Beginning to look a lot like Christmas -- but not feel like it

Still hot here. I had the a/c on yesterday for The Husband's birthday party. (My dad doesn't do hot weather very well, and it was 83 degrees in the house, with high humidity.) Aren't we supposed to be on "free air" this time of year? We're not supposed to slam directly from a/c to heat!! The average temperature for this time of year is 72, and we're about 10 degrees warmer than that. Ick. Once the fog burns off today (dissolves into the already-humid air), it'll get sunny and hot, so I'll just leave the a/c on. Bummer.

Still, we're on Christmas break. This morning, I cleaned up, took the kids to Walmart for a new vacuum cleaner, and made lunch. The vacuum died yesterday, right after we set up the tree, but before we cleaned up the needles. Funny story. Our tree is artificial with pre-wired lights. Only, two of the sections wouldn't light anymore, so Randy and I spent about three hours completely un-wiring the entire tree. We put stuck it in its stand, bought $25 worth of tiny colored lights, and we were in business. Can you imagine being cheap enough to spend six person-hours untwisting strings of lights off a tree? If anyone had told me...

Pictionary, anyone?

Ever play Pictionary? It's like a cross between charades and doodling -- you have to DRAW your clue and the other team has to guess what you mean. It's frustrating, confusing, often unintelligible, and sometimes pretty funny. Other times, everyone gets really annoyed and stomps off in a huff. "That's the Grand Canyon?! That looks NOTHING like the Grand Canyon! You're such an IDIOT!"

This, dear readers, is what it's like to teach an autistic child. If you can't teach it using charades, you add a doodle pad. If that doesn't work, add picture books, songs, posters, and lots of hands-on demonstrations. If that doesn't work, just admit defeat and go on before everyone gets in a huff and stomps off. I mean, really, who can demonstrate profit margin with a Pictionary pad? Especially when the student doesn't understand money.

Teaching seed germination is pretty easy. Plant 12 seeds and dig up a couple of seeds every day for a week. Voila! Add a digital microscope, take some pictures, and you're good to go. Teaching force/work? It's possible, if you get the cat to push things off a table. The cat applies a push (force), friction pushes back (force), and finally it moves (work) and gravity pulls it to the ground (force). Add a summary poster, and you may just have it.

American government? Not so much. Gross national product? No. But even ancient history is possible if you have enough picture books and crafts, and you stick to every day life in history, not kings and wars. We made bendy-straw papyrus boats, and floated them in the big bathtub, singing "Gonna float my boat/Down the Nile River!" Good times... :)

This year? Well, I bought Calvert School's 4th grade for The Boy. I figured I could just bring The Girl along for the ride on science and social studies, and we'd be in like Flint. (Or is it Flynn?)

Science is basically the same material we learned last year. They just added more vocabulary and left out the easy bean-plant-bean cycle. Kingdom, phylum, class and order, family, genus, species. (Try singing that to Supercalifragilisticexpialodocious! It's FUN!) But not much to appeal to The Girl there. We live in a big old sand pile of a state, so I had to mail-order rocks! I should have mail-ordered soil samples, too. Not much there for her. Volcanoes? Try drawing melted rock on your Pictionary pad... Planets? Give it up.

Social studies with Calvert School is "Regions", a study of the regions of the country. I have my "cookbook of the 50 states" book, but I just can't communicate supply-and-demand economics to The Girl. It's frustrating. She understands it's an 8-hour drive north to Auntie's house, another 8 hours further to Uncle's, and another 8 hours to another Grandma's. That should segue to an understanding of the size and variation of Our Great Nation, but it doesn't. And I can't just pack up for a six-month odyssey in an RV.

Heck, just try teaching menstruation using Pictionary. "I'm going to gush what from where? Babies where? You're making no sense. I'm outta here." I am in so much trouble.

So, what now? I can't just wallow in my bad-mom-ness.

Well, the unschoolers say wait for curiosity and pounce on it. Hmm. Still waiting. Even The Boy is totally unconcerned with what's under his feet outdoors. He doesn't care what's in Kentucky. He's not concerned how his t-shirt got here from Guatemala or why. (Okay, he's a little interested in that.) He doesn't want to go see the robotics competition at the local high school. He doesn't care where the trash truck takes the trash. He is uninterested in the swamp ecosystem. He isn't interested in learning to play chess, make a catapult, write a book, compost with worms, protest and repeal laws, or anything else I can think of. I've even tried to think of stuff I hate to do, and came up with nada.

The Husband keeps saying to expose them to things and wait for something to capture their imaginations. But every time I take them on a field trip, they are more interested in what's for lunch later. No kidding, I took them to the rock and mineral museum yesterday, and The Boy spent most of his time taking a poll on where everyone wanted to go to lunch. We're talking 35-million-year-old trees -- trees so old that they turned to stone. And he's allowed to touch everything in the museum! The habitat exhibit was only interesting because he could re-arrange the animal parts to make a strange raccoon-egret animal that looked funny.

He likes science fiction, video games, and Captain Underpants. And ice cream. But he's not interested in making any ice cream. And he certainly doesn't care why the salty ice water makes the ice cream freeze. No curiosity.

I've even tried casually asking him. What do you want to do today instead of school? What makes you curious? Where do you want to go? What do you want to make? What would you rather read? I keep pulling more and different books for reading and getting nowhere. How can he NOT be interested in Star Wars chapter books, Hank the Cowdog, Animorphs, Charlie Bean, Harry Potter, Henry Huggins, and the entire Pye family, as well as the entire non-fiction section of the library?

If he would just start reading for fun, I'd back off completely, but he doesn't. I'm seriously thinking of penning him up with three books and no electricity for an hour a day to see what happens, but I'm afraid he'll just nap.

I'm SO gonna have to finish his "learning style" evaluation. Last I checked, I'm a making-things person and he's a thinking-things person.

Oh well. I guess I'll get out my parts-of-the-body crafts for The Girl, and keep on keeping on. I don't know what else there is.

