Well, I didn't exactly stick to my diet yesterday. But I did do pretty well, especially considering it was our co-op's Mom's Christmas Party last night. Lots of yummy food and alcohol to tempt me. Don't get me wrong; I definitely blew the diet. Big time. But not as badly as I usually do. And as someone always looking for the silver lining, I'm holding on to that thought.
I didn't exercise yesterday, nor did I get up early to run today (I was at a party last night, remember?). But now the exercise mat and the handweights are out, so I've made progress, right? RIGHT?!
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Thursday, December 20, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Resolution
The hell with New Year's. The hell with starting on Monday. I'm going on a diet now -- today, this moment. I mean it this time!
A few years ago I joined a gym, stuck to a diet/fitness routine, and lost about 20 pounds. More importantly, I felt terrific. I never quite reached my goal, but I felt hot.
Then I gained about 8 pounds last holiday season, fell out of my routine, and eventually had to quit the gym. As a result, those 8 pounds? They're still with me. A year later, and I've not shed one damn pound!
Now, I know I'm thinner than a lot of moms, and many people would say, "Shut up, bitch" if they heard me complaining. But we all have body-image issues, right? I'm frustrated: I never made it to my goal in the first place, plus I feel like crap now. I'm frustrated because I know I can do it, since I've done it before. I'm mad at myself for slacking off.
And you know, I'm not getting any younger. If I want to have any chance of being a MILF, I've got to act now! Regardless of how I looked when I was exercising, I felt great; I miss that feeling. I'm probably close to the same size as I used to be, but that's not what it's about. It's about feeling saggy and sloppy and lethargic and old, when I know how to feel strong and sexy and young.
So, beginning today -- right now -- I'm back on the old routine. I might not have my beloved elliptical machine (though I'd take one off of anyone's hands!), but I've got handweights and an exercise band and FitTV and sneakers. I'm cutting back on carbs (which is the vast majority of what I eat), writing down every bite, taste, and lick, and counting my points.
I'm losing 5 pounds by Christmas no matter how little I feel like getting off the sofa. I will not wait for Monday or New Year's or any other date in the future. I'm taking action NOW, dammit.
So far today: I put on my jeans and they're tight. Ugh. Ate one egg (fries with spray, not butter or margarine). Drank a pot of coffee. Any diet that cuts caffeine is quack science, IMHO. I haven't exercised yet, but my foam mat is out and ready for me. It's been out for 2 weeks now, but let's ignore that fact.
I'd say so far, so good. Eight-thirty and only 2 points. I'll let you know how things look at eight-thirty tonight.
Who's with me?
A few years ago I joined a gym, stuck to a diet/fitness routine, and lost about 20 pounds. More importantly, I felt terrific. I never quite reached my goal, but I felt hot.
Then I gained about 8 pounds last holiday season, fell out of my routine, and eventually had to quit the gym. As a result, those 8 pounds? They're still with me. A year later, and I've not shed one damn pound!
Now, I know I'm thinner than a lot of moms, and many people would say, "Shut up, bitch" if they heard me complaining. But we all have body-image issues, right? I'm frustrated: I never made it to my goal in the first place, plus I feel like crap now. I'm frustrated because I know I can do it, since I've done it before. I'm mad at myself for slacking off.
And you know, I'm not getting any younger. If I want to have any chance of being a MILF, I've got to act now! Regardless of how I looked when I was exercising, I felt great; I miss that feeling. I'm probably close to the same size as I used to be, but that's not what it's about. It's about feeling saggy and sloppy and lethargic and old, when I know how to feel strong and sexy and young.
So, beginning today -- right now -- I'm back on the old routine. I might not have my beloved elliptical machine (though I'd take one off of anyone's hands!), but I've got handweights and an exercise band and FitTV and sneakers. I'm cutting back on carbs (which is the vast majority of what I eat), writing down every bite, taste, and lick, and counting my points.
I'm losing 5 pounds by Christmas no matter how little I feel like getting off the sofa. I will not wait for Monday or New Year's or any other date in the future. I'm taking action NOW, dammit.
So far today: I put on my jeans and they're tight. Ugh. Ate one egg (fries with spray, not butter or margarine). Drank a pot of coffee. Any diet that cuts caffeine is quack science, IMHO. I haven't exercised yet, but my foam mat is out and ready for me. It's been out for 2 weeks now, but let's ignore that fact.
I'd say so far, so good. Eight-thirty and only 2 points. I'll let you know how things look at eight-thirty tonight.
Who's with me?
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Call the Optometrist
Aengus and I were watching the Transformers movie the other day. Again. It's a really good movie, but I've seen it enough, thank you.
Now, Aengus is a tough little guy. He rarely cries, unless he's really hurt. Every now and then he'll get upset enough, though, that he has an episode of what he calls his "eye problem." This is when his eyes "inexplicably" tear up, even though he's just fine.
"I don't know why my eyes do that, Mom. They just do. It's not like I'm crying or anything."
Yeah, ok, tough guy. Whatever.
So we're watching this movie, and at the point when Aengus's favorite guy (Bumblebee) is taken down, Aengus usually turns away or leaves the room or is suddenly very interested in whatever happens to be in his hands. It's a sad scene, done in slo-mo with mournful music. But he's a robot, for chrissake.
This time, Aengus stays on the sofa, watching intently as Bumblebee fights for his life. He catches me watching him wiping his eyes and says, "It's my eye problem again."
"It sure is sad when Bumblebee gets caught, isn't it?"
"Yeah. But he doesn't die, at least."
"If a person felt sad enough to cry about it, though, that would be OK. In fact, the director would be happy about that, since that is what he's trying to do: get you so involved in the movie that it really touches you."
"Yeah. But I don't cry. I just have this eye problem."
Sigh. Where did this kid come from?
Now, Aengus is a tough little guy. He rarely cries, unless he's really hurt. Every now and then he'll get upset enough, though, that he has an episode of what he calls his "eye problem." This is when his eyes "inexplicably" tear up, even though he's just fine.
"I don't know why my eyes do that, Mom. They just do. It's not like I'm crying or anything."
Yeah, ok, tough guy. Whatever.
So we're watching this movie, and at the point when Aengus's favorite guy (Bumblebee) is taken down, Aengus usually turns away or leaves the room or is suddenly very interested in whatever happens to be in his hands. It's a sad scene, done in slo-mo with mournful music. But he's a robot, for chrissake.
This time, Aengus stays on the sofa, watching intently as Bumblebee fights for his life. He catches me watching him wiping his eyes and says, "It's my eye problem again."
"It sure is sad when Bumblebee gets caught, isn't it?"
"Yeah. But he doesn't die, at least."
"If a person felt sad enough to cry about it, though, that would be OK. In fact, the director would be happy about that, since that is what he's trying to do: get you so involved in the movie that it really touches you."
"Yeah. But I don't cry. I just have this eye problem."
Sigh. Where did this kid come from?
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Cult of Personality
Wow. For an online quiz -- which asked questions in a way that made me wonder just how accurate it could possibly be -- this one was eerily on-target. From the site [emphasis mine]:
"INTPs are relatively easy-going and amenable to most anything until their principles are violated, about which they may become outspoken and inflexible. They prefer to return, however, to a reserved albeit benign ambiance, not wishing to make spectacles of themselves." - INTP Profile (TypeLogic)
"The INTP is above all a thinker and his inner (private) world is a place governed by a strong sense of logical structure. Every experience is to be rigorously analysed, the task of the INTP's mind is to fit each encountered idea or experience into a larger structure defined by logic." - An INTP Profile (intp.org)
"INTPs live in the world of theoretical possibilities. They see everything in terms of how it could be improved, or what it could be turned into. They live primarily inside their own minds, having the ability to analyze difficult problems, identify patterns, and come up with logical explanations. They seek clarity in everything, and are therefore driven to build knowledge. They are the "absent-minded professors", who highly value intelligence and the ability to apply logic to theories to find solutions." - Portrait of an INTP (The Personality Page)
"The Architects' distant goal is always to rearrange the environment somehow, to shape, to construct, to devise, whether it be buildings, institutions, enterprises, or theories. They look upon the world -- natural and civil -- as little more than raw material to be reshaped according to their design..." - The Portrait of the Architect Rational (iNTp) (Keirsey)
"INTPs contribute a logical, system-building approach to their work. They like being the architect of a plan, because of the scheming and thinking involved, far more than being the implementer of that plan. Implementation tends to be drudgery. They are content to sit back and think about what might work, given their view of the situation. INTPs may ignore standard operating procedures. The hours that they spend are not what is important to them, but rather the completion of their thought process" - INTP - The Wizard (Lifexplore)
"likes solitude, not revealing, unemotional, rule breaker, avoidant, familiar with the darkside, skeptical, acts without consulting others" - Jung Type Descriptions (INTP) (similarminds.com)
And this explains SOOOO many things: only 2.5% of the entire population is an INTP type, and only 1% of females fall into this category. So it's not just that I feel like an oddball; I really am one! But I'm in good company: Lincoln, Einstein, Darwin, Adams (J.Q.), and the Olsen twins (Hey, they're billionaires. That's a good thing!).
And the Award Goes To...
I'll take that Bad Mommy Award back, Stephanie. This week, it's all mine.
Friday was Aengus's 7th birthday. A magical number, so the home educator in me thought, Harry Potter theme, magic everywhere! But Aengus wanted a Nintendo DS, so we used all the b-day budget and gave it to him. I figured hey, he'll see all his friends at co-op anyway; I'll bring a cake and we'll call it a party without all the expense.
So that's what we did. Aengus played with all his friends and had a blast. No organized games or crafts or anything (none that he participated in -- as usual), but plenty of full-on fun and a few presents to boot. I brought a cake, and we all had some, but it was very casual and disorganized. Hey, that's how I run. I said, "help yourselves," and they all did. It was cool.
Later that night, Grammy and Papa came for a visit. We had a brilliant time playing with Aengus's new toys and games. The next day Aengus had his last soccer game (against us parents -- I scored twice, but we lost because the dads were being all nice and gentle on the little beasts) and Aengus got a cool new trophy. We played together all day, then Papa treated us to Chinese for dinner (how does a man live 56 years without ever eating Chinese?!) and we watched a movie. All in all, it was a great day.
Sunday came, and my parents went. We did chores and chilled out. It wasn't until Aengus was in bed that I realized what I'd forgotten: We never sang, "Happy Birthday" to Aengus or gave him candles to blow out. Never, all weekend long. He never got to make a wish.
Childhood is so short; the time for innocence even shorter. How many chances do we get to believe that our wishes will come true, if only we get all those candles out in just one breath? I have a feeling this is the last year for Santa at our house; the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy will be the next to go. How long after that can Aengus's faith in wishes and magic last?
Yes, he'll probably get another birthday or two in which his faith will hold fast; one or two more chances to wish with all his heart then blow with all his body. One or two more chances, and that's it: Truth will set in, then cynicism will begin its slow takeover.
And I took away one of those few precious opportunities through sheer forgetfulness. What's the matter with me?! How could I forget such an important thing? It's bad enough that Aengus doesn't get bedtime stories or lullabies or any "mommy-and-me" activities. It's bad enough that my family rarely gets any veggies, let alone a decent home-cooked meal. And it's bad enough that my children often miss out on field trips and activities. Now I'm actively taking away their innocence.
Hand over that award, Stephanie. I'm the Bad Mommy this week.
Friday, November 9, 2007
The Bitter Homeschooler's Wish List
From the pages of Secular Homeschooling Magazine, Issue #1
http://www.secular-homeschooling.com/001/bitter_homeschooler.html
1 Please stop asking us if it's legal. If it is -- and it is -- it's insulting to imply that we're criminals. And if we were criminals, would we admit it?
2 Learn what the words "socialize" and "socialization" mean, and use the one you really mean instead of mixing them up the way you do now. Socializing means hanging out with other people for fun. Socialization means having acquired the skills necessary to do so successfully and pleasantly. If you're talking to me and my kids, that means that we do in fact go outside now and then to visit the other human beings on the planet, and you can safely assume that we've got a decent grasp of both concepts.
3 Quit interrupting my kid at her dance lesson, scout meeting, choir practice, baseball game, art class, field trip, park day, music class, 4H club, or soccer lesson to ask her if as a homeschooler she ever gets to socialize.
4 Don't assume that every homeschooler you meet is homeschooling for the same reasons and in the same way as that one homeschooler you know.
5 If that homeschooler you know is actually someone you saw on TV, either on the news or on a "reality" show, the above goes double.
6 Please stop telling us horror stories about the homeschoolers you know, know of, or think you might know who ruined their lives by homeschooling. You're probably the same little bluebird of happiness whose hobby is running up to pregnant women and inducing premature labor by telling them every ghastly birth story you've ever heard. We all hate you, so please go away.
7 We don't look horrified and start quizzing your kids when we hear they're in public school. Please stop drilling our children like potential oil fields to see if we're doing what you consider an adequate job of homeschooling.
8 Stop assuming all homeschoolers are religious.
9 Stop assuming that if we're religious, we must be homeschooling for religious reasons.
10 We didn't go through all the reading, learning, thinking, weighing of options, experimenting, and worrying that goes into homeschooling just to annoy you. Really. This was a deeply personal decision, tailored to the specifics of our family. Stop taking the bare fact of our being homeschoolers as either an affront or a judgment about your own educational decisions.
11 Please stop questioning my competency and demanding to see my credentials. I didn't have to complete a course in catering to successfully cook dinner for my family; I don't need a degree in teaching to educate my children. If spending at least twelve years in the kind of chew-it-up-and-spit-it-out educational facility we call public school left me with so little information in my memory banks that I can't teach the basics of an elementary education to my nearest and dearest, maybe there's a reason I'm so reluctant to send my child to school.
12 If my kid's only six and you ask me with a straight face how I can possibly teach him what he'd learn in school, please understand that you're calling me an idiot. Don't act shocked if I decide to respond in kind.
13 Stop assuming that because the word "home" is right there in "homeschool," we never leave the house. We're the ones who go to the amusement parks, museums, and zoos in the middle of the week and in the off-season and laugh at you because you have to go on weekends and holidays when it's crowded and icky.
14 Stop assuming that because the word "school" is right there in homeschool, we must sit around at a desk for six or eight hours every day, just like your kid does. Even if we're into the "school" side of education — and many of us prefer a more organic approach — we can burn through a lot of material a lot more efficiently, because we don't have to gear our lessons to the lowest common denominator.
15 Stop asking, "But what about the Prom?" Even if the idea that my kid might not be able to indulge in a night of over-hyped, over-priced revelry was enough to break my heart, plenty of kids who do go to school don't get to go to the Prom. For all you know, I'm one of them. I might still be bitter about it. So go be shallow somewhere else.
