The kids have been making clubs a lot lately. Their latest club was called Club Fun.
The reason that Club Fun is especially memorable for me is that Jack came out to tell me the Club's pledge:
. I always wanted to play the cello. Of course, I should probably just take lessons, rather than live through her. But, our piano teacher does those lessons as well, and we were able to look at her cello not too long ago. Molly was pretty impressed.
as being "at risk for being overweight." I was pretty distraught by this. He is a big kid, but he's also a really tall 10 year old. He was pretty bummed, and so was I. because I am not getting any taller.
. Does anyone have one of these? (The flip camera, not baby Elizabeth.) Do you like it?
~ 2 ~
People online say it, and so do people I know in person, "Angie -- you do so much. You have it all together. How do you do it all?"
I don't.
That is -- I don't have it all together and I don't do it all. As a matter of fact, I'm feeling a bit listless and unfocused lately. I feel like I don't have anything to say that would interest anyone, and so my blog is giving me a little bit of anxiety.
And, what I have learned is that if I say something is giving me "a little bit of anxiety," it means that it's a knots in my stomach, heart palpitations kind of "little bit of anxiety."
Why share this here? Because, quite frankly, if I'm going to share about making Christmas trees out of paint stirring sticks, whipping up home baked Christmas gifts, and how I finally got all the toys in the house under control, then I need to keep it real by saying it's not all rainbows and sunshine everyday. It's been a long day and I'm tired.
I'd like to have a witty little way to wrap this one up, but I don't. In fact, trying to think of one is making me even more anxious. And, none of us want that, do we?
This post is linked to Works for Me Wednesday. Not so much because this mood works for me, but it works for me to share being real with all of you.
Molly turned five this fall. Even before her birthday, we were already agreeing on what we would buy her for her sixth birthday -- the American Girl doll Felicity (whom she always is mistakenly calling Fill-a-CITY). Molly has often been found telling complete strangers that she will be getting Felicity for her sixth birthday.
While this is not a technically correct photograph at all, since Molly was sitting so close to me, I was glad to get her expression captured when she opened this surprise gift on Christmas Eve. (Check out those big eyes!)
~ 5 ~
Love can free us from all excess, from our deepest debts, 
. There was a little snippet about Benjamin Franklin on one page that we read. (Don't worry -- we're reading more than just a snippet about him in other books.)
has dropped by $50, taking it down to $200, plus Amazon has a $25 gift card if you buy the Wii through them. We love our Wii! 
This week, I have had a few different opportunities to be with people from my church, as well as to be with my homeschooling group (which is a Catholic homeschooling group). Apparently it was just exactly what I needed.
How do I know that?
Well, last night, I was thinking about my church (both my own parish and the larger Church) and all of the people who have come into our lives since we began our conversion process in 2006. While I thought about it, I was flooded with emotion. It literally felt like my whole body filled with an emotion that was taking up every inch of my insides.
And then, I cried.
I cried because I think the emotion all had to go somewhere. While I cried, I couldn't help but say out loud, "Thank you, God."
It's hard to believe that only a few years ago, we made up excuses on Sunday mornings not to go to church, because we felt such a disconnect that we couldn't bring ourselves to go. And then here we are now, with me crying because I love our faith so much.
It's kind of crazy and amazing all at the same time. And, as far as I'm concerned, it's about the best finer thing out there.
I wrote a long and sordid post about Jack, to commemorate his birthday.
I wrote about how very much we wanted to add a second child into our family.
I wrote about the whirlwind experience of our lives as we prepared for Jack's birth (including moving twice in five days, just two weeks before he was born).
I wrote about the deep depression that I suffered from, silently, during my pregnancy and postpartum. A depression that couldn't be silent anymore once the night came that I considered doing unspeakable things.
I wrote about how God blessed us by giving him a serious heart defect. It was the thing that brought me out of a depression to know how fragile Jack was, and that I needed to love him and protect him. (And I'm sure that's why it has consistently gotten better since then, because it served its purpose. Though, he will still need surgery one day.)
I wrote that of the difficulties of raising Jack. Having been one of those kids that knows how to push your buttons, and then knows to point it out, in case you failed to notice, raising Jack has had to be accompanied by a lot of prayer. (And also the need to always look at those sparkly eyes and shining smile.)
I wrote about how Jack has come in to his own. While he can still be strong-willed and tiring, he has also become this smart and funny boy. He has become a kid that I not only love, but I really, really like him.
I wrote all those things. I wrote all the details, all the emotions. I wrote everything.
Then, I deleted it all. It went on and on, it was so long. But still, it seemed inadequate. There were too many words, but there just weren't enough.
I'm sorry, Jack, in trying to tell your story, I realized that there just weren't enough words in the world to tell it. Not enough words to truly explain the emotions and the experiences.
All I really have that seems to be adequate is to say --
Our family wouldn't be the same without you, Jack. Eight years ago, God blessed us our family with your arrival. Sure, it's true -- you make us want to pull our hair out sometimes, but you also make my heart hurt because it is so full. I love you.
