My daughter is texting me with vast quantities of wedding questions because she is bored in her Shakespeare class. (How is that POSSIBLE???? Is she not her mother's child? I LOVE Shakepeare!) Anyway, she is getting on my nerves, so I am going to blog about her.
The age-old question parents ask: "Why did you DO that???" To which the child replies: "I dunno. But everybody else was." Parental wisdom: "If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?"
The answer is yes. For both my children. But for different reasons. Neither of my kids are followers, neither would jump just because everybody else did, but boy are they both competitive!!!! (Where do they get this???)
For the purposes of the following comparison, we will assume here that bridge-jumping is not fatal, but merely stupid.
Here's how Kacey would jump: Everybody else has decided to jump. She runs to be the first in line, because she will not be outdone. She runs to make an instant jump - except . . . she is afraid of heights. Now she is standing on the edge of the bridge having second thoughts, as everyone else pushes by her and jumps, but doggone it, she has already decided to jump and she WILL NOT change her mind. After much internal debate and determination, and more than just a few tears, she jumps - not because anybody else did or didn't, but because she decided to, and for Kacey, making the decision is biggest battle. (This is my theory as to why she waited so long to go out with Nathan and why she said "yes" so quickly. She knows that once she makes up her mind, that's it, no matter what.)
Here's how Kevin would jump: He will stand at the bottom of the bridge and watch everyone else jump. He will critique their styles and methods, heckle them as they fall, and think through all the pros and cons of bridge-jumping. After everyone else has jumped and gone away, he will assemble the needed supplies and fortitude, climb the bridge and jump - with no one else watching. Then, of course, he will brag about how much better he did it than everyone else with no way to prove himself. (This is pretty much how he has done everything else in his life from potty-training to swimming to tying his shoes to reading to . . . you name it!)
I just read this post to Kevin and he laughed hysterically all the way through it. He knows it is so true!
March 21, 2008
waxing rhapsodic
I love my baby boy. Adore. After giving it some thought since yesterday, I MIGHT adopt the "Love You Forever" ideology and strap a ladder to the top of my car so I can climb into Kevin's dorm room and cuddle him in his sleep. (Of course, this won't happen until he turns 18 or until I decide to let him leave home, whichever comes first!)
So, he has a "girlfriend". They are "going out". Now, what this means is they decided they each think the other one is cute. I have to admit, the whole situation is cute. I also have to admit, I'm enjoying posting this because his sister doesn't know about "the girlfriend" and she is generally the first one to know such things! (Ha, Kacey - that's what you get for being out of the country!) I'm not going to post the girlfriend's name, as I want his sister to call and find out!
All that to say this: He is growing up. I miss when he was little. I miss when he was 3 and I would say, "Kevin, come whisper sweet things in mommy's ear" and he would crawl into my lap and whisper in my ear, "Fweet things, Mommy." I miss when he called the utility room the "Titilly" and when caterpillars were still "calepittars". I miss him sleeping in our bed. But Thursday night, I got to relive just a bit of it. After we watched "Lost" together, he got his iPod, sat on my lap, stuck his green jelly earbuds in my ears, and spent 45 minutes playing songs for me he thought I would like - sitting in my lap the whole time. I enjoyed singing out loud with the earbuds, because they make me sound GREAT in my own head! At the end of our 45 minutes, I made him put in the earbuds and I selected Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" (a favorite of this former clarinet player), and I scratched his back while he got a new lesson in music appreciation. All in all, not a bad way to spend 3/4 of an hour.
Lest you think it was all sweet and heartfelt, Kevin did make note: "Mom, just because you sound great in your own head when you sing out loud, doesn't mean you REALLY sound that great." Teenagers. Gotta love 'em.
So, he has a "girlfriend". They are "going out". Now, what this means is they decided they each think the other one is cute. I have to admit, the whole situation is cute. I also have to admit, I'm enjoying posting this because his sister doesn't know about "the girlfriend" and she is generally the first one to know such things! (Ha, Kacey - that's what you get for being out of the country!) I'm not going to post the girlfriend's name, as I want his sister to call and find out!
All that to say this: He is growing up. I miss when he was little. I miss when he was 3 and I would say, "Kevin, come whisper sweet things in mommy's ear" and he would crawl into my lap and whisper in my ear, "Fweet things, Mommy." I miss when he called the utility room the "Titilly" and when caterpillars were still "calepittars". I miss him sleeping in our bed. But Thursday night, I got to relive just a bit of it. After we watched "Lost" together, he got his iPod, sat on my lap, stuck his green jelly earbuds in my ears, and spent 45 minutes playing songs for me he thought I would like - sitting in my lap the whole time. I enjoyed singing out loud with the earbuds, because they make me sound GREAT in my own head! At the end of our 45 minutes, I made him put in the earbuds and I selected Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" (a favorite of this former clarinet player), and I scratched his back while he got a new lesson in music appreciation. All in all, not a bad way to spend 3/4 of an hour.
Lest you think it was all sweet and heartfelt, Kevin did make note: "Mom, just because you sound great in your own head when you sing out loud, doesn't mean you REALLY sound that great." Teenagers. Gotta love 'em.
March 12, 2008
March 07, 2008
the lovely girls of delta xi and one handsome devil
My daughter's club is currently pledging, and I have become the recipient of some pledge duties this week. Pledge Ariel has become Kacey's "My Mom has a Cell Phone" pledge. Ariel has had to call me several times to tell me I'm beautiful and to ask me random personal questions. (What is your job like? How many times have you moved? Why is Kacey jealous of your cell phone? That sort of thing.) Pledge Katie called today and asked to speak with Kevin - she had several questions to ask him regarding numbers (his age, his favorite number, etc.). Pledge Kayce called to introduce herself as my daughter's "Little Sister" (Does that make me her honorary mother? I hope they don't start sending me tuition bills.) They have all called with instructions from my daughter to tell me one fact: 
MY SON IS A HANDSOME DEVIL.
Well, I think so, and apparently so does his sister. The photos, I think, speak for themselves . . .
February 29, 2008
WARNING: fluorescent lights are hazardous to your self-esteem
Terrell came in to my office earlier today so we could work on some worship stuff. We finished talking and he just sat here for awhile. After a few minutes he said, "What is it about your office that makes people want to come in here and stay?" I took that as a compliment. Now, I'd like to think that it's my company that makes people want to hang out, but truthfully, I think it is because I have sage green walls and four lamps that light the room with warm incandescent lighting. It gives you, to 
quote the Eagles, a "peaceful, easy feeling". Maybe too peaceful and easy judging from the photos, but still, a welcome change from the "slap-you-in-the-face" overhead fluorescents in most offices. Fluorescent lighting should be illegal. Come on, if they can enact a smoking ban in every public building in the country because it's hazardous to your health, then can't they do the same to fluorescents because they're hazardous to your self-esteem???At least they should offer a disclaimer like Dairy Queen does with peanuts.
WARNING: This establishemnt uses fluorescent lighting. Once you enter the premises you will appear hideous. Your skin will become blotchy, all cellulite will be painfully obvious, the low, dull buzzing will leave you with a migraine, and your pants and socks will no longer match even though they looked fine in your bedroom this morning.
Yes, I know fluorescents are a "greener" more environmentally friendly choice, but if that is our reasoning, then I vote for candles. Who doesn't look better in candlelight?
February 26, 2008
amendment to my so-called funny life
Okay, so I tell stories the way I remember them. It's my blog. It's my reality. I like it that way! But it's been suggested I need to amend some of yesterday's stories, so here goes:
Re: the Godzilla sushi story. There was no actual oozing of rice and avacado. That line was for comedic effect.
Re: The dog jokes. They're all true. When Kevin was getting into the shower he said, "I'm going to wash myself now." I said, "Don't get a fur ball."
Re: The sesame chicken slime-fest and chase scene. I was reminded that my precious baby Kevin was guilty of holding Mike's arms behind him, enabling Sara to smear Mike's face. Hence the need for Kevin to barracade himself in the room with Sara. The rest about the chasing and running and squealing is all true, and gets funnier every time I replay it in my head, which is much more entertaining than doing co-op lesson plans.
Re: the boy's proposal. My intention was not to shed a "cruel light" on Nathan's proposal. I thought it was 
brilliant! It was the ONLY way he was going to surprise her and he got her good. Only when she came into the house so solemnly the first time and then he knocked and she went back out, I thought they had gotten into a fight. It was killing me to not snoop or peek out the window when they were standing 15 feet away from me!!!
brilliant! It was the ONLY way he was going to surprise her and he got her good. Only when she came into the house so solemnly the first time and then he knocked and she went back out, I thought they had gotten into a fight. It was killing me to not snoop or peek out the window when they were standing 15 feet away from me!!! February 24, 2008
my so-called funny life
My son was "Undignified" this morning for the JAM kids. (This means, like David who danced before the Lord in his underwear, my son danced in a similarly undignified manner with Kelly for the elementary school kids today during children's worship). Here is a small clip:
Now if I can only find a wide-lapel, orange scenic-print polyester shirt . . .
We ate sushi at RuSan's in Nashville on Tuesday. At Kevin's prodding, Mike took on "Godzilla" the giant piece of sushi in one bite. It was uncomfortably enormous for anyone's mouth - even Mike's. It was especially unpleasant when rice and avacado began to ooze out of disgusting places in disgusting ways. Don't try to make a mental picture.
So, ever since the "dog shampoo" incident during last week's communal living, dog jokes about Kevin have been rampant. On the same day as the Godzilla sushi occurrence, Mike was dancing in the car. Kevin alluded to Mike's dancing looking more like siezures than choreography and asked Mike if he needed something to bite down on. Mike said he would just bite down on one of Kevin's chew toys! Then, on a snow day as I was watching all the school closings on the news, I decided we would officially change the name of our homeschool from "Reynolds Academy" to "Reynolds Obedience and Training School." Now, if we could only get him housebroken . . .
