What a Pest, Ramona

Ramona the Pest by Beverly Cleary, 1968.

A smiling adult voice narrates the story. This could be patronizing, but rather is understanding and warm. Ramona didn’t mean to be a pest, she wanted to be good. The narrator has tremendous insight into a child’s psyche, using everyday, even mundane experiences that might seem (to an adult) out of proportion, but are huge things in the life of a child.

Cleary uses tidy plotting and gradually escalating tension involving dynamics of relationships and the sheer bigness of the world to a little girl so that the reader truly sees it though a child’s eyes. Love and respect for this little pint-sized pest fills every page.

There was an eeriness in my own experience as a reader since I dimly recall reading this book at age 7 or 8, so throughout the whole was an odd sensation of déjà vu. I still recall chasing little Jonathan Van Dop around the playground with a worm, demanding he marry me.

Is Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney Worth a Fight?

You know you're a kiddie lit geek when you're arguing with an eight-year-old over who gets to read the library books first. St. Nick snagged this one, I sneaked it while he was playing his Nintendo DS, and he sneaked it back later. I, gracefully I think, allowed him to finish it (see, I have learned to take turns) and then I got my chance to read it.

The illustrations, the voice, the story all catapulted me into life as a skinny middle school boy. This is possibly the most fun I've had with a book since I slipped Captain Underpants into the library bag (that one I wouldn't allow Nicholas to read until I'd "previewed and approved" it).

Ultimately, this is a story about friendship and integrity, and here the protagonist is an antihero of sorts - modeling these qualities (realistically) via negativa. All Greg's plans to do evil, be popular, avoid responsibility, backfire. But it's not a downer - the book is hysterically funny. Greg joins the school's Wizard of Oz production as a tree, in hopes of beaning "Dorothy" with an apple; he becomes a safety patrol officer to get out of pre-algebra. So many of Greg's great ideas are horrendously and innocently flawed. Much like the child I had to ask for permission to read his book.

The same child who couldn't understand, as previously mentioned, why his Orchestra Instruments teacher thought the drawing he did during class was inappropriately ghoulish ...

"You don't think an alien pulling his head off is a little too scary?"

Exasperated sigh and eye roll followed by, "He's not pulling his head off, Mom. He's putting his head back on."

Ah. I see.

New Family Member!

Miss Ching Ching

Another New Family Member!

Miss Ching Ching

Is there a Doctor in the House? Two by Seuss

Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat, 1957.

Singsong rhyme and controlled vocabulary are great for beginning readers. The story is incredibly imaginative, with the twist that the cat is the “child” who tears up the house and makes a mess, while the children are the “adults.” An early lesson in empathy for ones’ parents, perhaps? St. Nick, Fish, and Pie have all loved this book. And I've loved skipping pages while reading it.





Dr. Seuss, Green Eggs and Ham, 1960.

Every parents’ “must have” for the picky eater. “You don’t want to be like Sam! You’ve never even tried it.” The story mimics the child in a way that can make him laugh at himself. It’s silly to see an adult (creature) being so picky! Again, rhyme and almost exclusive use of short, easy words aid beginning readers in decoding the story.

Welcome, Fisher, to this Loony Land!

We have a new family member, as of today. His name is Fisher and he's about 90lbs, three years old, and the sweetest BIG guy ever!!

A little background: eight years ago, before kids, we thought of getting a dog. An Old English Sheepdog would be perfect, we thought. So we found a rescue organization, and who would know, they had a dog needing adoption! We drove across the state to get him. After a three hour drive home, the big fellow needed a walk, so I took that on. Sort of. More like he took me for a walk. Long story short, the guy was still a puppy, just over a year and was already huge. Too much to handle even had he been a good dog. But he wasn't. He growled at us, didn't listen, showed his teeth. We drove another three hours to take him back and discovered he'd bitten the breeder's spouse.

Oh, Deer!

Here's a fellow we met this morning, him and three companions. That stretch of asphalt is our driveway.

Fish and St. Nick hurried to the window, but poor Mud Pie was getting dressed. She did catch a final glimpse, so excited she rushed down in the buff, and then had to hurry upstairs to put some clothes on!

No Holes Here

Holes by Louis Sachar. Random House, 1998.

Most distinctive for its magnificent plotting, Holes is the adventure story of the unlikely hero, Stanley. He’s been falsely convicted of a crime and sent to a work camp for boys in the Texas desert. There he and the other boys dig holes, only he quickly begins to suspect that he’s digging not to rehabilitate himself, but rather to find something. A treasure perhaps.

Woven through the 3rd omniscient narrative are snippets of other stories: Stanley’s no-good-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather for example, who was cursed by a Gypsy woman, and his family’s bad luck ever since, and the history of the now-dry lake where the boys are digging. Every plot thread is tied neatly from the pig-stealer, to the role of the venomous yellow-spotted lizard, and onions. Yet even with tight plotting, the story does not seem forced or contrived. Events unfold and come together naturally and always with suspense and clear, accessible writing.

That #$%& Co-op!

Halfway into first hour at coop this morning the director knocked on the door. She had St. Nick beside her, and neither of them was happy. He was being kicked out of class for his first time ever. Kicked out! Sent to the office! Sent to sit in the hallway! Whatever that horrible thing was that happened to the bad kids in school, but never to me. How have I managed to raise one of those bad kids? Is St. Nick a bad kid? Am I a bad parent?

