Merry Christmas!

As my Christmas present to you all, a picture of the hairy man carrot we grew in our garden, harvested yesterday :)

George is here!

I guess I don't really cook from scratch after all...

"If you wish to make an apple pie truly from scratch, you must first invent the universe."

         - Carl Sagan

I'm wearing black today

I'm in mourning for our nation. Only a fraction of votes have been cast but I believe the outcome of the election is actually irrelevant. We're in trouble no matter who wins. I'm not speaking of only the presidential election. Every race matters in one way or another from the local elections all the way to the national and there is no good outcome possible from the candidates available.

A few weeks ago, I posted a quote that voting is choosing the candidate that you dislike the least. I think this is a sad hallmark of our time. I feel that the people who run for elected office are all ill-suited for the job. None of them seem truly competent to be the great leaders we need. None of them seem able to put the health of our communities, our states, and our nation ahead of their own agendas. They've become so divided along party lines and propaganda that none seem able to cross over or step back and say, "My idea stinks. What was I thinking?" They're all so pig-headed and stubborn that they hold on tenaciously, fighting for their ideas to the bitter end.

Isn't this end bitter today? Can you feel it? The nation is in turmoil. The lack of civility is appalling. The horrible things that have been said make me feel ashamed, ashamed that these are the people who will represent our nation to the world. All sides have regressed to the bickering, back-biting antics of pre-adolescent children. What we need are real leaders without any agenda other than doing what's truly right. Unfortunately, we live in a selfish time where no one sees what is right because they're too blinded by their own pride and desires. We live in a world ruled by self-entitlement. The problem is that none of us are entitled to anything and those desires of entitlement are incapable of co-existing harmoniously.

We are a nation on the verge of the end. We are slipping down the slope of mediocrity and self-preservation masquerading as stewardship. We are living in perilous times. That's why I'm wearing black because there is no good outcome when the polls close tonight regardless of who wins and who loses. We will all lose and we have been losing for years without realizing it.

And so it begins...

My children are at my parents' house for the weekend...

Let the first in-store Christmas shopping of the season begin...

My new favorite video and the sequel

I love this. It disturbs my husband greatly.

Three Little Mermaids

Hope you had a lovely Halloween. It's not my favorite holiday but the girls enjoy the sugary aspects of it. They've already started planning their costumes for next year. I don't start listening until August though.


 

Mark Frauenfelder's Best Advice

"Good, Inexpensive, Fast: Pick two."


Do you get it? 

Is planning really just procrastination?

"You'll never plow a field by turning it over in your mind." - Irish proverb
Does this mean I should stop planning the girls' Halloween costumes and actually start sewing them? Maybe...

My Girl

I'm not 124 years old...

but I did have a birthday today and we didn't have the right candles. Chris figured this out to use instead. It appealed to my sense of the odd.

Chris would like me to add that he didn't decorate the cake by himself. He didn't want you thinking that he writes like a 3rd grader :) However, a 1st grader did.

7th period

Most days, I feel like my eardrums are going to explode during 7th period...

I still like them though.

Homemade Stuff

My mother made the girls some things from clearance corduroy I bought last spring when the weather got warm and stores were left with too much warm weather cloth. Normal people don't buy corduroy in May but I've never claimed to be normal, have I? The girls loved their new outfits even if the pictures don't show that. Trying to get three young children to all look at a camera at the same time and smile is like trying to wrangle pigs.

Elections

"Democracy is being allowed to vote for the candidate you dislike least."

       - Robert Byrne
I liked that quote. It sums up how I'm feeling about elections this year. Will you be voting? I will because casting my vote means that I have the right to complain about what's happening. If I don't take the responsibility to vote, I don't think I have the right to complain.

I'm alive! (and okay)

Sometimes, life gets in the way of actually living. Sometimes, all we can do is survive. I've been in survival mode lately. I'm okay though. Here are some picture updates from my life the last few months.  

Summer- Day 1

Summer is officially here. It's almost 2 in the afternoon and my children are all napping. (simultaneous naps without any fussing or crying = bliss) Here's a rundown of my day so far.

1. Woke up to the sounds of A. and L. arguing. I decided to go back to sleep.
2. Woke up the second time to quiet. I immediately got up to investigate because quiet is way more dangerous than when they yell. They were mindlessly watching PBS on the television my husband had turned on before he left. That explains the quiet. When their Daddy turns on the television for them before he leaves for work, they try extra hard not to wake me up because they know I'll turn it off as soon as I'm up and they won't get to watch it anymore.
3. Got M. out of bed, took off her diaper, put a pair of panties on her, and told her she got to practice being a big girl today while I tried to convince her to use the potty. She didn't.
4. Fed my children breakfast.
5. Convinced A. and M. to take their medicine because they both have ear infections.
6. Started washing dishes.
7. Cleaned up M.'s first accident.
8. Mixed together a batch of pillow bread.
9. Cleaned up M.'s second accident which was bigger than the first.
10. Reminded myself that I'm starting potty training today because I can ride the wave of euphoria that school is out to help me keep a positive attitude.
11. Fed my children lunch.
12. Kneaded my bread.
13. Entertained M. on the potty in a failed attempt and decided a pull up was a fabulous idea for nap time because I'm already behind on laundry and I really don't need anymore at the moment since she'd already messed up two days worth of clothes during her earlier accidents. I hate laundry.
14. Put L. and M. in bed for a nap. No tears!
15. Listened to A. read a book and signed her summer reading program sheet.
16. Thought about doing laundry but decided to write this blog post instead.

