Recently I joined a homeschool support group, and I'm excited about getting involved in a homeschool community again. I enjoyed the last mom's meeting I went to, and if any of those ladies ever happen to find this post, I hope they know that I really like them and am not saying anything at all remotely negative about them. In fact, they inspired me to get my act together a bit. As I sat there and looked around the table, I saw neatly organized binders filled with things like "Lesson Plans 2011-2012," and I wanted to shrink under said table, because here's
Confession #1 -I don't even have a binder (or anything at all!) labeled "Lesson Plans 2010-2011," much less anything like it for the coming year. The lesson plan for this past year was to do whatever we could do, whenever we could do it, and truth be told, that's been the plan for...ahem...awhile. Once upon a time, when my oldest was all of three years old, I had neatly organized binders. I had a plan for the entire year, and we made our way through a different topic each month, with books and crafts to go along with each topic. We really, truly did. But no longer! My homeschool organization has been becoming progressively less...organized, and between a baby and a move this past year (hey, I'm milking those events for as long as I possibly can!), it was almost non-existent.
Confession #2 - I haven't been to a homeschool convention in the entire course of our homeschooling venture. I went to one when Aimee was a baby, and I looked around at all the curriculum I would surely buy when she was older, and listened with rapt attention to the speakers, but I haven't been to one since. Sometimes I think about going to one, but truth be told, just thinking about going makes me feel anxious. Lots of people, lots of choices, lots of differing opinions...Thanks, I think I'll stay here in my little cocoon and keep things just the way they are, which leads me to
Confession #3 - I don't curriculum shop. Ever. A few years ago, I landed on the general course I wanted to take, and since then, I look to The Well-Trained Mind, Veritas Press, and a little bit of Sonlight for my curriculum guidance, and from that course I do not sway. Most of my friends feel a little guilty about being "curriculum junkies", but I think the truth is that greater sin in the current homeschool community is not to be one, and to this I confess. I try to adjust things here and there for my children's different personalities, but I would rather adjust my strategy with the curriculum I have, than actually change the curriculum itself. So I will smile as I discuss with other moms the pros and cons of this or that math curriculum, for instance, but if it's all the same to you, I'll keep my passionate love-hate relationship with Saxon going. Forever.
That's all I care to confess at the moment, because it's making me feel not so good about myself. I know that the classical philosophy of education and unschooling are on completely opposite ends of the spectrum, but I think I'm about as close to being an unschooler as an adherent of the classical philosophy could possibly get. Perhaps I'm a "classically-inspired unschooler," or an "unschooling-inspired classical educator." Pretty much anything sounds better than a "she's-just-not-doing-this- very-well homeschooler."
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The Cost of Homeschooling
Last weekend I ordered most of our books for the upcoming school year, and I have to tell you, even with my minimalist approach, it wasn't cheap. Homeschooling costs money! It's likely that by most standards, we "shouldn't" be living on one income, and by those same standards, we probably can't afford the cost of books and supplies for each child every year. For sure, each year I look at what needs to be done and I wonder exactly how we're going to pay for it. We don't get tax money for this, and, as far as I know, there are no supply drives for homeschoolers. Door-to-door fundraisers might not come across quite the right way. So we're on our own, digging deep into pockets that don't seem to have the necessary depth! But each year, God provides for those needs - sometimes helping us to understand what are true needs and what aren't, and sometimes providing in ways we couldn't have guessed. In any case, we're still here doing this.
But of course homeschooling doesn't just involve money. There are other costs involved, too. Time is one. This is another area where I apply a fairly minimalist approach, but all the buying, planning, and actual learning takes up a good deal of my time. Now, it doesn't necessarily take the amount of time people are thinking of when they say, "I don't know how you have the time to teach all those kids!", in tones that imply there's no way they would be crazy enough to sacrifice their entire day, every day, on the altar of their children's education. It doesn't involve eight solid hours a day keeping the kids glued to their chairs and in front of their books (which, admittedly, doesn't sound pleasant at all). But it is something that's woven throughout my days (and often nights!). Sometimes I wonder what I would do with all that time if we weren't homeschooling. Would my house actually be clean? But it's usually not good to dwell too long on the "what ifs" of life!
