What Freud Never Told Us: Potty Envy

I am coming out of week one of Potty Boot Camp. This would be with Little Fish. I’ve done potty before with his older brother, so I should have been prepared. But as with all big changes, like having a newborn, that first week is horrible. Nothing but emotion, adjustment, exhaustion. I’d forgotten about that.

Come to our house for a Christmas Potty!

There was one thing I could not have known because I’d never done it before. St. Nick was an only child when he went through PTBC, and he switched from diapers to puppy pants (his phrase, I have no idea why) with little complication. But Fish, with St. Nick and the baby? Complication, indeed.

The baby is as reasonable a seventeen-month-old as one can expect. Slightly jealous when I hold a friend’s baby, but not yet in the terrible twos. Until Potty Day.

Mud Pie cannot get over the potty. It is her throne, her private chair—strange for a child who is not yet walking and who ignored the potty for the past six months, when I had it out “in preparation.” Whenever her brother sits on it, she throws herself on her face and wails. He has taken to grabbing her around her little middle and hauling her away so he can do his job. All the while saying, “No baby, NO Baby!”

And St. Nick, whom I expected to be excited and helpful with this task (I mean, this is a kid who lives for talk of poop and pee pee, for all things gross and stinky), morphed into a toddler when Boot Camp began. Fish would get a treat for having dry pants, and St. Nick would demand, “Where’s mine? I have dry pants too!”

“Well, yes. You do. But you already know how to use the potty.”

For some reason, this answer didn’t cut it with him.

Most of the stress of Potty Week did not come from fear of accidents or the constant hawkish watch I kept for “signals” (you moms who’ve done this will know what I mean), but from the other two kids. And it wasn’t about the potty, not at all. It was about Fish and the extra moments of my attention he received.

The thing that bothers me most: Fish is the happiest I’ve ever seen him—has he been shortchanged in the attention department these past years? And what of his siblings? They had grown so accustomed to him getting less, that now they bristle at the praises and treats showered on him.

The week was a full one, but an important one as well. Despite my intentions not to do so, I see now that I have been treating my middle child as, well, a middle child. And it took a potty to open my eyes.

Me In the Middle*

Last night I walked up a stranger’s driveway, my long wool coat flowing behind. My friend and I had to round to the front of the house to check the number. Yes, we had the right one. So on to the back we went, down to the spacious basement where coffee percolated, cookies smiled up from a Thanksgiving tray, flower-tipped ink pens made a centerpiece in a ring of comfy chairs. My second homeschool support group.

“Hello, my name is ...” I fill out my nametag and find a seat and in expected support-group fashion, we round the room and introduce ourselves. Number of children, ages, and for diversity’s sake, genders. “Hi, I’m Rachel and I have three, age nine, five, two. Boy, girl, boy.” Without a pause, the next woman says, “Cynthia, three kids, seven, four-and-a-half, two.” She pats her belly. “And this one due in the spring. Girl, girl, girl, and we don’t know yet.”

I had to think. Hard. “Uh, hi. I’m a little slow on Mondays. Um. I have one, almost five and one almost three and one sixteen months.” I didn’t follow standard form, but that’s not why everyone looked at me expectantly. “Oh! Boy, boy, girl.”

At some point in the evening, the Topic came up, a question asked by another visitor to the group. “Do any of you work, besides homeschooling?”

Without volition, my hand snaked up.

An immediate gulf grew. I wasn’t the only one who worked—but I was the only one who worked and didn’t need to. I don’t need the income, and Lord knows I’m not well-paid (even curriculum-writing gigs average little more than minimum wage). And it didn’t matter that I do my work from home, while the babies sleep and the oldest goes insane with boredom. Someone asked, “What do you do?” The gulf grew to a chasm.

My creative energy goes to something other than my children and family. Some days, I have very little energy for my family at all. I forgot Halloween, I have no Thanksgiving decorations or creative holiday rituals. My family is lucky I ordered a fresh turkey or I really would be thawing it in the bathtub (per Shannon’s suggestion). My passion isolates me, yet I have a dual passion and am faced with isolation on another side.

Tonight I will sit in the parent’s waiting area while my son has his fencing class, my tailored wool coat slung over my chair. A professional coat. “Where do you work?” one of the other mothers will ask. I’ll mumble, “From home.” I won’t want to explain here, to these people, the trials of publication, how I’ve seen a few essays bring in money, and the curriculum. But other than that, it’s an act of faith.

“She also homeschools,” another mom will whisper. Another chasm forms. I’m on a butte, a sea stack (see, we do study geography! We do!), alone, with desert sands or vicious waters swirling far below.

