The Actor and the Housewife

It's a cute title and a quick glance at the plot summary sounded amusing, so when the book arrived for me on the day of the fateful library visit, and after a busy, stressful week, I was really hopeful for a fun, uplifting read. I loved Austenland, also by Shannon Hale, so I thought this would be a good bet. But while Austenland was a fun escape, with brushes of realism to bring it home now and then, The Actor and the Housewife was dissapointing to me. The writing was good, and I still enjoyed Hale's style overall, but I just couldn't wrap my head around the plot. It didn't seem believable, and the dialouge seemed constantly over-the-top. I still read it greedily, with hopes for a good conclusion that would leave me feeling satisfied (and that didn't even have to be the story-book ending that was dangled as a possibilty), but as the story progressed, the reality got heavy. I won't spoil it, if you want to read it, but I wasn't looking for a heavy dose of life lessons, no thanks. After I finished it, I had a crying jag about something inconsequential, and my poor husband wondered what it the world had gotten into me.
Granted, I could probably appreciate it better in a better mood, but as it was, I felt so glum and grounded, when I had hoped to be swept away a la Austenland. Those of you who have read Hale's other works (ahem, Hannah!) should read it, if you haven't already, and let me know what you think.

Ouch

Last week was a stressful week, and because Dave hurt a knee at work and had to drive the van to and from work until later in the week (because his truck is a stick shift), we were stuck at home for most of it, which didn't help matters. By Friday afternoon, we simply HAD to get out and do something, and we decided on a library outing. Not the most exciting thing, but we needed something close and free - it was all we could think of, and the kids weren't complaining about the choice.

But when you've allowed little ones to get cabin fever - well, the results can be disastrous when you finally let them out into public again. The boys were a little rambunctious in the children's area, but nothing outside the norm, thankfully, so I thought it was going pretty well. It was when we needed to check out that things really went haywire. We got in line at the check-out, and something snapped. Chase saw an open area, and went running into it, followed by Ryan. I rounded them up quickly and got back in line, then was almost immediately called to the counter, at which distraction the boys took off again. They made a lap around the magazine shelves. They did, I admit it. I sent Aimee and Drew to get them, which they did with some success, and I tried to finish our business as soon as possible. But we had holds, and then there was a question of how many books could go on each....and then we had to decide which books not to get, since we had too many, which prompted some dismay (and not-so-nice behavior) among the older kids... who wouldn't then go catch Chase...who was working on another lap around the shelves., laughing gleefully. It wasn't acceptable library behavior, I know, but I honestly was trying to wrap things up as soon as possible. The librarian, at any rate, wasn't hurrying (bless her - she's a nice lady), which either meant she wasn't very perturbed by what was going on behind me, or maybe she wasn't aware. I don't know - I just hoped she and all the other library staff realized it was an aberration for us. But apparently that wasn't true of at least one patron, who stormed up to the counter to inform me - loudly - that my kids were running all over the place and I need to get them under control. Fortunately, Chase happened to be right in front of me, and I snatched him up, barely able to respond to the indignant woman, and just glad that we were able to get ourselves out in short order.

I was really displeased with the kids, some of whom should have known better, and I was really angry at the rudeness of the woman, who couldn't crisply but more politely intercept the kids and tell them to get back to where they were supposed to be (which would have served her purpose and mine), but instead felt obliged to announce to everyone within earshot that I was a bad mother. Which of course made me feel more than a little mortified. I made a point of telling the kids that even though their behavior was wrong, I wasn't worried about what one rude adult said about it, but it still cast a pall over the beginning of my weekend. I disciplined the kids later according to age and range of misbehavior (except for Chase, who fell asleep as soon as I put him into the car seat, and honestly, how can you punish a toddler for having been giddy with exhaustion?), and I was glad, at least, that I didn't overreact and punish them based on my level of embarrassment, which, let's face it, was high.

She was rude and unhelpful! I keep telling myself that, but I did spend time over the weekend pondering over whether my mothering had gotten slack, and where I might need to improve, and whether I have the nerve to go into the library again for some time!

