This life with its brokenness and joy, beauty and pain, struggle and strife...
This life with all of the vehicles breaking down around our ears. The lawn mowers and weed-eaters, washing machine, vacuum, dishwasher, computers and refrigerators all waiting for the repair man.
This house with its peeling paint (inside and out) and the huge brick chimney that barley hangs on. Some days I can almost hear the groaning as it slowly tips back away from the house, pulling up the floor boards as it goes. This house literally bursting at the seams.
These four children of mine; one man-child preparing to fly, one young lady training for womanhood, one girl blossoming to adolescence, one boy, the baby, finding his own voice.
These kitchen floor tiles eating away at my supply of dishes; oh the heaps of broken dishes. This weeks tally: 1 coffee mug, 6 plastic cups, 7 drinking glasses, 1 cereal bowl, 1 saucer.
These silly children that grow too fast to suit me and ask too many questions (in their best British/Australian/Scottish/French accents, of course) that I cannot answer.
These silly, crazy days so full of fret and worry; days filled to overflowing. Days wherein, I forget to love, be patient, hold my tongue, have mercy or be graceful; awful days where I don't lean on my Father who loves me.
This one room school house with its toppling towers of books and strong willed children. This mama worn and weary trying hard to do the right thing, anxious and excited over all the possibilities.
This faith full family doing Kingdom work.
These chickens that don't lay eggs and two silly pigs with a food budget bigger than our family of six. A farm dog with a thyroid problem and far too many fluffy kittens to suit the Mister. One lonely rabbit whose sole purpose is to produce fertilizer for the garden.
This husband and wife struggling with the daily grind and frustration.
This little hill of clay that I coax to grow more than just blackberry and poison oak. This sad little oasis, where once I dreamed of glorious gardens I would grow and tend. I see those wild blackberry vines creeping and those shiny leaflets of three and wonder if that dream will ever come to fruition.
This house turned upside down in effort to purge and make space. Space for the school books and space for kids who just need their own corner of this house. A bit of space for the Mr. and space for this girl to make beautiful things again. Such a deep need to be creative again.
.....
These are the things of life right here and now.
Showing posts with label This homeschool life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label This homeschool life. Show all posts
Farm Tour Day 3
I always plant flowers with my veg. This year I sprinkled Cosmos seeds in the Hot Pepper patch. Those pink blossoms really stand out amidst all the shades of green.
My darling menfolk made me a new squash patch this year and while it didn't produce scads of Winter Squashes as I had hoped, I was pleased that this special plant produced 3 healthy fruit. This is Red Kuri or Potimarron or Onion Squash. I hear it has wonderful sweet flesh that tastes a bit like chestnuts. I can't wait to try it.
For school the kids are studying Honest Abe. The youngest farmer boy finds Abraham Lincoln most fascinating. He writes himself notes so he won't forget a single detail.
Fall leaves make my heart go pitter-pat.
This is how I spent a healthy portion of the weekend. It was heavenly. The pounding/pouring/sloshing rain only distracted me slightly.
Note: Pay no attention to the frown lines on my forehead this is a good book! It's about Depression Era farm women.
Inside/Outside:: Farm Tour
Time does slip quickly by when one has far more chores than there are hours in the day... (Deepest apologies for the lack of photo editing here...not enough time!)
Garden harvest 22 October -in the torrential downpour/thunder and lightening storm.
Bloody rotten APHIDS!! eating happily away at my Brussels
Farm dog-Hard at work keeping watch for errant toys
Garden Mums. My favourite.
Never ending pile of laundry to be folded or Mt. Foldme
New to the farm this year- raised beds in the front courtyard. Didn't do quite as well as hoped, but still blooming!
After-school mess making...er, playtime.
Raised bed #2 sporting a healthy (5.5 ft. tall) crop of Redbor Kale and the blasted aphid drowned Brussels.
I have carpel elbow from all of the chopping/stirring/slicing/stuffing I've been doing this last month. In the pantry: Cider and juice, salsa, dried fruit/veg, butters and jams and still more to can.
Raised bed #3. Home to wayward strawberries, various herbs and Cole crops.
Outside-the rain tumbles from the sky. Inside-the fireplace crackles and the tea kettle whistles. Dinner is simmering in the oven and the water-bath canner bubbles steady.
The here and now
Right here and now~
:: Seeking calm and order. Making a schedule for the farm chores, household stuff , myself and kids.
:: Striving to live fully the length and breadth of this life.
:: Seeking simple. Purging the 'shtuff' that has piled up over the summer. Sorting and culling school books.
:: Loving my morning coffee.
:: Experimenting more and more with fermented foods...sourdough, Lemonade and pickles.
:: Not wholly loving the darker-colder mornings, despite my love of Fall.
:: Preserving like a crazy person-canning, freezing, dehydrating. Ad nauseam.
:: Struggling to get the kids motivated in the a.m.
:: Sad at all the "things" I didn't get done this summer that I had hoped to.
:: Watching the BBC show Sherlock and loving it.
:: Dreaming about sneaking off to the ocean.
:: Grumbling that the chickens continue to escape and feast on the beloved tomatoes.
:: Wanting to be writing again.
:: Embracing Gratitude-every day.
:: Enjoying the last of the fresh garden veg.
:: Appreciating my darling husband building the much needed Le Poulet Chalet.
:: Seeking calm and order. Making a schedule for the farm chores, household stuff , myself and kids.
:: Striving to live fully the length and breadth of this life.
:: Seeking simple. Purging the 'shtuff' that has piled up over the summer. Sorting and culling school books.
:: Loving my morning coffee.
:: Experimenting more and more with fermented foods...sourdough, Lemonade and pickles.
:: Not wholly loving the darker-colder mornings, despite my love of Fall.
:: Preserving like a crazy person-canning, freezing, dehydrating. Ad nauseam.
:: Struggling to get the kids motivated in the a.m.
:: Sad at all the "things" I didn't get done this summer that I had hoped to.
:: Watching the BBC show Sherlock and loving it.
:: Dreaming about sneaking off to the ocean.
:: Grumbling that the chickens continue to escape and feast on the beloved tomatoes.
:: Wanting to be writing again.
:: Embracing Gratitude-every day.
:: Digging deeper-in all areas of life.
