I had to give up homeschooling before all my kids were through school. My memory of that era, ... well, pregnancies, nursing babies, homeschooling, meals, laundry, ... I really don't remember much at all. But I thought I remembered being an abysmal failure at homeschooling.
Because we couldn't afford to join the Homeschool Legal Defense Association, I saved everything the kids did. I wanted to keep proof of what we had done.
And now I'm weeding through that proof.
And throwing out all those assignments. Math. Spelling. Grammar. Writing. Handwriting. Science. Thinking Skills. Book after book, binder after binder of Jeremy's work. 7 years. Book after book, binder after binder of Matthew's work. 8 years. Louisa's. Seven years. Elsie's. Six years. And even Clara's. Four years. A few of Sophie's, John's, and Stella's but not much. The kids went into school the year John was going into first grade.
I can't believe how much they got done. Really. I paged through most of the workbooks, expecting to find big chunks of incomplete work. But no.
I have no memory of all the work they did. Only of all the fights. All the nagging. All the failure. All the sitting in the school room on Monday morning throwing together some assignment lists. All the tripping over the ever growing piles of dirty laundry. Joe cooking supper, because I was still busy with school.
I even had a gradebook. I had a couple full years worth of grades entered. For each and every assignment. Each and every child. Impressive.
I am, ... stunned. Without words.
I guess, ... I guess, ... I guess I'm not a failure after all.
Kids! Jeremy, Matt, Louisa, Elsie, Clara, I'm sorry I only remember the hard parts of it. I'd love to remember all those accomplishments.
You other homeschool moms out there, don't despair. You're likely doing much more than you think. But save their work so that one day, you'll find out.
Showing posts with label home school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home school. Show all posts
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Saturday, December 27, 2014
John's bedtime reading
Although I no longer officially teach most of my kids at home, I do keep some of my favorite children's books on a shelf in our main hallway in the hopes curious or bored little person will pick up something and learn. After watching the Liberty Kids DVDs all day today, John did just that.
America's Frontiers
Cornerstones of Freedom
- The Story of the Constitution
- The Story of the Declaration of Independence
- Mt. Vernon
- The Story of The Thirteen Colonies
- Valley Forge
If you grew up with George Washington
If you lived in the time of the
American Revolution
A History of Us: From Colonies to
Country
The Golden Book History of the United
States: The Age of Revolution
Benjamin Franklin, a Photo Illustrated
Biography
The Story of Benjamin Franklin, Amazing
American
A discovery book: Benjamin Franklin
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Homeschool Geekness, er, uh, I mean, fun.
Before Joe and I had kids, we were known to sigh contentedly and say, "There is no hope for our kids. They have little or no chance of avoiding geekdom." Because, you see, we are both in our own ways, such geeky, nerdy, dorky people.
Once the kids started coming, and we started to see their various personalities, our conviction was only reinforced.
One of the ways this geekness exhibited itself throughout the years, was that in the middle of some meal, Joe or I would suddenly have an irresistible compulsion to look something up in the dictionary. Some tidbit of conversation or some memory of something from earlier in the day would effect the sudden rush to the dictionary to look something up.
Which new information would then likely effect more looking up of more things. Kind of a stream of consciousness pursuit of knowledge. Please note I say knowledge, not wisdom. I make no claim to have gained anything in wisdom.
But it's fun. It suits us.
These days we tend instead to run to the kitchen computer to google things. But since we try to discourage computer use during meals, it kind of puts a damper on that sort of mealtime research.
Not totally, however.
When we homeschooled all of our kids, our noon meals often consisted of such learning opportunities. We have a large world map and a large US map mounted on the wall behind our dining room table. Sometimes our learning came out with some geographical study. Other times we'd pull out the dictionary or a volume of the encyclopedia or whatever reference work suited our needs.
Today at lunch/dinner/noon meal, we lapsed briefly into our former fun with Sophie and Clara. It must have just been one of those days, where the planets all lined up just right or something (I'm joking, please, nobody take that last phrase seriously).
Anyway, at least three things came up that tickled that little geek spot in my brain.
First, Clara was once again giving me the Zoolander looks. She easily remembers the names of two of the looks, Blue Steele and Magnum. I thought one of the others was Tahiti, so I threw that in.
"Tahiti? I thought that was some sort of food Dad uses to make hummus."
"That would be tahini. Sesame paste. I said Tahiti. It's a Pacific Island."
I saw Clara look toward the map and contemplate getting up to find it, but she somehow managed to curb her impulse.
I did check the Derek Zoolander faces and there is no Tahiti. I think I must have stored Ferrari under the Tahiti bit in my brain. Strange.
Anyway, it was fun to see Clara look at the map. And although we've really been working on restricting the wandering around during meals that has become epidemic, I almost wanted her to get up and find Tahiti.
A little later, we got talking about the word decimate.
As I learned recently, in the strictest sense, decimate means to reduce by 10%. It comes from Roman times. A punishment used by military leaders to deter insubordination was to divide the troops into groups of ten. Each group drew lots and whoever drew the certain lot was executed by the other nine. I had never known that meaning. I was only familiar with its sense of meaning to wipe out or do severe damage to something. Since then, I've been wondering if the "wipe out" meaning of the word is wrong. I mean, whether I was wrong in thinking that was the meaning. But until today, I kept forgetting to check.
We were recently given a box of paper backs. We're trying hard not to accumulate stuff, and books are seriously our weakness. So before simply taking this box of hand-me-downs to the thrift store, I grabbed one to try out. White Indian, by Donald Clay Porter. Apparently it's the first of a series of 28 books depicting the settlement era of America from the point of view of Native American peoples.
Anyway, near the beginning of this book, the author describes one of the tribes wiping out Fort Springfield, along the Connecticut River. And in context, they destroyed the fort, burning it to the ground and killing all but one infant child. Mr. Porter used the phrase, "literally decimated." I found that an interesting use of the word literally. Since with my newfound literacy with regard to the word decimate, a literal meaning would imply the Roman punishment. I pictured the Native braves making the settlers draw lots and execute 1/10 of themselves.
So I mentioned this conundrum to Joe at dinner today. Sophie immediately ran to get a dictionary. I was so happy! A girl after my own heart.
As she was looking up the word decimate, Joe asked me if I'd ever heard the word ineluctable. I had not. But I couldn't resist a little bit of smart alek answer, "Well, the in- would mean not, and the -able would refer to one's ability to do something. So, ... not being able to eluct, I guess."
Clara, though, Clara was thinking. "What does the -luct- in reluctant meant?"
"Good girl, Clara!" cheered I.
She looked a little perplexed.
"You discovered a cognate. A word that shares a similar root. That's a great way to figure these things out. Now it happens that neither Dad or I know -luct-, but it's still a great observation."
By this time Sophie had found decimate,
Oh, and we learned that Tahiti is neither a food, nor one of the faces of Zoolander.
Once the kids started coming, and we started to see their various personalities, our conviction was only reinforced.
One of the ways this geekness exhibited itself throughout the years, was that in the middle of some meal, Joe or I would suddenly have an irresistible compulsion to look something up in the dictionary. Some tidbit of conversation or some memory of something from earlier in the day would effect the sudden rush to the dictionary to look something up.
Which new information would then likely effect more looking up of more things. Kind of a stream of consciousness pursuit of knowledge. Please note I say knowledge, not wisdom. I make no claim to have gained anything in wisdom.
But it's fun. It suits us.
These days we tend instead to run to the kitchen computer to google things. But since we try to discourage computer use during meals, it kind of puts a damper on that sort of mealtime research.
Not totally, however.
When we homeschooled all of our kids, our noon meals often consisted of such learning opportunities. We have a large world map and a large US map mounted on the wall behind our dining room table. Sometimes our learning came out with some geographical study. Other times we'd pull out the dictionary or a volume of the encyclopedia or whatever reference work suited our needs.
Today at lunch/dinner/noon meal, we lapsed briefly into our former fun with Sophie and Clara. It must have just been one of those days, where the planets all lined up just right or something (I'm joking, please, nobody take that last phrase seriously).
Anyway, at least three things came up that tickled that little geek spot in my brain.
First, Clara was once again giving me the Zoolander looks. She easily remembers the names of two of the looks, Blue Steele and Magnum. I thought one of the others was Tahiti, so I threw that in.
"Tahiti? I thought that was some sort of food Dad uses to make hummus."
"That would be tahini. Sesame paste. I said Tahiti. It's a Pacific Island."
I saw Clara look toward the map and contemplate getting up to find it, but she somehow managed to curb her impulse.
I did check the Derek Zoolander faces and there is no Tahiti. I think I must have stored Ferrari under the Tahiti bit in my brain. Strange.
Anyway, it was fun to see Clara look at the map. And although we've really been working on restricting the wandering around during meals that has become epidemic, I almost wanted her to get up and find Tahiti.
A little later, we got talking about the word decimate.
As I learned recently, in the strictest sense, decimate means to reduce by 10%. It comes from Roman times. A punishment used by military leaders to deter insubordination was to divide the troops into groups of ten. Each group drew lots and whoever drew the certain lot was executed by the other nine. I had never known that meaning. I was only familiar with its sense of meaning to wipe out or do severe damage to something. Since then, I've been wondering if the "wipe out" meaning of the word is wrong. I mean, whether I was wrong in thinking that was the meaning. But until today, I kept forgetting to check.
We were recently given a box of paper backs. We're trying hard not to accumulate stuff, and books are seriously our weakness. So before simply taking this box of hand-me-downs to the thrift store, I grabbed one to try out. White Indian, by Donald Clay Porter. Apparently it's the first of a series of 28 books depicting the settlement era of America from the point of view of Native American peoples.
Anyway, near the beginning of this book, the author describes one of the tribes wiping out Fort Springfield, along the Connecticut River. And in context, they destroyed the fort, burning it to the ground and killing all but one infant child. Mr. Porter used the phrase, "literally decimated." I found that an interesting use of the word literally. Since with my newfound literacy with regard to the word decimate, a literal meaning would imply the Roman punishment. I pictured the Native braves making the settlers draw lots and execute 1/10 of themselves.
So I mentioned this conundrum to Joe at dinner today. Sophie immediately ran to get a dictionary. I was so happy! A girl after my own heart.
As she was looking up the word decimate, Joe asked me if I'd ever heard the word ineluctable. I had not. But I couldn't resist a little bit of smart alek answer, "Well, the in- would mean not, and the -able would refer to one's ability to do something. So, ... not being able to eluct, I guess."
Clara, though, Clara was thinking. "What does the -luct- in reluctant meant?"
"Good girl, Clara!" cheered I.
She looked a little perplexed.
"You discovered a cognate. A word that shares a similar root. That's a great way to figure these things out. Now it happens that neither Dad or I know -luct-, but it's still a great observation."
By this time Sophie had found decimate,
I had her look up ineluctable, too.dec·i·mateˈdesəˌmāt/verbverb: decimate; 3rd person present: decimates; past tense: decimated; past participle: decimated; gerund or present participle: decimating
And so we learned two new words. Or at least one new word and a bigger usage of a second word. We learned more about the roots of the word reluctant. And so will be able to notice the root in other words in which it might occur.in·e·luc·ta·bleˌiniˈləktəbəl/adjectiveadjective: ineluctable
Oh, and we learned that Tahiti is neither a food, nor one of the faces of Zoolander.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
This meaning or that? aka, Demonstrative Adjective or Demonstrative Pronoun?
I'm a rules person. I like my grammar nice and neat. But I find myself frequently telling my girls, Sophie and Clara, during their homeschooling, that some aspects of grammar are open to interpretation. For example, when to use less common punctuation such as an M-dash, a colon, parentheses, ellipses, etc.
Yesterday we ran into one that was so clear to me, but the curriculum materials had explained it differently. I asked Joe, and he agreed with the curriculum. I looked it up in Writers Inc, and ... gues what!! I won!! I mean, I was right.
The dilemma: Is the word that always a demonstrative pronoun?
When the girls do their grammar lessons, they are given an excerpt from their current reader, a paragraph or two, perhaps five to eight lines. They are instructed to make certain grammatical observations and notations regarding the given paragraph.
In the example that caused the murkiness yesterday, they were to find and mark all the pronouns. The hint they were given: "The words that and which are pronouns."
I don't disagree that that and which can be pronouns. But I don't think they are always pronouns. Especially not that. I still have to think a little bit more about which.
That can be a demonstrative pronoun. Can you please bring that to me?
That can also be a demonstrative adjective. Can you please bring that pencil to me?
This explanation is clear as a bell to me. It's so fundamental to how I "think grammar" that I absolutely wouldn't consider it even worthy of discussion.
But in Clara and Sophie's grammar lesson, there was that hint: "The words that and which are pronouns."
The selection in which those thats occurred?
When I found myself once again in disagreement with the curriculum, I asked my husband, Mr. Languages. "I've never heard of a demonstrative adjective. Those are pronouns. That is always a pronoun."
Hmmm.
But I was unwilling to let it go. I pulled out Writers Inc, the recommended writing manual for use with our curriculum.
According to Writers Inc,
"I'll just look up demonstrative adjectives, to check what they say there."