ReighAnne is not happy with me because I put this picture of her on the screen at church this morning. Tonight she mumbled something about setting cats on fire in my front yard and tapeworm eggs in my coffee . . . she says I should know better than to get on the bad side of a biologist. Frankly, I'm more than a little scared. (I love you, ReighAnne!)
On Thursday night we were finishing up at the office and deciding what to do for the evening. We decided on sesame chicken and "Lost". At this point we are still at the office. Greg has just left our house for his 20-min drive to work, it is raining and beginning to freeze outside, so the roads are getting nasty. I sent Kevin out to start the car. He did. From the passenger side. Then he locked it and came back inside. Yep. He LOCKED it, and came back inside. So now we are locked out of my car, the car is running, and the nearest set of extra keys is 30+ minutes away. Thanks to Sara, she took me to meet Greg and all that we lost was 45 minutes and a quarter tank of gas. (I suspect Kevin did it on purpose so I wouldn't make him go out in the cold to start the car anymore!)
Same Thursday night, sesame chicken was acquired and consumed, except for the smudge of brown syrupy sesame goo that Sara smeared on Mike's face. What followed was an all out game of chase between Sara and Mike, with ketchup bottle in hand, bent on revenge. It would be okay to make a mental picture of this one, 'cause it was too funny to watch them chase each other AROUND and AROUND and AROUND the kitchen, squealing (Okay, Sara was the only one squealing, Mike was just laughing!) and stopping only to catch their breath and change direction. Sara barracaded herself in the guest bedroom with Kevin until the coast cleared. Really wish you could have been there. (Though after today's post, they may not allow ME to be there anymore . . .)
Saturday night my daughter suspected she was getting an engagement ring. She was told to "dress up" and Nathan took her to diFratelli's. He didn't give her a ring. She thought maybe afterward they would drive down to the riverfront and he would propose there. He didn't. She thought mabye he would stop at the church building on the way home and give her the ring there. He didn't. He brought her home. He said goodnight. She came into the house almost in tears because she was so sure and she was so disappointed. Just as she was about to lose her composure, Nathan knocked on the door. When she opened it, he was down on one knee on our front porch. Needless to say, she got a ring. A GORGEOUS princess-cut sapphire ring, which is what she has always wanted.
Greg came in from work this morning at 6 at told me he was going on a geology expedition. Mind you, it's early and I'm still in bed. "What did you say?" "I'm going to do some geology work," he said. I still didn't get it. "HUH???" I said as I raised up slightly and made an expression that I feel is largely responsible for the wrinkles that are appearing on my face now. He said, "I'm - going - to - see - the - rock - on - my - daughter's - hand". Ohhhhh, geology work. Now I get it. I decided I needed to sleep a few more minutes.
I am enjoying scouring eBay for 70's clothes for Mikey to wear in the Paducah Follies show next month. These are some of my favorites:
Now if I can only find a wide-lapel, orange scenic-print polyester shirt . . .
February 12, 2008
microwave by candlelight
My parents got a new vehicle. It is white. Kevin told them they couldn't drive it after Labor Day.
My daughter has some exciting job prospects . . . she is "stoked" about the possibilities! Thanks to her wonderful boy for doing a Target run last night to buy her a portfolio and resume paper.
We have been without power since about 3 a.m. I am hoping by the time I get home this afternoon I will not have to use the microwave by candlelight!
Terrell just called and told me to "go home". He said the roads are getting bad, so for once, I might actually listen to him!
My daughter has some exciting job prospects . . . she is "stoked" about the possibilities! Thanks to her wonderful boy for doing a Target run last night to buy her a portfolio and resume paper.
We have been without power since about 3 a.m. I am hoping by the time I get home this afternoon I will not have to use the microwave by candlelight!
Terrell just called and told me to "go home". He said the roads are getting bad, so for once, I might actually listen to him!
February 07, 2008
not exactly an open book
There's a difference between being close to someone and being open with them. With the exception of 2 or 3 people, I don't think I'm very good at either one. I attribute this to losing my very best friend - twice - the guy I planned to marry (due to bad communication and impatience on my part), and my sister a few years ago in a car wreck. Add to that the fact that we moved a lot when I was a kid. Between kindergarten and high school, I went to 8 different schools. But I never minded that part. Mom and Dad always made moving an adventure.
New houses, new schools, new friends. What this managed to accomplish, personality-wise, is that I make friends easily. Surface friends. Friendly friends. I'm
really good with the "meet and greet" stuff. The "Hi, how are ya?" stuff. The talk-to-the-lady-in-front-of-me-in-the-check-out-lane stuff.
What I'm not so good with is the
"Here's Who I Am" stuff. The "Being Real" stuff. The "Sharing a Few Deeper Paragraphs" stuff. I'm quasi-terrified of being perceived as needy - mostly because it contradicts my whole facade of being independent - but also because I don't ever want to be one of those people who are draining.
Besides, doing the whole "Open Book" thing always makes me cry. ALWAYS. And I HATE to cry. Really I do. (My kids will never believe this, they think I actually enjoy crying over kleenex commercials and sappy love songs and roadkill puppies. I don't.)
Anyway . . . It's not really that I'm afraid people won't love me. I'm a pretty accepting person, so I assume most other people are too. It's that I'm afraid I will love them and then they will leave me. That's the part I've never really learned how to deal with.
On the plus side, God knows all my junk and He's not going anywhere.
I find enormous comfort in that.
New houses, new schools, new friends. What this managed to accomplish, personality-wise, is that I make friends easily. Surface friends. Friendly friends. I'm
really good with the "meet and greet" stuff. The "Hi, how are ya?" stuff. The talk-to-the-lady-in-front-of-me-in-the-check-out-lane stuff. What I'm not so good with is the
"Here's Who I Am" stuff. The "Being Real" stuff. The "Sharing a Few Deeper Paragraphs" stuff. I'm quasi-terrified of being perceived as needy - mostly because it contradicts my whole facade of being independent - but also because I don't ever want to be one of those people who are draining.
Besides, doing the whole "Open Book" thing always makes me cry. ALWAYS. And I HATE to cry. Really I do. (My kids will never believe this, they think I actually enjoy crying over kleenex commercials and sappy love songs and roadkill puppies. I don't.)
Anyway . . . It's not really that I'm afraid people won't love me. I'm a pretty accepting person, so I assume most other people are too. It's that I'm afraid I will love them and then they will leave me. That's the part I've never really learned how to deal with.
On the plus side, God knows all my junk and He's not going anywhere.
I find enormous comfort in that.
February 04, 2008
Intelligent??? Meme (at Janice's request)
1. Visual/Spatial 
. . . . . . . . .
7. Naturalistic
(I LOVE to draw house plans.
Been doing it for years.
Been doing it for years.
I have a theory as to why,
but that's fodder for another blog . . . )
but that's fodder for another blog . . . )
2. Verbal/linguistic
(Any Monty Python quote will work, but I chose this one:)
King - Please! Please good people! I am in haste. Who lives in that castle?
Peasant 1 - No one lives there.
King - Then who is your lord?
Peasant 1 - We don't have a lord.
King - What?
Peasant 2 - I told you, we're an anarco-syndicalist commune. We take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the week. But all the decisions of that officer must be ratified at a special bi-weekly meeting; by a simple majority in the case of purely internal affairs-
King - Be quiet!
Peasant 2 - but by a two-thirds majority in the case of more serious-
King - Be quiet! I order you to be quiet!
Peasant 1 - Order, eh? Who does he think he is? Ha!
King - I am your king!
Peasant 1 - Well I didn't vote for you.
(from Monty Python and the Holy Grail)
3. Musical/Rhythmical (A tribute to the 70's, Simon & Garfunkel, my tendency to be a snob about music and to have passed that snobbery on to my children, and playing & teaching piano)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8QY2wCbijU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8QY2wCbijU
4. Bodily/Kinesthetic
(A hot bath,
a good book,
and some quiet time . . .
does this count?)
(A hot bath,
a good book,
and some quiet time . . .
does this count?)
5. Interpersonal (Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens . . . these pictures are a few of my favorite social things!)
. . . . . . . . . 6. Intrapersonal
MY attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant . . .
MY attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant . . .
7. Naturalistic
The only thing that came to mind, after much consideration was when I was pregnant with Kevin and planning a homebirth. My mom was invited to be part of it, but was encouraged to voice her reservations before the due date. Knowing that we were avid recyclers and "green" thinkers, mom called one day and asked, "Will you have an actual PLASTIC bag to throw away the placenta after the birth?" (I think I gave her some story about burying it under a tree in the backyard and dancing in the moonlight.) I don't know why, but of all the things she could have been concerned about a home birth, this was her one and only reservation. Still makes me laugh.
8. Logical-Mathematical
"You get a penny for your thoughts but you have to put your two cents in, somebody’s making a penny."
"You get a penny for your thoughts but you have to put your two cents in, somebody’s making a penny."
OR
Einstein's riddle (This is the first logic problem I ever did. Worked it with my dad. Been hooked on them ever since.)
There are 5 houses in 5 different colors. In each house lives a person with a different nationality. The 5 owners drink a certain type of beverage, smoke a certain brand of cigar, and keep a certain pet. No owners have the same pet, smoke the same brand of cigar, or drink the same beverage.Somebody owns a fish. The question is: who? Hints:
The Brit lives in the red house.
The Swede keeps dogs as pets.
The Dane drinks tea.
The green house is on the left and next to the white house.
The green homeowner drinks coffee.
The person who smokes Pall Mall rears birds.
The owner of the yellow house smokes Dunhill.
The man living in the center house drinks milk.
The Norwegian lives in the first house.
The man who smokes Blends lives next to the one who keeps cats.
The man who keeps the horse lives next to the man who smokes Dunhill.
The owner who smokes Bluemaster drinks beer.
The German smokes Prince.