Homeschooling also demands pay in the form of my energy - emotional, mental, and physical. It asks that I sacrifice said clean house, not only because of limited time, but because, as I've posted about before, good learning is messy. It takes up space in my house, and along with that, it costs a certain of amount of style and beauty. What's supposed to be a formal living room in our house is actually full of bookcases, which are full of Rubbermaid totes, books, papers, and who knows what else. (No one needs to comment that my sense of home decorating is sorely lacking anyway, homeschooling notwithstanding. That's another subject altogether!)
And homeschooling costs a certain amount of esteem. As much as I'd like to think that homeschooling has become somewhat normalized in our society, as much as I'd like to think that those who love us also support us in our parenting choices, every once in a while I am painfully reminded that I am in a very small minority, and many among the majority simply think we're doing the wrong thing in regard to our education decisions. Even some among our family and friends think that we're being overprotective, or that we might be subjecting our kids to any number of missed opportunities, both socially and academically. Even comments like, "Oh, I could never do that. You're so brave," are kind ways of marginalizing us, of saying that what we're doing is really above and beyond - a choice that's all very well for us, as long as we can afford the time and money, but not really what normal humans do. And that means that the support for our choice is very, very fragile. Most people, even the nicest of them, would not be there for us if push came to shove. They would assume that, at last, we would do the "normal" thing and put the kids in school. Even other homeschoolers are, understandably, so tied up in providing for their own families, that they could only do so much in helping other families (although they would do all they could for each other). So we are out on a rather long and somewhat lonely limb.
So what's the reward? Will it be brilliant kids? Golden, well-behaved, all-around good kids? Will it even be grateful kids? Maybe so - and maybe not. I hope that they'll be glad of the education they received, and one day learn to appreciate what we invested into it. But looking for reward in this endeavor can lead to disappointment. I have to pay the costs here, not in view of what I might gain later, but only in complete obedience to what we feel God is asking of us. We believe this is the way he's asked us to give our children the best possible understanding of His view of the world, and yes, we believe that in many ways - some we can anticipate, and some we probably can't - it will be worth it. And it already is worth it. Each day there are seven people in this house who, yes, sometimes squabble, sometimes make terrific messes, sometimes drive each other crazy, and who just do cost a lot of money, time, and energy...but who also learn together, grow together, and love each other. And each day, irregardless of the future, that's reward enough.
But of course homeschooling doesn't just involve money. There are other costs involved, too. Time is one. This is another area where I apply a fairly minimalist approach, but all the buying, planning, and actual learning takes up a good deal of my time. Now, it doesn't necessarily take the amount of time people are thinking of when they say, "I don't know how you have the time to teach all those kids!", in tones that imply there's no way they would be crazy enough to sacrifice their entire day, every day, on the altar of their children's education. It doesn't involve eight solid hours a day keeping the kids glued to their chairs and in front of their books (which, admittedly, doesn't sound pleasant at all). But it is something that's woven throughout my days (and often nights!). Sometimes I wonder what I would do with all that time if we weren't homeschooling. Would my house actually be clean? But it's usually not good to dwell too long on the "what ifs" of life!
Homeschooling also demands pay in the form of my energy - emotional, mental, and physical. It asks that I sacrifice said clean house, not only because of limited time, but because, as I've posted about before, good learning is messy. It takes up space in my house, and along with that, it costs a certain of amount of style and beauty. What's supposed to be a formal living room in our house is actually full of bookcases, which are full of Rubbermaid totes, books, papers, and who knows what else. (No one needs to comment that my sense of home decorating is sorely lacking anyway, homeschooling notwithstanding. That's another subject altogether!)
And homeschooling costs a certain amount of esteem. As much as I'd like to think that homeschooling has become somewhat normalized in our society, as much as I'd like to think that those who love us also support us in our parenting choices, every once in a while I am painfully reminded that I am in a very small minority, and many among the majority simply think we're doing the wrong thing in regard to our education decisions. Even some among our family and friends think that we're being overprotective, or that we might be subjecting our kids to any number of missed opportunities, both socially and academically. Even comments like, "Oh, I could never do that. You're so brave," are kind ways of marginalizing us, of saying that what we're doing is really above and beyond - a choice that's all very well for us, as long as we can afford the time and money, but not really what normal humans do. And that means that the support for our choice is very, very fragile. Most people, even the nicest of them, would not be there for us if push came to shove. They would assume that, at last, we would do the "normal" thing and put the kids in school. Even other homeschoolers are, understandably, so tied up in providing for their own families, that they could only do so much in helping other families (although they would do all they could for each other). So we are out on a rather long and somewhat lonely limb.
