For the second or third time since becoming the mother of a school-aged-child in 1991, we have opted to homeschool. The very first time, our dear oldest daughter was trying out public school after several years in a private Christian school. Her third grade year was fine--she knew a lot going in. Fourth grade brought myriad problems as our daughter's hip, young teacher was very quick to tell her Jesus was a religious figure and ABSOLUTELY NOT a historical figure. We fixed that. Then I caught the teacher screaming (literally, and name-calling) at our daughter in the nurse's office--she had no idea the phone on the nurse's desk was off the cradle and I was on the other end of it. After a very direct meeting the next morning with the teacher and her boss, we fixed that one, too. But fifth grade was another story. We were no longer dealing with religious issues--these people were making our daughter dumb. And it was only the second week of school!
Somewhere along the way, our local elementary school convinced our daughter that quantity was better than quality. The teacher reported happily that our girl was smart as a whip and completed all her work, and then some. One day, while sifting through her Friday folder, a social studies test caught my eye. I was thinking it was one for the refrigerator since it had a great big 100% at the top. And then I looked closely: Our daughter believed Pennsylvania was the capital of Philadelphia and so did her teacher. (The converse isn't even true--it's Harrisburg!) There were several other--five in all--equally ridiculous answers marked correct. I ordered a fifth-grade curriculum over the weekend and she never went back to that school. At some point, she went back to her former private school.
The next time we attempted homeschooling--about a year later--was a disaster and some of the children are still in therapy. The baby was in the playpen; the preschooler was learning her letters; the first grader DESPISED reading; the fourth grader kept feeding his pencils to the dog; and the sixth grader (dear oldest daughter) was just trying to do the right thing. And then I turned up pregnant. The poor kids didn't know which way was up! Half the time I was Mary Poppins and the other half I was Cruella de Ville. Then, one day, my precious husband walked in early from work and after looking at his children's tragic expressions, said the most beautiful words: "Call Cape Christian and see if they'll take all of them on Monday." They did.
I am no longer Mary Poppins or Cruella de Ville, 11 years have flown by since then, and there's no way on earth I'm turning up pregnant again. This brings us to our current homeschool experience, a story that will come in just a short day or so.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Harder Than I Thought...
This is turning out to be a lot harder than I thought. I don't mean having the grandboy with us; I mean, packing him to go home. I will allow that it has been very busy at our house for the past three weeks. His mother has been gone, and we have had to add the wants, needs and habits of a potty-training, nap-forsaking two-year-old to an already almost impossible schedule. (Did I mention we have also agreed to adopt our daughter's six-month-old lab?)
Our grandboy spent the first week of his adventure adjusting. He, like a tiny preschool liquid filling the spaces in an existing container, poured himself into our home and hearts. He was compliant and pretty flexible. He became less picky about his food, hung out with his older aunts and uncles, didn't assert himself very much and was generally well-behaved. In short, he went with the flow.
Then, the slippery slope, the point at which he began to create the flow. We think he spent his first week observing our behavior and storing data. His tendrils sought out the chinks in our armor, the weak spots in our hearts. He is absolutely the youngest unschooled--but very accomplished--psychoanalyst we have ever met. Bumpie and I were completely unprepared for this savvy new generation of toddler. He became enamored of his beautiful aunts, and ran to them at even the suggestion of discipline from us. He decided to use his little blue potty only when he wanted candy, forced the girls to stay awake with him when he couldn't sleep (once until 5:20 a.m.) and trapped Bumpie in his web of sticky fingers and cute baby words. None of us tired of him, though; not once has he been a pain.
I thought I would be okay about packing his things. But as I folded his tiny clothes and sorted his little wee toys, I began to long for the child who was still here. I lingered over his sippy cups, smelled his no-tears baby soap. Like his mother and Uncle Raymond, he hid a most odd assortment of objects in secret places. I couldn't help smiling at their discovery. In a compartment in his riding toy I found the dog's baby, a flat-head screwdriver, a soda bottle wrapper, purple Mardi Gras beads and a hairbrush. In a cabinet, we found some crackers, the Wii remote, a shoe, some batteries, a comb and a fork. I am sure there are undiscovered treasures yet to be found.