16 Don't ask my kid if she wouldn't rather go to school unless you don't mind if I ask your kid if he wouldn't rather stay home and get some sleep now and then.
17 Stop saying, "Oh, I could never homeschool!" Even if you think it's some kind of compliment, it sounds more like you're horrified. One of these days, I won't bother disagreeing with you any more.
18 If you can remember anything from chemistry or calculus class, you're allowed to ask how we'll teach these subjects to our kids. If you can't, thank you for the reassurance that we couldn't possibly do a worse job than your teachers did, and might even do a better one.
19 Stop asking about how hard it must be to be my child's teacher as well as her parent. I don't see much difference between bossing my kid around academically and bossing him around the way I do about everything else.
20 Stop saying that my kid is shy, outgoing, aggressive, anxious, quiet, boisterous, argumentative, pouty, fidgety, chatty, whiny, or loud "because he's homeschooled." It's not fair that all the kids who go to school can be as annoying as they want to without being branded as representative of anything but childhood.
21 Quit assuming that my kid must be some kind of prodigy because he's homeschooled.
22 Quit assuming that I must be some kind of prodigy because I homeschool my kids.
23 Quit assuming that I must be some kind of saint because I homeschool my kids.
24 Stop talking about all the great childhood memories my kids won't get because they don't go to school, unless you want me to start asking about all the not-so-great childhood memories you have because you went to school.
25 Here's a thought: If you can't say something nice about homeschooling, shut up!
http://www.secular-homeschooling.com/001/bitter_homeschooler.html
1 Please stop asking us if it's legal. If it is -- and it is -- it's insulting to imply that we're criminals. And if we were criminals, would we admit it?
2 Learn what the words "socialize" and "socialization" mean, and use the one you really mean instead of mixing them up the way you do now. Socializing means hanging out with other people for fun. Socialization means having acquired the skills necessary to do so successfully and pleasantly. If you're talking to me and my kids, that means that we do in fact go outside now and then to visit the other human beings on the planet, and you can safely assume that we've got a decent grasp of both concepts.
3 Quit interrupting my kid at her dance lesson, scout meeting, choir practice, baseball game, art class, field trip, park day, music class, 4H club, or soccer lesson to ask her if as a homeschooler she ever gets to socialize.
4 Don't assume that every homeschooler you meet is homeschooling for the same reasons and in the same way as that one homeschooler you know.
5 If that homeschooler you know is actually someone you saw on TV, either on the news or on a "reality" show, the above goes double.
6 Please stop telling us horror stories about the homeschoolers you know, know of, or think you might know who ruined their lives by homeschooling. You're probably the same little bluebird of happiness whose hobby is running up to pregnant women and inducing premature labor by telling them every ghastly birth story you've ever heard. We all hate you, so please go away.
7 We don't look horrified and start quizzing your kids when we hear they're in public school. Please stop drilling our children like potential oil fields to see if we're doing what you consider an adequate job of homeschooling.
8 Stop assuming all homeschoolers are religious.
9 Stop assuming that if we're religious, we must be homeschooling for religious reasons.
10 We didn't go through all the reading, learning, thinking, weighing of options, experimenting, and worrying that goes into homeschooling just to annoy you. Really. This was a deeply personal decision, tailored to the specifics of our family. Stop taking the bare fact of our being homeschoolers as either an affront or a judgment about your own educational decisions.
11 Please stop questioning my competency and demanding to see my credentials. I didn't have to complete a course in catering to successfully cook dinner for my family; I don't need a degree in teaching to educate my children. If spending at least twelve years in the kind of chew-it-up-and-spit-it-out educational facility we call public school left me with so little information in my memory banks that I can't teach the basics of an elementary education to my nearest and dearest, maybe there's a reason I'm so reluctant to send my child to school.
12 If my kid's only six and you ask me with a straight face how I can possibly teach him what he'd learn in school, please understand that you're calling me an idiot. Don't act shocked if I decide to respond in kind.
13 Stop assuming that because the word "home" is right there in "homeschool," we never leave the house. We're the ones who go to the amusement parks, museums, and zoos in the middle of the week and in the off-season and laugh at you because you have to go on weekends and holidays when it's crowded and icky.
14 Stop assuming that because the word "school" is right there in homeschool, we must sit around at a desk for six or eight hours every day, just like your kid does. Even if we're into the "school" side of education — and many of us prefer a more organic approach — we can burn through a lot of material a lot more efficiently, because we don't have to gear our lessons to the lowest common denominator.
15 Stop asking, "But what about the Prom?" Even if the idea that my kid might not be able to indulge in a night of over-hyped, over-priced revelry was enough to break my heart, plenty of kids who do go to school don't get to go to the Prom. For all you know, I'm one of them. I might still be bitter about it. So go be shallow somewhere else.
16 Don't ask my kid if she wouldn't rather go to school unless you don't mind if I ask your kid if he wouldn't rather stay home and get some sleep now and then.
17 Stop saying, "Oh, I could never homeschool!" Even if you think it's some kind of compliment, it sounds more like you're horrified. One of these days, I won't bother disagreeing with you any more.
18 If you can remember anything from chemistry or calculus class, you're allowed to ask how we'll teach these subjects to our kids. If you can't, thank you for the reassurance that we couldn't possibly do a worse job than your teachers did, and might even do a better one.
19 Stop asking about how hard it must be to be my child's teacher as well as her parent. I don't see much difference between bossing my kid around academically and bossing him around the way I do about everything else.
20 Stop saying that my kid is shy, outgoing, aggressive, anxious, quiet, boisterous, argumentative, pouty, fidgety, chatty, whiny, or loud "because he's homeschooled." It's not fair that all the kids who go to school can be as annoying as they want to without being branded as representative of anything but childhood.
21 Quit assuming that my kid must be some kind of prodigy because he's homeschooled.
22 Quit assuming that I must be some kind of prodigy because I homeschool my kids.
23 Quit assuming that I must be some kind of saint because I homeschool my kids.
24 Stop talking about all the great childhood memories my kids won't get because they don't go to school, unless you want me to start asking about all the not-so-great childhood memories you have because you went to school.
25 Here's a thought: If you can't say something nice about homeschooling, shut up!
Friday, November 2, 2007
Flea Bitten
I dipped my cats tonight. Yippee-frickin'-doo, what a way to spend a Friday night. The fleas are taking over, though, so I bought out Petco of every last poisonous chemical that would guarantee death to the little bloodsuckers and got ready for some fun.
It was just Aengus and me, so of course we had to make this a little game, right? Aengus chased our poor cats all through the house with the box from our new, cheap-ass coffee maker (long story; the gist of it is that I am once again caffeinated). He figured that once he caught a cat in the box, we'd transport it to the tub and proceed to give it the bubble bath that would so obviously be a lovely experience for the kitty.
Silly boy.
Well, he did manage to catch one cat (Spot, the most timid of the lot) in the box. No sooner had I gotten the lid shut on her (am I the supportive mom or what? Restrain a cat in a small, dark box? Of course we can, honey!) than she slipped through a crack and skydived across the kitchen and hauled ass upstairs.
Round two: Smoochy. Now, Smooch is our most vocal feline and would be voted Most Like a Crackhead. Let's just say she's a little twitchy. Well, I managed to grab her without trouble, got her in the bathroom, held her in the tub, and started to tell Aengus to "Shut the door! Quick! QUICK!" when Smooch flew across the bathroom and through the doorway, bounced off the opposite wall in the hallway, and tore down to my bedroom to seek safety. Aengus is, by this time, in absolute hysterics.
Yeah, laugh it up, boy. Just you wait until we actually get one of them wet.
Finally, we caught Rumer. Now, Rumer is our eldest cat, being close to 100 in people years. He's ornery and slow and seems arthritic. Once we got him in the tub and started the water, though, he seemed to find that he had a little spring left in his step. I managed to hang on to his flea collar through the process, so he couldn't escape, but he showed me just how vocal the ol' coot can still be. Oy. He was howling up a storm, and Spot and Smooch were out in the hall, howling right back.
"Help! Get me outta here!"
"We're trying, we're trying! How do we get this damn door open?"
"Just bust it down and get me away from this bitch!"
Poor guy. I'm just glad the whole thing didn't give him a coronary.
With Rumer safely deflea'd and released, it was time to hunt Spot again. Surprisingly, she was easy to find: the dummy was waiting for Rumer in the hallway. Thinking a lot faster than I usually do, I scooped her up and dashed back inside the bathroom.
I felt terrible dipping Spot. She's so delicate and timid. Plus, she's mostly white (with... you guessed it, spots), so you could see her pathetic pink skin and fragile little limbs. And with her chosen method to attempt escape, I basically had to hold her in the air by her flea collar, practically choking her the whole time. Sorry sweetie, but you'll be happier without the fleas.
And finally, we were back to Smooch. Holy. Crap. That cat did NOT take it like a man, let's just say that. And I thought Rumer had howled; Smooch sounded like she was dying. Slowly. And she was constantly twisting into the air and spazzing and trying to escape, which made Aengus laugh all the harder. Thanks for your help, buddy.
We tried Aengus's suggestion of filling the sink and dunking Smooch to rinse her off. It actually worked, kinda sorta. And she looked damn cute in her little kitty hot tub. But she still needed a run under the handshower to get all those poisonous suds off her, so I hosed her down quickly. The second I released her, she shot across the room and sat, shivering, at the door in a huge puddle. Do you have any idea how much moisture a cat's coat can carry? We're talking gallons here, people. (And that was your science for today, Aengus.)
The original plan called for a dip o' the cats and the dog, then a bombing of the house, too. But I'm exhausted, and I don't have enough bomb for the whole house, anyway. So Bear gets a reprieve. I'm replenishing my energy stores, buying another bomb, and getting all the foodstuffs out of the house. Once the dog gets her fun in the tub, I'm declaring war on the house.
And goddammit, I'm buying Frontline in the spring!
It was just Aengus and me, so of course we had to make this a little game, right? Aengus chased our poor cats all through the house with the box from our new, cheap-ass coffee maker (long story; the gist of it is that I am once again caffeinated). He figured that once he caught a cat in the box, we'd transport it to the tub and proceed to give it the bubble bath that would so obviously be a lovely experience for the kitty.
Silly boy.
Well, he did manage to catch one cat (Spot, the most timid of the lot) in the box. No sooner had I gotten the lid shut on her (am I the supportive mom or what? Restrain a cat in a small, dark box? Of course we can, honey!) than she slipped through a crack and skydived across the kitchen and hauled ass upstairs.
Round two: Smoochy. Now, Smooch is our most vocal feline and would be voted Most Like a Crackhead. Let's just say she's a little twitchy. Well, I managed to grab her without trouble, got her in the bathroom, held her in the tub, and started to tell Aengus to "Shut the door! Quick! QUICK!" when Smooch flew across the bathroom and through the doorway, bounced off the opposite wall in the hallway, and tore down to my bedroom to seek safety. Aengus is, by this time, in absolute hysterics.
Yeah, laugh it up, boy. Just you wait until we actually get one of them wet.
Finally, we caught Rumer. Now, Rumer is our eldest cat, being close to 100 in people years. He's ornery and slow and seems arthritic. Once we got him in the tub and started the water, though, he seemed to find that he had a little spring left in his step. I managed to hang on to his flea collar through the process, so he couldn't escape, but he showed me just how vocal the ol' coot can still be. Oy. He was howling up a storm, and Spot and Smooch were out in the hall, howling right back.
"Help! Get me outta here!"
"We're trying, we're trying! How do we get this damn door open?"
"Just bust it down and get me away from this bitch!"
Poor guy. I'm just glad the whole thing didn't give him a coronary.
With Rumer safely deflea'd and released, it was time to hunt Spot again. Surprisingly, she was easy to find: the dummy was waiting for Rumer in the hallway. Thinking a lot faster than I usually do, I scooped her up and dashed back inside the bathroom.
I felt terrible dipping Spot. She's so delicate and timid. Plus, she's mostly white (with... you guessed it, spots), so you could see her pathetic pink skin and fragile little limbs. And with her chosen method to attempt escape, I basically had to hold her in the air by her flea collar, practically choking her the whole time. Sorry sweetie, but you'll be happier without the fleas.
And finally, we were back to Smooch. Holy. Crap. That cat did NOT take it like a man, let's just say that. And I thought Rumer had howled; Smooch sounded like she was dying. Slowly. And she was constantly twisting into the air and spazzing and trying to escape, which made Aengus laugh all the harder. Thanks for your help, buddy.
We tried Aengus's suggestion of filling the sink and dunking Smooch to rinse her off. It actually worked, kinda sorta. And she looked damn cute in her little kitty hot tub. But she still needed a run under the handshower to get all those poisonous suds off her, so I hosed her down quickly. The second I released her, she shot across the room and sat, shivering, at the door in a huge puddle. Do you have any idea how much moisture a cat's coat can carry? We're talking gallons here, people. (And that was your science for today, Aengus.)
The original plan called for a dip o' the cats and the dog, then a bombing of the house, too. But I'm exhausted, and I don't have enough bomb for the whole house, anyway. So Bear gets a reprieve. I'm replenishing my energy stores, buying another bomb, and getting all the foodstuffs out of the house. Once the dog gets her fun in the tub, I'm declaring war on the house.
And goddammit, I'm buying Frontline in the spring!
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Blogging, Schlogging
This thing, this ... "Blogosphere," is a strange place. What a wonderful opportunity to share with friends, family, the world all about your life. A convenient exercise in writing. A great way to learn something new and share all you've learned. A place to get things off your chest or toot your own horn.
The problem is...
Who the fuck has the time to post?!
The problem is...
Who the fuck has the time to post?!
Friday, October 5, 2007
A Rant:Or, Why NLSV is Becoming an Official Nonprofit Organization
{dusting off soapbox}
I read the other day that public schools in our region spend about $10,000 per student per year. I assume this includes everything from books and teachers to buses and nurses. But it also includes art and music supplies and playground and gym equipment. How much is spent directly on the "academic" portion of molding young minds, I don't know, but the overall expense to basically shepherd a child into adulthood is a whopping $10,000. Each student. Every year.
Go back and read that again. Now tell me this, fellow home educators: what kind of education would your children receive if you had that kind of cash to put into their upbringing?
My family brings in about the same amount after taxes -- for the whole year. I know we're on the low end of the financial spectrum, and we've occasionally received assistance from others. But not only can I educate my two children --year round!-- I can also feed them and their parents, keep a house and drive a car (less lately), all for the price of what our schools are spending to teach those kids from 7am to 3pm. It boggles the mind.
Not that I want the schools to spend less per child for the education they try to give these kids. And I certainly don't wish on them the stress of stretching the $$ they way I need to. God, no.