The first woman will smile wider than she needs to; she'll glance at the coat and nod her sympathy. It must be part of my old life, she will decide, and she will say, “Oh. Good for you! I could never do that!” I will translate in my head: “I’d never want to do that.” And the conversation will turn back to talk of day care centers, Kindergarten teachers. I will return to my book. No one here will notice what book it is. The chasm is too wide for them to see me now.

At this very moment I’m balancing a spiral notebook and pen with a bowl of oatmeal and spoon. I scribble my chicken-shorthand, pause to spoon a bite of goo into the baby’s mouth. Two very different tasks, both deserving of my full attention and neither receiving what they deserve. In the middle, is me.

My notes

*Perhaps an inappropriate title, taken from that show, Malcolm in the Middle. I’ve never seen it, but the title does have a certain ring.

First Lessons in Economics

Late last week my oldest lost his second tooth. It was quite the Event, complete with tears and blood and several hours of wiggly-tooth anxiety. St. Nick does everything at 110%, including losing baby teeth.

Hopes for the Tooth Fairy sustained him through it, and his hopes were not disappointed. But with a second tooth, like with a second child, it got the same excitement but it got a little less attention.

The Tooth Fairy made a special trip to the bookstore for the first fall-out and she had to enlist a few dozen of her fairy friends to help her tuck the monster-sized book about Noah’s Ark underneath Nick’s pillow. This time, no special trips. TF tucked a $1 bill under that pillow and added in an edible treat.

St. Nick was just as thrilled. He’s been holding his dollar ever since, scouring toy catalogues (which we have in plenty this time of year) for something to buy. The only problem being, his prize won’t even cover shipping costs, let alone the price of the least expensive item in the book (a set of plastic boats for $9.95).

And here I thought TF was being extravagant. A whole dollar? When I was a child, I got a quarter and a pack of gum. I couldn’t buy much more than a candy bar with a quarter, and I thought TF was horribly cheap; I’d rather have kept my tooth and made it into some strange native jewelry. But now, with a dollar, St. Nick is in the same situation. When did a dollar become worth so little? And why does my son have to learn that money, outside its potential to purchase, means nothing?

He’s not cynical about it yet. A dollar is still the coolest thing he’s ever owned. But it grieves me that once it’s spent, he’ll have nothing but a trinket or a candy bar. Maybe he should just keep the money.

One Small Triumph

In the unlikeliest of places, I had my first Moment of Triumph about homeschooling.

We all went to the dentist this morning. LoonyMom, Dr. D, St. Nick, Little Fish, and even Mud Pie. Always an adventure. I spent most of my time with Little Fish (who had his first exam and did GREAT!) and with Mud Pie and Little Fish both.

Daddy had to relate events to me, and for some reason, this makes the story all the more special. I guess while I had Little Fish in for our cleaning, the receptionists started up a conversation with St. Nick. This is a mistake. He is the most chatty child on the face of the planet - the only time he is not speaking is when he's asleep. And even then he's been known to say a few words.

So, they started in on the usual topics, "How old are you?" Five. "What's your favorite number?" Five. "Are you in school?" Like the smartypants he is, he replies, "I go to school. I go to Home School!"

"Oh."

And the conversation would be done. Except St. Nick doesn't end a conversation until it is ended for him by someone else. Finally, this had to happen, but not long after, as he and Daddy were having their teeth checked, the conversation picked back up again, this time with the dentist and his assistant.

"So you're homeschooled, huh?" And Dr. D (aka Daddy, in case that wasn't obvious) prods, "Can you read that sign?"

St. Nick eyes the advertisement on the wall. A big grinning mouth of brilliantly white teeth. "Ask Us How," he says without hesitation.

The dentist is impressed. Then he makes the mistake of asking St. Nick what he's learning about. This is a sampling of what St. Nick discussed: Ancient Egypt, the pyramids which were tombs for the pharaoh and built by the Hebrews who were whipped because they were slaves. And Moses who was sent to lead them out of slavery. And the ten plagues (he named eight of the ten). And our indoor garden (bean plants in a windowbox). And his sense of sight and how his pupil gets big in the dark but shrinks when he turns the light on.

This is why I had to sit in the waiting room with Mud Pie (who ate nearly a whole pack of graham crackers) and Little Fish for so long.

But the dentist was impressed, his staff was impressed, and everyone was amazed a homeschooled kid could be so socially competent and such a, well, a smartypants at just five years of age.

My smartypants

And this just three days after LoonyMom was not so smart, and when asked why she homeschools said something along the lines of, "Uhhhhhh."

Struggle of Fatigue

Oh, am I ever tired today. Exhausted, more like. And of all days, today is an "activity" packed one - painting, using the balance, possibly transplanting our seedlings before they REALLY outgrow their little cups. And I'm just so tired.

