End of the Week's Lessons

Fortunately, the sun has a wonderfully glorious habit of rising every morning. When the sky lightened, when the birds awoke, I knew I would never again see anything so splendid as the round red sun coming up over the earth. (From My Side of the Mountain, by Jean Craighead George)

James is enjoying the story for the pure, inherent adventure that beckons to every young man. It says, "You could do it."

I'm enjoying the story for quotes like the one above. They say, "I'm looking back now, and am able to convey in words what I felt when I was young."

Another good one today came from Childhood's Happy Hours, (a book we had to supplement with today when we discovered I did something very, VERY bad with the page orders when I printed the second half of the even pages of Jolly Robin *sigh*). Anyway, there is a short story called "The Reading Class", in which a little girl plays school with her doll and her cat. He finished up and then came to talk to with me about it. He thought it was sweet, and funny. Then he quoted me a bit from it:

"Lilian returned to the library, and seating herself in one corner of the large arm-chair, put Isadora in the other. 'Now, Isadora,' said she, 'behave yourself while I look at the pictures, and if I find anything pretty, I'll show it to you.' Isadora, like the well brought-up dolly that she was, obeyed."

He chuckled, and said the story was full of little things that just made him smile because he got them and he appreciated that.

John read "My Lady Wind", and we had an interesting discussion about the wind as voices that spread rumors (the spark) and how such carelessness (fire) can destroy many lives and homes. Didn't see that one coming. I don't know what John learned from it, but my lesson today: don't underestimate children's poetry books.

Smidge, announced while doing "maths" (that's where the 's' from the beginning of his other words goes - mystery solved!) today, "I'm ready to learn to read." Well, alrighty, then. Can't get more upfront an invitation than that, can we? In good Spalding fashion, we began with learning the basic writing strokes, and he's on cloud nine.

Zorak is home. It's virtual Friday. Good, good stuff.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Summer Learning Adventures

If you school year-round, you know the Summer Schedule doesn't mirror the winter, fall or spring schedules. It's different, somehow. For some families it's slower, just the basics; for others, it takes on a more literary focus and leaves off a bit of the drills. A summer homeschool environment, just like all homeschool families, can take on any number of forms and faces, styles and themes. The flexibility and variation are among the things we both love and hate about homeschooling, I think. Anyway, over at "the boards", the question of summer schedules has come up. That's one of my favorite seasonal topics, simply because everyone has their own touch, their own texture to add to the discussion. (I know I always learn so much from those threads.) Do you school year-round? If so, what does your Summer HomeSchool look like? (Or Summer Home Education Plan? Family Camp for the Incorrigibly Heat-Weary?)

I think we do read more in the summertime. Not that we don't read the rest of the year, but autumn and spring are so beautiful here. Winter reading probably rivals summer reading, except that winter is so short-lived. February, basically. If you take too long finding your gloves, you're likely to miss it. But summer in the South? We're acclimating, but I'm not holding my breath in the hope that we will one day be able to dance in the "sultry" summer afternoon humidity. So in the meantime, we do shuffle our schedule around a bit.

While it's still lovely in the mornings, we make use of it. There will be entire weeks of time later in the summer when we won't see the light of day other than to retrieve groceries. Until then, though, we get up and out early. Enjoy toast and yogurt on the front porch, maybe a chapter or two in a good book, maybe bird watch a bit. Then off to play with the dog, build forts, weed the garden (um, more on that later). Soon, we aren't feeling so perky anymore. Blech. Time to go in. We slink to the front door, and (this is how you know it's hot out) that chilly 80' a/c air gives us a Good Morning shakedown that perks us right back up. Ready to work!

Lessons. This is just a chunk of time, done in any order we fancy for the day. Latin, math, reading. Just like all. year. long. Finish those and take a break. Read another chapter or two. Share something you found. Play with EmBaby. Hey, how about a snack?

Science, History, Music, Art. Hey, how about an otter pop? Or lunch?

We finish up with the days' studies shortly after lunch. I put EmBaby down for a nap. We pile up/sprawl out/curl up somewhere comfy (usually directly beneath a ceiling fan) and read for an hour or two. Do a few chores. Start supper. Free time. Game of chess or checkers? How about that letter to Maddy? Anybody want to play gin? Mario Kart? Charades? If it's not stiflingly hot, or if we really need it, we'll head outside again.

This year is a bit different with the new activities. On game days, we have to head out right about our normal "suppertime". I've got to find a good groove, as it doesn't look like we'll have much of a break in between seasons this year (b-ball ends 8/2, f-ball begins 8/4). I've been making a light supper around 4:30 (we call it "senior supper"), and then preparing another light supper when we get home ("second supper"). On non-game days, when Zorak comes home, we eat, and the children have more time outside.

The mosquitos are getting bad now, with all the rain. Sometimes they're too tough to handle, so we stay in after supper. Most of the lightning bugs are gone now, too. (Though they were delightful while they lasted, and we look forward to them again next year.) All signs point to the beginning of our self-enforced exile from the out-of-doors. It's just for August. Then we can breathe again. This year's going to be tough, but not for schooling or lessons. Just for... being outside... in August... in the middle of the late afternoons... Come November, it'll be time to spend our afternoons at the duck blinds down at the Wildlife Refuge, and we'll be able to enjoy it because we got our other lessons done while it was hot. :-)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Well, that's one way to do it...

