Some Things That Will Probably Only Happen to You if You're Homeschooled...

Your teacher shows up to school in her pajamas.

Your math lesson is interrupted when your teacher stops mid-sentence to run out the door after a pair of preschoolers who have stripped naked and streaked into the backyard (where they wave and shout enthusiastically at the neighbor, who, naturally, has just at that moment walked out of his house to go to work).

Your teacher often walks by you and your classmates while you're playing and says things to herself like, "Yay! Playing store counts for math!" or "That caterpillar can be science for today!" Just try to get her distracted when that happens so she won't join in the store game and actually make it math, or make you look up the caterpillar and have you write somethingabout it.

While you don't get any real "snow" (or "there might be some ice") days, you get quite a few "it's gorgeous outside - go PLAY" days during warm weather.

You walk into the library, and any one of the librarians (because they all know you by sight, name, what you're currently studying in history, and how much your mother has generously donated every month) automatically pulls out a stack of held books as tall as your youngest sibling.



There are lots of these. Care to share a few? I'll post any comments later.

Read-Alouds

I have been reading Farmer Boy (newly listed in Our Favorite Books column) aloud to the kids lately, and whenever I read books by Laura Ingalls Wilder, I must always work to resist the urge to moralize to my unsuspecting children. It is impossible not to be inspired by the numerous examples of a good, wholesome work ethic, completely unpolluted by the devious pull of glowing screens, and I am often tempted, while reading, to say things like, "Chore time again! They did it EVERY DAY at the SAME TIME and weren't allowed to say ONE WORD about it." and, "Isn't it great how the WHOLE FAMILY all contributed to the running of the farm, WITHOUT COMPLAINING, even when they didn't always like it?" Also hard to control is the knee-jerk reaction that might prompt me to wake the kids up at dawn, double their (ridiculously light) chore load, and instate a no-talking-at-the-table rule.

Well, I do resist (mostly, except for just a little moralizing here and there!), but I do think it would only be for their good if I gradually and quietly increased their responsibilities and worked to instill a better sense of cooperation and contribution toward the good of the family. And it can't at all be a bad thing to restrict freedom to say things like, "But I didn't get it out!", or, my personal favorite, "Why do I always have to do everything?"

Next up, Swiss Family Robinson! My kids will start running when they see me coming at them with a chapter book. :-)

Goings-On

Besides the chaos I've touched on in recent posts, here's a little of what's been going on with us:

Dave, of course, is still working in Charleston - or, more specifically, in Goose Creek. He thinks this will be his last week there, but since he also said that at the end of February, we'll just wait and see what happens! I cannot really complain, since working there has given him...well, work! At the beginning of the year we weren't at all sure what we were going to do, since things had become so slow in his office that there was barely enough work to go around, and therefore not much money. So this has been a stressful time, but a blessing at the same time.

As for me, I think this time has highlighted, once more, the fact that I lack a sufficient support system. I do have friends who will and do help at times, and I certainly don't mean to suggest otherwise, but it's a little like having to call for help at the last minute, as opposed to having a safety net ready and waiting, if that makes any sense. It could be, of course, that I have an unrealistic idea of what a support system should look like, or, more likely yet, that I have failed to respond to friendly overtures towards that end. And I could very possibly be harboring a sense of pride in my ability to go it alone, which is all very well until those moments in which I'm at the end of my rope and there's no one else there. I daresay a few of my friends would be offended at that statement, and protest that they would be there if I asked, and I would agree, repeating that I have really been the one to fail in this area. At any rate, God has always been gracious, even though I certainly don't deserve it. Perhaps my real failure is in not trusting him completely. And while we are struggling in some areas, in others we have maintained a good routine, so all is not lost.

Some of my children are feeling the stress of these recent weeks more than others are, and Aimee is one of the former, which is probably no surprise to anyone who knows my children. Ryan is the other in that group, and if you've read Raising Your Spirited Child, you've practically been introduced to the two of them. So Aimee, my spirited, strong-willed girl who craves structure, hasn't exactly been thriving in this environment. Schoolwork has been a great big beast that has threatened to devour us - I've thought more than once, rather wistfully, that she would be so much better served at a school - and it's been difficult getting cooperation even in our mundane daily tasks. Mondays and weekends (right after Dave leaves, and right after he gets back home of course) are the worst times for her. One Friday evening, I had to go to the store almost as soon as Dave got home, and when I returned, Aimee was in the middle of a meltdown (a couple of her favorite lines during these are, "You don't love me!" and "THIS is an UNJUST FAMILY!" *sigh*) and Ryan was having a temper tantrum of his own. Drew and Chase met me at the door upreturbed and just happy to see food. It was a perfect snapshot of the way my dear ones respond to this constant cycle of change. But back to Aimee, about whom I've said too much - I don't mean to tell on her. I do so much love her fiery spirit, and I do want to help her be her best. I have been pleased to see her work hard and improve during her riding lessons lately. Her instructor is very hard on her, but also quick to praise her when she does well, so I think her riding been a good thing during this time. I also had her do the Iowa Basic Skills testing with our homeschool group last week, and I think she really enjoyed it. She was super-excited about the idea of going, and a little less thrilled with it when she actually got started, but I noticed how quickly she pulled herself together when she had a deadline and a schedule to meet, whereas with some of her assignments here she can completely sabotage entire blocks of our day. :-)


