March 28th, 2011
Last summer I posted this picture and talked about having ears strong enough to hear. I was alluding in a very veiled way to abortion. I had actually drafted a different post not altogether different, but different nonetheless. I held back on it. Redrafted it. And published the second.
Back when we were sick (one of those many times recently) one of our close friends and her family went to the March for Life. We would’ve like to have gone. She posted amazing pictures of the day and her family’s participation in a moment that they are so very passionate about. And I couldn’t believe it – she had the title and kid drawings from Horton just like I had planned! I talked with her and mulled over sharing the original post I had drafted. Choosing Life is something that I have become very passionate about as well. And I’ve talked before about being against abortion, but I’ve always been very careful with the things I publish because as I’ve also stated I have dear sweet friends who have been on the dark side of abortion (is there really a light side?) and I don’t want to hurt them needlessly.
But lately I have thought if just a little toe stepping brought even a little awareness that led to even one little child being saved then maybe, just maybe it would be worth it.
And so.. what follows is the exact post I originally wrote, but never shared. May it matter in some small way.
Last night we were reminiscing with the kids about different places we’ve lived. Each time talking about who was born when and who has lived in each house. How big each child was when we moved. Whether they were big enough to remember, whether they were born yet, and just how pregnant I was when we moved.
The seven year old said, “When we were in that house our girl was tiny in your belly. We didn’t even know then.”
My five year old daughter said, “Yeah, a speck.”
The oldest, my eight year old said, “Just like in Horton Hears a Who! Just a speck!”
And the 3 older kids broke out into the chant from the movie.
“We are here! We are here! We are here! WE ARE HERE! WE ARE HERE! WE ARE HERE!”
And though the kids didn’t grasp the depth of their words it was not lost on me.
I sat still, amazed at the truth in their innocent smiling words.
Horton, convincing the ones who would destroy the beings they can’t see -
“Listen! There they are!”
And Horton to the Whos -
“It’s not working. I can hear you but their ears aren’t strong enough.”
Are your ears strong enough?
15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place. ~Psalm 139
March 14th, 2011
The other day while going about our normal evening at home business. Matt quietly pointed out to me this scene at the computer.
Here sits my 5 year old daughter holding her 17 month old brother, she started a show on the computer for him and was rubbing his head (much like I do) “mama-ing him” as Matt said. I snapped a very quick low quality pic with my phone to capture the memory. I said to Matt at this scene “I’ll take our civilization over the socialized alternative.” He agreed. We smiled.
And that exchange brought to mind several discussions I’ve seen lately about homeschooling and the apparent inherent lack of socialization that comes with that decision. (It’s not just one of you, I promise, it’s all over the place as my friends look to springtime and the coming fall and try to decide what they’ll do with their kiddos.) And I never write about it. For several reasons. One, as I’ve said many times before I really don’t like picking fights (and this, friends, ends up a fight most times, sadly). Another reason I don’t is because the circles I now run in it’s a non-issue. It’s been discussed so much that I kinda consider it decided, handled, over. But really, with as many people who’ve mentioned it lately I felt like maybe I should address how I feel about it. How it’s panning out for us.
First of all let me begin with the quote I referenced above.
“I want my children to be civilized, not socialized.” ~author unknown
See, you’ve already got your fightin’ gloves on, don’tcha?
Dictionary.com defines them as such:
–verb (used with object)
1. to make social; make fit for life in companionship with others.
2. to make socialistic; establish or regulate according to the theories of socialism.
3. Education . to treat as a group activity: to socialize spelling quizzes.
–verb (used without object)
4. to associate or mingle sociably with others: to socialize with one’s fellow workers.
–adjective
1. having an advanced or humane culture, society, etc.
2. polite; well-bred; refined.
3. of or pertaining to civilized people: The civilized world must fight ignorance.
4. easy to manage or control; well organized or ordered: The car is quiet and civilized, even in sharp turns.
I am fully aware that these are not either/or, mutually exclusive. I’m also fully aware that it’s mainly just a comeback, something to quip at those who don’t know better and are trying to make us feel bad for our own decisions. And that it is possible to come through public schools and be civilized. I kind of like to think of myself as civilized. At least sometimes. And I came out of public schools. But let me tell you, from my own experience in school and my own experience with the masses of children we are exposed to frequently (and yes, my children are exposed to masses of children frequently, socialization, anyone?) that it would appear that “civilized” is a lot harder to achieve in public school. Much like you can reach the second floor by running up the down escalator, but it would be a much more direct, not to mention pleasant, route were you to take, say, the up escalator.
A picture Matt snapped at the parade the other day. We were hanging out with friends. Public school socialized friends, even! (gasp!)
Let’s break it down further.
You are sending your 5 year old to school to socialize? Or to learn how to socialize? Am I correct? If this is the case, who are you wanting them to learn to socialize with? Their peers, right? Kids their own age. They will get this there. They will play on the playground, they will sit next to one another in the classroom. But for the most part these will not be guided and taught interactions. The teachers are there to teach the information and keep order. Not be micromanaging each and every interaction. So a lot of the interactions will fall through the unguided cracks. Which is great. I don’t overly micromanage every conversation my kids have, but the younger they are the more guided I like to be. It’s how they learn. The whole “let them fight it out, they’ll learn who’s boss” mentality is for a pack of dogs. Not my children who are learning how to negotiate, compromise, and put others first. Unless you will not be surprised or dismayed when your teenager is still “fighting it out” with you and others when they are far too old to be “fighting it out”. I also want my children to know how to socialize with babies, younger children than themselves, older teenagers, and adults as well. Without bullying, being clueless, running roughshod over them, or thinking disrespect for teachers and adults is the norm. It’s not. And if it is nowadays, it shouldn’t be. Guide them in a different direction. And the easiest way to guide them in a different, more considerate and compassionate direction is to teach them. In their interactions. If you are not there for 7 hours of their day and a minimum of 2 more hours a day are spent rushing through getting ready and off to said socialization and then they have those hours of sleep that they are not learning from you how to work out issues and play appropriately then you have handed over a lot of time of guidance to.. somewhere else.
Looking on the flipside.. is it possible that my children who live in the sticks and are homeschooled can be socialized? Is it possible that my very social, wanting to talk and play with everyone girl will get enough socialization? Well, first of all I certainly hope so. And in hoping I work in that direction. We go to homeschool groups (are you laughing about a bunch of unsocialized homeschoolers hanging out together? Because typing out that sentence kinda made me giggle), we go to parks (with lots of other “socialized” children that make me balk every time I go out), we go to stores, we go to friends’ houses, we go to birthday parties, we go to soccer, we go to museums, we go to the library, the list goes on. And at each of these places we learn how to line up, wait our turn, listen for directions, play with others, and generally just hang out. Is it enough? Not according to my girl, but aside from enrolling her in an all girls boarding school I don’t think I could ever get her socially satiated. Such is life, she’ll learn disappointment around here too.
 Speaking of socializing.. do you know how many kids were at the city park on a pretty Saturday, the day of the St. Patrick’s Day Parade? We might have learned a little bit of socialization and tolerance that day. Maybe.
Let’s also take a look at the type of socializing they’ll be getting. Besides the “fight it out” mostly unsupervised playground socialization we’ve already talked about, there’s the darker side. The horror stories that are real, not just in the movies or the rumor mills. And from what I understand (from others with children in schools, from pop culture tv, and from the older children I’ve been around) it’s worse now than when I was in school. Really? Because it was kinda awful back then. I plan to write a separate post about the sexual trends in children in an upcoming post. There’s too much to fit in here.
So, as scattered and not well said as all this is my point is: I homeschool. My kids are socialized. They are learning slowly each day how to be civilized. You can have children in public schools who are both. You can homeschool and have children who are neither. If you float through life and don’t have a goal in mind nor a plan to reach that goal then you are most likely destined for near failure. Whatever you do, whatever you decide know that you will have to work towards whatever goal you have. It should be thought out. Worked toward. And prayed over constantly.
My children are not perfect as the rest of this post might would have you believe. Here are two of my children bored and complaining the day of the parade (of all things!) and having to wait on a pizza (oh, the horrors!) And yes, I did take their picture while they were less than happy. I’m that kind of mother. But instead of unattended and stewing in their boredom and frustration I was there to redirect, teach, and yes, maybe mock while taking pictures.
I’m fully aware that you can come through homeschooling and be completely uncivilized. But it’s an awareness decision. Once you know what it is you want to attain, figure out how it’s best to attain that for your family, and go forward in that direction. For instance I am aware that I want civilized children that know how to relate to others, serve others (as the Lord taught us), and keep others first. I am aware that’s a battle that I can most easily fight with each interaction while they are young.
The unexamined life is not worth living. ~ Socrates
Examine, know all the facts – don’t just buy the party line. Make informed decisions. It’s what we’ve done. This is the direction I’ve chosen.
I want to choose the up escalator to go up, if you will.
Now I’m sure the gloves will come off and the fighting will commence. Let’s just keep it civilized, ‘k?
March 7th, 2011
It’s been a tough few days.
My sweet elderly neighbors travel to Texas each February and bring us back a ridiculous amount of oranges and grapefruits. And onions. As in, 20 pounds of onions. And somewhere between 40-45 pounds of each of the fruits. Last year I chopped and froze the onions she brought and they last us around 10 months worth of cooking. Amazing. I’m at a little more of a loss on the fruit. I asked on Facebook and the best suggestion so far is marmalade. But I haven’t canned yet. I still want to, but I’m scared. Will my flat top stove hold it? Will I be able to do all the steps? Will it “take”? Should I just freeze the marmalade? Will it be just as good? Thoughts on this?
Halfway through the chopping, kids watching Gumby (I always forget how weird it is), and oh, look the harbinger of death mattress is back there in the bedroom propped up waiting for another night of BigMan’s sickness.
The food processor made my life so much better this year. It went much quicker. Though there were still tears. I opened both doors and turned on the fans. Though the cold and burny eyes eventually ran the kids outdoors while I finished. Baby got sick of being in the saucer by the back door by the time I was through. And I was so distracted by a sick 3 year old and a fussing 16 month old that I forgot to leave some of the onions to slice and not chop. I like to have the variety in cooking, but oh distraction. It’s my constant companion.
Speaking of tears and distractions. Our 3 year old (he has a birthday next week!!), who weighs only 28 pounds (I know..) has been sick since Saturday. We hoped that the sickness that had our girl and Baby before that was going to miss everyone else. It had been 4 days after all. Alas, no. And BigMan, once he starts throwing up doesn’t stop. I mean, 16 hours every 10 minutes at first. After a couple of doses of Phenergan stretched to 20 minutes and then eventually out to every 45 minutes. For 16 hours. It is hard to watch your already underweight baby be sick. But constantly for that long? Wears on you in a way that is hard to describe. Weary comes close. At dinner that first night of it I started crying and the kids asked why. I explained that I was worried about him and that it’s very hard to watch your children suffer. I noticed MyMiddlest dropped his head immediately and closed his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to, I knew he was praying.. for me and his brother. His little brother who is so very little. That night was hard on him (and me). I had to hold him up there for a while. His eyes were bloodshot the next morning from the toll it took on his tiny body. Unreal. I can’t imagine families that have to deal with serious illness. He eventually stopped, he continued to drink all the way through and I watched for signs of dehydration. I prayed my way through. And I know so many of you sweet online friends prayed us through as well. He felt better today – got up to play even and made some of his funny faces, but by evening he was still, quiet, and having the second half of the stomach virus sickness (you know the kind).
As I was tucking loud rowdy kids into bed I tried to not be irritated by the everydayness of a house full. There were toys underfoot, a mattress that stinks, lots of “where’s my pillow?” and “I want the light on tonight” and “but the boys have each other and I don’t have anyone!” And I want to growl and snap and yell. But I try to bite my tongue.
Because I’m thankful for full freezers.
For bitter plants that make our dinners so much sweeter.
For the laughter that comes with the messes.
For jobs completed, even if it’s just chopping onions.
And for the unscripted, unposed moments that greet me when I’m at my tiredest.
February 14th, 2011
The other night I finally gave in and watched the video at the end of this post about the Blissdom ’11 Flashmob. I’d seen rumors of it floating around my blogging friends’ circles. But I stayed away from the videos. Until the other night. And just as I was afraid of .. I cried when I watched it. Matt looked over and chuckled at me when he heard Miley Cyrus playing, because really, who wouldn’t laugh at someone who tears up at “Party in the USA”? But when I explained what it was I was watching and why, he looked brokenhearted for me. Asked me when it was, if it was over. I knew he was trying to think of a way to get me there. Then. But it was over. For another year.
We discussed briefly my desire to go this year before the conference but between money and a nursing one year old I decided this wasn’t the year. I just couldn’t swing it.
And then I started thinking about the people that were there. How I had real life friends who were there. Not to mention lots of other bloggers that I feel like I know, but have never met. I thought about how they had all been going for 2 years now and how they are a “clique” that I probably wouldn’t “fit into” anyway. That the fun they had wouldn’t actually be my fun because I wasn’t cool like them. {mind you, these girls are great, it’s all in my head. which is what this whole post is about.}
My high school fears set back in.
The same fears I had when a real life “friend” on Facebook that I had gone to high school with contacted me directly. {Hi, Kelly! I love you!} She inboxed me one day and asked if my girl would like some hand-me-downs and if we needed a bunk bed, by chance. Wow. I was thrilled, thankful, and very self-conscious. She said she loved reading my blog and wanted me to know. Now, I know lots of people read my blog that don’t tell me. And I know I have lots of “friends” on Facebook from high school, but I figure I’m just a number to them and a passing thought. See, Kelly’s awesome. She’s beautiful, has beautiful kids, is successful, and was a cheerleader. Don’t get me wrong that’s not a negative thing. That’s a matter of fact. She was and I was not. I was part of the nerd herd. I drew run-through signs for the football team and the cheerleaders painted them. I sometimes rode along with the cheerleaders to the out of town games. And they were always wonderful to me. Never, ever a mean girls moment. But I felt self-conscious. Uncomfortable in my own skin. Unpretty. Uncool. Un-everything.
 {Because sometimes you feel as out of place as a black chair in a white field.}
I fought back these fears and told Kelly I would love to have the items and even more so would love to catch up with her in real life. I told Matt about my fears before she came to visit and he told me oh, so gently, that everyone in high school feels weird. All teenagers feel uncomfortable in their own skin and out of place when not in their comfort zones (even cheerleaders). And he reminded me we were both in our 30s now, that I might could move on, maybe.
I had a wonderful time with Kelly. Then and on another playdate. I hope to have more playdates with her. It wasn’t weird. I wasn’t that kid so out of place on that school bus anymore in my jeans with no cute uniform to be had. My fears dissolved.
Maybe I am growing up. Acting my age.
But then my thoughts turn to Blissdom again. And how I should start planning now if I want to go next year. And I do want to go. I know this because when I read Dawn’s quote, “I love BlissDom, where blogging moms feel like rock stars for four days. In an everyday life filled with cooking, cleaning, laundry, and homeschooling, it’s a fun and welcome change of routine” I have an emotional response. One where I want to be a part of that. I want to meet other blogging moms who have secret lives where they’re cool. They have a following and friends. Where they put all their hopes and dreams out there for the world to see, but in real life people think they’re the unassuming mom next door. They don’t know they have nicknames and “fans”. I want to be with those other people. I want to escape for just a few days. I want to conquer my fears like I did with Kelly. I want to grow up. I want to be a rock star. I want to be cool.
February 4th, 2011
I made pumpkin bread yesterday. A double batch of four loaves. We eat a loaf at a time. I made one for breakfast for yesterday and one for today. One to freeze for our Valentine’s Party we’re waiting on and preparing for, and one for my elderly neighbor.
 The aroma was divine, but difficult for the littles!, while waiting for these to bake.
My neighbor’s been alone for the last 4 weeks. Her sweet WWII husband had a stroke and has been in the hospital all this time. I waited to take her the bread. I was thinking I would wait until we got back from the store last night and then call her. Or maybe just take it over this morning. When we had been home but a minute last night she called excitedly to say that she had brought him home from the hospital yesterday. I asked if I could bring her the bread and welcome him home. I hung up and told the kids. Who all cheered and danced that “Mr. Jim is home!!!” And then the 3 olders wanted to come with me out into the cold to see him. My heart was full with their rejoicing with those who rejoice. The wait was over for his return.
I’ve been waiting on payday in order to go grocery shopping. You know, the big one, where you make a big list, plan a lot of meals, wear yourself out from all of it, but feel so good with the feel of a house full of f0od. We had run out of coffee and chocolate milk mix yesterday. With the snow coming and my head cold I decided we shouldn’t try to make that big trip today. We ran to the little local store for just the necessities and we’ll wait a bit longer for all the rest.
Today is my mom’s birthday and she and my dad were supposed to come visit the kids today for the first time since that January Christmas celebration. We’ve waited all week on them. With the weather, we had to cancel. We’ll wait some more.
 Like the gumballs from the tree out front I’m learning there is a season for everything. And a hope hidden deep inside.
With not being Catholic or a true quiver full movementer we don’t know if we’ll try to have any more babies. But it never fails when my babies get to this just over 1 year old age (who’m I kidding I feel this way approximately 5 minutes after they’re born) I begin to think about maybe having more. But there’s money to think about, whether we want to be done for sure, having a van big enough to carry everyone, and of course my body has to be ready (which it is not yet). So I wait to see what we’ll do.
This is the year that we think we’ll pay the van off early. I’ve called the company and know just what to do. I have also contacted some of the other companies we owe and know how much to pay them. I’m excited about being free of those debts. But that is for the tax return.
 While waiting to buy a macro lens my husband made one from a plastic water bottle, some tape, and tin foil using this tutorial from Instructables.
A few of the other big tax return plans are to buy clothes for all of us. We always skim by with what we need and are thankful for our hand-me-downs. But we have plans to go get everyone outfitted.
After our massively successful first 3 day vacation to Memphis last year we have plans to go somewhere again this year. We’re attempting to go before the winter rates are gone and prices go up. A real live vacation! We just can’t wait!
I have the first planned curriculum for one so young for my nearly 4 year old BigMan. It’s cutesy, right on target with what I want to teach, and all laid out for me. (You can see it at TeachMeJoy.com I purchased the Animal Play.) I have it printed, sorted, bound, and ready. But this time instead of winging it I want to buy the books to go with it. Books – such a good investment. I’ve looked at all my book buying sites and scouted the best rates, the places for free shipping, and have them in my cart. But again, I need to wait until the money is in the bank to buy them.
 That boy has been waiting a long time to be able to stay in the lines while coloring. And look at the pride after all that waiting and working paid off. (But what’s up with the name of that car?)
I finally know what’s working and what’s not in our homeschool and I have a plan ahead of time of what I need to buy for each child. I don’t have a set start day for our school. I just go until we finish what we’re working in and then we move to the next thing. It’s about time to buy some of those things. But, again, the money has me waiting.
I’ll be hosting a 5 year Blogiversary giveaway at the end of this month. I have 4 of the 5 items lined up. I’m waiting for inspiration for the final item. I’m waiting to take pictures, write posts, and schedule the fun.
 These 3 (plus a couple more) are waiting not so patiently for me right now to bundle them so they can play in the falling snow.
Waiting used to be a difficult thing for me not so long ago. It was a painful frustrating process. One I did not handle so gracefully. But as I get older the waiting process is becoming more like a well-worn sweatshirt. One that I’m used to, fairly comfortable in. Stretched, roomy. Not that itchy, too tight sweater I used to think was something to be gotten rid of quickly and at all costs. I’m learning to live in anticipation of the future; yet content in the moment I’m in. It’s a much nicer place to be.
|
|
|
/ˈsoʊ
ʃəˌlaɪz/ 
