PICK UP LOOP that I DO NOT miss!

Being told what I am not allowed to bring my kids at school.  No homemade goodies?  Honestly?

Having someone who barely knows my child tell me "about" my child.

Signing in.

Signing out.

Being told how I will spend my evening time with my children.

Uniforms.

Making lunches.  Now I just say "go eat something". 

4 -10 PM homework misery.

Oh, one more thing for my gratitude list:

SUMMER VACATION.

Um, No, I'm not. But thanks for asking.

Last week I wore a dress to church that I could finally fit into and I was feeling pretty cute.  That is, until a lady walked up and asked me if I was expecting again.  Really?  REALLY?  Who does that?  Doesn't everyone know the rule?  Unless you see the water break, don't ask.  And maybe not even then. 

Melissa called tonight and asked if my last post was a sly way of announcing something.  Something big and round and 9 months in the making.  So, in case you were having the same thought, the answer is 

HECK NO. 

This is my baby:

And unless God has some other plan, he will be my last baby.  Even if God did have a plan, I wouldn't mind at all if he executed it in some other uterus, and then just let me know when it was time to start changing diapers.  I really and truly wouldn't mind having many more children, but I am kind of not that great at the many-children thing.  I love them, oh, how I love them, but dang, they're messy. 

No, the changes I am talking about have been a result of the choice we have made to homeschool.  At first I told myself I was not going to be one of those wack-a-doo mamas that lets homeschool take over her life.  You know the ones; time line around the living room walls, bookshelves in every corner, a mini-van that vomits library books, and food that doubles as science experiments.

Well, I have the shelves and the book-puking van, but don't have the time line.  Yet.

I rearranged the studio this week to accommodate the new bookshelves I bought at a rummage sale.  Jonah staked out the Core Phase shelves as his own little bed.

What is Core Phase, you ask?  It is where we start out.  It's the basics.

It is the time when we learn:

right and wrong

good and bad

true and false

relationships

family values

family routines and responsibilities

accountability

the value and love of work.

Those shelves will be filled with games and books and art supplies and, invisible to the naked eye, lots of one-on-one time with mama.

I am in Core Phase, too.  I have to strip down my way of being with the kids.

I am learning to listen to the kids as they teach me what they are ready to learn, 

which is way harder than you would think. 

I am learning to relax.  

Kids don't have to learn something all at once, only once.  

They can learn bits and pieces of it, return to it over and over, and put the big picture all together themselves.  In fact they are pretty great at it.   

I am learning how to inspire.

It is super-de-duper hard, but when done gently and without demands, it is magical.

  

So, yes, I am changing, but I am not, and hope never again to be, preggers.

Oh, and I'm never wearing that dress again, either.