Wherein Mom becomes Oreo stuffing

I woke some time in the wee, wee hours of Sunday morning, feeling for all the world as if I had become the "creme" between two Oreo cookies. Yup, The Girl climbed into my side of the bed (instead of The Husband's side) and squished me between the two of them. There I was, on my side, pressed between two immovable bodies. The first thought in my mind was that (at my still considerable weight) I was probably a double-stuff. The only option was to squeeze out from between them and go sack out somewhere else... leaving behind those two hard, crunchy cookies in their warm bed. I should have thrown milk on them.

Enraged mimes

Yesterday was the first day back from Thanksgiving break. I had rearranged the furniture and replaced their small desks with the large table we used last year. I like it so much better. It feels more inclusive and cozy. School ran until 4:30, but at least we were happy and got to learn about glaciers online.

Today? Today, I live with enraged mimes. You heard me -- enraged mimes. They have problems that are seriously honking them off, but they struggle to transmit the details. Their miserable, misguided attempts at communicating produce gyrations comprehensible only to them. They flail, they thrash, and unlike mimes, scream pretty much all the time. Welcome to Tuesday.

Lost in the translation

Oy vey. I live in a world where, "Go wash your hands," apparently means, "Please wipe your hands on your butt as you walk out of the room." It reminds me of people who think that the yellow traffic light means, "Hurry up and go; the light is about to turn red." (Just for the record, it really means, "Stop now; the light is about to turn red.)

I'm packing for my Christmas trip in November. Strange, even for me. I'm buying duplicate toiletries and new underwear to pack NOW. A few days before the trip, I'll pack the warm clothes, and I'll be done. Right?

Go ahead. If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans. I suspect it makes blog readers do the same...

The Idiot Brother and his equally idiotic wife.

Brother called yesterday. *sigh* I know better than to answer the phone.

You have to understand that Brother's wife, Drama Queen (DQ for short), is a really bad breeder. She had several miscarriages with her first husband, and several with Brother. She finally produced progeny about four years ago -- a girl with 9 half-formed vertebrae, half of one kidney working, and a hole in her heart, which was patched at 6 days old. (She'll require heart surgery every 4 years until she's grown, plus a titanium rib-spine, and probably a kidney transplant eventually.) This child was followed by a full-term trisomy-18 baby who died three days after birth. Now, at 41 years old, her idiot doctor has helped her get pregnant with twins. Yeah.

I blame most of this on her mother the Uber Drama Queen (UDQ), who, while the second baby was still dying in the NICU, began yet another of her frequent speeches on which cousins/friends have how many children and which are pregnant. The woman is relentless.

Still, Brother's wife started this pregnancy 100 pounds overweight, on high blood pressure medications, still refusing to eat vegetables. "Who feels like Arby's?" is her basic approach to dinner. You have to understand, this woman is college educated with a nice cushy high-paying job in the federal government. She knows better.

She now has horrible reflux, yet still eats pizza with hot sauce, resulting in a trips to the emergency room. She is on blood thinners for some protein disorder. She is at risk of actually dying during this pregnancy, leaving my house-husband brother with no college education, no income, no insurance, and no way to pay for his daughter's major medical care, or even pay the mortgage.

STUPID.

So, you can imagine that when he called yesterday (I had ducked his two earlier calls this week), I was less than enthusiastic about the preliminary genetic reports that the twins are fine.

My brother's goal in life is to watch Fox News and old German movies on DVD all day. He fancies himself an intellectual, but narrowly avoided finishing his college degree. (When I turned 30, I forbade my entire family from ever again saying, "Brother is soooo smart!" Bullshit.) He insists that global warming is a farce, health care doesn't need reform, etc. (Of course health care doesn't need reform. He has fantastic health insurance through -- wait for it -- his wife's job with the federal government.

I'm not sure if he's just that annoying, if he's just that irresponsible, just that hypocritical, or if I'm just a frustrated breeder myself. I just feel so hateful.

And I can't just say, "Hey, it's their business -- it doesn't impact me." Because it does. I'm going to have to listen to the drama. My 73-year-old mother is expected to come help care for twins. (DQ's mother is disabled by diabetes, and can't help. Besides UDQ has a nasty little dog that bites.) So, I'm expected to help, somehow. And, God forbid, if his wife dies in childbirth, he'll be moving in with my mom, near me. And God forbid these kids have autism, cerebral palsy, or a number of other problems. AND I'm expected to be happy about this whole debacle. I just feel for their daughter.

I just can't let go... What's the matter with me?

Pre-trip anxiety already

I'm planning some advance details for our trip Up North over Christmas. Notice how I'm not calling it a vacation? It's only a vacation if you don't take your kids. ;)

We've had the airline reservations since spring, but had no rental car. I think I have a car rental, but I'm not sure. I mean, I spent 10 minutes on the phone with a really nice guy, but at the last minute, his computer locked up, and, well, if I don't get email soon, I'll call them back. (sigh) Progress...

I'm hoping (after I finish curing cancer) to pack brand new toiletries and all our cold weather clothes into two suitcases and put them in the car by the 22nd. We're limited to two suitcases, each a maximum of 80" total size WxLxD and 50 pounds. I don't see that being a problem, she said blithely...

After all, we only own one sweater apiece, and the kids only own one pair of shoes apiece that are closed-toe. I'm thinking three pair of pants, four long-sleeved t-shirts, one sweater, and some underwear. The kind relatives Up North are getting us real coats and boots. I don't think the fleece-lined sweatshirts the kids use for the depths of winter here will do. Somehow.

Why does this sound so easy? Brrr. Chills.

my upcoming "week off" -- hahaha!

I'm trying to get into the habit of making a small brain-dump every day. 'Cause every day (in the shower) I think of something cool and witty to put here. By the time I get on the computer and get the kids to stop reading over my shoulder, it's just gone. I wonder if there's a word for that. Maybe "blog fart"? Hmm.

I have next week off from school, so I'm hoping to clean the house, write up an interim report on the kids homeschool progress, make The Girl a desk, prune the shrubs, set out the advent stuff, power wash the patio, make an appointment for a good portrait of the kids, and cure cancer. No problem.

