Ah, the glorious life of a home schooling mama.
As we're getting the science stuff together, a putrid odor fills the kitchen. I tell my oldest boy to get up and let the dog out. He says, "Mom, it's not the dog." The Littlest Mr. bursts into his charateristic giggle fit and says, "Mom, it'was me. Farts are just so cool!"
The next sound was me, pounding my head on the kitchen table.
Why couldn't he have at least waited to share his fart joy with us while we were outside taking the temperature and wind reading?
Simply because, "Farts are just so cool!"
Yeah, life with boys under 10 is so amazing.
I'm also thinking about declaring peanut butter a food group and dropping spring as a season.
We're having way to much of this weather that I just don't enjoy. First it's ice cold and winter-ish, the kind where you just aren't sure you should run the gas out of the snow blower because it might still really be winter and not spring. Then we have the surge of warmth, could this be spring, it feels like July weather that makes us dig into the big storage bins in search of short anything and sandals. Then we get this. Light enough outside to be called sunny, but it's really not. Warm enough to not be winter, but still way too cold. Things are getting green and buds are errupting, but you still have icy fingers and toes indoors.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Did Ya Miss Me?
Ha, Ha.
Here's how it goes.
Life's short. I don't want to miss it. So, here's the recap.
On Thursday morning, Little Miss went off to spend the day with her mom. The boys and I went to Madison to get grandma. We brought grandma back to our place, made hamburgers and went off to a night of Tae Kwon Do testing.
After testing we brought the boys home to The Mr. and took off for a ladies night out. We had drinks, appetizers and dessert. Perfect. Perfectly fun. And, perfectly funny once the drunken karaoke started. That was our cue to go home! And no, we weren't the ones singing.
Friday we took the pack of kids off to the museum. We did another tour through Body Worlds. Still cool, although this time, very crowded with not so pleasant people.
That night we had dinner and drinks. Grandpa drove up in a huge rain storm to join us. The men watched the Brewers loose in extra innings and we hung out in the other room with a glass of wine.
Saturday was the piano recital. Ah, such fun. Basically, it was me and Little Miss sitting in the van. We snuck in long enough to hear The Little Mr. play, then I clamped my hand over her mouth as the shrieking began and went back to the van. We went out to lunch/dinner and then off to church. Grandma and grandpa made their way back to Madison.
On Sunday we had a church meeting and Tae Kwon Do student of the day party. Both boys got to attend that.
By 8PM last night, everyone was dead tired. By 9 the lights were out in our house...well, except for mine. Now, I'm reading Rhett Butler's People. Fine stuff, that is.
So now, here I am all the way to Monday morning. I'm still trying to figure out what is going on with The Little Miss, but I have that issue all the time. I'm making my mind ready for the mountain of laundry and avoiding thinking about dinner all together. Sometimes on a Monday morning, it's just plain hard to think all the way ahead to Monday night!
Here's how it goes.
Life's short. I don't want to miss it. So, here's the recap.
On Thursday morning, Little Miss went off to spend the day with her mom. The boys and I went to Madison to get grandma. We brought grandma back to our place, made hamburgers and went off to a night of Tae Kwon Do testing.
After testing we brought the boys home to The Mr. and took off for a ladies night out. We had drinks, appetizers and dessert. Perfect. Perfectly fun. And, perfectly funny once the drunken karaoke started. That was our cue to go home! And no, we weren't the ones singing.
Friday we took the pack of kids off to the museum. We did another tour through Body Worlds. Still cool, although this time, very crowded with not so pleasant people.
That night we had dinner and drinks. Grandpa drove up in a huge rain storm to join us. The men watched the Brewers loose in extra innings and we hung out in the other room with a glass of wine.
Saturday was the piano recital. Ah, such fun. Basically, it was me and Little Miss sitting in the van. We snuck in long enough to hear The Little Mr. play, then I clamped my hand over her mouth as the shrieking began and went back to the van. We went out to lunch/dinner and then off to church. Grandma and grandpa made their way back to Madison.
On Sunday we had a church meeting and Tae Kwon Do student of the day party. Both boys got to attend that.
By 8PM last night, everyone was dead tired. By 9 the lights were out in our house...well, except for mine. Now, I'm reading Rhett Butler's People. Fine stuff, that is.
So now, here I am all the way to Monday morning. I'm still trying to figure out what is going on with The Little Miss, but I have that issue all the time. I'm making my mind ready for the mountain of laundry and avoiding thinking about dinner all together. Sometimes on a Monday morning, it's just plain hard to think all the way ahead to Monday night!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Looking Older
There's always a cost for being smug and it looks like I just might have to pay it in the near future.
Just a few weeks ago, I was in for my annual eye check up. We decided I could make the switch over to contacts and avoid bifocals for at least another year.
It was the bifocals that made me smug. I even bragged about it to my Sassy Nephew.
Well, today was the post fitting check up for the trial pair of contacts. I've been having a few issues with them, but I thought nothing to major. We did a little vision check.
Ahem.
That's when I got a little explaination from my Dr. It seems as though he had given me less than my normal distance vision in the contacts in the hopes that I'd be able to see well enough far away and still read at the same time.
That was the hope.
Thing is, I'm not seeing all that great at far distance and not so good for reading either.
Now, I'm a driving and reading sort of Mama, so this is not going to work.
We're going to "adjust" the prescription again, but if that doesn't do it, we'll be looking at the bifocals.
Bifocals.
Well, I guess at least, they won't be in the silver frames that my kids say make my gray hair so much worse. When I was 16, it was great to look a bit older than my years, now at just under 40, it's not nearly as cool.
Just a few weeks ago, I was in for my annual eye check up. We decided I could make the switch over to contacts and avoid bifocals for at least another year.
It was the bifocals that made me smug. I even bragged about it to my Sassy Nephew.
Well, today was the post fitting check up for the trial pair of contacts. I've been having a few issues with them, but I thought nothing to major. We did a little vision check.
Ahem.
That's when I got a little explaination from my Dr. It seems as though he had given me less than my normal distance vision in the contacts in the hopes that I'd be able to see well enough far away and still read at the same time.
That was the hope.
Thing is, I'm not seeing all that great at far distance and not so good for reading either.
Now, I'm a driving and reading sort of Mama, so this is not going to work.
We're going to "adjust" the prescription again, but if that doesn't do it, we'll be looking at the bifocals.
Bifocals.
Well, I guess at least, they won't be in the silver frames that my kids say make my gray hair so much worse. When I was 16, it was great to look a bit older than my years, now at just under 40, it's not nearly as cool.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
I Do More Before 9AM Than Most People...
Well, probably not, but it makes me feel better to sometimes think that!
Everyday around this place is brimming with surprise. Honestly, every morning I wake up and think, "Gee, I wonder what will happen today?"
I'm almost never disappointed. A day that chugs along peacefully the way I planned, or expected it is rare.
Establish this clearly in your mind will you, I Am Not A Morning Person. Was that real clear? Not A Morning Person!
My family, on the other hand...
They seem to relish the early, pre-dawn hours. Every last one of them, down to the dog.
What this translates to is that I'm often getting up in the before 5 hours. Thankfully, I can usually tend to the dog or child and return to sleep, but only until around 5:15.