The Norwegian lives next to the blue house.
The man who smokes Blends has a neighbor who drinks water.
The Brit lives in the red house.
The Swede keeps dogs as pets.
The Dane drinks tea.
The green house is on the left and next to the white house.
The green homeowner drinks coffee.
The person who smokes Pall Mall rears birds.
The owner of the yellow house smokes Dunhill.
The man living in the center house drinks milk.
The Norwegian lives in the first house.
The man who smokes Blends lives next to the one who keeps cats.
The man who keeps the horse lives next to the man who smokes Dunhill.
The owner who smokes Bluemaster drinks beer.
The German smokes Prince.
The Norwegian lives next to the blue house.
The man who smokes Blends has a neighbor who drinks water.
February 01, 2008
selling my youngest-born
insurance company has assured us that if we don't put a new roof on our house, and fast, they are going to drop us: $2000+
car has been in the shop since last Thursday. I am selling my youngest-born to get it back: $1786.97 + new tires $350
picture tube on our tv went out. Jack and Kate faded to black and were . . . LOST. Price for new pretty 42" one at Sam's club: $1200 - 1600
Having sushi in Nashville tomorrow: priceless.
car has been in the shop since last Thursday. I am selling my youngest-born to get it back: $1786.97 + new tires $350
picture tube on our tv went out. Jack and Kate faded to black and were . . . LOST. Price for new pretty 42" one at Sam's club: $1200 - 1600
Having sushi in Nashville tomorrow: priceless.
January 18, 2008
he used to sound like Minnie Mouse
I didn't want a boy. Boys are loud and smelly and like sports and fighting and they almost never look right in sundresses. But, thankfully, God knew what I needed more than I did. Anyway, today my baby is 15. Fif-stinking-teen. I am having a hard time with this one. Maybe it's because this year he looks his age. Maybe it's because he is getting tall. Maybe it's because he is shaving. Maybe it's because he likes girls now. Maybe it's because he has a definitive baritone voice (which still freaks me out a little when I talk to him on the phone, as he used to sound like Minnie Mouse.) Maybe it's because I don't see how it's possible for him to be 15 when I'm still 25. Okay, so 25 with several year's experience . . . anyway . . .
He is the best kid. Really. Not a perfect one. He's king of comebacks, his handwriting is atrocious, and . . . well, I'm sure there is SOMETHING else. BUT: He is sweet. He is witty and FUNNY! He is thoughtful. He is not afraid of anything. He is easy to get along with. He is not a follower. He is a great worker. He NEVER complains. (This is my favorite "Kevin" quality! No matter what I ask him to do, he is more than willing to do it, and only occasionally does he roll his eyes at me!) He loves to read. He's smart. We like the same stuff, so he's fun to hang out with. (Except for sushi and Hobby Lobby - I said he's not perfect!)
Kevin is an "all or nothing" kind of guy. Always has been. He is not interested in doing something until he can do it right. It's an interesting personality trait, as it is completely opposite from his sister who will jump in and try anything and keep trying until she gets it. Kevin waits until he thinks he can master it, then he jumps in and does. He learned to read that way. Wasn't interested in learning at all, then one day we picked up a book and he said, "Oh, so you just make the letter sounds and put them together." By the end of the day he was reading on his own. Learned to tie his shoes in 5 minutes. Learned to swim in even less. The list goes on and on, but you get the idea. He won't be the first kid to jump in, but when he finally does, he'll do it right.
Kevin, you make my life joyful. I am so proud of the child you have been, the young man that you are, and the godly man you are quickly becoming.
I continue to pray that you keep your eyes on God and that He blesses you beyond what you can even imagine! Have a wonderful birthday - I love you more than life!
He is the best kid. Really. Not a perfect one. He's king of comebacks, his handwriting is atrocious, and . . . well, I'm sure there is SOMETHING else. BUT: He is sweet. He is witty and FUNNY! He is thoughtful. He is not afraid of anything. He is easy to get along with. He is not a follower. He is a great worker. He NEVER complains. (This is my favorite "Kevin" quality! No matter what I ask him to do, he is more than willing to do it, and only occasionally does he roll his eyes at me!) He loves to read. He's smart. We like the same stuff, so he's fun to hang out with. (Except for sushi and Hobby Lobby - I said he's not perfect!)Kevin is an "all or nothing" kind of guy. Always has been. He is not interested in doing something until he can do it right. It's an interesting personality trait, as it is completely opposite from his sister who will jump in and try anything and keep trying until she gets it. Kevin waits until he thinks he can master it, then he jumps in and does. He learned to read that way. Wasn't interested in learning at all, then one day we picked up a book and he said, "Oh, so you just make the letter sounds and put them together." By the end of the day he was reading on his own. Learned to tie his shoes in 5 minutes. Learned to swim in even less. The list goes on and on, but you get the idea. He won't be the first kid to jump in, but when he finally does, he'll do it right.
Kevin, you make my life joyful. I am so proud of the child you have been, the young man that you are, and the godly man you are quickly becoming.
I continue to pray that you keep your eyes on God and that He blesses you beyond what you can even imagine! Have a wonderful birthday - I love you more than life!
January 10, 2008
right below hugs & kisses
Kacey bought me a beautiful hardback copy of "Anna Karenina" for Christmas. It's the book I was reading during the last trimester of my pregnancy with her, and because it is a LONG Russian novel, it carried over into the first couple of months of her post-womb life as well. And, because I'm the amazing mother that I am (choke, gasp, cough), I of course, read the entire book out loud. No small feat for Tolstoy, not to mention that fact that for the first half of the book I was reading "alone" in the room. I never reallly did get used to doing that - always felt weird. Anyway . . . Around month 2, I began reading books more geared to her level of appreciation. Lucky for Kacey (and for me!), my sister was taking a Children's Literature class at Harding at the same time. Every time Stacey & I talked, she would recount all the wonderful stories they were reading in class. (I'm sure there was a bit more to the class than reading children's books, but that's the only part that was important to me!) Then I would head straight to the nearest bookstore and buy every one of them. That was definitely one of my favorite parts of being a mom - reading aloud. Ranks right below hugs & kisses, and right above tickling. I would dare say there was never a day from before Kacey was born until Kevin was 10 or 11 that I didn't read out loud - with the rare exception of my having a sore throat or their being at Nana's house. And since now both my kids would rather read than do just about anything else, I guess it paid off. I miss it, though. I do still read to my high school co-op students. They like it, plus I get to say that, at 14, I still read aloud to Kevin. I'm sure he loves that.
January 06, 2008
grasping at air
Maybe you can relate: The gear shift in my car in located on the steering column. I guess most are. After you drive a vehicle for awhile, it just becomes natural to reach for the right side of the steering column when you put your car into gear. But every now and then I find myself driving a vehicle with a center console gear shift (usually my mom's Jeep). Anyway, I always reach for the steering column when I start to drive and end up grasping at air and feeling silly. Ironically, I only have to drive the Jeep for a day or two for the reverse to happen. I get back into my own car, turn the key, reach for the non-existent console gear shift, and knock over a bottle of water in the cup holder instead. Okay, so it's just habit and it makes me feel a little silly, but it's not really a big deal.
However, the same problem exists with other items like my curling iron. I use it every day. Keep it plugged in to the same spot. Can curl my hair in 3 minutes flat, almost without looking. I hold the curling iron in my right hand, lift a section of hair with the left, clamp the iron around the end (again with my right hand), and hold the very tip of the curling iron with my left hand as I wind my hair. Fine. Occasionally, however, I use a straightener. Same basic motion, except you start at the roots instead of the ends, and with the straightener you don't hold the tip - you grab both sides as you pull it firmly down through your hair. Again, fine. Until I have used the straightener for a day or two and then go back to the curling iron. You really shouldn't firmly grab both sides of a curling iron at any point in the process. Unless, of course, you are a masochist.
Just an observation and a life lesson I thought I'd pass along.
However, the same problem exists with other items like my curling iron. I use it every day. Keep it plugged in to the same spot. Can curl my hair in 3 minutes flat, almost without looking. I hold the curling iron in my right hand, lift a section of hair with the left, clamp the iron around the end (again with my right hand), and hold the very tip of the curling iron with my left hand as I wind my hair. Fine. Occasionally, however, I use a straightener. Same basic motion, except you start at the roots instead of the ends, and with the straightener you don't hold the tip - you grab both sides as you pull it firmly down through your hair. Again, fine. Until I have used the straightener for a day or two and then go back to the curling iron. You really shouldn't firmly grab both sides of a curling iron at any point in the process. Unless, of course, you are a masochist.
Just an observation and a life lesson I thought I'd pass along.
January 04, 2008
Jamaican Me Crazy!
It was one of those Friday nights back in October when I really needed to be with friends. It had been a really awful couple of months and I was just beginning to recover. I don't remember everyone who was present, but I do know Rob & ReighAnne and Mike & Sara were 
among the few. It started out as a "scrapbooking" night, but turned into a great night of conversation . . . and coffee. "Jamaican Me Crazy" from Kirchhoff's to be exact. We were standing around ReighAnne's little kitchen, everyone holding a mug - except me. I made a pouty lip and whined about feeling left out, so Sara grabbed a mug, poured me a cup, and handed it to me just so I would feel included. I stood there, holding the warm ceramic mug between my palms, knowing that if I wasn't careful I would forget that what I was holding was coffee and take a sip. Being the good friend that she is, and apparently knowing this as well, Sara proceeded to add creamer to my coffee "just in case". Once seated back around the dining room table, engaged in a church discussion, I did take a sip. And another. And then another. Since then I have enjoyed Kringle Krunch and Snickerdoodle (both at the Seifert's), and a single shot caramel latte from Kirchhoff's (Kacey says it's sissy coffee, but still . . . )
Sara gave me a pound of "Jamaican Me Crazy" for Christmas. I bought filters, hazelnut creamer and a thermos mug. I am officially caffeinated. There's no going back now.
among the few. It started out as a "scrapbooking" night, but turned into a great night of conversation . . . and coffee. "Jamaican Me Crazy" from Kirchhoff's to be exact. We were standing around ReighAnne's little kitchen, everyone holding a mug - except me. I made a pouty lip and whined about feeling left out, so Sara grabbed a mug, poured me a cup, and handed it to me just so I would feel included. I stood there, holding the warm ceramic mug between my palms, knowing that if I wasn't careful I would forget that what I was holding was coffee and take a sip. Being the good friend that she is, and apparently knowing this as well, Sara proceeded to add creamer to my coffee "just in case". Once seated back around the dining room table, engaged in a church discussion, I did take a sip. And another. And then another. Since then I have enjoyed Kringle Krunch and Snickerdoodle (both at the Seifert's), and a single shot caramel latte from Kirchhoff's (Kacey says it's sissy coffee, but still . . . )Sara gave me a pound of "Jamaican Me Crazy" for Christmas. I bought filters, hazelnut creamer and a thermos mug. I am officially caffeinated. There's no going back now.