Out of the blue today, James hits me with this:

Do you know why I remember things I've read myself so well? Because I know if I don't, you'll make me read it again.

Well, at least he knows what to expect, right?

Gotta love those little guys.

Kiss 'em and love 'em!
~Dy

More Reading Roundup

The boys and I also finished this week A Wrinkle in Time. That was a bit intense, I think, but we talk a lot about what we read and that helps. We moved the reading to mornings at snack and that worked much better than bedtime reading. There's a family tree in the back, which the boys spent quite a bit of time pouring over, and now they can hardly wait to get the rest of the series.

We spiked our bedtime reading with the second of the Indian in the Cupboard series, The Return of the Indian. This one is a bit darker than the first, and not as many laughs from the boys. They're still enjoying it, and it's good, in a different way.

Our current dish of Mental M&M's is the first book in the Young Jack Sparrow series. Total M&M's, and it's delightful. Well, no, not delightful. Not for me. There are far too many hints at romance between Young Jack and the Young Barmaid Arabella, for my comfort. Yet, James is getting older... oh, this makes my stomach hurt. Can we talk about something else?

Yes, the latest printouts from the Robinson disks are big hits. James is re-reading The Tale of Jolly Robin, and Our Hero, U.S. Grant, and he's thoroughly, deeply, and happily enjoying both of them. Of course, I'm starting him back quite a bit from his reading level, and we've agreed to play catchup over the summer. After reading Famous Men of Rome and Eagle of the Ninth this past year, these selections feel downright frolicsome. But I think it's good to frolic on occasion. It's good to slip back and re-read old favorites, re-explore the things you may not have picked up along the way the first time around. One day he'll be far too old to read Pollard's histories (which are geared for "the little boy, from six to twelve"), and as she says in her introduction,

"The big boy, who does not have to stop to spell out the long words and guess what they mean, will turn up his nose at it. But let him. That will not hurt us. It is the small boy we have set out to please..."

One day, in the not-to-far future, he won't be bothered with anything like this. I'm so glad we didn't miss out completely.

John's reading all the poetry he can get his hands on, and (joy-of-joys!) he's reading the Young Jack Sparrow books on his own, as well. He reads ahead, then sits in for the read-aloud. I offered to change our order or even move to reading something else aloud, but he's enjoying this the way it is, and I'm not about to complain when the children are enjoying books in their own way. How else are we to make them "ours"?

Smidge "does school" every day now. It's cute. He's quite good at it, and knows far more than Zorak or I really understood. You can't learn by osmosis, but you can certainly learn more in a rich and varied environment, where you hear the lessons of your siblings daily and sit in on history lessons and bigger read alouds. Look at any younger homeschooled sibling and you'll see it in action. I forget about that. He wants so badly to have his own binder and "signments". I give him enough to keep him happy and keep him moving in a good direction. But with this one, I remember it wasn't too long ago that James was the one with the round little face and the squat little body and the days that seem filled with all the joys that toddlerhood offers. We won't be rushing that out the door any time soon.

We won't be rushing at all, if we can help it. The journey's just too interesting, and the company is too good.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Reading Roundup

I miss my food-based book rating system. But I'm not hungry right now, and it's too hot to think of anything hot, meaty, chewy... belch. So, we'll go with the academic cowboy theme, right? Ah, the imagery.

I finished Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. Zorak looked over and saw me reading it. Saw me grimacing.

"Isn't that the guy you didn't enjoy at all, except for the bit where he ripped on Byron?"

Yep. *cringe*

"Why are you reading that? No. Wait. Let me guess. This is part of your cultural education? It's an archetype, a social thread, and you want to understand the source?"

*raising my eyebrows and lowering the book* Wow, you're good.

"Nah, I've just heard it often enough. *pause* So. Is it working?"

Heh. Wait til they install the hypnopaedic rolls in homes. Then we'll see who's laughing. Well, no, I guess we won't, because we won't realize they've come and installed them, and by the time we do, we won't mind.

Yep. This book is going to give me the willies for a month. At least.

Shake it up a little, though. I'm one of the first to throw a rod when someone says, "Oh, that can't happen here!" (When referring to some governmental atrocity being committed elsewhere, generally, not with respect to Huxley's novel, per se.) And yet, it can. It has. It does. It's good to be uncomfortable, particularly if it spurs you into action. ...What is the reality-based equivalent of soma, anyhow?

I need to go read something uplifting and encouraging, like Lord of the Flies. Ugh. But I am glad I read this. Perhaps next time I pick up one of his books, I'll go for Crome Yellow (which Dover has on sale right now... hmmmm.)

Dy

Storms

Well, it's a beautiful day for a story. Big storm. Lots of rain. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll cancel the game tonight? (At eight - evidently, no, they don't have anywhere to be the next morning. I am SO glad we don't have to be anywhere other than curled up on the porch with a glass of tea and a good book, regardless. This is a great life!

Ooooohhhh, lots of rain and lots of thunder and lightning. I'm outta here. Maybe we'll play in the rain a bit if it lets up a little...