That's when things start happening around here. It is common for the entire family to be up and fed before 7.
Now that you have a picture of my lively family in the morning, be sure you add in me, the mama. I'd be the one leaning on the kitchen counter, mumbling nonsense words, staring out the window with bleary eyes and despirately clutching that first cup of coffee.
Enter into this picture The Little Mr. Around 5:30 this morning he came trotting down the stairs, dressed, washed, nails clipped? and began getting out his school books. Even for our home school family, this was odd. By 6, not only had I made breakfast for 2, I'd taught a 30 minute lesson in long division. Additional coffee needed, stronger, I think. By 8, we have everyone dressed, fed, washed, dinner planned and most lessons done.
Really, now. I could use a little more wake up time before the surprises roll in for the day. It also makes me just a little jittery to think what else might be in store for this Tuesday. Maybe it's just the coffee.
Everyday around this place is brimming with surprise. Honestly, every morning I wake up and think, "Gee, I wonder what will happen today?"
I'm almost never disappointed. A day that chugs along peacefully the way I planned, or expected it is rare.
Establish this clearly in your mind will you, I Am Not A Morning Person. Was that real clear? Not A Morning Person!
My family, on the other hand...
They seem to relish the early, pre-dawn hours. Every last one of them, down to the dog.
What this translates to is that I'm often getting up in the before 5 hours. Thankfully, I can usually tend to the dog or child and return to sleep, but only until around 5:15.
That's when things start happening around here. It is common for the entire family to be up and fed before 7.
Now that you have a picture of my lively family in the morning, be sure you add in me, the mama. I'd be the one leaning on the kitchen counter, mumbling nonsense words, staring out the window with bleary eyes and despirately clutching that first cup of coffee.
Enter into this picture The Little Mr. Around 5:30 this morning he came trotting down the stairs, dressed, washed, nails clipped? and began getting out his school books. Even for our home school family, this was odd. By 6, not only had I made breakfast for 2, I'd taught a 30 minute lesson in long division. Additional coffee needed, stronger, I think. By 8, we have everyone dressed, fed, washed, dinner planned and most lessons done.
Really, now. I could use a little more wake up time before the surprises roll in for the day. It also makes me just a little jittery to think what else might be in store for this Tuesday. Maybe it's just the coffee.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Birds & Buds
Spring weather makes everything better.
Even the yucky jobs around the house or the long errand days just seem better when they're topped with sunlight and warmth.
We are in love with short sleeves and bare feet.
Spring makes skin intoxicating.
Breezes flowing through the rooms and rustling the blinds make for peaceful people.
Everything is less of a struggle.
Flowers and leaves and green grass bring a measure of relief that is hard to describe unless you do the winters that we do around here.
We managed to round out our weekend with baseball, dear friends from Whitewater, sand castles on the beach and the first grill out of the season. We sat in our chairs in the back yard and read our books. We had a picnic lunch.
All around good.
Even the yucky jobs around the house or the long errand days just seem better when they're topped with sunlight and warmth.
We are in love with short sleeves and bare feet.
Spring makes skin intoxicating.
Breezes flowing through the rooms and rustling the blinds make for peaceful people.
Everything is less of a struggle.
Flowers and leaves and green grass bring a measure of relief that is hard to describe unless you do the winters that we do around here.
We managed to round out our weekend with baseball, dear friends from Whitewater, sand castles on the beach and the first grill out of the season. We sat in our chairs in the back yard and read our books. We had a picnic lunch.
All around good.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Sometimes...
sometimes, Autism just plain stinks.
No, nothing dramatic.
Nothing new.
Same old, same old.
Every once in a while, you just have a few days where you see clearly the exhausting and seemingly futile efforts you put in "against" this stupid thing that messes with our kids. Some days you are just simply self-fish and wish for a "normal" child. There are times when you just plain don't want to work that hard at something that appears to be so easy for every other kid on the block.
Not always.
Not often.
Just sometimes.
No, nothing dramatic.
Nothing new.
Same old, same old.
Every once in a while, you just have a few days where you see clearly the exhausting and seemingly futile efforts you put in "against" this stupid thing that messes with our kids. Some days you are just simply self-fish and wish for a "normal" child. There are times when you just plain don't want to work that hard at something that appears to be so easy for every other kid on the block.
Not always.
Not often.
Just sometimes.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Bad Mom, Good Mom, Great Mom
It's all perspective, baby.
I'll start with great mom. It makes me feel better to begin there.
This is, of course, from the perspective of my pack of kids. Yesterday afternoon I took them to play with their cousins, all 5 of them, and about 10 or 15 of their close pals. After an outdoor play time, a pinic-ish dinner and a short car ride, we arrived. Midget Mecca. That, oh so special, pizza palace with the big rodent.
Can we just all agree that this place is really a toddler version of Vegas? Here's my conspiracy theory. Those pushers of poker in Vegas secretly own all these pizza/game joints and are just grooming our youngest members of society to think that throwing money into the trash is just so stinking cool you have to do it. Give it some sparkly lights, loud music and the bing, bing, bing of slot machines and they know how to use a swipe card to spend tokens before they're potty trained.
Ahem.
Anyway, that particular trip, made me a great mom. Also an exhausted mom. It's tough getting home after 10PM with a van full of little ones.
Now, on to good mom, bad mom.
This won't be news to anyone, but I'm hoping if I write it down the lessons will stick harder.
In the last few months I've had yet another mommy a-ha moment. Bad parenting is really easy. Good parenting is exhausting and leaves you considering picking up a bad habit to soothe yourself.
I'm learning to put all my effort into good parenting. I'm wishing I had been smarter 10 years ago when I started this game. But, I wasn't. Back then I was in pure survival mode.
My excuse? I had an undiagnosed special needs kid, a marriage in crisis, no friends and no faith. I was in debt up past my eye balls and working an awful job. Life was looking pretty bleak. I didn't know how to cope with myself, let alone a child that wouldn't behave like the books and doctors said he should. He didn't act like any of the other kids I knew.
My bad parenting style is to yell until the "crisis" of bad behavior stops. Let me tell you how genius that looks with an infant or toddler.
No, I'm sure not proud of it and I don't share it to pat myself on the back and say look at me and how good I am now. No, not at all. I say it to help other moms. I think that there are moms out there that are like I was. Stuck in what seems like an awful spot all alone.
It's pretty hard to look in the mirror and admit your parenting skills stink. Mom's are supposed to arrive with all the right parenting skills as soon as the baby arrives. Some Mom's work that way, others don't. It's pretty hard to look at your precious child and admit that they aren't the same as everyone else's. Something inside of them is different.
The good mom? Well, she's the one who's kind and self-controlled. She's the one that doesn't snap and scream. She's the one who teaches the kids to solve their own issues and live with the consequences of their choices with grace. She's the one who parents calmly through the same situation over and over again, without showing her child how badly she wants to hit her head on the wall instead of have this same talk again and again. Being a good mom is the most exhausting and time consuming thing ever.