Growing toward outgrowing

But we've been doing it and now the kids are started on apples and plums so I can take a much-needed breather. And the contest. The results are in, nothing else is happening, I've switched over my blog, now I wait. Yet another reason to feel tired, depressed, just out of the excited energy I had before this weekend. No more looking forward. Just the same old things. Can I go back to bed?

Maybe breakfast would help. Let's try that.

Three Weeks Down, Twenty or so Years to Go

I'm looking at baby pictures of Mud Pie - she is so beautiful. And crazy St. Nick. Can I freeze these kids now? Can I hold on to them at this moment in time and never forget the little details - the terror of the first thunderstorm, the awe of swimming goggles, the fun of a wading pool and a hose?

This is what I wanted. It really is. I didn't want what we had last year: harried race to school to drop off St. Nick, frenzied hours at home batting Little Fish away so I could quick get some things done, race back, hurry through lunch, off to naps, up to get Dr. D from work, back for dinner, errands, bed. I lost precious time with St. Nick - with all of them, really. Mud Pie's first year is lost to me. A blur of car rides, papers to sign, field trips, obligations.

Our home is family now. Do I have more work to do? Less down time? (No down time.) A harder task of juggling home, husband, kids, writing? Yes. But I also know more. I know what crafts St. Nick enjoys most and what books get his imagination going. I get to see it. I don't have to wait for a Progress Report - a stranger's assessment of my child - who is, to her, a stranger as well. I know him, and after three weeks of homeschooling, I know him better than I did three weeks ago.

Am I in this for the long haul? You better believe it.

Second Fencing Class

I just can't stand it - he is trying so, so hard but this week his awkwardness and my lack of competence shows. And I can't stand it. I watch him get into the on guard stance with the wrong foot forward, his left hand ready for a foil. But he's RIGHT handed! I wanted to go over that more this past week, but I didn't. I didn't do it and he felt bad. He spent so much time trying to get his feet in the right place and to fence with the foil in the wrong hand - oh, it about killed me to watch it.

Fencing class, take 2

How can I sit by and watch my child struggle? Or do it wrong? He felt beaten down and I felt descouraged. And the coach told the parents to put their kids in sweats, NOT jeans. Of course, the sweats made it in the wash this morning but not into the dryer. And he needed shoes instead of sandals and ... I'm failing.

We didn't get our reading done today. I'm failing. On all fronts, failing. And all I'm thinking of is me. Didn't I just have a birthday? Isn't it time I grew up?

He didn't have as much fun as he should have, and it's because of the things I forgot or didn't do or just wasn't on top of enough to review. How can I do this to him?

Only One Solution

And that is to cut out morning TV. I could let St. Nick watch educational videos and do computer during his siblings' naps (after phonics, unless we can get phonics in after lunch), but no TV in the morning. I just cannot have the morning broken up with the talking box like it was today. It was only 20 minutes, but it sets us back, ruins the flow of what we're doing.

And it causes fussiness galore. I think he'll prefer educational video/computer time in the afternoon anyway.

I'm also considering doing Tapestry three days a week and Science one day, yet that doesn't seem like enough for Science. Hmmm. Math and Reading need to happen daily (well, the four days a week we do school).

I can see so much growth already, so why do I still feel like I'm not doing anything?

Ta Da DA!

Mud-Pie-Muffin can PULL UP!

About time, pokey fourteen-month-old pants.

So Proud!

Second Week Record

Despite starting the week with two sick kids...

Two Sick Kids

Phonics/writing: Reading Reflex 'er' word list with associated lessons (reading of The Hurt Girl). Lots of writing practice with the Nature Journal and Word Bank Cards (about six cards added - nouns and one verb). Both handwriting and phonics are going slowly and are a struggle. Not for ability, but there's a block somewhere. We'll get it in time.

Math: Singapore Earlybird 2A continuing from last week through lesson five. Going smoothly. We might join friends for a lesson next week.

Tapestry: St. Nick can identify the Nile River and Egypt on a world map (which makes two places on a map he can identify - Egypt and our state). We talked about daily life in Egypt and completed the following readings:

Usborne Beginners The Egyptians
Egermeier's Bible Story Book: Creation plus Baby Moses and Jacob and the coat (noting setting of Egypt)
A Place in the Sun: chapters 1-3. I'm not quite sure how much he's getting. But he's tracking with major story elements, which is great.
Modern Rhymes about Ancient Times (Egypt): selections (about half)
Bill and Pete Go Down the Nile (again)
Geography from A to Z

Activities: Lots and lots of online activities. We viewed Egyptian art, pyramids, images, heard Egyptian music all using the links in the previous post here.

