My bucket list in progress...

My Bucket List: 

Go back to Italy to visit my dear friends.

Make homemade pasta!

Go whale watching in Prince Edward Island, Canada.

Run a marathon...or maybe a half marathon...or even a mile.

Visit Ireland with my husband.

Make homemade bread.

Be able to to sight read piano music.

Write a novel...or five.

 Make my stomach look like it did before I had kids.  (That would mean I have to stop eating those chocolate-covered toffee bars that are addictive...and I'm not totally sure how I feel about that).

Make a strawberry-rhubarb pie from scratch.

Take swing dancing lessons.

Knit something really cute (after I find some hypoallergenic yard--ugh...).

Take karate with my kids?? (I still haven't decided on that one).

See the Holy Land.

Buy a metal chicken...because it's funny. 

There are some things I've already done that have made my bucket a little fuller:

Sleep on a sandy beach next to the ocean.

 Laugh until I cry.

Sneak in to a fancy hotel in the middle of the night and go swimming.

Visit Italy and speak semi-fluent Italian (that's all gone now--it's been 15 years).

Observe monks praying in a pagoda.

Visit a third-world country.

Take the train to Chicago.

Get a college degree.

Live in one place for more than three years.

Get married to a wonderful man and have four amazing kids.

 And then there are some things that just can't be checked off a list:

 Love with complete vulnerability. 

Be a faithful friend and companion.

Make my kids feel loved every day.

Make my husband feel valued and treasured every day.

 Allow God to use even a flawed person like me.



I know there is a lot more, so I'll add to the list as I think of things.  What about you?  What's at the top of your bucket list?  What are the things up to now you are most happy you have experienced?  Oooohhhh, this is fun.  I can't wait to hear your answers!


 

Why we homeschool

People often ask me why we decided to homeschool, so I thought I would answer that question in a blog post, both for myself and for others.  

For the last couple of years, Super Boy had been coming home with hours of homework at night.  Hours.  I spoke with his teacher(s) who told me that he really shouldn't have that much, but that he wasn't getting it done in class.  Okay, so my kid is a space cadet.  

Tell me something I don't know.  

I talked to other moms and yes, there were days when he just wasn't getting his work done, but it turns out there were a lot of days when the homework was piled on--not just for Super Boy, but for everyone.  Four pages in an English workbook might be assigned.  Four pages is a lot for a third grader who has been in school all day long and really needs to run around like a crazy nut to work off some energy! 

Then there was the feast or famine thing.  

There would be no homework for days.  And then there would be homework from 4:00-10:00 p.m.  (This was most days).  Yeah, I pretty much would've rather eaten chalk than suffer through those nights.  Because Super Boy has a very active mind (i.e. can get distracted by something as simple as a loose thread or the fringe of his paper), I had to stay right on top of him.

But there was still dinner to cook, dishes to clean, floors to sweep, babies to change, homework to do with Cindy Lou Who and baths to give.  Where was I supposed to fit all of that in?  

I was maxed out.  Completely.  We all were.

Then there was the "you have to memorize this to pass a test and get a good grade" thing.  Don't get me wrong--I recognize that memorization is necessary.  I believe it is beneficial.  However, I do think it has to be coupled with teaching kids strategies for remembering and a true understanding of the material. 

Yeah, we didn't have time for all that.  We were trying to make it through to the next day when we would repeat the whole thing over again.

The kids started to dislike school.  Okay, not to sound super-nerdy (which I already know I am), but learning is fun!  Really, there are so many amazing things to learn and that gets lost when kids are force-fed information.

I want my kids to have a true love of learning.  To understand how things work.   To be hungry to know more.  

Since we've started homeschooling, I've seen this in full bloom and it has been a beautiful thing to watch.  Every day isn't roses, I can assure you!  However, because we can pore over books and play with math (both my kids and myself used to despise math, and now we LOVE it because of this amazing manipulative-based program!), they are enamored with learning.  

And I guess having four kids makes you more controlling of your schedule.  Poor Ralphie...there were days when I would say, "I'm so sorry, I promise I won't take you in and out of your car seat one more time."  We were constantly on the go.