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Our Latin Adventure

Well, the boys' Latin Adventure. I'm wallowing in Dowling and Henle, and while I'm making progress... it's like watching Stephen Wright parasail. (It's funny, but only if you pay very close attention.)

I'm not 100% certain what we'll do for next year. I do know that I've been pleased with the plan so far, if that helps any. If you have a young student - six to eight years old - I'd recommend starting with Prima Latina, for the child. Prima Latina can be done in six months, but with a younger student, why not buy yourself a year to get your toes wet while you figure out where you want to go from there?

John is using Prima Latina. I moved him back into that this spring, and neither of us have looked back. It's the perfect pace and tone for a six- or seven-year-old to get an introduction to Latin. Now, I won't sit here and say it's got any Latin grammar to speak of; it doesn't. (The prayers, obviously, are declined and conjugated properly, but the lessons don't cover the forms. They are for memorization - a teacher who is familiar with the material can certainly expound on it, but for that age, it's not necessarily going to sink in.) Prima Latina is best described as a basic Latin vocabulary & English grammar primer. As such, it does a phenomenal job: introduction, familiarity, use. LOVE it.

From there, I think you have to look closely at your student before making choices on programs. Fortunately, there are many to choose from, and there is likely to be one that will fill the need you have to reach your goals in teaching Latin. If you're looking for a Latin program, there is a nice collection of curriculum reviews at Paula's Archives.

John will most likely move into Latina Christiana I when we're finished with PL. I do like the Memoria Press Latin programs. I like that they are thorough, consistent, and well laid-out. What I don't like is that after Prima Latina, it gets a bit convoluted in the set up. We don't use Shurley Grammar. We won't be studying Rome at that point in our history. We won't be incorporating much of our additional reading in the same vein. There'll be a lot of work (for me!) to make it fit our school in order to get from the program as much as it has to offer. Also, it's dry as a bone. And let's be honest, most of the rest of my academic choices are also dry as a bone. (Perhaps this is my anti-humidity protest?) I know, I know, Latin is not the program you'd look to as your Fun Studies salvation... still.

James is nearly through Latin for Children Primer A. And yes, the rumors are true - there are typos and errors galore in this program. I appreciate that the folks at Classical Academic Press update their books each year, in an attempt to purge all errors from the texts. It'd be nice, however, if they'd just hold off, do a much more thorough job and get it right in one or two shots. James is learning Latin well enough, however, that he can catch and correct any mistakes in the book, on his own. He's got it, and it makes sense, and I credit that in large part to the Latin for Children program. So, for us, the typos and so forth aren't as much of a hinderance as they may be for others.

If you're going to use it, get the whole set. I don't know anybody who bought only the primer and stayed with it. At the moment, I don't know many who have stayed with it through two Primer B, to be honest, kit and all. Of course, many of these are families who were looking for a program that taught Ecclesiastical Latin, which Latin for Children is promoted as being...

And that brings me to what's killing me right now -- the program is touted as being usable for Classical AND Ecclesiastical Latin. But you can't get the DVD in Ecclesiastical, at all. According to their reps, they have no plans to make one for Ecclesiastical. The accompanying CD does offer both pronunciations, but the speaker (Dr. Perrin, I believe) slips up far too often, using Classical pronunciation on the Ecclesiastical tracks, for it to be of long-term benefit. As delightful as the CD's are, we have stopped using ours entirely.

James loves the program itself. And he is learning Latin beautifully - the lessons are thorough, interesting, and practical. He's learning it. He's loving it. He's making progress. Isn't that what we look for? *shrug* I don't know. Perhaps I'm just being whiney. In spite of all of the things we do enjoy about Latin for Children, I'm not sold yet on ordering Primer B for the coming school year.

Yet, he does need something, and he's not ready for Henle. (Heck, I'm not ready for Henle!) I'd feel completely comfortable putting John into Latina Christiana, but James is wired differently and needed a deeper, broader, more immersive approach to learning languages. So, the search continues.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Will Undergo Surgery for Books

So, I had pretty much just planned to sell my left kidney and send the whole bag of cash to Yesterday's Classics, along with a note (probably written in my own blood) to please send me every book they've printed and launder the change.

Then I remembered that somewhere, deep in the hidden recesses of cardboard and camel crickets in the basement, I have a set of Robinson Curriculum disks. Hmmm. I wonder if... well, yes; with enough coffee, I can find almost anything! So I spent most of the last two days puttering around there to see if there's anything I can use. (Of course there is. Silly me.)

Tomorrow, I get to call Staples and find out if they'll have their binding services on sale any time soon.

But I'm so glad I printed out the book list and looked around for actual copies of the books, first. As handy as it is to have the books printed and bound (and with a laser printer, it really does come out to about $3 a book), we're not really 8.5" x 11"-size-book people. A book that size won't fit nicely on your lap on the couch, and it's horribly difficult to read in bed with a book that's wide enough to poke your husband in the head every time you turn the page or reach for chocolate. Not that these books are for me. Not all of them, anyway. *ahem*

Turns out there are just shy of a trillion places now re-printing old books! Of course, there are the Usual Suspects, but thanks to a little poking around on Amazon, I also found a few others. For instance, 1st World Publishing seems to have a nice selection of books. (I found them while looking for The Rover Boys series - the precurser to The Hardy Boys, et al.) There's a company called IndyPublishing, which has a big "get your book back in print" promotion going. There are quite a few options now, it seems. How fun!