So what's the reward? Will it be brilliant kids? Golden, well-behaved, all-around good kids? Will it even be grateful kids? Maybe so - and maybe not. I hope that they'll be glad of the education they received, and one day learn to appreciate what we invested into it. But looking for reward in this endeavor can lead to disappointment. I have to pay the costs here, not in view of what I might gain later, but only in complete obedience to what we feel God is asking of us. We believe this is the way he's asked us to give our children the best possible understanding of His view of the world, and yes, we believe that in many ways - some we can anticipate, and some we probably can't - it will be worth it. And it already is worth it. Each day there are seven people in this house who, yes, sometimes squabble, sometimes make terrific messes, sometimes drive each other crazy, and who just do cost a lot of money, time, and energy...but who also learn together, grow together, and love each other. And each day, irregardless of the future, that's reward enough.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Sometimes Two is More Than Five
My three older children went to a Vacation Bible School each morning this past week, and first I should say that perhaps I should write a post on the child who wouldn't leave my side for the first three years of his life, but who, now at six, happily trotted off to his class and stayed for three and a half hours every morning AND who sat dejectedly on his bed last night lamenting the fact that the week was over. But that pretty much sums it up, and I would like to say to any detractors of the attachment parenting philosophy, "'Independence' my...ahem...big toe. He's turning out just fine."
Anyway, when I dropped the kids off in the morning, I returned home with the two youngest (naturally), and I admit a feeling of alarm at first. It's been a long time since I've had just two preschoolers for that long of a time, and believe it or not, that can seem more daunting than having a all five kids in the house. One of the dynamics of a large(ish) family is that they all entertain each other - even when "entertain" seems like too nice a word, and "fighting each other to the death" might seem more appropriate. I certainly try to work in some one-on-one time with each of them, but most of the time they play together, learn from each other, keep each other company, and yes, torment each other. But the bottom line is that even when it seems like that don't even like each other, the fact is that when one or more of them is gone, the others don't seem to know what to do without the absent parties, and that was true this week. While Scarlett was less affected (even though her older siblings are often employed in the task of entertaining her), Chase really didn't know how to be without them. I thought we could do some fun things together that we can't do with everyone, and we did some of those, but most of the time he was just restless, and a restless Chase is no small amount of work. If I wasn't very active in keeping him busy, he was looking for someone - anyone - to play with, even waking Scarlett up from her nap once when the idea of being the only awake child in the house was just too much for him, I guess. And so when he was climbing all over me while were Skyping my mom one morning, I sighed, "Sometimes two is more than five."
Then again, sometimes two is just two. Because one of them can't really talk yet, there was significantly less squabbling each morning. We went to the park a couple of times and I was able to play with just the two of them, rather than having to constantly scan the area to do a head count. We went to the store a few times, and if Chase wanted, for instance, a $1.50 play ball in a display case, I could say, "Sure, why not?" (Anything times four or five really adds up, so I usually say no.), not to mention the fact that it's ridiculously easier to get two children through a shopping trip than it is to have all five in tow. Anytime we went somewhere, in fact, it took all of five minutes to get in the car instead of thirty. And lunch at Chick-fil-A costs ever so much less!
Ryan, the once-attached-but-now-independent one, asked last night if there was anywhere else he could go to VBS. Hmmm...interesting idea. Because sometimes two is more than five, but sometimes it isn't...and all in all it was a happy week for everyone.