For the next two hours I had half the moms in the school giving me advice, asking questions, trying to be helpful. Helpful of my son's "Special Needs." But why is it that the other two hours of class passed without incident? How is it that the second hour teacher has found ways of getting St. Nick out of his funk and into the group, without bringing him down, red faced (both him and herself) to talk to me about how disrespectful and disobedient he's been? And what on earth is so bad about letting him observe rather than participate?

Something to say

That's what I haven't had for a while now. Homeschool coop has been going better. Fish loves it, Pie doesn't know that she has a choice, and St. Nick is under strict orders to put up with it or else. He may well find out what "or else" means before it's said and done, however. I guess I should put some thought into what "or else" means, eh?

So, I'm sitting here at Biggby sipping a Big Chill despite the cold. I love the taste! I can't help it. And I'm thinking about how it didn't feel like I went grocery shopping today. Which is really, truly amazing! Our local grocery just started a program where you fill your cart online and, for a small fee, someone else collects all your items, bags them, rings them up, and all you have to do is park in the designated spot at the designated time and ring them up to say, "I'm here!" and out they come to take your credit card and load the bags into the back of your vehicle. It's awesome!!!! Not only did I save probably $40 (no impulse buys, no "Well, it's on sale so even though I don't *need* six boxes of Cheddar Crisps ..."), I avoided the whole tugging kids through the asiles, forgetting that one thing way in back, the oh crap I need to get shampoo which is all the way on the other side of the store, the Put that back! No, we aren't going to buy that! Put it back, I said! Hey, how did this get in my shopping bag?

I can hardly contain how excited I am by this new program. No more pushing a cart through slush in the winter! No more embarassed forevers in the checkout lane while the kids scream and fight and try to open all the candy bars (nooo, they don't really do that. No, of course not.).

I'm sure next time my computer crashes I'll regret saying this, but isn't technology great? I can sit here at Biggby, jamming to my iPod, typing on my laptop, posting via wireless, and all this after going grocery shopping without even leaving my car. Ahhhhhhh.

Not-so-Captivating Classics: Red Sails to Capri by Ann Weil (1952)

Red Sails to Capri was published in '52, won a Newbery Honor, and I guess that's why it ended up in St. Nick's curriculum. Or maybe the sheer drudgery made it adequate school reading?

But I'm being unfair. It's a book for younger readers, so it can't be too breath-holding (or so I've heard, which is totally false), and while I'm none too fond of it as a whole, there are many things to appreciate.

It's the story of Michele Pagano's adventure with three foreign guests at his family's inn. Together they search for the truth about the mysterious cove, an inlet and cave that has terrified the village of Capri for generations. The book is incredibly fun to read aloud. Each character has a unique voice that simply sings with authenticity and life. I got to read adventure-loving Monsieur Jacques with a terrible French accent, and the artist Lord Derby with an even worse English one. I didn't so much as attempt German for philosopher Herre Nordstrom, but read Signor and Signora Pagano's lines with a rolling Italian lilt. Or so I like to tell myself. Probably they all sounded like a Midwesterner faking an undisclosed accent badly. I tried, and I had fun.

And by chapter nine, my son was having fun, too! The cove! What is so mysterious about the cove? Unfortunately, to get to chapter nine, we had to slog through chapters one through eight, and after chapter nine, we had only chapter ten and then the book was finished.

In short, despite lovely writing, fabulous voices, vivid details, on and on, the book had very little plot. Boy has to entertain guests at the inn, guests want adventure, boy knows the cove is scary and adventuresome, but doesn't know why, no one knows why, so off they go to investigate and by golly, the cove is just ... ah, but that would be spoiling it, now wouldn't it? And that could have been accomplished in, oh, two chapters perhaps? Instead of ten? Because, see, nothing else happens. There's no subplot, nothing to drive the story forward beyond, "what's so scary about the cove?" which, honestly, wasn't enough to drive anything, beyond a mother and son slightly bug-eyed with boredom.

A Family Favorite: Goodnight Moon

Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown, 1947

Where abstract meets concrete. This is a perfect sleepytime book with a lulling, rocking-chair rhythm as the little bunny says goodnight to all the familiar things in his room. Bold and simple illustrations show bunny getting into bed, getting under the covers, each spread taking him closer to sleep; it confronts nighttime fears with a gradual dimming of the lights and wishing goodnight to “nobody” and “noises everywhere.”


This book has been one of my favorites for going on ten years now. I believe we're on our second or third copy? Since board books are edible. A well-deserved classic.


Worth mentioning: there's now a parody by Alex Rex, Goodnight Goon.

Homeschool Co-op Strikes Again

Another day of our new coop down and this time I sent St. Nick armed with a notebook and box of pencils, to take notes. He didn't think this would help. "It's sooooo boring, Mom! What am I gonna do, WRITE?"

"No, no, you can take notes in pictures, sweetie."

"What kinda pictures? Pictures of dumb birds?" (Cue five minute rant about how birds have feathers and he already knows birds have feathers, etc.)

"Not if you don't want, you can draw whatever kind of pictures you want, that have a little to do with what the teacher is saying, maybe." Maybe was added because I really do know better.

"Anything I want?" (Cue that look of cogs and wheels turning up there in his head behind his eyes, a scary look that usually precedes something ingenious and often destructive.)

"Sure!" (But the look gets stronger so I backtrack.) "Well, nothing inappropriate or scary."

"Ok."

Ok.

After class his teacher came up to me saying, "St. Nick could hardly contain himself, he wanted me to see his picture so badly. Quite a kid, that St. Nick." Something in here eyes warned me.