My timer just went off and I need to go check my bread's first rise. Isn't my life exciting? ;)

This must be why my husband says he never dreams...

You cannot snore and dream at the same time.

- Provided by RandomHistory.com

Quote of the Day

"To live long, live slowly."

- Cicero
Have you ever heard of the slow food movement? This quote made me think of that and of bread. My current favorite bread takes about 22  hours to make. When I eat it, I enjoy it even more because of the anticipation that leads up to the first crusty bite. Making it feels like an accomplishment. It means something. It requires skill and time and patience. In our fast-paced society, all those things are in short supply. How refreshing it is for me to do something few others care to do or want to do. I think I may start documenting some of my slow efforts. I'll take pictures the next time I make bread...

Linus on Wheels

Do you remember Linus from Charlie Brown? My husband was a Linus and so is L. Little Miss M. is becoming a Linus too. Be still my heart that both her favorite blankets were made by me.

On this particular day, we couldn't convince her to leave the blanket inside so she rode her trike with it safely in the basket...my little Linus on wheels.



Okay...That was unexpected

My children have chores. Sometimes they carry out my instructions in ways I never thought of though. This, for example, is how M. took care of her diaper before bath.

Okay...I didn't see that one coming...

My Girl

It took three tries, but I finally got one who's mine. She's my girl. She's sweet and mean all at the same time. I often call her my little stinker because of her mischievous ways and impish grin. I love all my children but this is the one that loves me back the hardest. Her days begin with my hugs and end with a snuggle on my bed. My heart melts just a little bit each time she hugs me tight for no reason and says, "Love you too, Mama."

Mama loves you, sweet girl.

Thoughts on Competition or Why we’re ruining our society through our twisted perceptions about motivation

I’ve been thinking lately about the path of life and the roads we choose to travel. Sometimes, we’re faced with a hard road of our own choosing with unexpected turns and unknown destinations. I’ve also been thinking about our society of “rewards” and honors. I’ve had to deal with that more than I cared to this year as I’ve helped A. begin the perilous journey through public school where so much emphasis is placed on competition. My poor, sweet, awkward girl hasn’t been the winner in spite of her intelligence, her beauty, and her good nature. It’s hurt her a lot. If we were in a different place in our lives with different goals, I might quit work and homeschool my children. In my opinion, it’s that bad. I feel like we’re scarring her in some way and little Miss L. will be joining in the ruckus next year. I dread it.

I’ve thought about it often these past months as I’ve tried to help my child learn to cope in this cruel world in which we live. Make no mistake. The world is cruel, hideously cruel. Life is cruel enough with its’ unexpected twists and turns without us making it worse, but we do…by choice…and we applaud ourselves for fostering growth and competition. The problem is that we say that attitude is what matters and sportsmanship and trying your best but we don’t really mean it. We exclude and applaud the “best” but let’s be totally honest. The “best” is often luck or a popularity contest, not the actual “best.” I thought of this the other night at prom, a place where everyone could be equal except that we do senior favorites and prom king and queen. A student was sitting outside, near the ticket check-in table, complaining quite loudly about the program going on inside. I couldn’t blame her because what she said was correct. It is a popularity contest that has nothing to do with anything of import. She made the comment, “Girls like me are never on stuff like that.” There was bravado in her voice, but hurt in her words. This was her big night with a fancy dress, a date, and our societal expectations were messing it up. Another teacher replied that there are more people who aren’t prom queen than who are. That’s true but if anything, I think it shows another crack in our society. Why do we choose to divide one another into groups where there are always losers (often through no fault of their own)?

Some might say it’s the way of the world and that’s true, but it’s a world we’ve created and a world we could change except for the fact that we don’t care enough. We choose instead to feel powerless and believe the lies of popular society that label the majority of us “losers” or the kinder “not the winner” instead of standing up for ourselves and saying that all this is garbage. The world doesn’t have to have this much competition. As long as we have democracy and free enterprise, we’ll always have some level of competition, but why should my kindergartner be crying because she didn’t get elected class president or feel sad because her story wasn’t the “best.” I saw that story. I can’t believe a kindergartner wrote it. I couldn’t have done that when I was 5. Unfortunately, she thinks she’s not a good writer now no matter what I tell her. She used to think she was though. She used to be proud of her stories…before the competition that was supposed to encourage children to write their best. She did her best and the only message she received was that it wasn’t good enough.

Competition will always be around but we start too early and we make its’ scope too broad. It isn’t necessary in every part of our lives. It isn’t healthy either. It’s cruel. It’s a senseless cruelty in an already cruel world. I want my children to be happy, all of them (even the big ones). I don’t know how to do it though. We want everyone to work hard in this world in order to be the “best,” but the reality is that there’s only one “best” and the rest of us are just unintentional losers.

Ch. 21

We read Ch. 21 in Le Petit Prince the other day. The lessons of the fox always cause me to think about my life. For the first time in a long time, my life feels like it is lacking a bit when I contemplate Ch. 21. I don't think I'm far off the track of my life, but I do think that life has gotten in the way of living lately.

What in the world does that mean though?

1. I haven't contemplated beauty for the sake of beauty in a long time.

2. I haven't had a bubble bath in six months or more.

3. It's May and I haven't bought a Christmas present. My Christmas "To Do" list is incomplete and I have only brainstormed a few presents.