I decided that it would be easier for me to teach the children at home when it was convenient for me (in the morning, not at the dinner-hour rush).  The amount of time I was spending on sifting through the ever-growing pile of flyers and "Don't forget your cake raffle money" reminders, could be spent intimately teaching my kids.  

There is time to be a kid.  Time to explore.  Time to be creative. 

Disclaimer: I know this is not for everyone.  I have never been the one who says homeschooling is a good fit for every child.  Or that parents who homeschool get a gold star.  On the contrary, I am amazed by women whose kids are in school and can balance everything.  I couldn't keep up and I didn't like how it morphed me in to Cruella DeVille.  Or how stressed out it made my kids.

Some assume that if you're homeschooling, you're a religious nut or that you have to wear jean jumpers (which, I won't lie, I used to have one but it was only because it had big pockets on the front that I could put pencils in and I know that's really nerdy, but I don't have it anymore, I swear).  

There are many, many reasons for homeschooling.  But this is a general overview of why we did.  And that whole socialization thing that people always bring up?  If you have spent any time with my children you will know two things:

1) They love people and love to interact with others who are both like and unlike themselves.
2) Our family was weird before we ever started homeschooling.  There was no hope for us to begin with.

Why I should not have taken Dynamite to Staples

All I wanted were two very simple student planners.  No frills--just something to write down my kids’ individual assignments in.  After church, I ask my dear husband, “Do you mind if I just shoot over to Staples for a few minutes?  I just need to run in really quick.”  

Then Dynamite and Cindy-Lou Who chime in, “We want to go too!  Can we go too?”

“Okay,” I say, “that’s fine.  But it’s just going to be a quick trip.  In and out.”

Like that would ever happen…

Two minutes in to my perusing the clearance rack for some discounted planners, I notice Cindy Lou Who doing the pee-pee dance. 

 

“Do you need to use the bathroom?”  I ask.

“The very tiniest bit, Mom” she says holding up her index finger and thumb to give me a visual.

“Mm-hmmm.”

Now to find a bathroom.  We find a store employee and are pointed to the bathroom. 

 

“Okay, just go potty and I’ll wait out here for you,” I tell her.

Now, here is where the story twists.  That’s right, my friends.  In just a moment, it can all fall apart.

“I have to go potty too!!” Dynamite chimes in.

Oh man.  This is the kid whose butt is so little, he has to scoot all the way back on the toilet seat so he doesn’t fall in.  This is the kid who still hasn’t mastered the art of aiming and leaves “art work” for me to find on my shower curtain. 

There’s no, “Just go in and come out” anymore.  That ship has sailed.  So, the three of us trudge in to the bathroom.

It smells like…well, poop.  There you have it.  It totally smells like poop.

 

The toilet is splattered and disgusting and I really don’t want my kids sitting on it.  I get out my all-purpose baby wipes and meticulously wipe the seat.  Then, I lay out strands of toilet paper for the child who only needs to go to the bathroom the tiniest bit, but is doing this amazing number that reminds me of Lord of the Dance.

As I’m trying to do damage control, Dynamite says what we’re all thinking (but not really):

“It smells wike pwetzels in here or sumping.”  Probably not the first thing I would analogize the smell to, but I guess pretzels do have a different kind of smell sometimes.

As he’s doing what he needs to do, I can be overheard saying, “Point your peeper down.  Dynamite, do not pee on your underwear.  Make sure it’s pointed down.”

He’s agreeable and understands, I’m quite certain, that mommy is just doing a very quick in and out trip to the office supply.  He totally gets it that I just need two freaking little notebooks that would’ve taken me five-minutes tops if I had only come alone.

 

“Um, I fink my undapants are wet,” he says as he’s getting off the toilet-paper lined seat.

“Seriously?”

“I fink so.”

Now, perhaps any good mother would’ve said, “Okay, let’s go home right this minute.  We need to change your clothes.”

But I didn’t.  Because sometimes I'm not a good mother.  Sometimes I'm a very utilitarian kind of mother.  And I really needed two measly little notebooks and I was out with only two kids instead of four.

 

So I said, “Okay, I don’t think they’re that wet.  Let mommy just find these (insert naughty word that I said in my head so only I could hear it and prayed later that God would cleanse my heart and help me stop thinking those naughty words when I’m frustrated) notebooks.”