Am I a good mom? Well, honestly, not nearly as much as I want to be. It's taken me 10years to figure out this is the way to go. I've read more parenting books than any other person I know. I've sought out doctors galore. I've prayed. As a foster parent, I've had what seems like a gazillion hours of parenting training by "experts". Then I prayed harder. I've gathered around myself packs of mommy friends to be able to watch them and try to learn. In the end, I had to discover it for myself. Now, it's sort of a "duh" kind of thing. How could I have wandered so long before noticing that this was the thing that really works? All those things I tried, helped, but none of them alone was the magic bullet.
And that's really the point. Each and every kid is unique, and so is each and every parent and family. Each one, each situation will have to be handled fresh and worked through--yes, worked--being seen with new eyes for what it really is. We have to stop looking for the magic and just get down to business.
Being a good mom really isn't about the mom feeling good. It's really about doing good by your kid.
I'll start with great mom. It makes me feel better to begin there.
This is, of course, from the perspective of my pack of kids. Yesterday afternoon I took them to play with their cousins, all 5 of them, and about 10 or 15 of their close pals. After an outdoor play time, a pinic-ish dinner and a short car ride, we arrived. Midget Mecca. That, oh so special, pizza palace with the big rodent.
Can we just all agree that this place is really a toddler version of Vegas? Here's my conspiracy theory. Those pushers of poker in Vegas secretly own all these pizza/game joints and are just grooming our youngest members of society to think that throwing money into the trash is just so stinking cool you have to do it. Give it some sparkly lights, loud music and the bing, bing, bing of slot machines and they know how to use a swipe card to spend tokens before they're potty trained.
Ahem.
Anyway, that particular trip, made me a great mom. Also an exhausted mom. It's tough getting home after 10PM with a van full of little ones.
Now, on to good mom, bad mom.
This won't be news to anyone, but I'm hoping if I write it down the lessons will stick harder.
In the last few months I've had yet another mommy a-ha moment. Bad parenting is really easy. Good parenting is exhausting and leaves you considering picking up a bad habit to soothe yourself.
I'm learning to put all my effort into good parenting. I'm wishing I had been smarter 10 years ago when I started this game. But, I wasn't. Back then I was in pure survival mode.
My excuse? I had an undiagnosed special needs kid, a marriage in crisis, no friends and no faith. I was in debt up past my eye balls and working an awful job. Life was looking pretty bleak. I didn't know how to cope with myself, let alone a child that wouldn't behave like the books and doctors said he should. He didn't act like any of the other kids I knew.
My bad parenting style is to yell until the "crisis" of bad behavior stops. Let me tell you how genius that looks with an infant or toddler.
No, I'm sure not proud of it and I don't share it to pat myself on the back and say look at me and how good I am now. No, not at all. I say it to help other moms. I think that there are moms out there that are like I was. Stuck in what seems like an awful spot all alone.
It's pretty hard to look in the mirror and admit your parenting skills stink. Mom's are supposed to arrive with all the right parenting skills as soon as the baby arrives. Some Mom's work that way, others don't. It's pretty hard to look at your precious child and admit that they aren't the same as everyone else's. Something inside of them is different.
The good mom? Well, she's the one who's kind and self-controlled. She's the one that doesn't snap and scream. She's the one who teaches the kids to solve their own issues and live with the consequences of their choices with grace. She's the one who parents calmly through the same situation over and over again, without showing her child how badly she wants to hit her head on the wall instead of have this same talk again and again. Being a good mom is the most exhausting and time consuming thing ever.
Am I a good mom? Well, honestly, not nearly as much as I want to be. It's taken me 10years to figure out this is the way to go. I've read more parenting books than any other person I know. I've sought out doctors galore. I've prayed. As a foster parent, I've had what seems like a gazillion hours of parenting training by "experts". Then I prayed harder. I've gathered around myself packs of mommy friends to be able to watch them and try to learn. In the end, I had to discover it for myself. Now, it's sort of a "duh" kind of thing. How could I have wandered so long before noticing that this was the thing that really works? All those things I tried, helped, but none of them alone was the magic bullet.
And that's really the point. Each and every kid is unique, and so is each and every parent and family. Each one, each situation will have to be handled fresh and worked through--yes, worked--being seen with new eyes for what it really is. We have to stop looking for the magic and just get down to business.
Being a good mom really isn't about the mom feeling good. It's really about doing good by your kid.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
I'm Having a Rant, Again
Foster kids don't deserve what they get, and they don't get what they deserve.
I'm sure I've said it before, and I know that I'll say it again. In fact, I plan to keep on saying it until people wake up.
I love that as Americans and Christians we feel compelled to save the world, and there has to be a balance of do-gooders running around. I'm the first to admit that. I also recognize that we all have different passions and hot topics.
Mine just happens to be kids.
So here's what I meant in that first statement.
Foster kids don't deserve what they get. The things that foster kids, or any abused kids, get at the hands of their so called care givers, birth parents or otherwise, is undeserved. No child ever does anything so bad or so wrong that they deserve this kind of abuse. These kids endure, and for the most part, survive things that we as relatively sane adults can't even imagine or comprehend. These are the sorts of things that make you sick to your stomach when it is detailed to you or worst of all see a photo of. Now consider bringing that into your home.
Next up, foster kids don't get what they deserve. Our American system really does try to help these kids, but it is a flawed system. Bringing them into a foster home or other treatment facility certainly removes them from the abuse, but is it giving them something they deserve? Most often not. There are lots of great foster families loving the snot out of these "damaged" kids, but they are so stigmatized in society, that it often just isn't enough. Most of these kids get the basic services they need, but they are still left hanging in the middle of adult disasters and have junk that follows them around for their entire lives.
Now I think it's just great that there are wonderful people who want to run around saving children in other countries from famine, disease, war and various other bad things. We need those people. But I also think we should take a look a little closer to home a little more often.
See there is a certain truth about kids in general, and it applies even to these "poor, abused" kids. They do one of two things. They die or they grow up. There is another certain thing going on here too. We will all keep on getting older or die. If we live, someday soon, these kids will be the grown ups surrounding us, holding the jobs, being the politicians, doctors and teachers.
If we continue to allow massive rampant, abuse of children in our society what can we look forward to as senior citizens? This is bigger even than just physical abuse too. Think for a moment about how our kids are suffering from woeful educations. Think about how many come out of homes with a parent or parents who have never had a long term or secure job. Think about kids who have been raised virtually without medical care because their families can't afford it. Think about the kids who think it is normal to eat less than three meals a day or who have never eaten fresh fruit or vegetables because the cost is too extravagant.
How can we possibly think any of this is going to work out well? How can we sit back in our loungers in front of our TVs year after year saying someone ought to do something? Isn't that what our politicians and activists are for?
Let me, not so gently, give you a news flash. You are the somebody who needs to get up and do the something. No one is saying you have to go out and be the next major saint or most notable philanthropist, but you sure do need to do something.
Something is always better than nothing.
And, as always, the small stuff counts big. Don't ever kid yourself that what you can do is too little to make a difference, it's not.
Will you see first hand the difference you make? Most cases, no, probably not. Do you know at the core of your soul that you've done something worth while and not wasted a lifetime sucking down soda and feeding your pleasures? Yeah, you probably will.
Is there the chance that if you get involved, if you actually get brave enough to hang yourself out there and do something, that it will wreck you? Absolutely. If there is anything to you, if you are a person who is deeper than a single ply tissue, there will be something in this life that will wreck you.