What I do wish is to have that kind of money to spend on my kids' education. Do you know what I could DO with 20 grand?! We could go stand in front of the Sphynx and inside the pyramids when we study ancient Egypt, experience the true immensity of the Grand Canyon or the California redwoods when we learn about Westward Expansion, or learn to haggle in Spanish in a real Latin American street market when we explore foreign languages.
Noah could have the much-easier-for-mom algebra program and be involved in fencing and Lego League and have his own real lab equipment. Aengus could have every possible board and card game, take part in every sport he wanted, and experience all the art and science activities I could find.
We could go on every field trip our friends get to go on, catch all the movies we love to use in our curriculum, visit every museum we've been dreaming about, and take all the wonderful day trips our area has to offer. What a wonderful education they'd have!
But they're stuck with broke parents who can only give them the basics -- much of what they'd get in school, actually. The environment is certainly better here at home, and they will definitely learn the material here (as opposed to reciting the information onto a test and promptly forgetting it). They get P.E. and music and the 3 R's and science and history. And they get it in some interesting ways other than through the read-the-textbook-and-take-a-test method. In short, they get a comparable education in a more gratifying way than the public schools -- without the expense. But with that $20,000 ... Now that's the education I want for my kids.
Which, of course, begs the question: What about vouchers and tax credits? Bah. I want nothing to do with them. Ever the middle child, I can see both sides of those political issues. But whether they are ethical or constitutional or moral or even practical is irrelevant to me. The fact is, once the government is, in essence, giving us cash, they are giving themselves the right to have a say in how that cash is spent. And until a law is written in which we get money with no strings -- and no potential for strings -- regarding the education of our own children, they can keep their money.
I believe that all home educating families understand the value of these enrichment oppotunities, though, and that many of us are struggling financially. I doubt any of us would have trouble finding a fantastic educational opportunity for our kids if we had a little more cash. So, given those dreaded governmental strings, we need to look to the private sector to help fund these so-called "extras."
This is why I want Natural Learners to become a way for homeschooling families to connect with people willing and able to support our cause. "Our cause" is the same as the public schools, but without government support: that of an educated populace. Granted, our methods and standards are a bit different, but we all want our kids to be happy, educated, and hopefully successful contributors to this society.
{neatly placing soapbox back in the attic}
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
What IS it with family?!
My mother stopped by the other day.
Now, there are two things you should note, dear reader, about the above statement. One: my mother lives in Pennsylvania, and I live in Virginia; it's difficult for her to just "stop by." Secondly, I referred to her not as "my mom," but as "my mother." Never a good sign.
Don't get me wrong -- I love her dearly! She is a fantastic grandmother and a very kind, giving person. In spite of our moral and political differences, she always (OK, usually) defers to me when dealing with my children. She tries very hard not to undermine my "authority." She's never once spanked or smacked the boys, though I'm sure she's occasionally wanted to and probably doesn't know any other way of handling young children's misbehavior. She mentions Jesus sometimes but never pushes the church thing. And until last year, she never questioned our homeschooling decision.
OK, maybe she questioned the decision, but she put on a supportive face for the kids that -- I thought -- became sincere over time. Keep in mind that we've been at this for nine years now. Last year I made the mistake of telling her that we made the leap into unschooling. What the hell was I thinking, you ask? I was thinking that after years of waffling on the subject, I was excited that I'd finally jumped into the lifestyle. I was excited about the whole idea of unschooling, of using the whole world to learn and teach my kids. I was excited at finally having found what really works for our family.
But I'd forgotten that my mother is a former math teacher. In the public schools. {groan} What have I done? Ever since I told her about unschooling, every visit is punctuated by pop quizzes for Noah. Being the real trooper that he is, he handles the questions deftly, translating what he does with his time into educationese like a pro.
But the look on his face the first few times was heartbreaking. It said, Why is Grammy betraying me like this? He couldn't understand why she had suddenly switched into school-principal mode. Before, her questions were all about what cool things he was doing. Suddenly the questions became more schoolish: What are you learning in math? Are you doing grammar? What about science? When can you take time off from school to come visit me?
At this visit, Noah received more of the same. Luckily, Aengus was sleeping over at a friend's house, so he missed the grilling. Apparently, my mother feels it's time he was "doing school," too. She asked if we started with him yet.
"Nope, he's learning just fine on his own."
Will he be starting school next year, then? (Nine years, people!)
"Uh, no."
Won't he be in first grade next year?
"I guess."
Does this mean you're skipping kindergarten?
Shrug. "Sure."
Now, I know that she meant "formal academic studies" when she said "school." Still, I have told her repeatedly how much Aengus has taught himself and that we're allowing him to continue to do so. She just seems hell bent on us using formal curriculum, and I don't know how else to put it so that she'll understand that we aren't using that method.
I guess what it comes down to is that I no longer speak her schoolish language. What is obviously an adventure in writing, spelling, problem solving, critical thinking, history and social studies to me is simply "Runescape" to her. In her mind, if it's not in a textbook or coming from a teacher's mouth, how can it be learning?
I suppose I'll handle this the same way I handled the spanking issue: stick to my guns and wait for the results to speak for themselves. I just hope my mother doesn't destroy her relationship with her grandsons in the process. She's too good a Grammy to lose.
Now, there are two things you should note, dear reader, about the above statement. One: my mother lives in Pennsylvania, and I live in Virginia; it's difficult for her to just "stop by." Secondly, I referred to her not as "my mom," but as "my mother." Never a good sign.
Don't get me wrong -- I love her dearly! She is a fantastic grandmother and a very kind, giving person. In spite of our moral and political differences, she always (OK, usually) defers to me when dealing with my children. She tries very hard not to undermine my "authority." She's never once spanked or smacked the boys, though I'm sure she's occasionally wanted to and probably doesn't know any other way of handling young children's misbehavior. She mentions Jesus sometimes but never pushes the church thing. And until last year, she never questioned our homeschooling decision.
OK, maybe she questioned the decision, but she put on a supportive face for the kids that -- I thought -- became sincere over time. Keep in mind that we've been at this for nine years now. Last year I made the mistake of telling her that we made the leap into unschooling. What the hell was I thinking, you ask? I was thinking that after years of waffling on the subject, I was excited that I'd finally jumped into the lifestyle. I was excited about the whole idea of unschooling, of using the whole world to learn and teach my kids. I was excited at finally having found what really works for our family.
But I'd forgotten that my mother is a former math teacher. In the public schools. {groan} What have I done? Ever since I told her about unschooling, every visit is punctuated by pop quizzes for Noah. Being the real trooper that he is, he handles the questions deftly, translating what he does with his time into educationese like a pro.
But the look on his face the first few times was heartbreaking. It said, Why is Grammy betraying me like this? He couldn't understand why she had suddenly switched into school-principal mode. Before, her questions were all about what cool things he was doing. Suddenly the questions became more schoolish: What are you learning in math? Are you doing grammar? What about science? When can you take time off from school to come visit me?
At this visit, Noah received more of the same. Luckily, Aengus was sleeping over at a friend's house, so he missed the grilling. Apparently, my mother feels it's time he was "doing school," too. She asked if we started with him yet.
"Nope, he's learning just fine on his own."
Will he be starting school next year, then? (Nine years, people!)
"Uh, no."
Won't he be in first grade next year?
"I guess."
Does this mean you're skipping kindergarten?
Shrug. "Sure."
Now, I know that she meant "formal academic studies" when she said "school." Still, I have told her repeatedly how much Aengus has taught himself and that we're allowing him to continue to do so. She just seems hell bent on us using formal curriculum, and I don't know how else to put it so that she'll understand that we aren't using that method.
I guess what it comes down to is that I no longer speak her schoolish language. What is obviously an adventure in writing, spelling, problem solving, critical thinking, history and social studies to me is simply "Runescape" to her. In her mind, if it's not in a textbook or coming from a teacher's mouth, how can it be learning?
I suppose I'll handle this the same way I handled the spanking issue: stick to my guns and wait for the results to speak for themselves. I just hope my mother doesn't destroy her relationship with her grandsons in the process. She's too good a Grammy to lose.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Mental Challenges
You ever feel like an idiot? I mean, not just having-a-blond-moment kind of idiot, but a full-on what-the-hell's-the-matter-with-me kind of numnut.
I love hanging out with my home-educating girls. But every time we get to talking, and each time I read the message boards, that feeling of intellectual inadequacy comes over me. It's not that I'm unintelligent, I remind myself; it's that these women are all above-average. They really are smarter than the average American. Way smarter. And it's very humbling.
Even so, I give myself pep talks and convince myself that while I may not be brilliant like my friends and fellow home educators, I am at least somewhat intelligent.
Then comes a day like yesterday. I spent hours --hours-- on the computer, trying to figure out how to burn CDs and load videos onto Noah's mp3 player. This is something any teenager can do with speed and ease, right? So, how hard can it be? Apparently, very hard. At first, the CDs we burned (burnt?) wouldn't play on a CD player at all, just on the computer. After a while of fiddling, I discovered that Media Player had been set to "Burn Data to Disc," not audio. Big, fat DUH.
Alright, I figured that out. I had to burn a new disc, since these are not rewritable CDs, but luckily they weren't expensive. This time the stereo played the CD, but the quality was terrible. I mean, on the computer, it played just fine. But on the stereo it sounded like the tapes we used to make by holding the recorder up to the radio. Well, I figured, at least you can hear music. That's enough technology-induced stress for one day.
Not so! Then we tried to transfer video onto the mp3 player. Apparently, you can't download videos from You Tube, but we did find this handy little website (http://www.videocodezone.com/) that will convert video web pages into various downloadable formats. It only took me two hours to figure out which format would work both on our computer and on Noah's mp3 player. Noah's like, "Can't you just convert the file on Video Code Zone, then have the mp3 player software convert it into the format it needs?" Well, yeah, smart ass. That's what I'm trying to do, but it won't work.
So I spent a very demoralizing couple more hours trying to figure out why this process wasn't following the logic I thought it should (and that the Help screen said it should). It came down to trial and error. I finally got it to work, but I still don't understand why. If I only had a 16-year-old kid in my life to explain it all to me...or my Daddy, who intuitively understands all things electronic.
But the upside of the day was that Noah and I had a little bonding time. Downside is, I feel downright stupid. Time to find some rednecks to talk to; they always make me feel better about myself. You don't happen to know any, do you?
I love hanging out with my home-educating girls. But every time we get to talking, and each time I read the message boards, that feeling of intellectual inadequacy comes over me. It's not that I'm unintelligent, I remind myself; it's that these women are all above-average. They really are smarter than the average American. Way smarter. And it's very humbling.
Even so, I give myself pep talks and convince myself that while I may not be brilliant like my friends and fellow home educators, I am at least somewhat intelligent.
Then comes a day like yesterday. I spent hours --hours-- on the computer, trying to figure out how to burn CDs and load videos onto Noah's mp3 player. This is something any teenager can do with speed and ease, right? So, how hard can it be? Apparently, very hard. At first, the CDs we burned (burnt?) wouldn't play on a CD player at all, just on the computer. After a while of fiddling, I discovered that Media Player had been set to "Burn Data to Disc," not audio. Big, fat DUH.
Alright, I figured that out. I had to burn a new disc, since these are not rewritable CDs, but luckily they weren't expensive. This time the stereo played the CD, but the quality was terrible. I mean, on the computer, it played just fine. But on the stereo it sounded like the tapes we used to make by holding the recorder up to the radio. Well, I figured, at least you can hear music. That's enough technology-induced stress for one day.
Not so! Then we tried to transfer video onto the mp3 player. Apparently, you can't download videos from You Tube, but we did find this handy little website (http://www.videocodezone.com/) that will convert video web pages into various downloadable formats. It only took me two hours to figure out which format would work both on our computer and on Noah's mp3 player. Noah's like, "Can't you just convert the file on Video Code Zone, then have the mp3 player software convert it into the format it needs?" Well, yeah, smart ass. That's what I'm trying to do, but it won't work.
So I spent a very demoralizing couple more hours trying to figure out why this process wasn't following the logic I thought it should (and that the Help screen said it should). It came down to trial and error. I finally got it to work, but I still don't understand why. If I only had a 16-year-old kid in my life to explain it all to me...or my Daddy, who intuitively understands all things electronic.
But the upside of the day was that Noah and I had a little bonding time. Downside is, I feel downright stupid. Time to find some rednecks to talk to; they always make me feel better about myself. You don't happen to know any, do you?
Friday, September 7, 2007
Ah, Noah...
I'm puttin' it right out there: Noah drives me up a fucking wall. Not sometimes...most of the time these days. But even when I'm ready to tell him I've had it, he needs to find his own place, I have to admit he's a really great person. I mean it! He really is. He saves his adolescent venom, as I affectionately call it, exclusively for me. With everyone else, he's really pretty awesome. Case in point:
After fUNschool (our homeschooling co-op) today, one of the moms had a flat tire. Now, Noah didn't jump out of the car and rush over to help. But when I mentioned maybe he could give her a hand, he did saunter over and offer his assistance. The older kids joined him, so we had our own little impromptu auto maintenance class. Unschooling rocks!
Not that any of us knew how to change a tire, mind you. But between the four moms and eight or ten kids who were there, you'd think we could figure it out, right? I mean, how hard can it be? All guys seem to know how to do it, after all.
So, once the jack was alligned under the frame correctly and the van was lifted, the kids took turns unscrewing lugnuts. Noah steps up to the plate: strike one! That thing wouldn't budge. Try another lugnut, buddy. Strike two! Those suckers are on tight, aren't they?
At this point, Noah steps back to let another teen try; this time, a girl. She got it on the first try. I could just see the self-esteem issues wafting about his aura...There goes his manhood now...
Next up, another girl. His crush, at that. Ruh-roh. But she wasn't able to move any lugnuts, either. Then Noah comes up with the idea of using his foot on the crowbar, and the rest was easy. Manhood crisis averted. Whew!
The girls got the spare tire and lugnuts on, then Noah tightened them. The mom of the van in question started lowering the jack. Bear in mind, this woman had the cutest little skirt and heels on. A white skirt, at that. Noah steps up and --are you ready for it?-- asks if she'd like him to do it.
I tried not to let on, but I was bursting with pride. He really pushes my buttons; I think he thinks it's some kind of sport; "mom-needling," and he's the reigning champ. But darned if he isn't, underneath all the puberty, a really nice guy.
After fUNschool (our homeschooling co-op) today, one of the moms had a flat tire. Now, Noah didn't jump out of the car and rush over to help. But when I mentioned maybe he could give her a hand, he did saunter over and offer his assistance. The older kids joined him, so we had our own little impromptu auto maintenance class. Unschooling rocks!
Not that any of us knew how to change a tire, mind you. But between the four moms and eight or ten kids who were there, you'd think we could figure it out, right? I mean, how hard can it be? All guys seem to know how to do it, after all.