Writers Inc on adjectives,
But there's still that which to deal with. My gut reaction is that it's a subordinating conjunction, introducing the dependent clause. I don't find which in any lists of possible subordinating conjunctions. But there are so many possibilities, that the lists usually say something like, "and many other words," or, "etc." So I can probably include it there if I want. Count it as one of those mury places in the English language.
But I have to admit that it might just be a pronoun.
Yesterday we ran into one that was so clear to me, but the curriculum materials had explained it differently. I asked Joe, and he agreed with the curriculum. I looked it up in Writers Inc, and ... gues what!! I won!! I mean, I was right.
The dilemma: Is the word that always a demonstrative pronoun?
When the girls do their grammar lessons, they are given an excerpt from their current reader, a paragraph or two, perhaps five to eight lines. They are instructed to make certain grammatical observations and notations regarding the given paragraph.
In the example that caused the murkiness yesterday, they were to find and mark all the pronouns. The hint they were given: "The words that and which are pronouns."
I don't disagree that that and which can be pronouns. But I don't think they are always pronouns. Especially not that. I still have to think a little bit more about which.
That can be a demonstrative pronoun. Can you please bring that to me?
That can also be a demonstrative adjective. Can you please bring that pencil to me?
This explanation is clear as a bell to me. It's so fundamental to how I "think grammar" that I absolutely wouldn't consider it even worthy of discussion.
But in Clara and Sophie's grammar lesson, there was that hint: "The words that and which are pronouns."
The selection in which those thats occurred?
My story will tell much of that little strip of land called Canaan to the south, between us and the accursed land of Egypt, which was only a name to me when I was a child. For all the wealth and all the armies and all the glories of the nations have passed through that little land and probably always will; and the story of the kings of Canaan is the story of the world. (from Hittite Warrior, by Joanne Williamson)I've shaded the two thats in that selection. Both to me are quite obviously adjectives. That strip. That land.
When I found myself once again in disagreement with the curriculum, I asked my husband, Mr. Languages. "I've never heard of a demonstrative adjective. Those are pronouns. That is always a pronoun."
Hmmm.
But I was unwilling to let it go. I pulled out Writers Inc, the recommended writing manual for use with our curriculum.
According to Writers Inc,
504.3 Demonstrative PronounsThat would seem to imply that the uses in the paragraph above are not pronouns, since the definition specifies, "without naming them." And none of the examples are of the same construction as the paragraph in the girls' school lesson.
A demonstrative pronoun points out people, places, or things without naming them.
This shouldn't be too hard. That looks about right.
These are the best ones. Those ought to be thrown out.
"I'll just look up demonstrative adjectives, to check what they say there."
Writers Inc on adjectives,
from section 513.1 Types of AdjectivesYes, I'm a little competitive. Just a little, really. But I felt like spiking the football.
NOTE: Some words can be either adjectives or pronouns (that, these, all, each, both, many, some, etc.). These words are adjectives when they come before the nouns they modify; they are pronouns when they stand alone.
But there's still that which to deal with. My gut reaction is that it's a subordinating conjunction, introducing the dependent clause. I don't find which in any lists of possible subordinating conjunctions. But there are so many possibilities, that the lists usually say something like, "and many other words," or, "etc." So I can probably include it there if I want. Count it as one of those mury places in the English language.
But I have to admit that it might just be a pronoun.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Quiet Sick Day Activities
With Clara and Sophie at home for school this year, the dynamic of our home has once again changed. Inge is getting used to being home without the other littles to play with. She's been very good most days. But there have been times she's bored, and needs a little direction in occupying herself.
While digging out homeschool stuff for Clara and Sophie, I found some hanging files that I was organized enough at one point (must have been in a previous life), to assemble. They are mostly photocopied worksheets and pages ripped out of various activity books. And they are all filed by subject and approximate ability level. Inge's been keeping busy with the pre-school and kindergarten ones, learning her beginning consonant sounds, writing and working with letters and numbers.
Donna, Stella, and John have been sick this week, and those files have come in handy to occupy them, too. During their recovery hours they've had fun "doing school" with Clara and Sophie.
This morning, John worked in a geography book. He's very interested in the German language and Germany, since his social studies teacher, Mr. F., teaches the kids a little bit of German throughout the year. He asked first to do a Germany map. But since the book is organzied by geographic region, rather than country, John chose to study Europe. He filled in the names of the Countries of Europe on the blank outline map. Then he went onto the computer and did some interactive practice with those same countries. He worked with one of my favorite learning game websites, Sheppard Software.
He also found some worksheets on our national symbols, so he worked through those, and then did some reading on the internet, on Ben's Guide to U. S. Government, a child friendly site filled with information on our country, much of it at two learning levels. I asked John to read the sections on our National Buildings and Symbols. He also read about Mt. Rushmore, since we were recently there; and the USMC Memorial, since his brother is now a Marine. Then he took an online quiz on the national symbols at the Texas Law Related Education website. He said it was really easy, but when I asked more specifics, he admitted it probably wouldn't have been easy had he not read about the symbols ahead of time.
Inge just brought a worksheet to me: What do I have to do here?
theMom: In the lines on the top part, you practice making 8s. On the bottom, you draw eight cookies for Cookie Monster.
Inge, with her high, squeaky amazed voice said: But I already know how to make 8s.
What a blessing it is to have my kids home! And what a blessing to have such wonderful and caring teachers to which to send them since I can't do it all.
While digging out homeschool stuff for Clara and Sophie, I found some hanging files that I was organized enough at one point (must have been in a previous life), to assemble. They are mostly photocopied worksheets and pages ripped out of various activity books. And they are all filed by subject and approximate ability level. Inge's been keeping busy with the pre-school and kindergarten ones, learning her beginning consonant sounds, writing and working with letters and numbers.
Donna, Stella, and John have been sick this week, and those files have come in handy to occupy them, too. During their recovery hours they've had fun "doing school" with Clara and Sophie.
This morning, John worked in a geography book. He's very interested in the German language and Germany, since his social studies teacher, Mr. F., teaches the kids a little bit of German throughout the year. He asked first to do a Germany map. But since the book is organzied by geographic region, rather than country, John chose to study Europe. He filled in the names of the Countries of Europe on the blank outline map. Then he went onto the computer and did some interactive practice with those same countries. He worked with one of my favorite learning game websites, Sheppard Software.
He also found some worksheets on our national symbols, so he worked through those, and then did some reading on the internet, on Ben's Guide to U. S. Government, a child friendly site filled with information on our country, much of it at two learning levels. I asked John to read the sections on our National Buildings and Symbols. He also read about Mt. Rushmore, since we were recently there; and the USMC Memorial, since his brother is now a Marine. Then he took an online quiz on the national symbols at the Texas Law Related Education website. He said it was really easy, but when I asked more specifics, he admitted it probably wouldn't have been easy had he not read about the symbols ahead of time.
Inge just brought a worksheet to me: What do I have to do here?
theMom: In the lines on the top part, you practice making 8s. On the bottom, you draw eight cookies for Cookie Monster.
Inge, with her high, squeaky amazed voice said: But I already know how to make 8s.
What a blessing it is to have my kids home! And what a blessing to have such wonderful and caring teachers to which to send them since I can't do it all.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Some thoughts on my recent re-entry into the homeschool world
First thought
Sophie finished two days' worth of lessons yesterday so that she could sew today. I hauled out the sewing machine (which is sadly only about a once in every two years occurrence). I got the it threaded and the tensions all set. Sophie found some fabric someone had given the girls for craft type projects at one time.
As I write, she's pinning two sides of a pillow together. We've talked about seam allowances; marking them first or using the gauge on the machine; how and why to pin; and the pros and cons of running over pins vs taking them out.
After she's done pinning, I'll have her practice on some scrap fabric, sewing straight lines and then progressively harder curves for a little bit, before she works on her pillow.
It makes me kick myself a little bit, "This is so easy and so fun. Why haven't I done it more often?" But then I must stop to remind myself, "Most of your years of mothering, Mary, have been spent in pregnancy, nursing babies, and teaching many children at multiple ages. Now you can relax and enjoy it a little bit more with these girls. You only have one preschooler, and two to school."
Second thought
As I came into the living room after getting Sophie started, I saw a little pile of school pictures on the counter. I assume they are some one of the kids brought home from their school friends, since I don't remember seeing them there before.
Which then made me a little sad because of something that happened the other day. The day they got their pictures back.
Poor little Donna! She was so sad. Traumatized even, when she realized that I hadn't ordered any pictures and she just had and empty envelope with a black and white proof to bring home. The other kids all had pretty color pictures that they could share with their friends. She sat on my lap and just cried out of sadness.
This almost broke my heart. And over such a silly thing, too. It's just one of her first little lessons in peer pressure and wanting to be like everyone else. And have what others have.
But I simply can't get myself to spend money on school pictures. Firstly, when I think about the cost, it's crazy, ... multiplied by three kids, it could by a weeks worth of groceries for us. But besides that, I see how they lie around my house. The kids want to keep them nice, they intend to keep them nice. But they lie around. They get shoved here and there; torn and scratched and otherwise beat up. Sometimes pin holes in eyes and mustaches drawn on. Until kids are old enough to treat them well, why should I pay my money so my child can give a picture to someone who's going to treat it like I see my kids treating their friends' pictures. Or are not all kids like that?
Yes, I could get them to send to friends and relatives. But I know myself well enough to know what would happen to those pictures. They'd sit here and rot, because even with my best intentions, I know full well I'd never get them in the mail.
And so my kids don't get pictures. Is that depriving them too severely? I don't think so.
Until we have moments like Donna's the other day.
Sophie finished two days' worth of lessons yesterday so that she could sew today. I hauled out the sewing machine (which is sadly only about a once in every two years occurrence). I got the it threaded and the tensions all set. Sophie found some fabric someone had given the girls for craft type projects at one time.
As I write, she's pinning two sides of a pillow together. We've talked about seam allowances; marking them first or using the gauge on the machine; how and why to pin; and the pros and cons of running over pins vs taking them out.
After she's done pinning, I'll have her practice on some scrap fabric, sewing straight lines and then progressively harder curves for a little bit, before she works on her pillow.
It makes me kick myself a little bit, "This is so easy and so fun. Why haven't I done it more often?" But then I must stop to remind myself, "Most of your years of mothering, Mary, have been spent in pregnancy, nursing babies, and teaching many children at multiple ages. Now you can relax and enjoy it a little bit more with these girls. You only have one preschooler, and two to school."
Second thought
As I came into the living room after getting Sophie started, I saw a little pile of school pictures on the counter. I assume they are some one of the kids brought home from their school friends, since I don't remember seeing them there before.
Which then made me a little sad because of something that happened the other day. The day they got their pictures back.
Poor little Donna! She was so sad. Traumatized even, when she realized that I hadn't ordered any pictures and she just had and empty envelope with a black and white proof to bring home. The other kids all had pretty color pictures that they could share with their friends. She sat on my lap and just cried out of sadness.
This almost broke my heart. And over such a silly thing, too. It's just one of her first little lessons in peer pressure and wanting to be like everyone else. And have what others have.
But I simply can't get myself to spend money on school pictures. Firstly, when I think about the cost, it's crazy, ... multiplied by three kids, it could by a weeks worth of groceries for us. But besides that, I see how they lie around my house. The kids want to keep them nice, they intend to keep them nice. But they lie around. They get shoved here and there; torn and scratched and otherwise beat up. Sometimes pin holes in eyes and mustaches drawn on. Until kids are old enough to treat them well, why should I pay my money so my child can give a picture to someone who's going to treat it like I see my kids treating their friends' pictures. Or are not all kids like that?
Yes, I could get them to send to friends and relatives. But I know myself well enough to know what would happen to those pictures. They'd sit here and rot, because even with my best intentions, I know full well I'd never get them in the mail.
And so my kids don't get pictures. Is that depriving them too severely? I don't think so.
Until we have moments like Donna's the other day.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Teaching. Sorting. Digging. Finding. Harvesting. Magic Schoolbusing. Not Finding.
Uffda! So far this week for school for Sophie and Clara, I've been filling in with busy work: reading and dictation, and grammar by identifying parts of speech in their dictation; some unused pages ripped from Elsie and Jeremy's Thinking Skills books from way back when; penmanship, again unused pages from other used books;. and some math and geography lessons I had at one point printed up from on-line sources that were never used.
But today! Today. This afternoon, after the girls had worked on the above sorts of things for an adequate amount of time, so we got to some chores that needed to be done.
We had found all Jeremy's old Magic School Bus computer games that he had gotten for Christmas from Uncle Mark and Aunt Lisa. Wow that was a long time ago. Just a little context for how old these are, ... we had to change the setting on my Windows 7 computer to work at a Windows 95 level. So Inge was able to travel through time to learn about dinosaurs while the rest of us worked.
Clara surprised me by harvesting the ripened tomatoes that I had been trying to get to. She also picked the bushel or so of apples that our most mature but still young tree produced this year. It's so fun to finally be getting fruit from it after all these years.