I found the desk that I want for The Girl, but it's just a tiny bit out of my price range. Apparently, I have a love/hate relationship with Crate and Barrel. I think with about $100 in lumber, I can make her something simpler but pretty. Her "drawing" has taken over our foyer, and it's time to move it along to another room. I'm thinking it should have its own shop vac attached, but that might drive the price up. ;)

Christmas in the Suburbs

Suburban Correspondent is taking a vow of simplicity this Christmas. No early planning, no months of working ahead to make The Season "magical". It's "start late and keep it simple" for her this year. I did that one Thanksgiving, and LOVED IT. But I think the complexity of Christmas calls for a little more planning...

If I don't start early, I miss something dear to me -- or my dear husband. I lay out what I need, set dates, and get on it. We also have mail issues. I've given up on "magical", and am going for "happy".

I'm sooo trying to reach Christmas well rested for a change. I'm usually over-tired and nauseated. Not a good start to The Day.

We've pared down the preparations to the essentials, and are trying to keep it cool. Otherwise, I'm not going to fit in the twins' birthday, Christmas, packing for our flight on the 26th, and leaving a fairly hygienic house.

So, short answer, nope, no sale. We're still on the treadmill -- out of sheer self-defense.

On the town!

I hired my first ever babysitter. Okay, it's for a parents' night out at the church -- the supervision is abysmal -- but it's still a babysitter. I'm borrowing another mom-of-autistic-child's older daughter. This lovely thirteen-year-old has been told that even if total chaos breaks out and someone incurs a compound fracture, she MUST stay with Lora. She's Lora's shadow. Here's hoping it works out, 'cause I really need a date night out. If it works, it'll be the best $15 I've spent in years.

We're going out for Thai food in central Florida -- wish us luck... ;)

just a shortie

Funny thought -- yesterday, I was walking down the beach, killing an hour, and it occurred to me that it felt strange, almost awkward, walking without pushing a shopping cart. It was oddly upright. How weird is that?

The Great Experiment (and a catch up on homeschool)

Hmm. This is the end of the first week of my Great Experiment. Mostly, this means that I'm trying to see what my brain will do without any carbohydrates.

So far, so good. I have this strange, oddly lucid feeling, especially in the evening. Of course that may be the extra caffeine. Yeah, yeah, I know -- Atkins says that coffee has carbs. That was reason #1 I didn't go with him. Seriously, it's enough to elbow out pasta, but coffee and tea? Bite me!

I read the greatest thing in a book last night called When You Eat at the Refrigerator, Pull Up a Chair. It says that a diet becomes a non-diet when saying no to selected foods feels more like blessing yourself with health and vitality, rather than depriving yourself of onion rings. Wow. I actually feel that way sometimes.

On the school front, I've given up yelling at kids. I've been doing too much of it lately. The neighbors are going to call the little guys in the white suits if they hear me scream, "Stop screaming!!" one more time. Seriously. I'm disengaging. Wish me luck...

GET BUSY, BOY!

It would be nice if The Boy would just frickin' DO THE WORK without complaining once in a while. Apparently, just the thought of writing a paragraph or doing a page of grammar just sends him into a coma.

I switch between several ways of handling it, which is, of course, the worst thing I could do. My inclination is toward logical consequences, rather than nagging: "You can do your work when you want, but you won't get any 'screen time' until it's done."

But then I ended up teaching an eight hour day, so I went to plan B: "I can work with you on science and reading from 9:30 to 10:30; otherwise, you have to get your independent work done yourself."

But you KNOW I'm not missing my play date on Wednesday afternoons, so that messes up the whole "prisoner of his own work" thing. I dunno. I just feel like I'm fishing now.

Honestly, how can one kid sleep 9 hours a night and still be able to pass out during school hours? Oy.

Big news... ;)

Well, the cats are fine and are adjusting to getting their antibiotics. Half the time, I don't even have to hog tie them for it. They're starting to feel better and are behaving like kittens -- chasing strings, carrying toys around, sleeping on us, and wrestling. They're so affectionate toward us that they border on needy. And they've stopped stinking, so it's all good. ;)

Patrick is starting to get math anxiety. He took two hours agonizing over math that took us 7 minutes to actually do. Oy. I've offered a deal -- I'll work on all his math with me if he'll stop freaking out. Just STOP FREAKING OUT.

In other news, well, there is no other news. I vacuumed the house today. Yeah, that's news. ;)

Oh, and I went outdoors this morning and didn't gasp at the heat. Maybe, just maybe, the solar imperative will again push our weather inexorably toward cooler weather. Such as it is, anyway.

A balanced life...

Well, the cat still stinks. But The Boy did really well on his "Lesson 20 - Test Day" for his Calvert curriculum. Does that balance out?

We're taking the cats to the vet tomorrow to try to get them to stop sneezing snot all over the water dish and the sliding glass door. But I started The Girl on Mirilax today. Does that balance out? (Expect more on THAT one later in the week!)

I've signed up for two-months-for-the-price-of-one Weight Watchers because it was cheaper than two months of online support. But no one around here will give me enough peace and quiet to work out a menu online. Or to go to a meeting. It's very frustrating. But I did get a new bolt for the toilet so it doesn't rock anymore. Does that balance out?

Tomorrow's Thursday already. That's good. Thursday is YMCA PE day for us, so I pack up The Girl's language curriculum and take off right after lunch. While the boy gets some exercise, I get to educate the general public on autism. Does that balance out?

Funny thing about YMCA PE -- the class has picked up three new boys who are so undisciplined that they make The Boy look like a West Point cadet. He doesn't seem to bring home any of their bad behavior, so that's one in the "good" column.

Oy vey, it's midnight and I'm still not in bed. But The Girl is still in her own bed, unlike last night. (I insisted on taking her back to bed every time she wandered into my room last night and started a major riot. It did not make me a popular person, to say the least.) But she's quiet now, so that's good. Gotta run!!

Long weekend...

Well, what a busy three days it has been. I've been through a major fit of "Why me?" combined with "God, I'm tired of being a continual public spectacle." Yeah, it was a long weekend. Can you say "cub scout awards dinner"? ;) WHADDYA MEAN IT'S ONLY BEEN TWO DAYS?!

I'm seriously considering trying The Girl on Sertraline. What the heck -- the rest of us are on it, so why not? Seriously -- the apparent terror, the clutching at her ears, the reeling and staggering, the immediate request to go home or to the bathroom. It doesn't matter where we are. If it isn't a place she's been to before, you can forget it. I'm not sure when the cutoff was, but there seems to have been one.