Tom Swift? Back in print!
Rover Boys? Back in print!
Famous Men of _____ series? Take your pick of publishers!
Pyle? Synge? Pollard's histories? All in print.

*happy sigh*

So now I will have to divvy up the kidney funds among various vendors, but that's okay. We'll get more use out of a good pile of books than I would out of that one organ.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Productivity?

I have to get this out of my head, where it's ambling about, making me nauseous. Zorak took the boys to the field tonight. (For a 7 o'clock practice. Do these people not have jobs they have to go to in the morning?) EmBaby and I stayed home, namely because she was up past midnight last night, and had a whopping ten minute nap in the car today between the market and the video store. Wouldn't that be a pleasant scene at the field?

"Who's torturing hogs in the bleachers? What? It's that little Precious Moments child? What are they DOING to her?"

And when the media gets ahold of those people, they'll be the very ones to say,

"They seemed like such a nice, quiet couple."

So. She and I stayed home. (Also, slightly less pressing, but in the spirit of full disclosure, my rear hurts and I'm tired, I don't have the snack-bag packed, I don't have any 3T clothes to take for the Little Red-Haired Girl to change into, and I didn't wanna go! There you have it; I am not up for being SuperMom, or SuperAnythingElse. Sorry.)

Obviously, if Zorak hadn't been home, or had a horrible accident on the way home and was in full body traction, yeah, I'd have gone. And I think that's my problem. Not that I'd have gone, but I feel guilty about not going. I always feel guilty about not going, even when my presence is not required. Even when I leap joyfully through the air as they pull onto the road, leaving me behind. I feel like I'm... well, not doing what I ought to be doing.

They left. EmBaby and I ate strawberries and chatted a while. Then she yawned. I know that yawn. In one fluid movement, I swiped her, changed her, dropped a nightgown over her head, and brushed her teeth. She was too confused to resist. We read a bit, and then I laid her down.

And then...

And then...

And then I wanted to come blog and hang out. I wanted to go read books in bed and eat chocolate. But I didn't. Partly because we don't have any chocolate (hard to buy that under the radar when all of them are with you, and wide awake). Mostly, though, because I FEEL GUILTY if I do nothing while they're gone. I feel as though, when Zorak returns from having taken the children away for a while, I need to have a clean home, fresh tea, a dead mouse to lay at his feet. Something. Something that says, "See? I didn't abandon you. I've been industrious and worthy while you were gone." (Please note: he didn't do this to me. He'd be glad for me if I'd just lay down and sleep. Or read. Really, he understands that sometimes a body just has to stop moving. No, this is aaaalllll me.)

So I cleared the dinner table, cleaned the kitchen, tidied the pantry, put the whites in the wash, cleaned up the bathroom, tidied our room, pulled all the curtains, gathered the bills to be paid, and made Zorak's lunch for tomorrow. The house wasn't dirty to begin with - it's not like I had a lot of work to do. But, I found work until some (previously unknown) internal mechanism kicked in that said, "OK, you've done enough. You can relax now."

Where did that come from? And how do I make it go away? Or should I make it go away? (It's quite possible this sensation is the only thing keeping me from collapsing into a Very Lazy Coma the second I'm left unattended, and I acknowledge that.)

It's disturbing to think that any of my good, productive habits have been formed from guilt. But then, entire nations have been build upon guilt and they lasted a lot longer than I'm likely to... so, there's that. It's just so completely foreign to me, as I know me to be. I don't get it. I just don't. But the house sure feels good now, and I think I'm going to go read for a bit. (I didn't say this quirk is without perks, did I? Just that it's a little jarring at first.)

Kiss those babies (and that one is never done out of guilt!)
Dy

Because he loves us,

Today, for no other reason than that he loves us, Zorak...

let the boys "help" make fried okra for supper (when it would have been much easier to do on his own)

packed a cooler and loaded the wagon into the Suburban (when he would have preferred to be sanding and prepping the eaves),

drove in horrible traffic (which he hates)...

to go to a Large Public Gathering (which he also cannot be classified as being "fond" of)...

to watch fireworks (which he doesn't hate, but could live without if he isn't going to be the one lighting them off - the whole display thing, eh, "pass".)...

fireworks that wouldn't begin until ten o'clock (on a weeknight - and although they ended before ten-thirty, it was still nearly midnight before we got home)...

When traffic was backed up for miles, he never complained (he thought it, but he didn't say it)...

When we had to loop into what we thought was paid parking, then loop back out, then realized there was no charge, and looped back in...

and he didn't snap at me.

And even when I snapped at him (because by the third bit of looping, I was pretty done, as well), he didn't snap back (too much).

All because he loves us. He likes to make us smile. And when he can make us smile, make us know we're safe and loved, make special memories that will last for years, all is right with his world.



And suddenly, it was all worth it. Simply because he loves us.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey

Well, EmBaby was really mad. But John had a great practice. Almost three hours long. Thank God for DEET, man, that's all I'm going to say on that subject.