So, once the jack was alligned under the frame correctly and the van was lifted, the kids took turns unscrewing lugnuts. Noah steps up to the plate: strike one! That thing wouldn't budge. Try another lugnut, buddy. Strike two! Those suckers are on tight, aren't they?
At this point, Noah steps back to let another teen try; this time, a girl. She got it on the first try. I could just see the self-esteem issues wafting about his aura...There goes his manhood now...
Next up, another girl. His crush, at that. Ruh-roh. But she wasn't able to move any lugnuts, either. Then Noah comes up with the idea of using his foot on the crowbar, and the rest was easy. Manhood crisis averted. Whew!
The girls got the spare tire and lugnuts on, then Noah tightened them. The mom of the van in question started lowering the jack. Bear in mind, this woman had the cutest little skirt and heels on. A white skirt, at that. Noah steps up and --are you ready for it?-- asks if she'd like him to do it.
I tried not to let on, but I was bursting with pride. He really pushes my buttons; I think he thinks it's some kind of sport; "mom-needling," and he's the reigning champ. But darned if he isn't, underneath all the puberty, a really nice guy.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Ah, Aengus...
I'm trying very hard to have this not be a blog all about my son's adolescent behavior. But really, with such rich fodder, it's hard sometimes. So instead of bitching about Noah again (which I would dearly love to do right now), I'll pull a Steph and tell you what Aengus has been learning today.
Aengus spent the morning going through his toys in the attic, pulling out items to sell at a Yard Sale. Never mind that it's a Thursday morning. Never mind that he has maybe two dozen toys in his sale, and nothing else. Never mind that he's asking $14 for a box of broken-ass TMNT guys. This boy is convinced he's going to make a lot of money.
So, he made a sign: I told him the letters, he wrote them on a scrap of paper and taped it all to shit onto a stick. We took the dog, the sign, and a hammer down the street to the main intersection and hammered his stick into the ground. People zooming by can almost recognize the red blob on the sign as an arrow, so he might get some traffic.
Fast forward to after lunch. No customers yet. Not easily deterred, Aengus whips out another scrap of paper and bursts into my bedroom. Little shit. I was sleeping.
"Mom," he says. "How do you spell car wash?"
OK, Adesa, time to get up. Coffee. Coffee.
So I got out the bucket for him (after unjamming the large coffee can he had wedged in the bathroom sink, trying to fill it up) and filled it with soapy water. We dragged out all the rags we could find and pulled out the hose. To jump-start business, I declared that washing our own car would be good marketing. Mwah-ha-ha!
After burning bunches of calories, soaking loads of rags and towels, and spraying each other to the saturation point, the task was finally complete. Or, as complete as it's gonna be for now. I still need to Windex the windows, Armor-All the dash, and vacuum the inside. But seriously, if it takes me 4 months to get this far, can't all that wait a few more months? Why kill ourselves doing it all at once?
Aengus totally loved playing with the hose ("Look, Mom! It's a whip!"). But nary a customer in sight. I'm hoping the distraction of his favorite shows will keep him from getting down about not making a cent. Ya gotta admire his self-motivation, though.
Aengus spent the morning going through his toys in the attic, pulling out items to sell at a Yard Sale. Never mind that it's a Thursday morning. Never mind that he has maybe two dozen toys in his sale, and nothing else. Never mind that he's asking $14 for a box of broken-ass TMNT guys. This boy is convinced he's going to make a lot of money.
So, he made a sign: I told him the letters, he wrote them on a scrap of paper and taped it all to shit onto a stick. We took the dog, the sign, and a hammer down the street to the main intersection and hammered his stick into the ground. People zooming by can almost recognize the red blob on the sign as an arrow, so he might get some traffic.
Fast forward to after lunch. No customers yet. Not easily deterred, Aengus whips out another scrap of paper and bursts into my bedroom. Little shit. I was sleeping.
"Mom," he says. "How do you spell car wash?"
OK, Adesa, time to get up. Coffee. Coffee.
So I got out the bucket for him (after unjamming the large coffee can he had wedged in the bathroom sink, trying to fill it up) and filled it with soapy water. We dragged out all the rags we could find and pulled out the hose. To jump-start business, I declared that washing our own car would be good marketing. Mwah-ha-ha!
After burning bunches of calories, soaking loads of rags and towels, and spraying each other to the saturation point, the task was finally complete. Or, as complete as it's gonna be for now. I still need to Windex the windows, Armor-All the dash, and vacuum the inside. But seriously, if it takes me 4 months to get this far, can't all that wait a few more months? Why kill ourselves doing it all at once?
Aengus totally loved playing with the hose ("Look, Mom! It's a whip!"). But nary a customer in sight. I'm hoping the distraction of his favorite shows will keep him from getting down about not making a cent. Ya gotta admire his self-motivation, though.
I realize that while Noah and I pretended to play store when he was little, Aengus really set up a store. How I wish I had unschool Noah.
Right now, my bright, cheerful, pleasant younger child is dressed in his new black shoes, black socks, too-short black cords, grey shirt hidden under his new black hoodie, black-and-grey beanie hat, and black fabric wrapped around his hands like gloves.
"And just what are you trying to be, my child?" I ask him.
"I'm being Emo."
Rock on, little dude. Rock on.
Peace One Day
After seeing this on The Watcher's website, I feel compelled to share it with everyone I can.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Curriculum Shit
So quiet around here...
Aengus is an exuberant guy, yet the house still seems so quiet without Noah. Who knew that a kid who spends his day in his room or playing on the computer could leave such a palpable silence with his absence?
I know I should have been planning curriculum while he's been away. I just can't find it in me to think "school." I don't know if I still have summer on the brain, or the unschooling thing was so much to my thinking that I can't get out of it. Either way, I need to find a way to at least fake enthusiasm, 'cause Noah wants to do more formal, structured work this year.
We have the books to continue with Pre-Algebra, Geography, Grammar, and Literature. We can manage History with the library. He's got his guitar for music, with help from the internet and the library. Don't know what to do about writing. And though I have plenty of science books, I've never been good at actually doing experiments. So, I'm hoping we can put together a class at the local college using one of their Physics or Chemistry majors as an instructor. Oh, and Noah's signed up for Lego League, which is a fantastic opportunity (covering many subjects).
Problem is, once I get my act together and organize this stuff, I still have to find a way to pay for the science and Lego League. And guitar lessons. But I have no money. We're not sure yet how we're paying our bills this month (or next, for that matter), let alone buying extras like curriculum. Or food.
Ugh.
I hate being broke. I realized it was high time for me to find a paying job: The kids are more self-sufficient, and hubby's working from home, so the one-car thing isn't an issue anymore. But the places I've applied haven't even called me back. I don't get that -- I've always gotten every job I've applied for. Not to get even a call-back has me wondering what I did wrong on my applications. Or if maybe my last formal job being in 1998 might be a hindrance. I wonder if I should add the childcare work I did since then? But it's not like I'm trying to get into highly-competitive positions here. We're talking retail and food service, people. The damn college kids came back and took all the jobs, I suppose.
Sigh. Until I get a job, I think all fun --and eating-- will be on hold. And Christmas is coming. Again.
OK, I've thoroughly depressed myself now. Need more coffee. Damn, it's weak today. Maybe that's my trouble.
Aengus is an exuberant guy, yet the house still seems so quiet without Noah. Who knew that a kid who spends his day in his room or playing on the computer could leave such a palpable silence with his absence?
I know I should have been planning curriculum while he's been away. I just can't find it in me to think "school." I don't know if I still have summer on the brain, or the unschooling thing was so much to my thinking that I can't get out of it. Either way, I need to find a way to at least fake enthusiasm, 'cause Noah wants to do more formal, structured work this year.
We have the books to continue with Pre-Algebra, Geography, Grammar, and Literature. We can manage History with the library. He's got his guitar for music, with help from the internet and the library. Don't know what to do about writing. And though I have plenty of science books, I've never been good at actually doing experiments. So, I'm hoping we can put together a class at the local college using one of their Physics or Chemistry majors as an instructor. Oh, and Noah's signed up for Lego League, which is a fantastic opportunity (covering many subjects).
Problem is, once I get my act together and organize this stuff, I still have to find a way to pay for the science and Lego League. And guitar lessons. But I have no money. We're not sure yet how we're paying our bills this month (or next, for that matter), let alone buying extras like curriculum. Or food.
Ugh.
I hate being broke. I realized it was high time for me to find a paying job: The kids are more self-sufficient, and hubby's working from home, so the one-car thing isn't an issue anymore. But the places I've applied haven't even called me back. I don't get that -- I've always gotten every job I've applied for. Not to get even a call-back has me wondering what I did wrong on my applications. Or if maybe my last formal job being in 1998 might be a hindrance. I wonder if I should add the childcare work I did since then? But it's not like I'm trying to get into highly-competitive positions here. We're talking retail and food service, people. The damn college kids came back and took all the jobs, I suppose.
Sigh. Until I get a job, I think all fun --and eating-- will be on hold. And Christmas is coming. Again.
OK, I've thoroughly depressed myself now. Need more coffee. Damn, it's weak today. Maybe that's my trouble.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Wastin' time with You Tube...
Can't get this outta my head:
For all you young'uns, that there's real music. And to bring the old school into your new-fangled world:
I love You (Tube).
For all you young'uns, that there's real music. And to bring the old school into your new-fangled world:
I love You (Tube).
Sunday, August 26, 2007
NLSV's UK Tour '09: Premier Issue
It's been quiet here. Too quiet. Noah's absence is palpable.
Aengus spends his days coloring and watching TV and digging in the dirt and asking for play dates. I spend my days on the computer. Where's that Crappy Mom Award? It's my turn!
The main thing I've been doing online (since Harry Potter's over and my usual cyber activities have thus ended) is researching the UK and Ireland and how to get us there. And so, let the travel journal begin:
In February of 2007, Daniel Radcliffe starred in the London production of Equus. I will openly admit that the premise of the play freaked me out (all I think when I hear "sex with horses" is OUCH!), but the draw of a naked Daniel Radcliffe... now THAT's something to get excited about!
While discussing this delightful opportunity, my girlfriends and I decided a field trip to see the play would be a fantastic learning opportunity for our kids. OK, their kids, since my boys would not be interested. But I should chaperone, right?!
We discussed jetting off to London for a long weekend. But really, once you're there, you've got to take the opportunity to see as much of the country as you can, right? And sheesh, Ireland is right next door. We're gonna need more than a weekend. And I suppose we really should offer the husbands a seat on the plane, too; we'll need evening childcare, after all.
My girlfriends laughed along with me at the idea, then went on with their lives. Being the obsessive person I am, the idea festered in my head. What if, I thought, we really did make this a field trip? It would certainly be educational; part of being a homeschooler is seizing every opportunity to learn something, and the UK is dripping with learning opportunities. The major appeal of such a trip (to our family, anyway) is its history and culture. So much the better when we're experiencing it all with friends!
And if it's a field trip, that means we can do fundraisers to help make it happen. This was the vital leap in my thought process, because it surely can't happen without raising the money from outside sources.
Then the wheels really began to turn. Oh, the learning potential! A whirlwind of curriculum ideas swirled in my head: literature, language, history, art, architecture, culture, music, astronomy, economics, drama, math, geneology,... you name it, I can put together a study of it based on a trip to the UK and Ireland. So much we can do between now and take-off that would be considered "schoolwork"!
If I can just make it all happen...
Well, if there's one thing I've learned from being a home educator all these years, it's that if you want something to happen, do it. Just do it. Take the steps and others will follow.
So, what began as an extended Moms' Night Out became the NLSV UK Tour '09 (working title). I've researched fundraising opportunities and ideas, airfare, hostels versus B&Bs versus hotels, ground transportation, becoming a non-profit, tourist attrations and traps, bank accounts, etc., etc., etc. I've spent hours looking into all the details -- on TV, online, and in books.
I still have lots more research to do, but I think we're ready to start fundraising efforts. It will take a lot of fundraising, for sure. Many of these families have stay-at-home moms; the job is priceless but payless, unfortunately. My own family can barely pay our bills, let alone save for retirement or a rainy day or a fab-o trip to the Old World. So the only way I'm getting there is if I can raise all the funds through group efforts; I think most of our other families are in the same boat -- er, plane.
My immediate plans are to organize all my research into handy packets and hold an organizational meeting of the interested parties. It looks like we'll have 20-25 people travelling together. What fun!! But what a lot of cash that will be -- up to $75,000! I concede that the idea is intimidating. But the image of this particular gang together in England and Ireland keeps me motivated.
That, and I will see Daniel Radcliffe while we're there -- naked, if I can manage it.
Aengus spends his days coloring and watching TV and digging in the dirt and asking for play dates. I spend my days on the computer. Where's that Crappy Mom Award? It's my turn!
The main thing I've been doing online (since Harry Potter's over and my usual cyber activities have thus ended) is researching the UK and Ireland and how to get us there. And so, let the travel journal begin:
In February of 2007, Daniel Radcliffe starred in the London production of Equus. I will openly admit that the premise of the play freaked me out (all I think when I hear "sex with horses" is OUCH!), but the draw of a naked Daniel Radcliffe... now THAT's something to get excited about!
While discussing this delightful opportunity, my girlfriends and I decided a field trip to see the play would be a fantastic learning opportunity for our kids. OK, their kids, since my boys would not be interested. But I should chaperone, right?!
We discussed jetting off to London for a long weekend. But really, once you're there, you've got to take the opportunity to see as much of the country as you can, right? And sheesh, Ireland is right next door. We're gonna need more than a weekend. And I suppose we really should offer the husbands a seat on the plane, too; we'll need evening childcare, after all.
My girlfriends laughed along with me at the idea, then went on with their lives. Being the obsessive person I am, the idea festered in my head. What if, I thought, we really did make this a field trip? It would certainly be educational; part of being a homeschooler is seizing every opportunity to learn something, and the UK is dripping with learning opportunities. The major appeal of such a trip (to our family, anyway) is its history and culture. So much the better when we're experiencing it all with friends!
And if it's a field trip, that means we can do fundraisers to help make it happen. This was the vital leap in my thought process, because it surely can't happen without raising the money from outside sources.
Then the wheels really began to turn. Oh, the learning potential! A whirlwind of curriculum ideas swirled in my head: literature, language, history, art, architecture, culture, music, astronomy, economics, drama, math, geneology,... you name it, I can put together a study of it based on a trip to the UK and Ireland. So much we can do between now and take-off that would be considered "schoolwork"!
If I can just make it all happen...
Well, if there's one thing I've learned from being a home educator all these years, it's that if you want something to happen, do it. Just do it. Take the steps and others will follow.
So, what began as an extended Moms' Night Out became the NLSV UK Tour '09 (working title). I've researched fundraising opportunities and ideas, airfare, hostels versus B&Bs versus hotels, ground transportation, becoming a non-profit, tourist attrations and traps, bank accounts, etc., etc., etc. I've spent hours looking into all the details -- on TV, online, and in books.