She has a love/hate relationship with church. For some reason, she likes going to Children's Church, even though all she does is hide on a couch for 45 minutes, but church holds such horrors for her that she won't even go past the lobby. Fortunately (NOT!) the rector's lapel microphone is piped directly into the lobby. If she would stay home, I would let her, but her compulsions drive her on...

Where does this all end?

Requiem Aeternum, Harry. Poor baby.

Well, Harry didn't make it. He turned up half-dead on the back porch Saturday morning. The animal hospital tested him and told us that his kidneys were completely gone. Poor little guy. We had to let him go. The Boy and I bawled like babies for the rest of the day, and I was so incredibly puffy-eyed that I skipped church on Sunday, lest they think The Husband had been beating me.

We decided that we really missed having creatures underfoot, and went to "look at" the cats in the animal shelter on Sunday afternoon. Yeah. You saw it coming, didn't you? We are now the owners of two mostly-grown matching cats:




We still miss Harry terribly. The Boy started crying this evening. "These cats make me think of Harry!" Poor thing. But these are apparently lap cats and don't bite, so they're already two steps ahead of poor Harry. But for pure spastic joy, you just couldn't beat Harry.

I did find out the hard way not to shampoo that one on the left, though. The one on the right complained but didn't fight too much. (Hey, they smelled of nasty animal pee from the shelter -- I had no choice!) Anyway, the short version of the story is that I dropped him from about seven feet off the ground because that was as far from my face as I could hold him. But everyone's dry now and most of the bleeding has stopped, so I should toddle off to bed. Long day tomorrow.

Harry, wherever he may be

Our cat is missing. He went out yesterday morning at his usual 5:00 but didn't come back in at his usual 5:30. In fact, he didn't come back at all. Uuuuuugh. My sweet little cat. What, oh what am I going to tell The Boy.

We brought this cat home at 12 weeks old. The kids screamed in terror every time they saw him for two full weeks. Just as I was about to give up on him, The Boy realized that he played tag. He's also a fool for anything whippy and feathered. His favorite toy was a plain blue cotton catnip mouse. I've seen him poking through the bin of cat toys to find just the toy he wanted. At a year and a half old, he was still playing with fuzzy toys tied to door knobs with elastic cord.

If it seems like I keep switching from present tense to past and back, it's because I still hope he's okay. Maybe someone took him in, thinking he was homeless. I put up signs on the mailboxes. Maybe he strayed into the woods behind the house and got injured. I hunted down the address, name, and phone number of the house behind us and called. I asked the neighbors. I searched the ditches around the house. Nothing. The little thing just vanished.

Oh dear. It's not like he's a terribly affectionate cat. He wasn't the type to sit on a lap or worship. He tended to stalk, grab, and lick. We think he was weaned too young and not socialized, but my dad found him in the shrubs, and he was ours. He pet-broke my kids. He amused them. He did keep us company many an evening. But he treads softly on this Earth and on our hearts, leaving just faint prints.

This morning, The Boy was already saying, "Can we get a gray cat now?" But now, late at night, he's woken me with, "Mom? I'm worried about Harry." Oh dear. I assured him that Harry is one of God's little creatures, and he'll be okay. But secretly, I'm not sure he's coming home to us.

Spoke too soon... ;)

The boy is still working on his math. And *I* get his computer time. Bwaaa-haa-haaa! I love this plan!

Every now and then, I get a whining noise from the work area, but when I ask if he needs help, he says no. He's up to "I'm such a loser." I keep telling him, "No, you just put your work off too long."

Today was the first day of Homeschool PE at the YMCA. Usually the YMCA gets around a dozen kids or so, but this year, the homeschool moms have organized a swim class on Tuesdays in the next town over. No one feels the need to spend $50 for 7 weeks of PE, so we're basically the only ones there besides an extremely nice boy exactly The Boy's age. The Girl and I finished "our" language arts while we waited. Not a bad deal. Still, it's more fun with more boys.

I'm seriously thinking about joining Weight Watchers. See, if I gain any more weight, I'm going to have to find a sturdier step ladder -- mine's only rated up to 225 pounds. Sad, yes, but true. Last night at the grocery, the frickin' scale said 215 pounds. Eek! I always said that if I ever cleared 200 pounds, I'd just kill myself, but it's not looking like such a viable choice now.

Maybe Curves and Weight Watchers are the way to go. God knows I have no self-discipline, and God knows that I have no long pants that fit. Seriously, I haven't worn long pants since February, and none fit now. AND I'm going Up North at Christmas. AND I can't afford new pants. I can either spend the money on Curves and WW, or I can spend it on new pants. That's not even starting to talk about the tingling in my leg and the pain in my heel... Time to act like a middle-aged woman and get on with it. *sigh*

Ooh! It worked. (I think.)

So, I set a schedule for The Boy. I hate schedules in homeschooling. I figure if it takes an hour, it takes an hour. Who am I to put a limit on creativity? But this required drastic measures.

I gave him some start-up help at 8:30, and he worked on his own for a while. I taught him from 10 to 11, and then he worked on his own until lunch. Naturally, he didn't really finish his work until 2:30, but I didn't have to teach him after lunch. Yay for me! I just kept telling him that at 11, I had to go work with The Girl, and if he kept goofing off, I'd have to come back and teach him at 1:00. So there. ;)

Then he had a classic "extiction burst" during the arsenic hour. He blew up into a huge crying fit around 5:00, which gave him a massive bloody nose. (He knows exactly how to do this to the maximum effect.) I didn't give in. I cleaned him up, put him on the couch to hold his nose, and The Husband put the sheets in the washer. I didn't yell at him or blame him. (BUT I COULD HAVE!) He remade the bed before bedtime, and all was well.

Funny thing, though. After dinner, he asked me if I was angry. I told him that I'm frustrated because he's still having trouble doing his work and keeping his temper, but that I was not mad at him. He seemed happy to hear that. I asked if he were angry, and he said no, only a little sad.