Molly was not feeling well tonight. If her glassy, half open four year old eyes and slightly elevated temperature weren't a clue of this, then her words surely were.
She came to me in the living room and pathetically (and tearfully) cried out, "Why did you not name me a Bible name?"
She then continued in her woe.
"You named Noah a Bible name. Why did you not name me and Jack Bible names?" (insert more tears) "Why did you name me Molly? Why didn't you name me Mary?" (insert woe and tears and a sad, sad face)
I assured her that Molly was sweet and lovely, just like her.
Okay, so perhaps she wasn't so sweet and lovely at that moment. But, I knew that she was saying this because: (1) She was not feeling well, and (2) She loves Our Heavenly Mother. It was hard to begrudge her either of these points. So, I did humor her a bit. It didn't really help.
I tried to reassure her again, and this time pointing out that not only did the name Molly come from Mary, but also that we gave her a saint name for a middle name. In fact, I call her by both her first and middle name together about half the time, so we often use her saintly middle name. When we looked up pictures of some of the saints with the same name, it did seem to make her feel a little bit better.
Still -- I think she went to bed pretty sure that life would look a lot more rosy tomorrow if her name was Mary.
On a recent drive into the country to go to a friend's house for a playdate, with the kids happily talking in the back, planning what they would do with them that sunny afternoon, I couldn't help but to suddenly think of something that had happened on the way back from this friend's house a couple of months ago.
As a family, we all went out to eat dinner with my friend's family at their home and spend the evening enjoying their company. On the way home, we decided to try a route that was different than the one we usually take -- a highway that can wind around and be dark, but we know it. Instead, we decided to use our GPS and see if we could find another way home.
The kids were mostly quiet in the back of the van, as the GPS told us which way to go. Eric and I, however, used our knowledge of what we thought the way was, and seemed to continually go the opposite of the way the GPS told us each time. As we did this, we discussed it, often like this, "I'm pretty sure if we go straight here instead, then that will be more direct." Over and over we did this.
Sometimes, we had to drive considerably slower than the posted speed limit. We thought we knew where we were and where we were headed, but it was difficult to be in the countryside in the pitch black, save for the headlights.
Again, the GPS would tell us one way, and we confidently went another way.
Noah (our very sensitive almost 10 year old) chimed in, "Are we lost?"
No, we assured him, in a quick manner. We thought we knew a better way than the GPS, we told him, and then busied ourselves with talk amongst ourselves of the next turn, and what we thought would be around it.
I know that at this point, it probably does sound like we were lost. But, we weren't. We did know where we were going. And, finally when we were to familiar sites, we heard an audible sigh come from Noah. It was a sigh that said so much about his state of mind at that point.
He then went on to say, "I'm so glad we aren't lost anymore."
I told him again, "We knew where we were going, it was just a different way."
It was almost as if he couldn't comprehend that. He continued, with fear still in his voice, "I prayed and prayed. I prayed that God and all of His Angels would watch over us and protect us."
I was rendered nearly speechless. I wanted to sob. He had been so afraid, but he didn't tell us. Sure, he hinted at it when he asked if we were lost, but he didn't really tell us. It seemed that he was so deep in his despair and fear that he couldn't imagine that we could help. Because, of course, if he had told us how scared he was, we would have reassured him more. We would have told him exactly what route we were taking to get us safely home.
It was on that later sunny trip that I realized that there are lots of those times in our lives. Lots of those dark and winding road experiences, they just don't all happen in a dark and winding road in the back of your parents' minivan.
And, just like in Noah's time in darkness, for many of us, there are people who are willing to help. Really, they are not only willing to help, but they want nothing more than to help us feel safe. The problem is, it is in those times when the people who are able to help us don't know how scared we are. Why is it that it's so hard to speak up and ask for that help? Why is it that so many of us are afraid to admit that we are scared or too stressed or just can't do it all?
I took comfort in knowing that in such a deep despair, Noah looked to God for help. I think that was part of what made me want to cry too. But, another part was that I wished he would have asked for help. I would have been there for him. I would have had Eric pull over, I would have climbed back to him in the van, put my arms around him and promised him that we would get him safely home.
I just hope that maybe my quiet reflection that sunny day will act as a reminder to me that the next time I think that I'm lost on that dark and winding road - there are a lot of people in my life that would gladly pull over the van, put their arms around me, and promise that I will get safely home. And, likewise, I pray that I can listen as I go through life for the chance to be that person to someone else.
photo by bionicteaching
In what has become a virtual domino effect, we have had visit after visit from the Tooth Fairy over the last few months. It was so long in between visits, and then all of the sudden, we seemed to have teeth coming out at least once every couple of weeks. (In one week, I think that Noah and Jack each lost one tooth.)
So, in an unsurprising turn, there has been a lot of Tooth Fairy talk. And, with that, a lot of finger pointing.