I still have lots more research to do, but I think we're ready to start fundraising efforts. It will take a lot of fundraising, for sure. Many of these families have stay-at-home moms; the job is priceless but payless, unfortunately. My own family can barely pay our bills, let alone save for retirement or a rainy day or a fab-o trip to the Old World. So the only way I'm getting there is if I can raise all the funds through group efforts; I think most of our other families are in the same boat -- er, plane.
My immediate plans are to organize all my research into handy packets and hold an organizational meeting of the interested parties. It looks like we'll have 20-25 people travelling together. What fun!! But what a lot of cash that will be -- up to $75,000! I concede that the idea is intimidating. But the image of this particular gang together in England and Ireland keeps me motivated.
That, and I will see Daniel Radcliffe while we're there -- naked, if I can manage it.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
The Airport Saga
On Tuesday, Big Bro flew to Atlanta on his own to spend some time with friends. Getting him there was almost glitch-free... except when it came to telecommunications.
All our ducks were in their damned rows: Everything he'd need was either packed or would be bought at Wal-Mart in Georgia. We had all his paperwork printed out and organized, right down to a map of the Atlanta airport. Bathing suit and goggles, check. Underwear, check. Toothbrush, check (and you damn well better use it, boy!).
So, off we go. The parking lot shuttle shows up at our car just as we're locking it up. There's no line at check-in. Noah gets the ideal seat on the plane. Security's a pain but quick. Noah's gate is close and easy to find. So far, everything is running smoothly.
But then...
As we're looking for a magazine and some gum for his flight, Noah remembers that he left his mp3 player in the car. He's really attached to that thing, to the point that he was loading music specifically for the trip. Sorry, buddy, but you'll have to live without your music for two weeks.
OK, that was our glitch, right? Huh. Not so fast.
Then he remembered that he left his Benedryl and Tracfone card in the car as well. Benedryl he can buy in Georgia. The Tracfone card? BIG PROBLEM.
See, he's got this Tracfone that he never uses, so I had let the service drop. We stopped on the way to the airport to get him more minutes, because it was VITAL that he have a way to call me or his friend's mom when he lands. He's flying in to Atlanta, for Christ's sake. What if they don't issue Cori a gate pass? What if he's just standing there, wondering where to go and how to find her? How will he reach her? How will I know he's found her? AACK!
OK, deep breath. We had almost an hour before his flight leaves. I was going to see if I could make it out to the car and back real quick. Now, I know what you're thinking: I was smoking crack, right? Well, no; I'm just really inexperienced with flight. I actually thought I had a chance.
So I leave Noah with all his stuff right next to the gate and zoom out of the airport. I noticed on my way past security, however, that a line had formed. Red flags went up in my head --really, they were popping up in front of my eyeballs. But I continued, wondering what the hell my baby would do without a phone.
When I finally found the spot I was supposed to go to to catch the parking lot shuttle, I had just missed it. The next one wouldn't be back for another 15 minutes. Those red flags were now dancing. What if I couldn't get back in time, and Noah had to board without seeing me? How scared would he be?! Would they even let him on the plane without me there? And if they did --how dare they?!
I turned tail and ran back into the airport, stopped short by the now-huge line at security. Oh, crap. It was all I could do to not cut through the line and start somethin' with all these people who were between me and my kid. Once it was finally my turn, security was quick (it was just me and my purse and my thank-God-I-wore-these slip-on sandals).
I made it back to Noah just as they started boarding his flight. "OK," I said, "You'll have to take my phone and my mp3 player. It's a shuffle, but it's got lots of Green Day, so you'll survive." Off he went, with a quick hug and a slight look of panic in his eyes.
The only decent view of the planes taking off was from the airport bar. Poor me. I bellied up and ordered a brew, thinking it would be a while 'til Noah's plane actually headed up, up, and away. Not two sips into my beer, though, and there he went. I couldn't see the end of the runway, but I didn't hear an explosion or panicked announcements over the PA system, so I made myself relax. Finished my beer while reading my guidebook to the UK, dreaming of the day when I would be on a plane myself.
Alrighty, time to call the other mom and let her know Noah's cell number. Red flags went up again when the pay phone at the airport wouldn't work, no matter how many quarters I gave it or what number I dialed. Ruh-roh.
No big deal, Adesa, just find a payphone on the road and try again.
So tell me: have you tried finding a payphone lately? The damn things hardly exist anymore. I took exit after exit in an unfamiliar city, trying to find one. When I finally did, I used it to load the minutes onto the Tracfone that was to be mine for two weeks. I took off again, thinking I'd make all my other calls from the road.
Mwa-ha-ha! replied God.
Apparently, Tracfone did not program the phone properly, because after a bunch of attempts to many numbers, I could not get the damn thing to connect me to anyone, not even Tracfone itself. But I did manage to use 18 minutes of call time in the effort, which they damn well better reimburse me for.
By now, it's after 3 o'clock. Noah should have landed, and I'm flipping out. Frustration with the stupid phone situation had me on edge, I had a beer in me (just one, but it was a big one), and the mama bear in me knew my son had flown away. My brain was swarming with images of planes crashing and my baby being scared and alone while his plane was engulfed in flames, and of him standing in the enormous Atlanta airport wondering what to do and where to go and searching for Cori and of him having the same phone problems I was having and not being able to call her. I was losing it fast, and now I had to find another fucking payphone.
Just then, I spotted a sign for a rest stop, and intinct told me I'd find a phone there. They had three! Of course, the first one didn't work, leading to lots of loud "fuck"s and stares from strangers and smearing my mascara. But the second one worked just fine. I got right through to Noah, and asked if he had found Cori OK. He replied with that special tone of voice reserved for thirteen-year-olds, "Yes, Mom, I'm fine. I'm in their car now. Anything else?"
Shithead.
Once the drama was over, I realized two things. One, the charger for the Tracfone was in Georgia, so I wouldn't be able to use it after all. And two...
I get Noah's mp3 player for two weeks. Mwa-ha-ha!
All our ducks were in their damned rows: Everything he'd need was either packed or would be bought at Wal-Mart in Georgia. We had all his paperwork printed out and organized, right down to a map of the Atlanta airport. Bathing suit and goggles, check. Underwear, check. Toothbrush, check (and you damn well better use it, boy!).
So, off we go. The parking lot shuttle shows up at our car just as we're locking it up. There's no line at check-in. Noah gets the ideal seat on the plane. Security's a pain but quick. Noah's gate is close and easy to find. So far, everything is running smoothly.
But then...
As we're looking for a magazine and some gum for his flight, Noah remembers that he left his mp3 player in the car. He's really attached to that thing, to the point that he was loading music specifically for the trip. Sorry, buddy, but you'll have to live without your music for two weeks.
OK, that was our glitch, right? Huh. Not so fast.
Then he remembered that he left his Benedryl and Tracfone card in the car as well. Benedryl he can buy in Georgia. The Tracfone card? BIG PROBLEM.
See, he's got this Tracfone that he never uses, so I had let the service drop. We stopped on the way to the airport to get him more minutes, because it was VITAL that he have a way to call me or his friend's mom when he lands. He's flying in to Atlanta, for Christ's sake. What if they don't issue Cori a gate pass? What if he's just standing there, wondering where to go and how to find her? How will he reach her? How will I know he's found her? AACK!
OK, deep breath. We had almost an hour before his flight leaves. I was going to see if I could make it out to the car and back real quick. Now, I know what you're thinking: I was smoking crack, right? Well, no; I'm just really inexperienced with flight. I actually thought I had a chance.
So I leave Noah with all his stuff right next to the gate and zoom out of the airport. I noticed on my way past security, however, that a line had formed. Red flags went up in my head --really, they were popping up in front of my eyeballs. But I continued, wondering what the hell my baby would do without a phone.
When I finally found the spot I was supposed to go to to catch the parking lot shuttle, I had just missed it. The next one wouldn't be back for another 15 minutes. Those red flags were now dancing. What if I couldn't get back in time, and Noah had to board without seeing me? How scared would he be?! Would they even let him on the plane without me there? And if they did --how dare they?!
I turned tail and ran back into the airport, stopped short by the now-huge line at security. Oh, crap. It was all I could do to not cut through the line and start somethin' with all these people who were between me and my kid. Once it was finally my turn, security was quick (it was just me and my purse and my thank-God-I-wore-these slip-on sandals).
I made it back to Noah just as they started boarding his flight. "OK," I said, "You'll have to take my phone and my mp3 player. It's a shuffle, but it's got lots of Green Day, so you'll survive." Off he went, with a quick hug and a slight look of panic in his eyes.
The only decent view of the planes taking off was from the airport bar. Poor me. I bellied up and ordered a brew, thinking it would be a while 'til Noah's plane actually headed up, up, and away. Not two sips into my beer, though, and there he went. I couldn't see the end of the runway, but I didn't hear an explosion or panicked announcements over the PA system, so I made myself relax. Finished my beer while reading my guidebook to the UK, dreaming of the day when I would be on a plane myself.
Alrighty, time to call the other mom and let her know Noah's cell number. Red flags went up again when the pay phone at the airport wouldn't work, no matter how many quarters I gave it or what number I dialed. Ruh-roh.
No big deal, Adesa, just find a payphone on the road and try again.
So tell me: have you tried finding a payphone lately? The damn things hardly exist anymore. I took exit after exit in an unfamiliar city, trying to find one. When I finally did, I used it to load the minutes onto the Tracfone that was to be mine for two weeks. I took off again, thinking I'd make all my other calls from the road.
Mwa-ha-ha! replied God.
Apparently, Tracfone did not program the phone properly, because after a bunch of attempts to many numbers, I could not get the damn thing to connect me to anyone, not even Tracfone itself. But I did manage to use 18 minutes of call time in the effort, which they damn well better reimburse me for.
By now, it's after 3 o'clock. Noah should have landed, and I'm flipping out. Frustration with the stupid phone situation had me on edge, I had a beer in me (just one, but it was a big one), and the mama bear in me knew my son had flown away. My brain was swarming with images of planes crashing and my baby being scared and alone while his plane was engulfed in flames, and of him standing in the enormous Atlanta airport wondering what to do and where to go and searching for Cori and of him having the same phone problems I was having and not being able to call her. I was losing it fast, and now I had to find another fucking payphone.
Just then, I spotted a sign for a rest stop, and intinct told me I'd find a phone there. They had three! Of course, the first one didn't work, leading to lots of loud "fuck"s and stares from strangers and smearing my mascara. But the second one worked just fine. I got right through to Noah, and asked if he had found Cori OK. He replied with that special tone of voice reserved for thirteen-year-olds, "Yes, Mom, I'm fine. I'm in their car now. Anything else?"
Shithead.
Once the drama was over, I realized two things. One, the charger for the Tracfone was in Georgia, so I wouldn't be able to use it after all. And two...
I get Noah's mp3 player for two weeks. Mwa-ha-ha!
Ma baby done flied away...
Noah flew --solo-- down to Atlanta to stay with his friends for a week or two (That's them, up above: the tall boy in the middle and his younger bro a few kids to the right in the dark jacket. Their little sis isn't in the pic). He had a four-day summer camp experience a few years ago, but this is the longest we'll have been apart. Ever. (sniff)
Actually, it's not quite sadness I'm feeling. It is sad that he's not with us, and that he's growing up and leaving his childhood behind with me, and that it's just not as funny around here without him.
But heading off on his own is such an exciting thing for him to do, and I feel that sense of adventure along with him. I remember how it feels to be responsible for yourself for the first time and how very thrilling that is.
And I have to say that I'm very proud of him. He's a cautious kid; he's not exactly afraid to try new things, but he sees potential pitfalls and treads carefully. He'd rather not do something at all than try it and have it go wrong.
Doing this --flying alone, to a huge, strange place-- is something he wouldn't have attempted for anyone but his best friend. OK, so the annoying little bro was a bit of a motivator, too... Still, he overcame his fears and nerves and made himself just do it. I can't believe he's the same kid that I had to drag, literally kicking and screaming, into the tubes at Chuck E. Cheese. (Note to Noah's friends who are reading this: he was only two years old at the time.)
(sniff) My baby's growing up. I'm left with the same feeling I have on each of my birthdays: that life is fleeting, passing me too quickly by; that I don't ever want this to end! This --this life I've made, that I'm living-- is not at all what I'd like it to be, but it's so much more in so many ways. I may be many things, have many interests, beyond motherhood. I may be a fascinating woman (I'm not, but I could be!) with many facets besides being a mother. But what do they matter, compared with this?
They just don't. Not to me, anyway.
Actually, it's not quite sadness I'm feeling. It is sad that he's not with us, and that he's growing up and leaving his childhood behind with me, and that it's just not as funny around here without him.
But heading off on his own is such an exciting thing for him to do, and I feel that sense of adventure along with him. I remember how it feels to be responsible for yourself for the first time and how very thrilling that is.
And I have to say that I'm very proud of him. He's a cautious kid; he's not exactly afraid to try new things, but he sees potential pitfalls and treads carefully. He'd rather not do something at all than try it and have it go wrong.
Doing this --flying alone, to a huge, strange place-- is something he wouldn't have attempted for anyone but his best friend. OK, so the annoying little bro was a bit of a motivator, too... Still, he overcame his fears and nerves and made himself just do it. I can't believe he's the same kid that I had to drag, literally kicking and screaming, into the tubes at Chuck E. Cheese. (Note to Noah's friends who are reading this: he was only two years old at the time.)
(sniff) My baby's growing up. I'm left with the same feeling I have on each of my birthdays: that life is fleeting, passing me too quickly by; that I don't ever want this to end! This --this life I've made, that I'm living-- is not at all what I'd like it to be, but it's so much more in so many ways. I may be many things, have many interests, beyond motherhood. I may be a fascinating woman (I'm not, but I could be!) with many facets besides being a mother. But what do they matter, compared with this?
They just don't. Not to me, anyway.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Where the hell I've been
After almost a month of computer problems and mini-vacations, I'm back online. Finally!
Coming up tonight: The trauma of seeing my oldest fly away...literally.
Stay tuned.
Coming up tonight: The trauma of seeing my oldest fly away...literally.
Stay tuned.
Monday, July 23, 2007
SPOILER-Filled Deathly Hallows Post
S
P
O
I
L
E
R
S
P
A
C
E
Alright, here we go:
1) The Deathly Hallows themselves were a totally unexpected plot twist. Who would have thought JKR would add an all-new sub-plot when she had so many other plot points to resolve? But she did it, and it managed to be important and make sense. I'm still a little fuzzy on how the Elder Wand came to be Draco's, but I'm sure it will become clear upon re-reading.
2) I was really touched by how much Dobby's death affected Harry. I especially liked that he dug Dobby's grave Muggle-style.