We made a salt map and went over landforms using Geography from A to Z. I took pictures, below.


St. Nick, entirely on his own, made a sarcophagus from a paper bag mask and a cardboard box (he understood exactly what he was making and transferred a rather abstract idea into real household objects).

(More photos of this week can be found at: http://smartypants.shutterfly.com)

We also looked at pictures of the World Trade Center bombing and talked about terrorism and patriotism.

Watched a video (several times) on the construction of skyscrapers.

We attended members night at the John Ball Park Zoo - the event was very busy and overwhelming, but fun. St. Nick drew a jellyfish in his Nature Journal.

Science: Did the How do Plants drink activity from Green Thumbs (p. 5), and St. Nick sketched his observations in his Nature Journal.

We transplanted our seeds from last week and continued sketching our observations. We read about seeds and seed parts (shoot and root are firmly established in his vocabulary now) using the Usborne Illustrated Encyclopedia.

Heart: We read Leading Little Ones to God, chapter 2, continued with our scripture memory verse and read much of God's Wisdom for Little Boys.

Etc.: We did just a few minutes of Chinese online. St. Nick washed the bathroom himself (!) and helped to dust/mop.

St. Nick attended his first fencing class on Tuesday which was a huge success!!!

En Garde!

St. Nick's first fencing class was last night, and I would give him an A+ (if I were into grading [as if. My killer instinct came forward. Get 'im! I wanted my boy to WIN!]). Actually, the better assessment, the class and instructors would get an A+.

This is the first activity of the sort St. Nick has done, and I was nervous he'd be nervous. He gets that way - at Sunday School (we still have to hear about the dreaded Angel Costume from the Christmas play. "Mommy, I am NOT wearing an Angel Costume Ever Again!"), at preschool last year when he'd sing all the songs at home, but none of them with the class. But he surprised me. He marched right in and said to the crowd of kids and adults, "I'm ready for fencing because I had a good supper!" And then the kids took to the floor while the moms and dads sat along the walls. (I'm a mom! I love this!)

At first, when he practiced his stance with his left hand forward instead of his right, I thought we were doomed. He doesn't know about dominant hands yet. I haven't taught him left/right yet. They'll find out what an awful homeschooler I am and will ... but then he got the foil in his hand and held it like a natural.

His inborn lack of coordination played in his favor. While the little boy across from him swiped and jabbed, St. Nick hopped forward, his foil straight ahead. Again and again he hopped forward until his opponent was forced over his line. And so St. Nick won his very first fencing non-match!

(Update: St. Nick just got back from lunch at his friend's house, and they asked what sort of equipment he used - if he wore special clothes. His reply, "I wear my swimming pants and a monkey mask!" Oh, the joy of having a smartypants!)

Amazing Love

Today I'm 30. The Big Three Oh.

Started off with an argument with Hubby, three sick kids, and a phone call.

The big Three Oh Sh@t

The phone call made all the difference. It was my friend, calling to wish me a happy birthday and offering to take my oldest to the library with her three kids and keep him over for lunch. And when she came over, she had flowers, a card and a slice of chocolate cake.

I wasn't sure what to do or what to think - beyond being grateful and amazed and a little chagrined (I'm not quite sure when her birthday is). And a little sad that my mother will be taking us out for dinner tonight and my husband hasn't given my birthday more than two seconds of thought. I accept that he doesn't think about things like this, but it is a disappointment on the two days of the year I wish he would. (This one and Mother's Day.) Even perfect men have their flaws, I suppose.

I don't feel any different, being 30. I do feel different being a homeschool mom. I find out things about myself every day - like how I secretly do want uberkinderen and how competitive I am, and how if I continue to live vicariously through my children, I will put pressure on them to excel at things they might not even want to do. I'm a driven, moody, demanding, perfectionist of the worst sort.

So of course, accepting a gift from a friend, one given freely with nothing I have to do to repay it and nothing I had to do to earn it, except to love my friend (which I do!), is hard for me. Grace is hard for me too. I'd rather work hard for my salvation, and fail (as I know I would), and receive my due punishment, than to accept Grace. Free Gift? It makes me feel awkward, and a little desperate, and - God forbid - grateful.

There are many things I cannot do, many things I'm doing badly, yet I still have the love of my friends and the Grace of God. I'm not used to needing, but I know I do. I needed that phone call this morning, and I need the love of my friends, and I need that G thing. So, in case I haven't said it enough (not that anyone will ever read this), Thank You. I am grateful.