Once you begin, you will find it. There will come into your life that thing that has an injustice so great that you can't rest. You will do all you can within the bounds of sanity to bring about correction to this insane injustice.
Maybe your thing really is saving people in foreign countries, and may God bless your passion and dedication to correcting this injustice. But maybe it's not, and that's just an easy and convenient band wagon to jump on and write a check too. It's a popular, almost trendy cause these days. It's cool to take a short trip overseas to do your part in saving the world. If you can make yourself believe that it's your real passion, I'd challenge you to do a whole lot more.
My passion lies a whole lot closer to my front door. But you already knew that.
I'm sure I've said it before, and I know that I'll say it again. In fact, I plan to keep on saying it until people wake up.
I love that as Americans and Christians we feel compelled to save the world, and there has to be a balance of do-gooders running around. I'm the first to admit that. I also recognize that we all have different passions and hot topics.
Mine just happens to be kids.
So here's what I meant in that first statement.
Foster kids don't deserve what they get. The things that foster kids, or any abused kids, get at the hands of their so called care givers, birth parents or otherwise, is undeserved. No child ever does anything so bad or so wrong that they deserve this kind of abuse. These kids endure, and for the most part, survive things that we as relatively sane adults can't even imagine or comprehend. These are the sorts of things that make you sick to your stomach when it is detailed to you or worst of all see a photo of. Now consider bringing that into your home.
Next up, foster kids don't get what they deserve. Our American system really does try to help these kids, but it is a flawed system. Bringing them into a foster home or other treatment facility certainly removes them from the abuse, but is it giving them something they deserve? Most often not. There are lots of great foster families loving the snot out of these "damaged" kids, but they are so stigmatized in society, that it often just isn't enough. Most of these kids get the basic services they need, but they are still left hanging in the middle of adult disasters and have junk that follows them around for their entire lives.
Now I think it's just great that there are wonderful people who want to run around saving children in other countries from famine, disease, war and various other bad things. We need those people. But I also think we should take a look a little closer to home a little more often.
See there is a certain truth about kids in general, and it applies even to these "poor, abused" kids. They do one of two things. They die or they grow up. There is another certain thing going on here too. We will all keep on getting older or die. If we live, someday soon, these kids will be the grown ups surrounding us, holding the jobs, being the politicians, doctors and teachers.
If we continue to allow massive rampant, abuse of children in our society what can we look forward to as senior citizens? This is bigger even than just physical abuse too. Think for a moment about how our kids are suffering from woeful educations. Think about how many come out of homes with a parent or parents who have never had a long term or secure job. Think about kids who have been raised virtually without medical care because their families can't afford it. Think about the kids who think it is normal to eat less than three meals a day or who have never eaten fresh fruit or vegetables because the cost is too extravagant.
How can we possibly think any of this is going to work out well? How can we sit back in our loungers in front of our TVs year after year saying someone ought to do something? Isn't that what our politicians and activists are for?
Let me, not so gently, give you a news flash. You are the somebody who needs to get up and do the something. No one is saying you have to go out and be the next major saint or most notable philanthropist, but you sure do need to do something.
Something is always better than nothing.
And, as always, the small stuff counts big. Don't ever kid yourself that what you can do is too little to make a difference, it's not.
Will you see first hand the difference you make? Most cases, no, probably not. Do you know at the core of your soul that you've done something worth while and not wasted a lifetime sucking down soda and feeding your pleasures? Yeah, you probably will.
Is there the chance that if you get involved, if you actually get brave enough to hang yourself out there and do something, that it will wreck you? Absolutely. If there is anything to you, if you are a person who is deeper than a single ply tissue, there will be something in this life that will wreck you.
Once you begin, you will find it. There will come into your life that thing that has an injustice so great that you can't rest. You will do all you can within the bounds of sanity to bring about correction to this insane injustice.
Maybe your thing really is saving people in foreign countries, and may God bless your passion and dedication to correcting this injustice. But maybe it's not, and that's just an easy and convenient band wagon to jump on and write a check too. It's a popular, almost trendy cause these days. It's cool to take a short trip overseas to do your part in saving the world. If you can make yourself believe that it's your real passion, I'd challenge you to do a whole lot more.
My passion lies a whole lot closer to my front door. But you already knew that.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Insanity Or A Regular Monday
Low and behold, my crazy Monday did not begin and end with the dog and her stolen loaf of putty bread.
The good news is that she never puked it up, or at least not inside the house where I could find it or be forced to shampoo it out of the rug. She did spend an extended amount of time out doors yesterday, just to be on the safe side. Good thing for her, yesterday pretended to be a spring day and not a winter day.
We had a surprise visit from The Little Miss's case worker. It was not what I was expecting and my head and heart are filled with all sorts of new things to start processing. If you're the praying sort, please continue to pray for her. I'd ask that your prayer simply be that God's will would be done, quickly and with as little trauma to her as possible. She is simply a sweet little toddler caught in the middle of an adult mess.
I had a call from a mom friend who is facing hard things with her child. She is being forced to look at her child in a new way, as a child who potentially might have something "wrong". It's simply a shame that we label kids in that way. So what if part of their body doesn't work like everyone else's. It doesn't make them broken, just different, and they are still fearfully and wonderfully made. She was still chosen by God to be one of the earthly parents of this child. These are the kinds of things that stretch families to the breaking point though, so I hope that this is a family that will come out the other side stronger.
During that phone call, as I'm trying to politely rush the kids into washing the mud off their boy bodies and get into their Tae Kwon Do uniforms, white of course, The Littlest Mr. manages to get dirt into his eye. While still on the phone, we try to wash it out and I finally tell him, he's a boy, he should just suck it up and get ready for class. All the way to class he's rubbing it and crying. Part way through class, he comes out still rubbing it.
By now his eye is purple and very swollen. The instructors are concerned that he has been hit or poked in the eye in class. I assure them, it's just dirt and he can finish class. Mean while, The Little Miss is screaming her head off because she has refused to take a nap. As we're heading to the van, now with two screaming kids, the phone rings--my third call while they're in this class. It's only an hour long folks! This one is the eye clinic. My trial lenses are in and I should come get them now.
So, off we go to the eye clinic, one screaming toddler, one put out 9 year old and one eyed dirt boy. The boys are still in the Tae Kwon Do uniforms because we didn't bring extra clothes. We were going right home after class. Mr. One Eye is also wearing bright yellow rubber rain boots.
At the clinic I requested some look at his eye, simply because I couldn't take the blubbering any more. I was confident that he simply had some dirt in it, it would work it's way out and be fine. Well, it turns out that in those two hours, it had already become infected. From there we went to the pharmacy.
All in all, we managed to get home around 7PM. Not bad considering we left for Tae Kwon Do class at 3:30! The boys and I ate dinner, The Little Miss threw it at us. She barfed up her bottle into my lap at bed time, then woke up screaming at 4:45 this morning.
Next stop, a filling. Shouldn't everyone cap off a day like that with an early morning trip to the dentist for another filling.
I can only begin to imagine what today holds for me.