3) Holy action, Batman! This baby's packed with battles throughout, not just a biggie at the end. I wasn't prepared for that. What an awesome movie this will make!
4) Speaking of the movie... Something tells me this one will be difficult for the filmmakers to keep at PG-13. And if they do get an R rating, I'm looking forward to a naked Dan Radcliffe!!!
5) Filled with action...and humor. Rowling was smart to include so much comic relief, since this episode is so stressful to read. Another characteristic that will make it an excellent movie. I was laughing out loud many times.
6) Ron and Hermione's liplock was perfect timing in its imperfect timing. Hysterical at a moment when tensions were super-high.
7) I was just starting to be disappointed with the lack of Snape through the meat of the story. But when he did reappear...yowza! I was happy to read that though he's not a nice guy, he really was on our side the whole time. Having Harry forgive him (and, in fact, honor him) in the end was good for our hero's soul, IMO.
8) I cried the most when I read about Fred, Lupin, and Tonks. Don't tell me there isn't room for another few books there: Teddy loses his parents as an infant and has The Boy Who Lived as his godfather? I smell a sequel!
9) Killing Hedwig, particularly so early in the story, was just plain vicious. What did she ever do to you, Jo? OK, so she would have been a pain for Harry to carry all around England all year. And yes, having his Firebolt and owl would have made things too easy for our hero. Still... It was just mean.
10) I would have liked to have seen a good liplock for Harry and Ginny there at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. Knowing they are together and happy after 19 years is nice, but I wanted to see the reconcilliation.
11) I was actually kinda disappointed Harry didn't spend more time at Hogwarts. We see very little of the school and its culture in this book, which is good storytelling IMO, but I still missed it.
12) And finally... I was shocked and dismayed when Ron walked out on Harry. What the hell was that?! I know it furthered the plot and gave them all more information when he came back, but I was devastated when he left. I couldn't believe it happened. Well, "shocked" was pretty much how I felt most of the way through the book, to be honest.
I'm sure I'll be expounding on my opinions sporadically over the next few weeks. A few more read-throughs should do the trick.
Still wondering what's going to fill this hole in my life...
P
O
I
L
E
R
S
P
A
C
E
Alright, here we go:
1) The Deathly Hallows themselves were a totally unexpected plot twist. Who would have thought JKR would add an all-new sub-plot when she had so many other plot points to resolve? But she did it, and it managed to be important and make sense. I'm still a little fuzzy on how the Elder Wand came to be Draco's, but I'm sure it will become clear upon re-reading.
2) I was really touched by how much Dobby's death affected Harry. I especially liked that he dug Dobby's grave Muggle-style.
3) Holy action, Batman! This baby's packed with battles throughout, not just a biggie at the end. I wasn't prepared for that. What an awesome movie this will make!
4) Speaking of the movie... Something tells me this one will be difficult for the filmmakers to keep at PG-13. And if they do get an R rating, I'm looking forward to a naked Dan Radcliffe!!!
5) Filled with action...and humor. Rowling was smart to include so much comic relief, since this episode is so stressful to read. Another characteristic that will make it an excellent movie. I was laughing out loud many times.
6) Ron and Hermione's liplock was perfect timing in its imperfect timing. Hysterical at a moment when tensions were super-high.
7) I was just starting to be disappointed with the lack of Snape through the meat of the story. But when he did reappear...yowza! I was happy to read that though he's not a nice guy, he really was on our side the whole time. Having Harry forgive him (and, in fact, honor him) in the end was good for our hero's soul, IMO.
8) I cried the most when I read about Fred, Lupin, and Tonks. Don't tell me there isn't room for another few books there: Teddy loses his parents as an infant and has The Boy Who Lived as his godfather? I smell a sequel!
9) Killing Hedwig, particularly so early in the story, was just plain vicious. What did she ever do to you, Jo? OK, so she would have been a pain for Harry to carry all around England all year. And yes, having his Firebolt and owl would have made things too easy for our hero. Still... It was just mean.
10) I would have liked to have seen a good liplock for Harry and Ginny there at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. Knowing they are together and happy after 19 years is nice, but I wanted to see the reconcilliation.
11) I was actually kinda disappointed Harry didn't spend more time at Hogwarts. We see very little of the school and its culture in this book, which is good storytelling IMO, but I still missed it.
12) And finally... I was shocked and dismayed when Ron walked out on Harry. What the hell was that?! I know it furthered the plot and gave them all more information when he came back, but I was devastated when he left. I couldn't believe it happened. Well, "shocked" was pretty much how I felt most of the way through the book, to be honest.
I'm sure I'll be expounding on my opinions sporadically over the next few weeks. A few more read-throughs should do the trick.
Still wondering what's going to fill this hole in my life...
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (no spoilers here -- yet)
Wow.
I was so scared that I'd be disappointed, so great were my expectations and excitement, but--
Wow.
That was just the best book ever! Not many of my predictions came true, and even fewer came about the way I expected. After all the theories and predictions I've read (from logical to wild), all supported ferociously by canon sources...and not one of them came close! I'm surprised just how surprised I was, the whole way through. It was full of action and humor, and I all-out cried at least once. (Oh, Teddy!)
All I can say is that here is a world which we can hold up for our children as moral examples: the heroes in this series are true heroes. They are flawed human beings, yes, but they show incredible moral fortitude in the face of danger. Harry is much like Frodo; I feel immense sympathy for him and his journey and am more than a little impressed by his courage. Not so sure I could do it.
And if all those Potter-hating sheep-- er, I mean, fundamentalists-- ever actually read the series, I think they'd find Harry actually exemplifies much of the morality they claim to believe in.
Now that I know where Snape's allegiences lie and who dies and who lives... I'm off to give it another go. What else can I read now??
I was so scared that I'd be disappointed, so great were my expectations and excitement, but--
Wow.
That was just the best book ever! Not many of my predictions came true, and even fewer came about the way I expected. After all the theories and predictions I've read (from logical to wild), all supported ferociously by canon sources...and not one of them came close! I'm surprised just how surprised I was, the whole way through. It was full of action and humor, and I all-out cried at least once. (Oh, Teddy!)
All I can say is that here is a world which we can hold up for our children as moral examples: the heroes in this series are true heroes. They are flawed human beings, yes, but they show incredible moral fortitude in the face of danger. Harry is much like Frodo; I feel immense sympathy for him and his journey and am more than a little impressed by his courage. Not so sure I could do it.
And if all those Potter-hating sheep-- er, I mean, fundamentalists-- ever actually read the series, I think they'd find Harry actually exemplifies much of the morality they claim to believe in.
Now that I know where Snape's allegiences lie and who dies and who lives... I'm off to give it another go. What else can I read now??
Friday, July 20, 2007
Checking in before my total electronic shutdown...
Last night the boys and I camped outside Barnes and Noble with a good friend and her four kids. If you have to ask why, you apparently don't know me yet. Two words should explain it:
Harry. Potter.
Now, I don't care if I get the first or the 200-and-first copy when it is released tonight. I really don't. As long as I get a copy 'round about midnight, I'm good. But to ensure B&N doesn't run out of copies before we get ours, and to give the boys a once-in-a-lifetime experience, we decided to get there early and wait all night. And what a long night it was, too!
I was surprised just how much actually goes on in Harrisonburg at three in the morning. And shocked how many little old ladies are driving around at that ungodly hour! We had a few drunks stop and talk to us, but not as many as I would have thought.
The highlight of the evening for me was the college-age boys who commented that I looked twenty-six, not thirty-six. OK, so they were the drunkest of the lot, by far; that detail will probably be lost to my aging memory. It will certainly be lost in all future re-tellings!
Now I'm off to get dressed (as Professor McGonagall) for the release party, then I'll be incommunicado for a few days. May you all enjoy this unusual experience with your families, and savor this moment in human literary history together.
And FYI: The next time I post here, there WILL be spoilers. Don't check back until you've read Deathly Hallows. You have been warned.
Harry. Potter.
Now, I don't care if I get the first or the 200-and-first copy when it is released tonight. I really don't. As long as I get a copy 'round about midnight, I'm good. But to ensure B&N doesn't run out of copies before we get ours, and to give the boys a once-in-a-lifetime experience, we decided to get there early and wait all night. And what a long night it was, too!
I was surprised just how much actually goes on in Harrisonburg at three in the morning. And shocked how many little old ladies are driving around at that ungodly hour! We had a few drunks stop and talk to us, but not as many as I would have thought.
The highlight of the evening for me was the college-age boys who commented that I looked twenty-six, not thirty-six. OK, so they were the drunkest of the lot, by far; that detail will probably be lost to my aging memory. It will certainly be lost in all future re-tellings!
Now I'm off to get dressed (as Professor McGonagall) for the release party, then I'll be incommunicado for a few days. May you all enjoy this unusual experience with your families, and savor this moment in human literary history together.
And FYI: The next time I post here, there WILL be spoilers. Don't check back until you've read Deathly Hallows. You have been warned.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Addendum to Restaurant Meme
While in Pennsylvania, we discovered a fantastic place in Elizabethtown, called Rockwell's.
Good sign number one: they had several people directing traffic in their parking lot.
Good sign number two: about 8 thatched roof-style umbrellas on their deck, along with the hull of a sailboat as the outdoor bar.
Good sign number three: a playground for the kids. You heard me: A playground. For the kids.
We had lucious drinks (all kinds of tropical specials!), yummy appetizers, and excellent crab cake sandwiches in a really fun atmosphere.
I think the menu was reasonably priced, too: lunch entrees were less than $10, and dinners were in the $10-15 range. Those tropical drinks were around $4 each! For a party of 10 (3 kids), our bill was around $200, including all those drinkies (and there were a lot). Not bad.
If only there were a place like that around here...
Good sign number one: they had several people directing traffic in their parking lot.
Good sign number two: about 8 thatched roof-style umbrellas on their deck, along with the hull of a sailboat as the outdoor bar.
Good sign number three: a playground for the kids. You heard me: A playground. For the kids.
We had lucious drinks (all kinds of tropical specials!), yummy appetizers, and excellent crab cake sandwiches in a really fun atmosphere.
I think the menu was reasonably priced, too: lunch entrees were less than $10, and dinners were in the $10-15 range. Those tropical drinks were around $4 each! For a party of 10 (3 kids), our bill was around $200, including all those drinkies (and there were a lot). Not bad.
If only there were a place like that around here...
20 Answers
Before the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I'll make my predictions for the record. We'll see how many I get right.
1) People to die: Neville and Hagrid, possibly Percy (in the midst of or after just recently reconciling with the family. OK, maybe Snape, too.
2) Person who "receives a reprieve": Ron (or maybe Snape)
3) Sirius's two-way mirror will be very important, as will the collapsed passageway on the Marauder's Map, Hermione's knowledge of Ancient Runes, Buckbeak the Hippogriff, and Alice Longbottom's gum wrappers (I hope!)
4) Harry *will* return to Hogwarts, maybe even as a student, but possibly as the DADA teacher; he does, after all, need to find something from Ravenclaw/Gryffindor. Another probable hiding place for a horcrux: Gringott's.
5) Aberforth (who has the locket and is, of course, Dumbledore's brother), Dawlish (who I suspect is a spy for Dumbledore), Slughorn, and Krum will become more important characters.
6) Umbridge will be back, you mark my words.
7) WWII (Wizarding War 2) will involve giants, centaurs, house-elves, dementors, werewolves, and GOBLINS. The giants will tip the balance in our favor, and Kreacher will answer a lot of questions for Harry. Please please please let SPEW actually have a role in something, too.
8) Lupin and Tonks, sittin' in a tree...
9) OTOH, Harry will keep Ginny at a distance. She will be vital to our success, but they will only be reunited after Voldemort is defeated.
10) Fortescue's and Ollivander's disappearances will be explained. I have a feeling Fortescue is in protective custody because of his knowledge of the Goblin Riots, and Ollivander has been kidnapped by Lord Voldemort to help Him get around the peculiar behavior of His and Harry's wands when used against each other.
11) Madame Pince, the librarian, is Snape's mother, in protective custody, which is why Dumbledore trusts Snape so much.
12) Ron and Hermione...not so sure that's gonna work out.
13) Fred and George's shop will be important to the Resistance.
14) Petunia is hiding something magical under the squeaky stair at #4 Privet Drive...a wand? Something from Godric Gryffindor? Letters, perhaps from James to Lily or someone else who was at Godric's Hollow, or correspondence from Dumbledore?
15) Neville's memory is terrible because he had his memory altered when he was a baby. Perhaps *his* family was also at Godric's Hollow?
16) Speaking of Neville: He will Shine with his new wand; he'll take out a lot of Death Eaters, but he'll also have to stand up to a "friend" who has turned.
17) Pettigrew's silver hand will be useful...my guess is that it will have something to do with killing Snape, since so many bat references have been made with regard to Snape.
18) The mysterious locked room in the Department of Mysteries and the flying Ford Anglia will both be back.
19) Draco will be redeemed...his dad, not so much
20) Grindelwald and the 12 Uses of Dragon's Blood will not only be explained, they'll be important.
And a bonus: the word "scar," which Rowling has said for years is the last word of Book 7 and which has since been moved further in from the end, will refer not to Harry's lightening bolt-shaped mark but to the Umbridge-induced scar on his hand.
So now, we'll see whether I'm brilliant or clueless. I'm going with clueless, tinged with a bit of luck. ;o) Now I'm on total internet lockdown until I'm done reading the book. I hope you all enjoy it!
And "I hope it's THICK and LONG so it keeps me UP ALL NIGHT." ;o)
1) People to die: Neville and Hagrid, possibly Percy (in the midst of or after just recently reconciling with the family. OK, maybe Snape, too.
2) Person who "receives a reprieve": Ron (or maybe Snape)
3) Sirius's two-way mirror will be very important, as will the collapsed passageway on the Marauder's Map, Hermione's knowledge of Ancient Runes, Buckbeak the Hippogriff, and Alice Longbottom's gum wrappers (I hope!)
4) Harry *will* return to Hogwarts, maybe even as a student, but possibly as the DADA teacher; he does, after all, need to find something from Ravenclaw/Gryffindor. Another probable hiding place for a horcrux: Gringott's.
5) Aberforth (who has the locket and is, of course, Dumbledore's brother), Dawlish (who I suspect is a spy for Dumbledore), Slughorn, and Krum will become more important characters.
6) Umbridge will be back, you mark my words.
7) WWII (Wizarding War 2) will involve giants, centaurs, house-elves, dementors, werewolves, and GOBLINS. The giants will tip the balance in our favor, and Kreacher will answer a lot of questions for Harry. Please please please let SPEW actually have a role in something, too.
8) Lupin and Tonks, sittin' in a tree...