James suffered from some sort of mental palsy at the field that caused him no end of clumsiness - he knocked EmBaby off the bleachers several times, kicked over a box of animal crackers, cracked Smidge in the head with his knee, dropped his book untold times, and then sent my coffee flying when he tried to get out of the way after sending EmBaby down between the steps on the bleachers. Poor kid was so exasperated. He said, "Wow, I guess I'm having a bit of a klutz day, aren't I?" Well, yeah, but like I told him, we all have days like that on occasion. It's okay. Then I directed him to sit, on his butt, yes - both cheeks, over there, a good two body-lengths away from the small ones, while I cleaned up the coffee.

And yet, the kid recovered well. I sent him to the Suburban to look for paper towels, asking him specifically not to lock the keys in the car because Daddy won't be home until after they've rolled up the sidewalks. He returned and I could see he didn't have paper towels. Nor did I see any keys. I froze. I think I whispered, "You don't, by chance, still have the keys, do you?" HE froze. A look of horror-stricken panic spread across his face. I might have thrown up a little bit. Then he burst into laughter and produced the keys from his back pocket, whole and unscathed (but most importantly, NOT still in the car!) "Did you really think I'd locked them in?" Um, yeah. I thought it was a distinct possibility. "*cackle* *chuckle* *guffaw* That's why I thought it would be so funny!" Keep laughing, Kid. I have pictures from the year you thought it was kosher to wear your underwear on the outside of your pants...

And speaking of underwear... I think I got peed on by one of the little siblings. Not one of mine. Mine don't pee on people. But I'm pretty sure the Little Red-Haired Girl who plays with Smidge and EmBaby peed on my lap while we were playing. (If I didn't come with my own children, you'd think I was some kind of Child Catcher - while all the Moms Who Know Each Other hang out and talk salons and bbq plans, their younger children, left to fend for themselves, end up with me and my crew at the other end of the bench. I look like the woman with eighteen kids all disturbingly close in age, and all with different fathers.) Anyway, when she got off my lap, the tops of my pantlegs were soaked. So where her britches. Her mother left shortly thereafter. Ew. So, um, I think Thursday I'll bring extra clothes - some for her, and some for me.

And it's over. And we lived. And I still have four children. And nobody got left at the park. And Zorak is on his way home! YAY!!!!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

We Made It, But It Hurt

You know, really, our kids are pretty obedient. If James disobeys, it's usually because he either forgot what he was doing, or forgot that it was/wasn't in the rule book. Very, very seldom is it ever intentional. When John disobeys, it's usually because he didn't understand or got conflicting directions from each parent and he panics. He would gladly oblige, IF he could tell what he was supposed to do. Smidge - eh, he's three. And EmBaby may or may not inadvertently off herself by diving from the rooftop well before she gets the whole obedience thing down.

That said, there is one directive that will inevitably cause all four of my children to turn to plaster. Hollow, unthinking, unmoving plaster. The deadly directions? Seemingly simple:

"Eat up, kids. We have to go soon."

You can hear the brakes screeching all along their central nervous systems, and watch some little man pull down the shutters in their eyes. It doesn't matter HOW early we get them started, that phrase will guarantee that we complete a meal (or at least have to leave it partially-eaten because it's Time. To. Go.) amid a non-stop stream of panic and mayhem, with them moving in bad-dream-slow-motion and me bounding about shedding like I'm three months post-partum and suffering mange. Someday I will learn not to tell them to hurry. I'll just serve smaller portions and remain conspicuously quiet. By the door. With the keys and a stack of wet wipes.

SO.

We got there on time. 8:30. We left from Smidge's appointment after 11:00. He did so much work on that child, I could not believe it. I've never, ever seen a more productive dentist. Again, we left with all the promised work completed, and this time a little more, as well. Smidge has deep crevices in his molars (I was so relieved when the assistant heard me sigh as she started scraping and said, "Oh, no, these aren't your fault. There's nothing you can do about this." I could have cried!) So the dentist cleaned them out and sealed them up. Yay! Insurance won't pay for sealants on baby teeth, but if that'll save him from going through what John and James are going through, I'll pay for it in chickens and homemade moccasins, if I have to. WOOHOO! He did the first half of fixing Smidge's poor front teeth (which have the same problem John's did), and applied a gluey substance to them to keep them until his next appointment. He also filled two cavities. That's a lot of work for a little guy, but Smidge was so happy to be there, seeing Dr. Beitel, getting his teeth fixed, that he never uttered a sound.

We left, ate lunch, spent 30 minutes at one of those hideous "community sponsored projects" - you know, the wooden outdoor playgrounds that, judging from the utter lack of visual contact a parent has once her child disappears into the labrynth, were obviously designed by angry pedophiles. I hate those things. But the kids love them, and this one is fenced in with only one option for egress. (God help us if the thing catches fire - we'll all roast at the bottleneck in the gate.) And then, straight back to the dentist's office!

This time for John, who was not so enthusiastic. He's a bit cynical. He's heard all the feel-good rhetoric before. "This will get you all fixed up." (Yeah, any more fixing and he's going to need dentures.) "Just a little longer." (What is this, a road trip?) He was good, and patient, and didn't say any of the things he was thinking. We were there from 1:00 until 3:30. Three teeth. Seven surfaces. On one of the teeth, the dentist muttered that this was "herodontics". I guess my RCA puppy look tipped him off that this would be a somewhat *new* term to me (and not a comforting one). He said in 99 out of 100 cases, he'd have put a crown on that one, but that John's been through so much already that he thinks he can make this work without putting him through more than absolutely necessary.