:: Excited to see how many of the Blue Orpington hatchlings are hens.:: Enjoying the last of the fresh garden veg.
:: Appreciating my darling husband building the much needed Le Poulet Chalet.
Big Town
Let me preface-I do not like town. I do not desire trips to town. I do not dream of town and all the glories that live there re:Target, Sonic, Thrift Stores (well maybe I dream about the thrift stores a tiny bit). I prefer to stay tucked in safe and cozy right here at home. I prefer to stay home in my comfy yoga pants-ignoring the rising costs of, well...everything.
After suffering far too long with an empty pantry, I girded my loins and made my way to Big Town for some much needed supplies. (One can only make the same pasta dish so many weeks in a row before the natives start to protest.) I loaded-up all four of my (smallish, touchy-grabby, grouchy, hyper) personal assistants and off we went.
Here, I must pause for dramatics.
My children-while they are still children-are incredibly well behaved. I on the other hand am the one who suffers ill behavior. I am a hermit and slight agoraphobe; a person who would rather stay safely tucked in at home. Shopping makes me grouchy. Spending money makes me grouchy. Reading labels and making decisions makes my eyes want to pop out of my head. Being in Big Town makes me want to shoot things and say naughty words. Big town is 40 miles-at the outskirts-from my house, my Suburban gets 10 miles to the gallon. Petrol was $4.29 at the last fill. This coupled with my hermit longings for my comfy pants and humble home...makes me grouchy. Needless to say, when I went to town I was grouchy.
Having bribed my four assistants with a scoop of their favourite ice cream, we set out to fill our basket. I asked the Man-Child to steer the ship freeing the other three and I to search out the needed items on our list. We made it through the store with only one Potty Stop and one small run-in with a very impatient elderly woman who didn't care a snit if I wanted to read the labels on ALL of the bottles of Fish Sauce, she wanted me and my brood to remove ourselves from her path. Harumph!
After a quick chat with an old friend and much begging-pleading-whining from the children we proceeded to the checkout and most importantly, to the ice cream. . Whether by the impatient woman or my own grump, I must have been distracted. I forgot to check The List before leaving the store. I always check The List...this small act is key to my success and sanity in Big Town, re: Petrol $4.29 per gal., thirsty Suburban, agoraphob-ish, grouchiness, lack of comfy pants. I forgot the Mayo.... For the love of Pete! Mayonnaise.
Grr. On the menu for today's lunch: Tuna Sandwiches.
So, I asked myself, what would any Farmgirl worth her salt do...."What would Julia do?" Of course, Julia would make fresh Mayonnaise; none of that paltry commercially prepared concoction would do.
With Julia Child's signature vocals echoing in my head I set to making, for the first time ever, homemade Mayonnaise. I strapped on my well worn apron and set to work. I had this preconceived notion that making Mayo was something so difficult that only Professional Chefs or Parisians dare attempt it. I was deceived. With the aide of my trusty little Cuisinart Food Processor I whipped farm fresh egg yolks into frothy submission. It was fresh. It was lemony.
It was heaven.
Whoda'thunk that one forgotten pantry item would be life changing?! Now that I don't have to rush off to Big Town for Mayo I shall never again have to haul my assistants and my agoraphobic self about in the petrol loving Sub! I shall never again suffer evil looks from grouchy elderly ladies!
I shall forever live in my yoga pants!
( I will need my yoga pants after eating all that glorious, lemony homemade mayo!)
I shall forever stay tucked in safe and cozy here at the farm. That is, until I need chicken feed.
After suffering far too long with an empty pantry, I girded my loins and made my way to Big Town for some much needed supplies. (One can only make the same pasta dish so many weeks in a row before the natives start to protest.) I loaded-up all four of my (smallish, touchy-grabby, grouchy, hyper) personal assistants and off we went.
Here, I must pause for dramatics.
My children-while they are still children-are incredibly well behaved. I on the other hand am the one who suffers ill behavior. I am a hermit and slight agoraphobe; a person who would rather stay safely tucked in at home. Shopping makes me grouchy. Spending money makes me grouchy. Reading labels and making decisions makes my eyes want to pop out of my head. Being in Big Town makes me want to shoot things and say naughty words. Big town is 40 miles-at the outskirts-from my house, my Suburban gets 10 miles to the gallon. Petrol was $4.29 at the last fill. This coupled with my hermit longings for my comfy pants and humble home...makes me grouchy. Needless to say, when I went to town I was grouchy.
Having bribed my four assistants with a scoop of their favourite ice cream, we set out to fill our basket. I asked the Man-Child to steer the ship freeing the other three and I to search out the needed items on our list. We made it through the store with only one Potty Stop and one small run-in with a very impatient elderly woman who didn't care a snit if I wanted to read the labels on ALL of the bottles of Fish Sauce, she wanted me and my brood to remove ourselves from her path. Harumph!
After a quick chat with an old friend and much begging-pleading-whining from the children we proceeded to the checkout and most importantly, to the ice cream. . Whether by the impatient woman or my own grump, I must have been distracted. I forgot to check The List before leaving the store. I always check The List...this small act is key to my success and sanity in Big Town, re: Petrol $4.29 per gal., thirsty Suburban, agoraphob-ish, grouchiness, lack of comfy pants. I forgot the Mayo.... For the love of Pete! Mayonnaise.
Grr. On the menu for today's lunch: Tuna Sandwiches.
So, I asked myself, what would any Farmgirl worth her salt do...."What would Julia do?" Of course, Julia would make fresh Mayonnaise; none of that paltry commercially prepared concoction would do.
With Julia Child's signature vocals echoing in my head I set to making, for the first time ever, homemade Mayonnaise. I strapped on my well worn apron and set to work. I had this preconceived notion that making Mayo was something so difficult that only Professional Chefs or Parisians dare attempt it. I was deceived. With the aide of my trusty little Cuisinart Food Processor I whipped farm fresh egg yolks into frothy submission. It was fresh. It was lemony.
It was heaven.
Whoda'thunk that one forgotten pantry item would be life changing?! Now that I don't have to rush off to Big Town for Mayo I shall never again have to haul my assistants and my agoraphobic self about in the petrol loving Sub! I shall never again suffer evil looks from grouchy elderly ladies!
I shall forever live in my yoga pants!
( I will need my yoga pants after eating all that glorious, lemony homemade mayo!)