9) OTOH, Harry will keep Ginny at a distance. She will be vital to our success, but they will only be reunited after Voldemort is defeated.
10) Fortescue's and Ollivander's disappearances will be explained. I have a feeling Fortescue is in protective custody because of his knowledge of the Goblin Riots, and Ollivander has been kidnapped by Lord Voldemort to help Him get around the peculiar behavior of His and Harry's wands when used against each other.
11) Madame Pince, the librarian, is Snape's mother, in protective custody, which is why Dumbledore trusts Snape so much.
12) Ron and Hermione...not so sure that's gonna work out.
13) Fred and George's shop will be important to the Resistance.
14) Petunia is hiding something magical under the squeaky stair at #4 Privet Drive...a wand? Something from Godric Gryffindor? Letters, perhaps from James to Lily or someone else who was at Godric's Hollow, or correspondence from Dumbledore?
15) Neville's memory is terrible because he had his memory altered when he was a baby. Perhaps *his* family was also at Godric's Hollow?
16) Speaking of Neville: He will Shine with his new wand; he'll take out a lot of Death Eaters, but he'll also have to stand up to a "friend" who has turned.
17) Pettigrew's silver hand will be useful...my guess is that it will have something to do with killing Snape, since so many bat references have been made with regard to Snape.
18) The mysterious locked room in the Department of Mysteries and the flying Ford Anglia will both be back.
19) Draco will be redeemed...his dad, not so much
20) Grindelwald and the 12 Uses of Dragon's Blood will not only be explained, they'll be important.
And a bonus: the word "scar," which Rowling has said for years is the last word of Book 7 and which has since been moved further in from the end, will refer not to Harry's lightening bolt-shaped mark but to the Umbridge-induced scar on his hand.
So now, we'll see whether I'm brilliant or clueless. I'm going with clueless, tinged with a bit of luck. ;o) Now I'm on total internet lockdown until I'm done reading the book. I hope you all enjoy it!
And "I hope it's THICK and LONG so it keeps me UP ALL NIGHT." ;o)
Monday, July 16, 2007
Seventh Grade Progress
Remember how Noah said he wanted to start school in June? His idea was 2 weeks on vacation, followed by two weeks of "school." And remember how I said "we'll see how long this lasts?"
Three days.
Yep, you read that right: three effing days. So much for his interest in getting a leg-up on his schoolwork this year. Not that I have a problem with his taking a summer vacation. Heck, no! I'm the unschooler around here, so I'd be fine with doing what we do all year round.
But I think that if you're going to set a goal, then you need to...oh, I don't know...work on it, perhaps? Besides, he doesn't do much work (house, yard, or school) any other time of the year. What does he need a vacation from??!!
So all y'all who were impressed a few weeks ago can relax now. Noah is spending his summer doing all the things 13-year-old boys do: chat with buddies, have sleepovers, download music, and play Runescape 'til all hours.
Who says homeschoolers are weird?!
Three days.
Yep, you read that right: three effing days. So much for his interest in getting a leg-up on his schoolwork this year. Not that I have a problem with his taking a summer vacation. Heck, no! I'm the unschooler around here, so I'd be fine with doing what we do all year round.
But I think that if you're going to set a goal, then you need to...oh, I don't know...work on it, perhaps? Besides, he doesn't do much work (house, yard, or school) any other time of the year. What does he need a vacation from??!!
So all y'all who were impressed a few weeks ago can relax now. Noah is spending his summer doing all the things 13-year-old boys do: chat with buddies, have sleepovers, download music, and play Runescape 'til all hours.
Who says homeschoolers are weird?!
The "S" Word
So, after re-reading my last post, I'm thinking...
I guess one of my biggest problems is that I lack social skills. I'm just not very graceful in conversations with others. I hate making small talk (it's hard work for me) and I really hate talking on the phone (I guess I rely on body language a lot). Simply talking to other people is just not something I'm good at.
OK. That's no surprise to me, I suppose, but here's my question: Can someone who is socially inept teach their children how to be socially suave? I know if I need to teach Algebra, I can just get a book about it or find a few websites and learn it myself, then pass it on. But social skills? Other than things like writing thank you notes and saying "please" and "thank you," I'm not sure how to teach my kids.
I know a lot of my friends who are naturally good at entertaining or are social butterflies. How do you teach that if not by example? Is it even possible?
God, I hope so.
Anyone who wants to teach me, just step right up.
I guess one of my biggest problems is that I lack social skills. I'm just not very graceful in conversations with others. I hate making small talk (it's hard work for me) and I really hate talking on the phone (I guess I rely on body language a lot). Simply talking to other people is just not something I'm good at.
OK. That's no surprise to me, I suppose, but here's my question: Can someone who is socially inept teach their children how to be socially suave? I know if I need to teach Algebra, I can just get a book about it or find a few websites and learn it myself, then pass it on. But social skills? Other than things like writing thank you notes and saying "please" and "thank you," I'm not sure how to teach my kids.
I know a lot of my friends who are naturally good at entertaining or are social butterflies. How do you teach that if not by example? Is it even possible?
God, I hope so.
Anyone who wants to teach me, just step right up.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
The Three-Headed Squirrel Strikes Again
We recently made a trip home (Lancaster County, PA) to spend Big Bro's big 1-3 with Grammy. He took in a decent haul, garnering more cash than I get on my b-days, plus a guitar, amp, and tuner and a shiny new MP3 player.
Must plug the Sansa he got. It's 4 gig and plays music, FM radio, photos, and video, plus there's a voice recorder on it. All for the low, low price of $120 at Circuit City. We love it!
Anywhooo... while we were in PA, hubby and Little Bro and I went to a housewarming party for an old friend. I was nervous, since it would be the first time I'd see some of my high school friends in years, and none of them had ever met Aengus. Noah wisely chose to go to the movies with Grammy and Papa. He got to see Die Hard, the rat bastard. I've lost weight since I saw many of them (not enough, but still...), I've been working out, I've gotten to a place of peace with my own life, yada yada yada. Thought it would be fun.
And yet...
I found myself feeling exactly the same as when I lived there: the oddball, socially inept, highly uncool in everyone's eyes. And these were my "friends." The hostess, Melissa, will always be a good friend, and while she and I don't agree on many things, we love each other and will always have a good relationship. Aside from her, however, everyone gave me that look.
Like I'm a three-headed squirrel.
Dammit, I'm 36 years old! Why did they make me feel 14 again? I'm not even sure I can put my finger on the problem. I'm a fun-loving girl, and we chatted about all kinds of things. But I was clearly the oddball. Again. I got the feeling people were rushing to get out of their conversations with me, never to return. I just got a we-don't-like-you-but-we-tolerate-you-for-Melissa's-sake vibe. I left there feeling like a total loser.
But I am what I am, right? I mean, I know what my faults are, and I'm working on them. Really, I am! But my freak flag waves proudly -- I am a three-headed squirrel, dammit, and I've no interest in changing so my old friends will accept me. It's obvious to me now that the reason I never really felt like one of them is because I wasn't, and apparently I never will be. I am what I am, and I always will be.
So while nothing specific happened at this party, I did manage to realize that I hate that whole place, and *cough-gasp-sputter* Virginia is where I belong.
Three-headed squirrels are welcome here.
Must plug the Sansa he got. It's 4 gig and plays music, FM radio, photos, and video, plus there's a voice recorder on it. All for the low, low price of $120 at Circuit City. We love it!
Anywhooo... while we were in PA, hubby and Little Bro and I went to a housewarming party for an old friend. I was nervous, since it would be the first time I'd see some of my high school friends in years, and none of them had ever met Aengus. Noah wisely chose to go to the movies with Grammy and Papa. He got to see Die Hard, the rat bastard. I've lost weight since I saw many of them (not enough, but still...), I've been working out, I've gotten to a place of peace with my own life, yada yada yada. Thought it would be fun.
And yet...
I found myself feeling exactly the same as when I lived there: the oddball, socially inept, highly uncool in everyone's eyes. And these were my "friends." The hostess, Melissa, will always be a good friend, and while she and I don't agree on many things, we love each other and will always have a good relationship. Aside from her, however, everyone gave me that look.
Like I'm a three-headed squirrel.
Dammit, I'm 36 years old! Why did they make me feel 14 again? I'm not even sure I can put my finger on the problem. I'm a fun-loving girl, and we chatted about all kinds of things. But I was clearly the oddball. Again. I got the feeling people were rushing to get out of their conversations with me, never to return. I just got a we-don't-like-you-but-we-tolerate-you-for-Melissa's-sake vibe. I left there feeling like a total loser.
But I am what I am, right? I mean, I know what my faults are, and I'm working on them. Really, I am! But my freak flag waves proudly -- I am a three-headed squirrel, dammit, and I've no interest in changing so my old friends will accept me. It's obvious to me now that the reason I never really felt like one of them is because I wasn't, and apparently I never will be. I am what I am, and I always will be.
So while nothing specific happened at this party, I did manage to realize that I hate that whole place, and *cough-gasp-sputter* Virginia is where I belong.
Three-headed squirrels are welcome here.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Restaurant Meme
Got tagged by Meg and I'm playin' along.
Here are the rules:
1. Link to name of person that tagged you.
2. Include state and country you live in.
3. List top 5 favorite local restaurants.
4. Tag 5 other people and let them know they’ve been tagged.
I'm in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley of Virginia (has it ever been described as anything else?!). I rarely get to go out to eat, so my restaurant list is only partly from personal experience. My top 5 are:
1. The Little Grill - This is THE place to go for good food, great conversation, and frequent entertainment (open mic nights are especially fun). The place is actually a worker-owned collective, runs some fab-o special events, and opens up a soup kitchen every Monday night. To get a feel for the decorating and the clientele, just think "hippie."
2. Calhoun's - They have the best cheesy bread around. They're also a micro-brewery, so the beer's good. They used to have really good live music, too, but the neighbors got snippy. ;o(
3. The Olive Garden - OK, so we don't actually have a local Garden (are you really surprised I'm breaking the rules?), but there's one where we lived in Pennsylvania, and I loved it. Fresh bread and awesome salad, free wine tasting, lots of carbs and seafood and garlic...all my favorites!
4. Chili's - When I'm feeling a little Mexican, theirs is what I like. Just Mexican enough for me.
This is sad. The only other places I've eaten at locally I can't say I really cared for. So I'm going with hubby's opinion for the last one:
5. Ciro's Italian Restaurant - Excellent subs, apparently, especially the chicken cheesesteaks.
Thanks, Meg. I'm going now to rag on Jason for never taking me out.
Here are the rules:
1. Link to name of person that tagged you.
2. Include state and country you live in.
3. List top 5 favorite local restaurants.
4. Tag 5 other people and let them know they’ve been tagged.
I'm in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley of Virginia (has it ever been described as anything else?!). I rarely get to go out to eat, so my restaurant list is only partly from personal experience. My top 5 are:
1. The Little Grill - This is THE place to go for good food, great conversation, and frequent entertainment (open mic nights are especially fun). The place is actually a worker-owned collective, runs some fab-o special events, and opens up a soup kitchen every Monday night. To get a feel for the decorating and the clientele, just think "hippie."
2. Calhoun's - They have the best cheesy bread around. They're also a micro-brewery, so the beer's good. They used to have really good live music, too, but the neighbors got snippy. ;o(
3. The Olive Garden - OK, so we don't actually have a local Garden (are you really surprised I'm breaking the rules?), but there's one where we lived in Pennsylvania, and I loved it. Fresh bread and awesome salad, free wine tasting, lots of carbs and seafood and garlic...all my favorites!
4. Chili's - When I'm feeling a little Mexican, theirs is what I like. Just Mexican enough for me.
This is sad. The only other places I've eaten at locally I can't say I really cared for. So I'm going with hubby's opinion for the last one:
5. Ciro's Italian Restaurant - Excellent subs, apparently, especially the chicken cheesesteaks.
Thanks, Meg. I'm going now to rag on Jason for never taking me out.
Plans for "7th Grade"
First and foremost, I hate the idea of placing homeschooled kids in grade levels. Grades and classes are ways of organizing groups of children. I have two kids here, so I think I can keep straight what they're doing without having to section them off.
And when you start talking about grade levels for purposes of academic placement (i.e., what level of work the student can handle), then I say the idea is capricious -- every publisher's idea of grade-appropriate material is different from every other curriculum producer.
So I cringe when I say that I'm planning "7th grade" work for Noah. I mean, yes, he would be in 7th grade were he in school. But his work is not going to be what is labelled "7th grade," and materials that are not "grade appropriate" will certainly be used. Homeschooling is about the freedom to learn anything and everything, unhindered by the limits set by grade levels.
The only reason I'm labelling him anything is because I'm thinking ahead to high school and college. I want to make sure he can get everything in according to his own plans for community college/high school (dual enrollment) followed by a year or two of real life, community service, and travel. It's all starting to "matter" as far as colleges are concerned, so my planning is getting more formal (as is Noah's "school time" each day).
So in the spirit of pretending to have my act together, here are my intentions for the upcoming year:
1. Have Noah write his goals for the upcoming year. These are (in his own words):
-Master Algebra
- Read at least 20 books
- Get better at spelling
- Learn more about American history
- Get a lot better at cooking
- Learn to play guitar
II. Create a list of sub-goals, steps needed to achieve main goals.
C. Have Noah create a more specific list to include concrete steps to be taken, materials to be used (if known), and any deadlines for completion. Also have him write what stumbling blocks he may encounter and how he will deal with them. Mom translates these into daily and/or weekly goals.
Quatro: Create a routine to institute to achieve each day's/week's goals. Include one-on-one time with Mom each day that does not include work.
5. Keep paperwork and a journal of activities throughout the year.
OK, you out there: no laughing. I know this sounds crazy. But Noah wants to focus on his academics, and he's asked me to keep him on track.
I'll let you know if we last more than the first week.
“Instead, because of the traditional roles and structure of schools in our society, and in spite of the efforts of many well-meaning individuals within the school system, school is simply yet another place where students have no control, where others’ values are imposed on them, where they are forced to submit to others’ will and yield up their individuality.” ~Holly Graff, former public school teacher, in her resignation letter
Saturday, June 23, 2007
~Sheepish Grin~
Well, shit. I've been snoopin' around the blogosphere a bit, and I'm shocked to find links to this blog in all kinds of crazy places. Nothin' like a little pressure, eh? I guess now that I know people are actually reading what I write, I should --oh, I don't know -- write something.
The thing is, I've had plenty to write about: Noah's best friend moving away for the summer, Aengus actually requesting a haircut, a good friend's family troubles, the *ahem* joy of having your spouse working from home, the complete suckiness of hormones, yada yada yada. And I've had plenty of time on the computer, to boot.
But I have repeatedly found myself playing Destruct-O-Match II on Neopets for my own entertainment instead of writing thought-provoking posts for yours. Call me selfish.