Anyway, when I dropped the kids off in the morning, I returned home with the two youngest (naturally), and I admit a feeling of alarm at first. It's been a long time since I've had just two preschoolers for that long of a time, and believe it or not, that can seem more daunting than having a all five kids in the house. One of the dynamics of a large(ish) family is that they all entertain each other - even when "entertain" seems like too nice a word, and "fighting each other to the death" might seem more appropriate. I certainly try to work in some one-on-one time with each of them, but most of the time they play together, learn from each other, keep each other company, and yes, torment each other. But the bottom line is that even when it seems like that don't even like each other, the fact is that when one or more of them is gone, the others don't seem to know what to do without the absent parties, and that was true this week. While Scarlett was less affected (even though her older siblings are often employed in the task of entertaining her), Chase really didn't know how to be without them. I thought we could do some fun things together that we can't do with everyone, and we did some of those, but most of the time he was just restless, and a restless Chase is no small amount of work. If I wasn't very active in keeping him busy, he was looking for someone - anyone - to play with, even waking Scarlett up from her nap once when the idea of being the only awake child in the house was just too much for him, I guess. And so when he was climbing all over me while were Skyping my mom one morning, I sighed, "Sometimes two is more than five."
Then again, sometimes two is just two. Because one of them can't really talk yet, there was significantly less squabbling each morning. We went to the park a couple of times and I was able to play with just the two of them, rather than having to constantly scan the area to do a head count. We went to the store a few times, and if Chase wanted, for instance, a $1.50 play ball in a display case, I could say, "Sure, why not?" (Anything times four or five really adds up, so I usually say no.), not to mention the fact that it's ridiculously easier to get two children through a shopping trip than it is to have all five in tow. Anytime we went somewhere, in fact, it took all of five minutes to get in the car instead of thirty. And lunch at Chick-fil-A costs ever so much less!
Ryan, the once-attached-but-now-independent one, asked last night if there was anywhere else he could go to VBS. Hmmm...interesting idea. Because sometimes two is more than five, but sometimes it isn't...and all in all it was a happy week for everyone.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
I Love That the Library Is Free...Except When It Isn't
I'm posting this in the hopes that it might make someone else out there feel less awful about themselves, the way someone encouraged me by sharing their library fine horror story once.
We love the library, and help our local branches meet their circulation goals, as one librarian told us wryly one time while helping us with our mountain of holds. The wonder of the library never ceases for us. All these books, magazines, CD's, movies...for FREE!
Except when it's not. Such as when a cooler turns over in the back of the car, and melted ice leaks out onto a pile of books waiting to be returned, and the library later sends us a nice letter telling us that they appreciate our patronage and we're now the proud owners of one, two, three, four, FIVE books with irreparable damage. This is quite a hefty charge in the "unpaid fines" section of my library card account, even as used to hefty charges as we are. The dowside to having 100 books spread over six cards is that a day or two late can really add up, as can one missing book that no one can remember ever seeing, or the effects of a page-ripping-happy toddler...the list goes on. Dave used to get upset over these kinds of thing, but over the years he's grown more mellow about it, remarking once that he considers fines to be "our monthly donation to the library," and joking on ocassion that they should name a wing after us.
Our fine problem has been better these past few months, since one of the libraries we use doesn't charge fines on children's books...as long as you bring them back....without water damage. This recent fiasco rather makes up for all that time, however, all in one big chunk, and Dave didn't look so resigned when he read that nice letter from the library. Still, all he said was, "That's a lot of books." I know, I know! And obviously there's no way to talk myself out of this one (as I did once in SC when we had a slew of overdue books, and I begged for mercy due to weeks of morning sickness and pregnancy brain). So now we're on our way to helping this local library build a new wing, too, for which I hope they're grateful. And you better believe those "irreparably damaged" books are going on our shelves - as soon as we pay for them - as ever-present reminders of the "free" library.
We love the library, and help our local branches meet their circulation goals, as one librarian told us wryly one time while helping us with our mountain of holds. The wonder of the library never ceases for us. All these books, magazines, CD's, movies...for FREE!
Except when it's not. Such as when a cooler turns over in the back of the car, and melted ice leaks out onto a pile of books waiting to be returned, and the library later sends us a nice letter telling us that they appreciate our patronage and we're now the proud owners of one, two, three, four, FIVE books with irreparable damage. This is quite a hefty charge in the "unpaid fines" section of my library card account, even as used to hefty charges as we are. The dowside to having 100 books spread over six cards is that a day or two late can really add up, as can one missing book that no one can remember ever seeing, or the effects of a page-ripping-happy toddler...the list goes on. Dave used to get upset over these kinds of thing, but over the years he's grown more mellow about it, remarking once that he considers fines to be "our monthly donation to the library," and joking on ocassion that they should name a wing after us.