I shall forever stay tucked in safe and cozy here at the farm. That is, until I need chicken feed.
Here
I am dusting off the old keyboard. Scooping out the closets of the mind and putting pen to paper (Or finger tips to keypad...?) I am finding my way around Blogger again. I am reintroducing myself to this place. I am shedding the guilt of having not written here for too long. I am determined to document Life here.
I have for years, longed to make this little space wholly mine. To write what needs saying or remembering: Write what seems pertinent at the moment. To sometimes just rant or blather on about nothing. To push aside that inner naysayer/grammar critic and just write. When I am not here putting down those memories that flit away all to quick, I am dreaming about being here....writing something. I have a constant commentary running with words compiled just for this space. Pictures dance in my head of what this place could be, the scrapbook of Life lived it might become.
But alas, Life, she is a Heavyweight player. She takes my hand and leads me down roads I'd rather not take. She is continually distracting me with the things that "need" doing, pushing me here or there. She calls me back to reality when I would rather stay in my garden with the plants that don't back talk. Life pulls me from deepest sleeps to wipe fevered brows and soothe away nightmares. She is the friend in desperate need of an ear when the children are wild and screechy. She is the overdue bills and tragic death. She is the dinner burned and acrid, a dead refrigerator full of rotted food, your favourite blouse stained. She is the skinned knees and broken hearts. Life is the never ending laundry and dirty dishes; the weeds that never stop growing and the blackberries that threaten to take over everything.
Life is here also, in the seeking of beauty in the "everyday". She is here in the mess and detritus of this homeschool life, where we push the laundry off the couch and snuggle up to read "Little House" again. Life is here, in the body shaking belly laughs of my small ones. She is here, in that one great lucky shot, where the picture taken exceeds all expectation. She is glass half-full, not half-empty or broken and spilled. She is here, in the hot jealous tears and the teaching moment. Life is here, in lovingly hand-made notes tucked into the letterbox. She is tucked into beds with fresh pressed sheets.
She is here, in all the good
the crackling fire
blue pools for swimming
good books and The Good Book
loved ones to hug tight
homegrown tomatoes
dancing in the rain
A++ papers
hot coffee
matching socks
grace, peace, mercy and forgiveness
slobbery kisses
good hair days
pants that fit
sunshine
and bad and ugliness of every day.
Here in this place, Life is calling out to be lived fully; remembered wholly and documented carefully. Here, with my words-with my photos-with my rants, blathering and grammatical faux pas , Life is the collective memory I hope to fearlessly record in this place.
The busy-ness of me
I have been flitting about in such a fashion as would make a Humming Bird nervous. I have forgotten where I was a few times. I lost track of time, got lost in town and forgot my own name while placing a phone order. Seriously, I have hardly keep the days straight. At one point I was processing a Canner full of jam, making supper, entertaining company, helping kids with school, watering the garden, loading the dishwasher, starting a new batch of jam, taking photos, reading a recipe and talking on the phone!
I have been overwhelmingly busy. Dreadfully busy. Much, much to busy for me....
I have canned umpteen jars of Tuna, barbecued Tuna, smoked Tuna, vacuum packed some 50 lbs of Tuna and Salmon and otherwise lived like and frankly, smelled like, a fish monger. I camped with my family. Attended two funerals, in the same day. Attended a baby shower. Canned blackberry syrup, apple & pear butters, plum jam and rhubarb. Forgot to water and weed my garden. Fetched my mother from town for a week of canning fun. I have taken an entire truck load of "stuff" to the Goodwill, (thank you Joy). Accidentally made cottage cheese. I have lovingly, labouriously, plucked raspberries from the vines in my garden and tucked them into the deep freeze. Visited friends and loved ones at the hospital in Big Town. I have taught classes at church and home. I have shredded and frozen scads of zucchini. I have eaten my body weight in zucchini. Spent a morning getting in firewood with my family. I have dried tray, after glorious tray of herbs in my food dehydrator. In general, I ran like a head with my chicken cut off.
I have never in my adult life canned/put up so much food. Or run to town so many times while in the middle of said canning. When returning from the grocery with mass quantities of large and small mouth canning lids and military sized bags of sugar, my oldest son asked if I was preparing for a nuclear holocaust. Not a holocaust son, I said, just putting up food so I can feed you during your next growth spurt. (Dear sweet baby boy, please stop growing!)
While not preparing for disaster, I have been busy filling the pantry with good, old fashioned, staples in hopes of making ends meet ( re: feeding of teenagers) All the while, juggling the things that make up this crazy, calamitous life of mine. This kind of busy makes my very happy. Crazy, but happy.
What's been keeping you busy lately?
I have been overwhelmingly busy. Dreadfully busy. Much, much to busy for me....
I have canned umpteen jars of Tuna, barbecued Tuna, smoked Tuna, vacuum packed some 50 lbs of Tuna and Salmon and otherwise lived like and frankly, smelled like, a fish monger. I camped with my family. Attended two funerals, in the same day. Attended a baby shower. Canned blackberry syrup, apple & pear butters, plum jam and rhubarb. Forgot to water and weed my garden. Fetched my mother from town for a week of canning fun. I have taken an entire truck load of "stuff" to the Goodwill, (thank you Joy). Accidentally made cottage cheese. I have lovingly, labouriously, plucked raspberries from the vines in my garden and tucked them into the deep freeze. Visited friends and loved ones at the hospital in Big Town. I have taught classes at church and home. I have shredded and frozen scads of zucchini. I have eaten my body weight in zucchini. Spent a morning getting in firewood with my family. I have dried tray, after glorious tray of herbs in my food dehydrator. In general, I ran like a head with my chicken cut off.
I have never in my adult life canned/put up so much food. Or run to town so many times while in the middle of said canning. When returning from the grocery with mass quantities of large and small mouth canning lids and military sized bags of sugar, my oldest son asked if I was preparing for a nuclear holocaust. Not a holocaust son, I said, just putting up food so I can feed you during your next growth spurt. (Dear sweet baby boy, please stop growing!)
While not preparing for disaster, I have been busy filling the pantry with good, old fashioned, staples in hopes of making ends meet ( re: feeding of teenagers) All the while, juggling the things that make up this crazy, calamitous life of mine. This kind of busy makes my very happy. Crazy, but happy.