Yesterday, a few chicks hatched here. He promptly named them after his brother, his grandfather and his aunt. The chicks are named: Baby Miam (Liam), Baby Bumpie and Baby Aunt Mawie (Molly).
Our grandboy spent the first week of his adventure adjusting. He, like a tiny preschool liquid filling the spaces in an existing container, poured himself into our home and hearts. He was compliant and pretty flexible. He became less picky about his food, hung out with his older aunts and uncles, didn't assert himself very much and was generally well-behaved. In short, he went with the flow.
Then, the slippery slope, the point at which he began to create the flow. We think he spent his first week observing our behavior and storing data. His tendrils sought out the chinks in our armor, the weak spots in our hearts. He is absolutely the youngest unschooled--but very accomplished--psychoanalyst we have ever met. Bumpie and I were completely unprepared for this savvy new generation of toddler. He became enamored of his beautiful aunts, and ran to them at even the suggestion of discipline from us. He decided to use his little blue potty only when he wanted candy, forced the girls to stay awake with him when he couldn't sleep (once until 5:20 a.m.) and trapped Bumpie in his web of sticky fingers and cute baby words. None of us tired of him, though; not once has he been a pain.
I thought I would be okay about packing his things. But as I folded his tiny clothes and sorted his little wee toys, I began to long for the child who was still here. I lingered over his sippy cups, smelled his no-tears baby soap. Like his mother and Uncle Raymond, he hid a most odd assortment of objects in secret places. I couldn't help smiling at their discovery. In a compartment in his riding toy I found the dog's baby, a flat-head screwdriver, a soda bottle wrapper, purple Mardi Gras beads and a hairbrush. In a cabinet, we found some crackers, the Wii remote, a shoe, some batteries, a comb and a fork. I am sure there are undiscovered treasures yet to be found.
Yesterday, a few chicks hatched here. He promptly named them after his brother, his grandfather and his aunt. The chicks are named: Baby Miam (Liam), Baby Bumpie and Baby Aunt Mawie (Molly).
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
The Importance of Being Scheduled
Having little ones on schedules is really important. We live in a scheduled society, and unless we are fortunate enough to design our days without input from life's demands, they are good for us. Rigidity is not good, but as our children grow, the notion that things just happen when they happen, doesn't serve them. It hinders them. (Refer to the beginning of sentence #2: We live in a scheduled society.) They become people who arrive places--like work--when they feel like it and lose entire days without accomplishing anything. I am not opposed to losing a day here and there as a mental health fix, but if some type of order isn't followed, a day becomes several, becomes a week, a month, a year, a lifetime.
I have found that having the grandboy here helps me keep a schedule. I don't think his mother will be very happy to know that he goes to bed much later than he's used to and, thus, sleeps much later. You see, I am a morning person and she is a night owl. I need the wee hours to make things happen in the house, and in my work. That way, I belong to my family when they wake up. We do keep regular mealtimes for both the kids and the animals here at Open Hand Farm (that's us) but most activities tend to start later and wind down later here.
In the bigger and extended-out sense, kids who don't value compartments of time, will become adults who don't value compartments of time. I declare this entire discussion null and void as it relates to the people predisposed to completing tasks--I think they will naturally create the schedule that works for them. I also know that if you give a baby the opportunity, he will create his own schedule and, initially, it will revolve around the basics--sleeping and eating. (Could you see a little baby's TO DO list? Wake up, eat, drift back off to sleep, wake up, play, poop, eat lunch, sleep, wake up, eat, play with sibs, cry while the rest of the family tries to eat supper, play with Daddy, bath, late night snack, sleep.) My mom came from the school that told mommies to wake their babies up EVERY FOUR HOURS on the button or they would grow up to be delinquents. Guess what? I still grew up to be a delinquent. (I'm much better now. LOL) I don't actually think the schedule had anything to do with it.