Our fine problem has been better these past few months, since one of the libraries we use doesn't charge fines on children's books...as long as you bring them back....without water damage. This recent fiasco rather makes up for all that time, however, all in one big chunk, and Dave didn't look so resigned when he read that nice letter from the library. Still, all he said was, "That's a lot of books." I know, I know! And obviously there's no way to talk myself out of this one (as I did once in SC when we had a slew of overdue books, and I begged for mercy due to weeks of morning sickness and pregnancy brain). So now we're on our way to helping this local library build a new wing, too, for which I hope they're grateful. And you better believe those "irreparably damaged" books are going on our shelves - as soon as we pay for them - as ever-present reminders of the "free" library.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Fun Times
Dave was out of town for the first half of this week (he was in Joplin, MO, helping with tornado relief), and, as I usually try to do when he's gone, we tried to keep as busy as possible so that the days wouldn't seem to s-t-r-e-t-c-h too long. It's a bit of a tricky balance - it's important, as the temporary single parent, to save enough energy for bedtime, but letting the natives get restless can leave one rather frazzled, with no reinforcements arriving at 5:15pm. So this is why it can seem more appealing to take five kids to the pool a couple times, to the library, to the park, and even out to eat rather than to stay at home all day every day. And overall, it works, but occasionally in the middle of one of these outings, I wonder, "Exactly WHY was this a good idea?"
Take a pool trip, for instance. We go to the local Y, which has two indoor pools. Outdoor pools are more refreshing in the summer, but for our purposes the indoor arrangement works nicely, since keeping the kids in a confined area helps me keep tabs on everyone. When I take them by myself, they usually require a few hours of notice and repeated reminders leading up to leaving for the pool, the final hour punctuated with simple directions like, "Suits! Shoes! Towels!" and then finally, "Car!" And it doesn't matter how prepared I am, it always seems like it takes at least thirty minutes to get everyone in the car and buckled in, but once we finally do it, the Y is about five minutes away. We arrive, I open the car doors in strategic order and with specific instructions so that I don't have kids dashing out into the parking lot. We file in ("DON'T touch the automatic door button!") and head to the family locker room, which is basically the size of a large bathroom. It has a shower and several lockers, and is covered in tile, which makes amplifies sound in way that is apparently very appealing to the boys, because as soon as we get in, they ratchet up the volume and start slamming lockers. Fortunately all we have to do upon arrival is drop off our things, so this stage doesn't last very long, and into the pool we go.
We usually spend about an hour in the pool - that appears to be about Scarlett's limit. The older kids usually do their own thing, but the younger ones and I stick together, of course. Ryan can swim, and he likes to show off his skills and tricks. "Mom, watch! Mom, look! Mom! Mom! Mom!" For an hour. I do my best to watch and cheer him on, but of course I'm holding and entertaining Scarlett while Chase, for the most part, is gleefully hanging on to some part of me and even climbing on my head. For an hour. At some point I consider that it seems a little ironic that this outing is supposed to be a fun and relaxing way to help me keep my sanity...and I realize that while "relaxing" might not apply, it really is fun, in a way that probably only a mother could understand, and I love that we're all having a good time together. But as I said before, Scarlett starts to get tired after about an hour, so, in a process that must be perfectly timed and carefully orchestrated, I round everyone up and we head back to the locker room.