Dynamite walks around pinching the seam of his pants and pulling it out so it doesn’t touch his rear end. 

 

“My pants is wet, Mom.”

I’m beginning to think they’re a little more wet than I realize

.

I grab some cute stripey paper-clips as a consolation that I am not getting my notebooks, but at least I will have gotten something that I needed (read: helped ease my feelings of defeat). 

And that is why, next time, I will leave Dynamite and Cindy-Lou Who at home when I need to get two little things at Staples.

On Aging

As we were eating dinner the other night, Super-boy asked with much seriousness, "Do you hate getting old?"

It caught me by surprise.  Did he somehow know that I've been wrestling daily with thoughts of aging?  

Or see me trying to disguise those fine lines with my newly-found primer product?  

Did he know that I feel a constant stirring in my soul to accomplish something of magnitude before this heart stops beating?

The awareness of how short my life really is is always upon me.  But do I hate getting older?

I won't lie.  Maybe a little.  But not much.

If we lived forever, perhaps we wouldn't feel that sense of urgency that begs us, "Do something beautiful with your life!  Your days are numbered!"

Life gets increasingly precious as another sun rises and sets.

Along with the lines on my face reminding me that I'm aging, my hope is that wisdom and grace run a little deeper as well.

There is a beauty in getting older.  I've learned to love myself...even my ugly feet.

I've learned that time and experience are continually shaping us in to what we are meant to be.

That flaws can be lovely.

That life is precious. 

I've learned to listen to the little voices in my head inspiring me to be better.

Listen harder.

Break out of that man-created box.

Do I hate getting older?  No way.  If I continue to grow in goodness and joy, I should be just about ripe for picking at a hundred and two.

"Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul." -Samuel Ullman

Camping is, like, hard.

Dear husband and I decided to squeeze in one last camping trip this weekend.  I wouldn't call ourselves "campers," but we did buy a camper...to see if we liked camping.  It's kind of a long story. 

I tend to get a little ahead of myself.  I have visions of the way I want things to be.  Like the visions I had of sipping coffee in the early morning, yellow sun streaming down on us in thick blades that sing in heavenly chorus, "No where on earth will you experience a morning like this, except while camping."

And then there was my husband's illusion. When I asked him about taking the baby backpack to go for walks with Ralphie (read: keep him out of the fire pit), he very matter-of-factly stated, "Honey, camping is all about sitting around and doing nothing.  That's the whole point of camping.  We're not going to be walking around with a baby backpack."  Mm-hmm.

As I was trudging through the rain three separate times in the middle of the blackest night ever to take three kids (one-at-a-time) to the bathroom, reality brought my fantasy of camping to a halt that would give you whiplash.  I grumbled to myself, "We're paying for this??  We're actually handing over money to be here???"

Now, before you go thinking I'm a little princess who doesn't like dirt and all things nature, I'd like to say in my defense that I grew up tent-camping...and loved it!  That was before I knew about germs and how much babies like eating dirt and leaves.

The minute we landed at our campsite, there was a torrential downpour.  No, I'm not exaggerating (that much).  More rain fell than has ever been known to man in a single thirty minute time period (in my scientific estimation). 

Dh and I were trying to get the camper "popped-up" (if only it were that easy!) while Ralphie, who had self-induced red spots all over his face from crying, wailed to get out of his car seat. 

Nonetheless, we did it.  With many words flitting about in my head that I will not share with you, dear reader. 

Next battle: getting ready for bed.  I walked to the bathroom, pajamas in tow, and found the least disgusting changing stall I could.  There was a hook.  Oh, blessed hook. 

I found a semi-clean spot on the bench and very strategically placed my pajamas on it, taking great pains to avoid that lurking stray hair.  (Cue scary music).  I hung the days clothes up on the hook and then put my pajamas on (in hindsight, I should have hung my pajamas on the hook) and as I looked down, I realized that the hair was gone!

Stuck to my pajamas, no doubt.  I gagged.

On to the potty.  Be brave, I told myself, after carefully lining the toilet seat with toilet paper (sorry if this is TMI).  Looking over, I spotted a big-stripey, winged disgusting little creature with his antennae pointing right at me...and his beady little eyes boring holes in to my very soul.  One false move and it was over.  He had me right where he wanted me.