While Clara was doing that Sophie and I dug through about 20 boxes of books that had been boxed up in the store room since we converted the school room to Louisa's bedroom. Ooh, for mildew smell on the bottom layer. Made me want to cry.
But the good news is that we've found almost all we need for a successful school year.
But we found unused spelling books and penmanship books.
I found many science ideas. I'll just have to decide which to use. I have many of the TOPS science books, a very fun hands-on approach to science that I think the girls could do on their own. This would be things like Electricity and magnetism, Light and color, studying life science with things like grains and beans, and I don't remember what all I have down there.
And they could also choose The Human Body (or introductory anatomy), for which I have many resources. My favorite of these is Daryl Vriesenga's Human Body workbook that has basic and detailed fill-in worksheets for all the body parts and systems, plus a cut and glue model of the human body, layered from drawings of all the various body systems.
I also have Apologia General Science, but I think that would be better a few years from now if I want both girls to be able to work together. It's a little advanced for Sophie to reap the full benefits. And I think Clara is probably still just borderline ready for it when I remember the homeschool necessity of independent work.
I had asked the girls whether they wanted World History, American history, or an in-depth study of a smaller period like Renaissance/Reformation/Enlightenment, or Medieval History, etc. They both agreed they'd prefer World History so that makes it easy. I found the Level 6 and 7 Sonlight boxes and the box that had all the teacher's guides and reproducibles. Those will have all we need for grammar, writing, reading, and World History I and II. We'll have to see how far we get.
Clara is interested in learning Spanish, and I have many, many resources for that. I think the one most appropriate to her age is the Elementary Powerglide program. We also have a Standard Deviants Spanish DVD; and an Instant Immersion Spanish set of discs, that I think we got with our first HP computer. And we have many, many Spanish picture books, including the Adventures with Nicholas books from Berlitz.
Sophie wants to study Latin, so I had to order that. I decided upon Getting Started with Latin, which is designed for independent homeschool learners whose teachers are entirely unfamiliar with Latin. Sounds like just the thing for us.
I didn't find the aBeka Pre-algebra book that I know I saved. Jeremy had used only the first handful of pages and then went into 8th grade in Oklee. I can't imagine I sold it. But where? Where would I have stored it? I hope I don't have to order another of those, since they're kind of expensive. But I also don't want to wait much longer before ordering... What to do, what to do.
And I'll also order some Singapore Math workbooks for Sophie. We have the text books, but no workbooks that are unused.
It feels good to be ready. And it's nice we have so many things we don't need to purchase.
But today! Today. This afternoon, after the girls had worked on the above sorts of things for an adequate amount of time, so we got to some chores that needed to be done.
We had found all Jeremy's old Magic School Bus computer games that he had gotten for Christmas from Uncle Mark and Aunt Lisa. Wow that was a long time ago. Just a little context for how old these are, ... we had to change the setting on my Windows 7 computer to work at a Windows 95 level. So Inge was able to travel through time to learn about dinosaurs while the rest of us worked.
Clara surprised me by harvesting the ripened tomatoes that I had been trying to get to. She also picked the bushel or so of apples that our most mature but still young tree produced this year. It's so fun to finally be getting fruit from it after all these years.
While Clara was doing that Sophie and I dug through about 20 boxes of books that had been boxed up in the store room since we converted the school room to Louisa's bedroom. Ooh, for mildew smell on the bottom layer. Made me want to cry.
But the good news is that we've found almost all we need for a successful school year.
But we found unused spelling books and penmanship books.
I found many science ideas. I'll just have to decide which to use. I have many of the TOPS science books, a very fun hands-on approach to science that I think the girls could do on their own. This would be things like Electricity and magnetism, Light and color, studying life science with things like grains and beans, and I don't remember what all I have down there.
And they could also choose The Human Body (or introductory anatomy), for which I have many resources. My favorite of these is Daryl Vriesenga's Human Body workbook that has basic and detailed fill-in worksheets for all the body parts and systems, plus a cut and glue model of the human body, layered from drawings of all the various body systems.
I also have Apologia General Science, but I think that would be better a few years from now if I want both girls to be able to work together. It's a little advanced for Sophie to reap the full benefits. And I think Clara is probably still just borderline ready for it when I remember the homeschool necessity of independent work.
I had asked the girls whether they wanted World History, American history, or an in-depth study of a smaller period like Renaissance/Reformation/Enlightenment, or Medieval History, etc. They both agreed they'd prefer World History so that makes it easy. I found the Level 6 and 7 Sonlight boxes and the box that had all the teacher's guides and reproducibles. Those will have all we need for grammar, writing, reading, and World History I and II. We'll have to see how far we get.
Clara is interested in learning Spanish, and I have many, many resources for that. I think the one most appropriate to her age is the Elementary Powerglide program. We also have a Standard Deviants Spanish DVD; and an Instant Immersion Spanish set of discs, that I think we got with our first HP computer. And we have many, many Spanish picture books, including the Adventures with Nicholas books from Berlitz.
Sophie wants to study Latin, so I had to order that. I decided upon Getting Started with Latin, which is designed for independent homeschool learners whose teachers are entirely unfamiliar with Latin. Sounds like just the thing for us.
I didn't find the aBeka Pre-algebra book that I know I saved. Jeremy had used only the first handful of pages and then went into 8th grade in Oklee. I can't imagine I sold it. But where? Where would I have stored it? I hope I don't have to order another of those, since they're kind of expensive. But I also don't want to wait much longer before ordering... What to do, what to do.
And I'll also order some Singapore Math workbooks for Sophie. We have the text books, but no workbooks that are unused.
It feels good to be ready. And it's nice we have so many things we don't need to purchase.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Mary's Back to School Store, and her thoughts on having so much stuff
It's that time of year. It's that time of life. Well, it's just plain time. Time to go through all the bins and boxes, bags and piles of stuff. Stuff that built up over time. Stuff, stuff, stuff.
There was a time I was organized. I may not have gotten everything done each year during the "turning over of the wardrobes" seasons. But I was still mostly, somewhat organized. But now, ... boy, oh, boy.
Some readers may remember me having written about the somewhat severe depressive episode I finally sought treatment for over a year ago. I'm very happy to say it's much better now. Not all the way gone, but so very much better. I find myself slowly recapturing the little bits of my life that had gradually descended to chaos during that time. And because my depression came on quite gradually, I hadn't really realized, until I started going through things, how bad it was, and for how long I'd been sliding. I didn't know how long it had been since I'd been able to keep up in a somewhat, mostly orderly fashion. And since that time of former order and organization, my lifestyle and family situation has changed quite a bit.
When I started my family, knowing that we were hoping God would bless us with a larger than average number of children, I shopped second-hand faithfully. I had a system. I had tote bins and boxes for each size and season, and I kept things well stocked. When we needed something, I could simply grab the right bin and pull it out. As my kids started wearing out their clothes, I found myself somewhat compulsively buying and buying, and accepting every offer of hand-me downs.
Until eventually, I was almost literally drowning in children's clothing.
When we homeschooled, it didn't really matter what my kids looked like most days. As long as they were clothed, I was happy. I'm such a "use every part of it" kind of person, that I'd find myself passing on the better quality things to others with kids in school. As a homeschool family, we dind't need nice or trendy school clothes. We were glad to wear out everything to the last thread, even the old 1980s stuff.
OK, not really. At least my kids would strongly disagree with me on that one. I was glad for them to wear such clothes. But they were not so glad. One of my oft-repeated mom sayings is, "You won't go naked with me as your mom. I will always have a selection of clothes for you to wear. But if you want to be picky about your clothes, you'll have to save your money and buy them yourself."
As our kids gradually entered the public school system, the pressure to have nicer things increased. And I'm not talking about just the trendiness, although that was surely part of it. But there is also the simple fact that when my kids went out into the world, I didn't want them wearing the patched and mended-multiple-times, and sometimes unmatched clothing we could wear around home.
It was actually quite a sore subject for me. I really, truly acutely believe in using what we have, and not getting new if what we have still has wear left. I know for a fact that much of what my kids wore was not suitable even for second hand giving. And it made me mad that society's expectations were such that what I considered, "making good or responsible use of our resources," might be by others considered, ... well, ... trashy, or even "being neglectful of my children."
The other thing that has changed for us since my formerly organized days, is that my youngest children are growing up. I no longer have to have a constant, regenerating supply of clothing in each size. I'm getting to the end of it. My older kids mostly buy their own clothes. I'm getting rid of the smaller things. I don't need to keep such a large stockpile of the middle sizes anymore. There is no longer a conceivably infinite number of kids who will need to use those stocked up clothes.
As I go through everything these days, finding all the bags and boxes, bins and piles of things that had backed up during the years I was mostly non-functional, I'm weeding out.
I'm getting rid of most of the worn things. These go to a neighbor's shop for rags if they are really, really worn. But the folks at Goodwill and our local Northern Lights thrift stores have assured me that they will take anything. If it's beyond what will sell second hand in America, they can sent it to other countries where people are less spoiled than we are here. If they can't use something even for that, the cloth can be recycled. That I can live with much more easily than simply throwing things out.
I'm also getting rid of the out-dated styles. I mean, really, Mary! with as many hand-me-downs as we get on a regular basis, do I really need to hang onto that 1980s era dress for a teenager? Or how about that 1990s pair of high wasted jeans iwth the biggish legs and small ankles? None of my more recent kids have worn them. Even the older kids probably only did so under duress. Why keep them? If some little girl in a less prosperous country can enjoy them, then wonderful. And if not, they can always be turned into insulation or mulch, or whatever it is that is made from recycled cloth. Or maybe someone here will buy it for an 80s day at school or a Halloween costume. I don't have to keep it.
Over the past year, I've probably stocked three or four Goodwill stores with my donations alone. I've likely clothed entire towns in developing countries. Really. It was crazy. Whole vanloads of stuff went out my doors.
And still I find more. More stuff. More things to weed out. More piles and bins and boxes and bags.
The good side of it is that I don't really have to school shop. I only have to find the things we have. Because of all the weeding out I've done in the last year, that part of it was relatively easy this year. I did Stella's clothes the other day, just by pulling out the right bin. And today, Donna got to go through the next smaller size. It's still a big job, helping a little one stay on task, trying on a gazillion things. Knowing that I might get interrupted and not be able to finish in one sitting. But at least I don't have to spend money on gas, time on the road to get to the nearest mall, and energy fighting the crowds. And I certainly am glad to not spend the money on new clothes for the kids each year.
Today was also shoe day.
For over a year, I've been unable to get to my packed away shoes. Too many things were in the way. And before that, for several years, everything was getting done only very inadequately. I've ended up buying the cheapest possible new shoes for the kids several times throughout the last several years. I hate doing that. It makes me cringe thinking of it. I know for a fact that I have shoes here for them to wear. But I just can't get to them. And everything is in such disarray it would take forever to find what I need.
But I'm getting there. Today was the day. The day to get all the shoes in our house gathered together, sorted out, bagged up if we're never going to use them, and divvied out to those who need them.
Besides what I have pictured, I also threw away one bag of very worn, hardly anything left of them shoes. (But only after I took the laces out, of course!) And I bagged up two grocery sized bags of nicer shoes for consignment. I used to have two dress shoe bins, one boys' and one girls'; and three athletic shoe bins, small, medium, and large. Now I'm down to one dress shoes bin and one athletic shoes bin. I also have a sandals and flip-flop bin, and a slipper bin, too. Oh, and an unmatched shoe box, too. Where do all those shoes go anyway? I keep thinking they've got to be here somewhere.
It feels so good to be down from eight bins to five. I may still find more as I continue to organize. Most of our home library is still stacked up in the room that formerly was the organized store room. Those boxes of books have been knocked around and dug through, too, so are in as much disarray as everything else around here. It's possible I may yet find a box or two of unsorted shoes when I get time to go through those. Any mother of many will know what I mean, ... one of those boxes that gets thrown together during a frantic cleaning session, but then never put away right. Yep, that's exactly the sort of things I've been trying to find my way through for the last year. All that kind of box. Everywhere. Boxes, bins, piles, bags. Sheesh, where does it all come from?
Here's one final picture. This is one of the things I did the other week. I finally unburied most of my girls' dresses that had been lost in the heaps for way too long. The girls always had a few things. My kids never went to church naked. But it made me a bit sad to think of the sometimes torn or shoddy things they've worn, when we have so many cute things downstairs. But again, it was inaccessible.
I don't even want to tell you how many bags I got rid of that day. Ready? I bagged up nine bags for regular thrift store, plus four for consignment. That was mostly dress clothes for both sexes, and ages infant through 18 years. It was terrible how much stuff had built up.
It feels so good to begin to get organized. It's wonderful and energizing to begin to be efficient and on top of things.
It feels good to have so many things for consignment, that I can put many very nice things into the Goodwill bags. We are so very blessed. God has used our friends and our neighbors to shower us with their extras. And He has blessed our country with incredible material largess.
May I ever remember to thank and praise Him for such providence!
There was a time I was organized. I may not have gotten everything done each year during the "turning over of the wardrobes" seasons. But I was still mostly, somewhat organized. But now, ... boy, oh, boy.