The good news is that she never puked it up, or at least not inside the house where I could find it or be forced to shampoo it out of the rug. She did spend an extended amount of time out doors yesterday, just to be on the safe side. Good thing for her, yesterday pretended to be a spring day and not a winter day.
We had a surprise visit from The Little Miss's case worker. It was not what I was expecting and my head and heart are filled with all sorts of new things to start processing. If you're the praying sort, please continue to pray for her. I'd ask that your prayer simply be that God's will would be done, quickly and with as little trauma to her as possible. She is simply a sweet little toddler caught in the middle of an adult mess.
I had a call from a mom friend who is facing hard things with her child. She is being forced to look at her child in a new way, as a child who potentially might have something "wrong". It's simply a shame that we label kids in that way. So what if part of their body doesn't work like everyone else's. It doesn't make them broken, just different, and they are still fearfully and wonderfully made. She was still chosen by God to be one of the earthly parents of this child. These are the kinds of things that stretch families to the breaking point though, so I hope that this is a family that will come out the other side stronger.
During that phone call, as I'm trying to politely rush the kids into washing the mud off their boy bodies and get into their Tae Kwon Do uniforms, white of course, The Littlest Mr. manages to get dirt into his eye. While still on the phone, we try to wash it out and I finally tell him, he's a boy, he should just suck it up and get ready for class. All the way to class he's rubbing it and crying. Part way through class, he comes out still rubbing it.
By now his eye is purple and very swollen. The instructors are concerned that he has been hit or poked in the eye in class. I assure them, it's just dirt and he can finish class. Mean while, The Little Miss is screaming her head off because she has refused to take a nap. As we're heading to the van, now with two screaming kids, the phone rings--my third call while they're in this class. It's only an hour long folks! This one is the eye clinic. My trial lenses are in and I should come get them now.
So, off we go to the eye clinic, one screaming toddler, one put out 9 year old and one eyed dirt boy. The boys are still in the Tae Kwon Do uniforms because we didn't bring extra clothes. We were going right home after class. Mr. One Eye is also wearing bright yellow rubber rain boots.
At the clinic I requested some look at his eye, simply because I couldn't take the blubbering any more. I was confident that he simply had some dirt in it, it would work it's way out and be fine. Well, it turns out that in those two hours, it had already become infected. From there we went to the pharmacy.
All in all, we managed to get home around 7PM. Not bad considering we left for Tae Kwon Do class at 3:30! The boys and I ate dinner, The Little Miss threw it at us. She barfed up her bottle into my lap at bed time, then woke up screaming at 4:45 this morning.
Next stop, a filling. Shouldn't everyone cap off a day like that with an early morning trip to the dentist for another filling.
I can only begin to imagine what today holds for me.
Monday, April 14, 2008
A Thought
I thought I'd address another thought here. Over the last week I read a post at another blog and left a comment, but I really wasn't able to clearly or fully express myself. That's just the nature of blog comments, and it's ok.
It's a glitch I have with organized religion or churches or maybe with narrow minded people in general or something.
I live a different sort of Christian life than what I generally see around me or encounter in the expected Christian settings. I recognize and accept that the path God has chosen for my family is radically different from the path most people are on. I do not expect the world to change for me or my family.
And here comes the but.
I do think though, that if you are a Christian, you ought to have some grace and mercy in your existance.
Here's what I mean by that.
My life circles include Christians, home schoolers, special needs families, foster families and "regular" families.
Where does my family find the most space to be who we are? Where do we have the most acceptance?
It's in among the "regular" people. They are the least likely to judge my beliefs or parenting practices. They are the most accepting of our health care choices or our choice to foster parent.
Now, perhaps they really aren't accepting of these things, certainly we receive very little "approval" of what we do or how we live, but at least they are polite about our excentricities.
Now, I'm not running around asking for either acceptance or approval. I know that what I do is what God is asking of me. I can and do rest secure in that.
There are times though, that I'm slighted and I think to myself, can I possibly be the only person being marginalized by this situation? It leads me back to where I was a few posts ago, I pick and choose which opinions I share and when are where to try to see that my energy invested is at least worth something.
So I read recently about something that occured at my church. It simply reframed why I stay on the fringes of the church and participate mostly in the Church. I am part of the body of believers and I serve people in ways that I am asked to. None of it is confined to a religion or a brick building. The body I've been asked to serve is my local community. Sometimes as simple as my next door neighbor, sometimes as complicated as foster care. Now, I serve through my brick church as well, and I love that too, but it's different.
The brick church is often where I encounter conflict and slights. We have often had encounters and misunderstandings over my children. I expect it in life. My children are a complicated and diverse group. I do things a little different. It stings the most though, when the slights are within a place that should be a safe place. A place I call a home church should be a place that my family can come as it is, hairs out of place, noisey tics and all. But it often isn't. The sad part is that has been a part of their slogan in the past. There are no perfect people, come as you are. It's spoken, but not fully realized or lived out.
Now, churches grow and so do people. I'm certainly not here claiming to have it all together, far from it. I'm a wretched soul just like everyone else. I fail consistantly.
Churches, I find, mean well, mine included. Don't misunderstand. I really like this church. I hope to call it home for a long time. But there are quirks. Some of them are the same quirks I've encountered in other churhes. It's partly why I avoid certain ministries.
For example, I generally avoid children's ministy and women's ministry. I'm sure looking at my labels that makes no sense to you. I live in those places 24/7. It's nice to take a break from them, plus I don't fit into the box. Again, this is where I recognize that my life is radically different from other people's and I don't expect special treatment, just a little space to be myself, a little grace to be who God is asking me to be.
Tickets to an future event in women's ministry are being sold only in pairs. I'm really under informed on the whole thing. I attend church every weekend and yet because I avoid the stress of women's ministry I've tuned out and know nothing about it. I understand the logic is to have this event be an outreach--all good--and to wisely use the space available, limited seating. In theory this is brilliant. In practice, I think hello, how is this going to work out well?
So a person who wants to bring 2 friends must now either deny one friend the opportunity to go, purchase 2 sets of tickets and waste the precious seating space or what? Then there are the people who can't or won't bring a friend and are again unable to get a ticket without wasting a space or simply giving up and not attending at all.
We all know what it's like to host a home sales party and find that no one is comming over or that all the "friends" we've asked have said no. However politely that is done, it hurts our feelings and makes us very reluctant to try it again. If that's your experience with outreach and evangelism, to be shot down over and over, nothing is going to make you keep doing it. Especially not being "talked to" by a church person telling you that if you just prayed harder or believed more it will all be better.
This is my special needs parenting talking here, praying harder and believing my feverently isn't always the answer. It's a part of it, surely, but I know few people that have had that as the sole solution to something.
The ticket thing also left me wondering about women like myself. I've been hanging on the edge of all things church. I've even started to think about the women's ministry in the past few months. I've second guessed myself and thought, maybe it's time to give it another try. I'm a glutton that way, I'll keep on trying similar things thinking that maybe this time it'll be different. Maybe this church is different and a mom, a wife, a woman like me could fit in, but then there is this. If I wanted to attent this event to try to connect with some of the church women, I really couldn't without "breaking the rules."