4. I haven't ate chocolate today.

5. I've been making my husband put our children to bed most nights because I'm so tired I feel as if I can't go on. Their bedtime kisses are the sweetest and I'm missing them.

6. Sadness is my companion more days than not.

7. It feels like it hasn't rained in weeks.

8. I've lost track of countless weeks and months. The memories are vague and fleeting. I feel the loss of time keenly.

9. I'm forced to cultivate a thousand roses in my life and it's too many. I haven't tamed a single one in so long.

The other day, someone asked me how I was in passing. I responded that I was doing okay. As I walked away, I felt guilty. Why? Because I realized I lied when I gave her that answer. Life is never perfect but for me or anyone else but with my optimistic outlook, it's usually more good than bad so I can answer, "I'm doing okay" and it's more true than not. The scales have tipped though. The balance is off and I'm not okay anymore.

This has been a hard week, not horrible or bad, but hard, really, really hard. I comes after so many other hard weeks that the truth of the matter is... I'm not doing okay and I don't know when I will be.

On the outside, I seem okay but here in this secret space where no one ever answers, I can honestly say that I'm not...

18 Years Later

Last Friday evening, my husband drove an hour to visit the funeral home and pay his respects to the loved ones of his high school Latin teacher. He hasn't been in her class for 18 years, but he went. She left that sort of impression. It made me think a lot about my impact in the world. How many students that I have this year would visit the funeral home 18 years from now if I died? Moreover, students from much further back in her 41 year career paid their respects. She touched thousands of lives and the evidence was there at the funeral home and at the memorial service the following day. It's amazing.

Am I an 18 year teacher? Would students from 10 years ago come if I live another 30 years? I like to think I've made that kind of impact but I can't be certain. Life is always uncertain. I can always hope though. I've poured a lot of my heart and soul into this job. I hope it's been worth it.

Justin Beaver

L. came into the bedroom last night with her beaver. She says, "His name isn't just Beaver. It's Justin Beaver."

Jeffrey the Rhinoceros Beetle

Two weeks ago, my parents called to let us know they were on the way to my house with a load of dirt. (My husband would call it soil.) The dirt was for the raised garden bed my husband had built and finally finished. As my father and husband were shoveling the dirt into the bed, my father found a rhinoceros beetle. My children were instantly fascinated and wanted to "keep it." I'll admit that it was pretty cool to look at in a scary way so I headed inside to find a jar. We added a little dirt, some clover, and the beetle.

A. took it to school on Monday to share with her class. A. and L. wanted to keep it as a pet. I said it was a wild thing and deserved to go back to the wild. We finally reached the compromise of keeping it a week and I researched what rhinoceros beetles eat. (It's rotting fruit in case you want to know.) I found some strawberries past their prime in the back of the refridgerator.

On Tuesday, I found the beetle a larger (temporary) home. It sat on the kitchen table for a while.

On Wednesday, my husband set the table for dinner and moved the beetle into the extra chair. During dinner, I laughed and said, "Look! The rhinoceros beetle is sitting in Jeffrey's chair (because Jeffrey is the only "family" member that sits in that chair). We should name the beetle Jeffrey." I wasn't expecting their enthusiastic response. So, the beetle became Jeffrey.

On Saturday evening, with the sky streaked pink and orange, we released Jeffrey into the compost heap where we hoped he would enjoy the adequate supply of rotting produce. I felt a twinge of sadness for this beetle, so mysterious and scary, almost 2 inches long, all iridescent and horned, who had shared my home for 8 days. I think M. put it best as we walked away shouting well wishes. She said, "Bye, bye, Jeffdrey. Luck." We checked back about 10 minutes later and Jeffrey the Rhinoceros beetle was gone. I hope he's doing well. He was pretty cool.

Sometimes life gives you lemons and it doesn't turn into lemonade

Life is cruel sometimes, cruel in ways we cannot comprehend. For me, a somewhat private person despite the fact of this blog, disappointment is often amplified not by my silence, but by the fact that no one else notices. So often, we go around our worlds, living our daily lives, and flittering on about our business without realizing how much we’re missing. All around us, people are experiencing every emotion possible from exquisite joy to sad defeat and we. don’t. notice. We’re too self-absorbed, too personally needy to stop and think to ourselves, “What is that person really feeling behind their insincere smile and hollow eyes?” Instead, we see the smile, decide it is enough and move on because we don’t want to be bothered. Let’s be honest too. Most of the time, we do notice that the smile is off, that the eyes are sad and we choose not to do anything about it. Justify it all you want but the truth of the matter is we don’t really care about other people. Our society is such a wreck and we’re all charting our individual courses towards disaster. We don’t have the emotional energy to take on anymore. So, we don’t. We see the (fake) smile, decide it will have to be enough and move on.


The unbearable weight of sadness is a heavy, hard thing. Some people focus on events (the logical ones). Some people wax philosophical (that would be me). Some people don’t analyze anything but continue on because what else can you do? Some people cocoon themselves in a nest of their own making to heal. In all of these “solutions” though, we find ourselves alone, alone with our sadness, even if others are present. In Le Petit Prince, when the little prince is crying uncontrollably about something the pilot cannot comprehend, the pilot writes, “C’est tellement mystérieux, le pays des larmes!” How true that is. Tears, sadness, depression, whatever the form may be, no one truly understands that sense of melancholy. Sometimes, not even the one crying understands the real reasons. That’s why we can’t fix ourselves.