Now, I know the return trip, as we dry off and change back into our clothes. will be crazier than the first time. This will be especially true on this particular outing, since I've brought soap and intend to get everyone showered while we're there. So I know I'll have to pick my battles in an effort just to get things done and get everyone out the door. In fact, pretty much the only thing I really attempt to control is keeping the noise level a decibel or two below a deafening roar; otherwise I accept the fact that things are just going to be pretty chaotic. Sure enough, as soon as we enter the locker room, the boys start jumping in and out of the lockers - i.e., the "brain swapping machines," with a satisfying SLAM each time they do. At the same time, they keep hitting the button on the air dryer, providing continuous background noise. How they manage to do all this for the entire time we're there, I'm not sure. There's only the three of them - Aimee prefers to change in the women's locker room - but it seems like there are ten kids providing the mayhem. Of course, Scarlett contributes to the noise when she starts crying, her voice rising to a pretty determined and angry wail. But since I anticipated this as well, I try to remain calm and just get things done. I get out the soap and convince Chase to take the removeable shower head and clean himself off - "It will be fun!" By this time I really have to do something for Scarlett, though, so I sit on the chair next to the shower (it's one of those chairs for those who need assistance in the shower, if you can picture it) and start to nurse her. It turns out she's not interested in a quick pick-me-up, but is in for the long haul, making things a little difficult when Chase doesn't want to give up the shower for anyone else to have a turn. I manage to wrangle the shower head from him, get him rinsed off, and and convince Ryan to come over for a turn (he and Drew are still keeping the air dryer running and opening and closing the locker doors). While he's coming over, I figure it's as good a time as any to get Scarlett cleaned off, so I soap her up - while she's still nursing - and rinse her off. Then Ryan gets cleaned off, and Drew wanders over - Chase takes over the air dryer button, so the noise level hasn't diminished at all. There's a tussle over the shower head, but Drew surrenders it and starts pumping the foamy soap from the dispenser next to the shower and gives himself, "SOAP POX! LOOK, I'VE GOT SOAP POX!" by dotting it all over his arms. Eventually Ryan's turn is over, and Drew takes the shower head. Ryan and Chase alternate between lockers, the air dryer, and trying to get back into the shower, all as loudly as it seems they can possibly manage. (Every once in a while, I offer a feeble, "Guys, we really don't need to yell at each other!", but I realize this is futile.) I wonder, with a grimace, what this all must sound like from outside the door, but I have to let go of caring what people think, something I'm getting better at, thanks to my darling boys. At this point, Aimee comes in and comments, "Wow - you should really hear what you all sound like from out there!" I hand her the baby, instruct the boys to get their clothes on (because now, except for Drew, they're doing all of the above while naked), and take the shower head so I can at least rinse off and wash my hair. Scarlett resumes crying, Aimee asks how long she has to hold her, the boys somehow get louder. I turn off the shower, find a corner to dry off and hurriedly get dressed, then try to wrap this all up. Some of the kids start arguing with each other, and I know our time is up and we had better get out quickly. Things reach a fever pitch first, then suddenly someone smacks someone else on the back - bare hand on skin, which is very loud and is followed by "OWWWWWWWWWWW!" I wheel around and tell them all in a whisper, but also in no uncertain terms, that the party is OVER, and we're leaving. The noise dies instantly - even Scarlett stops crying - and we gather our things and walk out, all smiles. We walk past the desk, hand back the keys to the locker room with a "Thank you!", and head out the door. I wonder if I'm just imagining the funny looks, but decide I'm probably not, and that's ok. Only a couple hours later do I realize that anyone who heard all this probably heard the smack and subsequent silence and thought that I had delivered a spanking! For an instant, I want to run back and make sure they know that it wasn't me, but I remind myself that I'm working on not caring so much what people think. Anyway, they were probably just glad things got quiet.
Thus passed a few hours of the four days Dave was gone, and believe or not, they go down collectively in my book as a successful period of diversion and entertainment. If you have a family of several and have some experience with temporary solo parenting, you probably can believe it. If you don't, well, you can take my sister's approach. She's pregnant with her second child, and one of the last times I was talking to her on the phone, I caught myself monopolizing the conversation with stories about my kids. I apologized, but she said, "Oh, I like hearing about your kids. It reminds me to cherish each quiet moment while I can."
Good idea!