It was a face-off.  I moved deliberately, but slowly. 

I made off without the bug trying to eat me. Barely.

When I came back and shared this hellish ordeal with my husband, he mockingly said, "Honey, you're like Goldie Hawn in the movie, Overboard, and I'm like Kurt Russell."  Eye-roll. 

I want to like camping.  I really, really do.  It has the potential to be fun (does that sound convincing?) and is affordable for a family of six.  And maybe I'll like it a little more when Ralphie is one year older. 

And I'm one year braver.

Got any good tips for roughing it with kids?  Are you a camper?  Have any good camping stories?  Is there hope for someone like me? ;-)

Making Room For The Good Stuff

For years, I have dreamt of being inside my house and "discovering" new rooms.  I'll just happen upon a never-seen-before staircase or a sprawling kitchen.  And when this happens within my dream, I have the thought, "What was I so worried about?  We have plenty of space!"
Now, because I had this pie-in-the-sky flight of fancy repeatedly, I decided to google it (Don't you love it that "google" acts as a verb?).  I am not in to dream interpretation, although I've had some very telling ones.
Apparently, I'm not the only one to have this dream.  It's quite common.  In fact, in talking with friends and family, I've discovered that they too have had this same thing happen!  
Here's what one website has to say:

  To dream that you find or discover a new room, suggests that you are developing new  strengths and taking on new roles. You may be growing emotionally. Consider what you find in the discovered room as it may indicate repressed memories, fears, or rejected emotions. Alternatively, such rooms are symbolic of neglected skills or rejected potential.  (www.dreammoods.com)

Interestingly enough, lately, I've found a new passion for organizing.  Living in a one thousand square foot home can be a challenge.

A close friend came over a few weeks ago and helped me organize my kitchen.  I got a little crazy and labeled pretty much every stinking cabinet that I have.

Amazingly, when we were done, I actually had one shelf that had nothing on it.  Now, if you've been in my kitchen, you'll know that that is no less than an act of God Almighty.  Our kitchen is tiny!

In the weeks that have followed, I've done the same thing in many other areas of our home.  My husband might say I'm a teeny-bit obsessed.

But here's the crazy part: my dream is coming true!  In making a place for everything, I've got extra space.  Extra space in an itty-bitty house with four kids and two adults. 

And more importantly, a love of order has been ignited within me.  Order allows room for beauty in my life.  Getting rid of physical clutter also eliminates the mental clutter.

I spent way too much time putting together the kids' school binders the other day...because I could!  I knew where all of my craft materials were and that my vellum paper was in a file folder labeled "vellum".  My husband was all, "You know that's not necessary."  And I was all, "Um, school is way more fun when you have cute binders."  Here is the result:

Anyway, this post isn't about my kids' school binders. :-/  (But aren't they cute??)

Physical space creates mental space and allows for beauty both internally and externally.
I'll post more on this very soon, but in the meantime, tell me about what inspires beauty in your life.  Is there something you can do within your life that will allow room for growth and generally good stuff?



I am SO not a morning person.

“The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night... All memorable events, I should say, transpire in morning time and in a morning atmosphere. The Vedas say, “All intelligences awake with the morning.”-Henry David Thoreau

Let me start off by saying that I am so not a morning person.  I wish I was.  I admire those who wake up early and start their caffeine drip before their kids wake up.  I am generally not that person.  I stumble out of bed when I hear the baby crying, clumsily get the coffee going and stammer to the crib with eyes half-open.

But this morning...oh, this morning, I pried my lazy butt out of bed at 5:30 a.m. and went to the gym.  I should say that I am so not a gym person either.  I wish I was.  I have a membership and I rarely go...as in, I make it about once every three to four months.  I don't think I'm really building up any muscle to say the least.  

 However, last night, I got my gym bag ready.  I made sure I had everything I needed including my things to shower there and dare I say, it was a success!  Except for the part where I kicked over my coffee cup (which had an ample dose of half and half--A for effort!!) and then tried to clean it up with a paper towel and then got my ipod headphones wrapped around the machine and did a super-fast head whip.  That was awesome.

Anyway, it's been a great start to the morning and I've gotta say, I think Thoreau might be on to something.