December 26, 2007
dirty santa and the great mystery
The way I see it there are three good gift types:
1. Something you need that you can't afford. (Furniture; new car tires; stainless steel cookware; etc.)
2. Something frivolous you love that you would not likely buy for yourself. ($100 hurricane lamp; rabbit-lined leather gloves; 600-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets)
3. Something fun that suits your personality and interests. (video games; cds; a $15 cinnamon lipgloss; restaurant gift certificates; scrapbooking supplies; et. al.)
This leads me to question the "Dirty Santa" game that we played with my husband's family on Christmas Eve. The girls were to bring a girl gift, the guys were to bring a guy gift. The girl stuff ranged from a Bed, Bath & Beyond gift card to lotion to chocolate to a journal to earrings. No problem. It is the guy stuff that perplexes me. The gifts were as follows: Electrical tape; Duct tape; garden hose roll-up thingy; plastic rain gauge; wrench; box cutter; a dozen pairs of work gloves; and various colors of plastic cable ties. Seriously. And they
grappled over these things like toddlers fighting over the last cookie! Now, I gave this some thought. If this was a girl gift, the equivalent would look something like: A travel sewing kit; box of safety pins; nail clippers; twelve pairs of yellow playtex dishwashing gloves; spatula; a curling iron caddy; and an old lady clear-plastic rain bonnet. Am I the only one who sees the humor in this? These are not gifts. I'm convinced these are the purchases of 5 men who do not have a clue how to shop and were equally relieved that none of the other guys knew how to shop either.
Gift cards make sense to me. Big boy toys I can appreciate. Electronic gadgets I understand. Game systems I even like myself. But plastic cable ties remain a mystery to me.
1. Something you need that you can't afford. (Furniture; new car tires; stainless steel cookware; etc.)
2. Something frivolous you love that you would not likely buy for yourself. ($100 hurricane lamp; rabbit-lined leather gloves; 600-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets)
3. Something fun that suits your personality and interests. (video games; cds; a $15 cinnamon lipgloss; restaurant gift certificates; scrapbooking supplies; et. al.)
This leads me to question the "Dirty Santa" game that we played with my husband's family on Christmas Eve. The girls were to bring a girl gift, the guys were to bring a guy gift. The girl stuff ranged from a Bed, Bath & Beyond gift card to lotion to chocolate to a journal to earrings. No problem. It is the guy stuff that perplexes me. The gifts were as follows: Electrical tape; Duct tape; garden hose roll-up thingy; plastic rain gauge; wrench; box cutter; a dozen pairs of work gloves; and various colors of plastic cable ties. Seriously. And they
grappled over these things like toddlers fighting over the last cookie! Now, I gave this some thought. If this was a girl gift, the equivalent would look something like: A travel sewing kit; box of safety pins; nail clippers; twelve pairs of yellow playtex dishwashing gloves; spatula; a curling iron caddy; and an old lady clear-plastic rain bonnet. Am I the only one who sees the humor in this? These are not gifts. I'm convinced these are the purchases of 5 men who do not have a clue how to shop and were equally relieved that none of the other guys knew how to shop either.Gift cards make sense to me. Big boy toys I can appreciate. Electronic gadgets I understand. Game systems I even like myself. But plastic cable ties remain a mystery to me.
December 12, 2007
Darlings by Design
possible excuses why I haven't blogged for the past week . . .
*My life is incredibly boring.
*My life is incredibly fascinating, you know, working with Mikey and
Terrell everyday, and I just don't want to make the rest of you envious.
*I've actually been sleeping all night long for the last month, so there
are 3 fewer blogging hours in my day than normal.
*I've been seriously contemplating purchasing a water buffalo. No joke.
*I don't have any cool illness, depression, finals, engaged friends, or pregnancy to blog about.
*I don't want to post pictures of myself from 10-20-30 years ago. That would make me have to admit how old I am then I WOULD be depressed! (Though Sandy looks as beautiful now as she did at 18! I hate her.)
*I'm not obsessing about what I didn't get done yesterday.
*I'm not obsessing about what I'm not going to get done tomorrow.
*I'm not obsessing about what I'm going to do for the rest of my life.
(And neither should my daughter . . . )
*Is anybody out there REALLY interested in what font I decided to use for the church letterhead? I think not. (But, if you are: sylfaen. It looks nice if you emboss it in 18 font, though the embossing tends to blur on the smaller font, especially since I have to set the leading at 14 for 11 font. Fascinating, huh?)
*I'm not lavishly visiting/vacationing Evansville or any variety of exotic Texas cities.
*I feel guilty blogging when I should be Christmas shopping.
*I have writer's block.
*The cat ate my mouse.
I didn't say they were good excuses . . .
*My life is incredibly fascinating, you know, working with Mikey and
Terrell everyday, and I just don't want to make the rest of you envious.
*I've actually been sleeping all night long for the last month, so there
are 3 fewer blogging hours in my day than normal.
*I've been seriously contemplating purchasing a water buffalo. No joke.
*I don't have any cool illness, depression, finals, engaged friends, or pregnancy to blog about.
*I don't want to post pictures of myself from 10-20-30 years ago. That would make me have to admit how old I am then I WOULD be depressed! (Though Sandy looks as beautiful now as she did at 18! I hate her.)
*I'm not obsessing about what I didn't get done yesterday.
*I'm not obsessing about what I'm not going to get done tomorrow.
*I'm not obsessing about what I'm going to do for the rest of my life.
(And neither should my daughter . . . )
*Is anybody out there REALLY interested in what font I decided to use for the church letterhead? I think not. (But, if you are: sylfaen. It looks nice if you emboss it in 18 font, though the embossing tends to blur on the smaller font, especially since I have to set the leading at 14 for 11 font. Fascinating, huh?)
*I'm not lavishly visiting/vacationing Evansville or any variety of exotic Texas cities.
*I feel guilty blogging when I should be Christmas shopping.
*I have writer's block.
*The cat ate my mouse.
I didn't say they were good excuses . . .
November 29, 2007
nursing on peppermint sticks
Most of you who know me know this story, but it's the season, so it bears repeating. I did not feed my children sugar until they were 2. Even then it was more of an extended family thing than a mom thing. My theory: why give it to them when they don't even know what they're missing? Anyway, the Christmas when Kevin was 11 months old, Kacey wanted to decorate the tree with a candy-cane motif. We hung shrink-wrapped candy canes, strung peppermint garland and made a huge bow for the top from red & white diagonally-striped wired ribbon. Cute!
Kevin, (having never had a nursery, nor a crib because we're "family bed" people) was, what I call, a "wandering baby". You never knew where he was going to be when you woke up. One particular morning during the holiday season (I believe it was "8 Maids a-Milking" day), I woke to funny little noises coming from the living room. Those funny little noises turned out to be my barely-steady-on-his-toes baby boy, standing as high on tiptoes as his footie pajamas would allow, neck outstretched like a Serengeti giraffe, nursing the end of a peppermint stick. Apparently he had sucked the plastic off the end of one, then continued to lick and slurp it to a sharp point, and the funny little noises were his grunts and groans as he neared the end of his height range in relation to the dwindling candy cane. The look on his little face told me what his lack of verbal communication could not: "Me like sugar."
As a wandering baby he did many other funny little things like sleepwalk, almost pee on his sister, and sleep in the kitchen cabinet. Oh, other stories for other days!
November 19, 2007
the calm before the storm
Everybody is blogging about the season: traveling, Christmas shopping, the November "calm before the storm". I love Christmas. I do. Really. I just want it to last twice as long and be four times less hectic. And I'm not generally a procrastinator, except when it comes to Christmas shopping. I haven't even begun to think about it, much less actually do it. (sigh)I love the cold, the dark, the white twinkle lights, humongous bows on packages, snow, boiled custard, holiday get-togethers, timers that automatically turn my trees on and off, Christmas music, online shopping, my rabbit-lined leather gloves, appetizers, holiday movies and cartoons, sweaters, and reminiscing about previous years as we hang each ornament on the tree . . .
I'm not so crazy about multi-colored icicle lights, wrapping gifts, turkey, pulling boxes out of the attic, property taxes, vaccuming pine needles, "Santa Baby", squash in any form, pumping gas when it's 18 degrees, or, one of the great mysteries of life: untangling Christmas tree lights which were most definitely NOT tangled when we put them away 11 months ago . . .
Mostly I just love the whole "being together" thing - whether with friends or family or friends who feel like family. That's my favorite part of Christmas. Well, that and "How the Grinch Stole Christmas."