So why am I up at 11:00 again? The Girl wouldn't go to bed tonight. Not going, not staying, no how. I have no idea how she lives on less sleep than I do. It's a mystery. All I know is that she had The Boy up with her until 10:30, and I have to get their tired butts out of bed tomorrow morning and try to teach them grammar. Yay. THAT'll go well...

The agony of homeschooling...

They're making me crazy. More specifically, The Boy is making me crazy. He's still (after two weeks of school) playing the "helpless child" card. "I can't do it. It's too hard! I hate SCHOOL!" Um. Yeah. Honey, it's a spelling pre-test in your online spelling lessons. Getting through it just allows you to play the word games. ("Kick" the soccer balls that are spelled correctly.) And you never miss any!!! CHILL OUT!!!

And yet, screaming that at him doesn't seem to help. Go figure.

I keep trying to find the logical consequence for his lying on the floor, whining and crying, but somehow, I can't. See, the "you're not playing computer until it's done" consequence only prolongs the agony. 'Cause he always finishes after a few hours of hand-holding. But it takes all my time away from teaching The Girl.

So I whined to The Husband, and I think we found a solution. The Boy has an hour of independent work (review math, finish spelling page, finish grammar page), and then I'll work with him for an hour on hard stuff (composition, social studies) . If that hour doesn't cover what it was supposed to, I'll get back to him on it after lunch. In the mean time, I'll be over here, teaching The Girl while you start on your next independent task. Sorry, check back later.

Jeez. You'd think that by almost-10 years old, he'd be able to pick up his math book and do problems 1-15 on commutative/associative/identity properties, a two-page worksheet on "what is a noun", and a fill-in-the-blank for his spelling words without my having to torture him. *sigh* Promise me that this, too, shall pass, if I only keep the faith. (It's not like I have a choice!)

Oh, and if anyone is still reading this by the end of the post, don't worry -- he really can do the work. I'm the worst one for going all wobbly, and thinking that maybe he really feels afraid, vulnerable, and he can't do the work. I know how that works. I've dealt with it in the past. This kind of anxiety was what caused me to pull him out of the public schools. But, as this is not my first rodeo, I think I can assure you that this one is fake. ;)

Discipline (or lack thereof)

I'm torn between two opposing forces.

On one hand are all the behaviorists. They tell me that if I ignore the bad behavior and encourage the good, the bad will stop. I should ignore The Girl screaming and whining all the way through her math lesson today, and she'll get on with it. She'll eventually realize that whining doesn't get her what she wants, and she'll just quit.

On the other hand is my common sense. She's whining because she's unhappy, and whining makes her feel better. Sheez, there are times when I want to scream, and if everyone would ignore it, I'd do it more often.

What's with that?

I mean, I guess the real question is, "What does she really want?" She wants her brain to stop hurting. I've disrupted her happy little routine (by erasing a tiny math sum that I had written in the margin), and her brain hurts. How, then, do I keep her from screaming every time she's thwarted?

God, I wish I knew...

And now, something completely different...

This morning, I actually poured my kid a soda while showering. Forget banging on the bathroom door. They just barge in and ask for catering services. She knows she's not supposed to pour from the bottles herself, and I couldn't convince her brother (by screaming across the house) that DIET soda was okay with breakfast. The third time she came in, I just opened the shower door, opened the bottle, and poured her some. *sigh* I have no dignity. It's all gone. Just gone...

Welcome to the mad house!

Ever have one of those days where you fall in bed thinking that you've narrowly escaped total annihilation? I've had one of those weeks.

Monday started out slow. We took our usual nut-house trip to the grocery, and then I had to make a trip to my Dad's. My dear dad had asked me to help install his new LCD TV that was being delivered on Monday afternoon. I schlepped over there, all ready to move the humongous old TV onto the floor, install the new 37" model on the TV stand, vacuum the living room, and carry the humongous old TV to my car in payment. Turns out, he bought me a new LCD TV to take home. I think he's slipping. Still, COOL. I brought it home, dragged The Family out to the car, sang "Happy Birthday to You" and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas", and presented TV From Grandfather.

The Girl threw up dinner that night. All over the bathroom floor and in the sink. I'm telling you, it was spectacular. Pokemon mac-n-cheese, fruit snacks, salad, and the piece de resistance -- mint chocolate cookies. There's always that one item that almost makes a one-person vomiting incident into a two-person vomiting incident... Seriously, it was astonishing. I had to clean it out of the door hinge, shower curtain, the walls. It required an entire roll of paper towels. Phenomenal. Those little Pikachu noodles don't look nearly as cute the second time around. But at least I know the bathroom is clean now.

Tuesday morning, bright and early, we headed out to Target to get a birthday present, ran home, ate lunch, got to the birthday/pool party by 1:00. The Girl started fussing as soon as we got there. The fussing escalated into whining and then crying. She was inconsolable. I called for The Husband to come get her. (Dial office; no answer. Dial home; no answer. Dial cell phone; no answer. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Act surprised when Husband says he just got in.) The Boy only maimed one child at the party, and then pushed me in while I was collecting up our pool toys to go home. I had thought I had made my point about people getting hurt and not pushing in anyone who doesn't want to get in. But no. Damn. Soggy seats in the car again.

The boy vomited Tuesday night. I called the orthodontist early Wednesday, and he said, "No problem! Bring him in anyway!" I endured a couple of hours of "But whyyyyy can't I go to play group at the beach?" and it was time for lunch and then new braces at the orthodontist's. $1200 later, The Boy has two bands and four "brackets" glued on his teeth. The wire is held on with colored rubber rings -- one each: blue, gold, red, and green. We stopped and got soft, orthodontist-approved foods to eat at the grocery. He threw up on the way home from the grocery store. After two hours of whining and moaning, I finally beat the truth out of him: his throat hurt and his mouth tasted bad. I actually sat in front of the kid's bed and spooned tropical fruit sherbet into his pitiful mouth. Worked like a charm. ;) What a cutie!

Which can only lead to one thing -- spoiled child syndrome. He's so cute, and I'm feeding him like a teething baby. I haven't cut up canned peaches into little cubes in a long, long time, and it's kind of fun. Little half-inch cheeseburger bites for dinner with tiny, little watermelon pieces... My sweet, brave, little prince!