What's been keeping you busy lately?
Sketchy
My youngest daughter loves to draw. She is a self professed "artist" with a capital A. Yesterday she asked me show her how to sketch a face....a real face. So I broke out the Walter Foster "Faces" book and started to draw. My daughter however, didn't like the fact that there were no fairies in this book so, she went off on her own to sketch out Manga Fairies. Fairies-schmaires!
What. Ever.
I took a few minutes to finish out the sketch I had started and got frustrated and said "it's just not right". My lovely daughter replied, "Stop that negative self-talk, right NOW!"
Ahem.
Just for fun, I decided to scan the sketch and BLOG it. I am brilliant like that. So....here is my 5 minute sketch. (Mr.Calamity says it looks like our Librarian.Which I find odd seeing as how this girls eyes are too big for her head and her face is too short and her eyes are too far apart and...I cut the top of her head off in the scanning process.) Anywhat.
What. Ever.
I took a few minutes to finish out the sketch I had started and got frustrated and said "it's just not right". My lovely daughter replied, "Stop that negative self-talk, right NOW!"
Ahem.
Just for fun, I decided to scan the sketch and BLOG it. I am brilliant like that. So....here is my 5 minute sketch. (Mr.Calamity says it looks like our Librarian.Which I find odd seeing as how this girls eyes are too big for her head and her face is too short and her eyes are too far apart and...I cut the top of her head off in the scanning process.) Anywhat.
Maybe I should draw some fairies....
Note to Self
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
– Mark Twain
I found this quote today and I'm inspired. It's a fresh new week. For my kids and I, its Spring Break and I plan to soak it up like a piece of bread in a bowl of soup. I am going to explore with my kids this week. I am challenged to sail from my safe harbor of guilt and disappointments. I am going to discover new and exciting things. I am going to throw off the bowlines and have some fun! I am going to make a mess and try not stress out about it. I am also going to listen to this song. Every day. I am going to dream big. And not fear failure.
Share your inspiration.
(Image courtesy tumblr)
A Bug
Sometimes you're the windshield. Sometimes you're the bug. Sometimes the bug comes to live at your house and inflicts pain and suffering. And copious quantities of mucus.
Don't get me started with the mucus.
For the past 4 weeks (holy cow its been 4 weeks) my family has suffered through the worst, and I do mean worst, flu/cold virus thingie we have ever had. It has been graciously shared around too. It seems that everyone we know has also suffered.
Long suffering doesn't bode well. It makes it hard to get anything done. Like say, laundry. Or dishes. Thankfully we homeschool because can you imagine if we had to catch up on all that missed school? Lawsy mercy!
Makes my mucus hurt just thinking about it.
As it sits now, I have empty glasses, tea cups and plastic cups scattered, well, everywhere; under the couch, beside the bed and even on the washing machine. I will, in all likelihood, still be discovering the now undisclosed location of many more drinking glasses over the course of the next year.
Don't even get me started on the used tissues!
That also makes my mucus hurt. Also, it makes that pesky mucus afraid. Very afraid.
If you have been lucky enough to have thus far escaped the clutches of that very bad bug, Saints preserve ya. Take your vitamins people.
If you have are among the long suffering crowd. I will say a little prayer that a healthy friend will come do your dishes.
And laundry.
And bring you tissues.
Friday Freak Out
One Friday a few weeks back.
As is the norm for us, Friday is freak worthy. Most every Friday we have an in home tutor come to help out with spelling drills, math and science. On most Fridays my little family spend the morning trying to get ready for the tutor; clearing off the dining room table, sweeping, you know the "company's coming" kind of cleaning. There are books to be found, lunch to be scarfed all with just a moment to spare before the tutor descends upon us.
This particular Friday is no exception. The morning brought one disaster after another. Broken glass shattered across the kitchen floor as the children fought over the "good" cereal, you know the stuff you never buy. Milk splashes clear across the house. Tears burst forth as the middle child is sure that she will get none of the sugary stuff. Clean up of this mess takes way too long and half of the moring is already over.
After the children are fed, they are sent off to do the morning animal chores. Frantically trying to find clean clothes, I am met with a mountain of dirty things and not one decent clean outfit. So, proceeding through the morning frenzy in my jammie's, I start to pick up the living room, only to be met with the most disgusting odor. Seeking out the source, I move from room to room, shuffling piles to and fro'. Not finding where the vomitrosious smell is coming from.
Upon entering the hallway, the source becomes painfully obvious; both physically and via nasal airways. I plant my foot in the largest pile of nasty, fowl & odiferus dog poop ever known to man. Now mind you, I am NOT dressed to shoes, as the Flylady encourages us to do before starting our morning chores. I choke back my cereal. Swallowing very hard, again and again, I hop to the bathroom at the end of the hall to cleanse the pooh off of my offending appendage. I am gaging and crying the whole way down the length of the hall. Cursing under my breath that the dog will be shot! Again! (this is a story for another day)
As I near the bathroom I can see water glistening on the tile floor. This causes my blood pressure to rise even more. Hobbling into the bathroom proper, I scan the room for the source of the water. It's the toilet. We have a smallish bathroom so I prop my disgusting foot on the side of the tub, leaning over to see what has obscured the flow to the throne. I find that the pot is full to the brim with Pull-Ups. YES, packed completely full of the most enormously swollen Pull-Ups. Now you can only begin to imagine my state of mind. To say that I was fuming would be an understatement. I am lucky that I didn't have a heart attack. So, turning to wash my foot of its festering mass. I find all of the soap has been dumped out in the bath tub. Let me tell you how beautiful it looked. The entire bottom third of the tub was full of liquid gold. And blue. And pink.
I am considering hanging the kids out by their toenails, to say the least. When.....
The doorbell rings. It is the tutor, his is on time for the first time all year. Can you imagine his nerve? Couldn't the guy see the fumes floating out the windows? Couldn't he smell the poop from miles away? Couldn't he just go home and let me continue clean myself up? And get dressed for crying out loud??
"Hello," he hollers as one of the offending children escort him into the house.
Hell.........O! Indeed.