November 16, 2007
stinky little boy
Kevin is spending the weekend visiting his sister at college. He has really been looking forward to it. Kacey is, well . . . over-the-top, can't wait, planning the "best weekend EVER" excited! They are so cute. They have a very unique relationship, and I am very blessed by it. They LOVE each other. Truly, completely adore each other. I can't remember a single real argument they have ever had. Oh, they beat on each other quite regularly, but it's always a playful "I'm tougher than you" wrestling match intended for everyone's entertainment. Generally when they are together, they are snuggled up, Kacey playing with Kevin's hair, and occasionally throwing "Your Mom" insults at one another. Kevin still sleeps in her room when she comes home, and they talk until the wee hours of the morning. When they were younger I would fuss at them to stop talking and go to sleep. No longer having a sibling relationship myself, I am content to let them enjoy their time together and build memories.I attribute their relationship to the fact that they are nearly 7 years apart in age. Kevin has always been "Kacey's baby". When I was pregnant with him, she would frequently tell me how much she wanted a sister. She was adamant about NOT wanting a "stinky little boy". When he was born, she was the first one to hold him after we cut the cord. She was sitting there in the bedroom floor at 4 a.m. on that COLD January morning, long hair all tangled, wearing her "Little Mermaid" nightgown, holding this tiny little baby, and I looked over at her and said, "Kacey, I'm sorry we got a stinky little boy". She immediately looked up at me with darts shooting from her eyes and said, very sternly, "Don't ever say that about my baby." That was it. She was in love, and my heart melted.
November 08, 2007
unwritten rule of the first child
I always got to be first. That's the unwritten rule of the first child. The first to walk and talk. The first to go to school. The first to drive. To date. To marry. To have children. My slightly younger sister, Stacey, was second at all these things. Even with our second pregnancies, both boys due within a week of each other - Kevin decided to arrive 4 weeks early, thus ensuring me the first boy as well. She was always throwing this up in face. "You OWE me!" she'd laugh.
A few years back, she got to be first. I've never been happy about this one on any level. Little sisters aren't supposed to go first . . . especially when it entails funerals and cemetary markers. And no matter how much time passes, I hurt for my niece and nephew who really have no idea how wonderful their mom was. I hurt for my parents who have to walk by her bedroom and drive by her gravesite every day. I hurt for me because I still miss her so much. Weeping is an understatement of the occurrence going on at my desk as I type this through blurry eyes.
My consolation is this. She got to be first . . . to see God. (You know, I always kind of thought that "Jesus wept" verse was more Jesus crying, not so much because of the hurt and mourning going on around him, but because he knew where he was bringing Lazarus back from.) I certainly don't have a grasp on what heaven is like, but I like to think Stacey mothers on every baby who didn't make it long in this life. I like to imagine her talking to Sarah about what it was like to be pregnant at 90. I like to think she has conversations with Peter and John and Esther and Job. That's extremely cool. And the joy that I KNOW I will be with her again makes days like today endurable. Stacey Leigh, I love you . . . Happy Birthday.
November 02, 2007
raindrops on roses . . .
Thruchildseyes thinks she’s old because she has a favorite winter squash! Oh, Sara, you are a funny funny girl! This prompted me to think of:
Things I enjoy now that I hated when I was a kid . . .
Onions . . . Hated them as a kid, but developed a SERIOUS craving for them with my second pregnancy that never when away! I could eat them raw like an apple now, except that nobody would ever want to carry on a conversation with me!
Watching the news . . . as a kid – BORING. Now I could be a news junkie if I let myself.
Going for drives . . . my parents use to haul us around on Sunday afternoon drives a couple of times a month. It was sheer torture. Back seats. Sunshine. Getting carsick. Nothing to do but think about all the cool stuff you COULD be doing if you were at home. Now I look forward to it as a great time to pray, or catch up on new music, or have a great conversation with somebody I enjoy one-on-one time with!
Getting up early . . . you gotta be kidding!? Really, up until just a couple of years ago I could give a wintering grizzly a run for his hibernating money. Sleep was a valuable commodity. Now, well, I just don’t seem to sleep much and don’t seem to need it. (You know, a person can only use so much beauty sleep - once you look as good as I do, it's really just a waste!)That makes getting up early kinda cool. Watching the sunrise, writing notes to friends, reading a good book – there’s got to be something wrong with me.
Things I liked as a child that I don’t like now . . .
Sleeping until noon . . . reference “getting up early” in the previous category
Gilligan’s Island . . . apparently my I.Q. went up 70 points once I stopped watching it.
Skipping church . . . RARELY happened, but I always enjoyed when it did! If I missed now, I would feel like I was being taken off of life-support!
Childlike things that I liked as a child and STILL like . . .
Snow . . . Looking at it more than being out in it, but still, I’m a sucker for a Winter Wonderland.
Chocolate milk . . . 2% + 4 spoons full of Quik – stirred, not shaken. And not with Chinese food.
Reading . . . A habit I am happy to still have and happy to have passed on to my kids.
Playing Games . . . Any kind, any time, anywhere – I LOVE to play games. Silly games, serious games, card games, word games, doesn’t matter as long as it’s not Monopoly or Risk! I'm a good loser, but a "gloating" winner!
Things I enjoy now that I hated when I was a kid . . .
Onions . . . Hated them as a kid, but developed a SERIOUS craving for them with my second pregnancy that never when away! I could eat them raw like an apple now, except that nobody would ever want to carry on a conversation with me!Watching the news . . . as a kid – BORING. Now I could be a news junkie if I let myself.
Going for drives . . . my parents use to haul us around on Sunday afternoon drives a couple of times a month. It was sheer torture. Back seats. Sunshine. Getting carsick. Nothing to do but think about all the cool stuff you COULD be doing if you were at home. Now I look forward to it as a great time to pray, or catch up on new music, or have a great conversation with somebody I enjoy one-on-one time with!
Getting up early . . . you gotta be kidding!? Really, up until just a couple of years ago I could give a wintering grizzly a run for his hibernating money. Sleep was a valuable commodity. Now, well, I just don’t seem to sleep much and don’t seem to need it. (You know, a person can only use so much beauty sleep - once you look as good as I do, it's really just a waste!)That makes getting up early kinda cool. Watching the sunrise, writing notes to friends, reading a good book – there’s got to be something wrong with me.
Things I liked as a child that I don’t like now . . .
Sleeping until noon . . . reference “getting up early” in the previous categoryGilligan’s Island . . . apparently my I.Q. went up 70 points once I stopped watching it.
Skipping church . . . RARELY happened, but I always enjoyed when it did! If I missed now, I would feel like I was being taken off of life-support!
Childlike things that I liked as a child and STILL like . . .
Snow . . . Looking at it more than being out in it, but still, I’m a sucker for a Winter Wonderland. Chocolate milk . . . 2% + 4 spoons full of Quik – stirred, not shaken. And not with Chinese food.
Reading . . . A habit I am happy to still have and happy to have passed on to my kids.
Playing Games . . . Any kind, any time, anywhere – I LOVE to play games. Silly games, serious games, card games, word games, doesn’t matter as long as it’s not Monopoly or Risk! I'm a good loser, but a "gloating" winner!
October 30, 2007
an E.P.T. failure
We had been married just over a year when I got pregnant with our first. Though we weren’t planning a baby, we sure couldn’t say we were surprised.
First: I had stopped taking the pill. I had to or I was going to kill someone . . . and it wasn’t going to be me. The hormonal state that Ortho-novum kept me in played “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” with my emotions. For example, my husband would walk in the door after 12 hours of playing soldier. I would say, in my sweetest Donna Reed voice, “How was your day?” only to follow it up four minutes later with a Linda-Blair-exorcist-like, “Get Outta My Face!”
We figured even unplanned parenthood had to be better than that.
Second: the husband was an Army Lieutenant stationed at Fort Richardson, Alaska. He was away doing field training. A lot. For long stretches of time. He was gone from Oct. 18 until Nov. 8, left again on Nov. 10 and didn’t return home until the first of December. Hmmm . . . doesn’t take quantum physics to figure out that one.
So, I found myself pregnant. Entirely too young. 4,000 miles away from my mommy. The first of all of our friends to fail the “E.P.T.” test. And more than a little terrified. I felt like Prissy from Gone with the Wind: “Why, I don’t know nothin’ bout birthin’ no babies!” My preference: Schedule a C-section, take some heavy drugs, and hope for the best. Oh, but it’s not that easy for a do-it-yourself junkie. You see, I read. And read. And read. And Alaska is not exactly the kind of place where you are encouraged to follow the crowd. Unless, of course, the crowd is a bunch of earth-mother, hippie-wanna-be, save-the-earth do-gooders. (And I mean that in a good way!) So I found myself reading Mothering Magazine and Ina May Gaskin's “Spiritual Midwifery” and Rahima Baldwin’s “Special Delivery” and all manner of natural, wholistic childbirth propaganda. By the time August 13 rolled around, I was enduring a 32-hour labor at home with a couple of midwives.
Now, the birth itself did not turn out exactly picture-perfect. But I did end up with a beautiful daughter, and a passion for pregnancy and childbirth that can only be described as a part-time obsession. More about that at a later date.
The worst part of my first pregnancy: Not having caffeine
The weirdest craving during my first pregnancy: McDonald’s cheeseburgers (ewww.)
The strangest side-effect of my first pregnancy: Sporadic, but uncontrollable giggling (Again, another story for another time . . . )
First: I had stopped taking the pill. I had to or I was going to kill someone . . . and it wasn’t going to be me. The hormonal state that Ortho-novum kept me in played “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” with my emotions. For example, my husband would walk in the door after 12 hours of playing soldier. I would say, in my sweetest Donna Reed voice, “How was your day?” only to follow it up four minutes later with a Linda-Blair-exorcist-like, “Get Outta My Face!”
We figured even unplanned parenthood had to be better than that.
Second: the husband was an Army Lieutenant stationed at Fort Richardson, Alaska. He was away doing field training. A lot. For long stretches of time. He was gone from Oct. 18 until Nov. 8, left again on Nov. 10 and didn’t return home until the first of December. Hmmm . . . doesn’t take quantum physics to figure out that one.