Why We Do What We Do - Part 2

I've struggled a little with how to phrase this installment, because I don't think it would serve for me to recount a play-by-play of each birth story all at once (not to mention the fact that it would take me a ridiculously long time to do so - you know, on account of my myriad of children. All four of them.), and I still want to avoid any smacking of why everyone else should do such-and-such. Countless books have been written on the subject of pregnancy and childbirth, by those actually qualified to present and explain all the clinical aspects, so I won't try to do that, either. Of course, those books run an interesting and bewildering gamut of conflicting facts and information,and I myself have been all over that gamut in regard to my own birth experiences. I began on the "Whatever you say doctor... I don't want to feel a thing... I want everything sterile, please deliver me of my baby" end, and I drifted far over into the "My body knows how to give birth without your interference, thank you, and there's no way I'll ever give birth in a hospital again unless absolutely necessary" end. Both "sides" (I hesitate to put it that way, but there it is) tend to look at each other askance, if not even down their noses. The former sniffs, "That's all very well for HER," secretly believing that "natural birth" people are eccentrics, to put it nicely. Incidentally, the way they think and say "natural" doesn't actual sound very natural at all - but rather like something extreme and well outside the normal. I can say this safely because I was one of them. The latter regards the former group with exasperation, and often with a sense of pride in knowing just what's real and true about birth. Not all of them, but some of them DO, and that's just the way it is. I do like to hope that my course from one to the other has helped me avoid some of the superior attitude toward those more ensconced in the conventional medical birth mindset. But at the same time, I also want to be a small part of helping to dispel some of the myths perpetuated by the medical model of birth. I believe, in this area as well as others, that God made things the way he made them for a reason - and often, it turns out the reason is wonderful and amazing indeed. I do wonder if we Christians sometimes labor (no pun intended) under the assumption that childbirth is so corrupted by the Curse that it is something to be treated, the way we regard sickness. But like just about everything else that is part of that Curse, I believe that God has placed redeeming benefits in every aspect. Pain in childbirth, for instance, is not just needless suffering, but an indicator to a woman that she needs to change her position - often into one that will assist her baby in his descent. Overall, I think that for some reason we're afraid to connect with that part of birth that is all at once wild and earthy and yet mystically spiritual - and we think we're too Christian and civilized to admit that God made it just that way. Certainly our American culture, Christian and everyone else alike, has wholeheartedly bought the notion that without doctors and hospitals, ultrasounds and blood tests, pitocin and epidurals, etc, etc, etc., pregnant women are incapable of giving birth. Amazing, isn't it, that the human race made it at all before the past 100 years or so?

But I'm wandering onto the soapbox I'm trying to avoid. My own feelings about childbirth were first shaped by my mother's birth stories. She had four C-sections, the first one (when I was born) after laboring for a few short hours and then being informed in no uncertain terms that she was "too small" and my head was "too big." Thereafter, as was the most common practice of the day, she was not allowed any other option but to have repeat sections with subsequent births. I can't speak for my other sisters, but I believe that doctor not only undermined my mother's confidence, but robbed me of some of my own years later. When I was pregnant with my first baby, I told gave everyone the popular line, "I'm going to try to go as long as I can without pain medication," but I really believed that birth was too powerful for me to handle on my own. I had an uneventful, by-the-book pregnancy, and I was naive putty in the hospital's hands by the time I went into labor. The first thing that a nurse said to me when I went in, by the way, was, grimly, that I was "awfully small." What a confidence booster. I allowed them to give me whatever they suggested - something to help me sleep and something to "take the edge off. I stayed overnight neither sleeping nor resting, but fighting a bewildering combination of nerves and a drug-induced haze. They sent me home after I hadn't progressed, but then I returned later when the real thing hit, and after a few contractions that I thought were intense (as I lay in bed simply waiting for them to come), I asked for an epidural. It gave me some necessary sleep, and shortly after I woke up from a very long nap, I was ready to push, and out my 6 an a half pound daughter came. Oh wait - that is, she came, my small little girl, after the doctor made a "little cut" and I ripped the rest of the way, a fourth-degree tear that would trouble me for months and even years afterward. It was only later that I learned all about episiotomies - the side effects, as well as the extreme and thoughtless overuse by doctors. For my other hospital births, I strenuously insisted, and sometimes I had to be very firm indeed, that such a thing not happen again. The next 3 babies were all over 8 pounds, with much larger heads than Aimee's, and I needed no such intervention. My episiotomy experience was the first that made me aware that I may need to question the accepted way of doing things.