As is the norm for us, Friday is freak worthy. Most every Friday we have an in home tutor come to help out with spelling drills, math and science. On most Fridays my little family spend the morning trying to get ready for the tutor; clearing off the dining room table, sweeping, you know the "company's coming" kind of cleaning. There are books to be found, lunch to be scarfed all with just a moment to spare before the tutor descends upon us.
This particular Friday is no exception. The morning brought one disaster after another. Broken glass shattered across the kitchen floor as the children fought over the "good" cereal, you know the stuff you never buy. Milk splashes clear across the house. Tears burst forth as the middle child is sure that she will get none of the sugary stuff. Clean up of this mess takes way too long and half of the moring is already over.
After the children are fed, they are sent off to do the morning animal chores. Frantically trying to find clean clothes, I am met with a mountain of dirty things and not one decent clean outfit. So, proceeding through the morning frenzy in my jammie's, I start to pick up the living room, only to be met with the most disgusting odor. Seeking out the source, I move from room to room, shuffling piles to and fro'. Not finding where the vomitrosious smell is coming from.
Upon entering the hallway, the source becomes painfully obvious; both physically and via nasal airways. I plant my foot in the largest pile of nasty, fowl & odiferus dog poop ever known to man. Now mind you, I am NOT dressed to shoes, as the Flylady encourages us to do before starting our morning chores. I choke back my cereal. Swallowing very hard, again and again, I hop to the bathroom at the end of the hall to cleanse the pooh off of my offending appendage. I am gaging and crying the whole way down the length of the hall. Cursing under my breath that the dog will be shot! Again! (this is a story for another day)
As I near the bathroom I can see water glistening on the tile floor. This causes my blood pressure to rise even more. Hobbling into the bathroom proper, I scan the room for the source of the water. It's the toilet. We have a smallish bathroom so I prop my disgusting foot on the side of the tub, leaning over to see what has obscured the flow to the throne. I find that the pot is full to the brim with Pull-Ups. YES, packed completely full of the most enormously swollen Pull-Ups. Now you can only begin to imagine my state of mind. To say that I was fuming would be an understatement. I am lucky that I didn't have a heart attack. So, turning to wash my foot of its festering mass. I find all of the soap has been dumped out in the bath tub. Let me tell you how beautiful it looked. The entire bottom third of the tub was full of liquid gold. And blue. And pink.
I am considering hanging the kids out by their toenails, to say the least. When.....
The doorbell rings. It is the tutor, his is on time for the first time all year. Can you imagine his nerve? Couldn't the guy see the fumes floating out the windows? Couldn't he smell the poop from miles away? Couldn't he just go home and let me continue clean myself up? And get dressed for crying out loud??
"Hello," he hollers as one of the offending children escort him into the house.
Hell.........O! Indeed.
Rested
After a nice, semi relaxing day, I am back to the grind-stone.
I am working on a corn husk doll tutorial for the long neglected Sanity Savers site, a new triptych for this site and currently trying out the 'blogger in draft' -which I like so far.
I am finally settling into a good groove with our homeschool. Four years later. Seems odd to me that it would take so long.. Whatever, things are really going well as far as schooling goes.
It is rainy and cold here this morning and I have secret hopes of pulling out the sewing machine and sneaking in a few hours of stitching. I have been inspired by Erin's scrappy log cabin blocks. Check out the absolute adorableness of them here and here.
Hi-ho, hi-ho, its off to work I go...
Frontier House
I am a big fan of the PBS "House" series'. Frontier House being the hands down favourite. I have watched the "Frontier" families struggle and swear, triumph and toil, over and over again for the last several years.
I turn this viewing into a big homeschool event during the summers. We "camp out" and watch TV. Ironic I know but my kids love it. We wrap ourselves in the cloak of history, teeming with adventures unknown. We snuggled up with good books and one great reality TV show. We have "camped out" and experienced the hardships of living in the dirt. But. None of my past experiences or readings have prepared me for the frontier life quite like Frontier House.
A little over a year ago my family had to move back home. We had to admit defeat; that our little wagon trek to the place of our dreams, the Napa of the North, was a failure. Moving back into my old home was very difficult. Settling back into the old way of life became drudgery. It was as though I was a reality TV participant, I was lost in my current reality...I longed for the frontier from whence I had come. I dreamt of those good old days living 3 doors down from my sister in crime. I longed for Dutch Bros runs, Sunday suppers and Church Socials. And for light switches....that work.
One of the interesting things about Frontier House is that it takes modernized people back in time to stake a land claim in Montana during the 1800's. They build their houses and privies from trees they themselves cut and hue. They grow their own food. For all intents and purposes they are living in 1860. Except that, they reach for that blasted light switch every time they enter their cabin.
Travel forward in time with me to October 2008.
Katie heads to the privy and hits the light switch. The light bulb makes a terrible hissing, then a pop and the light goes out. This little event is annoying but Katie is sure that a new light bulb will remedy the dark situation. Upon replacement of old hissing bulb with a shiny new one, shiny new one performs the same action. Katie is befuddled. Katie employs the talent of live in handy man. Handy man is also befuddled. Handy man says: screw it, use the light on the other side of the room.
Travel forward January 2009.
After flipping that blasted light switch for three months with no result, handy man has had enough. One afternoon of struggle, and some cursing....viola! The magic of modern living is restored.
Katie and family are still in shock when the switch responds with illumination. (It's only been a week folks.)
In Yahoo news this morning, thousands of families are predicted to be facing "frigid, light-less nights" till mid-February. MID-February!
I think it's time to "camp out" and watch a round of Frontier House. With the lights on....
Reiteration::
There are some days as a homeschooling mom that just make me want to tear my hair out.
Seriously.
Some days bring with them desire for hot baths and Tequila. Others usher in with only a mild inkling for sneaking a pull from the bottle and hair pulling. And yet, there are days that beat out the drinking and hair pulling days by a good mile. These are the days that make me wonder "What the heck am I doing?" and "If I imploded right now would they actually notice?". All told, my homeschooling is measured in days; good, bad or UGLY.
To say that yesterday was a day of reiteration, is mildly comic. Comic as in; laughing maniacally, making scary faces and wondering what would Bat Man do? If Bat Man were standing in my kitchen, reiterating to my oldest children-for the one millionth time-the importance of obedience, would he mess with the reiteration or just tie them up with his Bat Rope? Or, smack them around a little with his little bat shaped smackie-thingies?? Really, all I want to know is... what would Bat Man do?