In two weeks I'll be seeing childhood friends for the first time in three years. But I have 10 more pounds to lose, and I'm getting hungry too late in the evening. So I'm shutting down for the night and going to bed, lest the fresh bread I baked wander into my mouth as I sit here. Or those cupcakes. Oooh, no, something salty. Do we have Helluva Good dip around here? Ack! I'm going to bed!
Thanks for checking in; I'll devote a proper amount of time to tomorrow's blog!
The thing is, I've had plenty to write about: Noah's best friend moving away for the summer, Aengus actually requesting a haircut, a good friend's family troubles, the *ahem* joy of having your spouse working from home, the complete suckiness of hormones, yada yada yada. And I've had plenty of time on the computer, to boot.
But I have repeatedly found myself playing Destruct-O-Match II on Neopets for my own entertainment instead of writing thought-provoking posts for yours. Call me selfish.
In two weeks I'll be seeing childhood friends for the first time in three years. But I have 10 more pounds to lose, and I'm getting hungry too late in the evening. So I'm shutting down for the night and going to bed, lest the fresh bread I baked wander into my mouth as I sit here. Or those cupcakes. Oooh, no, something salty. Do we have Helluva Good dip around here? Ack! I'm going to bed!
Thanks for checking in; I'll devote a proper amount of time to tomorrow's blog!
Thursday, June 7, 2007
And now a little about Aengus...
It seems that my thoughts are usually consumed with Noah: his education, his moods, his hygiene, his reading habits, his friends. Most of what we choose to do as a family is either because it would be good for Noah or because it's something he wants.
Noah, of course, would claim that everything's always about Aengus. In fact, Noah and I have had volitile discussions about how much I "favor Aengus." Humph. Noah doesn't even realize that he's right: I am favoring one child over the other much of the time. He just doesn't realize it's him I'm usually favoring.
It was about just this subject that I sat down to blog last night. I've been feeling guilty about how little I do for or with Aengus. I mean, he's thriving with this unschooling thing, really, he is. But I wonder if I could be more structured with him if he wanted me to be. Hell, I can barely get my ass outside to push him on the tire swing.
Then, as fate would have it, his body let me know that he needed more attention. He'd been in bed for a couple of hours, I had finished straightening up and checking my email and was about to settle in for an avening of blogging, when--
M-O-O-O-M!
Mad mommy dash up the stairs. Found him wearing just a shirt as he stood crying in the hallway. Now, this is highly unusual, so I knew at a glance that this was more than just another bad dream.
Then. I noticed. The smell.
We went into his room where I found the malodorous source. Apparently the bug that had caused his nausea and vomiting earlier in the week also leads to explosive diarrhea.
Oy.
Not only did this poor kid shit all over his bed (including his beloved stuffed animals), but he also had tried to get to the bathroom and clean up himself, his bed, and the bathroom.
He's six! Guess who gets the Bad Mommy Award this week? In the throes of gastrointestinal chaos, he's concerned about cleaning.
What have I instilled in this child?! It's not like I keep a clean house, or that my kids have been trained to tidy up and keep their rooms pristine. In fact, I always thought of this place as being a bit of a sty, and I can barely keep the bugs at bay. But when the shit literally hit the fan, my baby was worrying about the mess he made.
Bad Mommy.Poor kiddo.
Luckily, I was able to boost his esteem a bit this morning: When he had another incident on the sofa my parents had handed down to us, I told him how I had had diarrhea on that same sofa when I was 15. "So even adults can't help it sometimes, right?" he asked.
Right, kiddo.
Noah, of course, would claim that everything's always about Aengus. In fact, Noah and I have had volitile discussions about how much I "favor Aengus." Humph. Noah doesn't even realize that he's right: I am favoring one child over the other much of the time. He just doesn't realize it's him I'm usually favoring.
It was about just this subject that I sat down to blog last night. I've been feeling guilty about how little I do for or with Aengus. I mean, he's thriving with this unschooling thing, really, he is. But I wonder if I could be more structured with him if he wanted me to be. Hell, I can barely get my ass outside to push him on the tire swing.
Then, as fate would have it, his body let me know that he needed more attention. He'd been in bed for a couple of hours, I had finished straightening up and checking my email and was about to settle in for an avening of blogging, when--
M-O-O-O-M!
Mad mommy dash up the stairs. Found him wearing just a shirt as he stood crying in the hallway. Now, this is highly unusual, so I knew at a glance that this was more than just another bad dream.
Then. I noticed. The smell.
We went into his room where I found the malodorous source. Apparently the bug that had caused his nausea and vomiting earlier in the week also leads to explosive diarrhea.
Oy.
Not only did this poor kid shit all over his bed (including his beloved stuffed animals), but he also had tried to get to the bathroom and clean up himself, his bed, and the bathroom.
He's six! Guess who gets the Bad Mommy Award this week? In the throes of gastrointestinal chaos, he's concerned about cleaning.
What have I instilled in this child?! It's not like I keep a clean house, or that my kids have been trained to tidy up and keep their rooms pristine. In fact, I always thought of this place as being a bit of a sty, and I can barely keep the bugs at bay. But when the shit literally hit the fan, my baby was worrying about the mess he made.
Bad Mommy.
Luckily, I was able to boost his esteem a bit this morning: When he had another incident on the sofa my parents had handed down to us, I told him how I had had diarrhea on that same sofa when I was 15. "So even adults can't help it sometimes, right?" he asked.
Right, kiddo.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
School Starts Tomorrow
I know, I know. Most of you either don't have "school days" separated from "real life days" or are still working on finishing off this year. But on his own Noah has decided to start "next year" now. He took a 3-week Runescape vacation, and tomorrow he's jumping back into schoolwork.
His list of goals for this year are (and I quote): "1) Master Algebra; 2) Read at least 20 books; 3)Get beter at spelling; 4) Learn more about Amarican history; 5) Get a lot beter at cooking." OK, so there's room for improvement. But for Noah, this is astoundingly academic. Bravo!
I have to admit that these last few weeks have seen some leaps in his development. He's still an ass to me sometimes and a complete dick to his brother most of the time and he's one more pissing contest away from a smack-down from Dad. But all that has been balanced lately with bouts of maturity and responsibility. His desire to start schoolwork is part of this; he's been focused on academics and college preparations lately.
Fart jokes one second, college transcripts the next.
All I have to say is this: Unschoolers, be encouraged. Though we only totally unschooled for one year, we have always been more relaxed in our approach to learning. I'm in the Moore's Better-Late-Than-Early camp, so I struggled not to push him along, even though it's eaten me up to have him not interested in anything but video games.
But finally! It's happened: he's ready now for more academic endeavors. Just like all the unschoolers said: "Trust him to learn, and he will." I believe, Lawd, I believe!
Can I get a witness?!
His list of goals for this year are (and I quote): "1) Master Algebra; 2) Read at least 20 books; 3)Get beter at spelling; 4) Learn more about Amarican history; 5) Get a lot beter at cooking." OK, so there's room for improvement. But for Noah, this is astoundingly academic. Bravo!
I have to admit that these last few weeks have seen some leaps in his development. He's still an ass to me sometimes and a complete dick to his brother most of the time and he's one more pissing contest away from a smack-down from Dad. But all that has been balanced lately with bouts of maturity and responsibility. His desire to start schoolwork is part of this; he's been focused on academics and college preparations lately.
Fart jokes one second, college transcripts the next.
All I have to say is this: Unschoolers, be encouraged. Though we only totally unschooled for one year, we have always been more relaxed in our approach to learning. I'm in the Moore's Better-Late-Than-Early camp, so I struggled not to push him along, even though it's eaten me up to have him not interested in anything but video games.
But finally! It's happened: he's ready now for more academic endeavors. Just like all the unschoolers said: "Trust him to learn, and he will." I believe, Lawd, I believe!
Can I get a witness?!
Friday, June 1, 2007
8 Things About Me
Ok, so what "things" are we talking about here? Things you should know, things you want to know, things you don't already know, or things I want you to know?
Well, there's "thing" number one: I over-analyze everything. Middle child that I am, I see all sides of everything, to my detriment. Tests were hell for me in school. Doesn't mean I'm not opinionated, though.
"Thing" number two: I'm a punk at heart.
Now, I'm not talking about the clothes and hair and music (though I dig all that). I'm talking about questioning authority. I tend to be a pain in most people's ass because I won't just do as I'm asked or told. I always ask, "Why?" or respond, "Make me!" I can't help it!! I don't like being told anything has to be; I see all the possibilities and pursue them when possible. It's some weird instinctive reaction to authority that I see growing in my sons. The audacity.
"Thing" number three: Met my hubby when I was 18. In a bar. Slept with him that first night. Illegal substances were involved. Moved in two weeks later. Been married 16 years.
"Thing" number four: I went on a two-month missionary trip to Ecuador as a teenager. Not a very interesting thing to know about me, unless you also know...
"Thing" number five: I'm not at all religious. Actually, I might even be anti-religion. I stay open to the idea of a god (after all, no one knows until they die what the truth is), and I respect other people's spiritual beliefs (even as I shake my head in disagreement). But religion -especially evangelical Christianity- riles up that punk in me. The childhood that led to all that is quite another post.
Number six: I'm bored with my sex life. Any suggestions? Just no silicon spatulas!
Number seven: I am a frustrated writer. Frustrated with myself, that is. I have confidence in my writing and feel motivated to turn it into a financial venture. Then I read what other "moms" have written or have accomplished, and it makes me wonder what the hell I was thinking. Confidence shot. Overwhelmed by the brilliance of other women or diminished by their sheer numbers, I withdraw into reading a good book instead of writing one. I'm working on this trait.
Number eight...hmmm. Lots of possible "things," none of them interesting. I love books (fiction) and movies (usually blockbusters) and "puttering" around the house (but not cleaning it). I'm dying to travel (I will see those castles and cathedrals in Europe before I die!), would love to build my dream house (who wouldn't?), and I wish we owned a boat (our row boat does NOT count). I miss the shopping and quaintness of my hometown but never want to leave my friends here. The things I love most are Harry Potter, my family, and my friends. I won't say in what order. ;o)
Not sure who to tag next, since I'm new to blogging and don't know many people. Sending this to Paige (http://abeautifulchild.blogspot.com/) and Meg (http://getinhangon.homeschooljournal.net).
Well, there's "thing" number one: I over-analyze everything. Middle child that I am, I see all sides of everything, to my detriment. Tests were hell for me in school. Doesn't mean I'm not opinionated, though.
"Thing" number two: I'm a punk at heart.
Now, I'm not talking about the clothes and hair and music (though I dig all that). I'm talking about questioning authority. I tend to be a pain in most people's ass because I won't just do as I'm asked or told. I always ask, "Why?" or respond, "Make me!" I can't help it!! I don't like being told anything has to be; I see all the possibilities and pursue them when possible. It's some weird instinctive reaction to authority that I see growing in my sons. The audacity.
"Thing" number three: Met my hubby when I was 18. In a bar. Slept with him that first night. Illegal substances were involved. Moved in two weeks later. Been married 16 years.
"Thing" number four: I went on a two-month missionary trip to Ecuador as a teenager. Not a very interesting thing to know about me, unless you also know...
"Thing" number five: I'm not at all religious. Actually, I might even be anti-religion. I stay open to the idea of a god (after all, no one knows until they die what the truth is), and I respect other people's spiritual beliefs (even as I shake my head in disagreement). But religion -especially evangelical Christianity- riles up that punk in me. The childhood that led to all that is quite another post.
Number six: I'm bored with my sex life. Any suggestions? Just no silicon spatulas!
Number seven: I am a frustrated writer. Frustrated with myself, that is. I have confidence in my writing and feel motivated to turn it into a financial venture. Then I read what other "moms" have written or have accomplished, and it makes me wonder what the hell I was thinking. Confidence shot. Overwhelmed by the brilliance of other women or diminished by their sheer numbers, I withdraw into reading a good book instead of writing one. I'm working on this trait.
Number eight...hmmm. Lots of possible "things," none of them interesting. I love books (fiction) and movies (usually blockbusters) and "puttering" around the house (but not cleaning it). I'm dying to travel (I will see those castles and cathedrals in Europe before I die!), would love to build my dream house (who wouldn't?), and I wish we owned a boat (our row boat does NOT count). I miss the shopping and quaintness of my hometown but never want to leave my friends here. The things I love most are Harry Potter, my family, and my friends. I won't say in what order. ;o)
Not sure who to tag next, since I'm new to blogging and don't know many people. Sending this to Paige (http://abeautifulchild.blogspot.com/) and Meg (http://getinhangon.homeschooljournal.net).
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Natural Learners of the Shenandoah Valley
Alone
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
~Edgar Allan Poe
This poem was one of my favorites as a teen. It totally summed up life for me: I saw things differently, perceived things differently, reacted to things differently. I was just different. I was proud to be who I was and was adamant that I be true to myself at all costs, a' la Walt Whitman. Problem is, that left me...well, alone.
When I began homeschooling in Lancaster County (PA), I joined a community of people who were conservative, religious, and bigoted, and they felt that they were right in being that way. I admired their moral fortitude, but I disagreed to my core with those morals. This new community put on a happy face when they welcomed me, but I was still different and felt alone in the world. As a friend put it, people looked at me like I was a three-headed squirrel. I just didn't fit.
Even when I tracked down the small underground of "inclusive" homeschoolers in that area, I was the oddball for not being "crunchy granola" enough. I was still different. And I was still alone. The three-headed squirrel strikes again.
Then I moved to Virginia. I can't say that I'm a Southerner at heart; I didn't get here as fast as I could, to paraphrase the bumper sticker. I came kicking and screaming. I still long for the "city life" I had in Lancaster County. But I feel as if I've finally found my community down here: Natural Learners of the Shenandoah Valley (NLSV).
It's not just that NLSV'ers are homeschoolers like my own family. It's not just that our children all play video games together, and sleepover at each other's houses on weekday nights, and trade YuGiOh cards with younger siblings, and go to concerts and movies together. And it's not just that my friends and I share similar approaches to parenting. That's all a fantastic part of this community, and some of the reasons that I love it so much.
But what makes NLSV my community are the women here. They are the most loving, supportive, and understanding people I know, and you won't find a higher concentration of smarts anywhere else on the planet. They are creative, fun, and open-minded. We brag to each other about our kids and ship them to each other when we need a break. I am both amazed and humbled by their mothering abilities. I can joke openly with them, share a drink (or ten!) with them, swear if I want to, and comment freely about the merits of Dan Radcliffe's abs or Brad Pitt's ass.
Homeschooler or not, each of us is "different" in some way; I've finally found a community that celebrates those differences. In this group, you can be a three-headed squirrel, as long as you don't mind the purple elephants.
So these days, I'm still different and loving it. Only now, I'm not so alone.
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