At this point I'm a little annoyed (again) about the environment, the culture that's waaaay too close to what's shown in the previous post. So when I asked, "St. Nick, so what's this picture you drew during class?" I was pretty sure I didn't want to see a drawing of dollies in a field of daisies. Of course, I know St. Nick too well to think I'd ever get a drawing of dollies in daisies from him (though he did draw an adorable Apple Dumpling doll for his sister once). Still, I didn't know quite what to expect. This is what I got:

I laughed the whole way home.

We Actually Called

I shared my grumpiness with Dr. D yesterday and he got on the phone and called the Charter Academy. They do have openings in 2nd grade, but St. Nick would have to apply and start classes tomorrow (well, today now, since he called yesterday). That's just too fast. If we could have a week, even, I think we might have done it. I could have returned the curriculum I bought and gotten a refund (for the books that don't have red pop on them - Fish had a little spill at dinner last night) and I might have had some moments free to work with Fish and Mud Pie during the day instead of casting them off to whatever activity will keep them relatively occupied and quiet for the longest period of time while I work with their big brother.

I had the briefest glimmer of hope. School! Joy! But alas, I'll just have to quit moaning and get to work. I, of course, feel like the biggest fraud going to these homeschool activities thinking giddily, "One more year, just one more year and I'm done with this."

Math with Money

Math. We're on Singapore 2A, exercise 10 and I'm finding that St. Nick has no trouble at all doing math when we do the money-related problems, like Sam has $30 and wants to buy the book, how much more does he need? (The book costs $32 - must be a textbook - so he needs $2, obviously.) St. Nick hardly has to think about this, even when it's more complicated (like Sam has $86 and buys the pencil for $15 ...) and we break out the base ten blocks. Easy.

But working on the exact same types of problems using imaginary apples and pears or cupcakes and cookies? No good. Then it's tears and "I don't get it!" Which makes math about as fun as, say, handwriting.

Hmmm.

Oh, Sigh.

Our first homeschool coop was this past week and already I've gotten a call from the director to talk about my son's "special needs." Special needs? Like classes that are interesting?

Pardon the sarcasm; I'm such a horrible person. He, apparently, tried to hide, escape, etc. etc. during the second of his two classes, and when he saw me in the hall before his third class he put on his fiercest angry face, which is really pretty comical, but also embarrassing since no one else's little cherubs flashed angry faces. I don't think they even have angry faces. I'm beginning to wonder if they have wills, or if they've been drugged. Or maybe most homeschoolers just manage to breed sweet smiling obedient children who can sit in one room for two solid hours listening to somebody's mom talk about music or birds or whatever and not be bored out of their gourds. I can't breed that sort of child. It would, honestly, be a miracle of genetics if Dr. D and I managed to produce a child like that.

Anyway, I've had my required conversation with St. Nick about staying in the room, not being a distraction and so on. And I'm fantasizing about the local charter academy every time I drive by the sign that says Limited openings in K, 2nd and 5th! Oh, yeah, I'm so ready for that.

Dr. D has his "Sunday Personality" going on today. I.e. grouchy about everything. Right now he's cleaning toilets and muttering profanity under his breath because the Ajax was in the upstairs bathroom and not under the kitchen sink where I guess he thinks it belongs. Funny, since he uses it maybe once for every, say, hundred-seventy times that I use it. Of course, after cleaning both toilets he will insist for the next few years that he cleans the bathrooms more often than I do.

Whine whine whine. Too bad I'm out of cheese.

Attack at Playland!

Frazzled already and it was only Wednesday morning, so I decided to treat the little ones to some time at the McDonald's playland. As usual, I got in, sent the big kids to play while I ordered with Mud Pie. The boys hurried back out for their food, gulped it down, and headed back in, only I noticed a handful of other kids were in the playland too, older ones. So instead of sitting right outside the playland doors (where it's quieter), I braved the shrieks and found a table right by the twisty slide. Good thing I did.

No sooner had I set my soda down Fish and Pie came running, crying that they'd been pushed on the slide. The culprit was a developmentally challenged youngster who was there with a couple of others like him and a couple of adults (chatting across the room). I convinced my kids to let it go, to return to the slides, and throughout the next hour the pushing child managed to hit, push, even spit on every other kid in the place. One family left in disgust after the spitting; I just warned Fish and St. Nick to keep their distance.

They tried, but in those plastic tunnels anything can happen. Right as I was thinking we should leave, St. Nick ran out of the play area, steaming mad. "That kid scratched my eye! Right here! He's a bad kid, what a BULLY!" (Thanks, Grandma, for making my kids bully-phobes.)

I calmly started explaining (once I saw that the scratch was really tiny) that the boy was different, that he didn't understand how to behave because of his limitations and whatnot. That's when Fish let out with a shriek.

He shrieks a lot, but something in the tone, the sheer shock and terror of it caught me. I closed my computer, got up. "Fish? Fish? St. Nick, go see what's wrong with him."

St. Nick scurried into the tunnel while Fish continued to shriek hysterically. Several other adults came to make sure it wasn't their own kid screaming (since they do often sound alike at this age).

"He's biting him! He's biting him!"

Finally, finally the adults with the special needs kids roused themselves. One scurried into the tunnels and said, "He's ok, but there's a kid in here who's bleeding."