Let's just imagine, for stories sake, that Bat Man was in my kitchen (in the form of our new tutor) and he did tie them up with his Bat Rope and smack them around with the little smackie-thingies. And then, while they were still stunned, he offered them a cool refreshing drink of new, unblemished knowledge. Knowledge that sparkled and danced before their eyes. Food of the Gods was poured out for them and they ate it greedily. They sat, flushed and wide eyed, waiting for more. Bat Man opened the doors and windows of their little minds. He knocked down the cob webs and shook out the rugs. He filled a small tool box with Bat Tools and offered it to each of them. "Use it wisely" he tells them in a low voice.
Bat Girl I am not.
So, when I stood before my teen and pre-teen children yesterday, futilely trying to be all Feng Shui and Bat-like in my reiteration of things that Bat Man had taught them the day prior, they stared blankly back at me. Blankly I tell you! "Bat Man would be so disappointed" I told them. "Hadn't he given you that amazing tool box with the tools you would need to make it through this schoolwork?" I pleaded. Blankly they returned my gaze.
Enter the hair pulling and imploding. And theTequila Calgon.
Let me reiterate.
Some days, I just want to tear my hair out.
Seriously.
((read: I am a contributor for the new homeschool blog Paper, Pencils, Pajamas. Go, check it out!))
Seriously.
Some days bring with them desire for hot baths and Tequila. Others usher in with only a mild inkling for sneaking a pull from the bottle and hair pulling. And yet, there are days that beat out the drinking and hair pulling days by a good mile. These are the days that make me wonder "What the heck am I doing?" and "If I imploded right now would they actually notice?". All told, my homeschooling is measured in days; good, bad or UGLY.
To say that yesterday was a day of reiteration, is mildly comic. Comic as in; laughing maniacally, making scary faces and wondering what would Bat Man do? If Bat Man were standing in my kitchen, reiterating to my oldest children-for the one millionth time-the importance of obedience, would he mess with the reiteration or just tie them up with his Bat Rope? Or, smack them around a little with his little bat shaped smackie-thingies?? Really, all I want to know is... what would Bat Man do?
Let's just imagine, for stories sake, that Bat Man was in my kitchen (in the form of our new tutor) and he did tie them up with his Bat Rope and smack them around with the little smackie-thingies. And then, while they were still stunned, he offered them a cool refreshing drink of new, unblemished knowledge. Knowledge that sparkled and danced before their eyes. Food of the Gods was poured out for them and they ate it greedily. They sat, flushed and wide eyed, waiting for more. Bat Man opened the doors and windows of their little minds. He knocked down the cob webs and shook out the rugs. He filled a small tool box with Bat Tools and offered it to each of them. "Use it wisely" he tells them in a low voice.
Bat Girl I am not.
So, when I stood before my teen and pre-teen children yesterday, futilely trying to be all Feng Shui and Bat-like in my reiteration of things that Bat Man had taught them the day prior, they stared blankly back at me. Blankly I tell you! "Bat Man would be so disappointed" I told them. "Hadn't he given you that amazing tool box with the tools you would need to make it through this schoolwork?" I pleaded. Blankly they returned my gaze.
Enter the hair pulling and imploding. And the
Let me reiterate.
Some days, I just want to tear my hair out.
Seriously.
((read: I am a contributor for the new homeschool blog Paper, Pencils, Pajamas. Go, check it out!))
Overheard
Phone conversation between my husband and myself.
DD:Hello?
K: Honey! I am in love. I am sorry to tell you this at work and all, but I really, truly, am in love.
DD: WHAT??
K: Yes, its the truth. I spent the afternoon staring at him with big moony puppy-dog eyes, hanging on his every word. I am totally, irrevocably, in looovve.
DD: Oh..really...
K: Yes, it can't be helped. Don't even try to stop this budding relationship. It's a done deal.
DD: Hmmm...
K:He has Black Belts in several different Marital Arts, I can't even pronounce them all. He is inspiring and philosophical, he's relateable , he's a great storyteller and he's just plain brilliant....
DD:He's all that, eh?
K: Oh, hooooney.....
DD:Yes?
K: He's so full of wisdom... The new tutor is...well, astonishing!
I am so in love. Although, I think my husband loves him more than I do...
DD:Hello?
K: Honey! I am in love. I am sorry to tell you this at work and all, but I really, truly, am in love.
DD: WHAT??
K: Yes, its the truth. I spent the afternoon staring at him with big moony puppy-dog eyes, hanging on his every word. I am totally, irrevocably, in looovve.
DD: Oh..really...
K: Yes, it can't be helped. Don't even try to stop this budding relationship. It's a done deal.
DD: Hmmm...
K:He has Black Belts in several different Marital Arts, I can't even pronounce them all. He is inspiring and philosophical, he's relateable , he's a great storyteller and he's just plain brilliant....
DD:He's all that, eh?
K: Oh, hooooney.....
DD:Yes?
K: He's so full of wisdom... The new tutor is...well, astonishing!
I am so in love. Although, I think my husband loves him more than I do...
What? Huh? What blog?
OK! So, I take full responsibility for the lack of posting here. I know, I know, it sucks to not have any witty poop stories to read, but ya know, life is hard. And I was busy doing other things....what can I say?
I actually forgot that I have a blog.
Now, some of you may be falling back in your computer chairs, feigning shock. Folks, life has beenbusy crazy here. And when life knocks on Katie's door, Katie has to answer. Albeit in her slippers and bathrobe, wielding her coffee mug defensively and grouchy as all get out that she has been drug away from the 'best post ever', dagnabit, Katie will answer that door!
While standing on the threshold of the front door of life, in my bathrobe I realized something. I spend far too much time worrying about my blog. "GASP!" you say, "how could this be?". I know this revelation may be incredibly shocking to your blogging system but I really do get sucked in. I find it exciting to read about the lives of people from all walks of life. I love to read about the little things my friends and family post as long as it has nothing to do with poop. I love to write about the little things not including poop.
I love to read and write blog posts. + I hate to do housework. = Holy crap (ha!), this place is a mess.
If that isn't an easy math equation, I don't know what is.
So....when faced with my husbands esteemed High School Chemistry teacher becoming a tutor for my oldest man child, and heaps of crap left over from our little foray to Idaho, I turned off the computer without a backward glance.