I've found it a hard place to connect in spite of itself. I've been around. I've shared my phone number and email. Everyone says they'll get in touch and we'll have coffee or something. No one ever does. I know that I could be the one doing the calling and insisting on creating a relationship, but somehow as the newer person in the church setting, I had hoped that somone would be doing the reaching out so that I wouldn't have to be reaching in. A church should be filled with people spreading out and sharing. It shouldn't be a place that a person has to reach in and force a place for themself.
I know, clear as mud, yet again. I'm sure I'll have more on this later, but kids are hungry and looking for their breakfast, so I have to go.
It's a glitch I have with organized religion or churches or maybe with narrow minded people in general or something.
I live a different sort of Christian life than what I generally see around me or encounter in the expected Christian settings. I recognize and accept that the path God has chosen for my family is radically different from the path most people are on. I do not expect the world to change for me or my family.
And here comes the but.
I do think though, that if you are a Christian, you ought to have some grace and mercy in your existance.
Here's what I mean by that.
My life circles include Christians, home schoolers, special needs families, foster families and "regular" families.
Where does my family find the most space to be who we are? Where do we have the most acceptance?
It's in among the "regular" people. They are the least likely to judge my beliefs or parenting practices. They are the most accepting of our health care choices or our choice to foster parent.
Now, perhaps they really aren't accepting of these things, certainly we receive very little "approval" of what we do or how we live, but at least they are polite about our excentricities.
Now, I'm not running around asking for either acceptance or approval. I know that what I do is what God is asking of me. I can and do rest secure in that.
There are times though, that I'm slighted and I think to myself, can I possibly be the only person being marginalized by this situation? It leads me back to where I was a few posts ago, I pick and choose which opinions I share and when are where to try to see that my energy invested is at least worth something.
So I read recently about something that occured at my church. It simply reframed why I stay on the fringes of the church and participate mostly in the Church. I am part of the body of believers and I serve people in ways that I am asked to. None of it is confined to a religion or a brick building. The body I've been asked to serve is my local community. Sometimes as simple as my next door neighbor, sometimes as complicated as foster care. Now, I serve through my brick church as well, and I love that too, but it's different.
The brick church is often where I encounter conflict and slights. We have often had encounters and misunderstandings over my children. I expect it in life. My children are a complicated and diverse group. I do things a little different. It stings the most though, when the slights are within a place that should be a safe place. A place I call a home church should be a place that my family can come as it is, hairs out of place, noisey tics and all. But it often isn't. The sad part is that has been a part of their slogan in the past. There are no perfect people, come as you are. It's spoken, but not fully realized or lived out.
Now, churches grow and so do people. I'm certainly not here claiming to have it all together, far from it. I'm a wretched soul just like everyone else. I fail consistantly.
Churches, I find, mean well, mine included. Don't misunderstand. I really like this church. I hope to call it home for a long time. But there are quirks. Some of them are the same quirks I've encountered in other churhes. It's partly why I avoid certain ministries.
For example, I generally avoid children's ministy and women's ministry. I'm sure looking at my labels that makes no sense to you. I live in those places 24/7. It's nice to take a break from them, plus I don't fit into the box. Again, this is where I recognize that my life is radically different from other people's and I don't expect special treatment, just a little space to be myself, a little grace to be who God is asking me to be.
Tickets to an future event in women's ministry are being sold only in pairs. I'm really under informed on the whole thing. I attend church every weekend and yet because I avoid the stress of women's ministry I've tuned out and know nothing about it. I understand the logic is to have this event be an outreach--all good--and to wisely use the space available, limited seating. In theory this is brilliant. In practice, I think hello, how is this going to work out well?
So a person who wants to bring 2 friends must now either deny one friend the opportunity to go, purchase 2 sets of tickets and waste the precious seating space or what? Then there are the people who can't or won't bring a friend and are again unable to get a ticket without wasting a space or simply giving up and not attending at all.
We all know what it's like to host a home sales party and find that no one is comming over or that all the "friends" we've asked have said no. However politely that is done, it hurts our feelings and makes us very reluctant to try it again. If that's your experience with outreach and evangelism, to be shot down over and over, nothing is going to make you keep doing it. Especially not being "talked to" by a church person telling you that if you just prayed harder or believed more it will all be better.
This is my special needs parenting talking here, praying harder and believing my feverently isn't always the answer. It's a part of it, surely, but I know few people that have had that as the sole solution to something.
The ticket thing also left me wondering about women like myself. I've been hanging on the edge of all things church. I've even started to think about the women's ministry in the past few months. I've second guessed myself and thought, maybe it's time to give it another try. I'm a glutton that way, I'll keep on trying similar things thinking that maybe this time it'll be different. Maybe this church is different and a mom, a wife, a woman like me could fit in, but then there is this. If I wanted to attent this event to try to connect with some of the church women, I really couldn't without "breaking the rules."
I've found it a hard place to connect in spite of itself. I've been around. I've shared my phone number and email. Everyone says they'll get in touch and we'll have coffee or something. No one ever does. I know that I could be the one doing the calling and insisting on creating a relationship, but somehow as the newer person in the church setting, I had hoped that somone would be doing the reaching out so that I wouldn't have to be reaching in. A church should be filled with people spreading out and sharing. It shouldn't be a place that a person has to reach in and force a place for themself.
I know, clear as mud, yet again. I'm sure I'll have more on this later, but kids are hungry and looking for their breakfast, so I have to go.
The Weekend In Review
Fresh out of the shower this morning I'm met with screaming from the kids.
It seems that even though I fed the dog, she was still hungry. While The Little Men watched in horror, the dog helped herself to a new loaf of bread. As I was in the shower, and they know better than to get between a hungry dog and her stolen goods, they watched her wolf down the whole thing, all the while knowing that this dog was gonna be in BIG TROUBLE with Mom later. Our now very fat and happy hound is sleeping off her carb overdose. Guess that diet kibble really doesn't satisfy your cravings.
At least what she scarfed down, was the cheap bread. See, we have food restrictions over here. Some kids can eat anything, others, not so much. I keep two kinds of bread around here, one kind runs about $.89 a loaf, the other, about $.89 a slice. Good thing she ate the cheap stuff.
It was another crazy weekend over here. The Little Men took part in another Tae Kwon Do tournament. They both placed in forms and board breaking, 2nd's and 3rd's. For sparing competition we had a 4th, and 2nd. The tournaments themselves are always exciting and filled with drama. This one in particular had extra. The Little Mister lost a molar during competition and a TV show filmed and episode. The TV thing made for quite a delay and has left me with a lingering layer of discontent. I'm still debating the merits of voicing my opinion on this matter.
As I grow up, I'm getting a lot more opinionated and a lot more willing to say what I think. I'm trying to temper my need to say what I feel with the knowledge that just because I want to say it, doesn't mean it needs to be said. Often, what I think just plain doesn't matter in the big scheme of life going on outside my door. That's OK. It's just the picking and choosing of when I need to say something and when I don't that is a hard thing to learn. I try to guess and speak when I think it will actually impact a person and make a difference. I also try to look at things honestly to see if there is realistic chance of change or at least a decent chance of my opinion being heard for what it is, instead of me personally being dismissed as just a head case or a drama mama. It's a fine line and quite frankly, I often think it's not worth the words.