Then Thursday came. His bottom teeth were banging on the top braces, so it was back to the orthodontist to have the "bite blocks" made a little bigger. Nasty taste in the mouth again. Trip to the grocery again. Oy.

We made it home Thursday afternoon without incident, and collapsed. I finally set up the new TV, and it's SWEET! I called my dad to tell him so, and he recommended a screen guard for it. Five minutes later, my mom calls. "You know your father's mad at you." Heh? "He says you never thanked him for the TV." AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! Someone release me!!

So, tomorrow? 8:00 psychiatrist appointment, and then a visit with the "thank you note" fairy. Wish me luck.

And ask me about my new curriculum! Two days before all heck broke loose, I actually went to a curriculum fair! Whee!

Relatives visiting -- the first in 7 years!

Well, it's been an exciting week. Brother-In-Law has been visiting his son in town this week, which actually means that BIL has been visiting us. Apparently, his son works nights and hasn't really internalized the concept of "host". He's just been hanging out in his living room, playing his games and watching TV. "Hey Dad, good to see ya -- pull up a chair."

The poor man had been in town for a week and hadn't made it to the beach yet, so we tried to drown him yesterday night. Yup, drove him to the beach and took him out past the breakers. We all (kids, husband, BIL and me) bobbed with the swells until they carried us back into the breakers and tried to smash us to oblivion. Glad to say that I was the only one that didn't get whacked by a good-sized wave. Yay me!

In homeschool news, The Box from Calvert School arrived. I haven't had the nerve to open it yet. So much rests on whether this looks good... I want to pick up The Girl's materials at a homeschool conference next week, so that they dovetail into The Boy's. I think I'm going to be a scumbag and let her piggyback on his Calvert science and history lessons. Even if I do put her in Verticity (their sister school for language-disabled), she'll won't be in the same grade. Oh, who knows!

In other news, The Man has been experimenting with his housework style. He actually leaves the dishes for me to deal with. Huh?! I have been telling him for years that if he cleans up after the rest of us all the time, we'll never learn to do it ourselves. Socks in the living room? I've never seen any -- although I do vaguely recall leaving some there last night. Hmm. Oh well!

So he's leaving me a FULL sink of dirty dishes in the morning. He's calling my bluff, and now I have to empty and refill it every morning, keep it filled all day, cap it off after dinner, and run it at bedtime. Yay. I "own" the dishes. I still "own" getting groceries, putting them away, figuring out what to serve, and cooking the food. Ech. I feel like a housewife.

Oh. Wait. I am!

I'm holding out for a hero.

Has anyone else been following the new NBC show Merlin? Oh. I love it. It's clearly not created for my demographic group, but I love it.

Merlin is 20 years old, as is Arthur. Arthur's father is rigid, regal, and ruthlessly practical. He has also outlawed magic, which is a problem for the naturally-magically-gifted Merlin who has just arrived in Camelot. Much to their mutual chagrin, Arthur and Merlin are intertwined by Fate. It is Arthur's fate to rule and defend Camelot, just as it is Merlin's fate to protect and defend Arthur. Merlin enters the scene at a critical point in Arthur's life, as he is just beginning to pull away from his father's heavy-handed rule and establish himself as the heir to the throne of Camelot. Mmmmm. Arthur is brave, strong, and just coming into his own power -- a hero for the future. Merlin is just learning to control his magic and contain his impulses and exuberance -- a sage for the future.

And why does this show appeal to me? Well, I love anything medieval. (Yes, I know that Arthur is pre-medieval.) I love the legends of Morganna, the witch, the Lady of the Lake. And I love hunky men with British accents. But most of all, these men are Heroes. They are able, brave, strong, eternally devoted to their cause, and eternally young. The world is their oyster, but they already sense the responsibility and weight of the task that will consume their lives -- the care and defense of the people and lands of Camelot.

Why does this appeal to me? Yes, at 46 years old, I'm still holding out for a hero. With a nod to Bonnie Tyler:

Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where's the street-wise Hercules
To fight the rising odds?
Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?
Late at night I toss and turn and dream
of what I need

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life


I woke up this morning with a startling revelation. In the words of LarryBoy, "I am that hero."

Bummer.

Celebration!

Our 4th of July celebrations went freakishly well. It was actually a little scary.

The Husband had gone to the NASCAR race with his brother, so the kids and I were on our own. I let them get muddy in the sprinkler and I was feeling lonely, so we didn't get around to dinner until late. We decided to go to out for pizza on a whim, so it was shower, dress, run to Pizza Hut.

We've never been there, so there were no immovable rituals that could be violated. I brought markers and ordered before we even sat down. Dinner went REALLY well. The Girl didn't even eviscerate her pizza before eating it.

When The Boy found out I wasn't planning to go to the fireworks, he was so bummed that I actually gave in. At 7:30, I drove my purse-on-wheels to the YMCA parking lot and snagged the last parking place in the last row. I covered us all in bug spray, picked up three beach chairs, and we started walking. The Girl initially complained, but we set ourselves down near the lake and waited.

Fifteen minutes later, DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF US, the fireworks started. They were awesome! Both kids had a great time! We walked back to the car, sat in traffic for 15 minutes, and made it home pretty quickly.

The Boy asked for sparklers, so we took them outside to play with for a while. In keeping with time-honored 4th of July traditions, The Girl burned her hand on one. (Hey, someone had to!) We went inside, made all the beds, wiped most of the bug spray off of them, put them in pajamas, and bam! They slept.

They made up for all that good behavior in church this morning, but for 12 blissful hours, I was the best mom on the planet. Mmm.

Ooh! A new bumpersticker!

I just ordered my new, improved bumpersticker!!


My kids are CAGE FREE.
I homeschool.


My cage free children do prefer having a coop to huddle in occasionally. We started summer school last week. It's only about an hour and a half a day, but it's just a relief to have something scheduled to do. Even The Boy can only take so many hours of game boy per day.

The idea for the bumper sticker came from the last time we went to "Education Day" at the ball park. The public schools were marched in and packed on their roosts, I mean rows, and given their ration, I mean ball-park lunches. Our kids came in a little late, nestled themselves on the rafters, I mean top seat of the ball park, and went for water and snacks at will -- free range children.