Fish emerged from the slide slowly, hand cupped over his nose, blood mixing with tears, flowing over his fingers, down his chin. A mom behind me gasped. I choked back a cry and gathered Fish up and took him to our table where I gave him a napkin and set to seeing, first, where the blood was coming from. Out of the nose, on the nose, his cheek. Everywhere, it seemed. Before I knew it, the McDonald's staff was taking down my address for an incident report, the nurse at the next table over was handing me baby wipes, I was digging into my purse for an emergency Xanax. I found it but had blood and tears to wipe, and vomit now too, thanks to Fish's reflux issues. Fears flooded me - a bite, a human bite. This could mean infection or worse: hepatitis, rabies, HIV.

The kind McDonald's folk found antiseptic wipes, a bandaid, and I searched the crowd to make sure the other child and his ... parent? had stuck around. They were still there.

I approached. "Um, I just wanted to know, if, well, sorry to ask this, but does your boy have any medical issues I should be aware of? Hepatitis? Anything like that?"

No, but they'd have to check his file back at the school, they're his teachers, see, and really he's never done anything like this before and wow, you're so calm, thank you for being calm, mom's usually aren't so calm ...

I went back to my table and took that Xanax.

Eventually all the questions were answered, the biter's teacher joked with the McDonald's manager about insurance ("I dunno about that," the manager said, "I don't think it would apply cause this wasn't our fault." "But we couldn't see through those tunnels," the teacher said, then backtracked at the evil look the manager gave her. Just a joke, she said.). Finally I got what might have been an apology from the teacher, and the nurse kindly urged me to take my little guy to the ER.

After a call to Dr. D, who called the pediatrician, and another nudging from the nurse, we did just that (Urgent Care Center up the road) and Fish got put on some seriously strong antibiotics. And, after a supper of salami sandwich on potato roll, a Fish favorite, we went out for ice cream. He's in bed now, but Dr. D just had to settle him again - he's afraid of having a nightmare about bullies. I don't blame him. It's not every day you meet a seven-year-old vampire in McDonald's playland.

Here he is, bitten Fish:

First Field Trip of the School Year

And my was it ... WET. We hooked up with our new homsechool group to attend a historical encampment/reenactment, and the forecast called for morning showers. Well, it was indeed raining when we were picked up, raining as we drove, raining as we unloaded, raining as we waited for the event to start .... Don't take my word for it. Here are the highlights in pictures:

First tent, storytellers and singers about the French settlers. Entertaining, even if we were shivering and wet. (Thoughts: Ahhh, this is so refreshing! A nice light rain; surely it will let up soon.)

Next demonstration, musket drills! What fun! The muskets were a little damp.

St. Nick enjoying the musket drill. (I had to "trick" him into participating by taking a wooden musket, then handing it to him saying, "Oh! I just want to get some pictures!!!" To which he replied, "I'm so not falling for this, Mom. I'm not doing it.") By the way, it's still raining.

The rain stopped briefly for a cannon shooting and lunch.

St. Nick and his friend L loved the cannon.

Which was about the only thing St. Nick really did enjoy. Incidentally, he was about the driest among us with his yellow fleece shedding water. L and I had to change when we got home that afternoon.

We also saw a woodworker and a blacksmith. Exciting, but nowhere near as engaging as the reenactment we went to last fall. I'll have to go back in my files and see where on earth that was so we can go again, unless it's raining. Heck, even if it is raining. We have lots of practice at being wet.

Oatmeal Cookie Cobbler

To finish off our rough day yesterday, I thought I'd make something especially healthy ...

I was going to make peach crisp from a recipe, but I got a little carried away. This is what I ended up with: a peach-apple base with oatmeal cookie crust. Amazing! Served with mini egg fritatas (slices of deli ham in muffin cups filled with whisked egg, milk, salt, pepper and a dash of garlic powder, topped with swiss, baked for 20 mins at 350), this was an amazing comfort meal. I think the cobbler would likely be amazing with cranberries and apples for a Thanksgiving desert.

Oatmeal Cookie Cobbler

Fruit base:

5-6 chopped peaches

2 chopped tart apples

1/4 C orange juice

1 T brown sugar

2 T whole wheat flour

1/2 t cinnamon

1/4 t ginger

*put chopped fruit into a greased 8x8 pan, mix other ingredients and pour over fruit*

Topping:

1 stick butter, softened

1 egg

1/2 C sugar

3/4 C brown sugar

1/4 C water

1 t vanilla

*mix together*

1/2 t salt

1/2 t soda

3/4 C whole wheat flour

3+ C quick cooking oats

*mix into dough, drop by large spoonfulls onto fruit mixture so covers, bake at 350 for 40-45 minutes or until beginning to brown*

I would have taken a picture, but we honestly ate it so fast, I didn't get a chance!

Our First "Vacation" Day

Or Mental Health Day or sick day (more mental illness than anything, though the kids do have colds). Whatever you want to call it, school just isn't happening today.

And here's why:

The morning started typically. We had breakfast, I nuked my coffee about fifteen times because it kept getting cold, St. Nick wanted to try tea, didn't like it, so it got dumped and he got coffee instead, I took a shower and the little ones decided a bath would be nice.

And then ...

Well, let me backtrack. As I was getting St. Nick's tea, I noticed the door under the sink open. Huh? Had I left it dangling? Maybe. I shrugged, closed it, went on with tea making. A few minutes later I had to run into another room, and when I came back the door was hanging open again. Fish or Pie throwing something in the trash, I assumed. Why else would it be open?

Now fast forward. Bath is drawn, Mud Pie is in the water, I'm in the midst of getting my own tea and I'm chatting with St. Nick about his friend's birthday the following day. Fish heads up to jump in the bath and asks if he can bring his Noah's Ark. Sure, sure, whatever. Just get in there so I can start school with your brother!

