Homeschooling Week 1

This last week has been one full of change, adventure, and quite frankly *fun*. But to explain the *why* of it all, I'll back up and tell you what has been going on...


For the past several months I have watched over Jacob's progress in kindergarten closely. I noticed a few months ago that he has the same difficulties that Matt had at his age: namely a complete and utter disreguard for reading. (Which, as an avid reader, sends up the flashing lights & loud sirens of doom, ringing in my ears.) It was such a concern for me, that I contacted a lady who works for the Alpine School District to have him and Matt tested for learning disabilities.

They tested brilliantly. So then: what was going on???

Two Fridays ago, I sat at the work table waiting for stations to start up. The kids were taking a spelling test, and they were just reviewing the words (in case any kids had missed hearing them). I listened in, and kept thinking, 'Jacob knows that one. And that one, oh-- that one too!' Nice thoughts, you know? I hadn't heard about the spelling test ahead of time, so I was relieved that even though we hadn't practiced, he would be prepared. Those 'nice thoughts' left when I looked over at my son. His eyes were looking up at the ceiling, out the window, at the walls-- everywhere, really. He looked so BORED. Poor thing.

The kids handed in their papers to me, and I took a look at Jacob's. Almost every word was wrong. Wrong!

Later that day while driving home from school, I ask the question: What did you do at school today? And I get the same answer I have gotten for two weeks straight: 'Nothing'.

'Nothing'.

At first I thought it was funny-- a 'pretend answer'. But that day, I asked some pretty pointed questions like, 'Is school boring?' and 'What are you learning?' And then I asked myself a pretty important question: "Is having free time for myself worth my son having a bad education?" Because, honestly, that is THE question. The *ALL IMPORTANT* one. My husband makes enough money that I don't have to work outside the home. I have homeschooled our two older children. I know how it goes. And, at this point, I have a test result that tells me Jacob is smart.

Monday morning looms. And Jacob-- sweet, brilliant, *honest* Jacob says: Mom, can I homeschool? And I say 'Yes'.


So that's how we got to this point. I know what to do. It isn't a big deal. We fill out a form, get it notarized, and mail it off. We return the book from the Take Home Reading Program (a HUGE disapointment-- I'll write about it another time), and also the school library book. We go to museums, do some chores, read together on the couch, and play Memory. We make Mac 'n Cheese, drink some juice, and play math games. We learn a new way to write time, make a number chart that goes until 130, and we are in the process of making a calendar. We learn about King Arthur, and read silly stories and poetry. We walk around a lake with surrounding wetlands. We walk (just a foot in) on the ice that has formed on the lake. We go to the park, the library (American Fork library is better), and check out the Provo City Library. We learn that flowers change color if put in water with food coloring in it for several days.

We have fun.

CTR

It is 4pm on a Monday afternoon. I'm taking my daughter, Winter, and the daughter of a friend of mine to Wal-Mart to get some bread and some fabric. The bread, because-- so far-- Jacob only eats the Wal-Mart brand of wheat bread (he doesn't believe in branching out), and the fabric, because we are making a quilt. My friend just had some surgery done on her foot, and as is tradition in our family, we make a quilt for those who have had surgery/ hospital time. This time, we are engaging the assistance of my friend's daughter to make it.

Back to the 4pm:

We pull into the parking lot, and I aim for the parking aisle with the flag pole. (Landmarks and patterns of parking are SUCH a good thing when I park in a giant lot. It can be worse than trying to find your car in the parking lot at LegoLand, because there are none of those handy 'You parked in the _____ zone' signs.) Anyways, I spy a parking place up ahead on the left, but I can't get to it just yet as there is a car ahead of me. There is another car that looks like it may turn into the aisle, so I flip my turn signal on. As the car in front of me leaves, and I pull forward, the driver-- a woman as I can now see-- shakes her head at me, and makes a quick turn into the spot.

Really?!

I feel all sorts of things: anger, frustration, and a strong desire to just park right behind her, turn off my engine, and claim I'm having 'car trouble' and I just *can't* get it to start up again.

But I don't. I've got two young ladies in the car, and they are watching me. And-- to be honest-- I wouldn't do that anyways. (I also didn't think of it until five minutes ago). But hours later I'm still feeling frustration over the tendancy of people to take what they want, and stomp on people. And then SMILE. As if they've won some sort of highly prized 'Anti-Humanitarian Award'.