Take a pool trip, for instance. We go to the local Y, which has two indoor pools. Outdoor pools are more refreshing in the summer, but for our purposes the indoor arrangement works nicely, since keeping the kids in a confined area helps me keep tabs on everyone. When I take them by myself, they usually require a few hours of notice and repeated reminders leading up to leaving for the pool, the final hour punctuated with simple directions like, "Suits! Shoes! Towels!" and then finally, "Car!" And it doesn't matter how prepared I am, it always seems like it takes at least thirty minutes to get everyone in the car and buckled in, but once we finally do it, the Y is about five minutes away. We arrive, I open the car doors in strategic order and with specific instructions so that I don't have kids dashing out into the parking lot. We file in ("DON'T touch the automatic door button!") and head to the family locker room, which is basically the size of a large bathroom. It has a shower and several lockers, and is covered in tile, which makes amplifies sound in way that is apparently very appealing to the boys, because as soon as we get in, they ratchet up the volume and start slamming lockers. Fortunately all we have to do upon arrival is drop off our things, so this stage doesn't last very long, and into the pool we go.
We usually spend about an hour in the pool - that appears to be about Scarlett's limit. The older kids usually do their own thing, but the younger ones and I stick together, of course. Ryan can swim, and he likes to show off his skills and tricks. "Mom, watch! Mom, look! Mom! Mom! Mom!" For an hour. I do my best to watch and cheer him on, but of course I'm holding and entertaining Scarlett while Chase, for the most part, is gleefully hanging on to some part of me and even climbing on my head. For an hour. At some point I consider that it seems a little ironic that this outing is supposed to be a fun and relaxing way to help me keep my sanity...and I realize that while "relaxing" might not apply, it really is fun, in a way that probably only a mother could understand, and I love that we're all having a good time together. But as I said before, Scarlett starts to get tired after about an hour, so, in a process that must be perfectly timed and carefully orchestrated, I round everyone up and we head back to the locker room.
Now, I know the return trip, as we dry off and change back into our clothes. will be crazier than the first time. This will be especially true on this particular outing, since I've brought soap and intend to get everyone showered while we're there. So I know I'll have to pick my battles in an effort just to get things done and get everyone out the door. In fact, pretty much the only thing I really attempt to control is keeping the noise level a decibel or two below a deafening roar; otherwise I accept the fact that things are just going to be pretty chaotic. Sure enough, as soon as we enter the locker room, the boys start jumping in and out of the lockers - i.e., the "brain swapping machines," with a satisfying SLAM each time they do. At the same time, they keep hitting the button on the air dryer, providing continuous background noise. How they manage to do all this for the entire time we're there, I'm not sure. There's only the three of them - Aimee prefers to change in the women's locker room - but it seems like there are ten kids providing the mayhem. Of course, Scarlett contributes to the noise when she starts crying, her voice rising to a pretty determined and angry wail. But since I anticipated this as well, I try to remain calm and just get things done. I get out the soap and convince Chase to take the removeable shower head and clean himself off - "It will be fun!" By this time I really have to do something for Scarlett, though, so I sit on the chair next to the shower (it's one of those chairs for those who need assistance in the shower, if you can picture it) and start to nurse her. It turns out she's not interested in a quick pick-me-up, but is in for the long haul, making things a little difficult when Chase doesn't want to give up the shower for anyone else to have a turn. I manage to wrangle the shower head from him, get him rinsed off, and and convince Ryan to come over for a turn (he and Drew are still keeping the air dryer running and opening and closing the locker doors). While he's coming over, I figure it's as good a time as any to get Scarlett cleaned off, so I soap her up - while she's still nursing - and rinse her off. Then Ryan gets cleaned off, and Drew wanders over - Chase takes over the air dryer button, so the noise level hasn't diminished at all. There's a tussle over the shower head, but Drew surrenders it and starts pumping the foamy soap from the dispenser next to the shower and gives himself, "SOAP POX! LOOK, I'VE GOT SOAP POX!" by dotting it all over his arms. Eventually Ryan's turn is over, and Drew takes the shower head. Ryan and Chase alternate between lockers, the air dryer, and trying to get back into the shower, all as loudly as it seems they can possibly manage. (Every once in a while, I offer a feeble, "Guys, we really don't need to yell at each other!", but I realize this is futile.) I wonder, with a grimace, what this all must sound like from outside the door, but I have to let go of caring what people think, something I'm getting better at, thanks to my darling boys. At this point, Aimee comes in and comments, "Wow - you should really hear what you all sound like from out there!" I hand her the baby, instruct the boys to get their clothes on (because now, except for Drew, they're doing all of the above while naked), and take the shower head so I can at least rinse off and wash my hair. Scarlett resumes crying, Aimee asks how long she has to hold her, the boys somehow get louder. I turn off the shower, find a corner to dry off and hurriedly get dressed, then try to wrap this all up. Some of the kids start arguing with each other, and I know our time is up and we had better get out quickly. Things reach a fever pitch first, then suddenly someone smacks someone else on the back - bare hand on skin, which is very loud and is followed by "OWWWWWWWWWWW!" I wheel around and tell them all in a whisper, but also in no uncertain terms, that the party is OVER, and we're leaving. The noise dies instantly - even Scarlett stops crying - and we gather our things and walk out, all smiles. We walk past the desk, hand back the keys to the locker room with a "Thank you!", and head out the door. I wonder if I'm just imagining the funny looks, but decide I'm probably not, and that's ok. Only a couple hours later do I realize that anyone who heard all this probably heard the smack and subsequent silence and thought that I had delivered a spanking! For an instant, I want to run back and make sure they know that it wasn't me, but I remind myself that I'm working on not caring so much what people think. Anyway, they were probably just glad things got quiet.