Some readers may remember me having written about the somewhat severe depressive episode I finally sought treatment for over a year ago. I'm very happy to say it's much better now. Not all the way gone, but so very much better. I find myself slowly recapturing the little bits of my life that had gradually descended to chaos during that time. And because my depression came on quite gradually, I hadn't really realized, until I started going through things, how bad it was, and for how long I'd been sliding. I didn't know how long it had been since I'd been able to keep up in a somewhat, mostly orderly fashion. And since that time of former order and organization, my lifestyle and family situation has changed quite a bit.
When I started my family, knowing that we were hoping God would bless us with a larger than average number of children, I shopped second-hand faithfully. I had a system. I had tote bins and boxes for each size and season, and I kept things well stocked. When we needed something, I could simply grab the right bin and pull it out. As my kids started wearing out their clothes, I found myself somewhat compulsively buying and buying, and accepting every offer of hand-me downs.
Until eventually, I was almost literally drowning in children's clothing.
When we homeschooled, it didn't really matter what my kids looked like most days. As long as they were clothed, I was happy. I'm such a "use every part of it" kind of person, that I'd find myself passing on the better quality things to others with kids in school. As a homeschool family, we dind't need nice or trendy school clothes. We were glad to wear out everything to the last thread, even the old 1980s stuff.
OK, not really. At least my kids would strongly disagree with me on that one. I was glad for them to wear such clothes. But they were not so glad. One of my oft-repeated mom sayings is, "You won't go naked with me as your mom. I will always have a selection of clothes for you to wear. But if you want to be picky about your clothes, you'll have to save your money and buy them yourself."
As our kids gradually entered the public school system, the pressure to have nicer things increased. And I'm not talking about just the trendiness, although that was surely part of it. But there is also the simple fact that when my kids went out into the world, I didn't want them wearing the patched and mended-multiple-times, and sometimes unmatched clothing we could wear around home.
It was actually quite a sore subject for me. I really, truly acutely believe in using what we have, and not getting new if what we have still has wear left. I know for a fact that much of what my kids wore was not suitable even for second hand giving. And it made me mad that society's expectations were such that what I considered, "making good or responsible use of our resources," might be by others considered, ... well, ... trashy, or even "being neglectful of my children."
The other thing that has changed for us since my formerly organized days, is that my youngest children are growing up. I no longer have to have a constant, regenerating supply of clothing in each size. I'm getting to the end of it. My older kids mostly buy their own clothes. I'm getting rid of the smaller things. I don't need to keep such a large stockpile of the middle sizes anymore. There is no longer a conceivably infinite number of kids who will need to use those stocked up clothes.
As I go through everything these days, finding all the bags and boxes, bins and piles of things that had backed up during the years I was mostly non-functional, I'm weeding out.
I'm getting rid of most of the worn things. These go to a neighbor's shop for rags if they are really, really worn. But the folks at Goodwill and our local Northern Lights thrift stores have assured me that they will take anything. If it's beyond what will sell second hand in America, they can sent it to other countries where people are less spoiled than we are here. If they can't use something even for that, the cloth can be recycled. That I can live with much more easily than simply throwing things out.
I'm also getting rid of the out-dated styles. I mean, really, Mary! with as many hand-me-downs as we get on a regular basis, do I really need to hang onto that 1980s era dress for a teenager? Or how about that 1990s pair of high wasted jeans iwth the biggish legs and small ankles? None of my more recent kids have worn them. Even the older kids probably only did so under duress. Why keep them? If some little girl in a less prosperous country can enjoy them, then wonderful. And if not, they can always be turned into insulation or mulch, or whatever it is that is made from recycled cloth. Or maybe someone here will buy it for an 80s day at school or a Halloween costume. I don't have to keep it.
Over the past year, I've probably stocked three or four Goodwill stores with my donations alone. I've likely clothed entire towns in developing countries. Really. It was crazy. Whole vanloads of stuff went out my doors.
And still I find more. More stuff. More things to weed out. More piles and bins and boxes and bags.
The good side of it is that I don't really have to school shop. I only have to find the things we have. Because of all the weeding out I've done in the last year, that part of it was relatively easy this year. I did Stella's clothes the other day, just by pulling out the right bin. And today, Donna got to go through the next smaller size. It's still a big job, helping a little one stay on task, trying on a gazillion things. Knowing that I might get interrupted and not be able to finish in one sitting. But at least I don't have to spend money on gas, time on the road to get to the nearest mall, and energy fighting the crowds. And I certainly am glad to not spend the money on new clothes for the kids each year.
Today was also shoe day.
 |
| Mary's church shoe store |
 |
| Mary's athletic shoe store |
 |
| The bags for Goodwill, all shoes. |
It feels so good to be down from eight bins to five. I may still find more as I continue to organize. Most of our home library is still stacked up in the room that formerly was the organized store room. Those boxes of books have been knocked around and dug through, too, so are in as much disarray as everything else around here. It's possible I may yet find a box or two of unsorted shoes when I get time to go through those. Any mother of many will know what I mean, ... one of those boxes that gets thrown together during a frantic cleaning session, but then never put away right. Yep, that's exactly the sort of things I've been trying to find my way through for the last year. All that kind of box. Everywhere. Boxes, bins, piles, bags. Sheesh, where does it all come from?
 |
| Mary's dress store, each part of the rack is a different size or season |
I don't even want to tell you how many bags I got rid of that day. Ready? I bagged up nine bags for regular thrift store, plus four for consignment. That was mostly dress clothes for both sexes, and ages infant through 18 years. It was terrible how much stuff had built up.
It feels so good to begin to get organized. It's wonderful and energizing to begin to be efficient and on top of things.
It feels good to have so many things for consignment, that I can put many very nice things into the Goodwill bags. We are so very blessed. God has used our friends and our neighbors to shower us with their extras. And He has blessed our country with incredible material largess.
May I ever remember to thank and praise Him for such providence!
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Did drill fit Miss Rib? Big!
I haven't been working with Donna too much on official school type things. I'm of the mind that a stimulating home environment is equally valid at this age with any kind of seat work or real school type lessons. Ok, yes, sometimes I'm not very good at providing stimulation, either. But we always have books and toys, games and puzzles, tools and stuff, that active little minds can turn into any kind of learning opportunities. And kids have their innate curiosity and sense of discovery. Who needs a teacher at this age? No offense to any of the great pre-school and kindergarten teachers out there, but, well, there it is. Sorry.
But Sophie likes to play school with Donna and Inge. She pulled out some Kindergarden readers the other day for her "classroom." Since these books were out already, and since Donna is beyond ready, we've been working a little bit each day on reading lessons. Yesterday, Donna graduated from "a" to "i" in her reader. Today, she pulled out her Victory Drill Book to practice the "i" list. The Victory Drill Book is a compilation of lists of 100 words each. Each list, or drill, teaches a certain phonetic lesson.
Donna is easily sounding out her words, so now she likes to stop and talk about the meaning of what she is reading.
Today's drill lesson started with fib, win, sin. Donna didn't know what fib meant, since we don't often use that word. After I explained it, she continued on to win and sin. After she read sin, she stopped again. She pointed to fib and sin and said, "We shouldn't do this or this, but," she continued, pointing then to win, "This is a good thing."
When Donna got to rib, she wasn't sure what that was, so I tickled her on the ribs. Each time after that, when she got to the word rib, she giggled a little bit and said something like, "I don't want you to show me what that one means."
When names come up in the lists, I've always pointed out the capital letters, and explained that names must always start with a capital letter. Today we had Jim and Bill and Jill and Tim, for instance. That made a good lesson to point out the difference between Bill and bill. And when we got to Jim we talked about the Jims we know from our churches; and Jill C. is Donna and Inge's friend, Alexa's mom, so that was fun. My sister who we don't see often has a son named, Tim, so we talked about Cousin Tim, who we see when we go to Grandma Eskew's house.
The other game the kids have always enjoyed playing when we've worked with these drill lists, is to come up with places where the word order makes sense. For instance, today Donna found things like, "Sip did nip Tim." And, "Jim hit pin." The little ones often come up with some pretty cute combinations of things that make sense to them. And almost to me, too.
But my favorite part of all was Donna's little foot, which she kept looping over the hand she was using to hold the book. She'd then point with her toes at each word as she read it. She didn't notice anything strange about it, and I didn't say anything about it. But to me, this little action kind of epitomized the comfort of learning at home. My daughter, snuggled up around me, reading. We, being silly with the fun word games. And her, having the freedom to point at her words with her toes.
I am so blessed to be able to recapture some special school moments with my two remaining little ones.
But Sophie likes to play school with Donna and Inge. She pulled out some Kindergarden readers the other day for her "classroom." Since these books were out already, and since Donna is beyond ready, we've been working a little bit each day on reading lessons. Yesterday, Donna graduated from "a" to "i" in her reader. Today, she pulled out her Victory Drill Book to practice the "i" list. The Victory Drill Book is a compilation of lists of 100 words each. Each list, or drill, teaches a certain phonetic lesson.
Donna is easily sounding out her words, so now she likes to stop and talk about the meaning of what she is reading.
Today's drill lesson started with fib, win, sin. Donna didn't know what fib meant, since we don't often use that word. After I explained it, she continued on to win and sin. After she read sin, she stopped again. She pointed to fib and sin and said, "We shouldn't do this or this, but," she continued, pointing then to win, "This is a good thing."
When Donna got to rib, she wasn't sure what that was, so I tickled her on the ribs. Each time after that, when she got to the word rib, she giggled a little bit and said something like, "I don't want you to show me what that one means."
When names come up in the lists, I've always pointed out the capital letters, and explained that names must always start with a capital letter. Today we had Jim and Bill and Jill and Tim, for instance. That made a good lesson to point out the difference between Bill and bill. And when we got to Jim we talked about the Jims we know from our churches; and Jill C. is Donna and Inge's friend, Alexa's mom, so that was fun. My sister who we don't see often has a son named, Tim, so we talked about Cousin Tim, who we see when we go to Grandma Eskew's house.
The other game the kids have always enjoyed playing when we've worked with these drill lists, is to come up with places where the word order makes sense. For instance, today Donna found things like, "Sip did nip Tim." And, "Jim hit pin." The little ones often come up with some pretty cute combinations of things that make sense to them. And almost to me, too.
But my favorite part of all was Donna's little foot, which she kept looping over the hand she was using to hold the book. She'd then point with her toes at each word as she read it. She didn't notice anything strange about it, and I didn't say anything about it. But to me, this little action kind of epitomized the comfort of learning at home. My daughter, snuggled up around me, reading. We, being silly with the fun word games. And her, having the freedom to point at her words with her toes.
I am so blessed to be able to recapture some special school moments with my two remaining little ones.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Mental Gymnastics: and other forays into the dark and cobweb strewn recesses of my mind
I've been going through a season of personal growth. Strange but true. I feel like a teenager in some ways. But unlike when I was a "teen turning adult," this similar stage of "adult turning into older adult," has plenty of responsibilities to keep me from obsessing about all this personal growth and stretching through which God is leading me. Mostly it's in the back of my mind, but sometimes some revelation comes to me that causes me to think a little bit more intently on this process.
Maybe I've written a little bit about it before. I've been thinking along these lines, a little bit at a time, for two or three years.
The first revelation that came to me, is that I am not my mom. I am also not Naomi Peterson (the dear wife of the ELS Seminary President during Joe's years there, and who became in our young "wife minds," the gold standard of good pastor's wife, to which we all held ourselves). I am not Olivia Walton. Or Ma Ingalls. Or my Grandma Hinderer.
I am Mary. I am my own unique blend of genetics and nurture and experience and faith. I have my own unique mix of struggles and gifts. And in order to best fulfill the vocational callings God has set before me, I have to use ME. The ME God has made me, and not the THEM that I see in all these other women and mistakenly think I ought to be.
This realization hit me about two or three years ago. Since that time, I've been thinking, as time allows, of what this means. What does it mean to be MARY? Who is MARY? What are the traits and gifts that make me unique, and how can I best use them? What are some of the habits I've developed that hide these gifts or bury them?
Within this same period of time our family life has changed in some major ways. Instead of continuing to homeschool, we put our kids into public school. Our oldest son graduated. We went from all elementary children, all at home; to having several high school aged kids who drive, and work away from home, and join the Marines, and go to Italy for foreign exchange.
I stopped having babies. At least for now. At this time God has said, "No more." No more of the constant pregnancies, constant newborn stage, constant nursing of infants, constant diaper bags and etc. All that goes along with a woman at the stage in which her primary vocation is the bearing and nurturing of babies and young children. All of that is set aside.
And related to that last is the fact that I am entering that stage of life often called peri-menopause. The years during which a woman's hormones go stark raving mad, and which will lead eventually to full menopause. The best description I've seen of this time of life was in the title of a blog I found a while back, Peri-menopause: Yes, it is real; and No, you are not crazy. All the women I know who are about my age are experiencing their own unique brand of crazy.
For me, the primary example of my unique brand of crazy is this depression in which I find myself. Through it I've seen sides of myself I hope to never meet again. Through it, I've come to feel more empathy, understanding, and patience toward others who struggle similarly.