The parking place isn't a big deal. Winter helped me find another one that was closer anyways. (Thank you Winter!) I couldn't help but think as I drove away from the area that on my car are the letters CTR. Choose the Right. And as such, I do strive to do that. It isn't easy. It isn't a collection of letters that mean I will always win-- because 'Right' doesn't. Even 'right' loses sometimes in this world. But CTR isn't just a guideline for how to play the game of life. It is also a way to live-- even when you lose.

Baby Blanket on the Bed

This past week I've been sleeping on the couch. I've been sick, and there is-- in my mind--no possible way to keep on friendly terms with your spouse if one of you is sick, and you are both in the same bed. There is just no way. Deliberately setting up your spouse to get sick too is not a loving form of sharing-- it's sabotage. So this past week, while I've been horrendously germy, I've granted him a strong chance of health. Of NOT going where I've been. Which is why, *after* I woke up this morning, I walked into my room ;)

I was exhausted beyond belief after several nights of only getting a few hours of interrupted sleep each night. I was a bleary eyed and tired woman looking for a sweater to throw on so I could take my youngest to kindergarten. I noticed a pile of clean clothes on my side of the bed (THANK YOU MATT!!) and looked for what I needed. While searching, my eyes registered something: a baby blanket on the bed.

It was the Noah's Ark one that I *NEEDED* when I found out that I was having a boy. It was THE ITEM that would help me cross that ocean of tiny-male-bundle-full-of-explosive-testosterone that I found myself having to journey across. I remember -- before I even knew I was pregnant-- of suddenly having this ferociousness in me-- this uncontainable "I'm Gonna Conquer The World and You Better Be OK With It" attitude. I felt my world had been reduced to ME and ..... well, ME.

It was strange. It was different. It was a PAIN IN THE BUTT. Suddenly I didn't like having my will crossed AT ALL. I was opinionated, rude, blunt (ie, another way of saying rude), and cranky. I'm still surprised, when I look back at that time period, that NO ONE hired a hit man to take me out. They must have felt really compassionate towards that unborn baby.....you know, the very one that had turned me into a Mean and Evil Woman.

There was a battle of wills when I was pregnant with our first boy. There was a war for dominance, for control, for sanity. The worst part is, that because it was so internally focused, that the shock waves had no where to go but out. Which is why one should always give a pregnant woman what she wants-- you never know if she is having one of THOSE kind of pregnancies. Like a specific Noah's Ark baby quilt set.

This one was blue. It had golden stars on the back of the quilt and on the baby bumper. It had cute, sanitary looking animals on the front. The boat was even artistically adorable. In short, for me, it was a reminder of how a man, (which boys do grow up to be), could do so much good for so many. Noah wasn't some mellow-go-with-the-flow kind of guy. He had a dominate force of personality. He had to-- to do what he knew was right, despite the mocking crowds, takes a will that is stronger than all those who opposed him-- all of them *combined* mind you. He wasn't just a rock, he was a mountain.

The potential that was within me, (that Strong-willed MALE creature), had a good chance of making the world dance to his tune, if the pregnancy was anything to go by. (And they better like it too!) I just had to have faith, and hope, that the melody was going to result in something beautiful.

And it has. Despite the manipulations that got him an electric guitar last Christmas, and despite the fact that I will never fully understand the need in this world for all of his zombie jokes, he is awesome.


He is the one who put the pile of my clean clothes on my bed for me.

The Lurking Widow

This morning-- EARLY morning-- I was awakened by my trusty get-into-trouble-dog. He was asking to be let outside. At 5:30 in the morning. Knowing that any hesitation on my part could result in having to clean up an ocean of pee, I rushed my feet into duty, and let my dog out into the backyard. I fully intended to let him watch the rising of the sun outside while I regained unconsciousness. However, after a short few minutes the neighbors behind us turned on their lights.

Normally people can turn on their own house lights without the world turning on me, but that doesn't take into account my dog. You see, just as he is determined to bark relentlessly at a skunk for daring to be on HIS property, he is also going to bark at the neighbors who have allowed their lights to illuminate any zone outside of their own fence.Because, it's HIS property, HIS zone, HIS turf, and as my dog is a resounding and very male 'he', it is also HIS castle.

So, just as the blankets were warming up again, and the warmth was pulling me into sweet slumber, he barked-- loud, and irritatingly consistent. The only solution was to bring him back in again. So I got up, let him in, and found that with all the going up and down I had been doing, my nose was decidedly stuffed. It needed blowing. So I headed to the bathroom, and found myself staring at a sight one hopes not to see. (Especially if one is blurry-eyed, because it takes a while to decide if you are really seeing it or not-- which means you are staring at it for an even LONGER period of time.)