I have to admit -- "free range" children are probably unschooled. Mine are simply cage free.

Life...

Life is what happens when you're waiting for your next TV show to come on. Unless, of course, you have your Game Boy. Then nothing happens -- potentially not even life.

Oh, the travesty that my semi-educational summer has become...

"Live and let learn."

I found this online yesterday, and thought it was a great summary of the homeschool credo.

Live and let learn.

I already checked cafepress.com, but they don't sell it...

In other news, The Girl (who, as you remember, is an autistic 9-year-old) spat an entire mouthful of pool water on a complete stranger this morning -- a hunky, 30-ish stranger, dozing in a lounge chair poolside with is iPod plugged in. I. Have. Never. Been. So. Mortified. In. My. Entire. Life. Seriously, and I've been traveling this great country of ours with this child for almost a decade. Fortunately, he wasn't watching when she did it, and probably didn't realize that she spat the water, and he laughed a lot. I think she surprised him. Her laugh is contagious, and he probably hasn't been assaulted by a small, giggling imp in ages. Thank God for small mercies.

The Girl has been refusing to be led by the hand for a couple of weeks now. Naturally, at almost ten years old, that should be fairly normal, except for the fact that she tends to bolt unexpectedly. We're just keeping a very close eye on her, and demanding words when she tries to bolt or shriek. "No yelling. I want words." Ah, the five-word phrase... When she comes up with words, it's usually something she can have or somewhere we can go with her, so we may yet work this out yet. Pray for us to whatever deity you subscribe. We're not picky...

In which I still want to kill the cable company...

Okay, apparently, spending yesterday morning fixing our cable problem didn't do the trick. Maybe I have to sacrifice twin children to the television gods? I've got two I'm willing to let go right about now...

Here's the whole story. See, the digital conversion killed one of our PBS stations, and the Girl doesn't take to change well. It's an autistic thing. I've been woken by a screaming child for the past six days. First it was the meaningless message on the missing station for two days. Then it was the remaining station showing fund raising instead of cartoons. Then, once I did get the station back on the television (after buying the converter box and hooking it up EVEN THOUGH WE ALREADY HAVE CABLE), the missing station only works on one television -- the WRONG ONE! Even The Boy was no help. "I can't watch Arthur on the other television. It doesn't have closed captioning. What if I can't understand the words?!" How's about I knock some dust out of those ears for you, eh? Oh, the humanity of it all.

The sad thing is that everyone except the cable company says that the cable company COULD put the station back if they wanted to, but they only have to take one PBS station and decided to drop one -- the LOCAL ONE. Public pressure is mounting, but they really don't have to do anything if they don't want to. And if they can get $1 out of every customer with basic-basic cable, they will. Besides, maybe it'll be enough incentive to get us to upgrade to the $50 cable.

Now, the kids expect me to take them to the pool. I'm feeling spiteful this morning, but I think I still have to take them. Right? I mean, they won't let me sleep, so I might as well take them out and wear them out a little.

In which The Cable Company LIES..

'Tis the season for idyllic thoughts with no base in reality. Ah, summer. I'll go out in the mornings to playgroup/pool/grocery and do a little homeschool and reading in the afternoon... Just to keep up...

Right. The famous digital conversion caught us flat-footed. Not that it's our fault. Bright House cable told us -- TOLD US -- that if we have cable TV, no ill would befall us. They lied. Apparently, our PBS station was sending a "digital format signal", rather than a "digital signal". Naturally, that means we have to shell out another $1 (plus taxes) every month to get Clifford the Big Red Dog. I feel cheated. But after the screaming we endured this weekend from the lack of PBS Kids, I am SO paying them whatever blackmail money they demand. I give up.

The Boy is alternating between defiant and whiny. I have a choice between, "NO!" and "Noooo". Oh joy. I actually think I prefer, "But Mooooooom, I'm toooooo tired to make my bed. Can't I make it later?" The alternative is, "No. It doesn't need to be done. I'm not doing it." If The Girl would let me sleep at night, maybe I could come back with something more sophisticated than, "No way, buddy. Get moving." Then, for good measure, I throw in a threat. I think Dr. Ray calls it an addenda. "Or I'll charge you $.50 to do it myself." Bad mom. Or at least ineffective.

The weeds continue to grow, and the weather continues to be oppressive. I'm looking at weeds about three feet high in my perennial bed. I should cut them down and put down weed barrier cloth and mulch. But that would require a trip to Lowe's and an evening of bug spray, dirt, sweat, and weeds. Did I mention that dirt, sweat, and bug spray mix to make mud?

On the bright side, I've almost finished the kids' portfolios for the year. I have two long essays, outlining what we actually did, but I still have to pull pages of work to support the essay. Then I have to bribe my girlfriend to review it. The review form is deceptively simple -- it's just a paper that says, "Yup, they made progress commensurate with their abilities." It's kind of funny, actually.

Yeah, the reason I'm so tired today is that I was up late working on an essay-summary of the school year for The Girl. Turns out, I have a Spectrum Language Arts 2 workbook that The Girl barely started. It began with parts of speech, and we got sidetracked to Shurley-Grammar-like diagramming of sentences. I also have half of the A Beka Arithmetic 2 book that we didn't finish. It had too many number-play activities and stuff that The Girl didn't understand, but half way through, it gets to more math-y stuff that she can handle. The Spectrum Writing 2 still won't work with her.

But it made me think -- if year-long workbooks don't work for Lora, maybe the Verticity curriculum won't work for her either.

If we get the full Calvert for Patrick, maybe Lora can just scam his history and science work, while we do our own thing for reading/writing/arithmetic. Must think.

Meanwhile, Mr. Passive-Aggressive is pestering me to use the computer a little early today. VBS starts at 5:30. Lord have mercy.

Oh the pain...

We went tubing with the other homeschool kids today. Basically, you paddle upstream to the spring source, paddle around a little, and then float back down. Which is fine if you can swim. This year the water was too deep to put your feet down, and it was scary. I am officially no longer A Swimmer, and I certainly no longer qualify to be a life guard. I am actually more like a six-week-old kitten -- you chuck me in and I drown. I hurt all over, and my pride is damaged, too. I was seriously hacking up a lung for a while there -- took a full 15 minutes to stop gasping for air. Think "landed fish". Pretty close. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Just put me on the roster for Team Advil and buy me a rocking chair...