Splish, splash, the little two are taking a bath and I realize, Oh! The water! It's still on, and this tub fills up faster than our old house's tub, so I go up and wonder what the nice smell is. Did they already get into the soap?

Well, no. And yes.

The water is blue and flecked with dark navy things. And there's something icky, sort of slimy in the water. I pick one slimy blue glob up, stare at it a moment. Then it hits me.

The dishwasher soap! We'd had a coupon for Electrasol gel packs and there was a brand new, month's-worth box ... under the kitchen sink.

The open door, Fish and Pie's squirrelly eagerness to get in that water. It's all coming together as I scoop partially-dissolved gel packs out of the bath. I scoop the kids out too, drain, wash the tub, rinse the toys, draw a new bath and scrub the thick film of dishwasher soap off their little hides (which were in danger of being tanned at that point, I was so upset with them). I took their drippy little selves, wrapped in towels, down to the scene of the crime and told them to never, ever, EVER!!!!!! get into the cupboard again.

We started the day with 31 gel packs, and since not all would fit in the ark and some I found on the family room floor, we now have 12.

And school didn't happen. We made Autumn placemats out of last year's dried leaves and clear contact paper instead.

First Week of School: Absolute Essentials

Three non-negotiable essentials for the first week of school:

1. Caffeinated beverages.
2. Gourmet chocolate.
3. Tissues.

Duh

That's essentials for Mom, in case it wasn't obvious.

Why I love Homeschooling

I have two frogs on my kitchen counter.

In a jar, thank heavens.

Fun in the Woods!

It's 10:30 and I'm dying for something to do. Soooo tired and grouchy and just having a Monday. So I decide to go to a park near here, a nice little park with trails through the woods, one I've never been to, so it would be new and exciting for all of us, right? Uh, yep.

We parked around 11am and started into the woods. So pretty. Trees and wetlands and stream beds. We walked and walked and walked, came upon a few forks in the road and walked and walked and found a lovely meadow that spanned a good ten rolling acres and then more woodlands. And after about half an hour I start to think that maybe if we don't get to a spot where the trail seems to be turning back the way we came, we should turn around, though I didn't want to turn around, since I'd likely hear, "NOOO! We don't want to go back yet!" And anyway, I was sure the trails would be a big circle and it we'd be back to the car by 11:35 and home for lunch.

So we kept walking. After a while I began to wonder if I'd be able to retrace my steps if I needed to. But I decided not to think about that, and we kept walking. Finally, finally we came to a map. One of those You Are Here carved-in-wood maps that's half worn off, with a snaking web of trails in three different colors that twist and turn and cross over one another. And cover literally MILES. Not a neat little square like a park we've visited before. And what was worse, there were two parking areas on two different streets, about a mile apart. And of those two lots (since the roads weren't labeled on the map), I didn't know WHICH ONE we'd parked in.

I decided we'd stick with the blue trail since we'd been on it a while already and the yellow didn't look familiar, and if we ended up at the wrong parking lot, well, we'd venture back into the woods or hike along the road until we got to the right parking lot. So we walked and walked and walked and walked and made a turn and walked and walked and walked and walked. At some point St. Nick's watch beeped to let us know it was lunch time - noon. And we walked and walked some more (me carrying Pie, Fish crying). And we came to another map. Only it wasn't a new map, I discovered by the position of the YOU in the You Are Here, it was the same map! We'd made some moronic circle.

That's when I cried. And I found that this was the one spot where I got cell reception so I called Dr. D, and he amazingly didn't laugh at me but said that if I wasn't out in another half an hour, he'd come find us. So this time I smartly copied the map onto a business card in my purse and we set out again, retracing our steps through the meadow, over hills and bridges, stopping at every split for me to scout ahead for our footprints or anything I recognized and marking in the dirt the way we'd gone in case I came back to that spot again. Finally, finally, finally we found our way out. I was carrying both Pie and Fish by then. And I got in the van, called Dr. D right before he left to come find us, then took the kids to McDonald's in Ada for a very late (as in 1pm) lunch.

On the bright side, I no longer feel guilty for skipping my run this morning. For those reading this, I hope your Monday has been a little less ... adventuresome.

A Huge Mistake: TV Zombies

That was, cable TV. It's gone now, as of yesterday. Why, oh why did I ever think cable would be a good idea?

Updated: This article says it all.

A Week Gone By

Was it just day three the last time I posted? I guess so, but I've drafted a thousand posts in my head between then and now. Some of them might have had titles like, "When dryers don't dry" or "what to do with kids while dryer-fixers are swarming through the house" or "dishwashers that work; dryers that don't" or maybe "BUGS! They live in the forest, too."

It's been an incredibly busy and wonderful two-ish weeks. I got a dishwasher installed today (took two hours of the man's time), the next dryer guy is coming tomorrow, and we've gone stomping through the woods several times. The kids think the long driveway is their private bike path. And in a way it is. My mother has gotten lost going home from our place (at night, I'll credit her) not once, not twice, but three times. And Dr. D and I went out last week Saturday for a movie (can't recall the name) and dinner at a posh country club that made me wonder why people spend money that way because I make a better salad and the artichoke dip at Gaia House is about ten million times better. But whatever. We had a gift certificate.

I'm already hooked on this place. Even with the dryer and the creepy-crawly wildlife that winds up inside far more often than I'd like. The UPS guy lingered in the driveway, chatting away and looking at the trees, experiencing the solace. I feel tremendously privileged to have this house, this land. Some go to cottages to experience nature and peace - I have it all around me, every day. I know nothing I've done merits this sort of gift, but that is the nature of Grace, isn't it?