Hey, don't get me wrong, I did have little moments, early in the morning, when I would yearn for some blog time. I would make a plan for sneaking off to the library so that the children could "check out books" which is code for: blogging with out interruption or guilt of messy house, but I never did.
Mostly I just forgot that I had a blog. And readership.
I apologize.
Here, in the reflection of my freshly dusted computer screen, I vow to write more sans poop, ignore less in my bathrobe.
I actually forgot that I have a blog.
Now, some of you may be falling back in your computer chairs, feigning shock. Folks, life has been
While standing on the threshold of the front door of life, in my bathrobe I realized something. I spend far too much time worrying about my blog. "GASP!" you say, "how could this be?". I know this revelation may be incredibly shocking to your blogging system but I really do get sucked in. I find it exciting to read about the lives of people from all walks of life. I love to read about the little things my friends and family post as long as it has nothing to do with poop. I love to write about the little things not including poop.
I love to read and write blog posts. + I hate to do housework. = Holy crap (ha!), this place is a mess.
If that isn't an easy math equation, I don't know what is.
So....when faced with my husbands esteemed High School Chemistry teacher becoming a tutor for my oldest man child, and heaps of crap left over from our little foray to Idaho, I turned off the computer without a backward glance.
Hey, don't get me wrong, I did have little moments, early in the morning, when I would yearn for some blog time. I would make a plan for sneaking off to the library so that the children could "check out books" which is code for: blogging with out interruption or guilt of messy house, but I never did.
Mostly I just forgot that I had a blog. And readership.
I apologize.
****
Here, in the reflection of my freshly dusted computer screen, I vow to write more sans poop, ignore less in my bathrobe.
Homonyms
Homonyms: from the Greek homo "same" + onoma "name", sometimes called "homophones" from Greek homo "same" + phone "sound."
Smart Kiddies
This morning I was working on school with the kids. I went to our school supply basket (Shown above) to get some crayons and was met with this adorable sight.
Maybe the kittens were trying to learn via osmosis?
Smart Kiddies
Smart Kitties
This morning I was working on school with the kids. I went to our school supply basket (Shown above) to get some crayons and was met with this adorable sight.
Maybe the kittens were trying to learn via osmosis?
Maketh thee heart swell
Yesterday was a lazy day spent learning a new knitting pattern.
My darling Fern has taken this new task very seriously. She is knitting a basket weave scarf. I am so proud of her. She is a knitting fool. Just look at those fingers fly. Look at that game face. Oh, she is not a baby knitter any more.
O! Just look at those stitches! *sigh* My knitty heart is going to explode with the sweetness of it all!
My darling Fern has taken this new task very seriously. She is knitting a basket weave scarf. I am so proud of her. She is a knitting fool. Just look at those fingers fly. Look at that game face. Oh, she is not a baby knitter any more.
O! Just look at those stitches! *sigh* My knitty heart is going to explode with the sweetness of it all!
How we came to Homeschool
We homeschool our kids, in case you haven't noticed. Have done so for the last 3 years, this being year four of our endeavor.
When our oldest child was to start school we lived on the outskirts of town. We had heard lots of good things circulating about the nearby country school. It was K-12, a rarity in deed. We went to check out the facilities and felt good about placing our child in the hands of these strangers. Our baby was 4 when he started the Pre-school program at that little country school. He dazzled the socks off of the teachers and kids alike. Every one loved him. He seemed to be doing marvelous.
Since this was only Pre-school, the teachers didn't have conferences regularly there was just a big meeting at the end of the year to discuss the progress your child had made since the beginning of the year.
At the parent/teacher end of the year conference our son's teacher Mrs. G (not to be confused with the Derfwad herself, who just happens to be a homeschooler) sat my husband and myself down and proceeded to tell us how she was just not satisfied with the progress our son was making with his writing.
"Do not be alarmed" she said in her best teacher voice "kids often struggle with this fine motor skill for years on end".
My husband and I exchanged confused glances. "What?" was our echoed reply.
"Oh, oh. Not to worry." Mrs. G responded, "I have prepared some worksheets for extra practice. Just have him do a few of these everyday over the summer and I am SURE you will see marked improvement."
Still severely confused, my darling husband, ever the quiet and non questioning sort says, "What, are you talking about? He writes just fine at home."
This unnerved Mrs. G. greatly. "What do you mean? He writes fine at home?"
Again, my quiet husband "Shall we have him write for us now?"
Mrs. G fetched some paper and called our son to join the fun. One sweet, ready to please 5 year old (he turned 5 in the middle of the year) steps up to the table, plops down and takes the pencil from Mrs. G with his left hand. Mrs. G firmly takes pencil from left hand and places it, properly, into the right hand.
HOLY CRAP! The thought echoed so loudly through my brain I was sure it was heard out load.
This woman had no idea that our child was left handed. She truly had no idea. Eight months of teaching my child how to hold a pencil, properly, in the right hand and she had no idea. This is a kid who has been left handed since birth.
Of course she felt bad. Of course she had too many students to take the time to catch on to little nuances that might have tipped her off to the left-handedness of our son, or other children for that matter.
This should have been that ah-ha moment. This should have been the point when we as parents said that is it, we are homeschoolin'. But it wasn't. We were young and hopeful.
We somehow managed to find the impossible dream after that. Another country school, smaller in size and fewer grade levels. (I am not kidding when I say this was the best public school ever.) This little school gave our family the best it had to offer. And it offered much. Our time spent at that little school was a great adventure that will never be looked back on as a bad experience or a waste of time. We were truly lucky.
Then we moved out of the district. We literally thought of ways to sneak our kids back in. Then resigned to put them into our local school. Which we regretted, almost, immediately.
Our second oldest daughter, Fern was then in the first grade. At the previous school she was at a third grade reading level. IN KINDERGARTEN! The girl is smart, and we had that great school remember? Well this new school didn't have Kindergarten, so all of the first graders had no previous schooling. Our little girl was lost in a sea of newborns. The teacher made her dummy down so as not to make the other kids feel bad. After nine weeks Fern could no longer read. Literally. The teacher had told her so many times, we don't do that in this class, you can't read those books, you aren't allowed to write in cursive the other kids are just learning their letters. Fern gave up hope. We knew something was up, but Fern wouldn't let us into her world. She was visibly shut down. When we went to the school to inquire about these goings on, the teachers seemed shocked that we should have concern for our daughter and her new found inability to read and write.