Of course, he also said since John's four front teeth are next in the queue to come out, our best bet is to leave them be and encourage him to ride his bike a lot this summer. You know, downhill. (I kid you not. He said if ever there's a time to live dangerously, speaking from a dental perspective, John's in the sweet spot.) I thought that was pretty cool. John wasn't as receptive to the idea of living dangerously for the summer.

And we headed home. All I wanted was to brew a pot of coffee, pee in a non-public toilet, and have a quiet evening at home.

But no. Ball practice tonight. I did sort of hope John wouldn't be up for it, but for some reason, God saw fit to give the child a whole lot of fortitude. I know he didn't get it from me. Anyway, Zorak's out of town today, and EmBaby is going to be SO mad when I have to wake her up to get to the field.

At least it's all a Good Productivity. Right?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Six O'Clock and All's Well. I think.

I know beggars can't be choosers, but really, why did I agree to an 8:30 in-town appointment and a 1:00 in-town appointment on the same day, two days before payday? In the middle of the hot'n'sticky summer? Oh. That's right, because the children need to see the dentist, and this was the soonest we could get them in. Right, then.

So, it's six o'clock, and I'm up. Dressed. Slowly feeling the caffeine drip kick in. Staring at the kitchen, thinking I should have made bread last night, and wondering how bad the mid-day meltdown would be if the boys didn't get protein with their breakfast... Stoopid birds have been up and at it for two hours already. This might be why they don't live long.

OK, so I'm no longer a morning person. I might be, if I got to bed earlier last night, but I had paperwork to shred and finances to fuss over. It's probably a good thing we don't have a cow or a goat yet because I'm afraid it'd explode before we got down to the barn to milk in the mornings. It's going to take a lot of work to get into a more agrarian-friendly schedule. A. Lot. Of. Work.

And while I'm sitting here, looking suspiciously around at My Life, I've got to ask, "How can it be July 3 already? Where'd that come from?" It seemed such a long time away when I made the appointments. Really it did. But, here it is again, that time warp thing. OK, we have books, paper, diapers, snacks, water. Packed and good to go.

I guess all that's left to do is rally the troops. That'll be fun. James came out last night around ten with his eyes wide open and a tortured look on his face as he said, "Mom, I get what you mean now about the tooth grinding driving you nuts. It's bad in there!" Heh. I know, kiddo. I know. So I let him lay down in our room to fall asleep. We waited and waited. He popped out at eleven with a bottle of calamine lotion - the Missing Bottle of Calamine Lotion. He found it "behind the nightstand"... (Um, sweetie, I hate to point this out in such a short manner, but why, exactly, were you behind the nightstand at eleven o'clock at night? Do you like being miserable or did you think I was joking about waking you up three hours before you normally arise in the morning?) Judging by the look on his face, that never dawned on him. He went straight to bed, and to sleep. But I still don't relish waking that one up this morning.

Well, perhaps the smell of sausage will lure them out... or I could just set fire to something in the hallway and hope the smoke alarms do the trick? Hmm. This could be fun. Ok, I'm off!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh fun!

Got this in my email.

We thought you'd like to know that we shipped your items, and that this completes your order.

Yeah, that was nice to know.

This is downright euphoric.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

This 'n That

We had such a productive weekend. We hit a fire sale at the nursery and bought three flats of vegetable plants for .25 per plant. WOOHOO. They were a bit root bound, but we figured that's okay. Better to try than to just let them get thrown into a compost heap somewhere. Of course, it would've worked better if we'd researched just *how* to transplant root bound plants properly before we dove right in... still. You know. We never said the learning curve isn't steep, right?

We finally put the watermelons and pumpkins in the melon patch down by the barn! That felt good. It'll probably feel even better if we can get anything to come up, flower, and then actually produce fruit.

We played ball, walked in circles, read great stories, played video games, and ate well. It was a great weekend. I even cleaned, but without having to neglect the children, since they were outside playing ball with Zorak. Talk about guilt-free time alone! Yeah, that's good stuff.

Tonight, Zorak and I went through all the paperwork, sorted, purged, sifted, purged, and then purged a little more. Oh, I can breathe again! (I hate paper clutter, and yet, that's the sort I seem to collect. Terribly self-defeating. Superman didn't mine kryptonite. Pffttt.) And then, just as I sat down to set up my notebook (July through September - I've actually been keeping this thing up-to-date and good to go, with budgeting, scheduling, lesson plans, book lists, and hometending information!)... the printer no printy. What the--

*sigh*

Toner light is on.

And when this thing says it needs toner, it means now.

So, in a fit of desperation, fighting the sense of utter isolation in knowing I don't have toner and I can't print books, and NOTHING IS OPEN AT MIDNIGHT HERE IN THE COUNTRY (yes, at which point, even I whispered, "um, der!" *sigh* I know...) I signed up for the free trial of Amazon Prime. Because they had my toner cartridge. And it made perfect sense to do that for the free two-day shipping. Yes, things will be open in the morning, but by morning, my panic will have subsided. And the children will be up and expecting food and attention. And... I just don't leave the house unless I have to. Now, I don't have to!