I’ve had a hard winter. Only my natural optimism and my resilience of faith have kept me afloat. Even still, I feel worn out, abused, battered, and alone. Our internal reserves are only so large. There’s only so much happiness we can store up to get us through the tough times. Here at what I hoped was the end of my proverbial winter, life has dealt me a sucker punch straight to the gut at a time when I am the weakest. No one has noticed. I’m better than most at making my smile look genuine. Still, it makes me feel a little forgotten, a bit overlooked, and a whole lot tired. I want to build myself a nest to hide in, but I can’t. Unfortunately, life moves on even when we wish it didn’t. M. turns 2 on Saturday. There’s a party to plan. Dance recitals are soon. Mother’s Day is around the corner where I’m sure to feel a bit awkward and paste on my smile. After that, there’s the inevitable march to final exams and the end of school. Summer should be restful but it won’t be. The planner that I am has already made a calendar and it’s a beast of a thing. I’m not sure when I can recover from my sadness. Still, there’s a bit of optimism left in me. Maybe it will be enough… 

Interesting

Samuel Mudd, the doctor who treated the broken ankle of Lincoln assassin John Wilkes Booth and whose name led to the saying 'Your name is mud,' received a presidential pardon in 1869 from Ulysses S. Grant.

- Provided by RandomHistory.com

I got a Costco membership

I love stockpiling food and other stuff. It's justifiable pack rat work. If I use a lot of chicken stock then what's wrong with having 24 cans of it? Nothing!

I think I might love Costco an awful lot...

The Smell of cherry blossoms...

My first year in college, I learned to see magic.

It's all around us if we can open our souls to see it.

I grew up in a world without magic or mystery, without wonder or excitement. It was most definitely a world of my own making I'm certain. My parents were, and are still, good, solid people who work hard and behave properly. I was raised in that fashion, in a world where strange things didn't happen and were not condoned. As a result, I wouldn't describe my childhood as magical in any way. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and even the Tooth Fairy were somehow prudent and sensible, almost puritanical.

I have an excellent memory but I can remember few instances of unbridled joy as a child. Those that I do remember weren't at my own house either, but that of my cousin and usually outside in the wild woods behind her house that stretched for miles into the untamed mountains. My own childhood home sat on a hill with a large highway on one side and a busy rural road on the other. There was a steep cliff-like drop on another and multiple barbed wire fences in the last direction. With danger on every side, there was no freedom from my worried mother. Freedom extended a few feet beyond the patio, just enough to reach the swing set and trampoline and that was it. I sometimes wonder if my dislike of "outside" stems from the childhood admonitions of danger. Of course, Georgia in July, with its' humid, sticky hotness also played a factor I'm certain.

I think childhood is the time in our lives where we have the best chance of finding magic. Everything in childhood feels so real, even the make believe parts. A lack of childhood magic makes us old before our time. I was a solemn child, studious and polite but almost debilitatingly shy at times. It wasn't "sensible" to be shy though so I forced myself to act like I wasn't. I still suffer from the effects of that forced friendliness.

So, I found myself graduating from high school, older than my years. There was a yearning in my heart though to venture beyond my normal and create a new normal. My parents did not understand my desire to go somewhere other than local community college and they were baffled by my desire to study foreign languages. Their minds were too practical and the world too small and plain in their view.

So, I went away and found a new world. It was not without its' problems and there were plenty of things that seemed trivial and dull. Then, I was assigned a book to read, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It changed my life.

Magical realism was the next step, the evolution of what my life was missing. It was real, but something more. I started looking for the magic in the everyday and I found it more and more. The world seemed to change before my eyes. One day in the fall, I was walking on a flagstone path that meandered between two buildings. The colors of autumn were all around me. The air was crisp and the changing of the seasons, the slow march of forever, was tangible. The path was somewhat deserted, an unusual happenstance. Suddenly, without warning, I was caught in the middle of a whirlwind. Yellow leaves the color of sunshine swirled around me on all sides and even above my head. I stood, transfixed, in the middle of it all, untouched by even the whisper of wind. All I could think was, "This is the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me." I was so normal but I was standing in the middle of magic. It was awe-inspiring and humbling at the same time. I felt immeasurably blessed and somehow, changed forever.

In the spring, I discovered what would become my most beautiful dream yet. I returned from a dull and dreary spring break surrounded by maddening normalcy and discovered that the world outside my dorm room was covered in pink and smelled unearthly. Surely, it was the scent of heaven, but it wasn't. It was cherry trees and it's beauty and scent enveloped me in an otherworldly experience each time I went out the door. I left via those doors closest to the cherry trees even when it made more sense to leave by a different door. I would stand beneath the boughs and look up through the pinkened limbs heavy with blooms to see the possiblities inherent in a clear spring sky peeking through the maze of limbs. I hoped to hold onto the moment forever because spring blossoms are fickle things and a sudden rain shower could divest these trees of their magical blossoms at any time. I enjoyed every moment of those trees that I could. I studied lying on a blanket surrounded by their glory with the spring sun warming my back.

I paused and savored, but they went away. Magic is a promise though. It's everywhere and as long as you keep looking, you'll find it again. Those trees bloomed each spring and the hopefulness in my heart kept me living in the same dorm all four years. The promise of the cherry trees was enough.

I graduated though and I left those trees behind, but guess what? My new house has a cherry tree out front, small and too severely pruned by someone who can't see magic or imagine possibilities. The blooms this spring were a balm to my weary wintered heart and a delight to my soul.

Magic happens all around. You'll see it if you start to look. The proof is in my cherry tree.

Reflections on teaching

“Why in the world the world did I choose to be a teacher?” I ask myself that sometimes, more often lately it seems, and it’s not because I’m reveling in the joy of my profession. I’m frustrated. I’m overwhelmed. I’m tired. And sometimes, I think I’m giving up a little.

Teaching in today’s schools with today’s apathetic students is wearing me out. I feel like Sisyphus, constantly working and never getting anywhere. This year, I find myself protecting me sometimes. It’s purely about survival. Why? Because regardless of how hard I work or how much time I spend on preparing for class, the reception is the same. I realized that I could kill myself with work or I could let it go. So I did. I feel better about my workload, but the part of me that cares about doing a good job hears the nagging voice saying, “They don’t know anything because you’re not teaching them.” The rational part of my brain tells me that I’m giving them everything they need, but they’re not taking advantage of it. I was trained in college to motivate students though, to instill in them an overwhelming desire to learn such that they don’t think about doing anything else other than their work and learning for the pure joy of learning. I see that desire in my kindergartener but all vestiges of that joy of learning have been leached out of the souls of my students by the time they darken my door. They’ve lost their love of knowledge and find only minimal motivation in grades. Everything is a system of punishments that we inflict on the students and ourselves as teachers. It’s a vicious cycle that we’ve gotten into and we seem incapable of getting out.

I often put my children somewhere or give them an “alone” task when they seem a little out of control. Sometimes, not always, it works. When it does, it’s like a reset button has been pressed on their consciousness. I know what their reset looks like and I rejoice in it when it works. School needs a reset but I’m not sure what that would look like. How far back would we need to go to get to a better place, a place where we can start over? How do we change the mindset of millions or even the few thousand locally? How do we get everyone to agree, to decide on a common path and forget the old bitter habits we’ve all developed, students, parents, and teachers alike?

I’ve read in many places how teaching and the orderly progression through the grades and years punctuated by breaks allows teachers and students to start over periodically. That’s not completely true though. All of us carry the vestiges of the years with us. They accumulate over time until we are mired in a muck of our own making, incapable of breaking free, letting go, and resetting ourselves. We’re doomed to repeat our mistakes in the endless cycle of school, constantly spiraling downward. This is the reason kindergarteners love school and teenagers dislike it. This is the real reason for teacher burnout. It’s not in our heads. It’s the pressures, the students, the lack of support, etc. that have turned us against the love we had.

Having taught for over ten years, I’m also a firm believer that students really are getting worse. My oldest daughter made an observation about all teenagers based on watching my oldest niece. She said, “All teenagers ever do is play with their phones.” I couldn’t agree more. The no phones out fight is one I have chosen to stop fighting. How can I compete with the iPods and other distractions available to my students? I can’t. I don’t know how. Honestly, I don’t think it’s possible. I’m not sure whether bringing more technology into the classroom is improving or exacerbating the situation. On one hand, the technology can be used to make lessons more engaging (in theory) and student-friendly. On the other hand, not every lesson lends itself to integrating technology and requires more actual effort on the part of the students. The non-technology lessons and technology lessons alike are all greeted with the same apathy after a while. It’s disheartening.

Is the effort worth it on the part of the teacher when the majority of students show no interest or appreciation? One thing I’ve observed about students is this—the students who want to learn will learn regardless of the efforts of the teacher while the students who don’t seem to care won’t care whatever happens. To protect myself, I’ve started putting a little less of myself in my lessons for the particularly apathetic and annoying classes with bad manners and potty mouths. It’s a matter of self-preservation on my part. I find that I’m less upset when things go badly if I haven’t labored over the preparation. That’s not to say I don’t present the correct information to my students or that I don’t make them do anything. I give them the work they need to do to learn but as the years pass, fewer and fewer seem to want to take advantage of what I offer. It makes me sad. It makes me feel beaten down. It makes me ask myself, “Why in the world the world did I choose to be a teacher?”

Little Red Mery Hood

Ack! My littlest is just as frilly and fancy as the others? How am I so blessed with girly-girls? Thank goodness I am though. Can you imagine if they wouldn't wear dresses or played...sports?

Have a fabulous weekend! May it be filled with chocolate and pancakes and everything else nice.

Sick again

We can't seem to keep our children well this winter. Endless cycles of runny noses, coughing, watering eyes, etc. circle through the members of our family. I don't know if it's the air system in the new house, the weird weather, or something else. Most nights feel like a blurry dream of checking on them, giving medicine, and sharing my bed with squirmy little girls. It leaves a body tired and a soul weary. My husband was tired and he asked me last night what to do and without thinking overmuch, I told him, "Find something positive to hold on to, focus on it with all your heart, and hang on to the hope. As long as you have hope, you have enough." Most days it feels like it's never going to end, but I still have hope.

He's home with the two youngest today. At least they're cute.

Davy Jones

We got cable when I was 11 years old. Before that, it wasn't available. The lines hadn't been installed as far south as my parents lived which is a bit comical considering they live on a major highway just four miles south of town. I remember the first summer of cable. I watched more television in those short months than I've probably watched in the last five years. There were so many choices that I wanted to watch everything.

Before cable though, I had the Monkees. Our pre-cable television consisted of channels 3, 9, and 12 with bad reception on three more channels including my favorite, 53. I can't tell you today what the actual channel was. That was long ago before every channel had a moniker like CW, USA,  MTV or all those others I choose to remain oblivious about.