"Is there really a Tooth Fairy?" seemed to be a question out of Jack's mouth frequently. Each time, I would say, "What do you think?"
After a visit this week for Noah, Jack just wouldn't let up. And, in true Jack form, he kept making expressions that said, "I know it's you."
I finally gave up. "Jack, do you really want to know the truth? Really?"
"Yes," he said with a smile at me that said, "Finally -- just admit that it's you." Instead, he continued, "Just whisper it in my ear."
I got close to him, and I whispered in his almost eight year old ear the words that I thought he was expecting. I thought he would feel all superior that he had already suspected the truth.
Instead, he took in a deep breath and turned his head. And then he began to cry. To tell the truth, I started to cry then too. I just didn't expect that reaction, and I felt like a bad Mom for breaking his heart like that, especially when I didn't even think it would upset him at all.
All of this was followed by a long talk that ended with a promise. He promised that he would still believe in the Tooth Fairy. It's just that now, he knew that the Tooth Fairy doesn't come with pixie dust and sometimes stumbles in his room on the way to get the tooth. But, he also knows that the Tooth Fairy loves to leave him a surprise, because the real Tooth Fairy loves him very much.
But, just so this doesn't sound too much like rainbows and unicorns, I will admit that he was happy to agree to that because I let him know that the real Tooth Fairy would never come and switch out another tooth for money again if she had even an inkling that he was telling anyone else that he figured out her true identity.
He said it was a deal, because, as he said when we finished our heart to heart, "I really, really love the Tooth Fairy," and then he gave me a hug.
image by betsystreeter
Our state has very few requirements for homeschoolers. Seriously -- very few. The major requirement is to have 180 instructional days.
I will admit -- I have a problem sometimes with how to quantify "an instructional day."
Confession #1: I think I get so caught up in what should count as an instructional day and what shouldn't that I find myself separating out school from our day to day life.
Confession #2: I wish I didn't do that. I want to work toward doing that less.
So what does that mean? That means, I suppose, that I'm not crazy about where I am headed sometimes with schooling. I feel like what I envisioned that I wanted our schooling to look like is not what it looks like right now.
Confession #3: Like many first year homeschoolers, I am struggling to figure out which programs, curricula, etc. work for us. I have changed some things a few times already.
Confession #4: Even though I don't think some of the things are working out like I would like them to, I am continuing with them because I spent good money on them (and I don't want to spend more money on something new already).
I am incredibly tempted to give the kids some time off and try to totally do some restructuring. But, because I don't want to spend more money on materials right now, I also am very tempted to solider through, changing things as needed, and then re-figure things out once this school year is finished.
Confession #5: I know that once I change things, I will still end up having things that don't work. This is probably my leading reason for wanting to just wait until the school year is over to make changes.
In all honesty, I'm not sure what changes I will make, but I know that I want to add in some more Charlotte Mason ideas, some art and music instruction, and more crafty and hands on things. The kids love it when we learn through hands on activities and playing games that they learn from. I need to work toward doing more of those things with them. I want them to think of learning (and schooling) as fun.
I also need to figure out what activities I want the kids to be involved in, and what I'm not as interested in.
Confession #6: Our new co-op has been postponed and is only just finally going to start up this week. I am teaching a class, and I am horribly unprepared as of this moment. I may regret that when I am in a class of 18 children ages 2.5 to 5. (One of my readers, who is also a writer at The Homeschool Classroom, is probably thrilled at this moment that none of her kids are going to be in said class.)
Okay, hang on. Time out.
This all sounds pretty sad, doesn't it?
Only, the thing is, it's not. It's natural for things to change during homeschooling, especially in those first few years of figuring out how your family's path is different from the path of the homeschooling family down the block.
Confession #7: All things said, and despite my desire for a little bit of quiet during the afternoon, I love having the kids at home. I can't imagine sending them back to school to be gone for eight hours a day, five days a week.
Are you a homeschooler? Do you have a confession (or two or seven) to share? Feel free to leave it in the comments or on your blog and link to it in the comments. I sure would feel better to hear some of your confessions too!
On a recent trip to Walmart with my parents, Noah went through the line with them, and Eric and the other kids and I all went through another line. When we met up, my Mom filled me in on what happened at their check out.
She told me that Noah had been doing little things to try to help the cashier. At the end, she commented on what a helpful boy he is.
And do you know what my beautifully sweet boy said to her?
"I just like to be helpful. That's just the way I'm being raised."
Needless to say, even though pride is a sin, I was beaming with it as we walked out of Walmart, while saying a prayer of thanks for being blessed with such a wonderful son.
(On a side note, I have to say that I sometimes hate the way people stare at Noah when he is stimming from his Autism, but his truly geniune nature is one of the many reasons that I wouldn't take away the Autism if someone offered it up as a possibility tomorrow. How blessed our lives are to have him!)
Just in case you're sitting around wondering what in the world to buy me this year for Christmas (okay, maybe you're not really doing that), I have found the answer...