All this to say:
1. Schedules are good.
2. The schedule that suits your family is the best one.
3. Like it or not, we live in a world ordered by time and, thus, schedules.
I have found that having the grandboy here helps me keep a schedule. I don't think his mother will be very happy to know that he goes to bed much later than he's used to and, thus, sleeps much later. You see, I am a morning person and she is a night owl. I need the wee hours to make things happen in the house, and in my work. That way, I belong to my family when they wake up. We do keep regular mealtimes for both the kids and the animals here at Open Hand Farm (that's us) but most activities tend to start later and wind down later here.
In the bigger and extended-out sense, kids who don't value compartments of time, will become adults who don't value compartments of time. I declare this entire discussion null and void as it relates to the people predisposed to completing tasks--I think they will naturally create the schedule that works for them. I also know that if you give a baby the opportunity, he will create his own schedule and, initially, it will revolve around the basics--sleeping and eating. (Could you see a little baby's TO DO list? Wake up, eat, drift back off to sleep, wake up, play, poop, eat lunch, sleep, wake up, eat, play with sibs, cry while the rest of the family tries to eat supper, play with Daddy, bath, late night snack, sleep.) My mom came from the school that told mommies to wake their babies up EVERY FOUR HOURS on the button or they would grow up to be delinquents. Guess what? I still grew up to be a delinquent. (I'm much better now. LOL) I don't actually think the schedule had anything to do with it.
All this to say:
1. Schedules are good.
2. The schedule that suits your family is the best one.
3. Like it or not, we live in a world ordered by time and, thus, schedules.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Back To Our Senses
Phew! I was starting not to recognize us. We were beginning to do all the poor parenting things we used to criticize other people for. We slipped into grandparental overindulgence and began to create a monster--but no more! We realized our error both in our grandboy's behavior and in his lack of pooping. He began to turn into the the yittle boss, which is funny because that's what his mother insisted she was at three years of age. She and I were going roundy-round about one thing or another and I said to her, "YOU are NOT the boss." (I was very emphatic.)
She puffed out her little chest and put her adorable little hands on her hips. She furrowed her beautiful little brow and narrowed her amazing blue eyes and corrected me. "I the YITTLE BOSS!" she said. Her son was beginning to assert himself in similar fashion. He was also deciding what he would and would not eat. Bumpie and I were giving in because we wanted to be popular. We figured out how stupid we were being when we realized our grandboy hadn't pooped in two days. His mother did have a similar tendency, naturally, but it was an epiphany moment for us and we knew we had to be more responsible. So...we began feeding him bananas and peaches and watermelon and eggs and LOTS of water and limited milk products and no junk cereal. We say "no" sometimes and have even had to use the time-out chair. It should be noted that even though the grandboy is strong-willed (like his mommy), he is also smart and has only had to sit on the time-out chair twice. It's good when we can learn from our own mistakes, isn't it?
And guess what? We, too, have learned from our mistakes. We are still popular because we hug him and hold him; we tell him he is wonderful and beautiful; we take him fishing (bishin') and swimming (simmin'); we kiss his boo-boos and sing "Jesus Loves Me" with him. We feed him chocolate chips when he uses the little potty and don't scorn him when he prefers not to. I think too many parents and grandparents allow bad--and destructive--behavior because they want to be popular. Don't they realize kids love to be loved and paid attention to? Kids need parameters, and really do respond well to limits.
She puffed out her little chest and put her adorable little hands on her hips. She furrowed her beautiful little brow and narrowed her amazing blue eyes and corrected me. "I the YITTLE BOSS!" she said. Her son was beginning to assert himself in similar fashion. He was also deciding what he would and would not eat. Bumpie and I were giving in because we wanted to be popular. We figured out how stupid we were being when we realized our grandboy hadn't pooped in two days. His mother did have a similar tendency, naturally, but it was an epiphany moment for us and we knew we had to be more responsible. So...we began feeding him bananas and peaches and watermelon and eggs and LOTS of water and limited milk products and no junk cereal. We say "no" sometimes and have even had to use the time-out chair. It should be noted that even though the grandboy is strong-willed (like his mommy), he is also smart and has only had to sit on the time-out chair twice. It's good when we can learn from our own mistakes, isn't it?