Recording in Progress: Week One

Books we Read:

The Nile River by Allan Fowler

St. Nick seems to understand a little about the Nile. He can find it on a map with hints and realizes it's a unique river in Africa. I should have known he'd enjoy maps - I love them. He does too!

Bill and Pete Go Down the Nile by Tomie dePaola

We ended up photocopying this (sorry copyright cops) but St. Nick has had more fun than anything coloring the copied pages. We stapled it into a book and he feels special ownership of it. We've read it several times.

Geography from A to Z by Jack Knowlton and Harriet Barton

This one is giving me an education! Bute, Cascade, Crevasse. Love it. This would be a good one for us to buy.

Deserts by Angela Wilkes

Packed with info. We haven't read the whole of it yet, but St. Nick loves sitting and looking at the pictures (his favorite is the story of the rattlesnake's kill).

Books we're Reading:
Egyptians by Stephanie Turnbull and Colin King
Secrets of the Pyramids (Maze Adventures) by Graham White

St. Nick LOVES this book of very creative mazes. (I like it too!)

Leading Little Ones to God
God's Wisdom for Little Boys
Egermeier's Bible Story Book

Projects:
We made an Egyptian Paddle Doll (craft from Old Testament Days by Nancy Sanders, page 52). We used paper for the dress because the paint was in the office where Mud Pie was sleeping. St. Nick made another three dolls entirely On His Own the next day! He wanted a family of Egyptian dolls.

We also took a virtual field trip of Egypt.

For science we read a few pages in Science With Plants and did the Seeds in a Bag activity from Green Thumbs (p. 25). We'll read more about seeds this coming week.

St. Nick started a nature journal (a sketchbook) and sketched his seed experiment and then his observations.

We worked through more Reading Reflex, but I'm thinking of switching to Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons. In Reading Reflex, we're onto the teaching the advanced code lessons. St. Nick still struggles with pages with too much text and really just needs a lot of practice. We didn't do any Bob Books and only a page or two from McGuffy's. Next week.

We did Earlybird Math K 2A, pages 3-12 with much enthusiasm.

And four worksheets for handwriting with much complaint. We did do a handful of Noun cards for our wordbank (a notecard file box), and St. Nick seemed to tolerate writing the words and drawing pictures. We really need to work on handwriting, however. (Ug.)

First Weeks of Homeschooling

It's been a tiring week for all of us. Mostly I think we've struggled to forge new habits (still in process). Things like: less TV and computer time for St. Nick, less Mom time for me. And organization. Oh, my. I didn't think I had much planned for each day, yet I still haven't found time to do the phonics lesson for Day 4.

Why does it seem like I've done very little? I have all the check boxes checked off on my schedule, but I can't seem to recall what all we've done. A whirlwind, like those mission trips. The experience is so rich, yet the only memories I have are photographs. Tokyo? I know it's an amazing city, yet I remember only the stairs to the theatre where we saw a Kabuki show.

There have been moments I've wanted to sit down and cry, or sell Little Fish on eBay (jury is still out on that one), and yet I've seen a change in St. Nick already. He'll wrap his arms around me with no prodding, no, "Can Mommy have a hug?" Just out of the blue. And he'll say how much he loves me.

Homeschooling isn't about the curriculum, it isn't about checking off all the boxes. It's about this.

And marshmallows. It's also about marshmallows.

Call the Waaaaaaambulance!!!

I WANT MY LAPTOP BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I cannot stand another day using the Family System. The keyboard sounds like I’m trying to nail my fingers into the desk, and rather feels like that too. The desk chair is too low (no, it’s not adjustable). The screen is tilted too high (just fixed that). I despise having to log in every time I want to check email. I detest having to fight a certain child when I want to check email. I ABHOR using a mouse.

(Imaging me stomping my foot.) I want my portability! I want my trackpoint! I want my NOTEBOOK COMPUTER!!! WAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
Tantrum complete. Unlike Little Fish, I will not make myself vomit.

Someday he will hate me for posting this...

Catastrophic Hard Drive Failure

No, I’m talking about my computer. Really. My laptop hard drive is toast.

It all began last week when Microsoft Word wouldn’t save my document. Out of memory? What? I know I’m close to running out of memory, but how would the computer know that? (Har har.) I worked around the error, rebooted and all was well. Well, except for overall sluggishness, so I ran some PC Doctor utilities (I didn’t even know I had them until then) and defragmented the hard drive (took seven hours). And who would have thought—it seemed fixed!

Seemed. Until yesterday.

12:14 pm Kids eating lunch, I decide to check email. But, odd, what’s that strange clicking noise? A fan? Not the hard drive. Certainly NOT the hard drive.