On channel 53, I watched fabulous shows that are probably unknown to you like the Ozzie and Harriet Show, the Gong Show, and my favorite, the Monkees. Even then, the Monkees was simply long ago repeats being replayed. The originals had aired more than a decade before my birth. I loved the Monkees. Their life seemed so fantastic. I knew it wasn't real but I enjoyed it just the same.

I remember clearly the day I found a Monkees tape at Chatsworth Sales. Chatsworth Sales was our local video rental store that also sold other things like cassette tapes. I didn't get to buy the Monkees tape that day but my mother eventually caved in and bought it for me.

You know the Monkees even if you don't know them by name. You've heard their songs many times in your lives even if you didn't know the artist. They are part of the soundtrack of my youth, distant strains from my past.

I'll miss you Davy.

Thoughts on windows and people

"People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within."

                                                    - Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

 

I think people are also fragile like windows, easily broken. Even the most beautiful, perfect window can break. We sometimes look at others and think that they have their lives together, free of problems, but inside, we're all the same-- fragile and breakable yet beautiful. There is beauty in everyone if only we look hard enough and long enough. We must be kind though because there is also that part that is delicate and precious inside everyone that must be protected, nourished, and fostered. That's where our light comes from that can shine in the darkest of times. We must never give up on others.

More wisdom from chocolate

ROY G BIV

Taken from Refdesk.com's Fact of the Day:

You can only see a rainbow when the Sun is shining behind you and it is raining in front of you. Rainbows form when sunlight shines through millions of raindrops. Sunlight is a mixture of colors. When it passes through a raindrop, it is refracted (bent), and the light splits and spreads out into seven colors. All rainbows are part of a circle, but you can usually see only part of it, because the Earth is in the way. If you are lucky, you may see a complete circle rainbow from an aircraft.- Provided by The World Almanac 2012

The Times They Are A-Changin' (or maybe it's just me)

It's mid-winter break and my girls are spending a day with Mim, L. and M.'s (and formerly A.'s) babysitter. They wanted to go and even though I wasn't in need of a "break" as so many modern parents seem to be these days, I let them go. I had my children by choice, strive to teach them good behavior, and allow them to be bored in order to inspire their creativity so, overall, I don't mind spending lots of time with them. Many parents feel trapped by parenthood, but I was a different kind of single person, a different sort of newlywed, a different sort of person all together, so having children wasn't leaving my "old" life behind as it is for so many people. Having children was simply part of the continuum of my life as it unfolded.

Children and parenthood are not the topic of this post though. This day's silence and the activities I've pursued are. After the children were off with my husband, I researched hiding knots in hand quilting for a while. Then, I searched for an easy to knit cowl pattern for myself because I really want to make myself a cowl sometime soon. After that, I ventured into the kitchen where I started putting together a batch of pillow bread (my second this week). I washed dishes from last night and ventured into the laundry room a few times to turn the mountain into a mole hill.

As I kneaded my bread dough, I thought of things as I always do. Kneading bread is like meditation for me. Now that I've done it enough to know what I'm doing, the muscle memory takes over and time passes in a blur. Today my thoughts turned to many things starting with homemade bread. I've got the whole family on board the homemade bread wagon now. Yesterday, at lunch, L. declared her ham sandwich made with the last of this week's first batch of pillow bread to be delicious. She was my last hold out. She asked me to make more pillow bread rolls which is why I'm making bread again today. A. and I are particularly fond of a bread called WHO bread. W(heat) O(at) H(oney) bread is especially delicious with a spread of some sort. My husband likes jam (homemade of course). A. likes peanut butter, but I love it with Nutella. No surprise there, right? I call it WHO-tella and it makes me love myself for having made that bread. I think I could eat it everyday of my life. I might try it for a while and see how that goes.

I thought about why I've decided to stop buying store bought bread. Homemade bread takes time. It's tricky and moody depending on the temperature and humidity, but I love the smell of rising yeast bread and the effort of taming it's temperamental ways. The flavor is crazy too. In fact, flavor is one of my problems. I never realized how bland store bought bread was until I got used to only eating bread with flavor. I can't figure out what to do about grilled cheese sandwiches. The bread for a grilled cheese sandwich shouldn't have flavor. I'm not sure grilled cheese would be quite the same on pillow bread or any of the other breads I've made. That doesn't bother me as much as it did a month ago. I think that's because I'm thinking of making my own cheese...

A trip to the laundry room made me realize I should probably take advantage of this day to make more laundry soap. I've been using homemade laundry soap for a few months now and I love it. It leaves no heavy smell on the clothes. I can't smell it at all but I have a bad sense of smell in general. I hate perfumed laundry soap smells so this is a big plus for me. The cost is pennies per load. I've probably spent $12 total on laundry soap making ingredients since I started this little experiment. Before, in the same space of time, I would have probably spent $50-$60 on pre-made laundry soap not to mention the waste that would have been created from the plastic jugs and other containers that laundry soap came in.

Waste is another issue for my family lately. Friday is our garbage and recycling pick up day. This morning, we put out two bags of garbage, one recycling bin full and two extra containers full of other recycling. That's pretty normal for us. Even M., at the age of 22 months, understands when we tell her to go put something in the recycling. I forgot my reusable shopping bags the other day when L. and I were going to the store and she gave me a horrified look when I told her. Then, she tried to console me by telling me that one time would be okay and we could recycle the plastic bags so it wasn't too bad. Yeah, I think it's safe to say our family is very conscientious about waste and our children understand that in their own ways.

The other day, I made skin toner. I've had skin problems ever since M. was born. They're hormonal but everyday is a challenge. I've always hated makeup and chemical laden "beauty" products. That's why I thought it was so fabulous when I found out how to make my own stuff from natural, cheap ingredients. Besides, how could I not be amused that the main ingredient says this on the bottle? With the 'Mother'! Ack, it amuses me to no end!

Now, if I could just find organic coconut oil to make my own skin cream, I'd be set...

I ordered a book the other day from Amazon to help me in my homemade endeavors. I got the sample of my Kindle but decided that a print version would be easier to use because of the charts and graphics. The content came across a bit confusing in digital format. I'm so excited about this book though. It tells you how to make your own hair care products like hair soap and gel as well as a ton of other stuff people think they have to buy from a store. I am so pumped about this one. (I know this makes me odd. You don't have to tell me. This entire post is about letting my oddness out for the world to see. As a side note to this side note, who do you want to be with if a disaster should beset the world? Me! Your hair and skin will still look good in addition to having mended clothes, fresh bread, homemade jam, etc., etc. etc.)

After lunch, during the second rise of the bread, I'm going downstairs to work on L.'s quilt. I didn't finish it by her birthday and that's okay. I've decided to do all the quilting by hand and that takes time. L. gave me the okay to surprise her later several days before her birthday. She still had a fabulous day even without the quilt.

Remember the Little Prince. It's the time we spend on things that makes them important. I spend time on bread, time on details, time, time, time. I swim in the vast sea of humanity believing in myself and realizing that other people's thoughts, ideas, and values are not my own. We live in a world full of abundance and consumables. We've lost the ability to appreciate or use time well. We've lost faith in our own abilities and instincts. We've lost the knowledge of our forefathers. We rush around, running hither and yon, searching, searching, always searching for that which we cannot find. We're like the people on the trains in the Little Prince. We listen to others so much on T.V., in magazines, in conversations, etc., that we no longer know how to listen to ourselves. We don't know what we're searching for, why we're so unhappy nowadays. I've rediscovered myself though in the kneading of my bread. I've found my own thoughts in the quiet and it has made me realize that I haven't been living the life I want, not completely anyway. I've had bits and pieces of that life stuck within my "real" one, just enough to make me almost happy. I'm tired of it though. In the kneading of my bread, I've learned so much about me and what I want. I've started making plans, voicing my real hopes and dreams, trying to help my family find their own selves. I can't wait until we get there. I'm already beginning to see the difference in our life. It's the little things, like L. liking my bread, like my husband saying he loves the smell of our clothes, that are changing who we are, changing the world we live in for the better.

What will you choose to spend your time on? What will you choose to make important? What is your happiness? Is it truly your own or are you a sheep following others' desires? What will make your world a better place for yourself and those you love?

In case you didn't get the reference in the title:

The Times They Are A-Changin' (lyrics by Bob Dylan)

Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.

L. turned 4

I go a little insane with planning birthday parties for my children. I'm pretty sure it's my way of not feeling sad that they're growing up. I'm too busy to dwell on that fact because I'm doing crazy things like stamping polka dots on bags and taping 200 circles to my walls (with a lot of help from A.). Then, after the party is over and the punch bowl has been washed, I feel the sadness begin to creep in. I love my girls. They're growing into beautiful little ladies. Miss L. in particular has her own distinctive sense of style, a flair for the unusal and unexpected, and a keen intelligence.

Happy birthday my sweet girl. I can't believe you're already 4.

*Sorry for the fuzzy picture. The moment was there. The outfit was adorable, but a steady hand was not present. This was the best of the lot.*

Coping

I'm having a problem. It's with my right wrist. If only it were my left or I wasn't so crafty, it wouldn't be as much of a problem. I have a ganglion cyst on my right wrist that comes and goes. It appeared last July and grew in size and pain until my husband finally said enough is enough and made me go to the doctor right after we moved. All in all, ganglion cysts aren't that big of an issue. No one knows why they start but they grow in size with heavy lifting, repetitive tasks, etc. Hmm... packing and moving and a penchant for handcrafts like crochet, sewing, and knitting... yeah, I can see why this happened to me.

Anyway, my doctor drained it. The needle was large. He told me it was something to try but probably wouldn't make it go away. It didn't, but I'm not really that into surgery. It was still there, a tiny little knot on my wrist. I was careful with it though. If it started hurting, I wrapped it in an Ace bandage and took it easy. Throughout the fall and into the Christmas season, everything was fine.

It came back though. Over the last few weeks, I've had problems with the pain almost every day. I'm sure it might be related to my quilting escapades but other tasks have exacerbated the situation as well. It's to the point that emptying the dishwasher makes it start to hurt. I've got to live my life though so I've developed methods of coping thanks to Google and Walgreens. This storm shall pass and I'll be better able to handle any future storms after this.

Compression is the key. When I'm crafting, I wear this attractive beauty that applies gentle compression during my repetitive movements such as hand applique and knitting.

The picture doesn't do it justice. It's actually a brighter blue if you can imagine that. Who picked that color? Not me. It was the only color they make.

For everyday use and especially when grading, entering grades, typing, etc., I wear this fabulous almost flesh-colored glove thing. It has an adjustable wrist wrap that adds a nice bit of compression. This is also the only one I can sleep with if it's hurting at night because my hand tends to swell with the others. 

This white wrist support is useful when my hands might get dirty or if I'm doing a lot of lifting (like putting plates away from the dishwasher). White was a bad color choice, but again, the only color available.