So, I found myself pregnant. Entirely too young. 4,000 miles away from my mommy. The first of all of our friends to fail the “E.P.T.” test. And more than a little terrified. I felt like Prissy from Gone with the Wind: “Why, I don’t know nothin’ bout birthin’ no babies!” My preference: Schedule a C-section, take some heavy drugs, and hope for the best. Oh, but it’s not that easy for a do-it-yourself junkie. You see, I read. And read. And read. And Alaska is not exactly the kind of place where you are encouraged to follow the crowd. Unless, of course, the crowd is a bunch of earth-mother, hippie-wanna-be, save-the-earth do-gooders. (And I mean that in a good way!) So I found myself reading Mothering Magazine and Ina May Gaskin's “Spiritual Midwifery” and Rahima Baldwin’s “Special Delivery” and all manner of natural, wholistic childbirth propaganda. By the time August 13 rolled around, I was enduring a 32-hour labor at home with a couple of midwives.
Now, the birth itself did not turn out exactly picture-perfect. But I did end up with a beautiful daughter, and a passion for pregnancy and childbirth that can only be described as a part-time obsession. More about that at a later date.
The worst part of my first pregnancy: Not having caffeine
The weirdest craving during my first pregnancy: McDonald’s cheeseburgers (ewww.)
The strangest side-effect of my first pregnancy: Sporadic, but uncontrollable giggling (Again, another story for another time . . . )
October 29, 2007
window shopping in the rain
I love autumn! Gorgeous, earthy colors, brisk air, sweaters, campfires, early sunsets . . . it’s the only season that irresistibly tempts me outdoors. Hands down, my favorite time of the year, and I don’t really know why. This is one thing I didn’t get from my mom. She doesn’t like this time of year. Says it depresses her. Everything dying . . . winter setting in. She is definitely a spring/summer person. It’s one of the few places our paths diverge. I love the falling leaves, the chill in the air, even the shorter days. Fall festivals, Celebration, pumpkins and mums, “bouquets of newly sharpened pencils”. It evokes an indescribable nostalgia in me . . . makes me want to window shop in the rain . . . hold hands and walk down brick streets . . . I don’t try to understand it . . . I’m just grateful to God for making life beautiful.
October 19, 2007
turkey day
Yes, Thanksgiving is just around the corner, but our "Turkey Day"
was yesterday!
First, my son IS a turkey. Enough said.
Second, while on the way to work yesterday, he and I saw three turkeys
in the big field on Hwy. 62.
We frequently see deer in that field, but turkeys not so much.
Third, my son has never been bowling. Never ever. Unless you count video games, which I don't. So, since Kevin is on fall break this week, the wonderful Mike D. (in blog world, that's "For His Glory", but don't bother, 'cause he hasn't posted since January!) took my son bowling.
First game: 67. Okay, that's to be expected the first time out.
Second game: 79. Not a bad little improvement.
Third game: 145. 145!!! Apparently, after Mike gave him some helpful coaching on when to release the ball, Kevin got a TURKEY - three strikes IN A ROW! He was pretty jazzed about it. (Thanks, Mikey!)
October 03, 2007
dissecting frogs in the car
Did you know the word "gullible" is not in the dictionary?
My kids love to pick on each other. I don't know where they get it from, but regardless . . . the last weekend Kacey was home, Kevin had her convinced he was left-handed. (Kacey is 21, Kevin is 14) She was so befuddled that she got out of bed, marched into the den with her hands on her hips and said, "He is NOT left-handed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IS HE?????" Of course, he is not, and she KNEW that, he just made it so convincing that she began to doubt herself.
So, Kevin was talking to Kacey, this time on the phone the night before our road trip to Texas. He was moaning about all the school work he was going to have to do in the car. She was telling him to suck it up and do the work like a man, and he said something like,
"That's easy for you to say . . . you don't have to dissect a frog in the car!"
"You don't either, you goofball."
"YES I DO!"
"Kevin, you can't dissect a frog in the car. Why don't you just do it when you come back on Monday?"
"Because I have to label all the parts and make a diagram and email it to ReighAnne (biology teacher) by Friday night!"
"Kevin, you are such a liar!"
"Kacey, I'm serious. I've got to dissect this stupid frog in the car on the way to Texas!"
"Seriously???"
"Yes, Kacey. Oh, and by the way, I'm left-handed."
At this point, I can hear Kacey giving him "what for" for making her feel gullible yet again. I thought it was a riot! Is it okay to be proud of a kid for being a good liar? Probably not, huh?
To preface this next story, I almost never wear sunglasses. They make me feel claustrophobic. But I bought a new pair for this 12-hour car trip, and I put them in my purse which was in the floor at Kevin's feet. After a few hours in the car he wanted to stretch a bit, so he put my purse in the back seat. I said, "Before you get too comfortable, we're about to turn west so I'm going to need my glasses out of my purse."
"Huh?" was his response.
So I repeat myself, speaking slowly this time, "We're . . . about . . . to . . . turn . . . west . . . so . . . I'm . . . going . . . to . . . need . . . my . . . glasses . . . out . . . of . . . my . . . purse."
"WHY do you need your glasses when we turn west????" he asks with a quizzical look."Well, Kevin, a SMART person would KNOW the answer to that question. Why DO YOU think?"
"I don't know. Do the letters on the signs get smaller in the west?"
At this point I start laughing hysterically, as I realize the whole conversation he thought I was talking about my EYEglasses and I assumed he knew I needed my SUNglasses!
Communication is a wonderful thing, ain't it?
My kids love to pick on each other. I don't know where they get it from, but regardless . . . the last weekend Kacey was home, Kevin had her convinced he was left-handed. (Kacey is 21, Kevin is 14) She was so befuddled that she got out of bed, marched into the den with her hands on her hips and said, "He is NOT left-handed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IS HE?????" Of course, he is not, and she KNEW that, he just made it so convincing that she began to doubt herself.
So, Kevin was talking to Kacey, this time on the phone the night before our road trip to Texas. He was moaning about all the school work he was going to have to do in the car. She was telling him to suck it up and do the work like a man, and he said something like,
"That's easy for you to say . . . you don't have to dissect a frog in the car!"
"You don't either, you goofball."
"YES I DO!"
"Kevin, you can't dissect a frog in the car. Why don't you just do it when you come back on Monday?"
"Because I have to label all the parts and make a diagram and email it to ReighAnne (biology teacher) by Friday night!""Kevin, you are such a liar!"
"Kacey, I'm serious. I've got to dissect this stupid frog in the car on the way to Texas!"
"Seriously???"
"Yes, Kacey. Oh, and by the way, I'm left-handed."
At this point, I can hear Kacey giving him "what for" for making her feel gullible yet again. I thought it was a riot! Is it okay to be proud of a kid for being a good liar? Probably not, huh?
To preface this next story, I almost never wear sunglasses. They make me feel claustrophobic. But I bought a new pair for this 12-hour car trip, and I put them in my purse which was in the floor at Kevin's feet. After a few hours in the car he wanted to stretch a bit, so he put my purse in the back seat. I said, "Before you get too comfortable, we're about to turn west so I'm going to need my glasses out of my purse."
"Huh?" was his response.
So I repeat myself, speaking slowly this time, "We're . . . about . . . to . . . turn . . . west . . . so . . . I'm . . . going . . . to . . . need . . . my . . . glasses . . . out . . . of . . . my . . . purse."
"WHY do you need your glasses when we turn west????" he asks with a quizzical look."Well, Kevin, a SMART person would KNOW the answer to that question. Why DO YOU think?"
"I don't know. Do the letters on the signs get smaller in the west?"
At this point I start laughing hysterically, as I realize the whole conversation he thought I was talking about my EYEglasses and I assumed he knew I needed my SUNglasses!
Communication is a wonderful thing, ain't it?
September 30, 2007
award-winning cockroaches and beached manatees
This is my bedroom. I like my bedroom.
It's dark and cool.
It's comfortable.
The mattress is firm.
The pillows are fluffly.
Getting into bed is a wonderful end
to most days -
not an olympic event.
This past weekend, however, while we were in Fort Worth for the cowboy's "Sadde Boy" competition, we bunked in the horse trailer. (No, not WITH the horse! The back 3/4 is the horse part, the front 1/4 is "living quarters") I use the term "living quarters" very VERY loosely. It was more like sleeping in an aluminum shoebox on wheels. The floor section, which is shaped like the state of Nevada, only had enough room for Kevin's military-style cot, the step stool, and one standing human. As you can see from the picture below, the interior has been gutted, so the walls are bare except for the lovely remnants of brown wood glue. Everytime we turned the light on it threw a breaker. Our "camping spot" was on the gravel parking lot wedged between dozens of $100,000 motor homes - we looked like the embarrassing Arkansas cousins.
One aspect of the weekend I particularly enjoyed was the 2 block hike to the bathroom which was located upstairs inside the dormitory of the Swine Building of the Will Rogers Equestrian Center across the street from the National Cowgirl Museum. Yee Haw. When I first stepped into the seemingly abandoned and unlit concrete shower, I was startled by one of the hogs from the prior weekend's judging that had been left behind - no wait, that was just a prize-winning cockroach. He and I did NOT get along. It was a quick shower.
The most entertaining part of the weekend, for those lucky enough to witness it (Kevin), was my trying to get into the sleeping bunk of the trailer. Even with the step-stool, I was only waist-high to the metal platform. After numerous and wildly unsuccessful attempts to fling my leg up onto the platform, I finally had Kevin stand on his cot, and lift the air mattress up to the ceiling. This allowed me to bend over at a 90-degree angle and roll my entire body onto the platform under the air mattress, much like an injured manatee rolling himself onto the beach. I then rolled the opposite direction until I was against the wall so Kevin could drop the mattress. At this point I got onto my hands and knees and crawled onto the mattress. Lying down, there was a good 7 inches between my face and the ceiling. Now to get undressed. What???? I couldn't lift my legs - no room. Tried lying in a fetal position and wiggling. No luck with that either. No matter what I did, I couldn't seem to manage the removal of my clothing. Why didn't I get my pj's on BEFORE I clamored up there? I DON'T KNOW. But I sure as heck wasn't getting back down and then up again! So I called down to Kevin, "Kevin, help me pull my pants off."