So, no lesson plans or Baldwin reading until Wednesday. But that's okay, we have plenty of other things to enjoy in the meantime. (Right, like math and Latin, you say? hee hee)

No, we have a lot to keep us busy. We've got work in the garden, and soil samples to finish gathering and test. We have the hummingbird feeder up (yes, finally - one flew by yesterday, stopped and looked right at us, as if to say, "What? You think we can't see that feeder sitting in there on the counter? Where's our FOOD, people?!?" Guilt can be quite the motivator.) We have another bird feeder to finish cleaning (who knew you could get that much grime on such a small surface area? Ew.) A birdhouse to hang. Birds to watch, and things to draw.

There's so much to be done, no matter how much or how little we have to do it with, we will always have plenty. And plenty to do, as well. So exciting!

Here's to a fantastic week! Kiss those babies!
~Dy

New Reading

Arousing from the most profound of slumbers, we break the gossamer web of some dream. Yet in a second afterward (so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed.

(Poe. How delightful. Who knew?)

I think I have discovered a new (to me) delight in this season of my life: the short story. OK, OK, I'll admit it: I've been a bit of a snob about the short story. It is useful for guiding writing classes, for draining the life from high school English Lit classes, perhaps for filling the gaps in an anthology. Too short to be a novel, too long to be an essay, the short story seemed to lack purpose. It never fed a portion of my reading heart in a way that merited remark, either good or bad.

Now, before you *tut-tut* and begin making disdainful clucking noises, hear me out. (I still remember the collective gasp when I admitted I was never a big fan of fiction. We all learn. I'm learning. Growing. Bear with me.) It's not that I hadn't read Poe, Conrad, or Chesterton (although, ok, Chesterton is new to me -- within the last few years -- and it is to him I owe my latest foray into short stories). I think it's that I hadn't quite understood how best to approach a short story. By it's very name, I suppose, I always expected it to be, well, shorter. And so, I hadn't the attention to last much beyond the first page or two. Yet, to gear up for the seminar-length of a novel seemed a bit of overkill, really. So I developed my pace for reading through a short story - I'd sprint. Sprint through it, suck it up, get it over, and try very hard not peek at the last paragraph becuse honestly, is is THAT difficult to show some self-composure? Truly, when you must grasp your reading moments in the quiet lulls between needs and demands, who wants to sprint? Not I!

Children get it. Children get the thrill of a short story. They understand, almost intuitively, that the master of a short story can make his readers wonder, follow, care... all of the things a well-written novel will do, but with far fewer words and far less time to accomplish those things. How did I forget that part? It's a pretty big part. However, due to my love affair with GK Chesterton (it's okay, Zorak knows - I'm only after his words), I picked up a book of *sigh* short stories. Because one of his stories was in there. And it's one I love. Enough to read it over and over again. Enough to buy a book I'm not otherwise interested in owning.

And I began to read the other stories. I read, for the first time in my life, The Pit and the Pendulum. With a bit of context thrown in. And... and... I may not stop making adolescent "quoth the raven" jokes because of it. But I did enjoy it. Not in an uplifting-let's-read-Poe-daily sort of way. But moreso than ever before.

Did you know he wrote of hope?

In so many ways, I am thankful that I can continue my own education. I cannot imagine being in ten years the same as I am today. I am not now what, ten years ago, I thought I'd be. Yet this isn't (really, it isn't) about the journey of self-discovery so much as it is about my utter joy that I've found something I can read, and savor, and enjoy. Before they find me. (I'm running out of hiding spots.)

So, aside from Joyce Carol Oates (who I refuse to subject my soul or mind to ever again, as long as I live - I simply cannot. take. her), who are some of your favorite short stories written by? What are some of your favorite short stories?

And which do you look forward most to sharing with your children?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

More Surprises

Me-Tae says these are Tiger Lilies. I'm glad she knew, because I had no idea. Just looked out the back window one day to find a huge orange pouf on the end of a tall, tall stalk. There are a dozen or so in the front yard, too. They're wider than my hand. And they're much more vibrant than the picture lets on.
I wish they had a scent. Don't they look like they ought to smell delicious? Yeah. But there's nothing.

Am I supposed to deadhead these things to keep them flowering? (And yeah, she suggested watering them. Said hers just glowed after she gave them a little water.)

You know, I am *never* going to be able to find all these bulbs to pull up this fall. The house, the meadows, the woods, even the rock hole that's filled with trash - none of it overwhelms me quite so much as this little patch of earth between the upper and lower drives.

Kiss those babies! And take time to smell the... well, not the lilies. But we give everything a quick sniff. You never know when you'll be pleasantly surprised, right?
~Dy

Rain! Rain!

YIPPEE, rain! It's still a bit odd to look out at acre upon acre of lush, green land and think, "THIS is a drought?" We don't water anything. We haven't watered anything since we moved here. Gah! That'll make it grow! And then we'd have to mow it, or risk losing the smaller children in the underbrush. But still, it grows. Residentially, the drought hasn't affected the way we run our home or tend to our land. (Mentally, we still live like we are in the desert with a nearly dry well.) But it's been hard, very hard, on the farmers in the area. And just today we noticed (well, Danger Girl noticed) that the grass is awfully crunchy and pokey in the upper meadow. (The rest of us mere mortal were wearing shoes and didn't notice so much.)

