Homeschool Image

Lots of stuff

2011-10-10T01:05:00.004-05:00

  First, Cookie turned 7. We had cake at home, and later, a fun party at the beach. The kids got their first real sunburn, putting me to shame for letting it happen yet filling me with pride that it hadn't before.

  Didn't write about it, though.

  Then Turtle turned 1. He threw cake on the floor, we gave him a big cardboard box as a gift, and he wore a crown.

  Didn't write about it, though.

  So, stuff keeps happening. I keep busy.

  It's when I look back at posts from years ago that I realize I'd like to keep this up. Otherwise, I'm not going to remember half the things I want to.

Large and in charge

2011-08-02T22:59:00.003-05:00

  Which of these kids would be mine? The one in the yellow shirt! We have taken Gameboy's interest in knowing the rules to everything and turned it into a summer job. Well, he has anyway, being the one doing the work. But I'm the one who pushed him into it. I hope he likes it. That first paycheck should help.
  He was nervous for this first game, but he did great. He stopped everything to check on a kid who seemed hurt. He let another have three tries to get it right when it was his turn to kick off. These are the kinds of rules you see in U8 soccer, the only level Gameboy, at 12, is old enough to referee. When the game was over, he filled out his paperwork.
  It's so cliche, but seriously, it seems like yesterday that he was one of those little kids.

My hips were hurting

2011-06-24T09:38:00.003-05:00

  Princess and some friends had a sleepover party where they sang karaoke, watched movies and played games in a church, where the dad of two other girls is the pastor. They sent out a call to parents to be chaperones for this overnight adventure.
  Should I have been surprised that I was the only adult willing to sleep there all night? I brought Turtle with me; he was about 7 months old, and we slept together on the hard floor in a sleeping bag. The experience taught me that I'm too old to do that. The girls were great and had a fun time, but it still ranks as one of my worst nights ever.
  The next night, in my own bed, I was extraordinarily gleeful to be comfortable. I suppose I'd expect that on the first night, but the feeling lasted a week, me being overwhelmed with gratitude that I wasn't on a hard floor with an inadequate pillow and too few blankets.
  Although I'm still under the delusion I won't do something like that again, I have a backup plan. I'll have to be one of those people who arrives at a camping trip, sleepover, etc., backs my car up and hauls an entire bed's worth of bedding and pillows out so that I can sleep peacefully. This probably rules out any future career as a cowboy, astronaut or submarine captain. I'm set in my ways when it comes to my king-size bed.

Not so sweet

2011-04-13T23:24:00.006-05:00

  To bank tellers, store clerks and post-office-counter workers:
  Don't ask my children if they want candy. And while you're at it, and even though it's far more appropriate, don't ask me, in front of the children, whether they may have candy.
  If it were 1931 and candy were a rare treat I couldn't afford, it might be cool to get free candy. But candy is cheap, and my children don't need more.
  My children are not deprived of sweets. We have baskets full of Easter candy, stockings full at Christmas, Valentine's candy, birthday treats, and fat pillowcases at Halloween. I realize that another lollipop isn't going to tip the scales. But the 13 grams of sugar and Red No. 40 aren't the only issues; it's also about the message it sends.
  When my 6-year-old daughter slammed the minivan door on her fingers, and I took her to urgent care, I thanked the receptionist who asked me whether she could have a lollipop, and I gladly accepted. But when the children's only accomplishment is standing in line to watch their mother buy stamps, they don't need a treat for that. I don't want them thinking that candy is something you eat all the time. I don't want them eating treats that, seconds ago, they were fine without, but now that it has fallen in their laps, they suddenly want.
  Candy-givers, I know you mean well. But you risk taking well-behaved, happy children and turning them into crabby children on a sugar rush, or discontented children who feel like they're missing out because mom said no to the free sugar.
  The ubiquitous candy bowls and offers of treats are wearing on me. Please, make it stop.

Making maple syrup

2011-04-04T13:01:00.004-05:00

We went on a field trip with other homeschoolers to a local university that teaches people about making maple syrup. We went on a similar trip two years ago to a local syrup producer, but this trip was more hands-on.

The kids got to choose a tree to tap and help drill the hole.

The most important information they offered was where to buy supplies to do it ourselves. For some reason, I've never looked into it. Turns out, a hardware store right by our home sells everything we need. Spiles (the little spout) are three dollars. That's all you really need, since we already own a drill, but we bought two jars and buckets, too. Within an hour of the field trip, we had three trees in our yard tapped.

I tried two different buckets and one milk jug. I like the milk jug option; it's easier to keep little pieces of bark out. After this first experiment, we might buy some filters, too. Or maybe the spiles that use a plastic bag to collect sap.

I'm very happy with the results. We had about two-and-a-half gallons of sap and made two small bottles of syrup in three hours. It's really good and very sweet. It's lighter than I expected, but I've had some experience making candy and could tell when the syrup was ready. If I were judging just by color, the syrup would have burned.
Ironically, the syrup is so sweet, it reminds me a little of corn syrup. It tastes better, though. It's amazing that it came out of our trees!

Seat belts

2011-03-09T22:48:00.004-06:00

  This is me being a bad mom. It makes me think of the movie "Zombieland," where a scared, wimpy guy survives a zombie apocalypse because he's so cautious. One of his rules is "seat belts."
  I put Turtle in his baby swing beside my chair at the computer. I did not fasten the seat belt. He has always ever been a tiny baby, you know. He isn't one who can move himself places. Obviously, things are changing.
  I didn't hear anything happen, and he's sitting right beside me. But when I looked to my side, instead of being in the swing, he's lying underneath it! He didn't cry, didn't fuss, didn't even bump onto the floor. He was just looking at the swing, amazed by the change in perspective.
  Remember, Mom: Seat belts.

Send in the clowns, send in the dinosaurs

2011-02-28T23:17:00.006-06:00

Preparations are underway for the annual homeschoolers' student project expo. Princess is doing her report on mime and plans to be in character for the night. Cookie is doing T-Rex. Gameboy, being in school now, gets a pass. But I'm going to make him man the registration table.

Once again, I am seeing the benefit of teaching the kids how to make display boards look nice. I didn't help much with Princess' this year. She remembers what to do.

Cookie's report will feature several hands-on displays. We made a papier mache replica of a life-sized T-Rex tooth. We painted it brown to look like a fossil.

Did you know there is little fossil record for T-Rexes? The book we read said there are 11 T-Rex skeletons. I don't know if that's the most recent information, but compare that with hundreds of duckbilled dinosaurs, for example, and the fossil record for T-Rex is slim. No T-Rex egg has been found, but we can hypothesize they laid eggs because similar dinosaurs did. Also, some dinosaur fossils show evidence of having feathers. There is no evidence of this with T-Rex, but wouldn't that be cool? How scary would a feather-covered T-Rex be? We decided to find out.

Turns out, a feathery T-Rex is freaky! We have the plastic dinosaur, glue gun and craft-store bag of feathers to prove it.

We might have people vote on which one is scarier.

Tap dancing on my brain

2011-02-22T10:33:00.005-06:00

In late August, the new school year approaching and me hugely pregnant, I lamented the closing of the local dance-supply store and went online to get Princess new tap shoes.
She's at the transition between children's sizes and women's sizes. The website seemed clear, the sizes laid out in order along the drop-down menu. I ordered a 6, which was next in line after the 5 she was wearing last year.
The shoes arrived Sept. 1, just in time for classes to start. When I opened them, though, I was shocked to see they were a size 6 toddler shoe. Baby tap shoes! Who knew babies needed tap shoes?

I was so angry. The fact that someone out there thought their 18-month-old girl needed $30 tap shoes (plus $9 shipping 'cause those suckers are heavy) made steam come out my ears. I bit the bullet, talked to someone from the company, shipped the shoes back and waited.
The next pair was too small, too! It was a child's size 6, and she had been wearing a women's 5. I had described the product, serial number and all, to the phone rep, so I couldn't believe we got another pair that was too small. When I called again, I had to take deep breaths to prepare. I'll remind you, it costs $9 each way for shipping, dance class was about to start, and I had a baby due any day.
I asked for free shipping for the new shoes coming my way, so that shaved a little bit off, but regardless, I haven't even added up how much those shoes ended up costing me. Next time, I'll drive wherever I need to so she can try on the shoes. I don't care if it's 200 miles away; she's trying on the shoes first.
I should have written it down at the time, but the second phone rep. explained that you have to add something to convert from children's sizes to women's, subtract something because we're buying tap shoes, but then size up because they run small. Or whatever. I was so mad, I couldn't listen. Why can't they just measure how long your foot is and have that be the size? That's how it is in Europe, right? Measure your foot in centimeters, and that's your shoe size! Gah! Why can't that be the way? Why can't that be the way?!

Birthday salad bar

2011-02-18T12:25:00.003-06:00

  I'm a little late to write about Princess' awesome birthday dinner when I surprised her with a salad bar. The girl must be part rabbit for liking salads so much.

  I bought a bunch of veggies and put them in their own bowls. We got special toppings, bread sticks and baked fresh rolls.
  The spread ended up looking smaller than I had imagined. It makes me realize there is a lot of food on a restaurant salad bar. This suited us just fine, though, and we even discovered a few new things the kids like. Gameboy loved the diced green onions, and Princess liked the sunflower seeds to sprinkle on top. I think Cookie mostly ate rolls with butter.

Have I used the title "smarty pants" before?

2011-02-17T10:30:00.004-06:00

  It's hard to write when I'm always holding a baby.
  I had my first parent-teacher conferences with Gameboy's teachers. They all said he was really smart and polite. I was glad they picked up on that, but I also felt like saying, "Well, duh!" Really, though, I was glad his intelligence was coming through. That's not the case with all smart kids in school, unfortunately.
  Gameboy hadn't told me they'd done some standardized testing. I asked about it, and he said, "Oh, yeah. That must have been when they put us in the little rooms."
  His reading score was 12th-grade level. His math score was 10th-grade level. Of course, that means he'd rank average in those classes, which isn't exactly aiming high. Still, the message was clear that he's advanced for 6th grade. His math teacher said she'd recommend him for honors math for 7th grade. She also said she had more challenging worksheets that he could do instead of the regular ones, since there isn't any gifted or advanced program available for 6th grade.
  Now I'm really kicking myself for not signing him up for 7th grade. He could have just as easily plopped down in that grade as 6th. He was born in the fall, so he's close to that age anyway. And he's tall, so he'd blend in.
  I'm not sure what to do. We'll see what happens for the rest of the year, I guess. Maybe I'll go talk to a counselor at school about what we could do. I'm in new waters. He says he'd prefer to go back to homeschooling. But I hate to think that's just because we're not exploring all our options. I do miss having him at home.

“Game Boy-Oh-Boy” or “ ‘D’ is for Dumb”

2011-01-30T22:55:00.007-06:00

  Gameboy got his report card for the second quarter of school, which he attended for the last three weeks. I was a little curious to see what his grades would be, considering how he has been educated up to this point. If you spend your childhood getting no tests, no homework, no grades, how do you do when you're plopped into school?
  The answer is different for everyone, I'm sure, but for Gameboy, the answer is: OK, I guess.
  He got five A's, two B's and a D. Obviously, the thing that stands out is the D, and trust me; I've told him not to worry about it. That D was the result of "group work." I hated working in groups in school. My husband and I had similar experiences where teachers put us in groups to work together but left it up to the kids to figure out what jobs needed to be done and who would do what. It was frustrating because the hard workers ended up doing everything, and the other kids coasted along.
  So on Gameboy's second day of school ever, he was put into a group of kids he didn't know to do work for which he wasn't prepared. I'm sure he was just trying to go along with whatever they were doing. I don't think he really owns the F earned on that second day of social studies class. After that mark, he was in too big a hole to climb out of in the two-and-a-half weeks left in the quarter.
  The ironic cherry on top of the D is that the group project was to evaluate a board game made by other students. This is in preparation to make their own board game.
  It's not an accident that his blog name is Gameboy. He has been making his own board games since he was 4. He has been playing "Axis & Allies" with his dad since he was 6. He has a group of "Dungeons & Dragons" friends and spent all his Christmas money buying "Settlers of Catan" expansion sets. Then there are all the video games: "Caesar III" since age 4, "Zoo Tycoon" at age 5, then "Stronghold" and "Medieval Total War." He has done homeschool expo projects on "Star War Legos II" and D&D. He took a summer camp at a local college where the kids learned to program their own computer games. He can discuss the playability of a game, the flaws of a game, fixes that would make a game better for hours. If we get a new game, he dives into the instruction book and will know all the rules within about 20 minutes. Forgive me for not pointing a finger at him for that F.
  Not that there's any finger to point, really. That's how school is. And although I don't worry about his grades, clearly I can be annoyed by them.
  And what does he think of all this? Not much, from what I can tell. I told him not to be worried about it, and he isn't. So good for him, I say.

Cookie's first art show

2011-01-27T22:30:00.005-06:00

I like how she's nervously holding her dress.
She wore it special for opening night.

  One of the funnest things ever: Cookie's painting is in an honest-to-goodness art show.
  The local art institute maintains galleries and offers classes that are discounted to members. Our family has a household membership. Another benefit of membership is that each year, each member can enter one thing in the members art exhibit. Our household chose Cookie's painting "Turtle Girl" as our entry.

  The curator was so cool when we entered it! She asked Cookie what gave her the idea, chatted her up like artists do, and then asked whether her piece would be for sale. Cookie's eyes got big. "No, it not for say-o."
  Hanging in the show, there is no indication that the work was done by a 6-year-old. I love to think of the hundreds of people who are looking at it, not knowing. And I love that Cookie has seen that art shows are for her. They're not just something that "other people" do.
  The only instruction Cookie got for this painting was from me. I wanted her to paint the canvas, let it dry, and then come back to paint more. Previous paintings she has done end up blended to that army-green color that paint and Play-Doh turn into. Or all black. This painting, however, was done in three sittings. "It's a girl because there's pink in it," she said.
  She has inspired me. Ideas come cheap, but seeing the idea through is what we all should be aiming for.

Turtle's many faces

2011-01-24T12:50:00.003-06:00

I made this collage of Turtle being cute and thought about how, years ago, you'd be lucky to get one picture of your kid during his whole childhood. I took a photo of him every day for his first month, too. I should get those together into something.
This collage is the new wallpaper on my computer monitor. It's distracting when I have work to do. I find myself just staring at the photos, even if the real baby is sitting on my lap!

Happy Birthday to me

2011-01-19T09:30:00.003-06:00

  I'm posting a picture of Turtle on Christmas because the message on his shirt applies to today, too.
  It's my 40th birthday, and I think a new baby makes a wonderful accessory for the day. When I nurse Turtle, I take off my glasses so I can focus my middle-age eyes on his face. My back has tweaked out more than once from carrying him everywhere. I had horrible hip pain until I realized I was twisting my leg weird with him sleeping beside me.
  Having a baby at this age has been different than when Gameboy was born and I was 27. It's totally worth it, though. Let's just hope I can stay in one piece for another year.

Hey, it's good to be back home again

2011-01-12T08:34:00.005-06:00

In the car after her last day.
  Yesterday was Princess' last day of school. I just couldn't make her keep going, faking it that I thought it was for the best. I don't think it's for the best, and she knows that. I appreciate the thoughtful and supportive comments I've gotten on previous posts. I hear what you're all saying, and I agree that sometimes you just need to stick things out. I think an important point, though, is that my husband and I decided school might be a better choice now for our son, and Princess was tagging along on that decision. She quickly came to regret her choice, and I decided we don't need to make her keep going just to make a point.

After her first performance in "The Nutcracker" ballet in December.
  If kids out there are trying to figure out how to get what they want, I'll give them a tip because Princess played this out perfectly. She didn't whine about it, she wasn't hysterical. When I told her I'd think about it, she's patiently wait for me to bring up the topic again. She didn't exaggerate or get all dramatic. She said school wasn't horrible; it wasn't scary; there were some things she liked. But overall, she'd still rather be home for now.
  My husband thinks if she'd had a different teacher, things might have been different. I agree, but I don't want to blame the teacher. She was kind and welcoming. She could have been more sensitive, however, to how Princess might react to being sent into the hallway to finish her math, for example. Another homeschooler who used to work as a teacher referred to it as a "mild form of punishment" that kids in school get desensitized to. Princess found it to be humiliating. She also recognized how it didn't solve the problem of her not knowing how to do the math.

Playing with her baby brother.
  Gameboy, meanwhile, seems to like school OK. He doesn't love it, but he's dealing well, and seems to like having more work to do than what I gave him. When Princess is 12 — and that's three years away — maybe she'll feel that way, too.

And now the regret

2011-01-09T14:23:00.005-06:00

  I'm trying so much to be positive about school and support the kids. But now, after one week, Princess says she doesn't like it. "There's nothing to do, and it's so boring." On her third day, she had a math worksheet. With a limited amount of time to finish, I think she got stressed and forgot how to subtract when you have to borrow a one but the one is a zero and you have to go to the next column. Anyway, she was slow to finish and was sent into the hall with the other slow kids.
  The kids were very sweet, trying to help her. A boy named Isaac wrote on her paper in his messy handwriting, but it didn't make much sense. "Yeah, he's not very good at math," Princess said.
  So as kid after kid finished, and Princess still couldn't remember how to do the work, she began to cry. As she sat in the hallway, eventually all alone, she began to sob. Then she was too embarrassed to go back into the class. Finally, she sucked it up and went back in. The teacher could see she'd been crying and apologized. "I guess I shouldn't have sent you into the hallway."
  The teacher sent the math worksheet home so that I could help her. Sounds familiar, right? Kinda like homeschooling, right?
  Nothing else like that has happened, but there is a constant feeling of being slightly in trouble, if only because someone in the class is talking or fidgeting or not paying attention. Princess is frustrated that her little pod of four desks is in trouble if anyone there is talking.
  I told her none of this surprised me; I have been to school. "If you thought I wouldn't like it, why did you let me go?!" she wailed.
  Now I have to decide how long she should go to have given it a fair shot. I can't imagine anything changing. I would at least write the teacher a nice note. I'm not mad at her, and I appreciate her efforts to make Princess feel welcome. At the end of the week, the teacher handed out eight bags of popcorn to the students who had worked hard and been quiet all week. Princess got one. There is a lot of emphasis on being quiet, which you need in a classroom, I know. It's just hard for kids to be quiet, you know?
  Gameboy, meanwhile, isn't sure what to think of school. He got a 31 out of 36 on a physics test for which he hadn't been around for the lessons. He got all his vocabulary words marked wrong because he capitalized the first word in the definitions and ended them with a period. I felt bad about that because I know he's trying to write it properly; he's normally really sloppy about capitalization, etc. He was excited to be in choir, but for the first entire week, they didn't do any singing. (I heard perhaps the teacher's husband is sick, so I feel bad for her if that's the reason.)
  I think they thought school would be a place with other kids who liked to do stuff. But as most of us know, it's a place full of kids trying to get out of doing stuff. I'm going to feel like a flake if they come home so quickly, but I can deal with that.

First Day of School, Part II

2011-01-05T13:13:00.004-06:00

First day of school photos. Their schools start at 7:50 and 9:15, so they're not really getting up at the same time. Gameboy ate a bowl of cereal standing in the middle of the kitchen; seemed so college-like. Princess' photo is a fake because I forgot to take it before school. This was after she came home that day. Pretty lame of me, forgetting to take her picture in the morning.

  I am too tired to write this! School is exhausting me. It starts too early and cuts into the middle of our afternoon at the end of the school day. It's messing up Turtle's naps and sleep in general.
  The kids are having fun, though. Princess noticed that a lot of the students "will push people and throw little pieces of paper and stuff, and when the teacher tells them to stop it, they try to act like they weren't doing anything."
  After Princess achieved the teacher's "Master Speller" level on her first day, the teacher had her sign a document promising not to brag about it to other students. What a genius move! If you want to make an award seem really, really special, just make the kid promise not to brag. So funny.
  Gameboy stepped into the middle of a group project for Social Studies. The kids have to make their own board games. This is perfect for him; he's been making his own games since he was 3. Three boys in the class told him they're his new best friend, "you just don't know it yet." His science class shares books and can't bring them home because there aren't enough to go around. My first reaction was, "We'll buy you a book." Because, you know, that's what I'm used to doing. Then I thought he probably wouldn't want to be the only kid with his own science book that his mom got him. (Priorities slipping ... can't ... hold ... on ... much ... longer ...!)
  We're still deciding what to do about school bus rides. Each school is about five minutes from our house, but the bus ride is 45 minutes. Walking to the bus stop would take the kids on a dangerous trek on a narrow, curvy, icy road lined with tall snowbanks. I could drive them to the end of the street, but it I've gone that far, I might as well just drive them to school.
  I feel like a pet dog, waiting for the kids to get home. It's going to take me awhile to settle into this new schedule. So far, this seems way harder on me than homeschooling.

First Day of School, Part I

2011-01-03T10:01:00.003-06:00

  The oldest two are at their schools! I'm not crying even a little bit. You all know I cry when I leave babies, but they're not babies!
  They start about one-and-a-half hours apart from each other, so Gameboy was up and out the door first, his dad driving him. I got a photo for his first day of school. But I forgot to take one of Princess! I'll need to take one when I pick her up, "Just pretend I'm dropping you off and you haven't had your first day yet!"
  My husband saw someone we know as he was leaving the school, a parent from Princess' ballet classes and soccer teams. I'm surprised how much that made me feel better. It makes me realize that I'm stepping into a whole new group of peers, too. How long before I'm running for PTA president or something?
  The house feels empty, but there are still two kids here. We're going to find something fun to do, and I'll come back later with photos (two of them, I hope) and stories from their First Day of School!

Lots of questions; answers next week

2010-12-28T16:45:00.004-06:00

  Lisa, a reader (thank you, Lisa), has asked how Cookie feels about her older siblings going to school. It's hard for her to imagine what that even means. Today while we ate lunch, she asked whether they had school today, as if it were some kind of afternoon program.
  She has made a couple comments of a "me, too" nature. But she also likes the idea of staying home with just mom and the baby, of getting to choose more often what we're going to do. In her case, with her being only 6 years old, I'm pretty much telling her she's going to stay home with me. We'll see how it goes for the rest of this school year. I'd really like her to learn to read on her own without any pressures or tests or reading groups and levels.
  Another question, about homework, doesn't concern me too much. It's not my homework. I don't think it should reflect poorly on me if they don't do their homework. It's possible they'll fall on their faces a few times, but better now than in college.
  As far as school creating a hectic schedule, I expect it will just about kill us all to get up so early. I don't like getting up early; they don't like getting up early; even the baby doesn't like getting up early. If Gameboy takes the bus, an issue still undecided, he'll need to get to the end of our street by 7:19 a.m. By comparison, today he woke up about 9:45. I've been pretty much caffeine-free since I got pregnant with him almost 13 years ago, but I don't think that's going to last.
  I'm surprised that our decision to send Gameboy and Princess to school has surprised so many people. I said to one co-worker, "It's not like I ever said I'd never send them to school" and he said, "Yes, you did!"
  It's possible I did; I have strong opinions. But I hope I never stop listening to my kids.

Child-led learning leads to school

2010-12-22T22:09:00.004-06:00

  I've never liked the term "unschooling" because although it indicates an absence of school, the impression is that there's an absence of learning. Some people use the term child-led learning, which sounds a little p.c. to me, but the label does a good job to explain the mindset of an unschooling parent.
  So, what do you do if for nine years, you've been letting your children lead the way, and then they say what they want to learn about is school? Sign them up for school, I guess, which is what I did on Monday.
  Gameboy will start sixth grade, and Princess will start third grade after the winter break. The change started with Gameboy, really, and I knew — absolutely knew it — that if he went to school, she'd want to go, too. It's not that they'll be at the same school; it's just that if he goes, she'll want to.
  My homeschooling friends are really surprised by the decision. Some are probably closer to shocked, some pretty negative. But I can't imagine just telling the kids, "Trust me guys, I've been to school, and you don't want to go there." They can see for themselves; maybe they'll like it. If they don't, they don't have to stay. I'll probably encourage them to finish out the year, though. You can't really give something a try unless you commit to it for awhile.
  My guess is that they will like it. They both seem quite social, more so than me. Whenever they're cast in a play, they feed off the energy of the crowd. They pose for photos with arms around their cast-mates, goofing around and enjoying the collaboration.
  They're both worried that they won't know enough stuff to do well on tests. I told them, "Oh, there is no way you're going to be the dumbest one in the class." I immediately took back that indelicate statement. "Just because you're doing poorly in school doesn't make you dumb. I was just trying to be funny saying it that way — and don't call people dumb!" (Good grief. But you know what I mean, right?)
  Gameboy had to choose either band, orchestra or choir. He quickly chose choir and the counselor said, "Oh, good, they're always looking for male voices." I later told him, "You know what she's really saying, right? Most of the boys don't want to be in choir." He said he understood and that he's fine with that. I think it's a smart move, too, because I suspect what got us into this in the first place is that school is where they have girls.

Can't really talk about it

2010-12-07T00:10:00.008-06:00

  On the positive side, I had never before left a 12-week-old baby at home and gone to work. On the negative side, I have now. Sunday was my first shift back. I'm grateful that my employer didn't expect me back after six weeks. Apparently, because I'm part-time, that would be the minimum that state law requires. I'm glad they allowed me more unpaid leave than the minimum allowed by law.
  That didn't make Sunday any easier. As I prepared to leave home, I felt like I was going to throw up. I cried as I drove there, was able to pull myself together to enter the building, but cried pretty much any time I tried to talk. By the end of the shift, I was having sharp pains in my stomach. All this, even though during the seven hours I was there, my husband brought Turtle to me so I could feed him!
  It was the plan all along that I'd keep my part-time job. I'm not going to say I have to work because it is a choice. I'm just not willing to give up the things that my employment allows us. That makes me feel bad, but we want to keep our house, I want to pay for things such as ballet lessons and soccer, and I want to buy food at the store whenever we need food without worry, and I like to heat the house warmer than a true miser would.
  I got to stay home with Gameboy and Princess. I returned to work when Cookie was 9 months old. She was too young, I thought, and now I'm doing it to a 3-month-old.
  Of course the baby is at home with his father, who is a very good father, and siblings, who all love him lots. It's just two nights a week. He's taking a bottle well and falls asleep in the car. These things should make me feel better. But if he's crying, I want to be there for him. He doesn't understand that I'll be back later. He doesn't think seven hours is a short time.
  I'm aware that some people might think I'm overreacting to the situation or not recognizing how lucky I was with the other kids. But that's all neither here nor there. I'm just wallowing in the current situation, knowing it will get better as he gets bigger. And I do like my job — just nowhere near as much as I like that baby.

Booting the boots

2010-11-29T10:11:00.003-06:00

  I feel guilty for liking the show "Hoarders." I can't decide whether the people are being mostly helped or mostly exploited. The show provides a therapist to help alongside the "extreme cleaning specialists," but they also allow only two days for the process. Putting on that kind of time pressure puts the hoarders at risk of a breakdown. I hope that's not what the producers are counting on, but I suspect it is because it wouldn't make good TV to see someone heal slowly and peacefully.
  I feel bad for the hoarders and recognize they have a sad mental illness. Yet part of me just watches and thinks, "Dang, that's crazy!" Part of the appeal, too, I suppose, is the reminder: "Don't be like that." I'm always motivated to clean my house after watching the show.
  That's why I'm getting rid of boots. Apparently, I'm a rain-boot hoarder. It seems I can't come across a one-dollar pair of children's boots without buying them. My stash has outgrown the box where I store them over the winter, so some are going to Goodwill. There's no way I need so many the same size, but thoughts will pop up: I do have four kids now, and we live in the woods, which get muddy, and if they have friends over and want to play outside ... .
  But no. We don't need all these boots. I think kids' rain boots are cute, and I like finding some for cheap. That's all it is, not a real need. "Hoarders" taught me that.

Overconfidence

2010-11-28T14:47:00.004-06:00

  Oh, cruel gravity. I wrote about how Princess is such a good baby-holder. Yesterday, the baby-holder dropped the baby.
  From what I gather, she had him propped in her arms in front of her, his bottom on the arm rest of the big chair in the living room. He wiggled suddenly and rolled off her arms, belly-flopping onto the hard floor. He got a small bruise on his forehead and cried and cried.
  Princess, meanwhile, was ashen-faced and shaking. I wasn't in the room at the time, and by the time I made it downstairs, she had picked him up and was trying to soothe his crying. Gameboy was standing like a deer in headlights. I asked him later why he hadn't called for me, and he said he panicked. I thought to myself about all the asinine things they've asked for help with, but I didn't say anything about how this was a time I'd want to be summoned.
  I took the baby and was reassured that he was crying. I moved his arms and legs and checked that his eyes were tracking normally. Besides that, you just dust him off, right?
  I asked the kids what happened and how high he was when he fell. They answered honestly, but slowly from being in such shock. I told Princess to take a break in her room. I came up after a few minutes to assure her the baby was OK. I asked her if she was scared, and she started to sob.
  So of course, I don't need to punish anyone or yell at anyone because you couldn't make them feel worse. On the other hand, I don't want to tell them it's no big deal or "that's OK." Before bed last night, I reminded Princess that however it was that she was holding him, that wasn't safe. She needs to be more careful and pay better attention to what the baby is doing. He's getting bigger and stronger, and he'll jerk his body around without warning. He'll probably clock you in the nose once or twice. And I told them both that they need to answer faster if I'm trying to decide whether everyone is OK or if we need to go to the hospital.
  I've done a good job so far staying calm when the kids get hurt. None of them, thank God, has been hurt badly, though, so there's probably a point at which I'd freak out. Gameboy had blood running out his nose once that just about got to me, but he was 2 and needed my help. I've got to step up, right?

My big birthday girl

2010-11-18T07:05:00.003-06:00

For the past few days, every time Princess holds her baby brother, he falls asleep. She sings to him, and unlike her fidgety little sister, is good at sitting still.
Princess is 9 years old today. I would have thought she'd be about 15 before she seemed as grown-up as she is now.

Brotherly love

2010-11-17T22:40:00.003-06:00

Gameboy is in his room right now putting together a Yu-Gi-Oh! card deck for when his baby brother is old enough to play. "He's going to be hard to beat with this," he said.
I'd be lying not to admit that my desire for Gameboy to have a brother was one reason I wanted another child. It's not the only reason, of course, but the idea wouldn't go away. It's a shame they're 12 years apart; will Gameboy still want to play card games when he's 20 and his brother is 8? Yeah, I think so.

Duct tape vs. plantar wart

2010-11-08T00:14:00.004-06:00

  I have wanted to write about how duct tape cured my son's painful plantar wart but I was afraid it was invading his privacy. Now that it has been two years, he said he's fine with me writing about it. I told him I think the story might help people. And the story strangely became one of those special moments between a parent and child that I think we'll both remember.
  Back when Gameboy first showed me the wart on the bottom of his foot, I could see that it had been there awhile. As treatment went on for months and months, he came to feel guilty about how big he had let it get before mentioning it to me. This guilt made the treatments harder on him, I think. But walking on the wart had become so painful that we had to do something.
  It was at least six months that we tackled the wart using over-the-counter acid treatment, carefully soaking his foot, rubbing off loose skin and then applying more acid and a bandage every single night. We tried several brands, plus those little discs, which were a joke, and after all that time, seemed to irritate the surface skin some but didn't come close to affecting the wart.
  Next we bought an over-the-counter freezing treatment. My husband did this part, and later told me how commercials for this product fail to include a kid crying, "Ahhhhhhhh! It hurts! It hurts!" They couldn't get much done with the freezing method, and what they could do made no difference on the wart. We decided it was too painful to pursue any more.
  We continued with the acid treatment and started to think we'd have to take him to the doctor, perhaps for surgery. The thought of that sent me to the Internet for other ideas. I came across this information on the Mayo Clinic website about duct tape. It's on the ninth screen of information about plantar warts. I came to think they should mention this home remedy first.
  The duct tape method was simple: We put duct tape on the bottom of his foot and wrapped it around his foot so the tape wouldn't come off. After one week, we peeked. We could see the skin around the wart was starting to loosen, and the wart was separating from his normal skin.
  We put on new duct tape. One week later, we remembered to check late at night after he and I were the only two people still awake. As we peeled back the tape, we could see the wart was coming loose. As the tape was completely pulled away, the wart came off on the tape. It was about the size of a dime, cone-shaped, half-a-centimeter deep, a little pyramid of stink and yuck.
  We both retched; he says he almost vomited. Yet it was one of the happiest moments of his young life. We looked at each other, laughed, looked at the wart again, gagged, laughed again. Man, it was gross.
  What was left on his foot was like a divot on a golf course, but the bottom of this pit was covered with new skin. It didn't take long to heal and fill out. You can't even see now where it was.

  So that's my duct-tape-plantar-wart story. Might be a little boring, but it continues to amuse the two characters who were there to witness it.

Beauty and the beast?

2010-11-01T20:53:00.003-05:00

  Princess was Taylor Swift for Halloween. It was a last-minute choice. She seemed to lack ideas this year but was encouraged by the thought that she'd be able to wear make-up. What sealed the deal was when I dug my glitter dress out of my closet. I honestly can't remember whether I've ever worn my glitter dress. If I go to some fancy event, will I want to wear the dress now that it's been a Halloween costume?

  Here's Taylor Swift with a dragon.

  Roar!

Gameboy emancipated himself from family Halloween and was with some friends. He was Gandalf again. He was accompanied by "Dr. Who," "The Phantom of the Opera with a light saber," "The phantom's sidekick with a light saber" and a Star Trek red shirt as a zombie. It might go without saying that these are his friends from his Dungeons and Dragons group. He didn't want to put his costume back on for me to take a picture, so my Halloween pictures this year are a little unorganized. No photo of all four of them; they're too hard to wrangle.

How to make a cute baby costume

2010-11-01T00:16:00.006-05:00

  1. Start with a fleece blanket and a cute baby.

  2. Cut the fleece into two egg shapes big enough to go around the baby.

  3. Cut a hole for the baby's face and two slits for arms.

  4. Since this is a dragon-egg costume and not a chicken-egg costume, cut out some red spots.

  5. Sew on the spots. Sew around the head and arm openings to reinforce them. Then stitch the two sides together, leaving an opening at the bottom big enough to insert baby.

  6. Pose baby with big sister in her dragon costume. It's a mama dragon and her egg! (Warning: By this time, the cute baby might be in no mood for photos.)

Tricky birthday

2010-10-30T18:40:00.003-05:00

  So Gameboy turned 12! It feels like we have a lot going on, and with a new baby in the house, I asked him whether it would be OK with him if we just had a cake with family and didn't have a party. He understood and said that would be OK, but sheepishly admitted that he's regret getting fewer presents. I quickly said I'd be happy to make a gift of the money we would have spent on a party. His eyes lit up and he said yes right away. Whew!
  I used marshmallow Peeps ghosts on his cake for the second time in his life. With a birthday so close to Halloween, the decor pops up often for his birthday. I like how the ghosts look standing around the cake. I never spend much time decorating a cake, but that's homemade fudge frosting. Yum!

  This was the first time I've used trick candles on a cake. Experienced trick-candle victims can recognize the sparkly way the candles burn, but he was innocent. I think it took about five blows before he realized what was going on. Despite language that would indicate otherwise, specifically, "I hate you," I know he loved them. Just look at his face!

  He used some of his birthday money to buy a Wii game. It's a Pokemon thing. I don't understand it. The kids were able to play it together as a team, though, and I love to see them working together, even if it's in electronic battle. There's a lot of compromise involved, a lot of give-and-take as to who gets to teach their Pokemon new battle moves, etc.

  This is what they're looking at. Again I'll point out that I don't understand the game.

Secret Agent Baby

2010-10-25T22:10:00.005-05:00

  I'm up against a deadline here because tomorrow is Gameboy's birthday, pretty much a must-blog-about event, but I have felt like I can't write about anything else until I announce the arrival of our secret baby.
  Yes, little Turtle was born last month. I chose this for his blog name because his round head and wrinkled neck make him look like a 100-year-old turtle. He was born at home, which is a story, and was three pregnancies in the making. I've learned a few things about miscarriages, having had four of them, and one is that the more people you've told you're pregnant, the sadder it is.
  So you might think I'd want to write about being pregnant and having another baby, but until now, I wasn't even tempted. But our family is enjoying him very much. He's an easy baby; he sleeps at night, rides in the car well and doesn't puke on stuff. His older siblings are eager to hold him and squeal about how cute he is.
  So, at 6 weeks old, I announce Turtle has joined the family, leading the faculty of our homeschool in baby studies. It will be a fun year.

Science class in the hallway

2010-09-08T02:18:00.003-05:00

  Years ago, I painted the hall with chalkboard paint, and sometimes stuff appears there that I take a picture of before it's gone forever.
  The large rectangle was drawn by Cookie. You can't really see that there are pink squiggles in the center. She told me, "It's a magnified view of the bloodstream. The white blood cells are eating the germs." It's funny to hear a 6-year-old describe something like this, especially when she still pronounces it "bwood."
  Then Princess added the sick boy cutaway, showing organs inside him and various ailments. He's taking a pill that is half blue, half white, which is labeled "medicine" in the accompanying key. There seemed to be a chain of events, not visible in this small picture, that reads: "large intesting --> white blood cells + cough --> poison ivy + small intesting --> fever --> germs --> medicine." I'll wait awhile before I bring up the "intesting vs. intestine" issue. No need to jump on it too eagerly.
  The cartoon face was Gameboy's contribution; it's Albert Einstein. I think it annoyed the girls that he drew it there, but it's all gone now anyway, making room for other stuff.

American history, American business

2010-09-06T11:46:00.005-05:00

  The American Girl company is canceling Princess' favorite doll, Felicity, the girl from the American Revolution.
  Hey, American Girl company! How can you cancel the American Revolution girl? That's the most important historical period of American history because it created American History! She has a great story!
  I'm not going to suggest some other girl be canceled instead, reeling as I am from the end last year of Kirsten, a blond Swedish girl who lives in the pioneer days of Minnesota. (Have I mentioned we're a Scandinavian family in Minnesota?) I know that each character has fans who choose her as a favorite. One of Princess' friends was very sad to see Samantha go.
  American Girl is just trying to sell more dolls; I get that. Really, though, getting rid of the girls of the American Revolution (Felicity's friend, Elizabeth, is going, too) is a surprise.
  Since two paragraphs ago, I'm changing my mind about picking a girl to cancel. Julie, the 1970s girl, isn't very exciting. I realize that her big problem, parents who are recently divorced, is a good thing for girls in similar circumstances to read about. She also has to fight the school to play basketball, which is hard for girls nowadays to understand would be a problem.
  But compare that with the other stories (spoiler alert): Kaya is kidnapped by a neighboring tribe and held as a slave; Addy escapes slavery with her mother, unsure whether she'll see the rest of her family again; Kit's family is struggling through the depression, and Kit actually goes to jail at one point; and in the biggest tear-jerker moment for me, Molly gets sick and won't be able to attend her tap-dance recital, resulting in her being the only one home when her dad returns from World War II. I'm tearing up just thinking about it! Gah!
  I haven't read the Rebecca books, though Princess got the whole set for Christmas (ironic, seeing at Rebecca is Jewish). I'm glad they added a Jewish girl to the mix, but don't like they canceled Samantha to do it. Princess makes a good point that Samantha's story is really driven more by her neighbor, Nelly, who used to work in a child-labor factory in the city. Long story.
  Anyway, I think I'd better snatch up some Felicity merchandise before it's gone. I'm playing right into their evil plan! Princess has the Felicity and Elizabeth dolls, a few outfits, and even her horse and pony (Santa can get a little crazy!) Her birthday's coming up, so I'll probably do a little shopping. But I won't like it.

Another show, outside this time

2010-08-25T00:52:00.003-05:00

  The kids have said good-bye to another show. Their summer-theater camp this year was "Jolly Roger and the Pirate Queen," with performances held in conjunction with a weekend-long tall ships festival. They had to perform without mikes on a big stage in a city park; they seemed pretty brave to me.

  Princess was a pirate, the one in a blue bandana. I got to be her hair stylist and did six rope-style braids, very cool. Gameboy was a gentleman who becomes a pirate to win a woman's affection. It's the third summer in a row he had a love interest in a play. He's not embarrassed by it, which I think is nice.
  After four long weeks being at rehearsal all day, Gameboy thought perhaps he wouldn't try out for the next show, but a few days after the performances ended, he was itching to do the next thing.

Cookie is 6!

2010-07-24T01:39:00.002-05:00

  Cookie and I were home alone all day on her 6th birthday. She was having a party with friends on the weekend, but for her actual birthday, the two of us baked a cake. She didn't mind that the two of us ate half the cake before the family came home to blow out candles. No frosting, even. The cake was that good. Buzz Lightyear stands guard, a gift from her dad.

  Things were fancier on the day of her party. The girls decorated the cupcakes. We played party games and made a craft. It was one of those stressful at-home birthday parties. I realized how much easier it is to go bowling. Eight bucks a kid, they bowl, and you're outta there.

  We stayed home because the only thing she really wanted was a pinata. I considered making one; I made a couple when I was a kid. But then I thought better. Maybe homemade pinatas are better suited for 12-year-olds who have nothing else to do all summer. I'm busy, and SpongeBob seemed like money well-spent.
  The problem was, the only pinatas in the store are the lame kind where you pull a string, and one of the strings opens a hatch in the bottom. How is that fun? And what if the first kid pulls the magic string? All the other kids start crying, that's what.
  So the pinata was a sturdy cardboard, not suited for busting apart with a bat. My husband and I knew that, but the kids didn't. They were happy taking turns for a long time swinging at it, beating it. We finally switched to an aluminum bat without a blindfold, and it started to bust apart.

  Stuff came out his butt first, to everyone's delight. When it was finally empty, the kids jumped on it and tore it apart like wolves. Everyone went home with a piece, and seemed to like that more than the stuff that was inside it.

My gentleman

2010-07-09T16:04:00.004-05:00

  Gameboy was afraid he'd lost his library card, so we went to the front counter to see whether it was in the lost and found. He's new to situations like these, and was a little nervous that they'd be annoyed with him, but that's exactly why I had him do the talking; it's good practice. He has been in enough plays to know how to speak up loudly and clearly. We had even gone to the library straight from practice for a summer theater camp he's in.
  The librarian came over, and Gameboy explained the situation.
  "I think my library card may have fallen into your hands," he said.
  I stifled a laugh. He was doing fine; no need for me to step in or make fun.
  The librarian turned to check the lost and found, and Gameboy grimaced and quietly mumbled to me, "Ugh. I said that kinda weird."
  This, of course, unleashed the giggles in me.
  "Are you still in character?" I asked, referring to the 18th-century landed gentleman he currently is cast as.
  "I just didn't know what to say," he replied.
  "You're doing fine," I told him. "They're just going to think we're a family of time-travelers is all."
  He started laughing, too, and we stood there like grinning fools while she returned, said his card wasn't there but had expired anyway, and he signed up for a new card. And he owes me $1.50 in fines. Can't forget that part.

Manga invasion

2010-07-08T09:49:00.005-05:00

  If I said Gameboy enjoys Japanese manga (comic books), that would be putting it too lightly. If I said he was obsessed, that sounds unhealthy. If I said he reads the same ones over and over, that sounds bad, too, perhaps. He explained it like this, though: "When I'm getting tired with one series, I go back to No. 1 of another series and rediscover it."
  That sounds pretty coherent. He gets pretty academic about manga, too, talking to me about the plot and character development of stories I've never read. (I've tried, but all I seem to observe are cliches and exaggerated emotions. I'm not the target audience of this stuff.) He also got into an argument with a boy in his Dungeons & Dragons group (where else?) about how to pronounce "manga." Gameboy was saying the first "a" as in "awesome"; the other boy was saying the first "a" as in "anger." They decided to settle the dispute with a roll of the dice, and Gameboy lost. Drove. Him. Crazy.
  My point today, however, and I'm being a real Mom here, is that I'd like more of these manga to find their homes on Gameboy's bookshelf. Instead, they're on my end table (above).

  On the ledge behind the couch.

  On the other side of the ledge behind the couch. (I have not been collecting these photos, by the way; they were taken during a one-minute walk about the house.)

  Under the cat.

  On the bench by the front door. (This bench is supposed to be used to sit on when you put on your shoes. Good luck with that.)

  Piled on his headboard, which is close, oh, so close to the bookshelf where they belong.

Postscript

  I published this and realized it was incomplete without a photo of the back seat of my minivan. I walked out there with all confidence the seat would be covered with manga, and sure enough, there they were.

Those fancy cellular devices

2010-06-30T00:24:00.006-05:00

  Here in Laura Ingalls Land, we don't have cell phones. We also have only one bathroom for a family of five, and no dishwasher, but perhaps I'll write about that some other day because today, I'm thinking about how it seems to be increasingly difficult for people to understand that I'm not reachable all the time, every day.
  There's an activity my kids go to where if they arrive late, there's a note on the door to call xxx-xxxx, and someone will come to the door to let them in. I see that sign and imagine myself yelling the numbers at the door.
  People don't stick to their plans like they used to. I've had people make plans to meet somewhere and not show up because I didn't call that day to confirm the meeting. I've had longstanding plans changed the morning of an event, too, a change sent by e-mail at 7 a.m. I don't check e-mail before I leave the house, so I'm out of that loop. Perhaps I'm irritating with my "stick-to-the-plan" mentality. I have a paper calendar, which I write on with a pen, and when there's something written on it, I do that thing or go to that place.
  Does all this make me want to get a cell phone? Sure, I guess. But they're really expensive. I don't understand where everyone suddenly got the money for them. Also, it would mean learning to use an electronic device, and I hate that. It has been a couple years now that I don't even know how to use the TV; I have to ask my kids which channel I need to watch a DVD. Thank goodness we don't have cable, either, because I suspect that would complicate things.
  I think some friends assume I have a secret cell phone that only special people are allowed to know about, an "A-list" of friends who know my number. Nope, that's not it.
  I've had other parents say that our family will need cell phones when the kids get older and are out on their own more, that we'll need to be in touch to know where everyone is. I'd hope, however, to know pretty much where everyone is because we talked about the plan beforehand, and that the kids are doing what they're supposed to be doing. If not, how is my having their phone number really going to help?

Thin line

2010-06-12T00:57:00.003-05:00

  I was thinking about the thin line between reality and fantasy for children when we were driving along and Cookie told this story:
  "Mom, here is something that is a true story. I and Princess and you bought a Popcicle from an ice cream truck. And Gameboy wasn't born yet."
  That would be her older brother who wasn't born yet in this story. She paused for a moment, then said:
  "Oh, wait a second. Maybe that was a dream."
  She shook her head as if to rattle out the truth, but then gave up and, I would imagine, just started thinking about ice cream and Popcicles instead.

Star power

2010-05-03T00:07:00.003-05:00

  First things first, here is the costume in action. Cookie was the "little lost boy," and the king and queen are fighting over the boy.
  Cookie wasn't sure at first that she got a good part. The class was called "Fairies and Forest Creatures," and I made the mistake of asking her whether she thought she'd be cast as a fairy or forest creature. The only other boy in the class was the king, and she has short hair, so that's probably why she ended up being the boy. I told her the boy part was very important, the focus of the conflict, the other characters are searching for the boy.
  "He's the star of the show," I told her.
  On the day of the performance, the kids have to start with an actor's introduction. Cookie said, "My name is [her name], I'm five-and-a-half years old, and I play the star of the show, the little lost boy."
  I write things on my blog sometimes just so I won't forget them, but I don't think I'll ever forget my 5-year-old daughter introducing herself to a theater full of people as the "star of the show."

Costume designer

2010-04-16T00:07:00.005-05:00

  Cookie has been taking a theater class all semester, my 5-year-old keeping up with her big brother and sister. The end-of-class showcase will be her first time performing on the BIG STAGE.
  Having just finished seven bottom-half-of-a-gerbil costumes for a play the other two are in, I thought it only fair to sew something for Cookie to wear in her BIG SHOW. She plays the part of a little boy in a Shakespeare-inspired skit.
  I'm so happy with what I put together by altering a pattern for pajamas and using stuff I had around the house that I took a picture without even waiting for the kid to put it back on. It fits her fine, and I finished the buttons and bows after she went to bed. She wanted to wear it to bed, but I said she has to wait until after she wears it in the show.
  I might have hit the mark a little closer to Pinnochio than Shakespeare, but it's sure cute. I'd like to point out, too, that this not being amateur hour, those are working buttons in the vest and the bows are drawstrings at the bottom of the knickers. Booyah!

Supermom, oh yeah

2010-04-12T00:52:00.005-05:00

  I got to be a hero today, the kind of opportunity that graces a parent from time to time.
  Cookie got sand in her eye, something that's never happened to her before. She freaked out a bit, if you can freak out only a bit, holding her eye and screaming.
  I heard her out in the sandbox from inside the house. I cocked up an ear like that dog in the RCA logo, trying to determine how hurt she was. Amid the screaming were angry shouts and accusations. I figured someone still able to continue an argument wasn't hurt too bad.
  Her dad went outside to get her, and then she came into the bathroom with me. She was pretty scared about me touching her eye, but I let her be in control of it. I pointed her face up and pooled some saline solution on her closed eyelid. I told her to blink her eye a little to get some in as much as she felt comfortable. After two times, she was able to open her eye. She looked really surprised that we fixed it.
  She looked at me gratefully and said, "thank you" in a very pathetic voice, made more so by the fact she can't pronounce "th." "Fank you."
  I figured there was probably an issue of discipline to deal with, but if you read my blog at all, you'll pick up that I don't like tattle-tales. They both know better than to start telling me all about how so-and-so did whats-in-fuss to them.
  I told Princess I needed to see her alone, and told her, "I don't want to know anything about any fight you and Cookie had, but you need to understand that you may not throw sand. It could really hurt someone, and even though it's usually easy to get out, it's possible that something would happen that would make us need to go to the hospital."
  She looked guilty enough for me to know the little speech wasn't being wasted.
  After a few minutes, I told Cookie I needed to talk to her, too. She got the same speech. Being the younger one, she couldn't help but launch into, "I only throwed sand on her pants, and then she ..." I stopped her and said again that I didn't want to hear about their fight. She just needs to remember not to throw sand.
  Then she started to cry, I gave her a hug, and she went back outside to play.
  So my point is, I'm a hero who can wash sand out of eyes, and I endorse "tattling does you no good" parenting.

School-homing via "The Onion"

2010-03-29T13:58:00.002-05:00

A friend drew this to my attention. It's "The Onion" reporting on a new trend, school-homing. Funny, but is it too close to the truth to really be funny?
If you're not familiar with "The Onion," please understand that all their stories are fake and meant to be funny.

Inspired to anger

2010-03-10T12:48:00.004-06:00

Our homeschool co-op is studying poetry this month, and I have a book for children that irreverently lists the types of poets. There's the "secret poet," "hip-hop poet," "angry poet," etc. Today when I dropped off the kids at the zoo for a class about frogs, I went to a nearby coffee shop to read poetry books. As if by some curse, the same guy who always seems to be in this coffee shop was there. He inspired this poem. I'd classify myself as an angry poet.

Coffee shop commie guy

The man in the coffee shop talks politics
while I try to read my book.
Ostensibly, he's talking to one person,
but really, he speaks to us all,
his unwilling audience.

The war? Yes, we know you think it's bad.
You think taxes are unfair.
You distrust the School Board,
the mayor,
the Census,
rich people,
and corporations.

Your hippie hair
and camo jacket
are a specific uniform.
But dude, you're not old enough
to have been in 'Nam.
Who are you kidding?

You don't like the war.
You think taxes are unfair.
Now be quiet and let me read my book.

Money, dolls and dragons

2010-03-02T00:36:00.003-06:00

  It's the time of year we do our homeschool student project expo, putting together a report about whatever the kids want. About 35 kids took part this year, with projects such as poodles, bamboo, engines, origami, chickens (live chickens included) and a seven-foot-tall trebuchet.
  A lot of Gameboy's project came from a lesson plan at the Smithsonian Institute website about the requirements of good currency, and an example of barter from Africa. It was fun for me to watch him put his project together this year. It was his fifth year doing the event, and he didn't want any help. He did a great job making his display board, and guess what! He did it just the way I taught him all those other years.

  He thought of different objects that could be used as currency, and people were invited to evaluate how good they'd be. The best was pennies (nonperishable, portable, difficult to replicate). Not as good were objects such as plastic beads and Legos. The worst was cream-of-mushroom soup, which would be quite an inconvenient form of currency.

  Princess managed to do her report on dresses again. Even when it seems like her report might be about something else, for example, the underground railroad a couple years ago, she sneaks in some information about fashion. This year, she's learning to sew and we made a pink dress together for her American Girl doll.

  Cookie firmly chose dragons as the subject of her report. We listed movies with dragons, animals named after dragons, and went to the zoo looking for animals that are like dragons. The day of the event, I decided I could whip up a dragon costume for her to wear, and I'll be bragging about this for awhile. The costume might need its own post some day. It had red spikes and a tail hanging down her back and wings. I explained that she can't really fly in the thing, so don't go jumping off any cliffs.

We finally got to the sled dog race

2010-02-01T01:30:00.004-06:00

  This photo doesn't capture how far we walked from our car to the starting line, but it was worth it because we were on our way to the startling line of a sled dog race. Every year I wish we had gotten out to the start of the race, and this year, we finally did.

  There was some time before the race to walk around and look at the dogs. They sure did look like the canine version of the marathon runner, thin and light on their feet, full of energy.

  Someone offered to take our picture, a rare treat for me to be in a picture. (And to be clear, I only took off my glove because I had just taken a picture myself.)

  Here's the first musher coming toward us. I wonder if the mushers like the crowd. On the one hand, it's nice to see people cheering you on and supporting your sport. On the other hand, those dogs are wound up like springs at the start of the race, and I'd think the crowd would only make it worse. It's not uncommon for sleds to tip and for dogs to get tangled at the start of a race. Most of the mushers we saw pass were leaning back hard on their brakes as they made their way through the crowd.



  There were 30 mushers staggered apart two minutes at the start. We didn't stay for the whole thing because the wind chill was about 25 below. As we were leaving, a musher from New Zealand was at the start. I guess he moved to the United States to race sled dogs. It's amazing to me how much people love doing this. The dogs, too; you can tell they can't wait to be out running. And we all loved how cute their little doggie boots were. Some of the dogs were wearing jackets, too.

  As we were leaving in the car, I picked out my spot for next year, if the race starts at the same place. Some people were in a protected area of forest and had built a wind block out of snow. Smoke from a fire was rising, and it looked like someplace I could sit all day.

Update: Did the sign get on TV?

2010-01-28T17:23:00.002-06:00

  We gave it our best shot to get on TV with our Martin Luther King Jr. quote-on-a-sign. After watching the parade on news reports online, I see that our fatal error was not to be in the very front of the parade. As a journalist, I should have known this. After you get what you need for your report, there's no reason to stay around for the whole parade. It's not the best way to be a reporter, but it happens a lot.
  Our sign did get on TV, but it was the back of the sign. Lesson No. 1: Be in the front of the parade. Lesson No. 2: Put stuff on the back of your sign. You can see my sign in the photo above. Barely.

  My friend Joe got on TV because his son wanted to be in front by the big puppets. I guess his 7-year-old is more media savvy than me. That's Joe in the blue plaid shirt and big beard, in between King and Gandhi. This picture makes me laugh.

Clearly, it's about the sign

2010-01-18T14:15:00.004-06:00

  It's Martin King Luther Jr. Day, of course, and there was a march through downtown. It's a chance to teach the kids about history, racism and civil rights — and for us to get on TV.
  For years, I've been too exhausted with little children to get out to something like this, but this year, I was sure I wouldn't end up carrying anybody. And of course, too, a march means we get to make a cool sign. The better the sign, the better the chance to get on TV, right?

  I'm quite the sign critic. This manifests itself mostly when I'm trying to find a garage sale. People will write too much information on their sign, and the type will be too small. "Are they expecting me to get out of the car to read that?" I'll rant while my patient children ignore me. When I've had garage sales, my signs say "SALE" really big with an arrow. Follow the arrows, and you'll find my sale.
  Being fussy as I am, we put some thought into our sign. It was a graphic design lesson as well as history. I found a bunch of King quotes, and the kids picked one.

  "We cannot walk alone" is from the "I have a dream" speech. I told the kids it means all people need each other and should live peacefully together. That's true, but actually, the quote is from the end of a paragraph encouraging black people not to hate white people. We were amused by the literal meaning, too, since we'd be walking as we held it.
  Notice the high-contrast colors, large letters and simple message. It's billboard-ready. TV-ready. The only graphics are the hearts cut into the O's. "It's a subtle message, a secondary message of love," I told the kids. They think I'm making this stuff up. I have a friend who just told me her son switched majors in college to graphic design, and I indelicately told her that just makes me think of all the laid-off graphic designers I know. I can't imagine spending one cent of my money for a child of mine to study graphic design in college, so these kids better lap up my knowledge right now.
  But back to the sign, the only thing missing was handles. There was a slight wind, and it would have been easier to carry the sign if I'd cut hand-holds into the side panels. I'll remember this next year. And when my kids are in college becoming engineers, they'll know this kind of stuff, too. Besides designing bridges and skyscrapers, they can develop an easy-to-hold, wind-resistant parade sign. And they'll know how to design it so you can read it from down the street.

  The scene down the street behind us ...

  and in front of us shows that we did not walk alone.

  But we also did not stay for the speeches. Some other parents snuck out of the assembly at the end of the march, too. They said last year they stayed, and it was too long and boring for the kids. "We want it to be a positive experience for them," they said.
  Couldn't agree more. We finished our walk with a stop to Starbuck's.

  Gameboy took this picture of me with the town's ubiquitous civil-rights puppets. It looks like my sign says "We cannot walk." Always check your pictures when the kids take them.

Good point

2010-01-12T23:25:00.000-06:00

  My husband and I are anticipating a morning coming up when we'll have only one car. He leaves for work early, before the rest of us are awake. In the past when we've had one car, we all got up to drive him to work.
  This time, I suggested we leave the 11-year-old sleeping Gameboy in charge of the sleeping crew. They would be alone for about 20 minutes, so I don't think it's worth waking everybody up.
  I told Gameboy and Princess the plan, and they were surprised by the newness of the idea. I explained that everyone will be asleep, I won't be gone long, Gameboy is old enough to be in charge, and most important, we don't have any little children in the house because the youngest, Cookie, is 5.
  Still a little unsure, Princess pointed out, "Yeah, but she can be really annoying."
  I said we'll take that into consideration.

Twilight zone

2010-01-12T00:03:00.003-06:00

  I don't think "not killing me" is proof of love. I take that part for granted. Proof of love must go way beyond letting me live. So the gist behind the "Twilight" franchise bothers me. I don't know much about the books or movies, but I'm leery enough that my kids haven't seen them. But that doesn't mean they don't know about them.
  Princess knows how I feel but is not deterred. She thinks the whole thing looks really cool. So when I found a website where you could stick your face in a "New Moon" poster, I made one for her. I thought it was funny. She liked it a little too much.
  It has become a disturbing vision of my future. The picture makes her look like a teenager — a teenager clinging to a boy.

Cookie's gift

2010-01-06T22:40:00.003-06:00

  So what book did Cookie get me for Christmas?
  It's called "Ten-second Rainshowers: Poems by Young People," compiled by Sandford Lyne. Of all the books she could have somewhat-randomly picked, she did well. I like children's literature and poetry, but most of all, I like the first page where she wrote her name and "Mom."
  The other day, she came into my room first thing in the morning while I was still in bed. She put the book on my bedside table, smiled and walked back out. I told her I like the book very, very much.
  Here's a sample poem, which I chose in honor of you bloggers:

As I write
these words most
will likely be
forgotten but it took
time of my life
to do it
— Scott Denson, grade 7

Beautiful birthday

2010-01-04T02:16:00.003-06:00

  It was a fancy day for Princess' eighth birthday party. We went to a cosmetology school, and the students there gave our guests up-dos and nail polish.
  I was a bit insecure about how the party would go. This would not be fun for me; even as a kid, this wouldn't have been my idea of a fun day. But there is a reason I gave my daughter the blog name Princess, and that reason is, among other things, she loves hairdo parties.

  I was going to group the girls together in a "before" picture, but they arrived at slightly different times and were called in. Here's Princess getting her nails done.

  I thought about warning them ahead of time about how much hair Princess has, but they were unfazed. She looked through a book of wedding hairdos, picked one, and they went to work.

  And here she is, ready to get married, maybe. Married with glitter hairspray.

  As the party approached, my husband quietly asked me whether Cookie was invited, too. I said of course. She has declared herself not to be as "fancy" as her big sister, but she still likes a good party.

  And here she is all dolled up. The whole back of her head is covered in curls. I didn't know her hair could even do that, but of course it can, if you spend an hour curling it!

  The girls had cupcakes and exchanged gifts. They got boas, nail polish, lip gloss and body spray as party favors. It was like something out of a "Fancy Nancy" book.

  I'm quite proud of myself for mailing the invitations, real ones, mind you, made of paper and mailed in the real mail. It was a domestic moment. Mind you, I had to track down the addresses. We have one girl from ballet, one from soccer, two from the theater, one from homeschool chess club and one who's been a friend since they were babies. And little sister. Don't forget little sister.

How about May Day resolutions?

2010-01-02T22:33:00.003-06:00

  It's time for my post about not making New Year's resolutions. I read a great story in The Wall Street Journal about brain science proving that New Year's resolutions don't work. I'll just add: "Yeah, what they said."
  We're having a cold snap here in Minnesota. It's 20 below outside, and all I want to do is wrap up in cocoon-like blankets, drink cocoa spiked with something alcoholic and eat cookies while I sit in front of the fireplace. Even if our brains could deal with many great life changes at a time (which they can't, says the aforementioned newspaper article), this would be a bad time of year to try.
  Perhaps I'll be motivated to eat less and exercise more in, like, May. But not now. Not now.

Hairdo prodigy

2009-12-15T16:22:00.003-06:00

Princess is a hairdo genius! She has taken an interest in her American Girl hairstyles book and really taken off. I'm not sure this will translate into her doing her own hair, though, because her hair is longer than her arms can reach.
People have asked me if brushing Princess' hair is a pain, and I'll say it's time-consuming, but I love it. It makes me a little sad to think that someday soon, this will be one more thing she doesn't need me for.

Cookie keeps a secret

2009-12-13T00:44:00.006-06:00

  There is a store in town that hosts a "Little Elves Shop," basically a rummage sale inside a closed-off area where parents may not go. Children are escorted in by adults who help the children buy gifts for the people on their list. Items are mostly under a dollar and are gift-wrapped before they leave.
  Cookie was super excited to do her own gift shopping. I reminded her that she should try to keep the gifts a secret. The following is what she said as we drove home. She spent much of the conversation staring out the car window. She kept talking for 10 minutes, more than what I can remember.
  Mom, do you like books?
  Yes, I like books very much.
  Whew. Good. (long pause) What kind of books you like?
  I like all kinds of books. I like to read.
  You like read books?
  Yes, I do.
  Good. You might get book for Christmas, you know.
  That would be awesome!
  Yeah, I might buy you a book, but I'm not telling.
  OK.
  I might buy you a book, but I'm not telling. Not telling. ... Not telling. Might buy you a book. ... Not telling. (pause) Mom, you be mad at me if I buy you wrong book?
  No, I wouldn't be mad. Remember? I like all kinds of books.
  Whew. Good. ... You not mad?
  Nope. Not mad.
  Might buy you book. Buy you book. Buy you book. ... Mom, if you get book for Christmas, you gonna be happy?
  Yeah, that would make me happy.
  Good. You gonna be so happy. (pause) Can't wait till Christmas. Can't wait to see all the smiles!

  And I can't wait to see this book.

Who says the economy is frozen?

2009-12-09T13:04:00.008-06:00

  Some parents might be struggling with the expense of putting kids through college. Mine aren't old enough for that, but I do struggle with putting my kids through snowsuits.
  I'm proud to say that all three of them are outside right now in the year's first snowstorm, and I have been able to provide them with warm clothing. They're outside getting exercise, breathing the frigid air and sledding while Mom is on the Internet listening to itunes, blogging and drinking a latte. I have been a mother long enough to be past any guilt this might have inspired when they were younger.
  Cookie, pictured above, is wearing a snowsuit that is on its third kid. It was a gift from grandparents when Gameboy was about 4. Her boots are from a rummage sale, 50 cents comes to mind. Her hat was 25 cents from a rummage sale. Her mittens, which are brand new? 18 dollars. There are times when you just need to buy what you need, you know? Her new boot socks were $13. It's best if I think about this outfit rounding out the total cost.

  Princess is still in another of Gameboy's old snowsuits, this one paid for with a cash gift from great-grandma. She specifically said it was money to buy clothes, and I didn't have a snowsuit for him that year so I actually went to the store and bought it brand new for 100 dollars. This one better last for all three kids, too. Her hat was bought new this year on a bit of a lark. I thought it was so funny that she liked it, I couldn't help myself. I think it was $15. I like the safety-yellow color. That might come in handy during whiteout conditions. She also got new gloves and socks today; ring up another $13 and $18. Her boots are another Gameboy hand-me-down.
  She was a little sad after today's shopping that I didn't get her the 50-percent-off "fashion boots." All she saw was the cuteness on sale, but all I saw were boots that still cost $25 and aren't warm. Sorry, kid. All I can say is that she might hold out hope that Santa will get her the cute little boots, but I know I'm not going to buy them.

  We just bought Gameboy's new boots today, driving through the snowstorm with his big, long toes freezing in his tennis shoes. They're a men's size 9 and cost $70. I've already warned the girls that these will be their boots, too. His new mittens were $18. The face mask was new this year, about $15. He, too, got new socks, $13. But the triumph at the end of this whole tally is his snowsuit: $1 at a rummage sale! I went to a sale years ago and found three snowsuits marked one dollar each. I even asked the woman at the sale, "Is this all you want for these?" and she enthusiastically responded YES. I could tell she was just happy to get them out of the house and into the hands of someone who needed them.
  I don't have a group shot of the kids because they got ready one at a time. Gameboy can do eveything himself, so parents of little kids, wondering how long it will take for the kids to bundle up themselves? 11 years.
  I told each one I was going to take a picture, but I didn't tell them how to pose. Gameboy and Princess independently came up with ninja poses. The two of them do that often, posing the same way in pictures. Have I mentioned they're both involved in theater?
  I was going to tally this all up and make that my headline, but I've tried a few times now and come up with different totals. All I know for sure is, I'm spent.

  P.S. I have typed this whole thing and Cookie hasn't come back inside complaining about her gloves, so that's $18 already well-spent.

From my mountaintop, or is it a soapbox?

2009-11-29T00:45:00.004-06:00

"Be present in all things and thankful for all things"
— Maya Angelou

  If you are experiencing the range of emotions associated with miscarriage, I suggest you do NOT:
  1. Get a new pet.
  2. Quit your job.
  3. Get tubes tied (ladies) or tubes cut (gentlemen).
  4. Tell people what you really think of them.
  5. Buy a car.
  6. Sign up for a gym membership.
  7. Cut your hair.
  8. Get a tattoo.
  9. Donate all your possessions to Goodwill.
  10. Paint the house.

  'Cause, you know: This, too, shall pass.

Don't worry, be happy?

2009-11-28T12:16:00.002-06:00

I wasn't five minutes away from writing my last post, in the bathroom brushing my teeth, when I began to regret one thing. I shouldn't call my body broken, I thought. I have three beautiful, healthy children to be thankful for. And I am.
But sometimes, if you're stewing in a pit of anger, it's best to let it run its course. About 2:30 a.m. last night might have been the end of it; we'll see.

Ditto

2009-11-28T02:09:00.006-06:00

  Grief is unpredictable. There's the "stages of" grief, for one thing, and there's no telling where I am on that chart. It must be some kind of a pie chart, one where you jump from piece to piece, depending. There are social expectations of how one should act in grief, peer pressure, to put it another way. There's the precedent of how you've acted before in similar situations. You'd want to cry as much at one grandparent's funeral as another, right? And what if you cried more when your dog died? You'd really be a bastard then, right?
  Grief also is a feeling that is connected with expectations. If you expected something to happen, the grief feels different than if it was a surprise. "Your old aunt has been ill and passes away" is going to be different than "Your brother is suddenly killed in an accident."
  I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself tonight because I'm sad, I'm grieving, but there's a niggling voice in me saying, "But you're not sad enooooo-ough!" But I wasn't all that surprised, sadness is being displaced a bit by anger, I'm part annoyed, part embarrassed, and part — puzzled?
  Ah, the emotions of miscarriage No. 4. And the inappropriate sarcastic tone. And bad words. Lots of bad words in my head tonight, but I try to keep this thing kid-friendly. For all those kids, you know, who want to read about another one of my miscarriages. Sheesh!
  For those readers not keeping track, I had a miscarriage in August, too. That was No. 3. I linked to posts about the other two from there, so you're welcome to read my own Trilogy in Four Parts.
  The first time I miscarried, the event hit me as quite a shock, especially since I was in the fourth month. I cried my guts out. I gave that baby a name, Daniel Benjamin, and have a special baby book and memorial Christmas ornament. All subsequent little-ones-who-didn't-get-to-be-born, I have given weird nicknames. There's Baby Blob, My Little Grub and now this one. I was thinking of "Donut" because there seems to be a big hole in the middle of me where feelings should be. But it's not that I'm not sad; it's not that I don't care; it's just, I'm tired. So my name for this guy will be "Ditto." You know all that crying and weeping I did last time? Well, ditto that, because I can't seem to work up the energy.
  I didn't want to be back at this spot three months after the last time. I feel defeated. As I said, though, expectations effect my grief. When I found out I was pregnant again, I was happy, but I was also thinking, "Yeah, right, OK, we'll just see about that." There was no looking at baby-name books, no digging through the baby clothes, no signing up for weekly pregnancy e-mails. I didn't tell the kids.
  So today I told the older two kids; they need to understand why Mom is acting so weird. My little 5-year-old doesn't need to know. She's oblivious to the suffering of others, a blessing I'm sure she'll grow out of.
  The actual baby hasn't come out yet. Maybe that's what will need to happen to get a reaction out of me. It is taking its own sweet, damn time. "But aren't you going to the emergency room," you might ask. "Aren't you going to get a D&C and be done with it?" No, you see, cause crunchy, granola-eatin' Earth Mamas like me don't want to do that. We want things to naturally. IT'S BETTER THAT WAY! So hurry the eff up, you broken body of mine, because I'm sick and tired, and it's really horrible and sad, I don't want it touching me again.
  So, I love you, Ditto, even though I'm not acting like I care and I'm stuffing my emotions deep into my sock drawer. But you know, you Mom is like that sometimes.
  OK, there. That last line got me. Now I'm crying.

Nothing says Christmas like goats and Darth Vader

2009-11-23T23:41:00.006-06:00

I could tell the story about this year's Christmas parade by starting at the beginning, but I'd rather start with the picture of me in a goat costume meeting Darth Vader. When I saw Star Wars guys setting up next to us before the parade, I ran over to get a picture with Darth. I didn't realize he was 7 feet tall until I got right up next to him. It was a little scary! His costume even had lights on the front panel; it was a convincing portrayal of the biggest movie villain of my childhood. Good thing he didn't have the real voice or I might have run away.

This is as close as Gameboy got to the parade this year. I'm dropping him off at his dad's office. I think it was the costumes that dissuaded him. We had to choose to be a goat or a troll to march with the Sons of Norway's "Billy Goats Gruff" float. I guess neither sounded appealing. Too bad we weren't doing Star Wars.

We had cocoa and sticky rolls while the decorations were put on the float's bridge.

The girls made some little friends.

Children's book author and troll expert Lise Lunge-Larsen told the kids stories as we waited in line for the parade to start. She's a wonderful storyteller, talking about scary stuff that kids like, hungry trolls and man-eating cats. She teaches the kids how to defeat trolls, too. They'll turn to stone if they get in the light or injure themselves, you know, and they're easy to trick. Cookie said if she sees a troll, she'll tell it there's a mosquito on its head. When the troll swats its own head, it will turn to stone. Lise taught her that one.

Princess got her own picture with a Star Wars guy, too. Cookie was too scared.

It was girls' night out.

High marks — well, mark

2009-11-19T23:28:00.004-06:00

  My kids take several classes about town that are for homeschoolers, and one of them was today. Gameboy had homework returned to him from the last class, a list of vocabulary words he had to define. They were things such as "sustainable" and "renewable," for a class about environmental issues.
  He saw an "A" on the top and wondered if it was a grade. He saw another kid's list with a "C" on the top and realized that, yes, it was a grade. At age 11, it's his first.
  Perhaps the teacher would be amused to know this, that he gave the kid his first-ever grade. Perhaps he'd think it's strange. Homeschoolers don't have much need for grades, though. We know what the kids know, and I know Gameboy would be getting A's in school. I don't need a teacher to tell me that. And I don't need a report card to believe he's learning.
  Still, the "A" on his paper was fun. It's going in his file.
  I'm not too far away from the day when I'll have to produce a high school transcript to use for college applications. I'm hoping that by then, he'll be taking college classes as a high-school-age student, and the transition to full-time college student will be easy. It's funny, but I'm not at all worried about him doing well in college classes or getting along socially. I'm just worried about the paperwork.

Learning from thin air?

2009-11-11T23:28:00.003-06:00

  I am writing again about spelling. I have said before I'm not the world's best speller, but I work as a copy editor, so I have trained myself to care about how things are spelled, gotten in the habit of looking up words. Over time, even I start to remember this stuff.
  I think back to elementary school spelling tests, and I remember words such as "leprechaun" and "chrysanthemum" being difficult to memorize. I cared about my grades, so I worked hard and learned the words.
  I was a senior in high school when I was taught the difference between "accept" and "except." I was in college when somebody taught me that "its" as a possessive has no apostrophe. I learned to spell "forecast" after an embarrassing moment at my first job. Same thing with "exercise."
  I was a straight-A student and graduated from high school as a really lame speller.
  I'm thinking about spelling again because Princess, my daughter who learned to read early this spring and will be 8 next week, is good at spelling. She's always carrying a journal with her, filling it with drawings, stories, diary entries and songs she wrote herself. I'll peek inside and am surprised by how much is spelled right. It's another one of those wonderful unschooling moments where I wonder, "Where did that come from?"

2022

2009-11-07T10:39:00.005-06:00

  The city parks and rec department has been offering free indoor ice skating at a local rink. I'll emphasize free, because this is code for "this is going to end up costing me money."
  The skating experience was pretty new for the kids because the few times we've gone to outdoor rinks, it has been so cold that we didn't stay long. It's either freezing and windy, or it's warm and the ice is no good. Getting the opportunity to skate on an indoor rink, however, got Princess wanting to take skating lessons.

  As luck would have it, right after she started talking about this, I heard that a local skating club was offering lessons during the school day for homeschoolers at an affordable price. I told Princess she could do it.
  Then there's the issue of her little sister.
  Cookie doesn't listen well. She gets fussy and changes her mind. Her temperament being as it is, I didn't want to waste money for her to have lessons, too. Plus she just turned 5, so I figured going to free skate would be enough.
  But she said she really wanted to do it, and for now we're only signing up for five lessons. So OK, whatever, I signed her up, too.
  And this is where the story gets awesome, because at our first lesson, the girls were divided into little kids and big kids. The little kids had their lesson while the big kids skated on their own. Halfway through, they switched. And Cookie was instantly promoted to skate with the big kids!
  She is fantastic! She did everything they asked, even skating around the rink three times with her arms straight out. "Use the side of your skate," the teacher shouted. "I don't want to hear any toe picks!" Around and around she went, her stubbornness working to her benefit. She was working hard, and I caught her looking at me a couple times from the corner of her eye. Other moms were asking, "Is that your daughter?" and instead of saying yes apologetically and whisking her away, I was all, "Yes! Yes. She. Is."
  So now I have paid for lessons for both girls, and I bought Cookie a pair of used skates. Princess will probably need a different pair, too. So much for "free skating."

  But we're totally going to be ready for the 2022 Olympics.

That girl does everything her own way

2009-11-02T02:56:00.004-06:00

  After trick-or-treating with a group of about 15 friends, we went back to one friend's house for the great candy exchange. The kids spent about an hour trading and eating candy — mostly trading.
  Driving home, I asked the kids what they were trying to trade away, and what they were trying to get. Princess said she was trying to get popcorn balls and red licorice, and she was trading away Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Snickers.
  I had to suppress a "What? Are you crazy?!"

Happy Halloween, 2009

2009-10-31T23:38:00.002-05:00

  It has rained a lot lately, the cold, almost-freezing kind of rain that makes you think it's the worst possible weather. As Halloween approached, I prepared by assembling an Alaskan fisherman costume. Turns out, the weather was great, and I didn't wear my raincoat. I still wore the huge pants, though, and yellow hat I made from leftover fleece from Cookie's Wolverine mask.

  The kids were Gandalf, Wolverine (from the X-Men, of course), and a witch. Princess really wanted eyeliner and red lipstick for her costume, and if I added it up, it's possible those two things cost the same as all the other costume pieces for all four of us: seven dollars for liquid eyeliner and six dollars for a lipstick. How do women afford to wear makeup all the time? This isn't even expensive makeup. She looks great, though. Notice how the auto-focus on my camera seems to know that she's the one who should be in focus?
  The girls wore snowpants under their costumes. Everyone wore long underwear and turtlenecks. It wasn't too cold, though, and dry. Perfect weather, or at least as good as we could ask for.
  I have not written about how I broke my pinky toe two weeks ago, but yeah — ouch. Trick-or-treating up and down our hilly town was a what-was-I-thinking experience, but Halloween only comes once a year, right?

  No worries about paperwork. The haul has been documented by Gameboy and Princess. Cookie saw these tally lists and said she wanted to write one, too. "But I don't know how to write!" she lamented. I told her I'd help tomorrow.

Gandalf hat is done

2009-10-30T14:58:00.003-05:00

  I finished Gameboy's "Gandalf" hat today. That means I have completed all the costumes. Yeah! I don't want to waste my big day off on Halloween stressing out about sewing. We'll take a group photo tomorrow.
  I used to remember what the kids had been each Halloween. I should give this more thought and write it down. Things like that are the kinds of meaningless details that make me feel like a good mom if I remember them.
  I didn't use a pattern for the hat. Sewing with fleece is forgiving, it doesn't ravel and stretches well. The rim was too floppy so I went to the fabric store to get something — I didn't know what — to make it stiff. The staff was incredibly unhelpful, and I ended up looking at boning, which is used in wedding-dress corsets and such. It occurred to me that our answer would be found at Menards, our local hardware store.
  Sure enough, $1.50 later I had a coil of wire that worked great. I sewed a hem around the edge of the brim, bent over the wire and snaked it through. I cut it to the right length and hooked the two ends of wire together so there's no pokey end, and it's a connected hoop.
  It might be true that all the best costumes are a combination of secondhand store, fabric store and hardware store.

  Putting Cookie into another postscript, she spent part of the day reading a comic book while sitting inside a big box.

Kix butt?

2009-10-30T01:23:00.006-05:00

  Like so many earth-mama mothers these days, I don't buy sugary cereal for my kids. I didn't eat much of the stuff when I was a kid, either. Rather than being your everyday breakfast, cereals such as Lucky Charms and Trix were eaten only occasionally, or for special events such as your birthday or Christmas. So I do know what these cereals are like. And I fondly remember Boo Berry, which isn't made anymore.
  Except that it is!
  There it was: Boo Berry, sitting beside its cousins, Count Chocula and Franken Berry, at my local grocery store. Turns out, it's a seasonal thing. I did a google news search and found this nice review of the three on a blog on the website of a community college in Utah. These cereals really find their niche with college students.
  So what did I do? I bought a box of each! Coincidentally, right before I saw the cereals, I had sent Gameboy back to the store's entrance to pick up the coupon flier. When he got back, we had turned a corner. He came down the aisle, then started to leave before he saw me and stopped. He started to laugh.
  "I didn't think that was our cart because I saw those," he said, pointing to the boxes of cereal.
  When my husband got home from work, he got all happy when he saw the Boo Berry, too. He said if he'd seen it in the store, he would not have bought it because of me. So he's happy with his box of Boo Berry. It's different than other sugary cereals; it's a weird color, and it sticks with the one flavor, unlike fruity cereals such as Froot Loops or Trix, which try to please everyone with a variety of colors and a hard-to-place taste. Boo Berry makes a statement: "I taste like artificial blueberry flavoring. That's it. Take it or leave it."
  The funny end to this story is that the kids don't want to eat the cereal; only one of them even tried it. Gameboy ate some Boo Berry but didn't finish it. I ate a couple bites from the bowl he left behind. I think I'm attracted more to the box and the color than the actual food; I didn't even finish his leftovers. I'm beginning to think I never did eat it as a kid. Maybe I just saw the commercials and thought it looked cool.
  Princess isn't much interested in eating anything that isn't a salad. Cookie wanted a bowl of cereal the second we got home from the grocery store: a bowl of Kix. "I want the circle kind," she said. I asked why she likes it. "Because it's so crunchy and so delicious," she said.
  I need to get her in a commercial.

Gameboy turns 11

2009-10-28T00:30:00.003-05:00

  I took a picture of Gameboy on the last day he'd be 10. He'll have to count on his toes now, my 11-year-old boy.

  My mom made fancy birthday cakes when I was a kid. This didn't rub off, apparently, as my children's birthday cakes are fancy only in that they have sprinkles. His little sister put on the candles.

  It seems like half the kids in town are sick from one day to the next, so I invited nine kids to Gameboy's birthday bowling party. Turned out, no one was sick, and everyone could come.
  I like bowling parties. Everyone has something to do, but it's not all that important to do it, and there's lots of time to talk and goof off.

  My only point with this picture is that all my kids got their dad's eyes. It really shows up once in awhile in photographs.
  Happy Birthday #11, Gameboy!

Getting ready for the big haul

2009-10-25T23:39:00.004-05:00

  Halloween is approaching, and I got the night off from work. It's that important.
  There are lots of events around town this Halloween, haunted houses, parties, and I just found out about free ice skating lessons at an indoor rink. My first thought was, "Why Halloween?" Because in my mind, Halloween is about one thing. We won't be going to the time-sucking, no-return ventures. We'll be trick-or-treating.
  I'm not talking about just a few neighbors' houses. I'm talking about from-first-hint-of-dusk-until-they-turn-off-all-the-porch-lights trick-or-treating. There'll be no treat baggies or plastic pumpkins for us; we're taking pillow cases.
  I don't like the kids eating candy. We don't accept the lollipops when we go through the bank drive-thru. But trick-or-treating is more about conquering the world than eating the candy. It's about counting your loot and trading with your friends.
  The weather promises to be nasty this year. I might dress as an Alaskan fisherman. I found some big, yellow rain pants at Goodwill. Now I need a Gorton's Fisherman hat. It's going to be fun!

At least the whales stand a good chance

2009-10-12T11:07:00.005-05:00

I like movies about the end of the world. I know they tend to be silly and overblown, but if you're asking me to care about what's a stake, the end of the world gets my attention. (Pictured: The Himalayan Mountains being flooded by the ocean.)

The movie "2012" is coming out next month, and I hope to see it in the theater. I don't see a lot of movies in the theater, but a special-effects lollapalooza like this is fun to see on the big screen. (Pictured: Los Angeles falling into the ocean.)

The trailer gives away that the government (of course) is hiding information from the people (of course) and has some kind of ships involved in their plan to save the human race, and I imagine only the well-connected can get a ticket on a ship (of course). The trailer shows helicopters carrying cargo to these ships. And wait! Was that a giraffe? Yes, yes it is. Bwahahahahahaha! Of all the things to save! I can accept the movie's doomsday theory, the conspiracy theory, the true-love theory, whatever, but who decided to save the giraffes? (Pictured: Giraffe is transported by helicopter.)

And then I didn't know what to say ...

2009-10-09T19:54:00.003-05:00

  Driving by a cemetery, Cookie asks:
  "Why all doze rocks over der?"
  I reply: "It's a cemetery. Dead people are buried there."
  "How dey get dead?"
  "Most of them died because they were really, really old," I said.
  "Oh," she said. "I juss thought dey got stabbed with a knife or sword or somefing."

A swinging good time

2009-10-01T22:57:00.001-05:00

We just hung this Ikea swing in the middle of our living room. I think this winter's activities are taken care of.

I didn't know she knew that word

2009-09-30T23:31:00.006-05:00

  We were driving around town when Princess saw the biography I'm reading about Queen Elizabeth I.
  "You're reading about Elizabeth?" she said. "Why didn't you tell me? She's my hero!"
  That got us talking about the famous English monarch, how she never got married, some of the reasons this might have been, how limited her choices were in whom she could marry. I told Princess about how Elizabeth's sister had married a Spanish prince and it hadn't been a popular or successful union. But getting married was expected of women back then, most especially a queen.
  "People assumed she would get married because they thought ruling a country was too difficult for a woman."
  "Didn't women work back then?" she asked.
  "Yes," I said. "There were maids and store clerks and stuff like that, but women couldn't be things like lawyers or doctors."
  "So," Princess observed, "they could work, but just not at anything that made any money."
  I laughed and told her that was about right.
  She responded: "That's just so ... " (she paused for a moment, searching for the right word) " ... demeaning!"

Mary Travers, rest in peace

2009-09-16T23:45:00.005-05:00

Folk singer Mary Travers of Peter, Paul and Mary died today. I listened to their music when I was a kid, so her death is sad for me. I think of her as someone who did a lot with her life. It makes me feel like I'm spinning my wheels. I have read a few obituaries that describe her as the "sex appeal" of the group. At first this made me mad, but now I'm thinking that would be a pretty cool thing to have in your obituary.

“Up her sleeve” is just an expression here

2009-09-13T02:10:00.005-05:00

  Today I was washing dishes when Cookie brought in her plate and cup. She had eaten lunch on the deck and was being very good to remember her dishes.
  "Dat wunch was duh best wunch I ever tasted," she said. "You're duh best cook whose food ... I ever eated!"
  I told her thanks, and that it made me happy for her to say something so nice. Her lunch was fish sticks, cherry tomatoes and cucumber slices, so I wouldn't call it "cooking," but I had prepared it for her.
  As I was glowing in the compliment of my newly-well-behaved 5-year-old, I looked at her plate. She had not eaten the cucumbers.
  "Ah well, that's OK," I thought.
  Later, I went outside and saw her tomatoes sitting there. Hmmm.
  So now I'm left to wonder: Did she really like her lunch? Did she innocently believe she had eaten her food, or was she playing me? Has she learned that fussing about her food is the surest way of being told to eat more? Is she a magician, throwing compliments with the wave of a hand so I won't see the food up her sleeve?

Cookie is in kindergarten

2009-09-08T22:11:00.004-05:00

  The public schools in my district started the year today. It's the first day of school! We don't follow a school-year schedule, preferring to learn stuff as it comes up and take breaks when we're tired. I bought a school record-keeper from a dollar bin and realized later it doesn't include weekends. I'll just write all that stuff down on Fridays, I guess.
  So even though the day might not hold the same meaning for me as most people, I did take a picture today of Cookie, our new kindergartner.

  Cookie accompanied me to the zoo because her big sister had a class there. We said good-bye to Princess, and I hoped we could keep busy for two hours. (Not really possible at our local zoo, I'm afraid. An hour-and-a-half is a stretch.)

  It's nice sometimes to do something like this with just one of the kids, to be able to pay attention to all the little things they notice. And all the big things: "Dat beawr is scawwry!" (Again, I'm thinking of the escaped-zoo-animal plan.)

  Her wingspan matches the great horned owl.

  She brought her "school book" and worked on letters at the start of words.

  Gameboy was around, too, on this first day of school, but he couldn't take his nose out of his book for a picture. His dad is on vacation from work, so they went to the library.

She's still our favorite ref

2009-09-06T15:33:00.003-05:00

Here's Princess playing as goalie in a recent soccer game. The game was a good example of how homeschoolers we know show up in unexpected places.

Unfortunately, knowing the referee didn't result in us winning the game. Dang!

Extreme drive to the middle of nowhere

2009-09-05T10:30:00.007-05:00

  The TV crew from "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" was in my part of the country recently. I heard this house will be the two-hour season premiere on Sunday, Sept. 27. It's an eco-friendly house, well insulated with its own windmill, that kind of stuff.

  As we approached the house, it was clear the producers were ready for a crowd. There were a motor home parking lot, a spectator parking lot, numerous tents surrounding the house. The family owns acres and acres of flat land around their house, which seemed to have influenced the choice to pick this house. I don't understand how they'd manage in cramped quarters.

  The parking lot reminded me on the Renaissance Festival, parking on the grassy field. Volunteers pointed our way. Temporary fencing corralled us.

  We passed what we imagined will be the kids' new playset.
  The house was about half done. Rumor had it that after they taped the big "move that bus" scene, the family had to go live in a hotel because the house wasn't really done.

  We didn't see any famous faces, but a dump truck unloaded a bunch of rocks. That was the most exciting thing to happen.

  There were a lot of volunteers standing around.

  The bloodmobile was there, along with its blood-drop mascot. I had recently discovered I'm anemic again, so I did not donate blood.

  As we were driving away, Princess saw one of the show's designers (I think she said it was Michael) driving toward the house, his car full of children's costumes. She didn't mention it in time for me to see him or take a picture, so we'll see if it's on when the show airs. I'm always at work on Sunday nights, but my husband and kids enjoy watching this program together.

  The kicker of this 30-mile drive into Wisconsin was that we passed a really cool playground. It has a dinosaur stairway!

  We stayed and played for more than an hour. They liked the slide with a skylight.

  And the bouncy airplane.

Question authority but teach respect

2009-09-04T12:23:00.008-05:00

  President Obama will be welcoming the nation's children back to school next week. You can watch it live Tuesday, Sept. 8, at noon Eastern Time on the White House website. (We'll need to watch it later; the live broadcast conflicts with Princess' class at the zoo.)
  Would we watch it if the speech were being given by President Bush? Yes, of course. The president is the president, whether you agree with his policies or not. And I hope that parents teach their children that on the one hand, the president is our leader and deserves respect, but on the other hand, the president is just a person, he or she answer to you, the citizens of the country, and if you disagree with his policies, you should work hard against what the administration is trying to accomplish.
  But you shouldn't disrespect the person. That just reflects badly on yourself.
  So, you can imagine that I don't understand the uproar over President Obama's address. In case you missed it, there's uproar. Some people don't want their children exposed to someone else's ideas at school. Excuse me? Isn't that what school is?
  I could understand this attitude coming from some of the conservative homeschoolers I know. Their entire motivation for homeschooling is to keep their children safe from anti-Christian ideas. This is not my motivation for homeschooling, but I think I understand their choice and respect it as a freedom-of-religion issue.
  But if you're already sending your kids to school, I hope you've talked to them about how, although they need to respect their teachers, they don't need to always agree with what they're being taught. It's OK to question things and think for yourself. It's the same thing with the president's speech.
  So frankly, I'm embarrassed for the people who are trying to turn this into some big deal. It smells of desperation.

Fair photos

2009-09-03T00:58:00.005-05:00

  This year for the county fair, Gameboy went nuts with my digital camera. A lot of kids did the same, as shown by the large number of entries this year in the photography categories. I think it's great that digital cameras have made it so much cheaper for kids to do this. When I was a kid, of course, you had to buy the film and process it all. Now we upload what we want on shutterfly and buy prints for a dollar or two each. This photo of a deer in our yard was in the category "color animal, wild."

  Here's a shot of our cats, in the "black-and-white animal, domestic" category.

  Here's Cookie, holding one of her own fair entries. The photo was in the "color portrait, child" category. Her drawing was in the oil pastel category, and I named it "Abstract" for her. I don't want to ask, "And what is it?"
  I like how her drawing is messy and her hair is messy. I like the light, too. I told Gameboy it's nice to have a picture of what she really looks like, and not all dressed up to go to a portrait studio. He liked that.

  I can't believe this one didn't win a pink or purple ribbon. I mean, it has an American flag in it, for cripes' sake! The county fair people love flags! I told gameboy it might be because we entered it in the "color flowers" category, and the focus isn't really on the flowers.

  Here's one of the cats in the category "color animal, domestic." He caught her tongue out as she was drinking some water. I also like how her whiskers contrast with the water bowl.
  Gameboy is excited to try more photography. Maybe we'll look for some other contests. I already had a bad taste in my mouth over the whole paint-by-number thing, and then I saw the feedback on his photos.
  In the rule book, and you know I'm all about the rule book, it states that "photos must be framed; matting encouraged." So, I spent about $90 on frames and mats to enter his 10 pictures. I told him that we'd save the frames to enter pictures in future years, but now more than half of them are hanging in my house.
  The feedback from the judges, which is given on photographs but not artwork, was the same on every photo: "Double matting would improve presentation."
  "Double matting?" I exclaimed.
  I complained to my husband.
  "Well," he unhelpfully offered, "double matting does look nicer."
  "What is this?" I replied, "A children's photo contest, or a matting contest?"
  "Well," he offered, "you could try double matting next year."
  "Oh, we're totally double matting," I said. "We're triple matting. Quadruple! We'll have six mats!"
  He was amused and confused. As I've explained, he doesn't get the county fair like I do. Though I'm sure he'd say he does.

Hope she feels better tomorrow

2009-08-31T22:46:00.003-05:00

  I'm sure Princess is glad to see this day over. Me, too. My day started waking up in bed with Cookie talking from the hallway. "Mom, dere's cat frow up in my room. Upstairs, too."
  One of our cats gets a lot of hairballs, so that's what I was expecting. Turns out it wasn't a hairball; it wasn't even the cat. It was big sister.
  It seems she got into some poison ivy at soccer practice yesterday. I had to work in the evening, so I didn't see her again until this morning. She had woken up at 3 a.m., threw up over the side of her top bunk and was unable to get back to sleep because she was itching so badly. She went upstairs by herself, threw up again and scratched her entire body. Speaking of cats, it looked like she had been attacked by wild cats.
  I'm breaking a blog rule here by telling this story because Princess is embarrassed. She's embarrassed that she got into poison ivy, embarrassed that she threw up, that she scratched so much, that she didn't wake me up. That last one is the biggest one. I think she was just so sick and out of it, she didn't think to ask for help.
  I took her to the doctor just to be safe. It always burns me a little when I pay the $25 co-pay and end up with the same advice I would have given myself. "It's poison ivy, get some Benadryl." The memory is fresh, however, of the day Gameboy was sick, and it wasn't until 6 p.m. that it was clear he was really sick, and we ended up in the emergency room, and he had scarlet fever. Antibiotics fixed him up within hours.
  I'm trying to ease her embarrassment by not talking about it too much. And that's probably why I'm breaking a blog rule to tell the story. Knowing that she's OK, I am able to focus on the reason I'm most glad to see the end of this day, the day I had to clean up the vomit in the girls' room.
  I have taught all the kids: "Although it seems weird, if you feel like throwing up at night and can't make it to the bathroom, just throw up on the blankets on your bed. Don't throw up over the side! I can pick up those blankets, shake them outside and wash them. Easy Peasy!"
  This plan is hard for sick children to remember in the middle of the night. I had the top bunk blankets, side rail of the top bunk, bottom bunk blankets, bed frame and carpet, oh!, the carpet, to clean up. I might need to buy a special machine or something for that carpet. Or maybe new carpet would be cheaper, I don't know.
  I'm thinking of this when my baby girl is sick and suffering? Well, yeah, actually. It was really gross.

Free hairdos? We're there!

2009-08-28T11:04:00.003-05:00

  Our town has "sidewalk days" every summer when the main street is closed and the stores haul their stuff out to the street. I have a cynical attitude about sidewalk days and never go, but this year, Gameboy had a theater class downtown at the same time. While he was there, I took the girls for a walk down the street. Princess saw something exciting — exciting for her, at least.
  "Mom!" she said. "That sign over there says they're giving free hair styles to kids!"
  (She can read now, so there's no stopping her.)

  I was afraid they'd be unhappy to see us show up with Princess and her hair that goes down to her legs. But my fears were way off base. These are cosmetology students. They saw Princess and her hair walk up, and their eyes lit up.
  After some brushing, another woman came over to help. Yes, it takes two people to brush her hair. I think it was a little painful, but Princess didn't say a word if it was.

  It was an attention-getting exercise for the cosmetology school. People walked by and commented on her hair over and over and over. Princess is accustomed to this, and simply says "Thank you!" no matter how weird the comments are. I have taught her this because people will say things that sound like insults. "That hair must be a lot of work for your mom!" or "Look at all that hair!" or "Don't you ever cut your hair?" Princess has noticed that people will say these things with an insulting tone of voice, but I have assured her that they're probably trying to pay a compliment. "Just say 'thank you,'" I told her. So she does.
  By the time they were done, it was 40 minutes later. She had two French braids along her temples and a bun (if that's the word for it) in the back comprised of knots.

  The student who did the hairdo took Princess inside to show her instructors and take a few pictures.

  I took some pictures, too.

  So pretty!

Application forms: The smell of fall

2009-08-27T00:36:00.005-05:00

  It's the honeymoon period of the school year. Although my family doesn't vary its schedule much depending on the season, we still get caught up in the school year beginning in September because everyone around us is on that schedule. Then there's the back-to-school sales full of 10-cent folders and 25-cent boxes of crayons. It's exciting, and easy to imagine all the glories of the year, forgetting how much work it will be.
  Our co-op is gearing up, with the parents signing up for which classes they'll teach. My ideas are Medieval clothing art projects for the little kids, ages 5-7 or so, and either grammar or the probabilities of winning at gambling for the older kids. The grammar lesson would be "eats, shoots and leaves" kind of examples. You know, a criminal walks into a restaurant, "eats, shoots and leaves" OR a panda bear "eats shoots and leaves."
  I have spent the past week signing up the kids for yearlong programs at the zoo, nature center and ballet school. We're adding tennis this year, dropping music lessons. No art classes, either. We've been practicing audition songs for upcoming theater stuff. Some of these activities meet once a month, some twice a week. They all cost money. Later I'll be wondering what I was thinking back in September, but at least I learned my lesson about the nature classes at 9 a.m.; this year, we're in the 1 p.m. sessions. It was a deal-breaker if there were no afternoon spots open. I think I won't do the chess club this year, but there's another board game group we might do. I'll need to see if folk dancing still conflicts with Dungeons & Dragons. I have bowling and roller skating on the schedule. They're not conflicting with anything yet.
  My husband teases me. "It's starting to sound a lot like school," he says. "Well, yeah," I say, "but it's not every day." For some things, once a month is enough.
  I ordered a 2010 version of my favorite calendar. I need lots of space to write all this stuff down.

It's good to have a plan

2009-08-25T00:59:00.008-05:00

  A couple years ago, I was at the zoo with the kids and a polar bear came up to the window where we stood and sniffed us through a tiny crack between the panes of glass.
  You probably know that polar bears are dangerous. The black bears that roam my city will almost never attack people; they run away if you clap loudly. But polar bears aren't like that, I imagine because where they come from, you can't miss a chance at a meal; another chance might not come along for weeks.
  I was thinking about this as the polar bear sniffed us. Then it stood up and rubbed its back on the window. I looked at the caulk squeezed into the edge of the window and began to wonder how the exhibit was built, and how sure I was that a thousand-pound bear rubbing its back against the seam wouldn't make the window pop out. I mean, he had just smelled us, right? And now he's rubbing against the window? Does he know something?
  Being a practical person, I decided we should have an "escaped zoo animal plan," kind of like a fire escape plan at your house.
  I spoke to Princess first.
  "If an animal ever escaped at the zoo, like the polar bear here, I want you to get yourself quickly to the main building. Don't run because that could draw attention to yourself. Just walk in a straight line, quickly to the building, and don't look back."
  Then I spoke to Gameboy.
  "Your responsibility is to take Cookie by the hand and walk quickly with her to the main building."
  He looked at me for a couple seconds.
  "And what are you going to do?" he asked.
  "I'd be fighting the bear," I said.
  His expression was a mixture of horror and thinking-his-mom-is-crazy. I realized what I was saying sounded both horrific and crazy, but still, I think it's good to have a plan.

My camera is still broken. Photo credit: Bob Kelleher / Minnesota Public Radio

The county UNfair

2009-08-20T22:47:00.005-05:00

  At the heart of it, this story is about Princess' puppets. I don't need that pointed out to me.
  But at the start of it, this story is about the county fair.
  When I was a kid, a major source of income for me and my sisters was entering art projects in the county fair and winning the dollar for first place, 50 cents for second place, etc. The prizes haven't increased with inflation, but my kids enjoy this summer ritual, too. They usually enter about 10 things, win maybe six dollars and come home with 10 ribbons of various colors. What they're really hoping for, though, are the big, frilly purple and pink ribbons awarded to the "Grand Champion" and "Reserve Champion." Gameboy got a pink "reserve" ribbon years ago for his painted-rock-fish, and Princess got a pink ribbon for a glass bead necklace-and-earring set. Those ribbons are still hanging on their walls.
  My husband, the guy with the bachelor's degree in fine art, doesn't get the county fair. He doesn't understand "kitsch." For example, the painting that won the adult division this year is of an American flag with a bald eagle flying in front of it. That one got the purple ribbon.
  I, however, was not only raised entering stuff in the county fair, but as an adult, started quilting as a hobby. Then there's my marginally-successful garden. That's a hobby, too. What else do I do in my life as a part-time, stay-at-home mother and homeschooler? I cook, I sew, I make crafts with the kids.
  If you're a really great quilter, there are nationally know shows and competitions to enter. If you're a really great gardener, you probably make money at the farmers' market. A great artist would be showing her work in a store or gallery. But if you're like me, enthusiastic but mediocre at all this stuff, there's the county fair. Especially if, like me, you're competitive about stuff you're not even good at.
  So at the start of it, this story is about the county fair. Near the middle, it turns into a story about a painting, this painting:

  This isn't a photo of the actual painting because, painfully, my digital camera is broken. But it doesn't matter too much because this painting is a paint-by-number. This painting is the exact painting that won the big, frilly, purple ribbon at the county fair for children's art. This is the painting that has my panties in a bunch because, as you can guess, my children's art did not get frilly ribbons at the same time this painting did.
  Honestly, though, it's not just about my children. There were dozens of other children who entered legitimate, original artwork who also did not get higher awards. My favorite painting in the fair is a Picasso-inspired thing that I'd be happy to hang in my home. It got a yellow "participant" ribbon.
  But since this is me on my blog talking about my children, I'll point out that I'm disappointed that Princess' puppets didn't get a pink or purple ribbon. You'll recall that at the heart of it, this is a story about Princess' puppets.

  Princess made a set of four felt puppets and entered them in Division P, Class 5, Lot 14: Articles Hand Made By Child Through Age 7, "Toy." She worked on them for three weeks. She started with rectangular sheets of felt, designed and made the pattern, assembled the bodies on the sewing machine, then designed and cut out all the body parts and sewed them together by hand. She added embroidery-floss whiskers on the rabbit and a 3-D beak on the bird. I operated the hot-glue gun under her instruction, adding google eyes and feathers. The set included the rabbit and bird, plus an elephant and crocodile. She thought long and hard about the eye placement, knowing how important that was to determine their expression. She thought an ironic, feminine bow in the elephant was a nice touch. (I will have to post a picture when my camera is fixed. I have a photo of them on the floor, mid-construction.)

  The puppets did win a blue first-place ribbon in her "lot," but as any county-fair participant knows, the blue ribbon can be an empty victory. There are too many freakin' categories, some of which I don't even know what they're supposed to be ("plastic art"? "beadles"?). It can happen that you're the only entry in a lot. So what really, really gets exciting are the pink and purple ribbons, pinned to the best of the best, drawing the attention of everyone walking by. I got a purple ribbon on my quilt years ago, before I had kids, and I still like to refer to myself as the "Grand Champion of All Arts and Crafts."
  Back to the kids, though, please do not worry. They are not bitter about their lack of ribbons. I'm not fussing around them too much, though I did say right in front of them that the bald-eagle-flag painting was pretty bad, and that entering a paint-by-number was lame. "If I were to modify it further," I told them, "I would say it's totally lame." (Real quote, there.)
  Nevertheless, they're very excited with the prizes they got. I never point it out if they're the only entry in a category; I'm not a monster! But I can't get that paint-by-number out of my head. The rules are unclear, but they specify no Lego kits, and also no coloring-book pages. SO, if no coloring-book pages are allowed, on which children color any colors they want, how could a paint-by-number be allowed, on which there not only are lines to stay inside, but also numbers to direct them as to their color choices, not unlike filling out tax forms, I would say?
  How, indeed. I took that question to the main office today when we stopped by the fair. I will emphasize that I was polite and had a smile on my face. I specifically said I was not suggesting that any kids' ribbons be taken away.
  The octogenarian I spoke to at first seemed confused by my query. "Was that an oversight," I asked, "or are paint-by-number paintings, indeed, allowed?"
  She asked which age group I was talking about. I said I didn't see the relevance of that. For all age groups, are paint-by-numbers considered OK?
  Then she said, "Oh, that should be a category." Again, missing the point. I don't think it should be added as a category. Slowly, my question sank in. "I suppose it would be hard to mess up," she said. "All you have to do is stay in the lines."
  I ended up leaving a note for the judge. I'm hoping she calls me with a clarification. (What I'm really hoping is that she now realizes her mistake, having before been tricked and/or blind.)
  One of my favorite stories from a friend is when she was waiting in line for a state fair to enter an apple pie. Her young daughter ran up and touched the pie, breaking part of the crust. My friend said that while other people in line gasped, she also sensed an underlying feeling of "Heh, heh! One less competitor!"
  Getting serious about apple pie and quilted vests. Paintings of bald eagles and sad kittens. This is the county fair, and it's serious stuff, man! There are rules! And paint-by-numbers should not be allowed!

It was a setup

2009-08-14T00:19:00.003-05:00

Cookie and I are now sharing the Scooby-Doo lunchbox. You might recall that she has been Scooby-Doo for the past two Halloweens. She still wears her costume to play in, even though it only fits if she's wearing nothing but underpants under it.
I might have bought that lunchbox to get attention from my youngest child because I'm sad. And what do you know; it worked!

Healing or regressing: Who can tell?

2009-08-13T00:08:00.004-05:00

  Of course it's a sad week, having a miscarriage, but things are going as well as can be expected. Everything is resolving itself at home, no horrible trip to the emergency room or anything like that.
  Today I needed to buy milk and cat food, and I saw something I thought would cheer me up. It's a Scooby-Doo lunchbox. I showed it to my husband.
  "That's going to help you feel better?" he asked.
  "How could it not?" I said. "I'm going to use it to take my lunch to work."
  Until now, I had to borrow one of the kids' lunchboxes: Gameboy has a blue one; Princess has a pink one; Cookie has one that's light blue with white flowers.
  But that was until now because now, I have the Mystery Machine. And I'm feeling better already.

My little grub

2009-08-10T00:34:00.007-05:00

  Here's a screen grab of what I'm up late reading.

  Here's a youtube video of the song I'm listening to over and over again.
  I could post a picture of what I look like now, but instead I'll let you create a mental picture. Just take the picture from my last post, remove the hat and soccer balls, and insert snot running down my nose and red eyes. Don't go so far as to make the eyes puffy; I'm not that far gone, but I pretty sad. It's miscarriage number three.
  Here's miscarriage number one, not fun reading per se. Here's miscarriage number two, a bizarre little piece of writing in which I imagine the little babies arguing.
  I have long felt like my first miscarriage made me recognize a certain conceit on my part that "that kind of thing" hadn't happened to me. Being conceited is among the ugliest things to be, and I thought maybe the miscarriage was a blessing from God to teach me humility, make me a better person.
  But wouldn't you know it? Now I'm starting to feel like I'm getting pretty good at dealing with this miscarriage thing. I'm as conceited as ever.
  I have been reading two books about Henry VIII, his six wives and his children. Every other page seems to have a miscarriage on it. (Maybe not the best thing to read while pregnant.) I also have seen "The Tudors" miniseries, a show with more than a few women waking up, blood staining their snow-white nightgowns. They grab themselves, screaming, knowing that the end of this pregnancy might mean their death because they didn't produce an heir.
  Our imaginations are too filled with these kinds of images. A real miscarriage, or mine anyway, and I've now had three, so you know I think I'm an expert (conceited), approaches slower. It creeps up with a gradual understanding of what's happening. Or perhaps it is just I who have a remarkable ability to stay in denial just long enough for me to be mentally ready to accept the truth.
  This miscarriage started with some faint spotting. I was at work. Later, still at work, there was a hint of red blood, upon seeing which, adrenaline rushed to my head to fast that I almost passed out in the bathroom stall. I told my boss I was sick and left. It's funny how sick I normally would need to be to boldly leave work with no explanation, but this time, it was like, "Sick. I'm leaving. Bye!"
  That night, and the next day, the spotting stopped and I seemed fine. I even went to work again.
  The next morning, though, there was enough blood present for me to realize I was miscarrying. I realized that I'd known that would happen, really, since the day before, but the day's buffer, when I could pretend everything was OK, was a blessing.
  So that was this morning. I went to work early to get some things done. I took my girls with me; they wrote me love notes and kept slipping them into my dictionary. I sent an e-mail to everyone explaining why I wouldn't be in later. Again, uncharacteristic of me, I did not give a moment's thought that maybe I should go back for my regular shift.
  Two hours later ...
  I was writing my fascinating story here when the baby came out. We'll continue with the sequential narrative and pick up with this development in a moment ...
  Spending a day at home instead of at work is a good way to deal with sadness. There is no substitue for being surrounded by love and support. The kids knew I was expecting a baby and were so happy. They knew, too, that sometimes babies don't grow big enough to be born. I told them that this is what happened. They're sad, but they didn't cry. They trust me when I say things are OK.
  I sent my husband out to get me a steak, which seemed like the perfect thing to restore my strength. We went for a nighttime drive and bought slushies. The kids went to bed when we got home. I was bleeding pretty heavily, so I stayed up. Which brings me to the "two hours later" part.
  I passed a ball of tissue about the size of a chicken egg. There was a tiny, tiny baby inside it, the size of a couple grains of rice. I could see what it was, though. I was 10 weeks pregnant, but it looks like the baby stopped growing awhile ago. I laughed a little when I saw him. Thinking not in words but feelings, I thought, "how cute." Then, in words, I chided him, "You're too little! You can't live outside if you're going to stop when you're so little."
  I woke up my husband so he could see it. I told him I didn't want to flush it. I wanted to cremate it right then and ended up doing it alone because he was so sleepy. This will seem like an OK trade-off in four hours when I need to get the kids up for acting class and tennis lessons because he'll be rested and I'll be a zombie.

  I went into the dark backyard alone to start a small fire in our fire pit. I had a broom handle to fight off bears. Later, I thought about what a lame weapon that is, but it made me feel safer. It was a warm, peaceful night with bright stars and no bugs.
  So going back to Tudor England, my point would be that a real-life miscarriage isn't much like what you see in movies and TV. It's not a horror movie. Nobody is going to execute you for failing. My real-life miscarriages have been really sad, days of disappointment, but they're also the days my babies arrived. In the end, my love for the little guys overwhelms my sadness.
  I can feel this way, I suppose, because I have three beautiful children to be thankful for. I'm reminded of times when my children cry about some toy they don't have. I tell them they'd be happier if they could focus on what they do have and stop worrying so much about what they don't. Today, I'm taking my own advice.

“Soccer Mom” doesn’t say enough

2009-08-09T00:43:00.006-05:00

  It has been a busy summer, and one of the things keeping me busy now is being Cookie's U6 soccer coach.
  The designation U6 means everyone on the team is younger than 6. "But wait," you ask, "can 4- and 5-year-olds play soccer?" Yes and no.
  A soccer team full of preschoolers gets tired easily. They enjoy their water breaks. You're wasting your breath to try to teach passing. It's good to emphasize that the white lines are the borders of the field; we've already had a couple of kids just keep going, out of bounds, kicking the ball for 50 yards across the park. "When I blow my whistle, that means stop" is another good first lesson.
  What is my soccer background? None! But I made team pennants for all the kids to hang in their rooms. And I'm working on handmade medals to give them at the end of the season. Everyone got their hand stamped with a "Super Star" stamper at the end of our first game. All our graphic design and craft needs are being met. And I have that whistle.
  We've only had one game so far. The coaches are on the field with the kids at this age level. Two of the kids — during the game — approached me numerous times on the field and said, "I didn't get a goal yet." I told them, "Keep playing! Go kick the ball, and maybe you will!"
  It wasn't until later that I understood what they meant. They meant they hadn't gotten a turn yet at kicking a goal. We take turns at throw-ins; we take turns at kicking off; we take turns subbing on and off the field. During practice, we take turns making shots at the goal. I can understand their confusion.
  So at our next practice, we'll talk about how you have to create your own opportunities to score a goal. It's a hard lesson to learn for kids who have been taught at every turn to share and take turns. Now we're telling them, "Go get the ball! Take it away!"
  Cookie, by the way, is not one of the kids having this mental block. She scored two goals in our first game. OK, so one of them was in the wrong goal, but I'm not going to worry about that!

From my mountaintop

2009-07-12T00:26:00.004-05:00

I am featured on the Homeschooling is Freedom blog by Debbie H. I don't remember much of what I said in the interview, so I'll have to go read it, too. She says I answer in riddles. Not on purpose, I assure you.

Update: OK, I'm the one who said I answer in riddles. Doh! I forgot about that!

Cookie loses a tooth — or two

2009-07-10T15:08:00.005-05:00

  Cookie will be 5 years old next week, not an unreasonable age to lose her first tooth. But it seems fitting to her personality that her first lost tooth didn't come about by waiting for nature to take its course. Instead, she fell and smacked her mouth on the basalt bedrock of a nearby creek.
  This creek runs through a city park where I was visiting with a friend. We had been at the creek, then climbed up the bank to have lunch. Gameboy ran back to the water with a friend, and Cookie followed him. I was thinking that I needed to check on her when Gameboy ran back to tell me that she had fallen, hit her teeth, and that the bottom two were loose. It took me a moment to remember that she still has all baby teeth.
  I was expecting to find quite a scene when I ran back to the creek, but she was just standing there, waiting for me. She wasn't crying. I think she was afraid that if she let on that she was hurt, I'd make her stop playing. I was told once by a zoo veterinarian that wild animals are like that, too; they mask their injuries so as not to appear weak.

  The teeth were still in her mouth when we left the river for home. About two hours later, one fell out. I think the other one won't be far behind.

Random day up the shore

2009-07-09T21:10:00.002-05:00

  Today I packed a lunch for me and the kids and said we were leaving but didn't know where. I started in the direction of Wisconsin, but then turned up the North Shore of Lake Superior. We passed our normal spot on the rocky beach, and then I had to decide whether to take the scenic route or the expressway that goes to the next town. Once choosing the expressway, our route was set to go at least that far.

  I still didn't have a plan; I just wanted to get out of the house. This lack of plan was obvious by how little thought I had given the weather, and the weird assortment of food in our lunch. We had carrot sticks, cheese sticks, pepperoni in its original bag, cheese crackers in their original bag, two pudding cups and a toaster pastry. But hey, it was food, we ate, and continued on our way north.

  After our strange lunch, I decided I wanted pie. We stopped at a place famous for its pies. I had rhubarb; Gameboy had apple and Princess had cherry. Cookie wanted gummy bears, and I said OK.
  Again we had to decide which way to go, and since we were so close to a state park, we continued north. If it were the kind of thing I were planning, I would have said it would be too crowded. But you know what? On days when it's crowded, the park plans activities! What a fun surprise to this crowd-avoider.

  We went to a class about birds.

  And we saw a nature cart full of skulls, big agates and a moose antler. Cool!

  The waterfalls were pretty. (Their paper airplanes are from their bird class.)

  The rock formations were the same as I remember as a kid.
  We were gone for four-and-a-half hours, and when we got home, I was pooped!

Rock store

2009-06-30T00:00:00.004-05:00

I took the kids to the beach today, the beach made up of round, water-tumbled rocks. They spent the better part of an hour playing "rock store." To play this game, you decide where on the beach your store will be, then you stock it with rocks. You take turns shopping at each other's stores, paying for your purchases with, you guessed it — more rocks.
On the one hand, it is always heart-warming to see how well the kids play together. On the other hand, that seems like a really weird game to keep them occupied for so long.

Artwork is a watercolor painting by Peg Sandin.

Father's Day 2009

2009-06-22T13:06:00.003-05:00

My family went on a nice walk for Father's Day.

It's nice to live by so much nature.

A day at the Renaissance fair

2009-06-18T10:17:00.004-05:00

  Every year about 10 miles from my home, there is a Renaissance festival that I never go to. After it's done, I kick myself for not getting better organized and getting out of the house. But this year was the year. We got some costumes together to save on the entry fee and I took the kids. I didn't tell them much about what it would be like because I thought the surprise would be fun.

  Gameboy did not want to go. His opinion changed, however, the second we drove onto the grassy-field parking lot and he saw other kids in costumes with toy weapons. "Oh, man!" he said. "I should have brought my sword and shield from Disney World!"
  "Don't you have a sword back there?" I asked, because the chance is pretty high that there's a toy sword lurking in the back of my minivan. And there was. He had his plastic Lord of the Rings "Sting" sword to put in the loop of his cape. (A cape I made, by the way.)
  By the time we had parked the van and were getting out, he was saying, "Thanks for bringing me, Mom. I think I was just feeling kind of tired before. I didn't understand what this would be like."

  And what was it like?
  Sword fights.

  Jousting.

  More jousting.

  Bawdy humor that Gameboy was old enough to understand. ("Whose 'sword' is longer?" That kind of thing.)

  Here I am with the beer-brewing nuns.

  The nuns took a picture of all of us as we were on our way out. Look at Cookie's face and you'll know I forced her to get in the picture. She was half the reason we were leaving anyway, plus I had to work that evening.

  I didn't imagine things would get as expensive as they did. The girls rode horses for $6 each the minute we got there. We bought root beer floats for $4 each. My Scottish meat pie was $7. We spent $15 on game tickets. Plus we had to pay to get into the place. If we go next year, this is something I'll have to save up for.

  After the horse ride, the girls wanted to get their faces painted. That was $10 each, but since they've never, ever gotten their faces painted by a real face painter, we did it.

  I think this photo of Princess was worth the cost of the entire day.

The noodle incident

2009-06-15T21:44:00.006-05:00

  I was working on the computer today and could hear the girls playing outside. Things must have turned ugly because Cookie started screaming and pleading. "[Sister's name]! I sowwy! Don tell mom! Are you gonna tell Mom?"
  It was loud enough for the neighbors to hear. I waited a few minutes and was happy to see that Princess was not going to tell Mom. (I think Cookie crumpled up their pirate-treasure map. There is no confirmation, but you know that as a mom, I know.)
  I think Princess used good judgment. This was not a tell-mom situation. She needs to learn how to handle something like this without tattling. It might sound like I'm setting the stage for my children to conspire against me, but I want them to show loyalty to each other.
  The event reminded me of last week's noodle incident, which was the rare occasion — and I mean rare — where I think tattling was the right thing to do.
  Cookie was resisting eating her dinner because the shape of noodles I picked out was wrong. I didn't know that she'll eat bow-ties and gemelli but not rigatoni. I was standing firm that she didn't have to eat it, but if she wanted to eat something, that was it. No skipping the noodles for a chocolate-chip cookie.
  Her surly mood suddenly and oddly brightened. "OK Mom," she said. "I'll eat it."
  In a minute, she brought me her plate to show that it was about one-third gone. I told her "good job" and she went back to the table. A minute later, she returned again, and more noodles were gone. I noticed she didn't have any pesto or cheese on her face. Nor were her cheeks stuffed with noodles. I was beginning to smell a rat, but I didn't say anything.
  She returned again with an empty plate, and I went with her back to the table to have a look. I did not believe she ate the noodles. I thought she had forked them onto the plate of her brother and sister, plates that were still sitting on the table. But the noodles were not there. She must have eaten them.
  I gave her a cookie, and she ran upstairs.
  That's when Gameboy quietly came up to me with a sad look on his face. "Mom," he whispered, and pointed under the table.
  A little basket sat on the floor, one that the girls use for playing. The basket was full of noodles. I'd been tricked after all.
  Obviously, I could not let Cookie get away with this. I sweetly and evily called her back downstairs. We both had smiles on our faces as she approached, holding her cookie. When she got close enough, I took it away. "I'm taking your cookie," I said, "and you're going to show me what's in that basket under the table."
  The look on her face seemed to get that zoom-in-and-out-at-the-same-time thing you see in horror movies. It was awful. She was crying and wailing "I sowwy!" when her father walked in from outside. Then I said in a steely tone: "And now you're going to show Dad what's in the basket." (Poor guy didn't know what he'd walked into. A basketful of noodles? Huh?)
  Cookie ran upstairs sobbing. She did her yelling thing, which I resist recording, but will probably always remember anyway. "Everybody mad at me! I can't take it! Me not happy! Me so sowwy! Me want mine cookie!" Stuff like that.
  I waited about 15 minutes for her to stew in it and feel really sorry, then I went upstairs. It was time for bed, she could have some warm milk, but no cookie. I told her that I believed she was sorry, and that we didn't have to talk about the noodles any more. If a kid refuses to eat a meal and ends up skipping it, I think we should start the next meal with a clean plate.
  She went to sleep pretty easily after all that. I had to wake her in the morning because were going somewhere. The second she opened her eyes, she asked, "Do I have to eat my noodles?" I told her no. "Oh, good," she said.

Google image from a recipe at virginmedia.com.

S'mores

2009-06-08T23:16:00.004-05:00

  Marshmallows are too sweet for me to really like them, but I'll have a s'more if the opportunity arises. We're having such a cold spell with the weather lately, we've been firing up the fire pit outside to take our minds off the gloom.

  The kids love the feeling that they're cooking. Here, Princess expresses relief that her marshmallow didn't burn. Unlike the days of my youth, when I liked the burned charcoal outside of an overdone marshmallow, my kids have to suffer through childhood with a mother who tells them that the charcoal is carcinogenic, so don't eat it.

  S'mores time means I don't care how much gunk they're eating. They can't wrap their minds around it.
  "Can I have another one?"
  "Have as many as you want."
  "Really?"
  "Yes! I don't care! Have as many as you want!"
  That's s'more rules, right? We got the graham crackers, chocolate bars, marshmallows. We found long sticks and sharpened them. We built this big fire. After all that work, I'm not going to stop you after eating just one.

  It's possible Gameboy at 10. I really don't know.

  Trying to get a good photo of marshmallows in the fire, I finally realized I had my camera on the wrong setting.
  "Stick them back in the fire so I can get a better picture," I told them.
  "Mom!" they protested.
  "Oh, come on," I said, "just for five seconds."
  They complied, but the picture still didn't turn out.
  "OK," I said. "One more time, real quick."
  "NO!" They refused.
  I left them alone and settled on my blurry photo. You can't risk burning the marshmallows, not even for mom's blog.

Our homeschool co-op

2009-06-04T00:04:00.003-05:00

There are more kids in our homeschool co-op, but this is the most we could round up for an end-of-year photo at our end-of-year picnic. I like the wide age range of this group. The younger kids look up to the older kids and learn from them. Meanwhile, the older kids learn patience and empathy by working with the little ones. See the teenager holding the 1-year-old?

Crabby kite story

2009-05-28T20:44:00.003-05:00

  Wednesday was windy, and we took two kites to a spacious park. I was getting the second one ready while Princess flew the first one. It took her awhile to understand that you don't have to run around to get the kite in the air if it's windy enough. It became clear that the part about kites she finds fun is running around with them, trying to get them into the air.

  While I wasn't watching, Princess gave the kite to Cookie to hold. I didn't know this until Princess yelled, and I looked up to see her running across the field after the kite, which had taken out all its string and broken free.
  The kite flew across a field, over an enormous abandoned boat slip and miraculously got tangled in an apple tree next to a cement plant. What remained of the handle was tangled about waist high. The kite pulled on its string high in the sky. In this second picture, the kite is visible as a dot.

  These handles somehow popped off the tube that the string was tied to. If the string had come off, we would have lost the kite. If the pink tube hadn't gotten tangled in the apple tree, we would have lost the kite. If I had had a pocket knife, we would have "lost" the kite sometime during the next 20 minutes that it took me to reel it back in. I made the girls stay in the van so they wouldn't hear anything I might say.

  The kite almost made it to the industrial area nearby where ocean-going ships are filled with grain, and trains are loaded with taconite and limestone. That would have been kind of funny, for a ship to unload in Brazil and find our kite.
  But no. I got to reel that sucker back in and learn that kite-flying is overrated.

And besides, my kids were just in that mouse play

2009-05-17T23:11:00.003-05:00

  It was almost one o'clock in the morning when I heard a sound that was at once familiar and hard to place. Two seconds later, though, the familiar took over and I realized one of the cats must have caught a mouse. Squeek, squeek.
  When we moved into our house 11 years ago, it had a mouse problem. We have new siding now, and a lot of other work has been done to keep out mice, and I don't think we've had one in a couple years. When you live in the woods, though, it's going to happen.
  Tabby was the one who found the mouse, traumatizing it by playing with it. Cats don't know how to kill a mouse unless their mother taught them, but they still know there's something about them that they like. The mouse ran when it saw me, and the cat kept her keen ears on it, helping me to throw a plastic box over it.
  In the past when we've caught a mouse, we drive it down the street several miles and let it loose at a golf course. We don't want to let it go in the yard, just to find its way back into the house. We don't want to let it loose by a neighbor's yard, either. The exception to this live-release policy happened when Gameboy was 8 months old. I was trying to catch a mouse, and it jumped on my baby. I went all Mama Bear on it, took the mouse outside and smashed it on a rock. Then I broke down sobbing. (New Mom hormones can be hard.)
  I gave this mouse more thought.
  "I could drive it to the golf course right now, but [DH] might hear me leaving and wonder what's going on."
  "I could wake him up to tell him I'm taking a mouse to the golf course. ... No. He doesn't want me waking him up at 1 a.m. to hear that."
  "I could leave it in the box until morning, but it would probably suffocate."
  "I could build a new box with air holes. But it still might freeze to death. And I don't want to build a temporary mouse house right now. It's one in the morning."
  "I could kill it right now. ... No, I don't want to kill it!"
  "If I just let it go, it might be back in the house by morning."
  I looked out at the dark woods and imagined the hundreds of mice that must live out there. One more wouldn't hurt.
  I let it go in the yard, but secretly hoped that it was so stunned from its experience that an owl quickly snatched it up.

Clear of clutter

2009-05-10T23:23:00.003-05:00

  Often on Mother's Day, our family goes on the "Parade of Homes" tour sponsored by local builders. They have open houses for newly built homes — which we cannot afford to buy, by the way.

  The girls, especially, love the feeling of slipping around in their socks on the shiny new floors and spreading out on the new carpet. Never mind that the house is full of other people also touring the place!
  I told them I think what they like is the openness and cleanliness of a house without clutter; it's not so much about the houses themselves. They were unconvinced that we could replicate this feeling if we got rid of half our stuff.
  "I like to have mine house with mine toys in it!" Cookie exclaimed.
  I imagine no matter how big a person's house is, it tends to get filled with stuff. I have been de-cluttering for a week, and today's tour of empty homes has strengthened my resolve.