And a little surprise - dishwasher installer found all sorts of mouse "presents" in the basement ceiling. Old? New? Have no idea. I haven't heard mice or seen them. But maybe mice mean I can convince Dr. D to get a cat! Fish and Pie (and St. Nick, when he's not too cool to be excited about things) would be elated. Off to check the homeless pet database!

Day Three, I think

Comcast guys just left. Trouble sleeping - so quiet out here. Exhausted. Dog hair everywhere. My poor vacuum. Kids love it, especially the cable TV (never had that before! We'll see if it lasts), but St. Nick must be allergic to dogs. Sniff sniff Aaaaachooooo is all we've heard from him today.

More later. Too much to do.

Day Two - Can it be?

Can it be that we're almost moved? I'm sitting here on the couch, which is the only piece of furniture left in this room. Well, except for two disassembled beds. Lamps are on the floor, the dining room is entirely empty. Wow.

My arms - they look like I've been through a boxing match - all scrapes and bruises, but I guess I just really get into my moving. My muscles sure agree with that statement, and they're sooo glad there are movers coming tomorrow for the really nasty items.

One big surprise: although the new house is a totally different style than our current one, our furniture actually looks good in it. The colors of the wood, the lines. It works.

Fading fast, so I guess this'll be it for intelligent commentary. Oh, except, why do some people feel the need to say whatever moronic thing comes into their heads? We've had a few folk see the new place (friends who have helped us in, mostly), and one person just couldn't keep from mentioning things like, "You'll need to put bells on the kids so you know where they are!" and "Well, that's a lot more lawn to mow." And "Did you know your bathroom door sticks?"

I'm probably just being oversensitive - I am exhausted - but honestly, would I not have noticed the increase in yard or the sticking door? I won't divulge who this person is, but let's just say, I really shouldn't expect anything else. Yet I always do. Dumb me.

Day 1 Survived

We're splitting moving into three + days. Day one was loading the rental truck, mostly with boxed items like books (see previous post). Day two involves friends of Dr. D loading small-ish furniture items and any remaining boxes (only a couple from the basement - mostly canning jars). And day three is Monday, and will be wonderful professional movers taking the real backbreaking items like the treadmill and sleeper sofa.

Day 1 was a huge success! Not only did we have the truck half loaded by the time any helpers arrived, we fit all the major boxes and some furniture items on there! And we had an extra helper to unload at the new place. It could not have gone more smoothly. This house, though. It's so empty and echo-y. The dining room has just our small kitchen table in it, and a highchair. The living room is missing the rug and several items. I am glad to be moving, but it's a little bittersweet. I'll miss the crown molding and the stained glass windows, the huge mantle and the custom painting in the dining room that took me about two dozen hours to complete. I've taken lots of photos, and I'll take more before we leave, but I know memory will fade, even with pictures to help keep it fresh.

Combine the sorrow of leaving a place where two of our three children were born (literally) with giddy expectation for the new house and what do you get? A sleepless night! We spent some time in the new place, and as with every single visit, simply walking in the door feels like coming home. So many things are different in a wonderful way. A driveway! A garage! A family room off the kitchen/dining area! Acres of land to explore! A deck! Even a hot tub! I sent the kids outside last night and when I wandered to the end of the drive to tell them it was time to go, what did I find? All three with stained fingers, shirts, mouths - they'd found the wild blackberry bushes. Oh, yes. This is well worth my aching arms and legs, well worth three days of flux.

Now for Moving Day 2.

Oh, The Excitement!

So I see I've been neglecting this little space for quite some time. In the past month we've closed on our house, purchased a new one, and we move next week!! EEK! And we wrecked our one mode of transportation (minivan, of course). It's not totaled, but we'll be driving a rental for quite a while.

And Mud Pie turns three tomorrow! Where did the past three years go? And St. Nick is reading voraciously, and Little Fish, well, he's four and a half and spends most of his time mad that he's too little to do what his big brother can do, and tickled that his little sister is too little to do what he can do.

Back to boxes. So, so, so many boxes. Do all homeschooling families have this many books? I've made two runs to U-Haul already for boxes and I still have books on shelves. Maybe we just have a problem with books. Is that even possible?

When Books Become Films

Last night I popped in the latest arrival from Netfix, the movie adaptation of Christopher Paulini's Eragon. I was so excited - a chance to lose myself in a great epic fantasy, like Lord of the Rings which I could read or watch a thousand times and never find boring. And since Eragon has been compared to LOTR many times (though mostly with the word "pilfer" somewhere in the sentence), I was expecting great things.

My husband and I like to predict whether a film will be any good during the opening credits. Actually, it's mostly my husband who likes to do this, and I like to say, "Just watch the movie!" and then to gloat (in a mature way, of course) when a flick he said would be awful is actually good. Especially if it was my pick and not his.

But this time I couldn't help but join in the prediction game. When a film opens with a tawny-headed Hobbit frolicking in the woodlands it's quaint and endearing. But the tawny Ed Speleers, the 17-year-old slightly petulant, thoroughly milk-toast Eragon? Not so much.



By the arrival of the dragon egg, Stephen and I were cracking jokes, "No! Take the red pill the red one! Don't take the blue pill!" (Sorry, forgive my Honey I Shrunk the Kids meets The Matrixmoment there.)