If none of these things work and the pain truly starts, I'm back to the Ace bandage. That makes me feel injured, so I try to avoid that. People ask about a brace but a bandage makes them question your well-being. This is hard enough to explain as it is.

Overall, I'm a little paranoid about my wrist. I find myself putting on the glove or the wrist support just because I'm nervous it will start hurting and I have X, Y, and Z to do later on. Of course, when I decide to take it off and using my Smart Slate makes it hurt after one set of flashcards, I think my fear is reasonable. I'm doing okay though. I'm coping. Thanks for all the advice Google. I couldn't have done it without you.

Practical intelligence

"When the next batch of hurricane hits and the oil wells run dry, whom do you want to wake up next to?  Someone who can program HTML or someone who can help a cow give birth?  Do you want someone with Bluetooth or someone with a tractor?  How can someone who makes food out of dirt not impress you?"

-Lou Bendrick

I've always felt that practical skills were necessary and important even in our modern world. We live in a society where children don't understand what it takes to make bread, nor do they have the skills needed to make their own bread or most other things. I keep taking one step back, building my skills bit by bit. Bread is on my brain lately, but there are many other things where I'm building my skill set, fabric production, homegrown produce, laundry soap, facial moisturizers, etc.

Now, this doesn't mean that I'm going to make everything myself. That just isn't practical in my life at this point. I have a medium sized family, a demanding job, and a small yard in which to grow essential ingredients. I don't have the time or resources to produce everything my family would need. However, I believe it's important to know where things come from and to share that knowledge with my children. The starting point of dinner isn't a box or a frozen bag or a can. The origins are much further back. I buy store bought pasta but that doesn't mean that I can't make pasta one day with my children to help them understand the process (next project!). It's like using a calculator. Calculators are fantastic devices but they're horrible if you don't understand the processes that the calculator is performing in an instant. Lack of knowledge, ignorance, is fixable. I'm on a mission to fix mine. What about you? Is convenience making you stupid?

A little credit where credit is due...

Many years ago, when I married my husband, I had an image of yellow calla lilies for my wedding. My wedding was at a time when they were almost out-of-season, so they had to be special ordered by my florist. Needless to say, they were expensive but they were beautiful. It was my vision as reality.

Fast forward a few years and a few extra months and my husband gave me this for Valentine's Day. (I prefer potted plants. They don't die as quickly, a much better symbol of love in my opinion. What does a dying flower say about your devotion to someone?)

They're not yellow like the ones at my wedding, but rather lovely all the same.

Also, I received a box of chocolate that was much larger than my head. This was due to some heavy prompting on my part. My darling husband doesn't always understand that I truly mean the absolute largest box of chocolate he can find. I have different ideas about chocolate than him.

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you


here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart


i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) "


                               - e. e. cummings

Happy Valentine's Day!

 May your day be filled with love, crafts, and good chocolate!

(The girls' Valentines were Tootsie Roll pops turned into flowers. The entire time we were making them, A. kept saying, "These are just so clever." Finally, someone appreciates me!)

Getting dotty in my old age...

L.'s birthday party is next Saturday. The theme is polka dots. (The quilt's not done. I'm having problems.) It feels like circles of various sizes are everywhere I look. Here's a snippet from Saturday evening.

There are so many polka dots in my life right now. There are polka dot plates, polka dot napkins, polka dot confetti sprinkles, polka dot cupcake wrappers, polka dot clothes, polka dot invitations, polka dot bags, polka dot garlands, polka dot everything! I'm going dotty a.k.a. crazy but it's been an interesting trip.

Time Warp (not the one from Transylvania)

I'm currently planning three birthday parties kind of simultaneously in my head. That's what happens when you plan pregnancies like I did to accommodate a teacher's schedule. My party planning skills border on obsessive. Being obsessive takes time so even though there exists a period of several weeks between each birthday, the planning overlaps because papier mache takes time to dry and party perfection requires homemade pinatas people (along with many other homemade touches in addition to homemade presents, cakes, etc.).

The time warp in my brain is really struggling this year. How is L. about to be 4! And little Miss M. will soon be 2! The worst of all is this one though.

When did she grow up? I remember it but it doesn't seem like 6 years should have passed so quickly. Where did the time go with my sweet little A.? Someone please tell me how to rewind life. It's going way too quickly for my liking.

Note: That's the first time she tried on her Daisy vest after I attached all the paraphernalia. She's so proud to be a Girl Scout. I'd be more proud if her troupe were doing regular cookie sales instead of a booth sale but I didn't get to decide that matter.

Things in Bowls a.k.a Other Signs of Insanity

Exhibit 1: Homemade laundry soap

Why? Because I felt like it and now I can't stop. It's so cheap!



Exhibit 2: Homemade Bread (2nd rise)

(It was in a bowl before I dumped it on the towel)

I've decided to stop buying bread at the store. I've bought a little bit recently because I was perfecting my breadmaking techniques. However, I feel that I've reached a turning point. This is a picture of a rustic no knead bread. I've also been working on a whole wheat everyday bread. The big winner though is pillow bread-- crazy name, crazy delicious. We have a winner! I find the long, slow process of breadmaking to be cathartic. It pulls me away from the hectic world we live in and plops me squarely down in a slower time. I love it. (It also brings me one step closer to being the one you want to be with if modern life should come to a screeching halt and we're forced to fend for ourselves. I've got it covered people. )