When Aimee was about 8 months old, I found La Leche League, and was put more in touch with women who tended toward the natural in everything, including birth. It appealed to me, and I readily embraced some things, but I still didn't think I could ever have a "natural" birth. When I was pregnant with Drew, I read The Birth Book, by Dr. Sears, and appreciated its balanced approach, but I still had no confidence in my own abilities. Drew was a much larger baby than Aimee had been, and as soon I expressed that fear, the doctor scheduled me to be induced. I knew a little about pitocin-laced contractions, and my fear prompted me to get an epidural as soon as I was allowed, and yet, even before I was experiencing any real discomfort. But it was a horrible experience. My labor didn't progress very well, and my numb lower body held me prisoner in one position in bed while I waited helplessly for my labor do to what it would do. That's exactly what it felt like. Drew, too, reacted badly to the unnatural contractions (which can too strong and close together for babies subjected to them) and I had to be hooked up to all kinds of monitors and tests. The doctor would have done a C-section if he hadn't been too busy. When he had time to check me again, I had progressed satisfactorily enough so that he didn't feel it was necessary, and eventually I was ready to push. It wasn't quite as easy as when Aimee was born , and at one point a nurse snapped at me that I wasn't doing it right. I didn't think that was fair, because I couldn't feel anything and was simply having to guess at what I was doing. At the end, the doctor used a vacuum suction to assist the delivery, and at last, my son was born. He was tired and stressed, and for weeks afterward, I felt badly about having forced him to come before he was ready.

And I was tired of medically directed births and of the hazy, disconnected feeling after both births. Even though I didn't have any other medication besides the epidural with Drew, his delivery still had a dream-like quality about it. It seemed to take days for my mind and body to catch up with each other about what had happened. I was determined to do something different with my 3rd birth, and I went to a group of nurse-midwives during that pregnancy (after one visit at a pristine doctor's office in which no children were allowed and during which a doctor brusquely examined me and then immediately offered me medication to take the edge of my mild morning sickness, which I thought was a little hasty). It was a far different and altogether more pleasant experience than I had ever had before. Still, though because I was terrified about family members missing the birth, I agreed to an induction the day after my due date. The night before, however, my water broke, and even though I rushed to the hospital a little prematurely, that event broke the fear cycle for me. Since things had begun on their own, I was peacefully determined to let them progress without intervention. I had a doula at the hospital who was quietly encouraging the entire time (absolutely indispensable, overall!), and my midwife and the other nurses were actually supportive. They offered me information, and then let me make my own choices, rather than announcing what they were going to do next. At the very end, after a long time of stalled labor, my midwife did persuade me to use a little pitocin, which ratcheted up the contractions several notches and made the last stage nigh unto intolerable. But I remember thinking that I couldn't lose it, because if I did - well, I just couldn't. There was nowhere to go but all the way through and finish it. So I did. And when it was done, it was done. The bliss was immediate, and I was there, fully in the moment. I had felt everything, but I had FELT everything - all the glorious sensations that are muted or even lost when the pain is blocked. Ryan, too, was incredibly alert and aware, and never went through that sleepy newborn phase. Perhaps for me the experience was heightened by the personal confidence it aroused. I remember being wheeled to my room, and saying over and over to the nurse, "I did it! I didn't think I could ever do it, but I did!" I had had to dig deeper than I ever thought possible, but I found there an intense inner strength I didn't know I had, and had conquered greater heights than I had ever known. I don't know how I can describe in words the significance of that - how I can express that it is more than just a nice bonus to experience such a thing, but something of infinite and intrinsic value that every woman has a right to experience. More than a right, almost a need, because it is a natural and normal thing that God has designed as a part of the rite of passage into motherhood, for all kinds of physical and emotional reasons. And at the same time, in a beautiful paradox, it doesn't make a woman superhuman to do it. Someone said that about me after I had Ryan, and while she said it with admiration, I remember thinking, No, not at all! I was just a woman, doing what woman is designed to do - what every woman CAN do. Knowing that - that I had tapped into a deep strength, but one that was always there, nonetheless - was valuable to my entire womanhood from that point on.

In yet another paradox, this birth experience didn't steal anything from the joy I felt at Aimee and Drew's birth. The negative aspects to any birth, whether out of necessity or ignorance, somehow don't, in themselves, demean the basic beauty of birth, and I don't look back on those times with any distaste, even as I learned from what I deemed were mistakes. But I didn't intend to volunteer for that kind of birth model again, so when I was pregnant for the fourth time, I found a midwife at a birth center. She became a friend, and everyone looked forward to my prenatal visits. When we spent an hour there, we spent the whole hour talking with her(as opposed to waiting in a waiting room for most of it), and the kids often "helped" her. Chase's birth turned out to be the longest and hardest for me physically (and, incidentally, the absence of pitocin at the end was an incredible and wonderful difference - there actually were breaks in between the contractions at the end), but by far the most satisfying in every other way. Sandy was skillful, understanding, and supportive, and she was my partner in the birth process, not an authority figure who took it away from me. When Chase was born (finally!), he belonged to me from the very first. She placed him into my arms, and didn't remove him until after I had met him, adored him, and nursed him. She examined him while I held him (even if he had needed oxygen, she would have given it to him there), and it was altogether a gentle, natural contrast to the bright, brisk handling given my other newborns. She did all a more thorough examination later, but by that time he was calm, and it wasn't intrusive in the least. After everything was cleaned up, Dave took the older kids home, Sandy and her assistant left the room, and my mom and I snuggled with Chase in the bed to sleep for a few hours. It was sweet, peaceful, and just right - and all mine. This was how birth was meant to be.