Once the rubbery baby dragon started devouring rats, we were switching to our one clear television channel to see when 20/20 would be finished with the un-viewable segment on some man who murdered his children but kept the love of his wife. So for another half-hour we flipped. The dragon is telepathic! switch The woman forgave him. switch The evil king is John Malkovich! switch Creepy music and, "Mania and depression can be a murderous combination..." switch Is that a dragon or a giant rubber chicken that's been painted blue? switch So call your doctor about Galbatorix. May cause stomach upset, diarrhea, and incandescent glowing of the eyeballs. Oh, good, the segment's over.

Usually I like to read a book before I watch a movie. I saw Lemony Snicket first (and loved it) but found it was just too close to the books for me to read them - too redundant. I was so disappointed; they're such smart and funny books. But here, regardless of how different the book may be, I no longer feel compelled to read it, and given it's door-stop proportions, this is about two week's reading I may now spend on other things. Bonus for me!

The Miracle of Dawn

This is something I'd ordinarily save for my little homeschooling journal, but since it's book related, and really just fabulous, I'll share it here.

Today St. Nick, who is seven and technically in first grade, cajoled me into taking him and his siblings to the library. This was our conversation on the drive there:

Him: Mom, do you know why I like going to the library so much?

Me: (Slightly irritable - I didn't really want to drag out in the rain and Mud Pie had a fashion meltdown on the way out the door) To get movies?

Him: Nope.

Me: Really? (Truly surprised) Then why?

Him: Well, I do like the DVDs but I love the books too. Want to know why?

Me: Sure.

Him: The books are sort of like movies, only better. When I read them I make pictures in my head and it's just like watching a movie but without having to watch it.

Me: (Momentarily speechless)

Him: Yup. I use my imagination. It's really powerful and I can see the stories just like movies. So that's why I like the library so much.

Me: (Still speechless)

This has been one of the greatest privileges of motherhood. I labored with St. Nick over letters and sounds, over sound bingo and Bob Books and the laborious sounding out of word after word. There were times I doubted my ability to teach this most fundamental skill, and doubted his ability to learn. Times when I suspected the dozen or more books he keeps squirreled beneath his pillow were there just for the pictures.

And now I know they were - but not the pictures drawn with graphite or a brush, but those created within. Within his mind, and ultimately, within his soul.

To see this dawn in him is to witness a miracle. I understand a little better what might feel like to look down from the heavens and see that the world is good.

On Grief

We're looking at another trip to Ohio next week, this time to say goodbye to Dr. D's father, who passed away on Monday.

Most of my grief is for myself, and for Dr. D, his brother, his mom, and for the kids who will now never have the sort of relationship with a grandfather that I'd hoped. For Grandpa? Only peace, joy.

It hardly matters that we're being asked to take an insane amount off the price of our house, or that we're paying more than we wanted to for the house we want to buy. What's money? Gained, lost, and outside of its power to purchase, it is worthless.

I had more meaningful things to write, about value, worth, but my thoughts are a jumble. Maybe next time I'll have something to say worth reading.

Like a Carnival Ride

That would be my emotions. Inspections went fine. Found a few things (don't they always?), but nothing really major and nothing that would break the deal. And nothing that matched that first (fictitious?) inspection report. So, this is good.

Been round and round on the house we want to buy. First they don't want to lower the price quite enough, then we find an agreeable price but they say stubbornly, "We won't do ANY repairs based on inspections." To which we wondered, what are they hiding? So they struck that clause. But then they wanted twice the length of time that *we* have until we can have possession. Easy way of saying it: we'll be homeless for two weeks unless we can get our buyer to delay his move from Kentucky. Still waiting to hear on that one.

But right now Dr. D is on his way to Indianapolis because his father isn't going to pull through this final round of chemo. The Big "C" is such a terrible thing - I didn't respect it enough until now. Now that it's taking the children's grandpa from them before they've hardly had a chance to know him.

Nothing more to say. Trying to keep it together here at home, which means TV dinners and DVDs from the library.

Mud Pie is hollering about her need to use the facilities, so my time is up! She's still too little to get herself on the potty without help, and heaven forbid she come back downstairs to use her little potty. Ah, the joys!

Waiting waiting waiting

Waiting to hear on the offer we put out on another house.

Waiting to hear how the inspections went on ours.

A mite nervous simply because of the experience last time - shoddy inspection job - even our Realtor said it was the most unprofessional report she'd ever seen. And it had factual errors, like that a certain type of wiring was from the 40s and 50s. Uh, nope. Daughter of an electrician knows a bit about these things. So anyway, not meaning to go there, but I don't want to get another offer dropped, especially for things that are entirely fictitious.

Here We Are Again

Another offer on the house! We just got off the phone with our (wonderful) Realtor a little while ago. This one is a lower offer, so we'll counter, but I think it could work. Oh, I hope hope hope it does!!!!

I think.

Because if it does then we have to look for another house. And we're pretty sure we know which one we might want, and it is still for sale, but then we'd have to do all that home-buying stuff. Inspections, packing, moving. MOVING! Yikes.

Ok, jumping ahead a bit too much now. It's only an offer; we'll counter; it could very easily not go beyond this next step.

Something Startling

On iTunes radio, there's a station of bird songs. Nothing but birds. Chirping, hooting, wood-pecking, tweeting. That's it.

It's playing in the background right now.

Sort of eerie. Especially with the volume up really high.

Let's Hope "They" don't read this

Whoever "they" are. Those anti-homeschoolers who are on the prowl for evidence that we're all secretly squirreling our kids away at home to fill their minds with anti-semitic mantras and instructions on bomb production. Or at least that we're neglecting their education and turning them into dull witted, socially inept, intellectually anemic adults. Because the past two weeks have really sucked on the school front.