A black widow-- casually maneuvering its way down the door. GRRRRR. I grew up in a place that had a ton of these 'friendly ladies' in the shed, the garage, and of course the proverbial wood pile. But I didn't want to face it that early in the morning. I didn't have a handy shoe ready. But it was in MY house, MY territory, and I definitely didn't want her to be a guest in MY castle. (I may not be male, but right then I could totally sympathize with Captian's perspective.)

I looked around, and found a nice paperback book (much better to use than hardcovers), and positioned myself, took a breath of determination, and WHACKED that lady to doom.

I gave a little shriek, not because of any remorse over her murder, but because she had ungraciously smeared on the cover of the library book I had used. Thank goodness I had already read that one-- and I won't mention the title, just in case you someday want to check it out ;) Don't worry too much though, I wiped the cover down. I then gave the remains of that lady a quick flush to the ocean.

So note to self: when the dog is barking, it could be a signal to me that something is going on that I should be aware of. Or that the neighbors are up, and he thinks I should be up too to help protect his turf.

I'll think about it more later-- after I wake up again.

The Living Room

The Living Room: It's a fort-making-room, a war-zone, a spy training center, a pillow-fight room, a fairy-dusted forest, and a place to curl up for a good read. It's a place to strum a guitar, a place to make up new songs on the piano, and play some old favorites. It's the room where the cat and the dog love to remind you why they are family, and not just pets. It's the room where chips and sandwhiches got snuck in, and the juice got spilled. It's the room where 'after school' is synonymous with 'piles of backpacks and sweaters everywhere'. It's the place where you probably took your first steps, bumped your nogin on the coffee table, and later advanced to jumping on the sofa-- and now your kids have done it too. It's the room where all the best lessons were taught: how to share, how to read, and how to give hugs of 'hello' and 'good-bye'. It's the room where for the first time you heard the words, 'In the beginning...', 'And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree...', or other words from holy texts. It's the room you practiced your oral reports, and watched a hundred movies. It's a room for swapping stories and hanging out. It's a room for dressing up in your finest to greet guests, or chilling back in your pj's alone. It's the room where friends know they can put their feet up, and sit down for a good chat. It's the place visitors get to know you, to get a glimpse of who you are--

*Life* happens in a good living room. Sit down, and watch the show....but be warned: in my house, participation is required ;)

Walk, Don't Run

A marathon runner I am not. I am about to venture into (again) the world of habitual walking, and I don't know if I'm excited (yay!), or feeling doomed (boooo). I live in a neighborhood where the masses seem to get their thrills from running. I mean: what IS the point? Feet pounding, moving at a pace too fast to see the ladybugs, and just fast enough to feel every aching bone. Fun? I think not.


Walking though, has its advantages. You can spot the ladybugs for one. You can watch the eagles fly, and note the new flowers that a neighbor has planted (and think about how you can incorporate some of that kind into your yard). You can visualize a make-over for every house you pass by (a secret hobby of mine), and the best part: you can find the peace that the outdoors hands out for free.


Of course I am writting this as there is snowdust outside, and the chances of an actual 'outdoor' walking regime is slim. I will, instead, be walking the indoor track at the local city center. Instead of breezes full of sweet fall air, it will be.... something else.


But if I also exercise my imagination.... I'll be walking in a forest glade, with butterflies and flowers all around me.

Dear Mice

Dear Mice,

I know winter is coming soon, and you are on the lookout to move into a nice, warm, comfy residence. You will, no doubt, be looking for something within your means (not too much cheese), and probably something that would not entail a long commute to food, and other commodities. I understand. Snow is hard to travel in, very cold, and if you get stuck in a snow bank, digging out may take time and energy, and may lead to freezing. Playgrounds for the little ones, that offer fun and enjoyment, while at the same time encouraging strong muscle growth, is a plus. It would be very convenient to find a place that supplies all your needs, and even offers a great view at night.

I would like to take a moment right now, though, to tell you why you should avoid MY house. It is because of our Sox. Please don't get Sox confused with an article of clothing, because although Sox does like to drape around our shoulders, weave in and out between our feet, and curl up on our tummies, we don't wear Sox.

You see, mice, 'Sox' is a cat. Yes, you read that right. Sox is a male kitty who will attack anything that moves. And that includes YOU. I have already made arrangements for two of your fellow creatures that have lost the good fight in our backyard, and I should hate to have to dig more burial plots. I'd rather be digging a place for my tulip bulbs.

Please take this into consideration while scouting out places for your winter home.

Sincerely,

Jeannette, 'The Grave Digger'