But yesterday, it rained. Oh, how it rained. And today, again, it rained. And we all sat out on the porch, reading books, eating otter pops, enjoying the smell of rain. (Not so much the smell of wet dog, but sometimes it's a package deal.) It's beautiful, and although it delayed the painting of the eaves for us, I hope it keeps up for a while. The area really needs the rain.

All is well here. It's simply been too hot 'n sticky to do anything worth blogging about. Somehow, "Got up too late to catch the cool morning. Dang. Moved slowly. Ate otter pops. Did lessons. Laid in bed, reading quietly. Ate Supper..." that's, well, that's difficult to dress up, then, isn't it?

John's summerball league is going well. A little sticky on the town politics, but we're trying fervently not to make eye contact and if anyone approaches us directly about it, we both plan to spout off entirely in Spanish. LOUD Spanish. With lots of hand movement and facial action. Hopefully, if nothing else, they will leave us be. (We would go for a less well-known language, but Spanish is the only other thing we're fluent enough in to be able to respond without accidentally saying something embarrassing.)

We're reading some good stuff right now. That deserves its own post. Right now, though, Zorak is insisting he hasn't seen Radio yet. (But we have. Or, at least, I have. I don't know where he was, though, if he didn't see it, too. Weird.) So I'm going to go kiss those babies one more time, grab my book and my cup, and score some snuggle time while he watches a movie.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Mid-Week Hump

Not much scares me, really. I may get creeped out by quite a few things, but they haven't been enough to make me move yet, so I think we're okay there. But there is one thing, one phrase, which I live in total fear of every waking moment:

IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME.

This is Zorak's Spicoli-like response to most of the less-than-solid decisions he made in the mid-to-late 80's, and I have to admit I'm terrified it's a genetic pre-disposition the boys may have inherited.

The boys finished all their work today with very little oversight on my part. John had a mild panic-attack when he didn't recognize his review from last week, but once he recognized it, he sucked it up and was good to go. James, slow and steady, is getting the hang of "housekeeping" in math. WOOHOO! Aside from a quick re-introduction, and the occasional reminder to stay on task, though, they worked independently today. And that worked out well, as Smidge for some reason decided today would be a Very Good Day to dump every bin from the toy shelf (six large bins and eight little ones, to be precise - plus two dorm boxes from beneath the beds, and the play clothes chest) into one large pile in the bedroom. MegaBlocks Fire & Ice Dragon set, and all. Oh. My. Word.

Me: Uh.. what happened here?
Smidge: *smiling charmingly* I did it!
Me: Yes, *breathe* *breathe* I figured this was your work. *breathe*...*breathe* *breathe* This... this... *breathe* this was your idea?
Smidge: *smile kinda starting to droop a bit* It's not a good idea?
Me: *exhale* *breathe* No, this was not a good idea.
Smidge: Huh. *looking around a bit* It seemed like a good idea--

And this is proof that I'm getting better at this parenting gig - I did not yell. I wanted to. Oh, yes, I wanted to kick toys and throw bins and use up all the bad words I hear on the playground. But by the grace of God, I didn't. And I'm so glad. Partly because Nocturnal Parenting Regret really stinks, to be honest. You already feel bad, so you slink into their room only to find that the demons who'd inhabited your children that afternoon have left and those wee beds now cradle angelic beings. Sometimes they even seem to have a faint glow. (Though that could just be the nightlight beside the bed, so don't quote me. But still, the overall effect is pretty powerful.) And the guilt, the often well-deserved guilt, over what a total jackass you were earlier that day, just gnaws its way right through your liver. Yeah, that stinks. And tonight, I don't have any. Yay!

But I did breathe deeply enough to come close to passing out. And when I muttered quietly, in a Tired and Resigned Voice, "Oh, Honey, you even pulled all the labels off the bins," Smidge helpfully picked up one bin that still had a label, and said, "Not all, Mommy." And he smiled a hopeful smile. And even then, ankle deep in sharp plastic rectangles and small model cars, I was glad I hadn't yelled. You don't ever regret the times you didn't lose it, you know that?

So we started with that bin. And we managed to put the whole room back together. And we ended up having, if not a good time, at least a not-bad time. Smidge got to help sort. Always a plus for the OCD-stage. I got to declutter without detection. Always a plus for, well, for me. At any stage.

The boys popped in when they'd finished with one task, took a quick look at the work going on, and disappeared with lightning speed to start on the next task. I think they were terrified I'd beg for help. Come to think of it, I may owe Smidge a Thank You tomorrow, if that was the cause of their self-directed learning for the day! (Well, probably not. He doesn't ever need to know. Not until he has children of his own, and he's tempted to yell. Yeah, I'll tuck this one away for later.)

And partly because Zorak, in spite of his years of adventures that seemed like a good idea at the time, turned out okay. More than okay. His good ideas now, really are good ideas. Maybe that'll be a genetic pre-disposition, as well? Wouldn't that be nice!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Math-U-See

Did y'all know MUS has a worksheet generator, keyed specifically to the chapters of the books?

Sure comes in handy when *somebody* cannot find his workbook.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy