And I'll Raise You 5

7 Quick Takes: Volume 48, The "Thank You, Jesus!" Edition

2012-01-27T10:14:00.000-08:00

Today's quick takes are brought to you by the Mad Dash Dance. On the way to school this morning I needed to make sure we (my kids and I) had the following seven items:

~1~

One completed 4th Grade Mission project. Did you know that the Mission San Antonio de Padua was the location of the very first Catholic wedding in California? Or that it was the first Alta California mission to use fired tiles on its roof? Or that this mission was particularly known for beautiful music?

I knew all that! Thanks to my 4th grader, anyway.

~2~

One signed 7th Grade homework tally sheet. Oh, and one 7th Grader, who has been home sick for two days, so it wasn't quite the slam dunk you'd think it would be not to leave him behind.

~3~

A small baggie with 6 homemade chocolate chip cookies in it, for the 2nd Grader to give to her teacher and the teacher's aide. Because we made cookies last night, and Lady E wanted to share. ♥

~4~

Art pieces for the 6th Grader to put up in his classroom. Open House is this weekend, and since we haven't been back at school for very long, my kids don't have as many projects to display as their classmates. So my son's 6th grade teacher told him he could bring in some of his art from home. Here's one of the pieces we brought.

~5~

My computer, so I could squirrel away in a cafe and do some work while waiting for the kids Noontime Dismissal. With my errands and such, it doesn't make much sense to go back home for a half day, so I had to make sure I had everything I needed to maximize my productivity while sipping a latte at Peets. Hmmmm. Maybe putting the kids back in school has some perks I hadn't figured on. :)

~6~

One application to the Oakland School for the Arts, due today.

~7~

And the one thing I didn't leave the house with: something that starts with the letter 'J'.

Image Credit: http://www.printfection.com/shop/alphabet

Friday is Sharing Day in Kindergarten, which isn't quite a habit for us yet. So of course, it occurs to me just as we enter the classroom. And there are all the other Kindergardeners, walking in with their seemingly unharried mothers, happily clutching their J items and snickering into their red school sweatshirts about Little T's scatter-brained mommy. I swear, they were snickering. Meanies.

Meanwhile, I'm helping the 4th grader schlep a two-part mission, while also carrying two large art projects, Little T's backpack, two Kindergarten readers that somehow came out of the backpack, and an errant sweatshirt, and I'm thinking to myself: "I remembered every other damn thing we needed, so why do I feel like such a loser for not having made sure Little T would have something to share?" I told my daughter that when it was her turn to share, she could say: "I brought Just Me."

Lame.

I ran down to my car and started tossing things all over the place looking for the letter J. An old wooden sandal...some stamps (oooo -- I needed stamps for those pesky bills I have to mail today! Score!)...dried up markers...an empty Rubio's cup...books, books, books...lots of drawing paper covered with very skinny girls with very large heads and Anime eyes...does any of this start with J??? And then I saw it, stuffed in the bottom of a dingy yellow bin, sitting in a little nest of crumbs and discarded wrappers: a very beat up Baby's Bible, with the spine weakly taped up with ineffectual scotch tape. Bingo! A book about JESUS! We have our J item!

I ran back up the stairs and into the Kinder class. Breathlessly, I knelt down next to Little T and said: "Here's your J item to share, honey! It's a book about Jesus, and Jesus starts with J!" She smiled a big wide grin, nodded her head vigorously, and said: "Oh! Cool!"

THANK YOU, JESUS!

* * *

Please visit our host, and click through to a few of the other Quick Takers.

And I hope you have a jovial, jazzy, jocund, jaunty Friday! May you be neither jaded nor jinxed nor jittery!

Signed,

Just Me

How?

2012-01-26T11:34:00.000-08:00

We are back at school. One of my kids hates it. Let's call the kid Pat, for the sake of this blog post, a non-gender specific name, and let's go with she as the pronoun to refer to Pat, just because.

So Pat is miserable. She is a smart, kind, funny, generous, well-grounded kid, and she is miserable. She loved homeschooling...or so she says now, looking back, never mind that some days, getting her to participate in a modicum of school-like activities was challenging to say the least. But I knew this transition would be toughest for her, of all the kids.

So she's truly miserable. It's only a little over a week into the new arrangement, so we can still give it time and still play the wait and see game. But here's the thing. She's really miserable.

And if there's one thing we moms hate, it's seeing our kid miserable, suffering, struggling to make sense of what seems like the senseless. One interesting wrinkle is that a handful of folks at the school have said things to me -- not aware that Pat is miserable -- that kind of tell an opposite story, that she's doing better than she's leading me to believe. That doesn't really surprise me, as I think I would exaggerate to make a point, were I in Pat's shoes too, and not all exaggeration is falsehood. So there's that.

But again. Miserable. After school, we have the sobbing, the gnashing of teeth, the questioning: "Why did you do this to me???" We have literally hours of homework to slog through. We have devastation and despair. We have tears and sadness and frustration.

I've tried many, many words to soothe the misery and help the poor kid out. Words are falling flat for now, and I'm left with only words for myself, a mantra that isn't quite working yet: Be patient. Be encouraging. Be hopeful. Wait for my words of wisdom to sink in, to show themselves to Pat as true. Be patient. This too shall pass.

So now, My Dear Internetters, I turn it to you: How do you best support a child who is miserable, when you cannot change the situation creating the misery, or at least cannot take him or her out of it, and when the child in question is highly, highly resistant to your efforts?

I want Pat to know she is loved, that she can handle this situation, that we are here to help, that the school is here to help, that good things can come out of bad situations, that she and we will prevail. I want her to face this challenge with all the support necessary to overcome it.

But how?

Help. Please. I need some rockin' good ideas.

* * *

A New One

2012-01-24T16:23:00.000-08:00

"Everyone get your lunch boxes out and finish your food!" It's a common refrain on the way home from school, sometimes followed by a tirade about the hungry children in the world, depending on how feisty I am feeling. The kids have given me every excuse in the book for why they didn't eat the lunch I packed. I got a new one today:

I didn't eat that cutie today because I love cuties so much, and it's so beautiful, that I wanted to save it!

Oooooh-kaaaay. So, you didn't eat your food because I gave you food you love?

And you won't eat your food if I send something you don't like either.

Looks like you will only be eating lunch on the weekends then.

* * *

Three Morning Morsels

2012-01-23T11:03:00.000-08:00

Parenting is like riding an endless pendulum set between hair-pulling frustration and spirit-soaring inspiration. Within the space of 15 minutes, a parent can find herself along many different points on the pendulum's path. Take this morning for instance: frustration, reprimand, surprise, and gratitude, all in the space of a car ride to school:

* * *

On our way out the door this rainy morning, I double-checked the raincoat status of my young charges. Lady E's response: "It's in my bag!" 15 minutes later, at school, I discover that by "my bag" she meant her soccer backpack, not her school backpack. Whuck?!?! So...Lady E...when I asked if you had your raincoat, you thought I was just confirming that you were leaving it behind in the backpack we were not taking with us to school??? Again: WHUCK?

* * *

Car trips to and from school, as the last week has reminded me, are fraught with arguments. Lots of bickering, sniping, and hurling of insults. Lots of general nastiness. Last Thursday, as I circled around a local bakery after school, searching for a parking space so I could take my kids in to get a treat, the general nastiness was in full effect. And bing! The light bulb went on. No bakery. No treats. No rewarding this behavior. I set a decree: Henceforth, I will not be taking my children for any after school treats until the car rides to and from school are devoid of meanness.

They were not happy. As I drove away from the bakery, bitter that I was not going to get an afternoon latte, the kids were silent and sullen. It was an improvement on the bickering.

Friday: no treats.

This morning: before I had even pulled away from my house, the verdict was in: no treats.

And then I got a shock. When I said "Remember guys, we won't be going to get any treats or snacks until I don't have to listen to car-fighting anymore," my oldest child said: "That's a really good solution, mom."

Huh? You -- my teenager -- think I had a good idea? REALLY? Wow.

Proof that sometimes I know what I'm doing AND that what I am doing works. Sometimes.

* * *

Little T is learning to read. Her older sister sat down with her the other day and read one of Little T's kindergarten readers with her. This morning, she told me that she remembered reading those "decodables" when she was a K-er. She said:

I remember sounding out the word P-O-N-D, and saying puh-ah-nnn-duh, and figuring out how to do that. And Mrs. Payne said: 'Very good Lola! That was very good!' And I got two stickers in my book that day!

What a great memory to have. I do not remember learning to read, but it seems that my daughter remembers the moment she was handed the keys to words and sounds and books and stories. It started with a pond, a great teacher, and a couple of stickers, and she hasn't looked back since. Thank God for teachers like Mrs. Payne and for memories like that one!

* * *

Parenting, like my kids, makes me dizzy.

* * *

7 Quick Takes, Volume 47

2012-01-20T10:53:00.000-08:00

Hello Friday! Love ya' baby! You look fabulous--what's your secret?

Here are some quick takes for your perusing pleasure. Please visit our lovely host and sample some links to other quick takers. And a little comment here and there wouldn't kill ya'.

~1~

Every year, we say we are going to have our taxes done early, and every year, we end up being big fat liars. This year? Taxes DONE. In the words of my 5 year old: BOO-YAH!

~2~

So yeah, the kids went back to school. I am sitting in an empty house, blogging with abandon, and reeling from the tornado that is my house in Getting Out The Door For School mode. Returning to school was a big decision. The thing about big decisions is that they aren't usually clear cut. There are pros, there are cons, and sadly, there is no great big neon sign pointing to the right answer.

THIS is what I need!
photo credit: Being Alexus

I loved homeschooling. It was damn hard, and it didn't always go well, and there were plenty of days when I felt certain I was accomplishing little more than ensuring the livelihood of my childrens' future therapists. But the kind of education we all enjoyed, and the "off the grid" lifestyle, and the moments of radiance, all of that made it great.

So why are they back at school? It's complicated. It's part financial -- I can work if they are in school and increase our income; it's part administrative, as in the school administration changed and the whole place is moving in a positive direction; it's part preparation, for the different directions my older kids want to go.

I do wish big life decisions came with some kind of assurance, a certificate or something that would officially decree that THIS WILL BE GOOD.

Lacking that, I'll just have to wait and see. Hate that.

~3~

My 11 year old son is getting ready to apply to the Oakland School for the Arts, a public charter school for grades 6 through 12. Students are required to apply and audition in their chosen arts area: his is visual art. We toured the school a few weeks ago, and he really, really, really wants to get in. There is no question that he is talented, but we have no way of knowing what kind of talent he will be competing against for the open slots.

I want this for him. Bad.

Wish him luck! Say a prayer! Send positivity out into the universe! Say another prayer, because that vague positivity stuff is a little wishy-washy if you ask me!

And come on. Look at this. I mean, really. I ask you. What other decision could they make? Really. Am I right? Of course I am.

~4~

My other son begins rehearsals next week for A Midsummer Nights Dream. That's by Shakespeare, you know.

This production is put on by The Greenwood Players, a group made up entirely of young people. Students in middle and high school direct and act, create the sets and costumes, design the programs, and handle all of the logistics, and my kid gets to participate for free.

And so today, the recipient of the Faith in Humanity Restoration Award goes to the amazing kids of the Greenwood Players. You are an inspiration to the rest of us, and a lovely antidote to the news of the day.

~5~

Funny text mishaps: I wrote a text today to let a friend know what time I would drop by to give her something, and accidentally wrote: "I'll be on my way to pick my kids." After re-reading it, I got a little chuckle, imagining myself at the school saying: "OK, I'll take that one...and that one...but definitely not that one...hmmm, who else do I want today?" Maybe I could come home with a whole new set of 5! That might be interesting for awhile!

And that of course made me think of the time my phone autocorrected another text of mine that was supposed to say:

"I will have kids with me."

"I will have LSD with me."

Wow! That sure would be a game changer!

What's your favorite autocorrect story? And if you haven't seen this site, then I suggest hiding from the children (this is definitely not kid-friendly content) and get ready to laugh so hard you'll cry, spit, snort, and possibly pee.

~6~

We watched Super 8 for our family movie night a few weeks ago. That was a great movie. Did y'all see it? If not, do yourself a favor and rectify that situation. Heart, humor, terror, and an alien. What more do you need?

~7~

I can't think of a final take, so I'll leave you with a photo of one cute newly-minted Kindergartener:

Look out world! Little T has been unleashed!

I Would Like To Live...

2012-01-19T21:09:00.001-08:00

...inside my 9 year old daughter's imagination:

* * *

Things Change

2012-01-16T09:04:00.000-08:00

It's garbage day here at Casa Airy5. That used to mean mayhem. But children get older, and garbage day doesn't signal delirium around here anymore.

* * *

Every morning, I get up before the kidlets and sit on the couch strategizing about how I'm going to survive the day. It's a golden quiet time for me. Little T is always the first one to get up, and as soon as she does, my solitude endeth. She demands cuddling, breakfast, attention, conversation.

But children get older.

This morning, I heard the tell tale thuds on the stairs as a sleepy Little T made her way to the living room. I prepared for the end of solitude with my usual dismay. But did she immediately smash up right next to me and begin making demands? No. She did this:

And my heart did sing.

Things change.

Halleluia.

* * *

The Question Before Us

2012-01-16T07:34:00.000-08:00

From Martin Luther King Jr.'s final speech, April 3, 1968:

That's the question before you tonight.

Not, "If I stop to help the sanitation workers, what will happen to my job?"

Not, "If I stop to help the sanitation workers what will happen to all of the hours that I usually spend in my office every day and every week as pastor?"

The question is not, "If I stop to help this man in need, what will happen to me?"

The question is: "If I do not stop to help the sanitation workers, what will happen to them?" That is the question.

* * *

* * *

Text and video of MLK Jr.'s "Mountaintop" speech can be found here.

* * *

When You Have A Noisy Family...

2012-01-15T20:26:00.000-08:00

...your five year old will say, after a particularly loud and lively car trip: "Someone owes me some quiet!"

Also, when you have a noisy family, and you attempt to soothe your 7 year old's disappointment over not being able to go with the bigger kids to a Saint Mary's College basketball game by saying, "You wouldn't like it! It's super crowded, really noisy, and you probably wouldn't be able to see over the people in front of you," she will say: "Yeah! It's just like our family! I can do that!"

In the immortal words of Russell Brand in Bedtime Stories: she's got a point there.

Also, when you have a noisy family, your head spins a lot.

* * *

Why I Can't Solve the Fruit Problem

2012-01-11T15:03:00.000-08:00

So I decide to follow the suggestion from wifemotherexpletive and keep my fruit in a large bowl on the dining room table. I head to the dining room table and see that it's covered with stuff: the CD collection my spouse started culling through on New Years Day...art projects (damn the art projects!) ...newspapers ...folded laundry waiting to be whisked away by the Laundry Fairy (whose name is Bruce) and tucked into dresser drawers ...several sticks carved into extremely sharp weapons by my 11 year old ...and a whole bunch of other stuff.

I can't put my fruit bowl there.

But wait–I CAN put my fruit bowl there if I just organize stuff a little bit! So I head to the closet where we keep games, DVDs, and CD's, thinking I'll just put the un-culled collection back where it goes. Step one in making the table a proper fruit bowl spot.

I can't get to the closet door. There are too many soccer backpacks, soccer balls, sweatshirts, and puzzle pieces in the way. And a great big bin full of wooden train tracks and building blocks. Damn Thomas.

Ooooooh-kay, I think; I'll just go out into the garage and re-make a space for the soccer backpacks. So I head to the garage. Being in here reminds me that I need to address the laundry pile. Yesterday, my kids cleaned their rooms -- which I had asked them to do because after folding mountains of laundry, I couldn't bring myself to go into their rooms and put any of it it away. I could have asked them to put their own laundry away, but I knew where that would end up: folded laundry dumped into already disasterous rooms willy nilly. I figured I could still make them put it all away, but after their floors were once again in plain view.

When my kids clean their rooms, I have one refrain: "Just because it's on your floor doesn't mean it's dirty! Fold that stuff and put it away! I don't want to waste water and time re-washing clothes that don't need it!"

And I sort of believe them that they separated the clean from the dirty, except that when I look at the pile of so-called dirty clothes on the floor of the garage, and when I contemplate that a mere 24 hours ago, I had straightened up in here and done all the current laundry, I have to fight the urge to stab the 1-800-GOT-GYPSIES icon on my phone's contact list.

OOOOO-KAY! Get some laundry going and THEN make space for the soccer crap. Empty the dryer. Fold the finished load.

But wait.

I can't put the folded laundry on the laundry table because it's piled high with coats and jackets, the coats and jackets I pulled off of the hooks and nails that grace the walls along the narrow steps leading from my kitchen down into my garage. I did that a few weeks ago, because I was tired of the cluttered coat and jacket look and because they are forever falling onto the floor, where people step on them with dirty shoes, landing them in yes, you guessed it, the laundry pile. But I haven't found a place for the coats and jackets yet! So...I had to shove all that stuff to one side and make room for the folded laundry.

Back to the task at hand. Or rather, back to whatever is currently interrupting me from the task at hand. Move wet stuff from washer to dryer. Start washer up again. Curse the children. Step back, sort the remaining dirty stuff into baskets.

I turn my attention back to making space for...something...what was it? Soccer crap! That's it! Ooookey-dokey...where can I put that stuff? If I just rearrange this pile of extra chairs, maybe I can stack the backpacks in a nice neat row next to them. Should I sell these chairs? Finally recover them? Donate them? I give many precious minutes over to this issue. I tried giving them away on Freecycle a few months ago and the people who said they were going to come get them flaked on me. Plus, I'm afraid the Goodwill truck will reject me; sometimes Goodwill denies larger furniture items, and I don't want a repeat of that ridiculously frustrating experience. What the heck, I'll try to sell them for a few bucks.

To sell them, I need to take pictures of them. To do that, I need to get them into the kitchen. To do that, I need to set up a staging area in my kitchen. To do that, I need to clear off my kitchen table and take out all the recycling that's been piling up. To do that, I need to take a little break and have a snack. Thank God the fruit bowls are right there in easy reach on my kitchen counter.

So you see, I can't solve the fruit bowl problem. I can't solve the problem because of art projects, CDs, soccer backpacks, Thomas trains, mountains of laundry, coats and jackets, shabby chairs, bags of recycling, and finally because of children.

I can't find a good place to keep my fruit bowl because I have children. Which is why 1-800-GOT GYPSIES is in my speed dial.

* * *

Today's Burning Issue

2012-01-10T08:52:00.000-08:00

What to do with the fruit?

I have a small kitchen and many children. I also have a fruit problem.

Because of the many children, I usually have lots of fruit on hand, especially bananas. Often, we go through all that fruit quickly. Right now, my method of storing fruit is to stick it all in bowls on my counter, usually one or two, sometimes three medium to large bowls. They take up lots of space on my counter.

I bought one of those metal wicker hanging baskets once and had it clanging around in the kitchen for a few months before I had to confront the fact that there really is no good place to hang it. All of the possible places are either too close to a bright window (sun and heat: no good for fruit) or too close to a traffic lane. That was a bummer. For me anyway, but not for some lucky Goodwill shopper.

So what do I do with all the fruit? It takes up space, sometimes goes bad, and generally looks cluttered sitting there on my counter. When we are out of fruit, which is rare, I like my kitchen much better than when we are stocked.

Is there a creative solution? Or should I just start feeding the kids canned and frozen fruit so I can have my counter space back?

* * *

Aren't my burning issues compelling? Tune in tomorrow when I discuss What To Do With All The Coats!

* * *

Even Children Get Older

2012-01-07T17:18:00.000-08:00

And I'm getting older, too.

See this picture?

I can't convey the nostalgia this picture represents for me and my husband. He took the kids out of the house today so I could sort socks -- which takes longer than fathomable -- and sent me pictures from their adventures. This one, of our littlest, got me. Caught in a rare resting moment, sipping on the hot chocolate I sent along with them (which, as it turns out, was their lunch; oops), she makes me happy just to look at her. I look at this picture and I know that despite our yelling, despite our particular brand of dysfunctional family, we are giving these kids a good childhood.

But that's not what gets me about this picture. It's the background. Because I can see where she is, at exactly what point along the trail around Lake Anza she is sitting. And it's a spot as old as the memory of my courtship with Rick, a spot I first came to know because of this other being we used to take care of:

To see my kids there, at the same spot we used to, in former childless days, toss the tennis ball into the lake for a tireless Chelsea to chase, the same spot we brought our wine and cheese in what we had no idea was the most carefree time in our lives, floods me with emotion.

Time whooshes by. Cherished dogs die, children grow up lightening fast, middles thicken, hairs gray...it takes my breathe away. Ever feel like you can't catch up? Like the world is speeding by and you've been too busy sorting socks to notice? Well, actually, I don't usually sort socks, hence the need to spend a good part of my afternoon doing just that, but something else then, something that takes up your time and keeps you from seeing what's happening right before your very eyes.

The older I get, the more I realize how complicated life is, and how much we need to cling to the simple, to the good dog, to the thermos cup of hot chocolate, to the hike in the woods, to the little tiny person who will not be tiny for more than a blink of my eye, to my spouse, the only other person in the world who truly understands our own version of complicated.

Socks and beer and a quiet house have rendered me a little mushy today. In about an hour, they will return, back from a place that someday will have as much meaning for them as it already does for me and their dad. Approximately three minutes after they return, I will be irritated with over 50% of them and wishing it were still quiet here. But right this minute, I can't wait to grab them when they come in, smell Tilden Park in their hair, and hold on to simple, uncomplicated love.

* * *

Who Knows?

2012-01-07T11:31:00.001-08:00

Maybe the new look will inspire me to write something.

Crazier things have happened.

* * *

Dorothy Saves Christmas

2011-12-16T15:31:00.000-08:00

I readily admit that the Christmas season kicks my butt.

I get overwhelmed by the pressure of it all, saddened by the consumerism, frustrated by the greed, and worried about spending the money.

Tis' the Season to completely freak out.

But this year, I felt myself compelled to seek out an old friend, a book, actually, by a personal hero of mine, Dorothy Day. The book is The Long Loneliness, and I picked it up this morning and started re-reading it.

"We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community." --Dorothy Day

If I stay with these pages, I think I'll make it to the Epiphany in fine form. Thank you Dorothy.

* * *

7 Quick Takes: The Christmas List Edition

2011-12-09T09:10:00.001-08:00

Seven quick Christmas wishes for my family.

~1~

For Little T: My wish for you this Christmas is that you learn to think first and scream second. Because that thing you do in the car, when you object to something I'm saying, or something someone else is saying, that blood-curdling shriek? I think it endangers us on the road and I would like it to stop. Lest you think this is a selfish wish, I have the best interest of your vocal cords in mind here, sweetheart. You could probably do permanent damage to them if you keep up that obnoxious behavior.

And I also wish for you that you charge into 2012 with as much joy and verve as you are closing 2011 with. And maybe a movable stuffed animal puppy.

~2~

For Lady E: My wish for you this Christmas is that the adults around you find ways to respond to your bright, inquisitive, lightening-quick mind. May that brain be lit on fire and may that fire grow and grow throughout your life. May you remember us little people when you are famous for some fantastic contribution to the life and culture of humanity.

And I also hope that your siblings put several "TEASING FREE DAY" coupons in your stocking. They are ruthless, aren't they?

~3~

For La-La-Loopsie: I wish you so very much, my first born daughter: May you be showered with art supplies and soccer gear, and may you be deprived of mosquito bites, paper cuts, twisted ankles, broken bones, and bonked heads. We've had enough of those, yes?

And my other wish for you is also a wish for me: that you and I enter your tween years with the best possible mother-daughter relationship. May we talk and talk. May your inevitable disgust with me be delayed as long as possible. May the peace and promise of Christmas become the peace and promise of us, together.

~4~

For my 2nd born, Yeller-At-The-Wind: May you live in the land of art supplies and legos all the days of your life. And may there be Fire-Bellied Toads there, too. And a life-time subscription to National Geographic Kids. Sorry, I do not wish for an endless supply of nun-chucks and wii remotes.

But I do hope that for Christmas you receive the gifts of peace and confidence. Fortitude. Kindness. Thinking first, yelling second. (We could use a family-pack of that one around here.) May your amazing sense of humor continue to bring all of us laughter and joy. And perhaps I should also wish for a slight tempering of that sarcastic wit: trust me when I say it will get you into trouble in your life. This Christmas, let's hope Santa sticks a small box of mellowing agent in your stocking. And for you, dear son, may all your wishes come true.

~5~

And first born, O Great Experiment: My Christmas list for you, much like your own, is endless. Like I do for your brother, I first and foremost wish you peace and confidence. Confidence and peace. Peace and confidence. An infinite mantra of confidence and peace.

And so much more. I wish you parents that learn how to give you that confidence, parents who figure out how to set boundaries with more love than frustration, how to be detached so that you can grow up without us getting in your way but with as much help as we can provide.

I wish for you to be brave and strong. I wish for you to break your goal scoring record in a single season. I wish for you to play guitar until your fingers bleed. I wish for you to rest in the knowledge that you are loved beyond your comprehension and that your presence in the world fills me with gratitude. You are a light in this strange and complicated world. May you learn to walk by your own light, and not the lights of the strange and complicated world.

~6~

For my dear spouse: As one half of the sacramental We, I wish the same things for both of us: Sleep. Exercise. Good wine. Great beer. A quiet morning or two.

And what we need more than anything: Grace. To see our life with right eyes, to respond to broken dishes, spilled cider, car troubles, children's fights, miscommunications, muddy bathrooms, limited options, 1940's kitchens, and lost soccer balls with grace. To wake up with the confidence we need to give to our children. To treat them with the patience we want them to show each other. To enjoy them. Every day.

~7~

And for myself. See items 1-6 above. I seem to have a lot to wish for this Christmas. And none of it can be found at Target.

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Please visit Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes! Merry Christmas everyone!

* * *

The Price I'm Willing To Pay

2011-12-08T19:23:00.001-08:00

The other day a friend of ours brought 5 coca-cola cans over for my children. He was dropping off a bunch of other stuff, and thoughtfully decided to include the sodas so that I could enjoy the resulting caffeine-induced frenzy: THANKS!

This was in the morning. So of course, I didn't let anyone have a soda that early in the day. And even though coca-cola cans look exactly alike, and even though it does not matter which one you get, my 5th born child decided that one particular can was definitely hers. She wanted a label on hers while the cans chilled in the fridge. She brought me a very small slip of paper and instructed me to write the following on it:

"No one drink this soda, because it's Tallulah's and if you drink it, then after I take it back and drink it I will hit you in the head with it."

She knows how to protect her own.

And no, she doesn't get that violent streak from me. I am a peace-loving person. And I don't even like soda.

I don't know where she gets it. I don't know why she calls people stuck in traffic "suck-ahs" as we comfortably pass them from the carpool lane. I don't know why she asks her sisters questions like: "Do you want the passcode to my butt?" I don't know why she screams like a chimpanzee whenever anyone is saying something she doesn't want to hear.

But I do know, without a doubt, that this is one joyful, free, confident, irrepressible kid.

And I know I'm willing to put up with a lot in exchange for a joyful, free, confident, irrepressible kid.

* * *

Just for Fun

2011-12-03T14:35:00.001-08:00

CHEERS!

* * *

You Never Know

2011-12-02T17:01:00.001-08:00

My husband used to be a teacher.

Actually, I should rephrase that: My husband is a teacher, and he used to get paid to teach full time.

Six years ago (or was it 7?), he left the classroom for the garden, and began designing native plant gardens for a living. He's good at it. He created a virtual paradise for us here, and when other people started asking him for help in their own gardens, he -- we -- took the leap and he changed careers. He can visualize and then create really beautiful outdoor spaces.

But he's a teacher at heart.

Flash forward six years. (Or maybe 7?) The other night, he stopped into a local liquor store to get me, his grateful and lucky wife, some Stone IPA. There, behind the counter, was a former student.

"Mr. A! Whoa--that is so wierd! I was just talking about you an hour ago!"

This was a kid Mr. A remembers well, and was delighted to see. But an hour ago? So Mr. A asked him why on earth he was thinking about his high school English teacher one hour ago. And the kid (young adult) said:

"Because I was writing a poem."

Could there be more golden words to an English teacher?

Turns out, this kid (young adult) works part time at the liquor store, part time at a local hardware store, both of which help him write and play music. And with the good fortune or Rick walking into his liquor store (the good fortune of Rick having a thirsty wife), he had a chance to do something not many of us ever have a chance to do: tell a teacher that he or she made a difference. He had a chance to tell his teacher that he has never forgotten the lessons he learned in Rick's class, that Rick was the kind of teacher that a student takes with him everywhere he goes in his life.

He was writing a poem. And that reminded him of his high school English teacher.

You never know what impact you have on the people around you. Unless they tell you.

Go tell someone what they mean to you. It will make their day. I know, because over the top of my Stone IPA bottle, I could see the light in my husband's eyes as he told me all about this chance, and most fortuitous, meeting.

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 45

2011-11-11T07:56:00.001-08:00

~1~

This week marked the birthday of Dorothy Day, one of my personal heroes and saints. So this first take is devoted to her. She said:

The greatest challenge of the day is:

how to bring about a revolution of the heart, a revolution

which has to start with each one of us?

In the midst of the Occupy movements happening all over the country, this question is more relevant than ever.

I have two books to recommend in honor of Dorothy's birthday. The first is hers, The Long Loneliness, a wonderful, spiritually uplifting book about her conversion, her life and her work. The second is the book The Life You Save May Be Your Own: An American Pilgrimage, by Paul Elie. Described by its publisher as "the story of four modern American Catholics who made literature out of their search for God," this engaging book weaves together the biographies of Dorothy Day, Flannery O'Connor, Walker Percy, and Thomas Merton. I received this book as a gift years ago, and although it's been awhile since I read it, it remains a well-loved favorite. If not for my wonderful husband and five beautiful children (so, if not for my entire life), I would run off to live a life like these four people did: part social activist, part hermit contemplative, all writer.

Both books are well worth your time and your brain.

* * *

And that's the only important take I've got today. The rest are silly little things my kids did and said this week, and a couple of odds and ends:

~2~

Son: "Mom, can a marriage survive without dishonesty?"

Mom: "You mean without honesty."

Son, with twinkle in eye: "No, I mean dishonesty. Can a marriage survive without it?"

Mom: "Remind me to be less sarcastic with my next family."

Because clearly, it's too late with this one.

~3~

Son, looking at an animal encyclopedia: "MOM! Did you know there's such a thing as a SPERM WHALE?"

And before mom can answer, he runs out of the room to find his brother and shouts: "I KNOW WHY THAT WHALE IS NAMED MOBY DICK! BECAUSE HE'S A SPERM WHALE!!!!!"

~4~

No words needed. And none could I find.

~5~

Late one night, just as I was drifting off to bed, I heard the alarm on my son's phone go off.

BREEP BREEP, breep breep. BREEP BREEP, breep breep. BREEP BREEP, breep breep. BREEP BREEP, breep breep. BREEP BREEP, breep breep. BREEP BREEP, breep breep. BREEP BREEP, breep breep.

The darn thing doesn't stop until someone presses the OK button. And this has happened before. Once, the phone was right next to him, and it woke up his brother, but not him, and his poor brother didn't know how to turn it off and was tormented by it for 15 minutes before he came and got me. (And yes, I suggested that next time he wake up his brother, and not me.)

This time, the phone was in the living room, and neither boy heard it. But I did, even though I was upstairs. Disgusted, I threw the warm blankets off, and stormed downstairs in righteous indignation. What is so important that he needs to set an alarm for this hour? I picked up the phone and gave the OK button a vigorous, annoyed poke. And then saw the event that was important enough for him to set an alarm: Mom's Birthday.

Oh. OK. That's worth it. Except he slept through it. But it's the thought that counts. I guess.

~6~

We went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium this week. What an amazing place. My favorites sighting? The Leafy Sea Dragon! This creature is, I think, the single most amazing living thing I've ever laid eyes on:

I want to be this guy!

I made the boys super mad at me right before we left the house that morning by telling them they could not bring their ipods. Call me crazy, but I sort of wanted to have a shared experience, even of the driving time, and wasn't interested in watching them bury their faces in electronic devices and plugging their ears with headphones. So we had a high grump factor as we began our day. But then, we listened to the story From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler during the car trip, both directions, and lo and behold, they all loved it. This is a great story, so I guess I'm offering up a second Recommended Reading (or Listening).

The day was great. The traffic at the tail end nearly killed me. I can't wait to go back.

~7~

My youngest asked me this week: "Mommy, how does a person come from another person if the person the new person comes from is already in the world?"

Translation: how are babies made?

I think she was confused because we had been talking a few days earlier about how we all come from God. So she's thinking something like: "Wait. A baby comes from God? I thought a baby comes from a mommy. And a mommy is here, not in Heaven with God. So what's the deal with that?"

I told her that it's kind of like planting a seed, and that God (!) plants that seed inside a mommy, and then the baby grows from there. She said:

"I don't get it."

I tried again with basically the same idea. She said:

"I don't get it! How does a plant become a person?"

I tried to explain that the seed in question is not a plant seed, that it's a person seed. She said:

"Whatever. Can I have some candy?"

Yes, sweet Jesus, yes!

* * *

Please visit the 7 Quick Takes host at Conversion Diary, follow a few links to other Quick Takers, and throw out a comment or two.

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 44

2011-11-04T10:02:00.000-07:00

I don't care if Monday's blue • Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too • Thursday I don't care about you • It's Friday, I'm in love.

And it's Friday, I'm writing Quick Takes.

~1~

Time to say goodbye to our 2011 Birthday Season! Every Fall, we have 4 kid birthdays in 6 week. The last one was a few weeks ago, but the party is officially tonight. I am hosting four little girl guests for a sleepover. There will be pizza. There will be face painting. There will be movie watching. There will be cake.

There will be a tired mommy at the end.

Hopefully, there will be a happy 7 year old at the end, too.

And thus endeth the AIRY5 2011 birthdays. If I start planning now, maybe the 2012 birthday season will go a bit more smoothly.

~2~

And this great advice letter made the rounds on Facebook this week; I've seen it before (it's been around since 2007), maybe you have too, but certainly, it's worth another read or two or ten.

Thankfully, I have no friends who have ever expressed the ignorance of the letter writer, who basically admits that she doesn't understand what a stay at home mother does all day or why a stay at home mother has less time for other people. I've never heard someone be so blunt and clueless about the subject before. So it's not really the in-your-face, take-that quality of Carolyn Hax's response that I enjoy, although that is pretty delightful. Rather, it's the reminder to me of what I do all day long. It's easy to forget what we moms are doing here, raising kids and such. Stay at home dads (HM) too. Anyway, everyone should read this, especially if you are in the trenches, wiping butts and noses, cleaning messes, doing laundry, negotiating toddler peace deals, and wondering where you put your sense of humor.

~3~

Obligatory halloween costume photos.

Jessie

Andy Samberg, Random Clown, Judy Jetson

Pajama Girl

~4~

I ♥ Stephen Colbert. And Michael Pollan. And food. So this video clip? Is golden.

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Michael Pollan

www.colbertnation.com

Colbert Report Full Episodes

Political Humor & Satire Blog

Video Archive

~5~

If you live in the Bay Area, and you like nurseries and finding lovely native plants to stick in your garden, there is a little out of the way nursery you really must visit. Native Here Nursery, which is part of the California Native Plant Society, is a fantastic small nursery located in Tilden Park. Going to visit is like stepping into another world. It's quiet and woodsy. The plants are healthy and inviting. You'll feel like you stumbled upon a well-kept secret. And you can combine the trip with a hike in Tilden Park and a visit to the Botanic Gardens.

You really must go.

~6~

My kitchen, this morning. Kid X turned around and shouted at Kid Y, for no reason: "YOU'RE DUMB!"

Five minutes later, Kid Y walks into the living room and whacks Kid X, who responds with incredulity.

Mom: "Well, if you shout at someone and tell them they are dumb, you should expect them to be unhappy with you. It's not surprising she would lash out at you."

Kid X: "Oh come on. That was five whole minutes ago. And she already hit me for that!"

Oh, well, in that case, it makes no sense whatsoever.

Sigh. Kid logic makes me crazy.

~7~

And one more little Halloween gem for your enjoyment. This Shouts and Murmurs column appeared in the Oct. 24th 2011 New Yorker magazine. I think you will enjoy it.

* * *

Please go visit Conversion Diary, the host of 7 Quick Takes, visit the links of 7 Quick Takers playing along, and through out some comments.

* * *

Support The Writer's Almanac

2011-11-03T08:39:00.000-07:00

I received an email this morning that started out like this:

Dear Friend of The Writer’s Almanac,

We’re writing because we need your help to support The Writer’s Almanac digital content, such as our daily e-mail newsletter, podcasts and extensive audio archive.

You can listen to The Almanac in the time it takes you to drink one cup of coffee or make one sandwich. Its purpose has been to make five minutes beautiful and memorable.

That's all it took. I clicked through. I gave some money. Because The Writer's Almanac does make five minutes of my morning memorable and beautiful. Not that I get to listen everyday. In fact, I listen maybe 50% of the time, and 50% of that time, my kitchen is too loud for me to really hear anything.

BUT! I still love it, and when a little gem of information or poetry breaks through the cacophony, my day is enriched. If you are so inclined, join me. Click here and give.

Poetry, history, anecdotes, and Garrison Keillor's lovely, soothing, resonant voice: that's a pretty great way to start the day.

* * *

Mission #1

2011-11-02T16:50:00.000-07:00

* * *

7 Quick Takes, Volume 43

2011-10-28T09:18:00.000-07:00

~1~

The five AIRY5 children are all sick. That's 5 stuffy noses, 5 sore throats, 5 aching heads. Time for 5 little shots of whiskey, all for mom to make it through the day!

Since everyone is sick, this will have to be the quickest 7 takes ever. So for the remaining 6, here are some homeschooling takes I've been thinking about lately:

~2~

I highly recommend Draw Write Now for Language Arts for young children. My girls are all enjoying these activities immensely, and ask to do them even when we aren't "doing" school. Here are some of our creations:

~3~

Reading out loud is magical. We are currently reading By the Great Horn Spoon, by Sid Fleischman. Reading out loud makes us slow down and spend time together. By reading out loud to my kids, I have discovered that my reluctant readers are amazing listeners: their comprehension is outstanding, and I would not have known that without taking the time to read to them.

~4~

When I showed the kids on an atlas that in order for gold-seekers to get from Boston to San Francisco, they had to sail all the way down to and around Cape Horn at the bottom of South America, my son said "Why didn't they just cut a channel through THERE???" pointing directly at the spot where the Panama Canal is today.

Great idea kid!

~5~

Tuesdays are movie day at our little escuela. I usually pick a movie that has some (but not oodles) of educational value. I mostly just look for great stories. This week, we watched Chariots of Fire. Last week, it was Maverick.

But this take is about Netflix. Oh Netflix, WHY is it that 95% of the movies we want to watch are not available via Instant Streaming? It's making me crazy. I think of a great movie, we get all excited, and then BAM! Our hopes are dashed by seeing the dreaded "not available" in the Netflix search results. Curse you, Netflix!

~6~

In a few weeks, we are going to the Monterey Bay Aquarium for a field trip. I'm a native Californian and I've never been there. I might be more excited than the children. If you've been there, please share a highlight: what should I be sure to see? What was your favorite part?

~7~

My little 5 year old is soaking up the learning.

Yesterday, I was flipping through Brain Quest cards with her older sister, and we came to this question: "If you have 12¢, and then you find 4 pennies, how much will you have?" The 7 year old guessed 14, and when I said "Nope! Try again!" the little one piped up: "16!" All 5 of us in the room did a double take.

She probably memorized it from hearing the same question before, but it was pretty darn funny, I must say. We all got a big kick out of it, and now, everywhere she goes, she's telling people she meets what 12 + 4 is.

* * *

Visit the original 7 Quick Takes at Conversion Diary. Click on a few links. Throw out a few comments. Enjoy your Friday.

* * *

Reward

2011-10-25T09:41:00.000-07:00

Today we locked wills.

Today, you wanted yeses and all you got were nos.

Today, we both shed tears of frustration for the same reason: not getting what we wanted.

I understand, my sweet.

I see your amazing strength, your goodness, your will to kindness. I see you.

So no, you are not just a handful, not just a challenge, not just defiant.

You are the light of the world.

And in a darkened living room, at the close of a day that swirled with anxiety, tension, conflict, you, your sleeping sweaty-ness, your warm weight on my lap, are my reward.

One I may not have earned today, but which God in his infinite goodness and mercy, has given me anyway.

Peaceful Little T

I want this to be enough. I want to be grateful enough and clear-sighted enough to let this beautiful face carry me through the day. To keep me on the right path, to keep me hopeful, to help me be your light of the world, until you go on to light up other places.

* * *

I Finally Figured Out This Parenting Thing

2011-10-24T18:48:00.000-07:00

On good days, parenting is one of the most amazing, collaborative, relational, life-transforming acts a person can do.

On bad days, parenting is basically one miserable battle between the parent's sanity and the offspring's self-esteem. Both cannot win. One goes down in defeat while the other rises from the dust and struggle.

Guess which kind of day I'm having? I'll give you a hint: the highlight of my day was listening to the phppt! of the Racer 5 cap as it was released from its bottle.

Oh, I've had the other kind of day, too. Why else would all five of them still be alive?

* * *

At Least She Knows What She Likes

2011-10-23T22:28:00.000-07:00

Today, in the car (of course), Lady E and Little T got into a bit of an argument about who has the better life. It started with Little T complaining that she never gets to have play dates with friends. Lady E, to her credit, was merely trying to make Little T feel better by pointing out all the fun things the youngest one gets to do.

"You get to play in the garden! In your sand castle! In your pirate ship! You get to play dress up! And you get to go visit Emmett (our neighbor)! And you get to play with Tule (our dog)!"

She went on for awhile. It was a little too much for Little T, who started getting madder and madder.

Finally, from the backseat, Lady E said: "Mom! I'm trying to make her feel better and she just said to me: 'Oh, yeah, and here's another thing I like to do: ANNOY YOU!'"

Sighing inwardly, I chided Little T: "Little T, that is not a very nice thing to say. Your sister is actually trying to make you feel better."

Little T: "Oh yeah, and another thing: NOT LISTEN TO YOU!"

I have very little chance of ever having an impact on this child.

* * *

If I Lived in San Francisco...

2011-10-22T14:54:00.000-07:00

...which, sadly, I do not, I would vote for John Avalos for Mayor. San Francisco readers, as you know, election day is on Tuesday, November 8th. For your benefit, I am sharing the following video produced by Madnomad Films for the Avalos Campaign.

Once upon a time, in what seems like a life time ago, I worked with John, so if he wins, I'll get to say that I personally know the mayor of one of the country's best cities. So if you live there, vote for him, so I can have the bragging rights. Plus, San Francisco, my native city, is near and dear to my heart, and I can't have just any ol' yahoo at the helm. That wouldn't be right. So again, vote for him, so my city can hold its head high.

What will you get out of it? A mayor with integrity, vision, humor, humility, and skill. A rare kind of mayor, one you can trust.

Plus, he's got the cutest kids!

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 42

2011-10-21T07:58:00.000-07:00

Well, another Friday has arrived. Honestly, I'm not sure that's a good thing. It's soccer season, so Friday just means it's my day to cattle prod the kids into getting ready for their games on Saturday. By the time I close my eyes tonight, I will need to know the precise location of 6 pairs of soccer socks, 7 jerseys, four pairs of shorts, and two sets of team warm-ups. Not to mention cleats, shin guards, and water bottles. And since I'm not supposed to be doing things for the kids that they can do themselves (whatever), this Finding of Things will take forever.

Remember when Fridays were actually relaxing? Yeah, neither do I.

But here's a relaxing thing to do! Click over to Conversion Diary, our 7 Quick Takes host; click a few more times to peruse some of the other bloggers who are Quick Taking today, and by gosh -- leave a comment. Comments are good.

And now...my takes.

~1~

I have been watching Little T "skip" for months now. Except she hasn't actually been skipping, just doing some weird little shuffle and saying: "Mommy, watch me skip!"

So yesterday, I decided it was time to teach her to do the real thing. Hand in hand, we mastered the art of the step-hop, step-hop, and then skipped around Sutter's Fort in Sacramento with her two sisters and a fun friend. And you know what? I remembered how much fun skipping is. It's almost like flying, like dancing and flying, and it's very hard not to smile while you are doing it.

And then, today's Writer's Almanac featured the poem Skipping, by Robert Morgan. I do not have permission to reprint it here, but Garrison Keillor does, so click over to WA's site to read it. Discovering that poem in my inbox the day after my first skipping in many years and Little T's first true skipping ever was...serendipitous. Enjoy the poem!

~2~

I wish my kids were more interested in the Greek and Roman roots of English words. I know, that sounds geeky. But I can't help it...I wish I could entice them to play around with words and figure out how they fit together like puzzles.

Not gonna happen.

~3~

Halloween is looming. I am not a fan of this particular holiday. Too much work for very little pay-off. In fact, I'm not sure these kids really are turning over all the Snickers they haul home, and even if they are, it just doesn't compensate for the headache that is costuming five children and riding the wave and crash of five sugar highs. But it's coming. So I'm preparing. This year, we are outfitting the following costumes:

Andy Samberg;
Funky Clown (nearly done...just need a rainbow wig);
Jane Jetson (help!);
Crazy Pajama Girl (easy peasy!);
and Darth Vader. For Little T, of course.

Wake me up on All Saints Day, please.

~4~

And speaking of getting Halloweeny, if you need an easy craft idea, do what I did: go visit Secret Agent Josephine! Click over there to see what inspired me to do this little activity with my girls yesterday while my boys were at math tutoring:

I don't have any good pictures of them in completed form...but Secret Agent Josephine has some great ones, so do click that link up above.

~5~

6 Flags Discovery Kingdom is having this dealy-bop where K-6th grade students can earn a free park ticket if they do extra, non-school related reading. Nice, right? I've got a reluctant reader who salivates every time we drive by that place, so this sounded perfect to me. And that's despite the fact that I detest amusement parks and will have to be either sedated or armed with a flask to spend an entire day at one.

But get this. The requirements? Read for 6 hours. 6 itty-bitty, eensy weensy hours. Between now and March 2012.

SERIOUSLY? I'm all for achievable goals, but 6 hours of reading in 6 months? Really? Do we really need to aim that low? If I'm going to spend a day at a place like 6 Flags, I'd kind of like the kids to earn that free ticket with something a tad more substantial. Ya' think they'll hate me when I tell them I'm upping it just for them?

Yeah, I think so too.

~6~

So homeschooling has been a little bumpy this year. But we had a good week, so yesterday evening, I asked my son if he had had a good day, a good week. He said yes, and then we had a brief conversation about how homeschooling is maybe not such a bad thing. I thought that was the end of it.

But later that night, just as the house was settling into sleep, he came back to me and said: "Mom, you know what else I like better about homeschooling?"

Ah, I thought, it's happening! The positive side is sinking in! The magic is taking hold!

We don't have to eat those deli sandwiches you used to buy for our school lunches. I hated those things. They were gross.

Reality check, mom.

~7~

Raising chickens is popular around here. I have a few friends who keep chickens in their backyards, and so I've been lucky enough to learn the difference between a store bought egg and a farm fresh one. Much like garden tomatoes and their store-bought bland counterpart, farm fresh eggs make you feel like you are eating eggs as God intended. They are that good.

I am quite happy that other people are following this trend and that occasionally I get to reap some of the benefits. I have sometimes felt tugged towards chicken-keeping myself, but I snap out of it quickly when I realize that the last thing I need is more little lives to keep track of. I couldn't even manage zucchini this year, and zucchinis don't have mouths.

So the eggs are one benefit. The other is watching chicks grow. We stopped at a friends the other day and my girls got to spend some time with the chicks.

If you have chance to visit a farm and hold a baby chick, do it. It's fun for all! And if you haven't tasted a farm fresh egg, then I have news for you: you don't really know what an egg tastes like. Thanks Kelli for the peek into urban homesteading!

* * *

Trippin'

2011-10-20T20:42:00.000-07:00

We've been field tripping all over the place. Trippin' with Little T is quite an experience. While getting ready for one of our trips this week, I stood in the shower and listened to Little T pound all over the house yelling "I'm not ready to go yet! I'm not ready to go yet!"

Later, in the car, watching all the people stuck in our hideous Bay Area traffic, I remarked on the awesomeness of the carpool lane. And as we zipped past all those barely moving cars, my sweet five year old pointed at them and said: "Yeah, SUCK-AHS!"

Sigh.

Anyway, our trips this month: We went to the John Muir Historical Site, and learned about one of the greatest hippies who ever lived. He had a "scribble den" in his big beautiful house. I want a scribble den. A photo from the trip:

We went to the California Academy of Sciences, a place that rocks. And that has lots of cool rocks, too. A video of that trip:

There are a surprising amount of fish in the Academy: everywhere you go, there is a fish habitat, or a huge tank, or some way to see fish behind glass. Later, on our way to a soccer field, Little T said:

This is wi-wee weird, mommy. I feel kind of like a swimming fish right now. Because we saw all those fish through glass today, and now we are sitting here with the car windows around us, and I feel like I'm a fish behind glass. This is wi-wee weird, mommy.

See? Trippin' with Little T.

We went to Sutter's Fort State Historic Park, and learned a little about life right before and during the Gold Rush. We learned, for example, that if you had strep throat in the 1840s , the doctor at the Fort would stick a glass tube down your throat, with an opening at the bottom just big enough for the mouth (but not the body) of a leech to fit through, thus allowing the leech to feast upon the swollen tissue of your throat, thereby removing the bacteria from your body. I think the "thus" and "thereby" in the previous sentence do a nice job of balancing the disgusting subject matter.

We also went to the State Capitol building and took a very informative tour; the highlight for me was seeing the State Assembly Gallery, where Assemblymembers cast their votes and make the laws that govern our lives. Very cool. Some more photos:

The awesome dome.

Jerry Brown, our state's youngest (from 1975-1983) and
oldest (currently!) Governor, and his super funky portrait.

Where the Assembly debates and votes!

I am all field tripped out. Must rest up before we go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium next month.

Monday Morning Pop Quiz

2011-10-17T08:02:00.000-07:00

In order to get your intellectual and creative juices flowing for the coming week, I've come up with a little quiz.

As the last few posts have shown, teenager-ness is dominating my life right now. I'm sure (I hope) that by the time my 3rd, 4th, and 5th kids are teenagers, I will be a pro at this, but for now, everything is new and challenging. I'm definitely still getting my Teenager Legs. I'm almost at the point where I don't need to run to the starboard side and vomit over the railing every time there is an upheaval. Almost.

Anyway, I've got Teenager-ness on the brain. Thus, this quiz.

(1) Finish the following sentence: "Trying to get a teenager to help with the weekend yard work is like ___________________." (Bonus points if you include "with a helpful attitude" after the phrase "weekend yard work."

(2) Scenario: Your teen has an evening guitar recital for which he is less than prepared, and he has expressed to you that he really needs to practice because he can't get through his song without mistakes. He is spending the entire afternoon hiding in his room, playing video games on his iPod Touch rather than practicing. You should handle this situation by doing which of the following:

(a) Stuff a sock in your mouth to keep yourself from reminding him one more time to practice. Stifle the urge -- at great cost to your equilibrium -- to obsess over how he is going to feel if he falls apart during the perfomance. Ignore the rising anxiety and agitation you are feeling until you explode.

(b) Serenely remind yourself that it's his gig, and his responsibility, and that whatever happens will be just fine and wonderful, either a great performance or a learning experience. It's all good. Go pick tomatoes while he click-clicks the afternoon away.

(c) Give in. Remind him. Scold him. Badger him. Yell, if need be. Make the little ingrate practice.

(3) Which of these actions produces the least desirable result:

(a) poking a bear.

(b) waking a teenager.

(c) smashing your car into a telephone poll.

Write your answers on the back of a gift certificate for a full-service afternoon at the Claremont Hotel Spa and send it to me asap. (Yes, I did take that from the Car Talk guys...although they don't aim high enough...)

* * *

Genius

2011-10-16T08:35:00.000-07:00

* * *

Takes 8, 9 and 10

2011-10-15T08:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, after posting 7 things I've learned since welcoming my first teenager, I thought of three more! So, here they are.

~8~

I have learned that when lecturing your teenager on the importance of self-control, it's a good idea to maintain a little yourself. A tirade about self-control that includes none whatsoever is not effective and worse, makes you look ridiculous. And a teenager needs no help seeing his parents as ridiculous, so it's best not to give him any fact-based evidence to support that view.

My kids love the story their dad tells them about his Pop Warner football coach, who would come unglued at some player's mis-step, and then scream like a wild animal, with eyes bulging and arms flailing: "COMPOSURE! COMPOSURE! KEEP YOUR COMPOSURE!"

I'm learning just how much I do not want to be that coach. Oh, and also how hard that is.

~9~

I have learned to love the electronics that my kids obsess over so much. Oh, I still hate the 24-7 access they potentially have to pop culture, YouTube, Snoop Dog, questionable Facebook friends, stupid video games, shopping, and mind-numbing Disney sitcoms.

But I love, cherish, adore the well-placed threat of taking away the almighty iPod Touch if I don't get the behavior I want. It's magical, what a teenager will do when faced with the prospect of not being able to play his FIFA Soccer 2012 game, or not being able to take a silly picture of his dog, Obama-ize it, and make it his FB profile picture.

Oh, iPod Touch, I am learning to see you as a partner in this adventure called Parenting a Teenager!

~10~

I have learned what a hormone tidal wave-induced melt down looks like from the outside. Very informative!

* * *

7 Quick Takes, Volume 41: The OMG I HAVE A TEENAGER Edition

2011-10-14T08:37:00.000-07:00

It's official. I have a teenager. Life has fundamentally shifted. I am still getting my bearings. Here are 7 things I've learned so far:

~1~

Do. Not. Under any circumstances. Attempt to fight every battle. There are just too damn many. You'll tire yourself out and the enemy will win. Actually, both of you will lose, because no one wins when everyone is yelling.

~2~

It's true: teenagers live inside a bubble of self-absorption that is nearly impossible to burst. It would be impressive to behold if watching it didn't feel like an all over body itch on the inside of my skin.

~3~

My teenager really does believe, with all his heart, that I am daft. Nerdy, daft, pitiable, and so, so clueless. I do not need to take this personally. I just need to wait a few years, until I suddenly become brilliant again. (Of course, given that he has four youngsters beneath him charging inevitably towards the Teenage Years themselves, I actually have something like 13 years before none of my offspring think I'm an idiot.)

~4~

All those years I spent thinking I had plenty of time to put clearer boundaries in place, to hone my skills at being consistent and holding the line with detachment and calm? Poof! Gone! Time to step up and show everyone (really, just my kids) what I can do.

It's like every day that has passed since now has been practice. I got up everyday, I sweat a little, I tried new strategies...

Now, it's game time. Now is my chance to use all those years of training in the Big Game, with everything on the line. No more practice drills or simulated game situations: this is the real deal. Here's hoping all those crunches and sprints did the trick!

~5~

I have also learned that I am a micro-manager. And being the micro-manager of a teenager is just a recipe for frustration and insanity. So I am hopefully also learning the art of letting go, of letting the kid make mistakes and letting the chips fall where they may. And OK, but this is ridiculously hard.

Case in point: Do I hover over him while he is "washing" the dishes so that I can point out, every so helpfully, that while the top of that dish is basically clean the bottom is covered in grease and therefore cannot actually be placed in the dish drainer just yet? Do I stop him after every dish that needs to be re-washed? Or do I just let him know that anything not clean will have to be re-done, and then walk away like a Zen Maiden? Let him sink or swim on his own?

If I stand there and micromanage, he usually goes from calm to MY MOTHER IS DRIVING ME CRAZY in 0.5 seconds and the whole thing becomes a soul-killing power struggle. If I do the detached thing, I end up with more work. It takes time to track him down, disentangle him from his headphones, and cajole him back to the sink. It's hard enough to get him there once, let alone to make him re-do the job hours later.

Last night at dinner time, I pulled five plates out of my cabinet that were greasy, gritty, and grimy. I was displeased. He was not home. I could not make him re-do them at that moment, and I didn't want them on my counter top. I washed them. I suck. In Big Game parlance, I gave the ball away to the other team.

~6~

Teenagers don't like it when you stare wistfully at them. The day my son turned 13, I realized that this birthday was a huge milestone for both of us. The previous 13 years had passed in the blink of an eye. From the day he was born, he has been growing up and away from us, but now that movement to somewhere else will be the central theme of his life. It's what we are charged with helping him to do, now more than ever. So that day, I wanted to grab him and stuff him back down to toddler size, so I could have him for longer and so I could go back and do everything better. In lieu of that, I just wanted to look at him. I found myself fighting the urge to gaze at him in the exact same way I had 13 years ago, when he was an uncommonly alert infant, gazing back at me with calm intensity.

We stare at our babies, don't we? We spend hours just looking, wondering who they are, who they will be. We stare in awe at their beauty, their perfection and their potential. We are humbled by their presence and the awesome responsibility they confer upon us. We are filled with a love so powerful and unexpected that we can't express it in words, we can just feel it, let it wash over us, and hope we rise to the level of deserving it.

The day my son turned 13, I felt all those instincts more powerfully than I have in years. And I just wanted to look at him. I wanted to stare, the way I would at an awesome mountain range or a powerful waterfall.

But that would have just freaked him out, so I had to content myself with sneaking quick glances and acting all cool and collected. Freaking out your teenager is a no-no.

~7~

And the number one thing I've learned from having a teenager is the same lesson I've been trying to learn since I became a mom: Be hopeful. Be curious. Be detached. Be strong. And find your sense of humor because there is nothing you need more than laughter when raising children.

* * *

Please visit Jen at Conversion Diary for the original 7 Quick Takes and please visit the links to other people participating this week. And comment! Comments are like candy to us bloggers! We love them! :)

* * *

10/15/11 Update: I thought of three more! And posted them here.

* * *

A Family Scene

2011-10-06T18:53:00.000-07:00

The scene: a minivan in middle America. And by middle, I really mean on the edge of the country, one earthquake away from beachfront property.

The cast: Mom, Girl #1 (6 years old), Girl #2 (9 years old), and Girl #3 (5 years old. Doesn't really figure into the story. Spends the entire scene sucking her thumb.)

Backstory: It's been a long, grumpy day for everyone. Lots of whining, shrieking, complaining, and yelling. The kids haven't been all that great either.

____________________________________________

Mom looks in her rearview mirror and sees surly Girl #1 slumping down in her booster seat, definitely not taking advantage of the safety benefits of said booster.

Mom: "Girl #1! Sit up straight!"

Girl #1: "No! I don't want to! Why should I?"

Mom: "Because it's not safe to sit like that."

Girl #2: "Yeah, you might get hurt if mom smashes into the car in front of us."

Mom: "Sit up!"

Mom sighs deeply and lets her mind wander to a distant, tropical island and a cabana boy or two. Or three.

Girl #1: "ARGH! I don't want to! I don't want anyone to see me! I don't want anyone to know I'm part of this crazy family!"

Girl #2: "Don't say that."

Girl #1: "I don't want anyone to see me in this crazy car with this crazy family!"

Girl #2: "Girl #1, no one can tell we are crazy just by looking into our car."

Mom can't decide whether to laugh or cry.

____________________________________________

Not Sure What This Is

2011-10-04T06:00:00.000-07:00

We do lots of stuff around here.

We make homemade pasta with friends.

We make cornbread.

We sport some lovely aprons in the process.

We do puzzles.

We write the most adorable stories about girls and dogs and flowers and suns and rainbows.

We weave beads.

Sounds fun, right? We also watch great movies, do a little Kahn Academy, juggle soccer balls, make an insane amount of art, and read lotsa books. We are almost finished with our current out loud book, The Thief Lord.

I'm not sure if we ever really do any science. Or history. Although, we do watch movies that could be classified as history. And come to think of it, we did a pretty cool little project about bones, joints, and the skeleton.

The kids and I are getting ready for our first monthly meeting with our "Educational Consultant" at which the kids will need to hand in their monthly work samples in Language Arts, Math, Science and Social Studies. So it's my monthly round of a little mind game I like to call "Oh My God What Are We Doing I Suck At Homeschooling and My Children Will Be Criminals."

Because we do a lot of stuff...but I don't know what to call it. And I'm pretty well aware of the stuff we don't do. Most of the time, I'm fine with that. But once a month, I have to reconcile the two, the What We Do and the What We Are Supposed To Be Doing.

It's time for the Homeschool Jive! Join in if you know the steps...

* * *

12 hours later...

2011-10-03T19:01:00.000-07:00

...and I'm nearly dead.

I made the dinner. I do not have the energy, will, or desire to actually serve it.

Chili, corn bread, and salad, all ready to go, and whaddya wanna bet some of these people still starve, due to my recent announcement that if they want to eat, they need to serve themselves?

The angels have quieted considerably since the glorious chorus that attended my morning.

I'm going for day #2, anyway.

* * *

Ya' Hear That? Yup. It's Angels.

2011-10-03T07:53:00.000-07:00

I did it! I did it! I got up before my family and did my morning routine!

Wait -- does one morning make a routine?

Doesn't matter. I don't care. I did it.

And it was, and is, glorious. I'm sitting here sipping my 2nd cup of joe, having been awake for 2.5 hours and I haven't had to interact with a single solitary soul. Which is a very good thing for my single, solitary soul.

So here's what I did.

I woke up around 4:50 and struggled to keep my eyes open for 15 or 20 minutes. Then I stalled a little by playing scrabble on my iPhone. Finally, I got up and started workin' my list. I folded laundry, put it all away, rode the exercise bike for 20 minutes while listening to NPR (total NPR geek here), ate breakfast (Fruit Loops*. Can you believe that? And a banana. And water and coffee.), quick cleaned my bathroom, took a shower during which no one knocked on the door, prayed pretty much the entire time (please God, let this getting up early thing not be a huge freakin' waste of time), and now, I am happily blogging away in a still quiet house.

I think I hear angels singing somewhere. That's how awesome this is.

Mentally, the whole process was a little easier since we only had four people sleeping under our roof last night. Our three olders got to go to Sonoma yesterday (although not to Seth Rogan's wedding) to see this show with Grandma, and then to have dinner here, and then to spend the night. Grandma is bringing them all back home around 1pm.

More angels singing.

I like angels! Why didn't I do this ages ago?

* * *

*My kids get to pick a sugary cereal on their birthdays, and my son's birthday was Saturday. They are always so excited about this little perk, but then since they aren't used to it, the cereals are always too sweet for them. How else would one box of fruit loops last three days in a house of 7 people? Back to Kashi for us.

Ridiculous, But I'm Going For It Anyway

2011-10-02T23:27:00.000-07:00

My whole nutty life could be summed up in one phrase: Attempting the impossible.

I'm certainly not the only one for whom this is true. But I put it out there because really, I spend precious minutes being utterly flabbergasted by the truth: I can't do all of the things I am being asked to do, and I can't figure out what to delete from the list.

Take, for example, my morning routine. My morning wish routine, as in, I wish it was my routine.

A few months ago, I decided that I needed to give myself a morning routine that would prepare me well for the day. You know, as opposed to dragging myself out of bed at the same time as the kids and needing to hit the ground running over gritty floors in bare feet and then not stopping the running until hitting my pillow many, many hours later.

So a few months ago, I came up with my dream morning. It goes like this:

Get up around 5am.
Ride the exercise bicycle OR walk the dog: 25-30 minutes
Pray: 15 minutes
Shower: 20 minutes
Fold and put away 1 load of laundry: 10 minutes
Quick clean the bathroom: 5 minutes
Eat breakfast: 20 minutes
Write: 30 minutes

That adds up to around 2-2.5 hours of stuff to do before starting the job of momming people and teaching people.

Crazy, right? Who does that, beside fictional characters and people with OCD?

Well, not me. For the past few months, it's been my plan to make this routine part of my daily life. And I haven't done it once. Not once. I do bits and pieces of it, jamming this or that into spare corners that pop up in my day. I realized the other day that I actually told someone that I clean my bathroom every day. I didn't mean to lie, I just forgot that no, I don't actually clean my bathroom every day, I plan to clean my bathroom every day. (We've just got the one bathroom, for all 7 of us, and making cleaning it a daily thing -- which at one point I was doing successfully -- saves me from that livin' in a frat house feelin'.)

So I haven't actually ever done that routine. But I keep writing it down on my daily to-do list, keep saying it's a good idea, keep hoping that magically, someday, I will begin.

I know it's a crazy list and I know that reasonable people will tell me to throw that plan out the window and come up with a simpler one. But the thing is, those things all need to get done. And the earlier in the day, the better. And without ball, ball, chain, ball and chain around to weigh me down. It's not easy, it's not pleasant, it's a little like climbing Everest without an oxygen tank, but it all needs to get done. I just have to face it: raising 5 kids isn't for wimps, and neither is that list.

So here it is, blog peeps. It's new month, and I'm giving it a try. Again. I need to realign my relationship with my life and start doing things I know (or think) will be good for me.

What's the worst thing that could happen? I could try it out for a week or two and decide that it really was a ridiculous plan that doesn't make a difference and doesn't make me feel better about anything at all...and then I can stop. But untested, that Morning Routine is simply mocking me, taunting me, blowing raspberries at my head.

So let's give it a whirl, shall we? And with that, I must go to bed, because as you can see from the above list, I must get up very early.

* * *

7 Quick Takes, Volume 40: The Twittery Edition

2011-09-30T11:49:00.000-07:00

Quick! Read these quick takes. And quick! Go visit the Mother Ship and check out Quick Takes from whence all others spring. And quick! Click on some of the links to other bloggers playing along. And quick! Have a great Friday!

~1~

I avoid Twitter. I need another distraction like I need another hole to pour food into 3xa day. But I’m curious, so I’mexperimenting.

~2~

Today is my last day in a Teenager Free Zone. Tomorrow, I will have a teenager. Tomorrow, you all need to start prayingvery hard.

~3~

Michelle Norris, do you talk to your kids in that soothing,velvety voice? Can you teach mehow? Guttural barks aren’t workingso well.

~4~

Homeschooling is a ridiculous proposition, true. But so is having kids. And getting married. And getting out of bed in themorning. So there.

~5~

Answer the questions you are asked. If your daughter asks how to make adrink “on the rocks,” tell her straight up, no chaser.

~6~

Answer all the questions you are asked. If your son asks if it ruins asoldier’s life to kill someone in a war, fumble through it.

~7~

Hardest thing about being a mom? Remembering that I’msupposed to be the calm, detached one. Not letting tantrums de-compose me. Breathing.

* * *

Wow. Twitter isa lot like Haiku. Who knew? OK, like millions of other peoplebefore me, I guess.

* * *

You Say Tomato

2011-09-30T01:26:00.000-07:00

I say Boo-Yah!

If you plant tomatoes in April and completely ignore them for 5 months, you might get lucky and still come up with a few!

We haven't picked much from our sadly, reprehensibly neglected garden this year, but today Little T harvested strawberries, peppers, tomatoes and the last of our green beans. And giggles and delight.

Giggle seeds. Plant 'em.

* * *

Nothing Better

2011-09-28T09:54:00.000-07:00

This is the best dressing down I've ever seen on film. I want to be Katherine Hepburn. Or her character in this movie. Or a combination of the two.

* * *

A Good Day

2011-09-27T13:33:00.000-07:00

Today has been a good day. Little T spent much of it catching skippers. V and L built a marble track. People read. People even did math. E and L and I played a raucous game of Monkey in the Middle with a big red balloon.

And today is Tuesday, so it's movie day. The kids are watching Guess Who's Coming to Dinner with Sidney Portier and Katherine Hepburn.

These are some damn lucky kids!

Two Letters to Kids Who Play Soccer

2011-09-25T17:25:00.001-07:00

The first one is not from me. This letter, which I wish I could photocopy and pass out to every parent on the four teams my family is a part of -- or at least to a few hand-selected parents on those teams, was written by Mike Woitalla, a coach with our own East Bay United and the Executive Editor of Soccer America.

If you have kids who play any sport, not just soccer, you should read and share this letter, addressed to Soccer-Playing Children of America. It's really quite wonderful, exemplifying as it does all of our best hopes for what the beautiful game can be for our kids.

Mr. Woitalla's words have been resounding in my head all weekend, as Rick and I split our time between four teams and three tournaments. But as the weekend wore on, and I found myself cajoling sibling spectators into their booster seats for the kajillionth time and laundering uniforms in the middle of the night and dashing to the store for more (some would say better) snacks, other thoughts started pinging around as well, so I composed a letter of my own. It's sort of a complement to Mr. Woitalla's letter...I hope. Read on, dear children:

Dear Soccer-Playing Children in My Family,

This was a wonderful weekend of playing soccer, in sun and shadow, in early mornings and late afternoons. We saw everything from you this weekend, running, dribbling, passing, fighting, scoring, assisting, scissoring, weaving, winning, tying, and losing with dignity. I hope you had fun out there, just like Mr. Woitalla hopes for you as well. I want you to read his letter to you. He expresses eloquently everything your father and I believe in our hearts about soccer and your participation in it. And after you've read it, read this one. These are just a few extra gems that are also important, and equally held dear by dad and me.

First, you've been doing a decent job this season of finding your socks, shorts, and jerseys the day before your game. It's not easy, but I'm proud of you for not giving up, even when you've been sitting in a heap on your bedroom floor for 10 whole minutes moaning that you can't find one of your socks. So far, you've fought through those struggles and come up with the elusive sock. To that effort, I would add one small thing: I hope when it comes time to leave the house for your field next weekend, you've got your shoes on and your water bottles filled. This is so important, and it will help set you up to have a fantastic game. Because if you don't, I'm probably going to scream at you out of sheer frustration, and screaming at you is definitely not a great way to send you off onto the pitch.

And you know how your siblings have been coming to your games for years and figuring out how to keep themselves entertained during long tournament weekends? You know how the little ones have learned that when mom and dad are intently watching a soccer game, twitching with every move, they're aren't ignoring their younger offspring, they're just really, really pulling for whichever sibling is out there? You know how we've been telling them for years, in the car on the way to your games, that someday it will be their turn? Well, that day is here, at least for one of them. So yes, you have to go to some of her games and even watch and even cheer and even pretend to be supportive. It's the least you can do. If you're looking for the least, I'm handing it to you on a silver platter. Sit. Watch. Cheer once in a while. Easy peasy.

And another thing: early mornings really do suck. I know it's tough to get out of bed at 6am to get dressed and out the door to a 7am warm up. You know what's even harder? Getting out of bed before you do, at 5:30am, in order to make coffee for the coach, fix a warm protein-packed breakfast for lots of short people, make sure all the uniforms are clean and ready, and then get 5 reluctant risers to get ready for the day. All with a smile and an encouraging word or two. As much as I love the beautiful game, I also loved my beautiful pillow this morning, and yet I left it in order to be the force behind getting everyone where they needed to be.

Remember, the game is the thing. The game is why we do this. I know you love it, and I love watching you do what you love. A little reminder, then: We do not play this game for cheap knock-off neon-green Messi sweatshirts that look like they were slapped together in someone's garage and then hung on an old curtain rod sporting a $35 price tag. We definitely don't do it for that, and this half of we would really love it if you could let go of the prospect of owning that cheap piece of crap and focus on the game at hand.

Oh, and on a related note: not every ice cream vendor needs our business. The earth will not stop spinning if you don't eat ice cream at every soccer field your magical cleated feet grace. In other words, you are not a professional athlete, and you are not paid in ice cream.

We, your loving parents, will cheer and cheer, and try not to scream or coach from the sidelines (except your dad, when he actually is your coach, and even then, not during the game itself), and in return, we'd really appreciate it if you could recognize who it is that gets you to your games, buys your cleats, your uniforms, your shin guards, your balls, your power bars, your mangoes and your gatorade, drives to your practices, replaces your lost water bottle (well, once at least: after that, you're on your own), drives back to the field well after dark to see if your forgotten ball is still there, and generally gives up life itself to make this game possible for you.

I've told you before: I'm 100% willing and happy to do all of these things because if you love this game, then you should play it, as much as possible and as well as possible. What am I asking for? Work with me. That's it. Just work with me. Show good sportsmanship with me too, your mama, the captain of the team, so to speak, and the only person on earth who cares as much as you do about how your team does and whether or not you have a good game.

I care. So please don't piss me off.

Love,

Mom

ps: I think your father, coach-extraordinaire, more devoted to soccer than anyone you have ever met or ever will, could write a letter of his own. Maybe he will someday. Between all of your practices and games, I doubt he'll have the time. So on his behalf, let me just say this: Never forget how much time, energy, and love he puts into planning and thinking about you and how you are experiencing soccer. No one has or ever will do more for you, when it comes to soccer, than he does. We tease him that he can make soccer a metaphor for anything, but he's right, isn't he? Soccer is just like life: love and hard work will take you far. You dad will always be there watching, hoping, and cheering for you. So go forth to love and play hard.

7 Quick Takes: Volume 39

2011-09-23T09:35:00.000-07:00

No one listened to my request to slow things down, and now another Friday has come along at the speed of light. I'm holding on by my fingernails.

Please visit the host of 7 Quick Takes, at Conversion Diary, and sample a few of the links to other Quick Takers. And comment on them too! We like comments, yes we do, we like comments, HOW 'BOUT YOU?

~1~

My mom gave the DVD The Way Things Go to my son for his birthday this month. He loves it! If you have a kid (or an adult) who likes mazes, contraptions, mechanical operations, domino tracks, etc., you just might have to get this DVD. Here is a taste:

Pretty cool, right?

~2~

Finally, an iPod game I actually like! My son has traveled the Oregon Trail several times this week on a cool .99 game we recently learned about. Along the way, his wife died of dysentery, two of his daughters were carried off by hawks, and one daughter died of a fever. He has traded goods for gold-panning supplies, learned how to churn butter (just put the freshly milked cream in a container and attach it to your wagon: the road is so bumpy, the milk will turn into butter), and repaired his wagon.

I was a little skeptical at first, because it seems to me that most "educational games" are sort of lame, but on this one, I keep having to warn him that he better be careful or he just might learn something. It's scary for him.

Anyway, I've been getting a kick out of watching and listening to him play, and hearing the little tidbits of information he keeps coming up with. Did you know that 3/5 of the agriculture produced and sold today comes from plants that the Native Americans used? He does!

~3~

When I was a little girl, I hated blowing my nose. So when I had the sniffles, I sniffled. A lot. It drove my dad crazy. I remember him repeatedly, forcefully ordering me to find a kleenex. I always felt slightly offended: apparently, he was more concerned about being annoyed with me than he was about my poor nose. How bad could a little sniffling be, right?

Dad, I get it now. I have a kid who frequently needs to blow his nose, but never does, and instead, he sniffles loud, long and hard, giving me visions of his entire face turning inside out. Annoying doesn't even begin to cover it. I'm thinking that the noise rivals fingernails on a chalkboard. It's beyond unbearable. And I find myself ordering him to blow, with little to no compassion in my tone. I just want that infernal noise to stop.

I hope he has a sniffler when he becomes a father. I will make more sense to him if he does.

~4~

The AIRY5 family's soccer game schedule for the weekend: minimum 10 games, maximum 13, depending on tournament results.

~5~

Further proof that children think parents are really, really clueless:

I wish this came from one of my kids, because it's so funny, but alas, this is from a friend of mine. Her son, who is in 1st or 2nd grade, came home and said to her: "My teacher wants the parents to do this page of homework, but you have to write really messy."

Is that classic, or what?

~6~

When I was a kid, we weren't allowed to watch much television. So when left home alone, what would I do? Yup. Flick on the set. Of course, I had to actually stand up, walk over to the television, and turn the dial through all 5 or so channels in order to find something to watch, and there usually wasn't much...but cheat I did.

As a young teenager, I had a standing babysitting gig on Thursday nights for the family that lived in our rental cottage, 20 feet away from my own house and on our property. This meant that I could watch the forbidden Magnum P. I. every week, mere feet from my parents, without really going anywhere. I was pretty bummed when the family's schedule changed and I was no longer needed on Thursday evenings.

Today, I've got a plan for the girls and we are leaving the house for a few hours. I will be telling my boys that they are not allowed to be on the internet, watch TV, or play video games while I am gone. So I'm wondering: do I go with old fashioned trust? Or do I take the router and the wii cord with me when I go? Please, take the poll:

(A) Leave it in their hands and trust the little sweethearts
(B) Ensure success: take all technology with me

~7~

Homeschooling update: Homeschooling is going great! Every other day. Or every other hour. Or for every other kid.

It's complicated, and hard, and I do have moments where I wonder why I'm doing this. But then, I have moments where I'm so glad I'm doing this. Mostly, lately, I've been having little glimmers of fantastic-ness surrounded by lots of flashes of OMG-This-Isn't-Working. Lots of back to the drawing board moments for me.

We have been watching some great movies, though, all of which fall in the category of Popular Culture History. Here's what we've seen so far this year.

Destry Rides Again (Jimmy Stewart)
The Ghost and Mr. Chicken (Don Knotts)
Some Like it Hot (Jack Lemmon, Dean Martin, Marilyn Monroe)

We are also almost finished with our out-loud reading of The Thief Lord: a good one.

I have miles to go before I feel good about this...but you know, a journey of a thousand miles starts by getting up in the morning, right? Getting up: check. Teaching the children well: still to be checked.

* * *

We Like Those Ladies

2011-09-21T19:21:00.000-07:00

On our way to pick up our young Picassos from their art class, Lady E, Little T and I saw three Sisters of the Missionaries of Charity walking down the street. I told the girls that these women are "Mother Theresa's sisters" and that they spend their days -- their lives -- feeding people who are hungry and taking care of people who are sick. I explained that Mother Theresa started the order in India, and that she did small things with great love, and that we are blessed to know about her.

Little T got very excited, craning her neck to see the three women as they walked.

"Oh Mama, I like those ladies! I would like to see those ladies every day!"

"I like them too, Little T."

"I love them! Cuz I would love to have all that food they give people, because I LOVE FOOD!"

* * *

Dear Sisters, I promise I will teach her and her siblings to love you for much more and to follow your loving example wherever they are.

* * *

Spunk and Muscles

2011-09-19T07:03:00.000-07:00

I just woke up from a panic dream.

Little T and I were walking along a beach on a lovely summer day. People were all around us, playing in the water. We came upon a stand of bleachers facing the water, maybe four or five rows high, and on the bleachers was a group of students from our old school, getting arranged for a class photo. The teacher, a woman we know and like, stood about 5 or 10 feet in front of the bleachers, with a camera, waiting for the kids to settle into position.

She and I started talking, making conversation, catching up with one another. We talked about how she just went shopping at Costco in preparation for her students' First Communion. We reminisced about the First Communion celebrations my kids had when we were one of the school's families.

Suddenly, the tide came in, fast. The water came up to my rib cage and knocked me off my feet for a moment. And instead of flowing back out, the water stayed in, high up on the beach, now at about the middle of my thighs. I looked up at the bleachers, amused by the reaction of the children who were now looking down at water swirling around beneath their bleacher rows.

And then, of course, the panic: Little T. Where was she? She was holding my hand a moment ago, and now my hand was empty and all I could see was murky ocean water. The water was starting to pull back out, and I couldn't find her. Feeling the strong pull on my own legs, I couldn't stop myself from imagining what that force could be doing to my daughter, pulling her under and straight out into the ocean, without me ever seeing her go. In my mind's eye, I saw her arms and legs tumbling and rolling beyond where anyone could save her. Water was rushing by me on all sides, as I frantically scanned the beach looking for her. I started shaking, and the beach started closing in on me. The moments passed, and with each one, my fear and panic increased and my stomach heaved.

And then, as the water drained from underneath the bleachers, a laughing Little T emerged as well. She had scurried under the benches while I was talking to the teacher, looked up at all those wonderful jungle gym-like metal rods and planks, and started climbing them. When the water came in, she just climbed higher, until, with the water at its highest point, she ended up hanging on to the bottom of the highest bleacher row, flexing the 5 year old muscles she was showing off to me just last night before bed ("Mommy, I'm five now, so look how big my muscles are now?") She was fine, happy even, pleased at the climbing adventure she had had and tickled by the game of keep away she had played with the tide. Tickled, of course, because she had won. She hadn't even gotten wet.

She saved herself.

And I woke up with that panicky feeling still holding on. But I figure that dream is telling me that Little T is a survivor. All she needs are the muscles and the spunk she already has, and she is going to ride high above life's fray and come out smiling. Oh sure, I still parent her and do the time out thing and set boundaries and encourage creativity and read her books and make her eat vegetables. But I don't think I'll worry about her very much. Instead, I'll just hope she's around if I ever need a MacGyver-type set of hands in an emergency.

And I will add two new things to the list of what to pray for: spunk and muscles. For all of us.

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 38

2011-09-16T08:47:00.000-07:00

Whoa! Did I just blink and another Friday rolled around? And why does time keep speeding up on me? Seriously, whose in charge of slowing things down around here? I would like to file a formal request. Here's the basic text: "HELP! SLOW DOWN!" I sure hope I get a response by next Friday.

Please visit the lovely host of the original 7 Quick Takes and visit the links to other bloggers playing along.

~1~

Yesterday, I offered to take the kids to get ice cream cones if everyone finished their work by 1pm. Little T looked at me in dismay.

"What? Ice cweam cones?? Why?"

Her face crumpled. She fell to crying.

Huh? I was baffled. Until she clarified that she didn't want just the cone, she wanted the ice cream to go with it and thought it was very mean of me to just buy the cone.

So yesterday, when my kids finished their work by 1pm, I took them all out for ice cream cones, and I even let them get some ice cream to put on top.

~2~

We have started playing around with the math videos and practice exercises on Kahn Academy. If you are not yet familiar with Kahn Academy, you should be. You want to be, you just don't know it yet. What a cool site! What an amazing resource! I ♥ Sal Kahn.

And for further math delightfulness, check out this version of the fantastic Tom Lehrer New Math song:

~3~

We learned how to make these fun paper boxes the other day:

Perfect. Right when I finally purged all those calendars and children's book jackets I had been hoarding for years.

No matter. I'm sure I can replenish that supply in a heartbeat, and I expect this to be a fun activity we will do many times. They make delightful gifts and gift containers. Thank you Lori and Maddie for teaching us!

~4~

Cooking with Mama Monica

Hee-hee...oh, my, that title makes me laugh. I'm sure it would make my husband giggle, too. Ah, the hilarity! But my limited range in the kitchen is exactly why I am sharing this recipe. It is the single easiest thing I ever make, and really quite delicious. Every time I make it, I feel like I'm getting away with something. So here ya' go:

Rosemary Chicken

I use thighs. Place your (frozen, if you're like me) chicken thighs in a baking dish. They don't need to be thawed, another important feature of the easiest recipe ever, since I never remember to thaw things.

1/2-1 cup of red wine
1/4-1/2 cup of olive oil
1/4-1/2 cup of chopped onions (I've used red and yellow, depending on what I have. Both work.)
1/2 teaspoon of sage
1/2-1 teaspoon of rosemary
You can add a dash of salt: I don't.

Whisk together all of the above ingredients. Pour the mixture over the chicken. That's it. Seriously.

Whoops! Forgot to tell you to preheat the oven. Which makes sense, since I always forget to do it. Anyway, set oven to around 375-400. Sorry I can't be more specific, but I've got a really spazzy oven, and I'm never sure exactly what temp I've got goin'. Cover with foil and cook for around an hour...remove foil and cook for another 15 minutes. Maybe longer. Test it for doneness. If you're like my husband, that means cut it open, eye it suspiciously, and poke a forkful in your wife's face and say: "This look done to you?" I just use a meat thermometer.

Enjoy over rice or pasta. And bask in the glory. This takes about 10 minutes to prepare, and tastes like it took much longer.

You are most welcome.

~5~

And a shout out to my 12 year old son, who broke his own juggling record yesterday. I did not catch the momentous occasion on film, but I did get this video a few weeks ago, to give you an idea of what he is doing. He got to 50 or so in the video...far below the new RECORD TO BEAT OF 475!

475! Woot-woot!

~6~

It turns out the Serenity Prayer is perfect for teenagers. I had occasion to tell mine about it the other day, which reminded me of this prayer for the first time in a long time. I'm glad I stumbled on a chance to bring it back into my daily life (because I can't control much), and I hope my son makes it part of his. This is probably better than the Golden Rule as a succinct life philosphy.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can.

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Really, what more is there?

~7~

And if the radically opposing natures of most of my posts have been giving anyone whiplash lately, if you can't figure out if I'm a big sap or a total cynic, if I seem to be sweet one minute and sarcastically cruel the next, welcome to my world. It's confusing to be me, trust me. But really, what about my kids? Say a special prayer for them, with me as their mom. They'll either be hopelessly confused by the world, or ready for anything. I'm going for better than 50%, so we'll see how that goes.

* * *

I Don't Care About Your Problems

2011-09-15T16:08:00.000-07:00

I mean, I love you and all, but let me just say this as gently as I can: Shut the hell up and don't tell me a single word about how your brother or sister has wronged you in some entirely-new-to-the-human-experience way that shatters all measures of cruelty, offends decent people everywhere, and shaves years off your time in Purgatory. I don't care. When I say I don't care, what I mean is, I would rather listen to fingernails on a chalkboard, than be asked to mediate another argument for which I was not present, and which might require me to actually make a decision aka choose sides, and that's a trap I need to avoid like the Bubonic Plague. I would rather go all Vincent Van Gogh on the side of my head than listen to the screeches currently emanating from your mouth. Put another way, I'd rather listen to Ke$ha than to you right now. I would rather have South Park on -- loud -- in a room with my five year old. I would rather go de-flea the dog than be subjected to your Life Is So Not Fair and Why Do They Hate Me and Do You Like Seeing Me Suffer narratives.

I'm fairly certain that I have talked myself blue in the face with suggestions, with strategies for getting along. I'm sure you know The Golden Rule. And no, there is no addendum to that rule that reads "...as long as they go first." I'm done encouraging you to rise above the fray, to take the high road, to be a peacemaker. Conflict resolution? Load of crap in reality.

I know you want to justify to me why your sister just sprinted past me screaming bloody murder with you in hot pursuit with that special murderous look upon your face. I know you want to justify the pain you inflicted on your brother by filling me in on just how completely rotten and evil he is. I don't care. And when I say I don't care, I'm really saying that if you don't shut your pie hole now I will bypass Van Gogh and skip straight to Linda Blair, and you don't really want to see your mother's head spinning around on top her neck, do you?

I really, truly, with every fiber of my being do. not. care. why you are being a total pain in the ass. I just want you to stop.

Stop.

Stop yelling. Stop fighting. Stop bitching and moaning. While you're at it, why don't you just stop talking altogether? Just shut it. Please. I beg you, I beseech you, if you have any gratitude at all, even the slightest smidge, for the fact that I shoved you into this world, you will be blessedly, finally, silent.

Because I love you. But I don't care about your sibling problems. I just want you all to be very, very quiet.

I'm Gettin' Educated

2011-09-13T14:15:00.000-07:00

Things I've learned from homeschooling my kids today.

It's really hard to define the word 'opposite' without using the word 'opposite.' At least, it is for me.
When you tell a child to go and look for something, say the movie you want to show them, it is necessary to explain the concept of looking for something because if you don't, she will just look at you funny and say: "But I don't know where it is!"
There are few worse sounds in the entire universe than whining. Actually, I already knew that, but it was definitely reinforced today.
No matter how many times you explain that a "scab" is a worker who is willing to betray other workers who are striking for better working conditions, kids will have more fun saying that a scab is dried up crusty blood, and then they will have even more fun showing off the ones they can find on their bodies. (We are watching Newsies today.)

I have no idea if my kids are learning anything, but I'm definitely getting an eduation.

Death and Life

2011-09-10T22:24:00.000-07:00

My son asked me the other day how long it takes to get over the death of someone you love. There is an inherent hope in that question, that getting over loss is possible, that everything will be OK at some point in the future. I didn't want to answer him, because...well...who wants to tell a child that there are things you never get over? But I answered. I told him that you never get over a death, that you always miss a person whom you love, and no one and nothing ever can take his (or her) place in your life. It's also possible, I told him, to go on and live a wonderful, full, exciting and happy life, to meet other people that you end up loving very much, to be joyful and to enjoy your life to the fullest. But you don't get over death. You don't ever go back to the way you were before a person you love dies.

My other son asked me questions today about 9/11. He asked how it was possible for a small plane to bring down a building as big as the World Trade Center. He had it in his head that the terrorists who flew into buildings that day were in small two or three seater planes, and had just taken off from wherever and flown to their targets. I watched his face as I explained that no, actually, the planes were as big as the one he flew on to his cousin's wedding, that the terrorists were not the only people on board, that there were passengers on those planes as well.

Then he asked me about the field in Pennsylvania: why did the terrorists want to crash into a field? Again, I watched his face as I explained that they actually wanted to hit another building, perhaps the U. S. Congress, and that some of the passengers fought back and caused the plane to crash into a field, and that by doing that, they saved the lives of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people who would have been killed had the plane reached its target.

I cannot describe the look on his face when I explained those things to him. Horror, disbelief, rejection... Rejection comes close. He didn't want to know this about the world, I could tell. He thought he knew the story of 9/11 -- I thought he did too. But the details, as one learns them and lets them sink in, are freshly tortuous each time, for each person. I watched those details torture him today.

I turned my face away from him, because I teared up telling him these things. I felt like the hijackers were making me hurt my son by showing him that these things are possible, that people can really do unspeakable things, and that people are faced with impossible choices. He couldn't respond to me in words. He had no more questions. He just sat there, looking stricken and sick, and we drove on to the field where he would be playing in a soccer game in another hour.

* * *

9/11 gave us devastation, pain, suffering.

9/11 gave us the knowledge that people can do evil.

9/11 gave us dust covered faces and falling bodies.

9/11 gave us goodbye voicemails.

9/11 gave us a scorched Pennsylvania field.

9/11 gave us widows and orphans, and 3000 unfillable holes.

9/11 gave us sorrow.

9/11 gave me, gave Rick and I, something else, too. 9/11, five years later, gave us the deepest, fiercest kind of love, the strongest and best thing two people can produce together, 9/11 gave us Little T, in all her defiant and radiant glory.

She turns 5 as the country marks 10. She'll wake up tomorrow overjoyed that this is her day, that she was born, that she is to be celebrated, even as the country wakes up to remember, soberly, lives that were lost to dust and steel 10 years ago. She sees tomorrow as the greatest day ever in the history of the universe and in the history of every person ever born...because this is a kid who loves life like few people ever will.

When she said good night to me tonight, she asked about her Fruit Loops, since we let the kids eat sugary cereal on their birthdays. I told her I still needed to go to the store and buy them, and she asked if I would be going tonight, or tomorrow morning very early. When I told her I wasn't sure yet, she said, in that crazy cartoon voice of hers:

"Well, if you leave tonight, and you think I'm asleep, and you leave without giving me a hug or a kiss? Well, you can still hug and kiss me, even if I'm asleep, because I really don't ever want you to leave without giving me a hug and a kiss. And sometimes, when I wake up and your car is gone, I think you should have given me a hug and kiss before you left."

And then she hugged me, with her strong and spindly arms and legs, and I felt her small frame pressed against mine, and I felt her smooth cheek, and I thought to myself there is nothing as purely good and right as the hug of a little kid.

She is -- all of my children are -- my hope that love will triumph over the evil done on 9/11 and the pain and suffering that reverberate out from that day. She reverberates too: a resounding and repeating song of grabbing life with both hands, jumping in with abandon, and hanging on for the laughter filled ride.

9/11/01 and 9/11/06 have given me the very same thing, namely this lesson: hug and kiss the people you love, each and every time you leave them.

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 37

2011-09-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

On Monday, I prayed to St. Anthony to help me find Friday, and LO! Friday has fallen into my lap. Amen.

~1~

I had a dream last Sunday night that I was buried underneath hundreds and hundreds of soccer balls.

Oh, wait.

That wasn't a dream...that was just my weekend.

~2~

When I was a kid, my family watched 60 minutes every Sunday night. For a long time, we've tried that here in my house, but the kids have been too little, too squirrely, too loud, too annoying...you get the idea. So instead of watching it, we've been recording it and then sometimes getting around to watching it.

But as the kids get older (because they do that, you know), things are a-changin'! We've actually watched the entire show three weeks in a row now, and the kids are starting to see it as part of our Sunday evening. Not all of them; some drift out of the living room and find something else to do, which is TOTALLY FINE. But I am thrilled that I get to watch it, and there's a bit of nostalgia in there for me, as I see my kids getting used to a tradition that was part of my growing up as well.

A couple of Sunday's ago, one of the stories, which was actually two segments worth, was particularly good. (The summer episodes are re-runs, so I'm not sure when it originally aired.) Leslie Stahl reported on Gospel for Teens, a choir program in Harlem, whose purpose is to keep gospel music alive as an art form. The report is an excellent example of how the arts can change, enhance and even save lives. If you have 40 minutes, go watch these two segments: it's well worth your time. (Google 60 Minutes, Gospel for Teens.)

~3~

Today's Homeschooling Tip: A Really Cool Pre-writing Activity!

I wanted the kids to reflect on what a TOTALLY AWESOME SUMMER they had (because they truly did) and I wanted to do a spin off of the What I Did For Summer Vacation writing assignment. So I consulted the resident writing expert (me spouse) and he suggested that we start with a Concept Map. The idea is that you create a visual representation, with words, pictures, or both, of something you will eventually write about. The Map gets to contain all the details and nuances you can think of, without having to be presented in a linear or logical fashion. It's creative and organic, and can lead a student to remember more and more details, add more and more information.

From there, eventually, you can use all of the ideas your map generated to write an essay; your ideas are all out there on your poster, not trapped in your head.

For ours, I created a poster for each kid, with the words MY SUMMER in the middle. From there, their task was to write or draw something to represent all of the fun things they did, shooting off from the middle of the poster. To draw out more detail, we asked things like: Who were you with? What did you do when you were there? What did you eat? What did you smell, see, hear, feel, etc.?

Given that it was the first time we've done this, not everyone jumped in and ran with it...and not everyone will. But at least one of my kids can't stay away from his poster, and keeps going back to it with more ideas and more details.

This activity was a success for us. I think we will use it again, and next time, I'll do one along with them.

~4~

That was a long take! Will try to be briefer.

~5~

Friday morning victory! My kids have 6 soccer games this weekend. Every weekend, we need to be ready with four pairs of shorts, 7 different jerseys (home and away for three kids), 5 pairs of socks, and team sweatshirts from three of the teams. Not surprisingly, I've spent many a late Friday night, and wee Saturday morning hours, weeping while hunting for these items.

Right now? Every. Single. Damn. Item. is found and ready. 24 hours ahead of time!

I am a soccer mom. Hear me roar.

~6~

I am re-reading The Outsiders, by S. E. Hinton, with my son. I first read it when I was about his age. We are trading the book back and forth and keeping up with the same chapters as we go. I'm actually getting teary reading it, and not just because of the story. No, it's the nostalgia that's getting me, the reminder of my younger self and how passionately in love with this book I was.

I keep having to hold myself back from grabbing my son by the shoulders and yelling "Don't you just LOVE IT? Isn't it AMAZING?" Probably, nothing would turn him off faster.

He does love it, though, so I needn't worry.

What book should you re-read?

~7~

And now, on our fourth day of homeschooling for the 2011-12 school year, we are off to the park, armed with books, water bottles and (of course) soccer balls. That's how we roll.

Enjoy your Friday everyone!

* * *

As always, visit the original and click around at the others who are participating today.

I Missed The Fish

2011-09-07T08:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday went pretty much as I expected. Resistance and reading both happened. I call it a success.

And I received an unexpected gift in the waning hours of the day: Little T and I found ourselves together with 1.5 hours to kill and everyone else at soccer practices.

This is what we did with our time:

I watched her chase waves and squirrels. I watched her scooter around the empty Crab Cove parking lot. I watched her play chicken with the cold water. I watched her on strong legs and sure feet run as fast as she could across a wide expanse of lawn, laughing as she went.

It is so rare that I get to do anything with just one of my kids. This moment dropped in my lap, and I reveled in it. Often, time with Little T feels like constant damage control, between her tantrums and her screaming, her demands and her mischief. But yesterday afternoon, there was none of that, just mommy and Little T, being goofy and having fun. She ate her yogurt and made me giggle by pretending each bite was utter ecstasy, and she said with the happiest of grins on her face: "I like making you laugh, Mommy!"
,
She's good at it.

I captured some of her antics on film, and then took my eyes off of the real girl to look lovingly at my iPhone, at the photos I had taken...and during that time, she saw a fish jump through the water.

"Mommy! I saw a fish! You missed it, though," she chided. "You were on your 'clicky-click.'"

I missed the fish. But I got the girl.

* * *

Back To School

2011-09-06T08:07:00.000-07:00

The new school year starts today! And my mind is overflowing with grand plans to be better, calmer and more organized.

Remember the start of the school year, that blank slate that promised possibility and offered greatness to anyone willing to work hard? Remember the thrill of blank notebooks and clean pencils? Remember the "This year, I'm going to really _____________!" declarations?

That's what it was like for me when I was a kid. Each new school year thrilled me and made me dream of how awesome my life was going to be, both with friends and in the classroom.

A few decades later, and the classroom is my living room, the idealism is gone, and I don't have any new culottes in Fall colors to sport on the first day.

But the dreams are still there, and today, my dream is this: I have a dream that one day, my children will do my biding and figure out that I am right about everything, and that if they only listen to me, read great books, and clean up when I ask them to, they will soar up and over the stars and become great people.

Today is all about turning the tide people. Not rounding the turn, certainly, but beginning the long crank on the wheel that will begin to change the direction of this ship. Turning the tide away from electronics. Turning the tide away from the damn TV. Turning the tide away from bickering and sniping. Turning the tide away from impatient mothers and rude children.

And so, I need to keep one thing in mind: Be patient. Be clear. Be kind. Be hopeful. I guess that's four things, but they are all intertwined together, and can be summed up as this: Be the mom you want to be.

I think I can do it. After all, I got 7 hours of sleep last night, a personal best over the last several weeks. I have Peets coffee dripping through my veins. And I have a clean notebook, and a kick ass Staedtler triplus fineliner black ink pen.

Here goes!

* * *

Little T's Bedtime Send Off

2011-08-31T22:11:00.000-07:00

Little T has been in bed for a bit, but she just stumbled down to ask us this:

"How do people die when they don't even hurt themselves?"

I told her that that can happen when people are very, very, very old, and after they have lived a long time and had a great life. Lame.

Rick told her that "it just happens sometimes," and that she didn't need to worry about it.

She seemed happy with both answers.

Then, Rick took her onto his lap, cuddled with her for a minute, and said: "Will you take care of me when I am old?"

She said no.

After a little back and forth, she flitted back up to bed. From her room, she fired down the final salvo:

"I BET YOU'RE OLD RIGHT NOW!"

So she's thinking: "I'm four, and he's asking ME to take care of HIM. He must be bonkers."

Plus, we all know how she feels about old people.

She's not the only game in town. I think he'd better put his money on a different horse.

* * *

You know you have a big family when...

2011-08-30T20:24:00.000-07:00

...you end up with the song Everything Is Broken, by Bob Dylan, running on an endless loop through your head when you (a) need to find something, (b) need to put something away, or (c) simply walk through your house.

It's either the big family thing or your house is actually a FEMA zone.

* * *

So Close

2011-08-29T23:41:00.000-07:00

Day 29.

Each day in August, I have posted on this blog. It hasn't been nearly as difficult as I thought it would be. I guess I hadn't considered the endless fodder that my family generates on a daily basis.

But tonight, with 19 minutes left on the 29th day, I am absolutely wrenching myself away from my book in order to put this post up, so that on Thursday morning, I can say that I did it, I posted every day for one month.

I'm reading Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand. I only have a handful of pages left. Unable to put the book down, I've lost sleep and as a result, lost patience with my children. I've neglected my laundry, my house, my offspring. I told my 4 year old I would not read to her tonight, so intent on this book have I been. It has all been worth it.

A fabulous book.

And I leave you with that.

* * *

Really?

2011-08-28T21:31:00.000-07:00

So one son came downstairs and announced that the other son, who was in the shower, was spitting on the ceiling.

What?

WHAT?

I went upstairs to investigate (because his father would probably have come on a little too strong, if you know what I mean) and the kid actually said to me: "I didn't do it on purpose!"

OK. I'm a listener. I'd like to listen to this. So I said to the bathroom door: "How, please tell me, do you spit on the ceiling by accident."

And the bathroom door said: "Well, I was just in here showering, and I'm bored, so I was spitting up into the air and seeing if I could catch it with my mouth!"

So I told the bathroom door. "OK, that's just gross, so don't do that, and if you're bored in the shower, that's a sign that it's time to get out. Now."

My walk back down the stairs and into the living room was full of questions. Well, one question really. Will this child actually one day be a fully functioning member of society?

Wow.

* * *

Update

2011-08-27T21:10:00.000-07:00

There has been an update to The Cake.

"Mommy, I forgot, I also want a tree, and a monkey in the tree, swinging around with a banana in his mouth."

I thought I was off the hook when we were in The Despised New Safeway the other day and she said: "Oooo, mommy, I want THIS cake for my birthday!" I quickly agreed to that, since I thought it would save me some work, but then I heard her telling her sister about her two birthday cakes. Silly me, I thought she wanted to replace her girl-on-the-park-bench, monkey-in-the-tree cake, but really, she was just trying to get more cake.

Yeah, I can't make that girl-monkey cake happen. But I will give it a shot. I will make a reasonable facsimile thereof, and maybe my efforts will ensure that Little T will grow up to be a happy, contributing citizen and not an ax murderer.

Why else would I go to the trouble?

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 36

2011-08-26T00:03:00.000-07:00

Another Friday's come around,

We've made it here both safe and sound.

Glad you're here with me and mine,

Would you like a glass of wine?

I've had several, so up you catch!

And help me with a plan to hatch.

Find a way (or find some elves)

To make the children raise themselves.

So I can spend my days and nights

On silly fun and fancy flights.

On making life an endless game--

Oh wait--my kids already do the same!

Pull up a chair and share a toast

And visit our 7 Quick Takes host.

Visit the others playing along,

And may your weekend be a song.

~1~

Soccer season starts this weekend with a bang: three kids are in tournaments, which means we have 9 games minimum, and 12 if their teams all do well.

I think I will encourage Little T to take up knitting as a sport.

~2~

I just started a great new book: Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand. She also wrote Seabiscuit, although I have not read that. I'm only on page 25 and I am really enjoying it. The subtitle is: "A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption."

Usually, I read only fiction. But I've wanted to change that, and when a friend recommended this book to me the other day and put it directly into my hand to borrow, I was thrilled.

Have any of you read it? And/or: what's your favorite non-fiction book?

~3~

I am still adding to my list of movies to use during our new homeschooling year. My friend Nicole gave me another great idea today: Miracle. Thanks Nic!

Please, share your ideas for great family movies. They can be educational in nature, or pure fun, like the original Parent Trap. We will be watching one movie per school week on our crappy TV, and I'm hoping this will be a highlight of the year. And if anyone out there wants to buy me a flat screen TV, purely to enhance my kids' educational experience of course, I am totally open to that.

Also, let me know if you'd like to receive a copy of my List Of Super Awesome Movies For Homeschoolin' Families or For Peeps Who Just Like To Watch Movies, once it's finalized.

~4~

Another homeschooling milestone reached! Lady E ran into the garage today, where I was failing at yet another attempt at organizing chaos, and announced: "Mommy, Mommy! I finally learned how to arm fart!"

She even offered to give me a tutorial, complete with things she tried that failed. That's the beauty of education: sharing what we've learned with others.

I get a little teary just thinking about it.

~5~

There is a brand spankin' new Safeway in my neighborhood. It is gigantic. It is fancy. It has a sushi bar. It has a Starbucks. It has cafe seating. It's decor is all chocolate and mocha. It has hardwood-ish floors in the produce section. It has new disco mini-carts.

I hate it.

It's way too big and takes forever to get through. It's freezing in there. The dairy section is in a different zip code than the produce department. They now have 4,322 different kinds of cereal instead of 3,457. And their deli still takes a kajillion years to make a sandwich. (I know of what I speak: my first job, which I had for four years of high school was in a deli, and I know how to make a damn good sandwich fast. My fingers itch when I order sandwiches at the Safeway deli. Silly me, I though it might be different with a fancy new facility. Not true.)

A Facebook friend of mine put it best when she posted the other day: "I miss my ghetto Safeway." So do I, Carol; so do I.

I do kinda like the disco mini-carts, though.

~5~

Note to self: do not let practically 5 year old children take naps. You will pay dearly for it come 11pm.

And wouldn't you think a mother of five would have learned that by now? It turns out that sleep is seductive, both for the sleeper and for the beneficiary of a sleeping monkey-tornado.

~6~

"Foods" that irritate me: Hot Pockets. Pizza Rolls. Danimals. Lunchables. Smores-Flavored Pepperidge Farm Goldfish. Really?

Just because you can do it doesn't mean it's a good idea. Really.

~7~

A goofy photo for your Friday. I hope this makes you smile.

* * *

The Worst Kind

2011-08-25T16:44:00.000-07:00

I am the worst kind of homemaker.

There are three kinds, you know.

There's the kind that is very good at organizing her (usually her) house, who knows how to arrange furniture for maximum visual appeal and comfort, and knows how to keep things running smoothly. This person places a high value on what she provides to her family and does it well.

There's the kind that isn't good at any of it, and doesn't care. She is able to live her life quite happily without the burden of paying attention to domestic issues. Either someone else does it for her, or it all goes undone, and that's just fine.

Then there's me. I place a very high value on having a well organized, efficient and comfortable household...and I can't for the life of me make it happen. I live in chaos while dreaming of order. I wade through laundry while hoping for tidy drawers. I step over shoes while wishing for empty floors. Dreaming, hoping, and wishing do not a happy household make. At least not all by themselves. That whole piece of knowing how to make it happen? That eludes me.

And that's a recipe for frustration right there.

What kind are you?

* * *

It Is Not Right

2011-08-24T21:56:00.000-07:00

Family life is hard.

This post could go in about 100 different directions from that opening line, but today, at 10pm, when I am finally sitting down and everyone (almost) else is lying down, and I've got just enough Lagunitas Censored Rich Copper Ale down my throat, and just enough energy left to ponder the extremes of the day, the post will go here: It's hard to follow children down all the different paths and into all the different choices and through all the different things that happen to them.

• One kid dealt with jerks today, real assholes, to tell the truth. I don't usually curse on this blog, but tonight, there's no other way to describe the people my child had to deal with. All I could do was tell him how proud I am to have a kid who is not a jerk, not the kind of person other kids have to talk to their parents about.

• One kid dealt with mosquito bites. No biggee, you say? Well, the kid in question has an extreme reaction to them, so when a child has 8 bites, all about the diameter of grapefruits, swelling painfully, itching maddeningly, and when that child is weeping with pain and craziness, it's no small thing. It's hard to not be able to make a child feel better, even with medicine on board, topical remedies deployed, ice packs called into service, and everything else we could think of being thrown at the problem.

• One kid dealt with-- no, she made ME deal with repeated, frustrating, exasperating behavior that we've been trying like hell to change, but which I find myself dealing with every. damn. night. and which I find exhausting and infuriating, and which leaves me with the very real need to control my hands so that I don't grab her too hard in a furious attempt to again convey to her how much we need her to get. with. the. freakin'. program.

So. After a pretty exhausting day, I found myself ping-ponging from one kid in need to another, kind of amazed by the demands parenting sometimes makes upon us, and wishing I could do more than caress a mosquito-bitten forehead, encourage an asshole-weary boy, and futilely reprimand a monkey-girl-child who doesn't seem to care one bit what I have to say.

(I have two other kids. They are total rock stars. One helped dad fix a window and deflate 15 soccer balls. The other ministered to her itchy sister, bringing her applesauce, offering her a soft blanket, offering her water, a pillow, kindness. The two of them are signs of hope and goodness for me tonight.)

* * *

What's the best way to handle jerks, anyway? All those platitudes we've offered our son?

Don't let them see how much it bothers you; if they know they're getting to you, it will only make it worse.

You're better off being a nicer, more sensitive kid, even if you don't see that right now. You will someday.

Just do your best. Hold your head high, and remember that as long as you are taking the high road, you can be proud of yourself.

Beat the crap out of them. (Did I say that out loud?)

Jerks are everywhere; quitting won't help, because wherever you go, you'll have to deal with people like that. As much as you would like to get as far away as possible from those people, wherever you end up, there will be jerks just like them.

All those platitudes are great when you have the benefit of age and experience, when you have the hindsight to see the way life and people work out. They are of little significance or value in the moment for a kid who is righteously pissed off at the injustice of the fact that assholes exist.

Those words will help him. Someday. They are worth saying. They just do precious little for him tonight, and that makes me feel helpless and lame.

It is not right that assholes exist. How do we help our kids negotiate them?

* * *

Summer Showers

2011-08-23T20:34:00.000-07:00

The other day while I was taking a shower, I heard Little T screaming and crying, and carrying on to beat the band. All the other kids were home, but they all -- to a kid -- ignored her.

Alarmed, I rushed out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and ran still dripping into her room, where I discovered the problem. She had been reaching into her Elmo suitcase, when somehow, she fell over on top of it, onto her bed, with her arm still in it. The weight of her body made it impossible for her to pull her arm out of the suitcase, and the zipper was biting into her arm painfully. Trying to push herself up off of the suitcase and the bed made the pressure on the zipper-trapped part of her arm hurt worse. She was stuck. And pissed.

I extricated her.

* * *

Today, Lady E had a friend over, and while the two of them and Little T played in their room, I took a shower. The playdate friend's mom arrived before I got out, and here's what greeted her:

My 12 year old son barely looked up from the computer screen to tell her that we (everyone else in the house) were all next door at the neighbor's house. Sensing this might not be true, she ventured upstairs and found the girls in their bedroom. The older two bolted, as kids who do not want a playdate to end are wont to do, leaving Little T behind. Why didn't she chase after them?

Because apparently, she had climbed up the over-the-door shoe hanger, gotten her feet jammed into two of the pockets, and then fell backwards in such a way that her feet were completely tangled and stuck in the pockets. This time, she wasn't screaming or even upset in any way. Just hanging out on her back, with her legs stuck up above her and her feet tangled in the shoe pockets.

The visiting mom extricated her. At least no one was dripping on her when she was rescued this time. Once freed, she promptly climbed into the kitchen sink to get a drink of water. See? She does play like a monkey!

image source: http://seashomework.wikispaces.com/file/list?o=80

Showers are starting to scare me.

* * *

Where I Learn That My Cakes Have Created a Problem

2011-08-22T12:41:00.000-07:00

Little T's 5th birthday is comin' up fast. She's seen the cakes I've made for other occasions. She came to me this morning with this:

"Mommy, you know what my cake wants to look like?

It wants to be grassy, with bushes, and flowers, and there’s a bench, with flowers and bushes next to it, and a little girl is sitting on the bench playing guitar, and her pants have flowers, and her shoes have flowers and her shirt says “Yeah, I play like a monkey, jealous?” And did I tell you about the sun part? I want the sun up in the sky. Oh, and a rainbow.

OK mommy? Can my cake look like that?"

Ru-roh.

* * *

Lady E Makes Her Choice

2011-08-21T17:00:00.000-07:00

Well, we survived the birthday sleepover, if surviving means being so tired you cannot lift your arms without hoping someone, somewhere feels really really sorry for you.

Even writing this post is costing me precious energy I can scarcely afford. But here's a recap.

They made forts. They played elaborate make believe games involving pretend pets. They made friendship bracelets. They ate an impressive amount of food. They watched a movie. They giggled. They danced to Train. They had flip-flop cake and watched the Birthday Girl open presents. They said please and thank you. They sort of sometimes included the little sisters. They made new friends. They were fabulous.

And when they left, most of my kids sort of kind of fell apart.

At one point, after too many slamming doors and too many screeches and bellows, Rick went into the living room where the fighting was happening and said wearily: "That's it. We're putting you all up for adoption."

Listening and cringing in the kitchen, I wondered if he might be emotionally scarring them with this bit of sarcasm.

He followed up with: "You decide if you want to be placed somewhere together, or if you want separate new families."

Without missing a beat, and before I had time to form a complete thought about the potential damage he was inflicting, Lady E piped up: "SEPARATE! SEPARATE!"

At least one of them will survive our unique brand of parenting.

* * *

Flip This

2011-08-20T20:33:00.000-07:00

Flip-flop birthday cake for an end-of-summer birthday party sleepover:

K, so I've got 9 little girls (11 if you count the little sisters, which you really have to do) draped all over my living room, watching The Parent Trap, the first one. These are the cutest, funniest, most polite, quirkiest, kindest girls ever.

My daughter is one lucky, blessed little girl. And her mother is one weary lady.

One down, four to go. Eight weeks from now, I will have pulled off birthday celebrations for all five kids. Just in time to gear up for the holidays.

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 35

2011-08-19T00:34:00.001-07:00

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Dickens must have been talking about Fridays with small children.

Here are my Quick Takes for today. Please visit the original 7 Quick Takes and visit the links to other people participating today.

~1~

Sissi (pronounced See-See) came to my daughter's soccer camp today and ran the morning session. She was wonderful: playful and energetic with the girls on the field, and generous with her time afterwards, as they asked her to pose for endless pictures and sign an endless parade of jerseys, back packs, soccer balls, cleats, and even ipods. What a treat!

That's how we roll. We hob nob with International Soccer Stars.

~2~

I have up to now avoided one of the true milestones of parenting: the sleepover. My kids have gone on many of them, but I've never hosted one. I'm a slacker. Tomorrow night, all of that will change, as I welcome 8 or 9 little girls into my home for fun and frivolity.

I. Am. Terrified.

I just keep breathing and telling myself: "Pizza and a movie: how hard can it be?"

How scared am I to figure out the answer to that question? Very.

~3~

I need one of those Kill Your Television bumper stickers. Actually, I need several, so I can plaster them on our cars, my kids' bedroom doors, the refrigerator, and maybe a forehead or two.

Because when I left the house yesterday? These things did not get done to my liking:

After I went to all the trouble to write a nice, pretty list, the least they could have done was follow my instructions. Instead, I came home to a messy kitchen, dog poop in the garden, and only one load of laundry folded. (And no, they are not budding circus performers; juggling is a soccer thing.)

Had I added "watch mindless television" to that list, at least their completion percentage would have gone up.

Lists. I have become my father.

~4~

My son is planning to apply to the Oakland School for the Arts next year. OSA is a free, public charter school, but students must apply and be accepted in their chosen area of arts. Now, I may be biased, but if he is not accepted...

...they need to have their heads examined.

~5~

We have been revisiting the words of legendary coach John Wooden in our house lately, in order to teach our kids always to do their best and to see sports as metaphor for life. Here are some of my favorites:

Talent is God given. Be humble. Fame is man-given. Be grateful. Conceit is self-given. Be careful.

You can’t live a perfect day until you do something for someone who will never be able to repay you.

The true test of a man’s character is what he does when no one is watching.

Make every day your masterpiece.

Google "John Wooden Quotes" for more gems.

~6~

Recommended reading with little ones: Bink and Gollie, by Kate DiCamillo and Alison McGhee, and illustrated by Tony Fucile. We -- Lady E, Little T, and I -- have read this book a kajillion times and we aren't tired of it yet. Check it out!

~7~

And here's a little cautionary tale for all you grandparents out there. Lady E shared this with me the other day:

Just so you know, they will rat you out.

* * *

Little T Has a Little Fun

2011-08-18T23:39:00.000-07:00

* * *

Hmmm...Lotsa Little T posts lately. I might have to change the name of this blog to And I'll Raise Little T. All her siblings have gotten to the point where they say "DON'T PUT THIS ON YOUR BLOG" if they do anything even remotely blog-able. She hasn't started doing that yet.

So. Lotsa Little T posts.

Maybe it's time to have another kid.

* * *

The Tiger Must Be Appeased

2011-08-17T20:42:00.000-07:00

I am trying to be better about getting exercise. We have a stationary bike in our garage, and I've been pretty good about riding it most days lately. My challenge is getting my kids to leave me alone while I'm huffing and puffing my way through the routine. They're supposed to leave me alone, but -- surprise, surprise -- they don't always.

Today while I was riding, and during the most difficult, steepest part of the program, Tallulah wandered in. Yes, even though I had told them not to bother me unless 911 needed to be summoned. Again, such a surprise.

"Mommy, where's the paint face?" (That's her way of saying face paints.)

I breathlessly tried to tell her I didn't know and I would find them when I was done. She didn't like that answer, so she hung on the handle bars and commenced begging. Gasping and straining, I told her again that I couldn't help her right at the moment, that she would have to wait.

She was having none of it. After all, she was all dressed up like a tiger, and she wanted to complete the look by painting her face. She started to dig in and rev up her whine. Meanwhile, sweat was dripping into my eyes, my legs and lungs were burning, and I just could not deal with that tenacious little she-who-must-be-dealt-with thing she does.

So I went with the first, most expeditious solution that popped into my head:

"Just...(pant)...use...(pant pant)...markers!...(gasp)"

It worked. She left me alone. She found the markers and did a number on her face:

This little story illustrates the two basic problems with Me Time for Mom. First, Me Time makes me say really stupid things, things I would never say if I wasn't trying to do something nice for myself. And second, the aftermath is a bitch.

* * *

Raising Kids Takes Common Sense

2011-08-16T15:41:00.000-07:00

As my kids get older, I am having to negotiate the world of popular culture more and more, and no one issued me a road map back when the kids were born. I get all these questions like "Can I buy a song by Eminem? The Lonely Island? The Black Eyed Peas? Lil Wayne?" I am forced to give some thought to artists (and I use the term loosely) upon whom I'd really rather not expend brain cells.

Take Lil Wayne, for example. I do not live under a rock, but I spend a lot of time moving mountains of them, and thus, I have not been able to keep up on exactly who Lil Wayne is, or whether or not I should or would object to his music. And I use that term loosely too.

So today, when I received a text from my boys, asking if they could purchase the song How To Love, by Mr. Lil Wayne, or Mr. Wayne, or however one formally addresses this person, I really wasn't sure how to respond. On my own, I am ill-equipped to answer questions like this from my kids; who has the time or the desire to keep on all this stuff?

Enter Common Sense Media, an online resource "dedicated to improving the lives of kids and families by providing the trustworthy information, education, and independent voice they need to thrive in a world of media and technology." I took that text right from their mission statement, on their About Us page, which also has a listing of CSM's 10 Beliefs about media, all of which I can get behind.

CSM hosts an interactive site where parents and kids can find useful information about all kinds of media, from movies and websites, to books and music. I've used it for years to look up movies and see what people are saying about them. CSM offers a suggested age for which a movie or song is appropriate, as well as extensive written reviews. Parents, educators, and kids can also sign up to provide their own age-ratings and written reviews. I usually read the reviews written by CSM; my son gravitates to those written by young people. I find it incredibly helpful to read these reviews; they help me feel like I am armed with information, not flying blind while making decisions that matter to me about what my kids see, read and hear.

I don't always adhere to the suggestions on CSM and that's not the point. CSM wants to give us information we can use to make our own decisions for our families. I especially appreciate that they include Consumerism in the list of things they rate; I like to know what products are going to be in my kids' faces and how they will be marketed to by what they watch. CSM also rates things like drinking and drug use, language, sex, and violence. Plus, they answer the question "Is it any good?" which I also appreciate, because I had to sit through that stupid hamster movie a few years ago and it was dreadful.

Today was the first time I've ever used it for music; I looked up that Mr. Wayne song my boys wanted (on my smart phone with CSM's mobile app, no less!), and got the following:

common sense media says: Cleanest song yet from notoriously raunchy rapper.

Parents need to know that "How to Love" is one of the cleanest singles released to date by Lil Wayne. There's no profanity or violence and just one muted reference each to sex and drinking. Moreover, the song offers a positive message to girls and women, encouraging them to have high self-esteem. For younger teens who just have to listen to Lil Wayne, this is the best choice around.

See? I learned that Mr. Lil is one of those "notoriously raunchy rappers," which I did not know, and I also learned that this particular song has some good features in it and little to object to.

Still, I was on the fence. Because my kids certainly do not need Lil Mr. in their lives or their ears, but we are trying to give them enough exposure to popular culture so that we don't turn it into something absolutely forbidden and therefore even more attractive.

Did they get to buy the song or not? Well, that's not what this post is about. The point is, I realized today how much I appreciate what Common Sense Media does, and I thought that other parents like me, who wish they had more information about the media their kids are interested in, who want to navigate the world of popular culture, not hide from it or be passive in it, would want to know that this kind of help is available. And there's more: I noticed just today that CSM has tools and resources for helping kids become savvy internet users, including how to use Facebook wisely. They also engage in advocacy, providing a needed, independent voice to the debate about media in our culture. They do much more than I knew, even though I've been clicking around on their site for years.

In this media-saturated culture, when our kids are bombarded by so much more than we were and so much more than we even know, a resource like CSM is invaluable. CSM isn't making any decisions for us, but it is giving us what we need to feel good about the decisions we make for our kids.

Check it out: one more tool in your arsenal can only be a good thing, right?

Because raising kids? Is actually warfare.

* * *

Recent Conversations

2011-08-15T19:34:00.000-07:00

My son very much wishes we would join the ranks of, well, everyone else on the planet (according to him) and buy a flat screen TV. I'm sure we will at some point, but not fast enough for him. He told me today that my dad has promised to buy him a flat screen TV...just as soon as "they" find Amelia Earhart's body.

Poor kid.

He told me this while flipping through a New Yorker magazine in the car on the way to soccer practice, and he happened on a cartoon of a family in their living room. Indignant, he exclaimed: "SEE? Even cartoon people have flat screen TVs!"

Poor, deprived kid.

* * *

Little T: "Mommy, I decided that when I'm a grown up, and I have a baby, and I have the baby in my hand, I am going to give the baby my blankey."

Lady E: "I feel sorry for that baby."

Little T: "Why??"

Lady E: "Because that skanky blankey has had a sucked-on thumb all over it."

* * *

Little T: "Mommy, can I have some gum?"

Mommy: "No."

Little T: "Well, I'm gonna take some anyway. BOO-YA!"

* * *

You know you have a big family when...

2011-08-14T21:51:00.000-07:00

...no one ever invites you over for dinner.

* * *

Except someone did! And they didn't even know we would only bring two of our kids!

We had dinner with some friends this past Friday night, sans three of our kids who had other things going on. It was so enjoyable, and it made us wonder why we never do that anymore, like we used to, when we only had two-- Oh. Never mind. We get it.

* * *

Watch, Travel, and Learn

2011-08-14T20:59:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I began putting on paper some of my ideas for homeschooling this year. I will be attempting to balance a little bit of structure with a little bit of freedom. We shall see how this goes. I vacillate between being quite hopeful and googling "boarding schools in remote mountainous villages with no internet connection."

I am planning to make two things happen each week: watch a great movie together and take a day trip somewhere together. So today I sat down with my pen and paper and started coming up with lists, of movies and destinations. Anyone else out there interested in helping build these lists? Let's get started.

Movies

Some of these I will have to review before deciding whether to show my kids and which kids to include; I'm really looking for great movies everyone can watch together. I think I am a teensy bit more permissive than the norm when it comes to what I let my kids watch. Any and all suggestions welcome!

The Miracle Worker
To Kill a Mockingbird
Born Free
Free Willy
Chariots of Fire
Breaking Away
Yankee Doodle Dandy
Gandhi
Grapes of Wrath
Judgment at Nuremberg
All the President's Men
Much Ado About Nothing
Roots I-VI
West Side Story
The Yearling
Winged Migration
My Fair Lady
Michael Collins
Oklahoma!
Gorillas in the Mist

What else should we see?

Destinations (Local-ish)

Monterey Bay Aquarium
Gold Rush Country
California Missions
The Capitol (Sacramento)
Google
A movie production studio
The Redwood Forest
The San Jose Tech Museum
Stanford University (just to see the Rodin garden!)
Find the painted alphabet letters in San Francisco

Where else should we go?

So my silly Netflix instant set up is not working, and I need to fix that before school starts, to make the movie part of my plan more efficient. I can't figure it out, and I'm unwilling to pay someone to fix it...although I'm getting closer to forking it over.

There are lists out there -- I'm just looking to make a couple of my own. Once I have nice long ones for both movies and trips, I will make them permanent links on one of my side bars; maybe other homeschooling families, or other people who like movies and going places, can use them too.

Let the listing begin!

* * *

Bring It On

2011-08-13T21:46:00.000-07:00

I have an almost, practically, might-as-well-be teenager. It seems like just yesterday, he was a curly-headed, tow-headed little blob, cuter than hell and the most miraculous child ever.

Yesterday, I realized how radically things have changed for me. We were driving (of course we were driving) somewhere on a perfectly fine and normal morning, when it became clear to me that every word I uttered and my every gesture were annoying, disgusting, embarrassing and horrifying to my son.

Wow, I thought. He thinks I truly am the stupidest person on the planet.

Beginning this year, I will have a teenager or two or three living in my house for the next 13 years.

It's like the toddler years all over again, except this time, the kids are the hormone-ravaged ones. It's like month after endless month of hazing. It's like running a marathon, but no one is standing on the side of the road holding out a cup of water or cheering us on. Actually, it's JUST like that: The Loneliness of the Long Distance Parent, the one who spends a decade or more in each stage of parenting. We changed diapers for over 10 years, and now we are facing being shat upon in a different way for the next 10+.

All I think of to do is hold on and chant "They will be people again someday. They will be people again someday. They will, please God, be people again someday."

Bring it on. But let me fill my wine glass first.

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 34

2011-08-12T08:00:00.000-07:00

Friday, Friday. Here you are, coming in on little pig's feet, looking all cute and innocent. You're actually getting ready to pounce, aren't you?

~1~

I have the privilege today of watching my first born child as Lucentio in a production of The Taming of the Shrew. He watched the film version with Elizabeth Taylor the other day and said: "Now that shrew was impossible to tame!"

Oh, is he in for a world of hurt.

~2~

There is very little that goes wrong in life that cannot be made better by a cup of hot Irish breakfast tea, with just the right amount of whole milk and sugar. It may not work for everything, but it works for many, many bad days. Give it a try.

~3~

Recommended reading: Nicholas Schmidle's article in the August 8, 2011 issue of The New Yorker magazine, entitled Getting bin Laden. American citizens should read this account so that, collectively, we understand what we as a nation did on May 1, 2011.

You can support what our nation did that day or you can oppose it. Either way, you should know what happened. Schmidle does a good job of telling the story and of letting the story speak for itself.

Many New Yorker stories are not accessible to non-subscribers: this one is. Go forth to click and read.

~4~

Summer is coming to a close. For us, that means it's time for me to figure out how we will do our 2nd year of homeschooling. I am surprised by how many people assume that our schedule doesn't change during the summer; I've been asked many times if we just keep up our "schooling" year round.

Most definitely, we do not. I have not required the kids to do any reading, for example, and we took the summer off from the math tutoring the boys were doing. We've basked in the lazy days of summer and we've focused on fun, fun, fun. And this has been the best summer we've ever had.

We were definitely unstructured schoolers last year, which was just what the doctor ordered for all of us at the time. This year, I'd like a bit more of a structure, a bit more of a plan. So while I may not be going over those crazy school supply lists the way many parents are doing these days (which ranks up there in the Top 5 Things I Don't Miss About Having My Kids In School), my mind is turning to plans and ideas for the coming year.

And this year? I've got Little T to contend with. Which makes me consider Kindergarten boarding school. Think one of these exists?

One thing I need to incorporate into my year is more networking and talking with other homeschooling parents. I'm ready to trade ideas, try new things, and hear about other people's experiences, etc. Last year, I wasn't. I just wanted to do my own thing and see where it got me.

Mostly, I am hoping that the Best. Summer. Ever. will lead us into the Best. Schoolyear. Ever.

~5~

Overheard: The other day, we were driving through the country, and Lola noticed a really lovely fresh, outdoor smell. We were talking about how nice it was, and Lady E, who couldn't smell it, said:

"Man, I guess I should have plugged in my nostrils this morning!"

Add that to the morning routine: plug in your nostrils and don't forget to bring your elbows.

~6~

Lessons learned this week: So it turns out that if you plan on what meals you want to make each day, and if you use that plan to make your grocery list, and then if you actually take your list to the store and get everything that's on it?

Mealtimes go much more smoothly and you save money. And you feel like a grown-up.

~7~

A Friday photo:

The other day my daughter, ever the negotiator, presented me with a bargain. "If I go pick blackberries, will you make a blackberry pie?" I agreed. As it turned out, we did not have enough blackberries, but we did have lots of apples. So...we adjusted the plan.

I really enjoy making apple pie, especially making the crust from scratch. Contrary to what you might have heard, it's super easy. So after a little effort, I was able to send my husband the following text: "Will you stop at the store on your way home for some ice cream and/or whipped cream for the apple pie I just made?" I think he wanted to marry me all over again.

The bad news? I didn't get even one slice of that pie. A pack of crazed puppies attacked it. I heard it was tasty though.

* * *

Please visit our 7 Quick Takes host, Jen at Conversion Diary and clicky-click on a few of the links to other Quick Takers.

* * *

The Freedom to Fail

2011-08-11T11:22:00.000-07:00

image credit: Impulse Magazine

Yesterday, the Library of Congress announced the appointment of Philip Levine as the new Poet Laureate of the United States. The job of the Poet Laureate is "to raise the national consciousness to a greater appreciation of the reading and writing of poetry." (Taken from the website of the Library of Congress.)

Prior to that announcement, I knew little to nothing about Philip Levine, although his name was familiar. But the news came to me yesterday while I was lamenting the quality of my children's exposure to arts and culture, at least any arts and culture that doesn't make my ears bleed. So when, on our way to Shakespeare camp this morning (yes, I do see the irony there), our local public radio station, KQED, aired an interview with Levine, I turned it up. I wanted my kids to hear this guy talking about poetry. I'm sure my intended audience was more attentive to his/her electronic devices, but I turned it up anyway. I paused to explain to my captive audience what a Poet Laureate is, and was greeted by blank stares.

But I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed the interview. I liked what he had to say about teaching at Fresno State, where he has been for 30 years:

"I've got these students, who are capable of learning, gave themselves the freedom to learn because they gave themselves the freedom to fail."

He goes on to say that at other, more prestigious schools at which he has taught, like Yale and Vanderbilt, "students had a lot of trouble being that told their poems were no damn good." It seems that education, for these high achieving students, is more about being brilliant already than about expanding one's mind and possibilities. (You can access the whole interview here.)

What an important concept to keep in mind. Amidst all our striving towards excellence and achievement, it's easy to lose sight of real learning. We can forget the importance of failure in shaping our minds, our hearts, who we are, and how much we grow, in intellectual and in more personal or creative endeavors.

While we may want our children to work hard enough to go to a good college or university, what we want for them even more is the freedom to fail, the freedom to find more and better paths for their creativity and innovation to flourish. Maybe in art or poetry, maybe in engineering, maybe on a soccer field or in a medical lab, maybe in their personal pursuits or in common cause for others.

Maybe in family life and raising children, too. Maybe parents need the freedom to fail, in order to grow and get better at crafting children, the way a poet crafts his poems. Perhaps it's not about being perfect already, but about keeping ourselves open to the possibilities before us, to directions we aren't expecting to go.

Leave it to a poet to remind us how our hearts and minds expand. Thank you, Mr. Levine.

* * *

I'd like to help Mr. Levine out in his new job of raising poetry awareness. So please, find a poem to read today. Read one by our new poet laureate, or click on over to The Writer's Almanac and explore Garrison Keillor's poetry-promoting effort. Write one of your own! (I write poems, but they're really just shameless thefts of great works for my own petty purposes...not really what I'm thinking of here.)

Let's all let a little poetry into our lives, and see where it takes us. I'm guessing it will be somewhere pretty great.

* * *

Go To Sleep, Girls

2011-08-10T18:43:00.000-07:00

Daughters do not go gentle into that good night.

Young girls do burn and rave at close of day,

And rage, rage against the mother every night.

Though wise-ass girls in the end know mom is right,

Because their shouts have sparked great lightning, they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Strong girls, the last heads down, trying so hard

Their wild deeds to keep on spinning in a dark room,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Willful girls who catch the sun when its most bright,

And learn, too late, they should not grieve their mum tonight,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Tired girls, near sleep, whose eyes will not shut tight,

(Those eyes do blaze like meteors while I sigh),

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, their father, there on the sad couch,

Curse them, force them now with your fierce words, I pray.

Make them go into that good night.

Rage, rage against the striving of the sprites.

* * *

with gratitude and apologies to Dylan Thomas

The Last 20 Minutes

2011-08-09T17:57:00.000-07:00

Got home from the grocery store.

Trying to make dinner.

Girl doing laps through the house on heelies.

Girl playing "volleyball" with a rubber glove balloon.

Boy playing a loud video game.

Boy putting clean dishes away loudly.

Girl riding unicorn hobby horse throughout the house, yelling random things.

Girl opening freezer door forcefully and straight into her sister's forehead.

Boy doing his best imitation of Eminem.

Girl crying about something and yelling "HEY GIVE ME MY PONY BACK!"

Girl repeatedly kicking a soccer ball against the kitchen door.

Girl hiding Biscuit the dog from other girl.

Girl crying and yelling "WHERE'S BISCUIT???"

Kids ignoring orders to put stuff away.

Girl making tent in living room. This is the part where I go on record to say that I hate tents.

Children asking to watch a movie like they're entitled.

Boy singing Hey Jude.

* * *

Mom drinking beer.

* * *

My New Mantra

2011-08-08T18:59:00.000-07:00

Mine was not an athletic childhood.

I played a little basketball, and my most vivid memory of that experience is that there were not enough black uniforms for all the girls on the team, so I wore a black leotard instead. That was fine with me.

I played a little soccer, and have no vivid memories of that whatsoever.

I played some Little League baseball, and I remember two things. First, my sister and I were on the team with our two best buddies, twins Jennifer and Heather. The four of us had a great time, mostly centered around eating as much candy as possible without getting caught.

And second, I remember my hit. Yes, my one hit. It was near the end of the season, might even have been the very last game, and I was sick and tired of striking out. My skinny little 8 year old self decided I was hittin' that ball, no matter what. At my next at bat, I stood there thinking about all the batting advice I'd ever heard, about watching and waiting for the right pitch, keeping my eye on the ball, having the proper stance and swing. I swung and I missed. Twice. And then a ball was coming towards me, way too high, not in my strike zone at all, and in a split second, I decided I didn't give a hoot, I was going to hit that thing. So I raised the bat straight over my head, elbows pointing to heaven, and karate chopped with everything I had. I hit the ball and it was wonderful. Terrible, awful form, the very antithesis of perfect execution, but I made contact. Running to first base was like flying. In my decidedly unreliable memory, the crowd went wild, and I felt like a star.

Alas, it ended there. I didn't play Little League the next season, and I didn't care. I could eat candy with Jennifer and Heather any old place, and I just wasn't a natural athlete.

My daughters, on the other hand, are competitors. All five of my kids are already athletes, with four of them playing soccer and Little T playing at life, which for her is pretty much a contact sport she intends to win.

What I love about sports is how much it can teach a kid about life in general. And not having experienced this as a child, it's like I'm figuring out sport for the first time. Soccer provides so many fantastic opportunities for us to talk to the kids about life, hard work, devotion, team-work, committment, sportsmanship -- you name it and we've talked about it in the context of sport. (We tease Rick that he can make soccer a metaphor for anything. But it's true, he can because it is.)

And it is a particular joy to watch my girls play, and play hard. I love that they know what it's like to be strong and aggressive, to challenge themselves physically. I love that they will grow up with this as a norm, as something as natural to them as the endless artwork they create at the dining room table. And I love watching them play.

The other day, we got the girls some t-shirts that capture their love of sports. Lola made her own version at the dining room table that night:

Isn't that fantastic?

It's perfect for my girls, but it turns out it's perfect for so much more as well! A day or so after we got the shirts and Lola made the poster, I was talking with a friend about a difficult conversation she needed to have with a guy (see what you put us through dudes?), and out of my mouth came the perfect advice: "Play like a girl!" In other words, be tough, because you know you are.

So it turns out that my daughter's t-shirts are teaching me a thing or two about life.

Don't want to tackle my to-do list?

Feeling daunted by raising my teenager?

Unsure how to get that next project done?

Lacking a little confidence?

Play like a girl, Mama Monica! Get in there and play hard! You can do it! Take 'em down! (Sometimes, that last one is truly necessary.) I think we big girls need to make that our new mantra, our new rallying cry. It's all in there, all the courage and confidence anyone could ever need.

Looks like I need to go back to Target and see if they make those shirts in adult sizes.

* * *

Better

2011-08-07T10:49:00.000-07:00

Last night, I sat down with a new book, Sarah's Key. Six and half hours later, at 3:30am, I finished it.

At about page 25, I wasn't sure I wanted to keep reading. It was already brutal. By page 50, I couldn't put it down, and knew that I'd read it in one sitting.

I am bleary-eyed, exhausted, and inhabiting another world today, suspended in the pages of Sarah's story, so beautifully written by Tatiana de Rosnay.

Reading that book makes me want to be better, a better mother, a better wife, a better friend, daughter, sister. I can't say why or how. It makes me want to be stronger and braver.

I stayed awake for another hour, not thinking coherently, but acutely aware of the yearning the book had stirred in me, and wondering about it.

Today, with the daily tasks of motherhood and family life ahead of me, with all of the chores I loathe needing to be done, and with not nearly enough sleep, I will strive to be better.

* * *

Go Cowboys!

2011-08-06T15:50:00.000-07:00

My son took me to the movies today. Sure, he didn't pay for the ticket, but if not for him wanting to go see Cowboys and Aliens, I wouldn't have gone.

He had a lousy start to a tough week this past Monday, and he was pitifully miserable that night. I tried everything I could think of to make him feel better and nothing worked. If anything, all my encouraging words made him feel worse. Why is that? Why, when we are offering our children pure gold to chew on, are they most annoyed with us?

Anyway, I changed tactics. I did what we've all done. I bribed him. "If you'll stop that incessant whining, I'll take you to the movies on Saturday."

Maybe I didn't put it quite that way, but you get the idea. However I put it, it worked, and he finally saw that life wasn't quite so dismal as he feared. Nothing like a little mass media to soothe the soul.

So off to the movies we went today, he, his buddy, and I.

How was it? Well, it's a little predictable. It's got the standard issue characters: the handsome outlaw, the bespectacled saloon owner, the good-for-nothing weakling son, the gruff but good-down-deep Colonel, the Native American with all the integrity, etc . The dialogue is a little tired, with gruff confessions of past crimes and casually dropped lines full of significant information. There's a loyal dog. Of course.

But it was super fun, and sometimes, that's exactly what you want in a movie. I'll try not to give away too much, but I do "spoil" one line of dialogue below, so stop reading if you don't want to know it.

Overall, the movie is great. The aliens are creative enough to be interesting, which must be hard to do after so many alien creatures have filled up the big screen. The clash of the two genres, sci-fi and western, is something new and engaging. And the battle scenes are perfect for anyone who likes to see good guys go after bad guys.

The boys loved it. There were enough surprises and enough violence to keep them on the edge of their seats and happy. The special effects were good enough for me, although I'm maybe not the best judge of special effects, since most of the movies I go see require tissues instead of 3-D glasses. And there were some great last breath scenes, with people speaking the truth right before expiring. The best was the preacher, looking at the outlaw, gasping and saying: "Bring back our people. God doesn't care who you were, son. Just who you are now." Then he dies of a huge gaping wound inflicted by a sticky alien.

Awesome.

So yes, I recommend this movie. It helps if you take a 10 year old boy with you. He will think both the movie and you are awesome.

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 33

2011-08-05T10:24:00.000-07:00

I spent way too much time writing my quick takes post this morning and lost the entire thing. Will attempt to recreate it now, double time. First, let me wipe away tears of internet-induced frustration.

Aaaand, here we go:

(1) Cringe.

I am an idiot. I just figured out yesterday that I've been mis-singing a lyric in my all time favorite Beatles song. I thought the Hey Jude line was "the moment you need is on your shoulder," but actually it's "the movement you need is on your shoulder." I've even used this line, or my version of it, in two blog posts.

I stand corrected. Sheepishly corrected. I fixed one of the posts, but left the other as is, to keep myself humble.

Please feel free to make me feel better by telling me your own most embarrassing Lyric Fail.

(2) Wisdom.

After a particularly awesome soccer practice last night, Lola Berry said:

"When you play hard and do well, you have more fun."

Perhaps this would be good to remember for life in general.

(3) Celebrating

Instead of being at BlogHer '11, I am here with my daughters celebrating Dangles the Monkey's birthday (she has a few per week). Little T took an orange coat off her Molly Wiggins doll, wrapped it up, and gave it to Dangles as a present. We think she looks charming in her new toggs. We are having blueberry muffins for "cake," and washing it down with Irish breakfast tea with cream and sugar.

All this and I saved at least $300!

(4) Sleep, or the Lack Thereof.

I need sleep. Badly. My son's alarm went off last night at midnight -- he claims he has no idea who set it -- and kept going off at neat five minute intervals for the next 35 minutes. Right next to his head. He did not hear it. I finally got up and crushed the thing with a stiletto heel to get it to stop, and then I couldn't get back to sleep until around 3am. Two hours later, I was awakened again, this time by a pee-soaked four year old. Don't worry, she didn't suffer the same fate as the alarm.

So. I'm tired. And I decided my girls can spend this particular summer day watching a movie. Their survival might depend on it.

(5) A Growl a Day.

To make myself feel better about letting my girls be couch potatoes today, I decided to take them and the dog on a quick walk before starting the movie. They wanted to ride various wheeled conveyances: Lola Berry, a bike; Lady E, a scooter; Little T, a trik. "NO WAY!" I said. "We will get half way down the block, and you will get tired, and you'll want me to take your wheels, and I will have the dog, and NO WAY!"

we won't we promise we won't we promise we won't we promise

Please, please please please please please

mommie mommie mommie mommie mommie mommie mommie

You know I gave in to that onslaught. Fast forward, not far, just half way down the block, and two of them were standing next to their wheels and wailing. That's when I heard a gutteral shout: "Stay with your wheels and ride! That's the deal!" I didn't even know I could make myself sound like that.

It all worked out. We made it all the way around the block with wheels turning and people riding, and by half way through, Little T had stopped whining "But my legs are full!" She even raced me the last stretch to home.

(6) The Price

I've written about this hillside a couple of times before. The first time, back in April of 2008, the sign read 4,012. More than 2,000 U. S. soldiers have died since then. We should always know the price of war. Today, it's 6,175 priceless lives.

Actually it's much higher than that, because that number only counts American servicemen and women, not soldiers from any other country, not American contractors, not civilians, not enemies.

But for the 6,175 and counting, there is a hillside to always remind us.

(7) The Sun.

It's overcast here today, so we had to find our sun from another source:

Luckily, we only had to go as far as our back garden. Here's hoping everyone finds a little sunshine in their Friday.

* * *

Please visit Conversion Diary for the original 7 Quick Takes and visit the links of other Quick Takers!

And thank you for stopping by. Feel free to step out of the anonymous shadows and post a comment.

* * *

There Oughta Be A Law

2011-08-04T10:44:00.001-07:00

You know how there ought to be a law against mothers getting sick?

Yeah, well, there isn't one yet, and I went and got sick yesterday, and the house...well...not that it was the picture of efficiency before I took to my bed, but let's just say the chaos took its best opportunity to get the upper hand and is now doing victory laps all over the property.

Things I learned when I emerged from my bed this morning:

Laundry piles breed like rabbits.
Yesterday's breakfast dishes had a camp out on my kitchen counter, later joined by the lunch and dinner dishes, and the party is still going on. I've heard talk of s'mores.
Shoes are magnetically attracted to my living room floor. I just counted 17 of them in there.
When I am sick, the dog seems to shed 3x as much as usual. I think she worries about me. Or perhaps she worries who will feed her if I am down for the count.

Suffice it to say, that even though I am not quite fully recovered from whatever bug was buggin' me yesterday, I cannot CANNOT be out of commission for another day. I'd wake up to to find my family buried underneath piles of dirty socks.

So I'm taking a page from Fly Lady's book, setting my timer, and cleaning as much as I can for 15 minutes. Then I am stopping and drinking water and blogging and checking email, texts, and facebook for 15 minutes. And then I will repeat the cycle. It'll get me through the day, and at least I won't be more behind by the end.

I'm a fledgling Fly Girl, but the 15 minute thing works for me.

The getting sick thing? Not so much.

* * *

bouquet courtesy of Lady E, age 6

* * *

How To Hurl An Insult

2011-08-03T11:35:00.000-07:00

It's Shakespeare Season again at our house! This week commenceth our 12 year-old son's fifth summer of Shakespeare camp. Can you imagine spending two weeks, 9-3 each day, attending classes with names like "Stage Combat" and "Improv" and "Voice and Text" and "Shakespeare History?" He loves it. We are eternally grateful to the California Shakespeare Theatre for running this camp each year. (And I don't even want to think about how close we came to missing the chance this year; I signed up late and Sam was on a wait list. I held my breath for three weeks before getting the good news that he was in.)

When Sam was 8, he was in King Lear. This was the year he responded to being told to take a bath with a sniff to his arm and a thoughtful "...smells of mortality." This was the year that I put him in a time out for something and he said: "I am a boy more sinned against than sinning."

When he was 9, he was in Pericles. Yeah, I had never heard of that one either. It was about a King. And some battles. And some of the characters died. Shocking, I know.

When he was 10, he was in Hamlet. This was the year that he called his messy bedroom Denmark, as in "Something is rotten in the state of Denmark." Sure enough, we unearthed an extremely disgusting apple beneath his bed.

When he was 11, he was (Puck!) in A Midsummer Night's Dream. That was just plain awesome.

Then he shook things up by being in a production of Love's Labour's Lost this past Spring, with a group called The Greenwood Players, an all youth-run, youth-directed company that produces one play each Spring with kids ranging in age from 10 to 16 or so. That was also awesome.

Now he is 12, and he is in The Taming of The Shrew. He is at a perfect age to get a huge kick out of this play. I expect him to be coming home for the next two weeks saying things like: "Mom, did you know what this means? Let me tell you!"

He's learned many things from all of his Shakespearean activity. He has learned how to kill and be killed on stage. He has learned some choice Elizabethan swear words. He was learned about innuendo. He learned that Shakespeare invented the word puke. And now, he is learning how to hurl an insult like Will Shakes.

Today at camp he received the Shakespearean Insult Sheet, which was adapted (by whom, I am not sure) from The Folger Shakespeare Library's Shakespeare Set Free. The sheet consists of three columns. Column A contains a spicy adjective, such as "churlish." Column B contains a hyphenated, and therefore double toned, adjective, such as "evil-eyed." And Column C contains a noun, and not a very flattering one at that.

The instructions start out like this: "Combineth one word or phrase from each column below and addeth 'Thou' to the beginning." That made me laugh. Then Sam and I had loads of fun insulting each other.

Thou distempered, sour-faced nut-hook!

Thou reeky, onion-eyed malignancy!

Thou queasy, eye-offending remnant!

Thou pernicious, lean-witted pantaloon!

There are 30 entries in each column. That means there are 27,000 different possible insults. That should last us at least through the rest of the summer, don't you think?

Here is a link to the insult sheet, so you can have as much fun as we are having being horrible to each other. We might as well learn from the best!

* * *

Can't Protect Them From Much

2011-08-02T17:19:00.000-07:00

Katie Nolan, the mother of Francie Nolan, in the Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, said it best after hearing about her 16 year old daughter's first heartbreak:

Katie heard the story. "It's come at last," she thought, "the time when you can no longer stand between your children and heartache. When there wasn't enough food in the house you pretended that you weren't hungry so they could have more. In the cold of a winter's night you got up and put your blanket on their bed so they wouldn't be cold. You'd kill anyone who tried to harm them--I tried my best to kill that man in the hallway. Then one sunny day, they walk out in all innocence and they walk right into the grief that you'd give your life to spare them."

We can't protect them from much, really, if you think about it. We can talk till we are blue in the face (which seems to be my current strategy) but when it comes right down to it, these kids will go out into the world and make their own way. All we can do is feed them and keep them warm, and talk till we're blue in the face, and then we wait. And hope. And pray. And watch. And seek sweet revenge on anyone who harms them. After the fact though, because we probably won't be there when the actual harm is done.

That passage from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn was one of my favorites. I have enough food to feed my family, even if they don't like what I serve. We are warm enough in the winter, even if they claim that their father and I have ice for blood and don't understand what the heater is for. I am not raising my children in the kind of poverty that Katie Nolan had to raise her children in. But Katie and I, both mommies, share that protective instinct and the sure knowledge that it will take us, and our children, only so far.

Which, if you think about it, is totally unfair. There is no other realm in which all of a person's hardwork and devotion and sleep deprivation, all of person's planning and preparing and striving delivers absolutely ZERO guarantees that everything will work out. NOT FAIR.

On the other hand, it's probably fairly well documented that the absence of all of the above will pretty much guarantee that nothing will work out.

So I guess I will keep fighting the good fight. I will continue to feed them, and clothe them, and give them lectures about sticking with things that are hard, standing up for the underdog, trying your best at everything you do, learning from your mistakes, staying true to yourself in the face of pressure, and about anything else I can think of...

...and someday, I will know that the time has come, the time when I can no longer stand between them and heartache.

Awesome.

No wonder no one ever tells expectant parents the real truth.

* * *

Then You Can Start To Make It Better

2011-08-01T13:39:00.000-07:00

Happiness is...

...driving in the car listening to Hey Jude with my kids, thinking about how much I loved this song when I was a teenager, how much the music moved me and validated my every angst-filled thought, and about how back then, I never could have guessed that I would have these five little beings to call my own, all of whom know all the words to Hey Jude, who love it as much as I ever did, and about my own almost-teen, for whom this song is every bit as powerful and meaningful as it was for me when I was his age, and about how even today, in my less angst-filled but much more complicated world, the message is good and timely and such a blessing.

The movement I need is on my shoulder.

The movement to get up and make the coffee...

to make sure the laundry gets switched from washer to dryer...

to stop and admire my daughter's drawing of a mermaid under the sea...

to make tortilla soup...

to load everyone in the car and drive people to their destinations, to Shakespeare camp and soccer camp and Trader Joe's...

to make everyone do their chores...

to laugh at old Carol Burnett reruns...

to take a call from a friend who needs help drafting a letter to her boss, because her workplace is full of corruption and she wants to take a stand...

to wash the damn dishes...again...

to find shorts for the would-be 4 year old nudist...

to send a text to my husband with a photo of the latest kid creation I came across and to trade funny text messages with him...

to read The Thief Lord to the kids...

to let my daughter rest her head on my shoulder...

They are all here, ready for me to make the most of them, all of these movements, and the many, many more that will make up this day that seems impossible but probably isn't.

"Don't let me down. You have found her, now go and get her. Remember, to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."

* * *

Find her. Go get her. Let her in. Let her go. Watch her fly.

* * *

Sporty Fresh

2011-07-29T13:47:00.000-07:00

Ever heard of NaBloPoMo? The community effort to post every day for one month?

I tried it back in November of 2009, and I came darn close to posting every day. Close, but no cigar. I'm giving it another go for August 2011, in which the theme is Fiction. (From what I can tell, you can choose to write on the theme or not. The daily posting is really the thing; the theme is a structure you can use if you wish.)

Anyway, I think a little blog posting muscle flexing is in order, as I've not been the most disciplined writer of late. So I'll use the writing prompt provided by NaBloPoMo for today, for their July 2011 daily bloggers, to get me started. Here's the prompt:

"What was the last thing you bought?"

The last thing I bought was a stick of Right Guard Sport deodorant.

Because someone in my family was leaving the house for a music lesson, and someone else in my family suggested to the young prodigy that he apply a health dose of deodorant to himself, since after his lesson he would be going straight out for the entire evening with other people, and because when the suggest-or picked up the suggest-ee from the music lesson, it was entirely clear that this sage advice had not been followed, and because there was no time to go home and remedy the problem properly, and because the inside of the van, which was en route to drop off the young prodigy at the home of a third and innocent party, was beginning to have the air of a torture chamber...

For all of these reasons, I dashed into a drugstore and purchased a stick of Right Guard Sport, not the healthy kind, not just deodorant but actual antiperspirant, the stuff that traps everything in, clogs pores and bestows sweet relief on family and friends. Pressed for time as I was, I did the drugstore dash, turned in a C+ effort of holding my tongue with respect to the unfollowed advice, and managed to get him to his destination on time and smelling Sporty Fresh.

Because I want him to be invited back.

And because it's my job to teach him things about sweat.

And because I love him.

* * *

If She's Not on Etsy, She Should Be

2011-07-24T18:07:00.000-07:00

Entrenched as we are in the electronic age, we have lost the joy of sending and receiving actual mail, something we can hold in our hands and physically open up. Delivered packages are treasures indeed, am I right? I am right. And did I ever get a delightful one this past week!

Thank you ever so much to Mama Mama Quite Contrary, for the wonderful care package I received this week. I entered a giveaway on her blog, and contrary (no pun intended) to my luck in pretty much every other area of my life (Exhibit A: Tallulah), I WON! People, look what I got:

Items included

• a lovely, handmaid tote -- I completely adore this bag!

• the book One Day, by David Nicholls -- can't wait to read it

• earplugs (ooo, it's like she read my mind and heart)

• tea

• a humorous handwritten postcard from Mama Mama (who by the way, has lovely handwriting)

• a gift card to Donors.org, allowing me to give $25 to a worthy organization of my choosing

This goody package kicks the ass of every other goody package on the planet. This mama will enjoy every single one of these items. Mama Mama, you rock, and you roll, and you boogie, waltz, groove, get down, polka and shimmy, all at the same time!

Now the bag, people, the bag deserves some attention all its own. Take a gander at this hand made bit of loveliness:

Mama Mama, if you aren't selling these on Etsy, you totally should be. People would pay money for these bags. They are adorable and stylish and just the right size. And I just realized the photo doesn't show the cheerful yellow lining! Readers, please click over to her blog if you might be interested in one of these bags and leave a comment encouraging her to make (and sell) more!

Thank you, thank you, thank you for the lovely goody package! If you can't tell, I loved it.

And this, my friends, is but just one reason why I love the blogosphere.

:) Mama Monica

* * *

And I'll Raise You 5

7 Quick Takes: Volume 48, The "Thank You, Jesus!" Edition

How?

A New One

Three Morning Morsels

7 Quick Takes, Volume 47

I Would Like To Live...

Things Change

The Question Before Us

When You Have A Noisy Family...

Why I Can't Solve the Fruit Problem

Today's Burning Issue

Even Children Get Older

Who Knows?

Dorothy Saves Christmas

7 Quick Takes: The Christmas List Edition

The Price I'm Willing To Pay

Just for Fun

You Never Know

7 Quick Takes: Volume 45

7 Quick Takes: Volume 44

Support The Writer's Almanac

Mission #1

7 Quick Takes, Volume 43

Reward

I Finally Figured Out This Parenting Thing

At Least She Knows What She Likes

If I Lived in San Francisco...

7 Quick Takes: Volume 42

Trippin'

Monday Morning Pop Quiz

Genius

Takes 8, 9 and 10

7 Quick Takes, Volume 41: The OMG I HAVE A TEENAGER Edition

A Family Scene

Not Sure What This Is

12 hours later...

Ya' Hear That? Yup. It's Angels.

Ridiculous, But I'm Going For It Anyway

7 Quick Takes, Volume 40: The Twittery Edition

You Say Tomato

Nothing Better

A Good Day

Two Letters to Kids Who Play Soccer

7 Quick Takes: Volume 39

We Like Those Ladies

Spunk and Muscles

7 Quick Takes: Volume 38

I Don't Care About Your Problems

I'm Gettin' Educated

Death and Life

7 Quick Takes: Volume 37

I Missed The Fish

Back To School

Little T's Bedtime Send Off

You know you have a big family when...

So Close

Really?

Update

7 Quick Takes: Volume 36

The Worst Kind

It Is Not Right

Summer Showers

Where I Learn That My Cakes Have Created a Problem

Lady E Makes Her Choice

Flip This

7 Quick Takes: Volume 35

Little T Has a Little Fun

The Tiger Must Be Appeased

Raising Kids Takes Common Sense

common sense media says: Cleanest song yet from notoriously raunchy rapper.

Recent Conversations

You know you have a big family when...

Watch, Travel, and Learn

Bring It On

7 Quick Takes: Volume 34

The Freedom to Fail

Go To Sleep, Girls

The Last 20 Minutes

My New Mantra