Of course, I know that sometimes things do go wrong, which is the first thing skeptics always say. I had perfect assurance that if there had been a medical problem, Sandy would have been quick to consult our back-up doctor, or we would have gone to the hospital. As natural birth proponents have said, we live in an age in which we could have the most ideal birth environment - skilled midwives (and they are skilled) for normal births, of which there are, or could be, many more than our current American medical community would have us believe, and obstetricians to "stand by" and offer their expertise only when needed. The problem is that this medical community (on the whole, but certainly not every member) has led women to believe that they have rescued us from the danger that is birth and that somehow we are mostly inadequate to do it ourselves. And while I have seen facts and information about the safety and advantages of midwife-assisted births (studies have shown that they are as safe for babies and probably more safe, given the extremely low rate of C-sections, for mothers), I have only ever heard fear-mongering from the other side. "It's not safe," I've actually heard doctors warn, but they won't say why. And worse, women are largely uninformed about the risks of the interventions used in hospitals. Most of those interventions can serve a good purpose at times, but many Americans are completely unaware of possible side effects and risks, and they are willing to do whatever a doctor suggests, without thinking. It isn't right that mothers should have so little an understanding of the natural process of birth, how interventions affect that process, and are thus unable to make informed decisions. From what I understand (and Carrie can correct me if I'm wrong!) many OB's rarely see completely normal, unmedicated births - if they've ever seen one. How interesting to me that our culture will almost unquestioningly and unreservedly trust them with all births, when I doubt we would be willing to trust a doctor so fully in any other area, however great his skill in treating the pathology of that area, if he didn't know what a healthy specimen looked like. Birth is certainly something to be respected - there are dangers and risks, no matter where it takes place - but not something to be feared.

So IF I were to tell another mother my opinion, IF she were to ask me - because I try to avoid being preachy about this and other topics - I would simply encourage her to think. There is a reason God made this process the way he did, and it's not all just a punishment for Eve's folly. It's also so much more than just a necessary, but let's-get-it-over-with, prelude to the long-awaited baby. I would also encourage her to claim her right to her own birth story and not to feel she must kowtow to the practitioner she chooses. Of course there should be a trust relationship there, and I wouldn't advocate constant friction, but a woman should feel she can be informed and can ask questions, and she shouldn't allow herself to be controlled by fear-mongering. I would point her, in addition to a few really good books on the subject, to the documentaries The Business of Being Born and Pregnant in America, both of which I watched after I had Chase, but which confirmed our beliefs and choices.

So as for me, as for us, this is why we treat birth as we do - not because I just want to be different, or because I'm reckless or don't know any better. I've had a range of birth experiences, and in my journey have, hopefully, touched on the mysteriously beautiful and awesomely powerful way God designed the way for life to begin. I believe he did it for a reason, one that ought not be quickly dismissed as unimportant to the larger picture. It's also wonderful the way he made people resilient, so that all is not lost if something changes that natural course, but that still doesn't lessen the greatness and importance of what He has created.

More on Our Current Study

I have to admit, no one else in the house has been as excited about our Civil War study as I have, and I've come to accept that. I'm not even exactly sure why I'm so obsessed with it, although I think it has much to do with my passion for it when I was younger, as I mentioned before. It became almost personal for me, because it was so close and tangible. York, SC where I did most of my growing up and it's surrounding area, has a history that winds back far before even the war in question (nearby Kings Mountain National Park commemorates a historic Revolutionary War battle), and the main cemetery is literally crammed full of history, especially pertaining to the mid 19th century. I used to ride my bike there and walk around - yes, for fun - letting my imagination run riot all over the potential stories. There is one fenced plot in particularly that contains the remains of a C.S.A Lieutenant (whose last name I can't remember, but whose first name was Frederick - very romantic, I used to think!) who perished during the war. His relatively young mother died shortly thereafter, and just a few months later, his older father, a doctor whose name I also can't remember, died as well. I used to weave lovely, tragic tales about how the mother, as young Southern belle, must have fallen in love with the older, distinguished doctor, how they must have doted on their dashing only son, and how they must have both died of broken hearts after his heroic death in battle. It probably wasn't anything like that - and certainly they probably would have preferred a long and boring family life instead - but it was thrilling to wonder about it, because they were real people from long ago, whose resting place I could visit on any ordinary day in the ordinary present.