It took some serious convincing to get my husband on the homeschool band wagon. He read books by Gatto, and got all sorts of fired up. Then he would waver. He was a public school kid. He had seen those freaky "homeschoolers". The socially retarded ones. He feared for his children's lives. He didn't want any of that nonsense for his family. NO. Keep 'em in school, where they will be socially adept little people.
Then he read a whole stack of pro-homeschool books and more Gatto. That did the trick. He was convinced that our kids would be OK if we kept them at home. So home it was.
And ya know what? Our kids are so much better than OK here at home. They are thriving. They are UN-schooling, free ranging, baking, running, farming, knitting, sewing, poetry reading/reciting, hungry little learning machines. Every thing we do around here is school. And that's the way we like it.
As for all that other junk, the non reading and left handedness? Well Lefty (Head-Strong) has beautiful penmanship and Fern, she still hits that "I can't do it" wall from time to time but we are working through it. And the rest is as they say history. Our history.
When our oldest child was to start school we lived on the outskirts of town. We had heard lots of good things circulating about the nearby country school. It was K-12, a rarity in deed. We went to check out the facilities and felt good about placing our child in the hands of these strangers. Our baby was 4 when he started the Pre-school program at that little country school. He dazzled the socks off of the teachers and kids alike. Every one loved him. He seemed to be doing marvelous.
Since this was only Pre-school, the teachers didn't have conferences regularly there was just a big meeting at the end of the year to discuss the progress your child had made since the beginning of the year.
At the parent/teacher end of the year conference our son's teacher Mrs. G (not to be confused with the Derfwad herself, who just happens to be a homeschooler) sat my husband and myself down and proceeded to tell us how she was just not satisfied with the progress our son was making with his writing.
"Do not be alarmed" she said in her best teacher voice "kids often struggle with this fine motor skill for years on end".
My husband and I exchanged confused glances. "What?" was our echoed reply.
"Oh, oh. Not to worry." Mrs. G responded, "I have prepared some worksheets for extra practice. Just have him do a few of these everyday over the summer and I am SURE you will see marked improvement."
Still severely confused, my darling husband, ever the quiet and non questioning sort says, "What, are you talking about? He writes just fine at home."
This unnerved Mrs. G. greatly. "What do you mean? He writes fine at home?"
Again, my quiet husband "Shall we have him write for us now?"
Mrs. G fetched some paper and called our son to join the fun. One sweet, ready to please 5 year old (he turned 5 in the middle of the year) steps up to the table, plops down and takes the pencil from Mrs. G with his left hand. Mrs. G firmly takes pencil from left hand and places it, properly, into the right hand.
HOLY CRAP! The thought echoed so loudly through my brain I was sure it was heard out load.
This woman had no idea that our child was left handed. She truly had no idea. Eight months of teaching my child how to hold a pencil, properly, in the right hand and she had no idea. This is a kid who has been left handed since birth.
Of course she felt bad. Of course she had too many students to take the time to catch on to little nuances that might have tipped her off to the left-handedness of our son, or other children for that matter.
This should have been that ah-ha moment. This should have been the point when we as parents said that is it, we are homeschoolin'. But it wasn't. We were young and hopeful.
We somehow managed to find the impossible dream after that. Another country school, smaller in size and fewer grade levels. (I am not kidding when I say this was the best public school ever.) This little school gave our family the best it had to offer. And it offered much. Our time spent at that little school was a great adventure that will never be looked back on as a bad experience or a waste of time. We were truly lucky.
Then we moved out of the district. We literally thought of ways to sneak our kids back in. Then resigned to put them into our local school. Which we regretted, almost, immediately.
Our second oldest daughter, Fern was then in the first grade. At the previous school she was at a third grade reading level. IN KINDERGARTEN! The girl is smart, and we had that great school remember? Well this new school didn't have Kindergarten, so all of the first graders had no previous schooling. Our little girl was lost in a sea of newborns. The teacher made her dummy down so as not to make the other kids feel bad. After nine weeks Fern could no longer read. Literally. The teacher had told her so many times, we don't do that in this class, you can't read those books, you aren't allowed to write in cursive the other kids are just learning their letters. Fern gave up hope. We knew something was up, but Fern wouldn't let us into her world. She was visibly shut down. When we went to the school to inquire about these goings on, the teachers seemed shocked that we should have concern for our daughter and her new found inability to read and write.
It took some serious convincing to get my husband on the homeschool band wagon. He read books by Gatto, and got all sorts of fired up. Then he would waver. He was a public school kid. He had seen those freaky "homeschoolers". The socially retarded ones. He feared for his children's lives. He didn't want any of that nonsense for his family. NO. Keep 'em in school, where they will be socially adept little people.
Then he read a whole stack of pro-homeschool books and more Gatto. That did the trick. He was convinced that our kids would be OK if we kept them at home. So home it was.
And ya know what? Our kids are so much better than OK here at home. They are thriving. They are UN-schooling, free ranging, baking, running, farming, knitting, sewing, poetry reading/reciting, hungry little learning machines. Every thing we do around here is school. And that's the way we like it.
As for all that other junk, the non reading and left handedness? Well Lefty (Head-Strong) has beautiful penmanship and Fern, she still hits that "I can't do it" wall from time to time but we are working through it. And the rest is as they say history. Our history.
Word filled Wednesday: Teaching
The purpose of Word filled Wednesday is illustrating God's word using a photo with a verse.
Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.
Proverbs 22:6
The book of Proverbs is chalk full of advice for us parents. It seems that at this point in my life I am doing LOTS of "training". Teaching my children how to complete tasks, how to behave, reiterating the "whys" and "what fors" and just the general book learnin', are all the center of my daily life right now. It seems that school is never really "out". I am constantly teaching someONE, someTHING. Some days it can get pretty discouraging and most of the time it feels like no one is really "getting" what I am teaching. I find great encouragement in the book of Proverbs. Today this verse just popped out at me. I hope that it will pop for you too.
Have a wonderful Word filled Wednesday. If you would like to read more about Word filled Wednesday's go to The 160 Acre Woods.
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