And guess what? We, too, have learned from our mistakes. We are still popular because we hug him and hold him; we tell him he is wonderful and beautiful; we take him fishing (bishin') and swimming (simmin'); we kiss his boo-boos and sing "Jesus Loves Me" with him. We feed him chocolate chips when he uses the little potty and don't scorn him when he prefers not to. I think too many parents and grandparents allow bad--and destructive--behavior because they want to be popular. Don't they realize kids love to be loved and paid attention to? Kids need parameters, and really do respond well to limits.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Grandparenting: My New Frontier
Oooo! This is fun! Dear hubby and I became grandparents a couple years ago, but our daughter lives in NC, so we saw the baby twice when he was really wee, but then not again for two years. Last summer he acquired a little brother. Two weeks ago, when our daughter and her little guys invaded, we officially became Nanny and Bumpie--the most fun, junk-food-offering grandparents in the world! We feed the grandboys cheese puffs and allow them to slurp coffee (no sugar, of course). Our older grandboy chooses his own attire--even if it's none--and doesn't have to eat balanced meals if he doesn't want to. We don't want to cramp his style.
We have NEVER behaved thusly with small children. We were fun parents (I think) but we never served up snacks instead of meals and allowed people to run naked. We followed rules, kept our young 'uns squeaky clean, and did not allow them to eat sugary cereal or drink syrupy drinks. We did homework with them and observed an early-evening bedtime. Teeth were brushed twice a day--scrubbed might be a better word--and they held their silverware properly by eighteen months.
Our daughter has been looking at us, like, "Whuttt? Who are you people and what have you done with my parents?" And this is the really funny part--guess who the tough guy is now? Our dear daughter, that's who! She is disciplined with the two-year-old and consistent. She doesn't make excuses for bad behavior, and she doesn't ignore it. She insists that he holds his fork correctly and is diligent about teeth brushing. We just stand back--we haven't crossed the line of overt grandparental interference yet--and feel sad for the poor little guy. He didn't mean to kick the dog. He didn't try to spit his food on the table. He might have screamed something that sounded like "NO!" but we aren't really sure that's what it was.
The boys' mommy has graciously allowed us to keep the two-year-old for two weeks while she travels a bit. We are having so much fun! But...both Bumpie and I have purposed in our hearts to try really, really hard each day to be more strict grandparents. It's just so hard when they're so cute, when they snuggle into your arms and say, "I loves you, Nanny." It's just so hard.
We have NEVER behaved thusly with small children. We were fun parents (I think) but we never served up snacks instead of meals and allowed people to run naked. We followed rules, kept our young 'uns squeaky clean, and did not allow them to eat sugary cereal or drink syrupy drinks. We did homework with them and observed an early-evening bedtime. Teeth were brushed twice a day--scrubbed might be a better word--and they held their silverware properly by eighteen months.
Our daughter has been looking at us, like, "Whuttt? Who are you people and what have you done with my parents?" And this is the really funny part--guess who the tough guy is now? Our dear daughter, that's who! She is disciplined with the two-year-old and consistent. She doesn't make excuses for bad behavior, and she doesn't ignore it. She insists that he holds his fork correctly and is diligent about teeth brushing. We just stand back--we haven't crossed the line of overt grandparental interference yet--and feel sad for the poor little guy. He didn't mean to kick the dog. He didn't try to spit his food on the table. He might have screamed something that sounded like "NO!" but we aren't really sure that's what it was.
The boys' mommy has graciously allowed us to keep the two-year-old for two weeks while she travels a bit. We are having so much fun! But...both Bumpie and I have purposed in our hearts to try really, really hard each day to be more strict grandparents. It's just so hard when they're so cute, when they snuggle into your arms and say, "I loves you, Nanny." It's just so hard.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Impacted by Andy...
It has taken a long time to recover from the 2010-2011 school year. I checked back and noticed that my last blog entry here was in mid-May. I confess that I have had no energy to write about mothering, no gumption to place any wise words before you. I'm still not sure I'm ready.
A month ago, I was geared up, and all set to begin our summer. The school year had held its share of heightened joys and deep sorrows. School was winding down and the Spring sports season was over and done with. We attended all the awards ceremonies and met every obligation related to our son's high school graduation. We made sure college plans were buttoned up and the Eagle Scout ceremony was at least on the to-do list. I poured myself a long cool glass of sweet tea, closed my eyes and exhaled. And then came the next blow.