So I can't blame my kids for not having the same kind of enthusiasm I have for this time period, since they don't have anything like the same kind of personal (well, almost) brush with it as I've had. (We've been to Charleston, but they're also not really old enough to be completely enraptured by the significance.) However, just when even their mild interest was beginning to wane, we came across a great book that kept everyone (except the little boys, of course, over whose alternately happy and contentious racket we had to sometimes read very loudly) enthralled for a solid hour this morning. I happened on Ghosts of the Civil War as I was getting ready to leave the library yesterday, and it has turned out to be the best, most colorful and entertaining overviews (for kids) of the war that I've seen yet. I want to buy a copy just for our personal library. But it makes me all the more disappointed in The Story of the World's treatment of the subject. The most interesting literature suggestions are biographies of Abraham Lincoln; otherwise, there are mostly suggestions for dry titles meant for older children who are studying along. It seems like a pretty big disservice to a pretty important topic in American history - but again, maybe I'm just way over the top in my excitement.

We are still reading through The Boys' Civil War and Across Five Aprils, this week adding the title mentioned above, and also The Perilous Road, for Aimee's required reading. Last week we covered 1862, and we reviewed that timeline this morning, briefly discussing the Battle of Shiloh, the Battles of the Seven Days, the Second Battle of Manassas, the Battle of Anteitam at Sharpsburg, and the Battle of Fredicksburg. We also talked a little about some of the more famous generals and other leaders. And last week after our State Museum visit, we bought some coloring books and paper dolls, including some paper soldiers that the boys have been playing with. We'll work our way though 1863 this week, and at the end of the week I'll post about what topics we covered.

An Afterthought

Ok, I realize that my last post was a little bit of an incoherent jumble of more than one train of thought. I would spend some time correcting it, but I haven't got any such time. If you got the gist, then great! If not, never mind!

Two

Two is a hard age. It just IS - and if your two year-old has never driven you to the point of throwing your own tantrum or pulling your hair out, then I don't want to hear from you. Right now there is a particularly -ahem - determined and...um, expressive little fellow of that age living here, and he makes for some interesting times these days. But even during such times, I still love watching the momentous development taking place. Since we don't remember being that age, it behooves us to imagine what it must be like to be so small - so recent, for heaven's sake - and to be awakening to such an enormous thing as one's very personality. It must be overwhelming to grapple with emotions that are bigger than you are, and to know that you CAN go and CAN choose, etc., but that you are still being told at so many turns where you must and mustn't go and what you must and mustn't do. With this in mind, I do try to steer my little ones as gently through this stage as possible, because while I certainly know they can be stubborn and disobedient on occasion, I believe that most of the time, they are just trying to carve out a place in their world. I try to remember, in addition, that our Heavenly Father is infinitely patient with our infantile attempts at holiness - and I believe it's a similar thing. We are learning, the same way a two year-old is learning.

So anyway, my two year-old, who is doing an awful lot of that kind of learning, has been particularly emotional this week, and even as I've comforted him, it's been very interesting to ponder what exactly must be going though him. A couple days ago, the kids were watching Aladdin, and he unexpectedly burst into tears when Aladdin and Jasmine leave for their "Whole New World" carpet ride - because they left the tiger behind. His distress was so pitiful, I wouldn't have dared to laugh. Then last night we watched Homeward Bound (in the absence of new releases this summer, we are exploring some classics!), and about ten times in the hours preceding our movie night, I cautioned the older kids that it was an adventure movie, so there would be some dramatic moments, but that it did have a perfectly happy ending. I stressed this so often because my kids can become rather emotional over those kinds of moments. What's interesting about this is that I don't mean frightening moments - Drew, for instance, watched Lord of the Rings without flinching, but cried bitterly over Eight Below, which was about the adventures of some Husky dogs. A couple of the dogs died, and some were wounded, and if you could have heard anything over his passionate sobs, you could have heard his heart rending in two. And we don't dare show anything that involves a child (animal or human) being parted in any way from a parent or sibling. Never. I am never quite sure, incidentally, if this a result of good parenting or bad parenting - do they simply have very strong, healthy attachments, or have I somehow made them terribly insecure?