Other things we did this weekend were household chores and having a date. Yup, a real live hire a sitter--or two in our case--go out on a date night. This sounds like a punch line to a bad joke, but we went to a concert of a one-armed guitar player and a blind singer. Maybe you've heard them on the radio, Chad James or Ginnie Owens. The were just great and it was a cause concert. They played to help raise funds for an awesome local ministry. It's called Snappin' Ministry. It is a support network of sorts for families and caregivers of special needs kids. We've supported them over the last few years, and they've supported us. Wonderful friends have been made there.
We did have more snow over the weekend. It even stuck to the ground allowing us to wake up to a snow covered lawn yet again. Will the blessings never end? But that's just how spring is around here. This week is predicted to be more pleasant. We'll see.
It seems that even though I fed the dog, she was still hungry. While The Little Men watched in horror, the dog helped herself to a new loaf of bread. As I was in the shower, and they know better than to get between a hungry dog and her stolen goods, they watched her wolf down the whole thing, all the while knowing that this dog was gonna be in BIG TROUBLE with Mom later. Our now very fat and happy hound is sleeping off her carb overdose. Guess that diet kibble really doesn't satisfy your cravings.
At least what she scarfed down, was the cheap bread. See, we have food restrictions over here. Some kids can eat anything, others, not so much. I keep two kinds of bread around here, one kind runs about $.89 a loaf, the other, about $.89 a slice. Good thing she ate the cheap stuff.
It was another crazy weekend over here. The Little Men took part in another Tae Kwon Do tournament. They both placed in forms and board breaking, 2nd's and 3rd's. For sparing competition we had a 4th, and 2nd. The tournaments themselves are always exciting and filled with drama. This one in particular had extra. The Little Mister lost a molar during competition and a TV show filmed and episode. The TV thing made for quite a delay and has left me with a lingering layer of discontent. I'm still debating the merits of voicing my opinion on this matter.
As I grow up, I'm getting a lot more opinionated and a lot more willing to say what I think. I'm trying to temper my need to say what I feel with the knowledge that just because I want to say it, doesn't mean it needs to be said. Often, what I think just plain doesn't matter in the big scheme of life going on outside my door. That's OK. It's just the picking and choosing of when I need to say something and when I don't that is a hard thing to learn. I try to guess and speak when I think it will actually impact a person and make a difference. I also try to look at things honestly to see if there is realistic chance of change or at least a decent chance of my opinion being heard for what it is, instead of me personally being dismissed as just a head case or a drama mama. It's a fine line and quite frankly, I often think it's not worth the words.
Other things we did this weekend were household chores and having a date. Yup, a real live hire a sitter--or two in our case--go out on a date night. This sounds like a punch line to a bad joke, but we went to a concert of a one-armed guitar player and a blind singer. Maybe you've heard them on the radio, Chad James or Ginnie Owens. The were just great and it was a cause concert. They played to help raise funds for an awesome local ministry. It's called Snappin' Ministry. It is a support network of sorts for families and caregivers of special needs kids. We've supported them over the last few years, and they've supported us. Wonderful friends have been made there.
We did have more snow over the weekend. It even stuck to the ground allowing us to wake up to a snow covered lawn yet again. Will the blessings never end? But that's just how spring is around here. This week is predicted to be more pleasant. We'll see.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Indulgent Mom
I confess. I've been indulging the kids.
We spent all of yesterday at the museum. Not only did we have snacks from the snack shack, but we went to the special exhibit, Body Works.
Not creepy or icky in the slightest, just very cool. Cool in that geeky, dorky, educational way.
I'm also giving in to another one of their requests. I'm going back to contact lenses.
In my personal world, really no big deal. I've worn them off and on since my early teens. I'm happy with them, I'm happy with my specs too.
My boys, it seems, think my glasses make me look old. They've spent the last few months working to convince me to make the switch. They've even appealed to my vanity.
I'm switching over because of them, not vanity.
I remember my own childhood. There was a time when it was very important to me that my mom was pretty. I hounded her for months on end to start wearing make up. I wanted her to look "better".
She gave in. She indulged my want. She began wearing make up, and then I had the pretty mom picture that was so important to me.
So I look at my own boys and think, this one is simple. They want their mom to be pretty. The need her to be pretty in their eyes. They need to see her as younger. They believe contacts will make me just that.
We all know that I'll be exactly the same, specs or not, but something will shift in their minds. That's all.
We spent all of yesterday at the museum. Not only did we have snacks from the snack shack, but we went to the special exhibit, Body Works.
Not creepy or icky in the slightest, just very cool. Cool in that geeky, dorky, educational way.
I'm also giving in to another one of their requests. I'm going back to contact lenses.
In my personal world, really no big deal. I've worn them off and on since my early teens. I'm happy with them, I'm happy with my specs too.
My boys, it seems, think my glasses make me look old. They've spent the last few months working to convince me to make the switch. They've even appealed to my vanity.
I'm switching over because of them, not vanity.
I remember my own childhood. There was a time when it was very important to me that my mom was pretty. I hounded her for months on end to start wearing make up. I wanted her to look "better".
She gave in. She indulged my want. She began wearing make up, and then I had the pretty mom picture that was so important to me.
So I look at my own boys and think, this one is simple. They want their mom to be pretty. The need her to be pretty in their eyes. They need to see her as younger. They believe contacts will make me just that.
We all know that I'll be exactly the same, specs or not, but something will shift in their minds. That's all.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
One of My Own
I'm feeling brave and sassy today, so I'll share with you one of my own.
MICHIGAN SHORES
I test the water with you.
We stand on the shoreline
together
each crash
of crisp sharp waves
around your legs,
browned in the sun
muscled by play
wraps around you
a darting kiss of
sand and foam
crash and pound
throbs in my ears
echoes
the pound of my heart
an undecided thrill
awaiting choice
sand dissolves
beneath my feet
a solid ground
I thought I knew well
gone
as if by illusion
we stand on the shoreline
together
I test the water with you.
MICHIGAN SHORES
I test the water with you.
We stand on the shoreline
together
each crash
of crisp sharp waves
around your legs,
browned in the sun
muscled by play
wraps around you
a darting kiss of
sand and foam
crash and pound
throbs in my ears
echoes
the pound of my heart
an undecided thrill
awaiting choice
sand dissolves
beneath my feet
a solid ground
I thought I knew well
gone
as if by illusion
we stand on the shoreline
together
I test the water with you.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Dialogue
By:Adrienne Rich
She sits with one hand poised against her head, the
other turning an old ring to the light
for hours our talk has beaten
like rain against the screens
a sense of August and heat-lightning
I get up, go to make tea, come back
we look at each oher
then she says (and this is what I live through
over and over)-she says: I do not know
if sex is an illusion
I do not know
who I was when I did those things
or who I said I was
or wheteher I willed to feel
what I had read about
or who in fact was there with me
or whether I knew, even then
that there was doubt about these things
By:Adrienne Rich
She sits with one hand poised against her head, the
other turning an old ring to the light
for hours our talk has beaten
like rain against the screens
a sense of August and heat-lightning
I get up, go to make tea, come back
we look at each oher
then she says (and this is what I live through
over and over)-she says: I do not know
if sex is an illusion
I do not know
who I was when I did those things
or who I said I was
or wheteher I willed to feel
what I had read about
or who in fact was there with me
or whether I knew, even then
that there was doubt about these things
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Sreaming Anyone?