And this whole depression thing also relates directly to one angle of this most recent exploration of my mind, heart, and soul. This will be hard to describe, so please bear with me. The reason I here draw a connection with the depression is because of the prozac I'm on. One of my fears in going on prozac is losing my inhibitions. I have a friend who behaved and spoke in a very uncharacteristic fashion after she went on prozac. It was almost as though every sinful thought and deed that she had previously held in, came tumbling out in one fell swoop. Her filters were suddenly missing. It was a hard time for everyone close to her, until she realized what was going on and asked to be put on a different medicine.
But I'm a pastor's wife. I can't afford to risk being irresponsible in my talk and behavior. It is one of the things my husband and I talked about before I started taking prozac. I can't lose my filters. I've talked to my closest friends about these fears. I've exhorted them to please tell me if I start talking or acting in a fashion that seems out of character.
But here's the rub. The crux. I'll bring it full circle later, and you'll see the full connection then.
The combination of trying to be a "good pastor's wife," and dedicating my whole self for the last 19 years to raising my children, has left me feeling like a shell. An empty skin of person who is almost no longer ME. Suddenly I find myself with strange new opportunities to interact with others, and have opinions, and socialize even, in ways I haven't in forever-and-a-day. And I find that I no longer know who I am or how to behave in such situations. How do I "put myself out there"? And how ought I not so to do? What parameters ought I to have? I can no longer simply occupy myself with a fussing baby or dirty diaper in order to avoid such decisions. I have to be. I have to live.
Now let me be clear. I am in no way implying that mothering children is not living or being. It is probably the richest sense of life and being that there is. But like anything else in this life, it will gradually come to an end. Even now, even with almost all my children still at home, and two little ones still home all the time, even now my life has changed. My whole entire self is not occupied in the minutiae of mothering, as it was in former times. And those portions of myself that are now less occupied are having a little bit of a hard time figuring out who they are, who they want to be, and who they ought and ought not to be.
I used the following phrase with Joe the other day, "I'm tired of being good. I've been good for so long I don't know how to be Mary."
Joe's response, "What part of Mary is not good? Why do Mary and good have to be opposites?"
My instinct is to respond, "No part of Mary is good. Every inclination of my heart is only evil continually." (Genesis 6:5)
And that's the truth. But that's not really what I meant, nor was it what Joe meant.
Mary is an OK person. Not perfect, but OK. She messes up and is forgiven. She's washed in the Bood of the Lamb.
Mary is fun and energetic and creative and silly. But she is also prone to sticking her foot in her mouth. She tends to be obnoxious and annoying. She is a huge klutz and also very prone to distraction. She is insecure in certain social situations and behaves awkwardly.
I feel as though, so as not to risk annoying anyone at Joe's churches, that I've turned off any of the fun and energetic and creative and silly parts of MARY-ness; in order to avoid risking the other less desirable parts of my personality showing through. I'm certainly not perfect. I am nowhere near "the perfect pastor's wife." And I don't really expect myself to be.
But instead of being a bad pastor's wife, or a good pastor's wife, I feel as though I am nothing. I have become a bland and totally neutral nothingness, so that I don't risk bothering or annoying anyone. (Yes, I know, I know. I have almost certainly not avoided annoying people. There are probably plenty of people out there who periodically just want to grab me and shake me! But still, trust me, I've not been nearly as annoying as I might have been. Just trust me on this, OK.)
I had opportunity this weekend to attend a social occasion. We were invited to an anniversary dinner with a large group of people, an extended family into which we have been welcomed as part. This family is great fun to be around. They are all generous and loving and would give the shirt off their backs to anyone in need. But more, they tend to give of themselves in other numerous ways when there is any kind of need. They are an excellent example of a family that sticks together through thick and thin.
But I digress. The dinner was at a supper club, and before it got started, we were all standing around the bar area, visiting. I was not drinking. I seldom do. The practical side is that it's simply not in our budget to drink socially. But another part of it is that, in the name of responsible behavior, I don't trust myself to drink publicly very often. And yet a third factor is that socially awkward part of myself that freezes into stupidity when asked if I want anything to drink. I simply cannot remember what I like to drink and how to order. I'm very out of the habit of such things.
So returning to the social occasion of the other night, the first few times someone asked me if I wanted anything to drink, I turned them down.
It's easy that way. "No thanks; I'm fine."
But eventually I went out on a limb and ordered. Of course I couldn't think of anything to order, so I just pointed at Kelly's drink and said, "I'll have one of those."
(And I have to say, although it was totally a "candy" drink, it was really good. Cake vodka and Dr. Pepper! Can you believe there's such a thing? Cake flavored vodka! What will they think of next?)
But enough of that. In the joking and trying to explain about how my brain freezes because I'm so out of the habit, I mumbled something about something...I don't even know what I said. But Kelly's response stuck with me. Not because it bothered me in any way. But because it made me think again of this naggling question that's been on my mind of late, "WHO IS MARY?"
Kelly said, "Do I need to ask you each time we're together whether you are pastor's wife, Mary; or friend, Mary? I could ask you which hat you have on."
And there's the thing. Friend Mary is Pastor's wife Mary. I am me. All my various facets. I am the mom of many, Mary. I am the formerly constantly pregnant and caring for little ones, Mary. I am the homeschool mom, Mary. I am the Christian, confessional Lutheran, Mary, who is able to hold her own talking theology with pastor types.
I am the awkward, geeky, curious, fun, dorky, energetic, silly, foot-in-mouth, Mary. I am all these things.
But for the first time in many years, I have opportunity to figure out how to assert these parts of ME-ness.
I have the leisure, so to speak, to BE rather than merely to SURVIVE. In all the rush and adrenaline of being a mother of many, a homeschool mom, and a pastor's wife, I never had time to even think about how to behave. I mostly just shut up and smiled politely. And every once in awhile I spoke my mind or let a little energy and enjoyment shine through, and usually felt bad for doing it afterwards. Isn't that crazy?
So, now that I've realized all this, I feel as though I am on a quest to FIND MARY. But, and here's where things get dicey again, and you'll finally get to see the whole circle...Is this a good thing? Or is it the prozac tempting me to such indulgences? It sounds silly to put it into words. But there it is. Is being myself a sinful indulgence?
And the answer, quite obviously is both yes and no.
We are certainly called to control our sinful inclinations. God's righteousness is absolute. The Law is unbending and unswerving. We are called to perfection. Be perfect as God is perfect. (Matthew 5:48).
The disciples had to leave their nets and follow Jesus. They were still fishermen, of course. That was the livelihood through which they provided for their families. But they were called to change. To change their focus.
Jesus says to take up our cross, to deny ourselves, and flee temptation. We are to love others more than ourselves. St. Paul exhorts us to take every thought captive to obey God. (II Corinthians 10:5).
But we are also given our own personalities. God wants us to use ourselves to His glory. All the aspects of our personality. They are all good and bad. But we dare not hide our talents in fear of our hard master. (Matthew 25, Luke 19).
We are created in God's image, but that image is soiled by sin. How do we justify these difficulties?
And that leads me to where I am today. And really, to where I've always been. I live by grace. Every day, I get up and do my thing. I make choices; I do the work put before me. Sometimes (most times) I will mess up. Even when I don't mess up in any obvious ways, my accomplishments are tainted by sin. My very life's work is blemished.
But it's also cleansed. The blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, cleanses me from all sin. (I John 1:7). Although my sins are as scarlet, they will be white as snow. (Isaiah 1:18).
I am given the wedding garment, the clean and pure covering of Jesus' righteousness with which to cover myself. (Matthew 22). Through this alone is anything I do worthy. Only through this are any of my works good. Without it, all my righteousnesses are as filthy rags. (Isaiah 64:6).
And because of Jesus' righteous life, because of His sacrificial death on the cross and His resurrection, because of these gifts of God, even my works that are most definitely not good, are made good and pure. They are made holy. Sanctified. Set apart as good.
And that's who MARY is, first and foremost. An adopted child of God. A sister of Jesus, Himself. A washed and new creature. A woman who still lives in this world and will mess up.
But who is baptized into Jesus Christ.
Amen.
Maybe I've written a little bit about it before. I've been thinking along these lines, a little bit at a time, for two or three years.
The first revelation that came to me, is that I am not my mom. I am also not Naomi Peterson (the dear wife of the ELS Seminary President during Joe's years there, and who became in our young "wife minds," the gold standard of good pastor's wife, to which we all held ourselves). I am not Olivia Walton. Or Ma Ingalls. Or my Grandma Hinderer.
I am Mary. I am my own unique blend of genetics and nurture and experience and faith. I have my own unique mix of struggles and gifts. And in order to best fulfill the vocational callings God has set before me, I have to use ME. The ME God has made me, and not the THEM that I see in all these other women and mistakenly think I ought to be.
This realization hit me about two or three years ago. Since that time, I've been thinking, as time allows, of what this means. What does it mean to be MARY? Who is MARY? What are the traits and gifts that make me unique, and how can I best use them? What are some of the habits I've developed that hide these gifts or bury them?
Within this same period of time our family life has changed in some major ways. Instead of continuing to homeschool, we put our kids into public school. Our oldest son graduated. We went from all elementary children, all at home; to having several high school aged kids who drive, and work away from home, and join the Marines, and go to Italy for foreign exchange.
I stopped having babies. At least for now. At this time God has said, "No more." No more of the constant pregnancies, constant newborn stage, constant nursing of infants, constant diaper bags and etc. All that goes along with a woman at the stage in which her primary vocation is the bearing and nurturing of babies and young children. All of that is set aside.
And related to that last is the fact that I am entering that stage of life often called peri-menopause. The years during which a woman's hormones go stark raving mad, and which will lead eventually to full menopause. The best description I've seen of this time of life was in the title of a blog I found a while back, Peri-menopause: Yes, it is real; and No, you are not crazy. All the women I know who are about my age are experiencing their own unique brand of crazy.
For me, the primary example of my unique brand of crazy is this depression in which I find myself. Through it I've seen sides of myself I hope to never meet again. Through it, I've come to feel more empathy, understanding, and patience toward others who struggle similarly.
And this whole depression thing also relates directly to one angle of this most recent exploration of my mind, heart, and soul. This will be hard to describe, so please bear with me. The reason I here draw a connection with the depression is because of the prozac I'm on. One of my fears in going on prozac is losing my inhibitions. I have a friend who behaved and spoke in a very uncharacteristic fashion after she went on prozac. It was almost as though every sinful thought and deed that she had previously held in, came tumbling out in one fell swoop. Her filters were suddenly missing. It was a hard time for everyone close to her, until she realized what was going on and asked to be put on a different medicine.
But I'm a pastor's wife. I can't afford to risk being irresponsible in my talk and behavior. It is one of the things my husband and I talked about before I started taking prozac. I can't lose my filters. I've talked to my closest friends about these fears. I've exhorted them to please tell me if I start talking or acting in a fashion that seems out of character.
But here's the rub. The crux. I'll bring it full circle later, and you'll see the full connection then.
The combination of trying to be a "good pastor's wife," and dedicating my whole self for the last 19 years to raising my children, has left me feeling like a shell. An empty skin of person who is almost no longer ME. Suddenly I find myself with strange new opportunities to interact with others, and have opinions, and socialize even, in ways I haven't in forever-and-a-day. And I find that I no longer know who I am or how to behave in such situations. How do I "put myself out there"? And how ought I not so to do? What parameters ought I to have? I can no longer simply occupy myself with a fussing baby or dirty diaper in order to avoid such decisions. I have to be. I have to live.
Now let me be clear. I am in no way implying that mothering children is not living or being. It is probably the richest sense of life and being that there is. But like anything else in this life, it will gradually come to an end. Even now, even with almost all my children still at home, and two little ones still home all the time, even now my life has changed. My whole entire self is not occupied in the minutiae of mothering, as it was in former times. And those portions of myself that are now less occupied are having a little bit of a hard time figuring out who they are, who they want to be, and who they ought and ought not to be.
I used the following phrase with Joe the other day, "I'm tired of being good. I've been good for so long I don't know how to be Mary."
Joe's response, "What part of Mary is not good? Why do Mary and good have to be opposites?"
My instinct is to respond, "No part of Mary is good. Every inclination of my heart is only evil continually." (Genesis 6:5)
And that's the truth. But that's not really what I meant, nor was it what Joe meant.
Mary is an OK person. Not perfect, but OK. She messes up and is forgiven. She's washed in the Bood of the Lamb.
Mary is fun and energetic and creative and silly. But she is also prone to sticking her foot in her mouth. She tends to be obnoxious and annoying. She is a huge klutz and also very prone to distraction. She is insecure in certain social situations and behaves awkwardly.
I feel as though, so as not to risk annoying anyone at Joe's churches, that I've turned off any of the fun and energetic and creative and silly parts of MARY-ness; in order to avoid risking the other less desirable parts of my personality showing through. I'm certainly not perfect. I am nowhere near "the perfect pastor's wife." And I don't really expect myself to be.