But I digress (and it is not all about me, anyway!). My point is that I had told the older kids this so that they could decide whether or not they wanted to watch the movie. I had thought the younger ones would just have a good time watching some animal antics. As it was, the older ones did choose to watch, and made it through admirably. Ryan enjoyed the animals (and the light bathroom humor, predictably), as expected. But this time it was Chase's lower lip that began to quiver when the dogs began to leave, and the cat was still deciding whether to go. "They going to leave the kitty!" Fortunately, the cat followed in short order. But when she fell into the river later in the movie, the floodgates opened. "The kitty in the water! The doggies NOT going to save her!" he wailed, and as I took him out of the room, I tried to console him with the fact that the cat would in fact be ok. "No, she's NOT! She going to go under the w-a-t-e-r..." he argued passionately through unhappy and angry tears. But he also insisted on going back in to see what would happen, and even after mostly calming down, he asked periodically, palms upraised and with some indignation, "WHERE is the kitty?" Her return to the screen was greeted with a shuddering sigh of relief.

We repeated this a few times, whenever any of of the animals met with trouble, and while I didn't like to see him so unhappy, I thought again of how overwhelming...and hard...and at the same time mysteriously wonderful it must be to be two. It IS "terrible" when this two year-old makes permanent marks on the leather couch (groan!) - and, of course, it is "terrific" when he makes funny comments or does new things. But beyond that, here is this relatively new person finding out who he is, what the world is all about, and how he feels about it. It's a big job for such a little guy, but he'll make it - and we'll have such fun (most of the time!) helping him do it.

Our Current Study

I really ought to be cleaning my house right now, because we had a pretty good day of school yesterday - and whenever that is true, it is also true that my house becomes a disaster area. I keep trying to find a solution for this, and I haven't yet! In any case, I will put off the necessary clean-up until after I've posted a little.

We are one week (and two days) into our Civil War study, and in case you missed my Facebook post about this, it is one of my favorite time periods ever. When I was a girl I bought a set of Civil War paper dolls (from the SC State Museum - such fond memories of those homeschool field trips!), which survived well enough for me to bequeath them to Aimee, who plays with them now. We might even display them somewhere for the rest of our study. Anyway, around the same time, I also did extensive research at our local library in the hopes of writing my own Civil War story. A friend of mine (a boy, no less) who had moved to Missouri (Carrie, YOU know who I mean!) was working on it with me. We would develop characters and write parts of the story, which we passed back and forth via those old-fashioned things called letters. I abandoned the idea only after my dad pointed out that it wasn't just a story, but rather an epic - and THAT sounded just a hair too big a project. I wonder, though, if I have those stories tucked away somewhere. They were such great characters (if a trifle over-romantic, and probably smacking of Gone With the Wind).

My only point is that I really, really, love this time period and am so excited to be studying it with the kids! Conversely, I am dissapointed with the treatment The Story of the World gives it (other users please give me your opinion, by the way). I understand there's a great deal to cover in "Modern Times," but I wonder if Susan Wise Bauer, in attempting to cover a wider range of geography (Eastern as well as Western history) and to address a wider range of students all over the globe, has left us with a somewhat diluted version of modern history. I expected at least a good number of literature recommendations, as well as lots of activities to choose from in the activitiy book - but both areas were rather scanty, in my opinion. It's a good thing I had scoured both the Sonlight and the Veritas Press catalogs for literature ideas a couple months ago. It enabled me to develop our own timeline for studying this particular time period, to which we will devote 4 or 5 weeks (I intend to do the same when we hit the other major wars and significant events).

So we are taking the Civil War (or the War for Southern Independence, or the War to Supress Yankee Arrogance, or whatever you want to call it!) one year per week of study. Last week, therefore, upon tackling 1861, we studied the concept of state's rights, secession, Lincoln's inauguration, the attack on Fort Sumter, the Battle of Bull Run, and the blockade. I am trying to hit the major events and record them on a timeline I found the timeline information here. We're also keeping a list of the major battles, who won them, and the generals and/or heros who were highlighted in each.

Some books we're currently using, with many more coming, are: The Boys' War: Confederate and Union Soldiers Talk About the Civil War (a great overview of the War, filled with accounts from actual soldiers), and Across Five Aprils (a fictional story that does an excellent job of expressing the conflicting feelings and opinions of the common folk). There are more, which I will post about later, as we are getting ready to go to the State Museum with some friends to look at some SC Civil War history!