A Screamer Discusses Methods of Screaming
By:James Schevill
We all scream, most of us inside.
Outside is another world.
A neighbor fills her television dinner
With too much pepper and screams.
One woman stabs her door with a sword.
Another, overweight, steps in the shower
And screams, "Fat! Fat! Fat!"
A man who takes flying lessons
Soars high in the clouds to scream.
Another dives to the bottom of his pool
Where he screams underwater.
A friend cleans his gun, screaming Assassin!"
I like an interior, smiling scream.
When you walk past me on the street
I nod my head to you and, smiling scream.
You never hear me through the smile.
The inside scream has no echo.
By:James Schevill
We all scream, most of us inside.
Outside is another world.
A neighbor fills her television dinner
With too much pepper and screams.
One woman stabs her door with a sword.
Another, overweight, steps in the shower
And screams, "Fat! Fat! Fat!"
A man who takes flying lessons
Soars high in the clouds to scream.
Another dives to the bottom of his pool
Where he screams underwater.
A friend cleans his gun, screaming Assassin!"
I like an interior, smiling scream.
When you walk past me on the street
I nod my head to you and, smiling scream.
You never hear me through the smile.
The inside scream has no echo.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Hey, Do You Homeschool...
I was just wondering, see, because your kids really know their Bible stories.
True statement from a children's pastor.
I guess that's just another mark of how to pick a homeschooler out of a crowd. They're the kids that know their Bible stories.
Now, never mind that we're a Christian couple trying to raise Christian kids or follow the idea that a Christian would actually read a Bible. How incredible that we would ever talk about the Bible, it's stories or what they mean to us.
I thought everyone was busy pegging the anti-social, loner kids as homeschoolers. I thought just the kids with behavior issues got labeled homeschooler. I knew the families with the matching outfits got it. But this one was new to me.
So, Christians beware. If your child should remember the Bible stories you teach them, you could be at risk of being called a homeschooler.
**Above warning issued and written by a live homeschooler.
True statement from a children's pastor.
I guess that's just another mark of how to pick a homeschooler out of a crowd. They're the kids that know their Bible stories.
Now, never mind that we're a Christian couple trying to raise Christian kids or follow the idea that a Christian would actually read a Bible. How incredible that we would ever talk about the Bible, it's stories or what they mean to us.
I thought everyone was busy pegging the anti-social, loner kids as homeschoolers. I thought just the kids with behavior issues got labeled homeschooler. I knew the families with the matching outfits got it. But this one was new to me.
So, Christians beware. If your child should remember the Bible stories you teach them, you could be at risk of being called a homeschooler.
**Above warning issued and written by a live homeschooler.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Old, Known & Studied
Diving into the Wreck
Adrienne Rich
First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
assiduous team
aboard the sun-flooded schooner
but here alone.
There is a ladder.
The ladder is always there
hanging innocently
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
Otherwise
it's a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.
I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one
to tell me when the ocean
will begin.
First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then
black I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.
And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always
lived here
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reefs
and besides
you breathe differently down here.
I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or weed
the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.
This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he
whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass
We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.
Adrienne Rich
First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
assiduous team
aboard the sun-flooded schooner
but here alone.
There is a ladder.
The ladder is always there
hanging innocently
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
Otherwise
it's a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.
I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one
to tell me when the ocean
will begin.
First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then
black I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.
And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always
lived here
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reefs
and besides
you breathe differently down here.
I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or weed
the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.
This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he
whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass
We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
The Secret by Denise Levertov
Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
poetry.
I who don't know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me
(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even
what line it was. No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,
the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can't find,
and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
so that
a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines
in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
for
assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all.
Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
poetry.
I who don't know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me
(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even
what line it was. No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,
the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can't find,
and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
so that
a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines
in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
for
assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Poem A Day Begins Now
April is poetry month.
Come back in May if you're not able to endure. I enjoy it, so I'm going to thrust it on you.
As a side note, thinking of poets, so often described as tortured souls, struggling to write, I see myself.
In the hazy places like the minutes before sleep descends and inside the steam of a shower, I am eloquent. I have deep and meaningful thoughts. My words sound wonderful. I know within my soul I am a brilliant writer with something real to say,
and then
I get near the paper
and all
is
lost.
Somehow the act of reaching for a pen makes it slip away and I'm left with nothing but garbage. Trite, silly words and dull, boring thoughts that have been thought to death by everyone else.
Somehow in the unseen spaces of life, I'm something amazing. I've grown up to be the thing I dreamed of.
Makes it sound like what I do now isn't great. Mom-ing is great. It is a job I love and seem to be OK at.
And, I HATE attention. Having someone recognize me or notice me for ANY reason is beyond mortifying for me.
So, how does that meld with the idea of writing? Don't know. Somehow it just does. I know, as everyone does, that all writers are somewhat possessed of a recognition need.
Perhaps it's just the split personality that comes with a pen.
No, I'm not clinically crazy. Thanks for asking.
Here's today's poem.
Nancy Sullivan
Telling It
To speak out clean.
Let the words be
not wonderful but the plainest
nouns, the skinniest verbs
that are themselves
the poem, not merely holding
it together.
The shape of poetry:
the shape of words, the words their own shapes,
the shape of many words together.
All right.
Poerty is the soup,
not the can or kettle
wrapped around it.
Telling it, telling it clean
is the meat.
Today the words are right.
They are right here.
I find what I mean
to tell myself the truth.
Come back in May if you're not able to endure. I enjoy it, so I'm going to thrust it on you.
As a side note, thinking of poets, so often described as tortured souls, struggling to write, I see myself.
In the hazy places like the minutes before sleep descends and inside the steam of a shower, I am eloquent. I have deep and meaningful thoughts. My words sound wonderful. I know within my soul I am a brilliant writer with something real to say,
and then
I get near the paper
and all
is
lost.
Somehow the act of reaching for a pen makes it slip away and I'm left with nothing but garbage. Trite, silly words and dull, boring thoughts that have been thought to death by everyone else.
Somehow in the unseen spaces of life, I'm something amazing. I've grown up to be the thing I dreamed of.
Makes it sound like what I do now isn't great. Mom-ing is great. It is a job I love and seem to be OK at.
And, I HATE attention. Having someone recognize me or notice me for ANY reason is beyond mortifying for me.
So, how does that meld with the idea of writing? Don't know. Somehow it just does. I know, as everyone does, that all writers are somewhat possessed of a recognition need.
Perhaps it's just the split personality that comes with a pen.
No, I'm not clinically crazy. Thanks for asking.
Here's today's poem.
Nancy Sullivan
Telling It
To speak out clean.
Let the words be
not wonderful but the plainest
nouns, the skinniest verbs
that are themselves
the poem, not merely holding
it together.
The shape of poetry:
the shape of words, the words their own shapes,
the shape of many words together.
All right.
Poerty is the soup,
not the can or kettle
wrapped around it.
Telling it, telling it clean
is the meat.
Today the words are right.
They are right here.
I find what I mean
to tell myself the truth.
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