Here's what we did:
Leading Little Ones to God: 60-62. And Psalm 100.
Math intensive practice (Singapore 1B, the second to last unit, whichever that is. Adding and subtracting to 100): a bunch of pages.
Scholastic Success for second grade: some stuff on maps and worksheets on proper nouns and verbs.
Some poems in Modern Rhymes on Ancient Times: Rome.
Several home showings.
A whole lot of time outside digging for bugs.
A handful of experiments involving vinegar and baking soda, all having the same basic outcome.
And a Lego robot built to resemble (quite accurately) the robot in a movie called Iron something. I can't even remember the title of the film.
Oh, and three trips to the library for movies and reading material. St. Nick has started picking up chapter books (vs. comic books/graphic novels) and, basing solely on the amount of time he spends looking at each page, I'm guessing he's actually READING them.

Another house showing tomorrow and an open house on Sunday, so rather than do school, I am doing laundry. St. Nick is playing with pipe cleaners. I'd like to say next week we'll get back to it, but I'm not making any promises.

(Ok, ok, we will. We WILL!)

Too tired to post

But I'm going to anyway. Actually, I'm procrastinating on a project I have going. Whatever. I'm here, tired from keeping myself up late and waking early. But that's why God made coffee, right? Right.

Ok, then. Indianapolis was ... hard. Hard and easy. Easy in that I felt pretty much myself, hard in that it's never easy taking three kids on a second long road trip in just a few week's time. More complaints than last time, but since it was a new place (vs. Ohio), it was more exciting for them. I had charge of them for an afternoon while Dr. D visited his father in the hospital, and I surprised myself by bringing them to the Dairy Queen and buying them whatever they wanted (within reason - it was almost dinner time).

But then we got to the hotel and they'd double booked our room, so after a minor moment of flipping out (there was no way I was going to cram all five of us in one room - I know, lots of people do it, but I'm not lots of people - I am so sick of not sleeping), we got ourselves switched to another hotel a few miles up the road. All was well. Went to the pool, slept fine, had a yummy breakfast, more pool, back to the condo where my mother-in-law is staying, and said our good-byes.

A short, sweet trip.

If only I didn't feel so desperately bad about it. About not letting Dr. D go on his own (he didn't seem to want to, but it would have been better for him, but I didn't want to be stuck home alone overnight), about not being as supportive for my mother-in-law as I should be, about being a narcissistic self-absorbed prig. Sigh. Did I mention I'm tired? Maybe I'll write a letter to my mother-in-law. She would like it, and I would get to procrastinate even more!

End of the Week Summary

What? But it's only Thursday! True enough, but we're going to Indianapolis tomorrow and Saturday to hang with Dr. D's mom. She and his dad are there for six weeks (or more) while Dad undergoes stem cell replacement. (Something to keep in prayer for the one person who actually follows this blog.)

So, here's what we did.

Monday: Nothing. I don't remember Monday. At all. Funny, that.

Tuesday: Leading Little Ones to God lesson 59; exercises 64 & 65 in Math; started reading Famous Men of Rome (see earlier post for St. Nick's poem written in response).

Wednesday: Busy day. Fish had a Dr's visit where, as I was updating his new Dr. on his medical history, I totally forgot that he'd broken his collarbone when he was two. That was such a traumatic event - I can't believe I didn't mention it. I said, "Oh, I think the only time he's seen a doctor was when..." Dum-me. Then I had an appointment after lunch, and after that I wanted to finish edits to a manuscript so I could get it out already, so school didn't happen.

Thursday: Read and repeated Psalm 100 (we're going to memorize it); Math exercise 66; McGuffey's Second Reader lesson 42; Scholastic Success for 2nd Grade lesson on common nouns (done extremely well, even if barely legible); found quartzite and obsidian in the backyard (looked them up on a rock identification website) and discussed volcanic vs. metamorphic rocks. Not sure how much stuck, but it was fun for me. I love this stuff. I'm such a geek.

Oh! I just remembered Monday! We had a house showing, so I spent the morning cleaning and trying to occupy the kids with things that wouldn't make a mess, then spent the afternoon at the ice cream parlor and the library where St. Nick discovered the non-fiction section. Then we went out to the deck, and while St. Nick paged through his dozen or so books, I tried to keep Fish and Pie from throwing all the library's mulch into the lake. Fun!

More after Indianapolis. Can't say I'm looking forward to this one.

Romulus and Remus Come Alive

Today, as I was reading Famous Men of Rome (Haaren and Poland), St. Nick announced that he knew this story. It's in our book of myths! I got it and we found the page of the Romulus and Remus story. Then St. Nick abandoned his Legos and got paper and a pencil to draw a picture. A Cute, starkly cubist* picture of an animal with two people riding it, and a very angular (almost Aztec?) sun and clouds.

He then dictated a poem that I wrote down. Here it is:

The Wolf and the Babies
by St. Nick

This is the wolf,
This is the sun,
These are the babies on his back
When the clouds
Run in their run.

His favorite part of the Romulus and Remus story, however, was not the wolf. Rather, it was when the boys grow up and return to cut off Amulius's head.

*It's interesting to me how St. Nick seldom tries to draw things realistically. His drawings are very angular, but with contrasts of curves, and even when he's drawing something "real" like his brother, the drawing will be very much an impression - self-consciously so. Funny since we've not studied art at all yet. I know I was always trying to capture the thing as realistically as possible at his age (and still now, on the rare occasion I try). I don't know what this says about him as a person, if anything, but I like it.