Why We Do What We Do - Part 1

I have long been meaning to write on our parenting, hoping very much, however, to avoid something like a treatise on parenting in general - as, after all, I know very well that we aren't anything like perfect parents, and we aren't even done, so it would be highly presumptive of me to offer advice before being able to present finished products. Anyway, since we are talking parenting philosophy, it is rather against mine to suggest that a particular way of doing things will guarantee a finished product, or that, conversely, a negative, or even just unexpected, result is necessarily a result of bad methods- as far children are concerned, at any rate.

Instead, what I've been hoping to do is to offer an explanation of why we do what we do. Our parenting has almost always been at least a little off the beaten path of most modern parenting styles, and sometimes I think people assume we just don't know what we're doing - when in fact, if we're different, we're different on purpose. We have thought about it, still think about it, and feel strongly about most of it.

So if you wanted to know what in the world we're thinking when we do some of the things we do, then read on. I'll be posting in installments. If you don't care, or still think I'm being highly presumptive, then do skip. I don't want to bore anyone, neither am I trying to convert anyone, particularly since it's often the very nature of parenting that once we think we have things figured out, we realize that we were wrong.

Everything we do as parents, first of all, stems from a desire to raise godly children. Our children are souls (not just superfluous children in an "overpopulated" world), given purposeful life by their Creator, and we take that very seriously. At the same time, we know that these people have hearts and wills of their own. It's our job to immerse them in a Biblical worldview to the best of our ability, to teach and direct them in God's principles, but we know that ultimately, they will make their own choices and will face God on their own. Furthermore, while the Bible is very clear that carefully raising and disciplining our children is our job, it is less specific on the details. We are careful and purposeful, therefore, to avoid confusing the details a culture provides, with ones that are God-ordained, and in fact, we often find ourselves challenging the culture - even the our American church culture - in regards to matters of parenting that have been turned upside down from the very normal expectations we believe God has of us.

One of those that we face on a regular basis is that of family size - or family planning, or birth control, or however you wish to categorize it. From as soon as I was informed enough to think of it, I never had peace about active. modern birth control. I have grown and mellowed enough over the years that I don't feel it necessary at all to project this onto everyone, but what I do feel passionately about is that birth control should not be viewed as something that God requires of us. And I find it extremely interesting that while God almost always refers to children (and many of them) as blessings, and gives many cautions about the potential evils of money, I have never heard anyone say, with a critical eye, "So how much money do you think you're going to make? Don't you think you have enough of it?"
Of course, it is also perfectly natural to be in a place in which it would seem rather inconvenient, if not impossible to have a baby (or to have another one, whatever the case may be). It's a shame, in that case, that so many young women have no understanding whatsoever of the very natural rhythms and checks that God has placed in our own bodies - and indeed, whenever someone says "natural," and endless succession of pregnancies comes to mind, as if we don't trust God to do better than allow our bodies and our finances to be run to ruin. I am sorry to say that I find this actually to be true of many Christians today.
I am not, I would like to stress again, saying that I regard the use of birth control as error in itself (for everyone else), just incorrect assumptions about it. Another one of those assumptions is that birth control is what you use if there's no way in the world, financial or otherwise, that you could possibly have a baby. If that is true, then for heaven's sake, you had better NOT engage in particular activities. Very few methods are 100% percent effective, after all.

So - yes, we DO know how we ended up with four kids (wink, wink - as if it's appropriate at all for complete strangers to make remarks about our private lives); yes, we know we have our hands full; and no, we don't know how many we're going to have. We don't think it's our responsibility to dictate the number, there are very definite reasons (some of which I have omitted, in an effort to avoid too much controversy here) we choose to avoid artificial means of doing so.

School Post, Part 2

Incidentally, I was not, in my last post, making fun of or otherwise disparaging the child in question as I was illustrating the frenetic downward spiral our mornings often take. I wanted to be quite clear on that. But I did forget to mention myself closing the math book in a huff and announcing in frustration that Daddy would have to take someone to the nearest public school for enrollment. Oh, dear. A handful of M&Ms and a heartfelt apology was in order after that particular incident. It's not as if public school is the worst thing in the world, but it isn't fair, as I mentioned already, for me to be constantly unsure about what we're doing, and much more so for me say it out loud (which I absolutely hadn't meant to do). It makes going to school sound like a punishment, and it leaves a person who craves a solid foundation feel insecure, which certainly doesn't help matters in the least.