Flashback to early spring: A refurbished HP desktop, a Christmas gift for my oldest child, and it started acting funny. Hmmm, that’s a new error message. I’ll reboot and then I’ll get our files backed up just in case. Since the computer held the only copies of ALL our digital pictures. Yes, I am THAT stupid.

The reboot ended in the Black Screen of Death.

I feel the panic rising as my laptop clicks and churns. I had frantically reinstalled the operating system and cried with joy when our files miraculously survived the crash. I burned backups of everything and a good thing too. The files did not survive the next crash two weeks later. But that was the desktop, the Family computer.

This is my laptop. I won’t let the children breathe on it, I won’t let them look at it or even think about it.

12:18 Kids OK, computer very much not. I abandon the reboot idea and whip out my handy portable CD-RW drive, run upstairs for an archive disk. The last backup was February. February! Don’t I learn? I AM AN IDIOT!!!!

12:25 Wipe up Fish, tell St. Nick to quit messing in the sink already. Drag and drop files to the RW drive. My novels, my essays, my homeschooling files.

12:32 "Nicholas, settle down! Leave your sister alone! Quit jumping on the couch!!!” 12:36 Phone call from husband, I say, “Funny noises, yes, the hard drive, I’m doing a backup of the data, bye.”

12:48 I glance up at a shriek from St. Nick. He’s a foot away, just coming off a flying leap onto the sofa. He lifts his head and blood gushes from his nose over the sofa and onto the floor.

Oh no! I grab towels and once he’s assured he’s not dying (and I am too), and the mess is managed, I hear yet more grinding from the laptop as one of my larger folders gets added to the RW disk.

1:12 It’s well past nap. I grab Fish from the closet (where he’s playing dress-up with the winter coats) and Mud Pie from under an end table. St. Nick remains on the sofa with a paper towel.

1:29 Flurry of diapers, attempt at nursing, babes to bed. I check the Nose Bonker and he’s fine, so back to the files. The Most Important file did not get copied! Oh no! I drag and drop it, then decide to email it to myself, just to be sure. The computer freezes.

1:43 I reboot. All is normal. I try to start Outlook. A blue screen appears and the message: Unknown Hard Disk Error.

I give up my chair to St. Nick, who says using the computer (the Family computer) will make his nose feel better. Sure enough, it does.

Addendum: I will reboot two more times and will retrieve most major files. On the third reboot I will see the Black Screen of Death: No Operating System Found.

Taps will play. I will mourn. It is finished.

Homeschool Angst

I wrote this after I attended my first ever homeschool support group meeting. Perhaps it was odd since I haven't started homeschooling quite yet—our first day will be next week. But I know I'll want a group of like-minded moms once I'm in the trenches. So tonight was the night.

I think I need a Support Group support group.

I took notes during the meeting, not many, but here they are:



And since it's hard to read my handwriting, this is what I wrote.

CM group
I am stupid.
panic attack feeling – sick in stomach
someone with 11 kids – oh god help
pink sun agnst. bldg outside – run
can I make it?
flashback of factory wk
pull-out chart – 6 pgs together
colored sticky notes
agonizing pain in seat
write in pencil so you can erase it
and it was never there

Those who were there (like the friend I had ice cream with later – our post-group support session) will know what that means. Anyone else will think I’ve lost my mind. But last night I wondered if I had.

I took a semester off from college to figure out what I wanted to do before I got more deeply in debt than I already was, and during that winter and spring I worked odd jobs. I worked in a coffee shop, I worked retail in the mall, I signed up through a temp agency and spent a few weeks in a floral-arrangement sweat shop (except it was very, very chilly). And once summer came I worked in a factory for one eternal day. My job was to load cardboard onto one end of a machine and watch it get sucked down to the other end where two girls (I assume – I never saw them) took the now-folded and -glued cardboard and packed it into boxes.

On the far side of the factory floor was a window, small and high in the metal-sheeted wall. A blue patch of sky, waving branches of an oak. I was supposed to hit a button if the machine jammed, but instead I stared out the window. A thousand times in each of those torturous hours I imagined crossing the factory floor, sprouting wings, escaping. The next day I got a job at McDonald’s and worked there until returning to school in the fall.

I think hell will have a window like that, into heaven.

And so last night, the back door to the classroom (where our meeting was held) stood open, and across the parking lot the setting sun glowed off a metal-sheeted building. I half-listened to homeschool veterans describe their typical days, show their hand-illustrated spiral-bound planning and record-keeping journals, discuss field trips to nature centers in other parts of the state. And I looked out the door in my panic-induced haze thinking if I bolted fast enough no one would even see me leave.

How can I teach even one child to read, let alone all three? How can I keep a (somewhat sanitary) house? How can I do any of that and write?