Of the four devastating losses to hit our community over Memorial Day weekend, the third was the hardest for us to bear because it affected us personally. There was an accident and a dear young guy from our son's graduating class was killed--Andy Sions. In the wake of Andy's departure for Heaven, abundant grace was poured out on so many. It was kind of like when Kevin Evans had his motorcycle accident last May--everywhere you turned there was another person with another story to tell about how they saw Jesus all over the events surrounding the accident. It has become Kevin's testimony.
Losing Andy has truly been Heaven's gain. Many of our Christian teens have spent time re-examining their walks with God, they are loving on each other a little more and reminding each other to be careful before they step into their vehicles. The biggest gain, however, is the overwhelming number of young people who gave their hearts to Jesus between Andy's funeral and his memorial service the Friday after graduation. People who were not aware of Andy's faith and vulnerability before God were blown away by the testimonies of his family and friends. I am hoping the message is clear--in a lot of ways Andy was an ordinary boy, an ornery and typical high school athlete, but his faith made him extraordinary. I hope that the kids who knew him, whose lives have been impacted by losing him, will see that God takes the ordinary, the ornery and typical in all of us and makes us extraordinary in Him. This one's for you, Andy!
A month ago, I was geared up, and all set to begin our summer. The school year had held its share of heightened joys and deep sorrows. School was winding down and the Spring sports season was over and done with. We attended all the awards ceremonies and met every obligation related to our son's high school graduation. We made sure college plans were buttoned up and the Eagle Scout ceremony was at least on the to-do list. I poured myself a long cool glass of sweet tea, closed my eyes and exhaled. And then came the next blow.
Of the four devastating losses to hit our community over Memorial Day weekend, the third was the hardest for us to bear because it affected us personally. There was an accident and a dear young guy from our son's graduating class was killed--Andy Sions. In the wake of Andy's departure for Heaven, abundant grace was poured out on so many. It was kind of like when Kevin Evans had his motorcycle accident last May--everywhere you turned there was another person with another story to tell about how they saw Jesus all over the events surrounding the accident. It has become Kevin's testimony.
Losing Andy has truly been Heaven's gain. Many of our Christian teens have spent time re-examining their walks with God, they are loving on each other a little more and reminding each other to be careful before they step into their vehicles. The biggest gain, however, is the overwhelming number of young people who gave their hearts to Jesus between Andy's funeral and his memorial service the Friday after graduation. People who were not aware of Andy's faith and vulnerability before God were blown away by the testimonies of his family and friends. I am hoping the message is clear--in a lot of ways Andy was an ordinary boy, an ornery and typical high school athlete, but his faith made him extraordinary. I hope that the kids who knew him, whose lives have been impacted by losing him, will see that God takes the ordinary, the ornery and typical in all of us and makes us extraordinary in Him. This one's for you, Andy!
Thursday, May 26, 2011
It Is Time To Exhale
Child of Mine
by Paige Jansen Tighe
Child of mine,
Daughter, son,
I still feel your tiny newborn heart
Beating against my chest
As I press you into me,
Tiny legs drawn up and mouth a rosy bow.
I have one hand on your bottom,
The other protects your wobbly grapefruit
head.
Eyes closed, I nuzzle your neck
And drink in that scent which is
Distinctly and divinely and gloriously
You.
Dizzying,
Intoxicating,
You are my heart.
I often thought, back then, if I inhaled
deeply enough
I would suck you right into my soul.
Is anything more precious?
Ah, but you are big now
And cannot be sucked so easily into someone else’s soul.
Your scent is still
Distinctly and divinely and gloriously
You,
But now it mingles with
Glue smell and baby chick,
Sweat, lunch box, fresh air and sunshine.
Hairspray, cologne.
It has come time for me to exhale,
To allow your legs to lengthen,
Your mind to explore,
And yes, I must even allow
Your tender heart to break,
So that you may
Listen in the quiet,
Smell a coming storm,
Gaze long into every day,
Tread softly upon the earth.
Taste, my precious one,
See that the Lord is good,
And may laughter be your lot.
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