I also didn't reiterate that this student does very well when all cylinders of a good, unchanging, and highly structured routine are firing. It is making sure that they are that is the main trouble, as well as making sure we know what all that routine needs to entail, because this person, as I've mentioned in the past, can be somewhat complicated. I've been thinking once again that I may need to seek counseling again. We had gone a couple of years ago, and had been promptly referred to a psychiatrist, at which point all members of my support system in the process took some steps back, unsure if that was really the course to take. Indeed, I myself didn't want to begin down a path that might overdiagnose and overcomplicate the situation, and some things did get better. But I have wondered lately if we have been coping with and accepting as normal some behavior patterns that may rear up in uglier and more unmanageable ways later. I have done it all my life, after all, and have allowed some abnormal anxiety habits to define not only my life but that of my family. I don't want to make constant excuses for myself or to wallow around with a crippled mentality, of course, and I don't want my child to do it. But there are certainly things I should have dealt with, for everyone's benefit, early on, and I don't want to let similar things slide in this growing person's life, hoping they will be able to suck it up or grow out of it, to that individual's great detriment later.

Yes, I am just trying to convince myself of the best thing to do - to your detriment, no doubt, if you are still reading!

But you know - I am actually thankful for these complicated and not-so-easy children, because they are all highly intelligent people who know what they want, do not let themselves be pushed around, and can articulate their thoughts and desires with often astounding clarity. Sure, it means that homeschooling hasn't been as "easy" as perhaps I thought it would be and sleep has always been at a premium around here, because, I believe, no one stops thinking for very long. My mom has observed more than once that we don't have any truly laid-back children, and I have to agree with her. But I wouldn't trade them for anything (forgive the cliche) - and I think I may actually survive raising them.

The School Post - You Knew It Was Coming

My last couple have posts have been replete with typos and other errors - it's a wonder any of you understood what I was saying, but it seems you got the gist of it.

Things have continued to be busy at home, and not so busy for Dave at work. We are, on all levels, learning how to trust the Lord in all things. In regard to work, for obvious reasons, as it is always desirable to be able to pay the bills, and in regard to home, because...well, because our homeschool year hasn't kicked off as smoothly as I would have hoped. Again, I find myself second-guessing myself in regard to one particular child, and wondering if I can really do what is best for that child here at home. We have already had more than one day in which I've called Dave to say that I can not do it. But I have no peace about the public school, and can't afford private school - why do I keep coming back to this?! My waffling surely isn't good for said child. With the others so far, I feel no such indecision, and I'm quite sure that being here is best for them, so it isn't homeschooling itself that is troubling me, just this one person - this one incredibly smart and determined person, mind you. But if there are no other viable options right now, then God must provide the answer for how to make this work... without us harming each other.

The bottom line, as usual, is that this person works best under very defined structure, in which there is little wiggle room, because if you give this person an inch... It happens that because of Dave being out of town half the year, we've had to allow lots of inches. Some of my kids have done just fine with the flexibility, but this person has developed an even larger sense of entitlement than usual, and trying to regain good habits and routine has been a bear. 8:30 in the morning is "WAY too early" - what kind of a mom insists on her kids being awake by then, and doing their CHORES, and not reading at the table, and - WHAT?! - math? Math is pointless, torturous, and there's no way it can be done SO early in the morning, especially if one hasn't had time to "rest," then get some fresh air and exercise first....and oh, by the way, when you teach me, I don't understand ANYTHING you're saying, and I don't remember anything we've ever learned...and WHY are you so upset at me??? And by then it's almost lunchtime, we haven't accomplished anything, and the little ones have upended my house, which further frazzles my nerves. Both for myself as well as for this dear one, I don't want to keep battling constantly over everything. Since making it though just one school week can be exhausting, I wonder sometimes how we'll survive years more. And usually I can honestly say that most of my frustration stems from a desire to have this person be HAPPY and to have pleasant memories of education.

I keep coming full circle, of course, as I've done in more than one post already.

On a positive note, history is almost always a happy subject for everyone here, and we are getting ready to study the Civil War - just about my favorite time period ever. We plan to spend at least a month on it, since there are so many great books to read, and reading is another subject in which we delight. Aimee, of course, practically lives on reading, I have been so amazed and pleased to see Drew devouring chapter books these days, and Ryan showing a decided interest in learning to read (but wasn't he just my baby?! I'm not sure I'm ready for him to be exploring Kindergarten, but he is of a different opinion.) So it's not all a disaster, and I hang on to those glimmers of success!