I didn’t run screaming out the door, because of one wise woman. In the discussion of planning, of to-do lists and assignments she said,

“Just write it in pencil, and if you don’t get it done you can erase it. Then it’s like it was never there.”

Words to live by.

What Month Comes After August?

That would be September. Which is why I have been sitting at my dining room table, books piled to the cobwebbed hanging lamp, for the past few weeks. Not heady reading (that’s my husband’s department), but picture books, curricula, catalogs, and my trusty IBM Thinkpad.

Inspired!

I’m coming up on my first year homeschooling, and had to hammer out a plan for September for St. Nick. I need to stimulate his interests (boogers, vomit, amputations, monsters) while teaching a few basic things he might need to know later in life (reading, and which insects are poisonous to baby sister and which are not, and why he ought not feed any insects to sister regardless of toxicity).

And since it’s Friday, and for lack of anything intelligent to say, beyond the names of all major Pharaohs of ancient Egypt, I will share my favorite online homeschool resources.

Starfall. A website dedicated to helping children learn to read. It utilizes phonics, stories, games, and all things interactive. And it’s free.

Better Chinese. This is a free demo of their online program (lessons 1-3). If the rest of the program is like this, my whole family will be speaking Mandarin by the end of the year. Fish is already singing songs in Chinese. *sadly, this site is no longer available*

Singapore Math. The math curriculum for Moms who detest all things rote and boring.

Sonlight. A literature-based whole-book curriculum. My fallback option if I can’t figure out how to use the curriculum below. Fantastic packages for individual subjects like math and science.

Tapestry of Grace. A literature-based curriculum that combines historically organized unit studies with classical methodology (i.e., the trivium). And it’s Reformed. Do you know how hard it is to find homeschool curricula that is Reformed?

Last, and I wish least, the website that will give St. Nick the motivation to read: Captain Underpants. Who knew sounding out the words: Booger, Vomit, Underpants and so on could be so engrossing?

Nine Years Ago, Today

I stand beneath blistering lights at VanDyke Photography studio.

My dress brushes the floor when I turn, sweeps behind me when I take a step. Vintage 1960 ivory lace and satin, which I’d found at a Lansing antique store for $99. A dress that is perfectly me, entirely unique. The secret blessing of a tight budget. And I bought it (rather, my parents did) two months before engagement.

I knew. I had only known this man, the one I am waiting for at the photography studio, six months when I bought the dress, had only been dating him four. But I knew.

I like to say we met Goofing Off.

We were at work, in the upstairs hallway of Sunshine Community Church, sitting on the floor outside empty classrooms. The walls glowed with fresh paint and our job that day was to take a chemical solvent to the baseboards, to remove the slopped smears and drips of paint. The name of the product was Goof Off.

Maybe the fumes went to our heads, but our conversation turned to the future. What were our hopes? What did we want most out of life?

“We’re done with the girls, with the bride’s parents,” the photographer says. “Shall we bring in the groom?”

I was too young for him. Only nineteen, nine years his junior. He had fears, he will tell me later, that I was too young to know my own mind, too young to be trusted.

That day after Goofing Off, I knew. I wrote in my journal, “I think I met someone. I won’t say more because I always do that. I always say, ‘I know! This is the one! This is IT!’ and I have always been wrong. This time, hear me, journal. I will say nothing.” Several months later I sat beside my friend Lucy, visiting from the then Czech Republic, in the church narthex, and I pointed to the man in the maintenance uniform. “That’s him, that’s the man I’m going to marry.”

The photographers send everyone off the studio floor and out the doors. I look at them, confused. The assistant smiles at me. “He hasn’t seen you in your dress, has he?” I shake my head. She nods and follows the photographer out of the room.

One of my work responsibilities was to make up the schedule. Who would work concerts? Who would open Saturday morning, or close after services Sunday night? Tuesday evenings and Saturday mornings were our days. No one else worked with us, and only rarely did a call on the radio interrupt our conversations. Soon those conversations continued over late night cups of coffee and slices of pie, and soon those late nights became bleary drives back to my apartment in the predawn hours, exhausted, exhilarated, certain.

I will tell him later of the hours spent manipulating the schedule, accommodating fifteen or more employees’ preferences, their requested days off, and still holding on to Tuesdays and Saturdays. He will laugh. “I wondered why we were always working together.”

I wait in the empty studio. Of all the moments of that day, this I will remember. Black cloth drapes the walls, wires snake across the floor, the lights obscure my view of the door. I pace as time stretches on. I am not sure why I am alone, and I am beginning to worry—is there a problem? Was I supposed to have left with the rest?


I do not see him until he is standing at the edge of the circle of light. His eyes glisten. And again, I know.