"Yeah, right, mom."
"Please, Kevin, I can't do it."
"Like that's gonna happen. I don't think so."
"But Kevin, I need help!"
"Suck it up and sleep in your clothes, mom!"
"Kevin, please please." (Imagine a whiny, cartoony voice at this point.)
Kevin begins to giggle hysterically at the thought of my not having enough room to perform this function for myself, and at the thought that I would even dare ask his help with undressing. Then, of course, there was the mental image of him actually helping me with this, which, I have to confess, was really really funny to both of us.
"Keeeeevvvvviiiinnnn, pleeeeeaaaaassssseeee!!!!!"
More giggling. This time from both of us.
This went on for about 20 minutes until the giggling turned into full-out laughter.
After we fell into a good sleep, we were awakened by an 8.3 earthquake. No, wait, that was just the cowboy backing his truck INTO the trailer. Luckily, the only thing he broke was his passenger side mirror.
Extreme Mustang Makeover 2008 - reservations are already secured at the Hyatt Regency downtown Fort Wort.
August 24, 2007
1320 cubic feet of nothingness
My daughter's bedroom is EMPTY. I'm talking echoes and loneliness. Four walls colorblocked with hot pink, yellow, bright orange and neon green, with tie-dye curtains on the window and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling encasing 1320 cubic feet of nothingness. I avert my eyes when I walk down the hall, otherwise it makes me feel sad. However, it does have many possibilities. Definitely a queen-sized bed. Maybe a big desk to scrapbook on. Possibly move the treadmill in there as well - will moving to a new room make it more usable? (At least I won't be tempted to throw clothes on it.) I think I want to paint it apple green. For awhile I've been thinking about that color for the living room, but it's such a bold color, I'm a little afraid of it. Why is that? (Anybody out there like to paint?)
August 22, 2007
hearts and diamonds - a love story with cards
When we were in our pre-parenting days and living in Anchorage, we clicked with another young couple. They were from Oklahoma. Neal & Sherri. We were there via Uncle Sam's commissioning, Neal was working for one of the oil companies. We were all relative newlyweds, and had all recently moved up from "the lower 48", so when we met that July Sunday morning in church, we had an instant bond. When we discovered our mutual love for card-playing, that bond became tighter. (Once we shared the births of our firstborn, born on the same day two years apart, we were intertwined for life.) But I digress. . .
Spades, hearts, rummy. Occasionally a game of Trivial Pursuit or Pictionary, but mostly cards. Every Friday night. We'd get together, usually at their house because they had a "real table" (we only had a card table, and a flimsy one at that). And we'd play. And play. And play. Often into the wee wee hours of the morning. Of course, this entailed supper and stories and snacks and long conversations about who we were, are and were going to be. Occasionally we were together so long by the time we got ready to leave at 2:30 or 3:00 in the morning, snow had blanketed the city so deeply we'd end up spending the night, cooking breakfast together the next morning, and playing cards again on Saturday.
As we got to know others, our group grew, sometimes to as many as 12 - Reynolds, Collins, Turneys, Trevithicks, Geratys, Kettners. Every Friday night, come rain, sleet or snow (usually the latter, as we were in Alaska), now usually meeting at our house, since we had the most room. Then somebody had the bright idea of "why don't we have a Bible study before we play games"? So we did. Voila - a small group was born, complete with lesson, food and fellowship, long before we ever heard of them in a church setting. As the evenings wound down and couples dispersed to their own homes, Neal & Sherri would stay with us until the very small hours of the morning. Undoubtedly this was one of the best times in our lives - for all of us. We still all feel very connected, though we don't see each other much anymore. Many of our kids, all of whom were nonexistent when we first became friends, have now gone off to college and stay acquainted via Facebook. Most of us have changed careers and locations several times. We are scattered from Illinois and Kentucky to Colorado and Washington. Only Neal & Sherri still reside in Alaska. I miss them often.
Last Friday night we played cards with some good Kentucky friends. Hearts to be exact. We got home at 2:30 a.m. Made me feel really young again. (Of course, I had to wear my glasses to distinguish hearts from diamonds, we had to pause between every hand so one of us could go to the bathroom, and we spent an hour "oohing and aahing" over vacation photos and trying to remember the names of people we used to know. Still . . . )
Spades, hearts, rummy. Occasionally a game of Trivial Pursuit or Pictionary, but mostly cards. Every Friday night. We'd get together, usually at their house because they had a "real table" (we only had a card table, and a flimsy one at that). And we'd play. And play. And play. Often into the wee wee hours of the morning. Of course, this entailed supper and stories and snacks and long conversations about who we were, are and were going to be. Occasionally we were together so long by the time we got ready to leave at 2:30 or 3:00 in the morning, snow had blanketed the city so deeply we'd end up spending the night, cooking breakfast together the next morning, and playing cards again on Saturday.
As we got to know others, our group grew, sometimes to as many as 12 - Reynolds, Collins, Turneys, Trevithicks, Geratys, Kettners. Every Friday night, come rain, sleet or snow (usually the latter, as we were in Alaska), now usually meeting at our house, since we had the most room. Then somebody had the bright idea of "why don't we have a Bible study before we play games"? So we did. Voila - a small group was born, complete with lesson, food and fellowship, long before we ever heard of them in a church setting. As the evenings wound down and couples dispersed to their own homes, Neal & Sherri would stay with us until the very small hours of the morning. Undoubtedly this was one of the best times in our lives - for all of us. We still all feel very connected, though we don't see each other much anymore. Many of our kids, all of whom were nonexistent when we first became friends, have now gone off to college and stay acquainted via Facebook. Most of us have changed careers and locations several times. We are scattered from Illinois and Kentucky to Colorado and Washington. Only Neal & Sherri still reside in Alaska. I miss them often.
Last Friday night we played cards with some good Kentucky friends. Hearts to be exact. We got home at 2:30 a.m. Made me feel really young again. (Of course, I had to wear my glasses to distinguish hearts from diamonds, we had to pause between every hand so one of us could go to the bathroom, and we spent an hour "oohing and aahing" over vacation photos and trying to remember the names of people we used to know. Still . . . )
August 16, 2007
elvis, mom, and graceland
We moved Kacey back to Nashville, this time not into the dorm, but into her own apartment. The back of the truck and her car were both brimming over! (Granted, we did take a bed, a desk, a dryer, 2 chairs, a futon, a partridge in a pear tree, and 371 flip-flops!) We arrived to a roomy apartment, 2 lovely Christian girl roomies, and a huge fish tank the other girls had bought Kacey as a birthday surprise. They named the fish: Ophelia, Paul Anka, Marcus Aurelius, Freboga, and something weird I can't remember.) I couldn't be happier with the situation . . . unless, of course, Kacey was a baby again.
That brings me to Elvis. Yesterday, August 16, marks a 20-year anniversary for Kacey & me, and a 30-year anniversary for Elvis. According to history, Elvis died on August 16, 1977. (Now, like all good conspiracy theorists, I have my doubts. I believe him to be inhabiting Hitler's old getaway in Argentina. Anyway . . . ) Twenty years ago yesterday, she and I flew from Anchorage, Alaska to Seattle, Washington, to Memphis, Tennessee, and then, ideally, to Nashville, where my grandparents were to pick us up and drive us "home home" to my parents. Well, there was a delay in Seattle, and by the time we got to Memphis, we had missed our connecting flight to Nashville. (No biggie, right?) Let me list the complications:
1) This was in the pre-cell-phone days. Heck, this was pre-answering-machine days.
2) My parents were out of town and didn't know I was "surprising them."
3) My grandparents only lived an hour away from the Nashville airport, so by the time I landed in Memphis, they were already on their way to pick me up, and I had absolutely no way of letting them know I wouldn't be there.
4) I didn't have a credit card, so I couldn't rent a car.
5) I had a 12-month-old daughter with me, along with large carry on bag and diaper bag the size of a canoe. (This was also pre-9/11 days.)
6) and this is the big one . . . I was in Memphis. On August 16, 1987. The 10th anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley. Graceland is Mecca for the King and his followers, the result being "there were no rooms in the inn." Not a single empty hotel room in the city. Seriously.
In the meantime, I am using payphones to call my husband (who is 4,000 miles away). He is on the phone trying to track down my grandparents, my parents, and any Delta airline official who can somehow be held responsible for us being stranded without proper escort in the Memphis International Airport. To no avail. A strange man offered to take us home. I politely turned him down. As the hours got later and later, and the airport became more and more desolate, I stole a spoon from the cafeteria (so I could feed Kacey the organic homemade baby food I brought in my carry-on), and barricaded us into a large women's bathroom by pushing an old couch in front of the door. (Having, at this point, given up all hope, and now just biding time until my death, or tomorrow morning's 8 a.m. flight, whichever came first.)
I fed Kacey and got her to sleep, read "Anna Karenina" for awhile, realized there was NO WAY I was going to sleep in there, washed my hair in a public sink and "blow dried" it with one of those wall-mounted hand dryers - this would have been easier had I been a gymnast. After these eventful few hours, I hear a faint "s...t...e...p...h...a...n...i...e..." from somewhere in distance. I listen. Again, I hear it, but this time louder. It's my mommy!!!! Now, I don't care if you are a 23-year-old parent who lives 4,000 miles from home, when you need your mommy, you need your mommy! She and dad eventually got the news and drove straight from wherever-they-were to Memphis to rescue me. Yeah!