Thus passed a few hours of the four days Dave was gone, and believe or not, they go down collectively in my book as a successful period of diversion and entertainment. If you have a family of several and have some experience with temporary solo parenting, you probably can believe it. If you don't, well, you can take my sister's approach. She's pregnant with her second child, and one of the last times I was talking to her on the phone, I caught myself monopolizing the conversation with stories about my kids. I apologized, but she said, "Oh, I like hearing about your kids. It reminds me to cherish each quiet moment while I can."
Good idea!
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
"Why Do You Behave as You Do?"
Yesterday I read in Ist Kings, and I read where David's son Adonijah decided he was ready to be king, despite the fact that he hadn't been appointed the successor, and that his father wasn't even dead yet. The passage explains this bad filial behavior in saying that David "had never interfered with him by saying, "Why do you behave as you do?" I've read this before, but yesterday it struck me particularly because...well, because I have a son who prompts this question on a regular basis - and he's only four. I admit I'm not the best disciplinarian in the world, but at least I "interfere" and ask the question.
Often.
"Why did you go down the street and around the corner to play with the neighbors' kids? By yourself? Without asking?"
"Why are you in the middle of the library screaming at your brother to help you find superhero books?"
"Why are you riding your bicycle in the house? Why are you riding your bicycle upstairs?"
"Why would you jump in the deep end of the pool by yourself and with no floaties - when you don't know how to swim, and I can't jump in after you because I'm holding the baby? Why are you grinning at me as you hang onto the edge and I insist - in a firm but carefully controlled voice because we're in a public place - that you get out immediately?"
"Why in the world would you throw a handful of your dinner in the air?"
"WHY DID YOU PUT YOUR GUINEA PIG IN YOUR BEDROOM VENT?"
These examples took place in a 36-hour period. So yesterday, the day before, today, tomorrow and all day every day I pray hard for this dear boy - who, by the way, can also be extremely loving and helpful, when he wants to be. I pray that he won't turn out anything like the unchecked Adonijah - rash, stupid, and, in the end, cowardly - but rather more like wise Solomon.
Minus 999 wives, of course.
Often.
"Why did you go down the street and around the corner to play with the neighbors' kids? By yourself? Without asking?"
"Why are you in the middle of the library screaming at your brother to help you find superhero books?"
"Why are you riding your bicycle in the house? Why are you riding your bicycle upstairs?"
"Why would you jump in the deep end of the pool by yourself and with no floaties - when you don't know how to swim, and I can't jump in after you because I'm holding the baby? Why are you grinning at me as you hang onto the edge and I insist - in a firm but carefully controlled voice because we're in a public place - that you get out immediately?"
"Why in the world would you throw a handful of your dinner in the air?"
"WHY DID YOU PUT YOUR GUINEA PIG IN YOUR BEDROOM VENT?"
These examples took place in a 36-hour period. So yesterday, the day before, today, tomorrow and all day every day I pray hard for this dear boy - who, by the way, can also be extremely loving and helpful, when he wants to be. I pray that he won't turn out anything like the unchecked Adonijah - rash, stupid, and, in the end, cowardly - but rather more like wise Solomon.
Minus 999 wives, of course.
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