Drew has been coasting along just fine these last few weeks. I've been thinking, though, about having him tested in some way, and here's an example why: One evening I sent him to take a bath, and when I walked in to check on him a little later, he was singing cheerily to himself, but the water was still running, and his bath was very nearly overflowing. I hastily turned the water off, and asked him if he had been meaning to do it at some point. He said, "Oh! I forgot." This is not at all uncommon - my dear boy can hardly ever make it down the length of the house without forgetting what he's doing, and he frequently puts his clothes on any way but right side out. But then a couple days after the bath incident, we were at Wal-Mart buying groceries, and when we were checking out, everyone helped put the groceries on the belt. When we were done, and just as the cashier was checking us out, I heard Drew say, "There. 37 items." Since he's so good with numbers, I wondered briefly how close he had gotten, but it was hectic, and there couldn't have been a way for him to carefully count each item. A few hours after we got back home, I remembered what he had said, and amused, I went to check my receipt. 37 items exactly. Maybe, as I've said before, I'm just stunned because math is not my thing, but this seems to me to be more than just numbers, especially since he's also reading things like The Chronicles of Narnia, and even some of the Hobbit, with ease. I don't mean to be an obnoxious mother in writing this, of course, but I also don't want to him to miss some opportunity that perhaps he ought to have. And I'm really not trying to brag - I'm just astounded by the mysteries in his brain, and wishing I knew how to harness them so that I could get him to brush his teeth without having to ask him ten times!

On to Ryan, who, as I mentioned above, is the other child struggling a little with this hectic arrangement. He has the most trouble on the weekends, I think , when the week's routine is turned on its head since I no longer have to do everything. For instance at bedtime during the week, I have, by necessity, managed to get him to fall asleep peacefully on his own and in his own bed. On the weekend, bedtimes are not nearly so peaceful, as he regresses quite a bit, clamoring for Dave and waking up frequently. It would be better, I think, if I just continued to oversee bedtime and nixed the practice Dave lying down with him to put him to sleep, but I think we both fall into a guilt trap and have a hard time refusing those tearful pleas. But in other areas, Ryan is growing up quite nicely and he's even been begging to do school, though I am in no rush to add him to the mix, I have to admit! Once, though, after he had been asking for a math page, and refusing the preschool activity books I had been attempting to placate him with (he wants a Saxon book, just like Aimee and Drew), he tore a facts sheet out of one of the kids' books, and I found him later painstakingly and faithfully copying the numbers, which was very "if you won't help me, I'll do it myself" third child of him.

And Chase, who has to be one of the most loveable, good-natured people on the planet... Oh, he has a temper, but for the most part he's easy-going and willing to please. He also has more energy than any one of us, and he thinks he's Ryan's twin, I do believe. In fact, he won't say he's two, but will insist that he's four. He talks like a four year-old, certainly, and feels he should have any of the privileges the older ones enjoy, which is why I frequently find him in the tree fort, having easily overcome our toddler-proofing of the ladder. And one day last week he came up to me and announced, with his million-watt grin (pictured below), "I'm Count Dooko!", a result, I'm sure, of his habit of indiscriminately repeating everything his

siblings say. His latest rage is playing with the hose. All of my boys passed through a phase in which the outdoor hose was the most irresistible thing on the planet, and I remember one now-funny incident when Drew was three, when he began spraying me and his baby brother Ryan without mercy. He was between me and the spigot, which was beside my only escape, the backdoor, and laughing hysterically. I was not pleased about it then, but it's a great memory now, just as I'm sure the giant mud puddles Chase makes now will be funny to me later. Every time I turn around, the water is running and Chase is filling holes in the backyard (thoughtfully dug by the dogs) with water. Then he and the boys jump in them (of course!) and throw mud at each other until someone cries, at which point they all tramp in the house and demand to take a bath, which coats the tub with dirt. Fun times! He's no longer my baby, that's for sure, and that realization prompted me last week to wean him from night nursing finally. He's enjoyed all-night dairy bar privileges far longer than any of his siblings, whose nursing hours were restricted at about 18 months (though some of them were much, much older than that when they weaned completely), and I was going to wait until Dave was home again to night-wean Chase, but I just decided I'd had enough. When I explained the rules to Chase, that "side" would go night-night when he went night-night, he furrowed his brow thoughtfully and said, "I don't like that." "Well, I'm sorry," I said cheerfully, thinking, but not saying aloud, that if he can articulate his feelings on the subject, he's probably old enough to deal with it. And sure enough, with only a couple of protests over the past week, he's managed quite well and has slept better for it. I've wondered at times if he ought to be moving towards a final weaning, especially since one of the times he asked to nurse recently, he considerately spit out his gum and put it in the trash can first! But I don't think we're quite ready for that yet. :-)