On the return flight a couple of weeks later, I almost got stranded in Minneapolis. Again, as the result of a flight delay, I was late for my connecting flight to Seattle. When I got to the gate, they were rolling back the walkway. I met the exiting airline worker as she was walking back into the terminal. She told me I was too late. To this point in my life, I don't believe I had ever stood up for myself. My usual, a-bit-shy self, afraid of spending another sleepless night in an airport, looked her dead in the face, stuck out my pointer finger and demanded, "Either you roll that walkway back out and let me on that plane, or you, personally, will be paying for my hotel room tonight." Kacey and I made it back to Anchorage as scheduled.
Twenty years full circle. 1987: Kacey and I were stranded together in the home of "the King" trying to get to Nashville. 2007: Kacey and I part ways as she moves into her first real "home" and I leave her in care of "THE KING" in Nashville.
(Thank you God, that my Graceland is wherever You are.)
That brings me to Elvis. Yesterday, August 16, marks a 20-year anniversary for Kacey & me, and a 30-year anniversary for Elvis. According to history, Elvis died on August 16, 1977. (Now, like all good conspiracy theorists, I have my doubts. I believe him to be inhabiting Hitler's old getaway in Argentina. Anyway . . . ) Twenty years ago yesterday, she and I flew from Anchorage, Alaska to Seattle, Washington, to Memphis, Tennessee, and then, ideally, to Nashville, where my grandparents were to pick us up and drive us "home home" to my parents. Well, there was a delay in Seattle, and by the time we got to Memphis, we had missed our connecting flight to Nashville. (No biggie, right?) Let me list the complications:
1) This was in the pre-cell-phone days. Heck, this was pre-answering-machine days.
2) My parents were out of town and didn't know I was "surprising them."
3) My grandparents only lived an hour away from the Nashville airport, so by the time I landed in Memphis, they were already on their way to pick me up, and I had absolutely no way of letting them know I wouldn't be there.
4) I didn't have a credit card, so I couldn't rent a car.
5) I had a 12-month-old daughter with me, along with large carry on bag and diaper bag the size of a canoe. (This was also pre-9/11 days.)
6) and this is the big one . . . I was in Memphis. On August 16, 1987. The 10th anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley. Graceland is Mecca for the King and his followers, the result being "there were no rooms in the inn." Not a single empty hotel room in the city. Seriously.
In the meantime, I am using payphones to call my husband (who is 4,000 miles away). He is on the phone trying to track down my grandparents, my parents, and any Delta airline official who can somehow be held responsible for us being stranded without proper escort in the Memphis International Airport. To no avail. A strange man offered to take us home. I politely turned him down. As the hours got later and later, and the airport became more and more desolate, I stole a spoon from the cafeteria (so I could feed Kacey the organic homemade baby food I brought in my carry-on), and barricaded us into a large women's bathroom by pushing an old couch in front of the door. (Having, at this point, given up all hope, and now just biding time until my death, or tomorrow morning's 8 a.m. flight, whichever came first.)
I fed Kacey and got her to sleep, read "Anna Karenina" for awhile, realized there was NO WAY I was going to sleep in there, washed my hair in a public sink and "blow dried" it with one of those wall-mounted hand dryers - this would have been easier had I been a gymnast. After these eventful few hours, I hear a faint "s...t...e...p...h...a...n...i...e..." from somewhere in distance. I listen. Again, I hear it, but this time louder. It's my mommy!!!! Now, I don't care if you are a 23-year-old parent who lives 4,000 miles from home, when you need your mommy, you need your mommy! She and dad eventually got the news and drove straight from wherever-they-were to Memphis to rescue me. Yeah!
On the return flight a couple of weeks later, I almost got stranded in Minneapolis. Again, as the result of a flight delay, I was late for my connecting flight to Seattle. When I got to the gate, they were rolling back the walkway. I met the exiting airline worker as she was walking back into the terminal. She told me I was too late. To this point in my life, I don't believe I had ever stood up for myself. My usual, a-bit-shy self, afraid of spending another sleepless night in an airport, looked her dead in the face, stuck out my pointer finger and demanded, "Either you roll that walkway back out and let me on that plane, or you, personally, will be paying for my hotel room tonight." Kacey and I made it back to Anchorage as scheduled.
Twenty years full circle. 1987: Kacey and I were stranded together in the home of "the King" trying to get to Nashville. 2007: Kacey and I part ways as she moves into her first real "home" and I leave her in care of "THE KING" in Nashville.
(Thank you God, that my Graceland is wherever You are.)
July 19, 2007
twinkle-ding-dong, nerdy eggheads
Homeschool kids general fall into four basic categories:
1) Nerds. (I use this term lovingly, as I know some of these.) Wildly overprotected; “tucked in” tee-shirts; have actual desks and maps and bulletin boards in a schoolroom in their home; willingly, and sometimes annoyingly, initiate lengthy conversations with adults about their recent science experiment involving hydroponically-grown melons.
2) “Twinkle-ding-dongs.” These are the offspring of the leftover hippies. They draw unicorns for biology, play non-competitive games, build all-wooden, multicultural toys, eat a lot of tofu, and write music for wind flutes. (The “Twinkle-ding-dongs” were much more common in Alaska than they are here in the good ol’ South.)
3) Classics. These children are well-behaved; well-versed in home economics and American history; involved in scouts and 4-H clubs; competitive; and for some reason, they are almost always “morning people”.
4) Egg-heads. You know the type: Articulate in three languages; fluent in oboe and violin; can do advanced math on an abacus; can not only spell “flocculent”, but also define the word and give its etymology.
We never did seem to fit into any of these categories. We rarely "tucked in", the car was our school room, my kids thought 4-H was punishment, we never baked anything we could buy at Kirchoff's Bakery, and neither of my kids could spell “flocculent” - though they could easily come up with three creative, off-color uses for the word!
When people asked me why we homeschooled, my answer would vary from year-to-year. Partly because I'm a notorious "do-it-yourselfer". Largely because we just didn’t have time for regular school - we were too busy learning stuff. But primarily because I LOVE hanging out with my kids.
We had a “loose schedule” and followed it loosely as well. Our curriculum was always a hodge-podge of books we found fascinating. Our classroom was wherever we were that day – the den couch, the car, the church building, the park. Our activities ranged from the high-brow Symphony Children’s Choir to very loud guitar and drum lessons, from gymnastics to baseball and volleyball, from community theater to lots of community volunteer work. We had days we just couldn’t face the idea of “school”, so watching “Jeopardy” and and going to Kroger and mowing the yard became current events, economics and P.E. I think we even managed to go swimming and find a way to call it “marine biology”.
We never missed an opportunity to have a meaningful conversation. We talked. A lot. We read. A lot. We played games. A lot. We laughed. A lot. We slept in. Yeah, a lot. And I guess we did okay. Kacey managed to receive several academic scholarships and a 27 on her A.C.T. (not an egghead score, but quite respectable!) She will be a college senior this year and has maintained a 3-point-something GPA while serving as an R.A., small-group leader, Student Government senator, etc. (Kevin exhibits all the signs of being even more intelligent than his sister, but until we can decipher his handwriting, we cannot be certain of this.) My kids are well-rounded, responsible, funny, and far-from-perfect. I am so glad we chose to homeschool. I wouldn’t change a thing.
1) Nerds. (I use this term lovingly, as I know some of these.) Wildly overprotected; “tucked in” tee-shirts; have actual desks and maps and bulletin boards in a schoolroom in their home; willingly, and sometimes annoyingly, initiate lengthy conversations with adults about their recent science experiment involving hydroponically-grown melons.
2) “Twinkle-ding-dongs.” These are the offspring of the leftover hippies. They draw unicorns for biology, play non-competitive games, build all-wooden, multicultural toys, eat a lot of tofu, and write music for wind flutes. (The “Twinkle-ding-dongs” were much more common in Alaska than they are here in the good ol’ South.)
3) Classics. These children are well-behaved; well-versed in home economics and American history; involved in scouts and 4-H clubs; competitive; and for some reason, they are almost always “morning people”.
4) Egg-heads. You know the type: Articulate in three languages; fluent in oboe and violin; can do advanced math on an abacus; can not only spell “flocculent”, but also define the word and give its etymology.
We never did seem to fit into any of these categories. We rarely "tucked in", the car was our school room, my kids thought 4-H was punishment, we never baked anything we could buy at Kirchoff's Bakery, and neither of my kids could spell “flocculent” - though they could easily come up with three creative, off-color uses for the word!
When people asked me why we homeschooled, my answer would vary from year-to-year. Partly because I'm a notorious "do-it-yourselfer". Largely because we just didn’t have time for regular school - we were too busy learning stuff. But primarily because I LOVE hanging out with my kids.
We had a “loose schedule” and followed it loosely as well. Our curriculum was always a hodge-podge of books we found fascinating. Our classroom was wherever we were that day – the den couch, the car, the church building, the park. Our activities ranged from the high-brow Symphony Children’s Choir to very loud guitar and drum lessons, from gymnastics to baseball and volleyball, from community theater to lots of community volunteer work. We had days we just couldn’t face the idea of “school”, so watching “Jeopardy” and and going to Kroger and mowing the yard became current events, economics and P.E. I think we even managed to go swimming and find a way to call it “marine biology”.
We never missed an opportunity to have a meaningful conversation. We talked. A lot. We read. A lot. We played games. A lot. We laughed. A lot. We slept in. Yeah, a lot. And I guess we did okay. Kacey managed to receive several academic scholarships and a 27 on her A.C.T. (not an egghead score, but quite respectable!) She will be a college senior this year and has maintained a 3-point-something GPA while serving as an R.A., small-group leader, Student Government senator, etc. (Kevin exhibits all the signs of being even more intelligent than his sister, but until we can decipher his handwriting, we cannot be certain of this.) My kids are well-rounded, responsible, funny, and far-from-perfect. I am so glad we chose to homeschool. I wouldn’t change a thing.
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