But instead of being a bad pastor's wife, or a good pastor's wife, I feel as though I am nothing. I have become a bland and totally neutral nothingness, so that I don't risk bothering or annoying anyone. (Yes, I know, I know. I have almost certainly not avoided annoying people. There are probably plenty of people out there who periodically just want to grab me and shake me! But still, trust me, I've not been nearly as annoying as I might have been. Just trust me on this, OK.)
I had opportunity this weekend to attend a social occasion. We were invited to an anniversary dinner with a large group of people, an extended family into which we have been welcomed as part. This family is great fun to be around. They are all generous and loving and would give the shirt off their backs to anyone in need. But more, they tend to give of themselves in other numerous ways when there is any kind of need. They are an excellent example of a family that sticks together through thick and thin.
But I digress. The dinner was at a supper club, and before it got started, we were all standing around the bar area, visiting. I was not drinking. I seldom do. The practical side is that it's simply not in our budget to drink socially. But another part of it is that, in the name of responsible behavior, I don't trust myself to drink publicly very often. And yet a third factor is that socially awkward part of myself that freezes into stupidity when asked if I want anything to drink. I simply cannot remember what I like to drink and how to order. I'm very out of the habit of such things.
So returning to the social occasion of the other night, the first few times someone asked me if I wanted anything to drink, I turned them down.
It's easy that way. "No thanks; I'm fine."
But eventually I went out on a limb and ordered. Of course I couldn't think of anything to order, so I just pointed at Kelly's drink and said, "I'll have one of those."
(And I have to say, although it was totally a "candy" drink, it was really good. Cake vodka and Dr. Pepper! Can you believe there's such a thing? Cake flavored vodka! What will they think of next?)
But enough of that. In the joking and trying to explain about how my brain freezes because I'm so out of the habit, I mumbled something about something...I don't even know what I said. But Kelly's response stuck with me. Not because it bothered me in any way. But because it made me think again of this naggling question that's been on my mind of late, "WHO IS MARY?"
Kelly said, "Do I need to ask you each time we're together whether you are pastor's wife, Mary; or friend, Mary? I could ask you which hat you have on."
And there's the thing. Friend Mary is Pastor's wife Mary. I am me. All my various facets. I am the mom of many, Mary. I am the formerly constantly pregnant and caring for little ones, Mary. I am the homeschool mom, Mary. I am the Christian, confessional Lutheran, Mary, who is able to hold her own talking theology with pastor types.
I am the awkward, geeky, curious, fun, dorky, energetic, silly, foot-in-mouth, Mary. I am all these things.
But for the first time in many years, I have opportunity to figure out how to assert these parts of ME-ness.
I have the leisure, so to speak, to BE rather than merely to SURVIVE. In all the rush and adrenaline of being a mother of many, a homeschool mom, and a pastor's wife, I never had time to even think about how to behave. I mostly just shut up and smiled politely. And every once in awhile I spoke my mind or let a little energy and enjoyment shine through, and usually felt bad for doing it afterwards. Isn't that crazy?
So, now that I've realized all this, I feel as though I am on a quest to FIND MARY. But, and here's where things get dicey again, and you'll finally get to see the whole circle...Is this a good thing? Or is it the prozac tempting me to such indulgences? It sounds silly to put it into words. But there it is. Is being myself a sinful indulgence?
And the answer, quite obviously is both yes and no.
We are certainly called to control our sinful inclinations. God's righteousness is absolute. The Law is unbending and unswerving. We are called to perfection. Be perfect as God is perfect. (Matthew 5:48).
The disciples had to leave their nets and follow Jesus. They were still fishermen, of course. That was the livelihood through which they provided for their families. But they were called to change. To change their focus.
Jesus says to take up our cross, to deny ourselves, and flee temptation. We are to love others more than ourselves. St. Paul exhorts us to take every thought captive to obey God. (II Corinthians 10:5).
But we are also given our own personalities. God wants us to use ourselves to His glory. All the aspects of our personality. They are all good and bad. But we dare not hide our talents in fear of our hard master. (Matthew 25, Luke 19).
We are created in God's image, but that image is soiled by sin. How do we justify these difficulties?
And that leads me to where I am today. And really, to where I've always been. I live by grace. Every day, I get up and do my thing. I make choices; I do the work put before me. Sometimes (most times) I will mess up. Even when I don't mess up in any obvious ways, my accomplishments are tainted by sin. My very life's work is blemished.
But it's also cleansed. The blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, cleanses me from all sin. (I John 1:7). Although my sins are as scarlet, they will be white as snow. (Isaiah 1:18).
I am given the wedding garment, the clean and pure covering of Jesus' righteousness with which to cover myself. (Matthew 22). Through this alone is anything I do worthy. Only through this are any of my works good. Without it, all my righteousnesses are as filthy rags. (Isaiah 64:6).
And because of Jesus' righteous life, because of His sacrificial death on the cross and His resurrection, because of these gifts of God, even my works that are most definitely not good, are made good and pure. They are made holy. Sanctified. Set apart as good.
And that's who MARY is, first and foremost. An adopted child of God. A sister of Jesus, Himself. A washed and new creature. A woman who still lives in this world and will mess up.
But who is baptized into Jesus Christ.
Amen.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Adrift in Etherland
There is, oh, so much information in the world. So many things one could learn. So many things that are most definitely not important, in which one could lose oneself. Maybe someone with a tendency toward ADD is more susceptible to such wanderings than others? It always amazes me, though, when I go on such a tour of google or wikipedia or even the World Book Encyclopedia, me how many things there are to be interested in.
This morning, for instance, I'm trying to write a post about my ambivalence toward the election process this year, how strange that is for me, and how Santorum's Minnesota straw-poll victory, combined with a similar caucus victory in Colorado and a non-binding primary victory in Missouri made me happy enough I'm feeling the stirrings of political excitement. See, it only took four lines to say that, but somehow I got lost along the way. Badly lost.
I was looking for a quote I've seen attributed to Edmond Burke. "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Then I discovered that this particular quote is not even an actual documented quote. It is considered a contested quote. It, and many similar versions, is currently thought to be a conglomerate of Burke's views.
I also discovered that a version of this quote shows up in Tolstoy's War and Peace, "All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing." I've never read War and Peace. It's been on my list. But after taking about two months one winter to read The Brothers Karamazov I decided I didn't have time in my life for War and Peace. There are only so many hours in a day. And a busy mom has no business reading tomes. Especially when the only reason she wants to read such a book is to be able to say, "I did it!" Which truthfully, is pretty much the only reason I'd do it. To be able to slide it into conversation, to drop a line every now and then about the a certain character or philosophy or quote. To be able to look smart and well read and be admired for being an academically accomplished person. (Yes, I have a little vanity thing which which I struggle.)
After reading a little while about Tolstoy, I went back to Burke and found this little nugget that pleased me.
That quote put me in mind of the reason Joe and I had originally decided to homeschool our children and my one big regret with sending them into public school. The quote is not altogether similar, but it did remind me of one of my primary parenting philosophies. Kids in school can learn school stuff, the rules or rudiments of reading, writing and arithmetic. But, their little persons, their characters, are so much more important than those rules and basics of academics. This shaping and building of character is simply not a teacher's job. How can a parent accomplish such a monumental task in a few short evening hours?
Leaving aside parenting philosophies, the next stop on my morning wanderings through the world of information took me to Burke's Letters on a Regicide Peace. Did you see that in the quote above? What an interesting title! Whatever does it mean? It was irresistible to me.
Apparently Burke did not think much of Prime Minister William Pitt's attempts to make peace with the revolutionary government in France in the early years after her revolution. France's governing body was officially called, in English, the French Directory, but Burke referred to it as the Regicide Directory, because of its renegade abolition of the Monarchy (or Regent).
But interestingly, the letters are written in the Juvenalian style. Hmmm. Does that mean written as through from the mouth of a youth?
As a matter of fact, no. Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis, who is also known by the English form of his last name, Juvenal, was a Roman poet in the early centuries AD.
Oh, and look, he wrote in dactylic hexameter. Wow, that's so cool! I remember learning about iambic pentameter, and I can guess that hexameter must mean that there are maybe six sets of beats...but what about the dactylic part? Doesn't it just make you want to know more?
According to wikipedia,
Take a breath, Mary. Your coffee is cold, your writing time is used up, and what have you to show for your time? A few assorted bits of trivia rattling around your brain? That's about it, and not very important to your primary vocations of child rearing and homemaking. Also not very important to the secondary (or is it tertiary?) vocation of blogger.
And in case you're wondering, as I was, what comes after tertiary, it's quaternary, quinary, senary, septenary, octonary, nonary, and denary. Sadly, there is no similar number relating to the eleventh of something, but the twelfth, in case you ever need to use it, would be duodenary. Just imagine,... it doesn't have quite the same ring, though,...Duodenary Night, by William Shakespeare...hmm.
Vvvvvvveeerrrrryyy bbbbiiiiggggg ssssiiiiiggggghhhhhh.
So in order to say I at least accomplished something, I quickly wrote this up so that you, my readers, can maybe smile a little. Maybe you can pat yourself on the back, and say to yourself, "At least I am not as bad as theMom." Or maybe even, you'll go on to some big and important earth shattering accomplishment because of the little seeds of curiosity planted by accompanying me on my little informational junket through the ether world.
This morning, for instance, I'm trying to write a post about my ambivalence toward the election process this year, how strange that is for me, and how Santorum's Minnesota straw-poll victory, combined with a similar caucus victory in Colorado and a non-binding primary victory in Missouri made me happy enough I'm feeling the stirrings of political excitement. See, it only took four lines to say that, but somehow I got lost along the way. Badly lost.
I was looking for a quote I've seen attributed to Edmond Burke. "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Then I discovered that this particular quote is not even an actual documented quote. It is considered a contested quote. It, and many similar versions, is currently thought to be a conglomerate of Burke's views.
I also discovered that a version of this quote shows up in Tolstoy's War and Peace, "All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing." I've never read War and Peace. It's been on my list. But after taking about two months one winter to read The Brothers Karamazov I decided I didn't have time in my life for War and Peace. There are only so many hours in a day. And a busy mom has no business reading tomes. Especially when the only reason she wants to read such a book is to be able to say, "I did it!" Which truthfully, is pretty much the only reason I'd do it. To be able to slide it into conversation, to drop a line every now and then about the a certain character or philosophy or quote. To be able to look smart and well read and be admired for being an academically accomplished person. (Yes, I have a little vanity thing which which I struggle.)
After reading a little while about Tolstoy, I went back to Burke and found this little nugget that pleased me.
Manners are of more importance than laws. The law can touch us here and there, now and then. Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation like that of the air we breathe in. from Letter #1 of Letters on a Regicide Peace (1796)
That quote put me in mind of the reason Joe and I had originally decided to homeschool our children and my one big regret with sending them into public school. The quote is not altogether similar, but it did remind me of one of my primary parenting philosophies. Kids in school can learn school stuff, the rules or rudiments of reading, writing and arithmetic. But, their little persons, their characters, are so much more important than those rules and basics of academics. This shaping and building of character is simply not a teacher's job. How can a parent accomplish such a monumental task in a few short evening hours?
Leaving aside parenting philosophies, the next stop on my morning wanderings through the world of information took me to Burke's Letters on a Regicide Peace. Did you see that in the quote above? What an interesting title! Whatever does it mean? It was irresistible to me.
Apparently Burke did not think much of Prime Minister William Pitt's attempts to make peace with the revolutionary government in France in the early years after her revolution. France's governing body was officially called, in English, the French Directory, but Burke referred to it as the Regicide Directory, because of its renegade abolition of the Monarchy (or Regent).
But interestingly, the letters are written in the Juvenalian style. Hmmm. Does that mean written as through from the mouth of a youth?
As a matter of fact, no. Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis, who is also known by the English form of his last name, Juvenal, was a Roman poet in the early centuries AD.
Oh, and look, he wrote in dactylic hexameter. Wow, that's so cool! I remember learning about iambic pentameter, and I can guess that hexameter must mean that there are maybe six sets of beats...but what about the dactylic part? Doesn't it just make you want to know more?
According to wikipedia,
Dactylic hexameter (also known as "heroic hexameter") is a form of meter in poetry or a rhythmic scheme. It is traditionally associated with the quantitative meter of classical epic poetry in both Greek and Latin, and was consequently considered to be the Grand Style of classical poetry. The premier examples of its use are Homer's Iliad and Odyssey and Virgil's Aeneid.Oh, boy, more food for thought. Where can I go from here?
Take a breath, Mary. Your coffee is cold, your writing time is used up, and what have you to show for your time? A few assorted bits of trivia rattling around your brain? That's about it, and not very important to your primary vocations of child rearing and homemaking. Also not very important to the secondary (or is it tertiary?) vocation of blogger.
And in case you're wondering, as I was, what comes after tertiary, it's quaternary, quinary, senary, septenary, octonary, nonary, and denary. Sadly, there is no similar number relating to the eleventh of something, but the twelfth, in case you ever need to use it, would be duodenary. Just imagine,... it doesn't have quite the same ring, though,...Duodenary Night, by William Shakespeare...hmm.
Vvvvvvveeerrrrryyy bbbbiiiiggggg ssssiiiiiggggghhhhhh.
So in order to say I at least accomplished something, I quickly wrote this up so that you, my readers, can maybe smile a little. Maybe you can pat yourself on the back, and say to yourself, "At least I am not as bad as theMom." Or maybe even, you'll go on to some big and important earth shattering accomplishment because of the little seeds of curiosity planted by accompanying me on my little informational junket through the ether world.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
The Goal of a Godly Home and the Frustration of Never Attaining It
“I have told you these things,
so that in me you may have peace.
In this world you will have trouble.
But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
John 16:3
A friend posted this passage to her facebook today and I thought it fit well with the direction of this particular post I've been working on seemingly forever (really, the post editor shows I started it on October 7. My, my, am I ever pokey!). This passage admits that this life will have its struggles, but clearly tells us where to find the comfort we need when things get hard.
As a stay at home (formerly homeschooling) mother of a large family, arguably the most basic part of my identity goes against the grain of mainstream society. I am first and foremost a mother. And I have lots of kids.
In that sense, I am a rebel. That in and of itself is not a problem for me, since I've struggled with a wayward and difficult personality all my life. My dad used to say that I intentionally chose the most different, or unusual, or even argumentative stance on anything. Just to be difficult. And some might say this big family thing is another example of my penchant for trouble
But I don't think so. Yes, in this day and age, a large family is somewhat unusual. OK, very unusual. And it does take a certain amount of chutzpa to go against the societal grain. But in the larger historical sense, within the Christian tradition, children have always been considered a blessing from God; they were desired and prayed for; and a large family was considered a bonus. And historically speaking, letting God decide one's family size was assumed. It was, simply put, the right thing to do.
Joe and I didn't set out to "have a big family," although being the second oldest of eight children, I certainly grew up knowing the value of a large family. But we do believe that God knows better than we, how many children we ought to have, and how far apart we ought to have them. It's so much less stressful that way.
I've read that there is a trend toward larger families, especially among conservative Christians. And I've seen a bit of that myself. During our homeschooling days, among other homeschool families, it was not at all unusual to know others who also had a larger than average number of kids.
But within that trend, there is a bit of a problem. Most people today are not from large families. So if they follow the path of fully embracing God's blessings and His plan for their family, and if God chooses to bless such a couple with a large family, they may not know quite how to go about the logistics of it all. Most young people who are starting a family today did not grow up with any example of parenting a large number of kids, or of managing a large household. Periodically, I find myself in the role of "elder matron" to a younger mother, providing her with mentoring and advise on how to make things work. And quite frankly, I don't always feel up to that task. Just ask my kids. I'm not really a picture-perfect kind of mother. And I'm a horrible housekeeper.
In this role of elder matron, I often talk to women who seem weighed down with a sense of failure. And I have often felt this same way myself. We mothers so want to do everything right for our children. We want to give them the very best opportunity to become responsible, moral, and God-pleasing adults. We want to provide a healthful and peaceful home life. We have admirable and God-pleasing goals. So why doesn't it work? Why can't we get it together?
One reason I've seen, in both my own life and the lives of other women, can be brought on by these same very noble and God-pleasing goals. It is easy to lend such goals or ideals a sense of near-idolatry. We so ardently want a certain kind of Godly home, that the type, or ideal, takes on an import that is out of proportion with the very same God-pleasing lifestyle we are trying so hard to achieve. And when that goes awry, as it often does in this sin ridden world, we can easily become frustrated or even depressed.
One of the biggest challenges in my adult life as a wife and mother has been letting go of the man-made standards I had imposed upon myself. I have sometimes struggled to be joyful, or even just content, with who I am as a woman of God. And one of the biggest hurdles to contentment and joy that I've seen, both in my own life, and in the lives of other women I speak to, is coming to peace with the things I am realistically able to accomplish, and the standards I am able to hold up for my children and family.
What do I mean by man-made standards, or ideals? One of the ways we make decisions for our families is by listening to and emulating those parents or families we respect and admire. A husband and wife each has a different example of parenting from his or her own upbringing, but also brings into a marriage any ideas he or she has picked up along the way.
We also see how our friends are making their homes and raising their families; we read about a variety of philosophies and practices in magazines, on blogs and internet groups, through parenting groups or homeschooling groups, etc. We hear radio interviews and attend presentations. With today's global communication and transportation, we can find examples of various lifestyles and parenting methods just about anywhere.
And so we must glean. First and foremost, we must examine everything through the lens of God's Word. But we also use our common sense, instinct, and unique personalities to come up with a personal style of parenting and homemaking that works for us.
But remember, everyone is different. I can't say this often enough. Everyone is different, every couple is different, and every family is different.
Each couple's children inherit the genetic make up of their parents. We pass on to our children parts of our personalities, some of which are great and wonderful, but others which are not so much so. Some of what they inherit from us will be a constant struggle to them, just as it is to us.
But not only that, they also see and emulate both the good and bad behavior of their parents. This all adds up to a particular flavor of family dynamic that is unique to each couple's home.
When I started out parenting, I really wanted to do the Laura Ingalls thing. Back to basics, and old fashioned rules. I inherited from my upbringing a, "Hard work is good," ethic, and also a good share of the somber German attitude, "If it's fun or pleasurable, it's bad."
I was raised in a very regimented family. We had clearly defined rules and punishments and formulas for everything. And I always imagined that I'd follow in my parent's footsteps in those ways, too. Follow the formula, and everything's all right. Right?
Wrong.
God has laid out my life for me. He showed me through many struggles and failures and feelings of beating the proverbial head against the wall, that, "What worked for your mom and dad does not work for you and Joe."
Firstly, I am not my mom. In fact, I myself am adopted, and so I don't even have the genetic personality or gifts that my mother has. Secondly, I married a man very different than my dad, and so another flavor was brought into our home. Along with that, yet another mix of genetic code was passed on to our children. Joe's and my personalities, Joe's cultural background, and our kids' new and unique dispositions didn't seem to go well with the "formulas" I had been holding as the ideal. Hard as I tried, I couldn't make it work.
It was a very painful process to have to let go of those ideals. God definitely put me through the crucible, until I let go of the false god I had built up in such ideals. And yes, I mean false god. The ideal had become the god. Living up to the standard was more important to me than simply loving my children and making a home. If I didn't do it "well enough" or "the right way" then I felt as though I had failed, and I was not a happy Mama.
But when I found that those rules or standards I wanted to use in my home, which I had totally expected would work in my home, weren't working with the particular family with which God had blessed me, with what did I replace such standards? How does one leave off what one has held to as an almost Biblical ideal, and find something of equal value with which to replace it? How does that work in practice?
What has worked for me is to keep in mind a set of long term parenting goals. Joe and I set these goals many years ago. It was part of an exercise for short, medium, and long term homeschooling goals which I did back when my youngest were just reaching school age. I very highly recommend every young family write down a set of such goals. In busy life, the short term goals will change frequently, and may not get written down. But having something on paper, especially for the long term goals, to which one can return time and again, is a very useful thing.
My long term goals are very basic. And when taken in the light of such long term goals, many of the daily rules and strictures and formulas loose their ability to overwhelm or imprison.
For instance, consider some of the things I strive for and struggle with: I want to have order in my home. I want to teach my kids to be orderly. I want to punish when needed in a reasonable, timely, and consistent fashion. I want to have a happy, joyful home. I want to read to my kids nightly. I want to have wholesome and nutritive meals, and clean, well-organized clothing.
These are all things I desire for my home and family. But none of those things are part of my long term goals.
My long term goals go more like this.
- I want to raise God-fearing children who are able to confess their sins and turn to their Savior for forgiveness and for the mantle of His Righteousness.
- I want my adult children to be able to be responsible citizens according to their abilities, who have the skills to provide for themselves and whatever number of dependants God gives them.
- I want my adult children to be well enough versed to be able to communicate the hope that lies within them.
Would I like the kind of "ideal" family with all generations working together, which I used to hear about within the homeschooling community? Yes. I like to think so. But is that kind of family the only God-fearing model? Nope.
Would I like to be more organized with my household tasks? Yes, absolutely. But is it necessary to my long term goals. Nope.
Would I like to not have to periodically rummage through the dirty laundry in order to find those "not so dirty" things in which to clothe my children for an outing? Yep. But not a necessity.
Would I like my children to be able to work together to do dishes without bickering? Oh, boy, would I ever! But more than that, I want them to know where to bring the sin of their bickering and harsh words, and how to forgive each other as Christ forgives us.
Why am I rambling on about this? Because this is exactly the type of thing that can wear a mother down. We easily see the very many things we are not accomplishing. We readily feel the weight of the enormous responsibility we face day by day and minute by minute.
We, many of us, have very high expectations and standards with which we'd like to run our families. But things don't always run the way we'd like to see them run. We aren't always able to incorporate the various formulas we are lead to believe will work well.
But if we have long term goals to which we can refer when things seem to be going poorly, we can cast our heart to those goals. We can refocus on what's really important, and let everything else sort itself out in time.
We are all still wonderful women who have many things to offer the world, both in our parenting, and also in every other interaction we undertake daily. We may always struggle to want to do things a certain way, by a certain set of lifestyle, parenting, or homemaking standards. And that's OK.
Other times we may decide to strip down our life to the simplicity of those long term goals. We can remember those goals at their most basic, and see how our particular personality can accomplish such goals in a way that is more in tune with who God made us. It's not a sin to be disorganized and flighty, for instance. It's a challenge. But not a sin.
And so with many of our daily struggles. There will always be things we wish we could do better. There might always be those standards or ideals we wish we had better maintained within our family. We may feel as though our children will never learn to get along and work together.
But we must never become envious of women and families that seem so much better at it all than we feel. And we must not covet a skill set or personality profile we or our children don't possess.
By living each day in our baptismal grace, and holding to the eternal truths and things of eternal import, we can learn to forgive ourselves of our failures, just as our heavenly Father has forgiven us. We can find contentment, peace and yes, even joy, in the singular women God has made us, and the unique family with which God has blessed each of us.
For I know the plans I have for you,”
declares the LORD,
“plans to prosper you and not to harm you,
plans to give you hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Recommended Poetry Books for Children
Favorite Poems Old and New: Selected For Boys and Girls
by Helen Ferris Tibbets and Leonard Weisgard
This is my favorite poetry book. It contains poems at a variety of levels, arranged by topics such as seasons, animals, going places, historical figures, etc. The indexes are handy, because they not only list by author and title, but also by common titles or first lines.
The Golden Flute: An Anthology of Poetry for Young Children
selected by Alice Hubbard and Adeline Babbitt
This is another collection that I enjoy very much. We picked this up used somewhere along the way, and it's gotten much use throughout the years. The audience is a bit younger in the one than in Favorite Poems Old and New. The chapter categories are similar. The indexes include a comprehensive list of possible subjects under which one might find a certain poem. It's too bad this nice volume is no longer in print.
Book of Famous Poems
Compiled by Marjorie Barrows
These poems are especially suited for introducing young children to many classic poets and poems. It includes a familiar verse or two from many longer poetical works, the knowledge of which was at one time considered part of our cultural heritage. There are little mostly black and white inset decorations here and there to lend interest.
At the bottom of the front cover, this book includes the note, "A Companion Book to One Hundred Best Poems for Boys and Girls." I'd love to find that one somewhere, too. It appears it was briefly republished in 2004, but doesn't look as cool as the old one.
The Random House Book of Poetry for Children: A book of 572 Poems for Today's Child
complied by Jack Prelutsky; illustrated by Arnold Lobel
We have this book sitting around somewhere, but I haven't used it as much as some of the others. I believe it includes a higher percentage of contemporary poems. The kids like many of those for the silliness they lend. Lobel's illustrations make this nice for the kids to read on their own, or just fun for pre-readers to peruse.
Classic Poetry: An Illustrated Collection
Edited by Michael Rosen, Illustrated by Paul Howard
We used this one for school one year, and then it got put away with the school books. I really need to get it out again.
The Oxford Illustrated Book of American Children's Poems
edited by Donald Hall
This one, too was put away with the school books, so I can't tell you much about it, just that we liked it. This one is not as large a volume as some of the previous ones, but I thought that since its focus was American poetry, it might be useful to build a sub-category in the cultural literacy framework in a reader's brain.
The Poetry for Young People series. I love these books. We used to get them from Scholastic; they usually came in a three- or six pack. We'd give them away for gifts, or put them in our kids' Christmas stockings. Most books in this series are available in paperback or hard cover each title highlighting an important poet or topic, and colorfully illustrated to keep the interest of the younger children. Featured poets are Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Carl Sandburg, Edgar Allan Poe, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Edward Lear, Emily Dickinson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Langston Hughes, Lewis Carroll, Maya Angelou, Robert Browning, Robert Frost, Robert Louis Stevenson, Rudyard Kipling, Wallace Stevens, Walt Whitman, William Blake, William Butler Yeats, William Carlos Williams, and William Shakespeare. Featured themes are American Poetry, Animal Poems, and The Seasons. Also available is A Treasury of Poetry for Young People, which includes the complete text and illustrations from the books on six American poets from the above list. I'd love to have this entire set.
I Saw Esau: The Schoolchild's Pocket Book
Illustrated by Maurice Sendak; introduction and notes by Iona Opie.
If you are accustomed to Sendeck and his quirky humor, you will enjoy the illustrations in this title. The book is by a British publisher, so to some here in America, parts of it might seem somewhat coarse or inappropriate. We got this book for Matt when he was quite young, maybe four or five. One illustration that the kids found quite,... uh,... mezmerizing accompanied the rhyme, "I one my mother, I two my mother, etc." Sendeck's illustration featured a mother nursing a toddler. At each line of the rhyme the child gulped down more of the mother, beginning with one breast at the line for "one," and both breasts for the line with "two," etc., ending with the mother being completely consumed at the line, I eight my mother. It's been years since I've looked at that one, but I believe there was also some portrayal of naked children, or children engaged in arguably shocking varieties of naughtiness.
Books by Paul Fleischman; one of his specialties is poems for two or more voices to read together. The one I linked, Big Talk, is poems for four voices.
Anything by Shel Silverstein or Jack Prelutsky. These men are/were geniuses with words and picture language. The kids love going through their collections on their own, once they can read independently.
Picture book collections by Douglas Florian. He has many fun and creative spins on language.
Family Poetry Night at the Abrahamsons
When the kids were younger, we tried to have family time every night. What did we do for family time? Mostly we read. We always had a read-aloud going, sometimes we played games, and Friday was movie night. Periodically I would ask the kids to memorize a poem suitable to their age and ability; we'd then plan a night of recitation. If you are not a homeschool family, this probably sounds artificially quaint or anachronistic even. I mean, really, who makes their kids recite poetry and calls it entertainment?
But please understand, Joe and I are both lovers of the written word. We don't have television, and at that time tried to limit even a DVD on the computer to Friday movie nights. We intentionally strove to instill in our kids an appreciation for the simple things of life.
And we were homeschoolers. So we could call such evenings "school." Besides the enjoyment of "simple things" we were striving to instill, we were teaching with these poetry recitations. The children honed their skills in elocution, memorization, and speaking in front of others; they broadened their exposure to famous poets and poems, built their vocabularies, and gained familiarity with rhythm and sound. And we'd often get little history lessons in, too, if a particular poem had historical merit, such as Walt Whitman's Captain, my Captain, which he wrote after Lincoln's death. Any time we spent on these things in our evenings was time we did not have to spend on it during our school days.
But alas!
Gradually the increasingly greater age span of our children made finding a books or activities that would interest all of them at once more difficult. The older kids were often busy with evening activities. One or another child sometimes had school work or lessons remaining into the evenings. Or Mom and Dad were simply tired out. Gradually our family time slipped to periodic, then rare.
Lately, after the additional changes to our lifestyle due to having our kids in public school, our evening family time has dwindled to almost non-existent. We try to stand firm on evening devotion and prayer time, but even that is challenging some nights. Some kids fall asleep before we're ready, other's are coming in at all different times. Supper gets late, or chores take longer than expected.
This has been a very sad thing in my life.
This fall, I've tried, striven, demanded that we regroup and get back to this time together. I'm trying, with only moderate success, to be more faithful about an early supper. I'm trying, with mixed results, to get most of the supper prep dishes washed up while I'm preparing the meal. I've asked Joe to try to be home from his office during the evening, to lend a helping hand, or simply to "be there".
And I've worked to initiate a "no computer from 5:00-8:00 pm" rule. This has probably been the hardest, since we have such bad habits. The computer sits in the kitchen. Somebody is always on it. Whoever is sitting here might visit with whoever is preparing supper. The younger kids are always running through, and they know that if Joe or I is not the one fixing supper, we can be found at the computer during that time. So they come there to visit with us.
But there is also much just plain, mind numbing, spacing out to whatever is on it, to the avoidance of everything else in the home. It's like we've forgotten how to live without staring at the stupid computer. I think a big part of it is that Joe and I have become so overwhelmed with the responsibilities that come with raising this many kids, that we've resorted to escapist computer use to deal with the pressure.
Bad, bad, bad.
How to we get back to better habits?
For one, we're starting with read-aloud. I am bound and determined to keep plugging along no matter how many or few kids are home. No matter if supper dishes are done or not; dirty dishes will always wait until morning. No matter if Joe and I have laryngitis, as we did this week--one of the older kids read for us; they are able. No matter what!
We're reading Little Britches by Ralph Moody. Read this book if you never have. In fact, read Moody's whole series of autobiographical books. He has been described as the male counterpart to Laura Ingalls Wilder.
We've actually read this book several times for read-aloud, but not for perhaps four of five years. Even though it is one we've read previously, I chose it because 1) since it's familiar to the older kids, if they miss some, it's OK; 2) its story draws in boys and girls alike; 3) its timeless themes of hard work, independence, and family, is of interest to a variety of ages; and 4) it's a family favorite, so I'm hoping to play on my older kids' sentimental side-- if they are tempted to think, "Stupid family time," they might instead think, "Hey, I remember this part!"
So far so good. Not perfect, but we're still hanging in there. I started my mission to recapture family time about a month ago, and we've gotten through 11 chapters. We are mostly all still eager to get to the living room once Joe or I call, "Family time!" But we still don't get to it every night. It's something to continue working toward.
Last night we did something different. Matt was off at the hunting shack with the family with whom he hunts; Clara and Sophie were at a slumber party; and Joe and I still have this annoying laryngitis type bug. I especially didn't want Clara and Sophie to miss Little Britches, since they are old enough to be fully engaged in it, and young enough to not really remember much from the earlier times we've read it.
So we needed something different. Yes, it was Friday, so we could have had movie night, but sometimes it seems as though the kids see so much video type stuff these days anyway, that even movie night is no longer special. That's another thing we have to try to change.
I decided to try an extemporaneous poetry night. I called the little ones over, grabbed a couple of my poem books, and quickly assigned each of the four little ones a little something to learn. Then I assigned Louisa, Elsie, and Joe each one younger child to help, and I helped Inge. She really is too little to quickly learn much of a poem, but I helped her learn John 3:16. Much more valuable that a poem in the long run, anyway.
Joe helped John learn the first verse of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's, Paul Revere's Ride.
Apparently, Donna, being unfamiliar with the word orchard, kept saying, "apple turds." (I'm not sure what this says about my family. A four year old is more familiar with turds than orchards. What can I say?) So Louisa built off this little confusion to come up with an entirly new ending to the poem,
We finished off our poetry night with us older people reading our selections. Elsie read The Moon, by Robert Hereford; and Louisa read The Road Less Traveled by Robert Frost. I, with my croaking voice, read through the rest of Paul Revere's Ride. Joe chose Longfellow's, Excelsior.
I'm sure they would never admit it, but I think even the older kids had fun, in a quiet (or cheeky) sort of way.
But please understand, Joe and I are both lovers of the written word. We don't have television, and at that time tried to limit even a DVD on the computer to Friday movie nights. We intentionally strove to instill in our kids an appreciation for the simple things of life.
And we were homeschoolers. So we could call such evenings "school." Besides the enjoyment of "simple things" we were striving to instill, we were teaching with these poetry recitations. The children honed their skills in elocution, memorization, and speaking in front of others; they broadened their exposure to famous poets and poems, built their vocabularies, and gained familiarity with rhythm and sound. And we'd often get little history lessons in, too, if a particular poem had historical merit, such as Walt Whitman's Captain, my Captain, which he wrote after Lincoln's death. Any time we spent on these things in our evenings was time we did not have to spend on it during our school days.
But alas!
Gradually the increasingly greater age span of our children made finding a books or activities that would interest all of them at once more difficult. The older kids were often busy with evening activities. One or another child sometimes had school work or lessons remaining into the evenings. Or Mom and Dad were simply tired out. Gradually our family time slipped to periodic, then rare.
Lately, after the additional changes to our lifestyle due to having our kids in public school, our evening family time has dwindled to almost non-existent. We try to stand firm on evening devotion and prayer time, but even that is challenging some nights. Some kids fall asleep before we're ready, other's are coming in at all different times. Supper gets late, or chores take longer than expected.
This has been a very sad thing in my life.
This fall, I've tried, striven, demanded that we regroup and get back to this time together. I'm trying, with only moderate success, to be more faithful about an early supper. I'm trying, with mixed results, to get most of the supper prep dishes washed up while I'm preparing the meal. I've asked Joe to try to be home from his office during the evening, to lend a helping hand, or simply to "be there".
And I've worked to initiate a "no computer from 5:00-8:00 pm" rule. This has probably been the hardest, since we have such bad habits. The computer sits in the kitchen. Somebody is always on it. Whoever is sitting here might visit with whoever is preparing supper. The younger kids are always running through, and they know that if Joe or I is not the one fixing supper, we can be found at the computer during that time. So they come there to visit with us.
But there is also much just plain, mind numbing, spacing out to whatever is on it, to the avoidance of everything else in the home. It's like we've forgotten how to live without staring at the stupid computer. I think a big part of it is that Joe and I have become so overwhelmed with the responsibilities that come with raising this many kids, that we've resorted to escapist computer use to deal with the pressure.
Bad, bad, bad.
How to we get back to better habits?
For one, we're starting with read-aloud. I am bound and determined to keep plugging along no matter how many or few kids are home. No matter if supper dishes are done or not; dirty dishes will always wait until morning. No matter if Joe and I have laryngitis, as we did this week--one of the older kids read for us; they are able. No matter what!
We're reading Little Britches by Ralph Moody. Read this book if you never have. In fact, read Moody's whole series of autobiographical books. He has been described as the male counterpart to Laura Ingalls Wilder.
We've actually read this book several times for read-aloud, but not for perhaps four of five years. Even though it is one we've read previously, I chose it because 1) since it's familiar to the older kids, if they miss some, it's OK; 2) its story draws in boys and girls alike; 3) its timeless themes of hard work, independence, and family, is of interest to a variety of ages; and 4) it's a family favorite, so I'm hoping to play on my older kids' sentimental side-- if they are tempted to think, "Stupid family time," they might instead think, "Hey, I remember this part!"
So far so good. Not perfect, but we're still hanging in there. I started my mission to recapture family time about a month ago, and we've gotten through 11 chapters. We are mostly all still eager to get to the living room once Joe or I call, "Family time!" But we still don't get to it every night. It's something to continue working toward.
Last night we did something different. Matt was off at the hunting shack with the family with whom he hunts; Clara and Sophie were at a slumber party; and Joe and I still have this annoying laryngitis type bug. I especially didn't want Clara and Sophie to miss Little Britches, since they are old enough to be fully engaged in it, and young enough to not really remember much from the earlier times we've read it.
So we needed something different. Yes, it was Friday, so we could have had movie night, but sometimes it seems as though the kids see so much video type stuff these days anyway, that even movie night is no longer special. That's another thing we have to try to change.
I decided to try an extemporaneous poetry night. I called the little ones over, grabbed a couple of my poem books, and quickly assigned each of the four little ones a little something to learn. Then I assigned Louisa, Elsie, and Joe each one younger child to help, and I helped Inge. She really is too little to quickly learn much of a poem, but I helped her learn John 3:16. Much more valuable that a poem in the long run, anyway.
Joe helped John learn the first verse of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's, Paul Revere's Ride.
Listen my children' and you shall hearStella memorized Apple Blossoms by Helen Wing
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.
On the eighteenth of April, in seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
The apple blossoms grow so highLouisa helped Donna memorize the first verse of Helen Hunt Jackson's, September. At least, that is what she was supposed to help Donna learn. Jackson's poem begins,
Upon the branches of our tree,
I can't reach up to smell them; so
They send their perfume down to me.
The Goldenrod is yellow;But, yes, well, my Louisa apparently wanted to add a little,... uh,... pizzazz to our recitations. Donna, for her part, learned well what Louisa taught. But that stinker, Louisa...What's a mom to do with such a girl?
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.
Apparently, Donna, being unfamiliar with the word orchard, kept saying, "apple turds." (I'm not sure what this says about my family. A four year old is more familiar with turds than orchards. What can I say?) So Louisa built off this little confusion to come up with an entirly new ending to the poem,
The Goldenrod is yellow;Hmm. Poor little Donna, standing there in front of us, saying her little poem in all seriousness; and Joe and I staring aghast for those first few heartbeats of realization. Then, of course, we all kind of chuckled, Joe and I reprimanded Louisa for being so cheeky, and I quickly taught Donna the correct words so she could do it again, the right way this time. That Louisa!
The corn is turning brown;
The trees with apple turds
Smell yucky and taste gross.
We finished off our poetry night with us older people reading our selections. Elsie read The Moon, by Robert Hereford; and Louisa read The Road Less Traveled by Robert Frost. I, with my croaking voice, read through the rest of Paul Revere's Ride. Joe chose Longfellow's, Excelsior.
I'm sure they would never admit it, but I think even the older kids had fun, in a quiet (or cheeky) sort of way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)