Nine years later, three children, and conflicts and struggles that were not in our plan, I still know. I have changed and so has he, but my promise that day has not.

August 9, 1997
August 9, 2006
August 9 for the rest of my life.
Our Hearts, Our Souls, Our Love Forever.

What I Learned on my Summer Vacation

 

1. Toddlers have an inborn fear of water. They also develop unnatural attachments to their life jackets, and so refuse to take them off, even at mealtimes. (Or at least my toddler did. Little Fish spent a day standing on shore, watching the big kids swim. And he loved every minute of it.)

2. Big kids have more sense than I give them credit for (that is—a very little, which is still more than none at all). St. Nick never pushed his brother in the water, never fell in the water, never jumped in the water, never ventured into the deeps. He inherited my hesitation. He’ll get over it, but hopefully not for a few more years.

3. All cottages should come equipped not just with maids and chefs, but also with nannies.

4. But since they don’t, it’s okay not to know where all six (combined) kids are at any given moment.

5. It’s also okay to see an assortment of fearsome insects indoors. It’s a cottage—this is expected. The frog climbing up the window behind my husband’s head was a bit more of a surprise.

6. Frogs are every bit as amazing to grownups as they are to kids.

7. Macs may indeed be superior to PCs.

8. Even my husband agrees my swimsuit looks horrid (floral and skirted), but agrees it does not make me look fat. A workable trade-off, I think.

Does this fender make my butt look big?

9. The fragrant breeze on the sun porch at 1am has the power to transport me to summer camp when I was eight. Early morning swimming lessons (which I failed), angst-ridden walks to the bathhouse in the dark, lonely hours in the cabin while the other girls swim with their friends. How good to be an adult, but how easily I remember those anxieties of childhood.

10. Babies will sleep anywhere.

11. Pete’s Strawberry Blonde tastes even better with friends.

12. Cloves still give me a stomachache.

13. Two men and four kids in a rowboat is a sight to behold.

14. Even first thing in the morning, after little sleep and with no makeup, my friend is still beautiful.

15. And even though she’s beautiful, my husband still looks only at me.

16. We have been blessed with incredible, fun, creative, cool, talented friends.

It was a magical weekend, both for us and for the children. I don’t think I have ever seen the kids so happy, or so tired. But there is one final thing I learned this weekend.

17. My world is too small; there are too many things I do not know and now long to know.

I long to row to the middle of the lake at midnight, and listen.
I long to wait there and watch dawn rise into the rippling bowl.
I long to slide down the hill in a toboggan in winter—with or without the kids.
I long to capture the magic. To hold on to it so it will never fade. I long to hold the glow on the children’s faces, to keep fresh the longing in my own heart. But no matter how many words I use, or how many photographs I take, the brilliance of the moment will fade, as it must.

This is the nature of magic.

Anger Overtaking America: Dough Rage

A new variant of road rage is infecting the “power breakfast” crowd.

8 a.m. and I’m sitting in the parking lot of Bagel Beanery while my husband runs in for two asiago cheese, sliced, not toasted with cream cheese.

A little black Jetta pulls into the lot and lurches to a stop. The driver — blonde, tailored navy suit — eyes the line wrapping around the building, and the row of parking spaces, all occupied but one. Ah, the one is a mirage. A motorcycle sits there, just off center.

The gall of him, that motor cyclist — how dare he take an entire space for one little ...

I can hear her thoughts. Another woman leaves the Beanery, goes to her car.

Finally. The blond inches forward, then back realizing the car has to leave the spot for her to take it. But the woman is in no hurry.

The blond eyes the drive-thru line, the exit, and lurches forward again as if ready to jet back onto the street. Forget this bagel. She slams the brakes.

If I knew how to read lips, I’d be getting an education in the profane.

Get going or I’m going to stick this mascara wand —

The other car pulls out and onto the road.

With a huff and more silent curses, the blonde zips into the vacated spot. Her heels puncture asphalt and her shoulder slams my husband’s as he holds the door.

Lady, it’s just a bagel.

Lighten Up!

All Mothers Lie

Mother: (enters two-year-old's bedroom) Why, child, you're swimming!
Child: I wet. I drink lots!

(Mother undresses child and piles all sodden clothes onto sodden sheet and sodden mattress pad)

Child: (throughout process) No! Want jams!
Mother: But your jams are wet. Do you want to be cold and wet all morning?
Child: Yes.

(Mother starts dressing child in shorts and shirt)

Child: (crying) No! Jams! Jams!
Mother: (smiles sweetly) Oh, but these are jams. They're daytime jams.
Child: (thinks) Oh. (smiles) Okay!

Sneaky Mommy.