We've also had some recent additions and losses to our menagerie that are worth mentioning. Our entire flock of chickens, with the exception of one very plucky and resourceful bantam hen, were killed by a neighbor's dog in February (a very tragic and upsetting event!), and we have sorely missed our lovely fowl. We've been waiting (rather hoping against hope) to be reimbursed by our neighbor, who was instructed by a judge to do so, but in the meantime, we bought two ducklings. (Here's Ryan with one of them. It is now much larger, growing by the hour, it seems!)We've always wanted a duck, and now had room for it - Dave felt we couldn't buy just one, though, so he and the kids brought home a pair just before Easter, and they were installed in the chick box in the shed. Unfortunately, one became sick almost a week later, and perished in dramatic fashion. We thought both were sick, because they both rested on the ground, looking nigh unto death, but when the sickest one finally died, the other duckling perked up instantly. I actually think it was just imitating the sick one! We buried the poor little thing, and then went to the feed store to get another one. They were out, so Aimee bought a little yellow chick for her very own, and as we were walking toward the shed with it, we heard the duckling quacking frantically. It was running around in circles making quite a racket, but the instant we put the chick in with it, it calmed down and immediately huddled with its new friend. Thereafter, we couldn't reach in to get the chick without the duck snapping at us, and they appear now to be inseparable. It's the cutest thing! In other animal news, one of Drew's geckos, Betsy, lost her tail in another dramatic episode one afternoon last week. They boys had been playing with them, and once Betsy leaped from Drew's hands onto the floor. (Poor Drew is much stronger than he knows and is not always an animal's best friend, so it's no surprise the lizard felt threatened. Ryan, on the other hand, handles animals with the nonchalance of an animal handler on TV. It almost makes you gasp at times, but the animals seems perfectly at ease. ) She appeared to be unharmed, but later we noticed that a crack in her tail, and Drew was in hysterics for awhile. We knew that their tails can detach and grow back, but it was still a rather grotesque and shocking event. It happened over a couple of hours, Drew almost hyperventilating by the time it was over, and it was like her tail just slowly unzipped. As soon as it was off, it was the coolest thing ever, apparently, and Drew picked it up, still wriggling, with great delight. I asked him to go bury it RIGHT AWAY, which he did, and then he called everyone he knew to explain what had happened. Now poor Betsy looks unbalanced, but otherwise fine, and we are all waiting to see what her new tail will look like. And last, but certainly not least, that one last hen I mentioned, simply breathed her last one day last week. We called her Little Hen, never having giving her a name in the three years we had her. We buried her, of course, and I certainly hope we are done with the funerals for some time. The kids have grown more used to the life and death cycle than most kids, I imagine, but it's still a little stressful every time it happens.

And now I must be off to do what I can before the kids get back - my mom came to take them for a little while so that I could clean (and here I sit!).

Better Late Than Never...

I've been meaning to post these pictures, so here they are... A couple weeks ago, during our more official spring break (as opposed to the many unofficial breaks we've taken these last few months!), my mom took us to Myrtle Beach for a couple days. It was COLD, so the beach wasn't exactly enjoyable, but one night, we went to the Medeival Times show there, and that was fun. The show was over two hours, and all the kids, even 2 year-old Chase, sat through the whole thing, enthralled. Aimee even had a rose thrown to her by our knight, the Blue Knight, and it was thereafter THE most talked-about flower ever. Afterwards, we met the cast, to the great delight of the kids. (People have already asked me how in the world Chase consented to be picked up by a complete stranger, and the answer is that the good-natured "knight" cheerfully scooped him up, and we snapped the picture before the stunned and rather offended Chase could protest!)

Medieval Times

A Short Ramble

Dave is still working out of town, and I think we are all very weary of it. I have been wallowing this week in a grand pity party. School is not moving along very well at all, my house isn't clean (and YES, it MATTERS to ME!), and I seem to have lost all connections with any personal talents, skills, or even interests. Sigh. I feel like I am failing at everything. While perusing other blogs, I think I saw something that Hannah wrote about wandering down roads one shouldn't travel, and here I am taking a stroll along this avenue of self-pity! And it appears I haven't anything really to say, which rather confirms my suspicion that I have even lost touch with my very modest writing skills.

But Ryan's bedtime prayer tonight was worth mentioning. I've been encouraging him in his praying, hoping to nudge him from simply spouting a few obligatory lines to the air, to actually communicating with his Creator, and he's responded very thoughtfully. Tonight, he said, "Dear God, thank you for the duck and the chick [new additions to our backyard]. Thank you for dying. And thank you for being alive. [WOW!] And thank you we're not dead! Amen."

Chase also made me smile today when he was waving a plastic sword at his brothers, and occasionally hitting them with it. They objected, of course, and I warned him to stop hitting them. "But I just 'tending! [pretending]" Apparently he's added this to the list of magic words he's heard that make anything okay.

None of that, put together anyway, made any sense. But I'm leaving it and going to bed!