Last Day of School, Last Day of School!!

Last day of school. We did a little handwriting, grammar, and paragraph writing. The Girl did her "nine's a swiper" (addition), and we called it a day. I spent the rest of the morning taking down posters, putting supplies away, and gathering up all the stuff we did into a single place. It was sort of a melancholy feeling. It's all packed up and put away.

I have to build their portfolios next week and bribe my teacher girlfriend to review them. That should be interesting... ;)

We went to Wendy's for the last time of the school year. Everyone had outgrown their school t-shirts except me. (Well, come to think of it, I've "outgrown" mine, too, but it was a little small to begin with. Honest!) The Husband and The Boy got me a gift card for Jo-Ann Fabrics, and got a small bouquet for my mom, who has been providing the highlight of each academic week -- Friday lunch at Wendy's. Okay, my kids are easy to impress.

In other news, The Girl threw the fit of the century in the grocery store yesterday. I actually hauled a screaming, crying, 9-year-old girl out of the store in front of God and everybody. I loaded her into the car, flipped the child-safety switch on the door, and shut her in. Poor thing. She didn't get deli cheese, she didn't get strawberries, and she didn't get gum. So many disappointments in one afternoon... She wasn't up to par when we left the house, and the stop at the Hair Cuttery didn't bode well. I guess I should have seen it coming. I just couldn't do anything about it.

My sweet husband suggested hot dogs for dinner and some quiet sewing time for my PTSD. Seriously, post-traumatic stress barely covers it. The Boy managed to give me heart palpitations by sneaking up on me later while I was sewing and screaming, "Boo!" If that boy lives to 21 years old, it'll be a miracle.

Moms say the strangest things: chapter 17.

"Don't use the litter box with wet feet!" Yes, it's yet another strange phrase from my busy lips. The cat had been walking in the shower for his morning drink -- he won't use the water bowl-- and then wandered in to use the litter box. Well, that explains the tiny clumps of litter all over the bathroom floor. Stupid animal.

We're on our last day of school tomorrow. Can you hear the angels singing? We're going to take down the posters tomorrow and pack up the books. Then, we're going to listen to The Boy whine all the way to our weekly Wendy's lunch with Grandmother. ("But McDonald's is so much more awesome!") Sorry kid, but the poor woman has been taking us out to lunch every Friday since August, and we're not messing with it now! Not to mention what The Girl would do if you broke with tradition. Wherever you live, you'd hear it. Space shuttle? Yes.

We went to a pool party yesterday with the homeschool group yesterday. This is usually a VERY kind of party for me, since neither of my kids can swim at all. And I can't convince them of this. They just wander down toward the deep end of the pool and tempt fate to push them just that last two inches into drowning depth. It's hard enough with just The Boy, but with two? Forget it.

I just want to send out a holla to the folks at Stearns who make a cheap, coastguard-certified life vest in hot pink. I strapped it on The Girl at home, just to get some of the rejection out of the way, and she wouldn't take it off! I swear, she wore it in the car on the way to the party! The thing is even pinker than her swim suit, and that's saying a lot. It's PINK. Just the way she likes it. We call it a "floaty vest". I strapped a blue one on The Boy when we got there, and we were off and running. I just occasionally counted the bobbing heads, and could sit in the shade, sipping mint tea. (No juleps -- too early in the day!) What a nice time.

Everyone else is trying to pick out their curriculum for next year. Some are starting high school and All That Entails. Some are starting their third child on reading. It's a great mix.

Come to think of it, the whole group is a great mix. There were about 15 kids, ranging from ages four to sixteen. There were both what we call "little cousins" as well as "big cousins". In this group, they learn how to look out for the little cousins and "look out" for the big cousins. Each one teaches one. It works out great. If the kids were all the same size, they'd all be competing at the same age/skill level at everything, and the ones who didn't come out in the top half would be the losers. There is a certain competition between those of roughly the same age, which is cool. This way, they learn that life is a little kinder and not everyone is out to beat you. And the moms area all pretty good about reigning in the baser instincts. ;) It was so nice...

I thanked Alpha Mom again for the soup she gave me when I was sick. I told her it was delicious and that no one has cooked me soup in a long time. She smiled and said that she thought not and that her mother-in-law always makes her soup when she's sick. She's so sweet.

Tiny children, lost at sea...

Well, they buried my infant niece last week. She was 3 pounds, 10 oz, and had multiple, fatal birth defects. Everyone knew it was coming because she had Trisomy 18, a non-hereditary chromosomal disorder. They didn't expect her cleft palate to be quite as bad as it was, so there are no pictures of her.

This is the dress I made for her to be buried in. My poor mom made two, successively smaller dresses, but they were still much too large. I know preemies. I had to show you the little tiny dress that I made for her.




The dress was a labor of love for my brother. It was all I could do for him, and it was a work of art. The slip is cotton lawn. The dress is eyelet with a lawn-lined eyelet collar. The bonnet is eyelet, lined in lawn. (You missed the hand work inside the bonnet!) I pulled an all-nighter to get this in the mail on time.

Maybe it's my ruthlessly practical nature, but I'm not really that broken up now. We've known for months that this child was a short-term loan from her creator.

My father is a little freaked out that my mother and I are so light handed in our response to this. Had my mother been in that position, truth be told, would have had an abortion when she found out that the child would die at birth. She would not put herself and the entire family in a high-stress condition for an entire year for a fetus that badly damaged. I know it sounds heartless, but life is that way. My sister-in-law put this family through the wringer, put her toddler in a precarious emotional position, and dragged everyone she knew along for this seemingly quixotic, narcissistic, self-destructive journey. I just don't understand, I suppose. I may never understand.

The Perfect Christian Woman (not me!)

For some reason, I feel surrounded and isolated by right-wing Christian extremists lately. I blame my cousin first.

I only have one cousin, and I remember her as always being a cute, well-behaved, perfect little girl. Her mother was a perfect southern belle, and my uncle was almost as revolting. They lived a cute, perfect-looking life in Atlanta until her mom wanted more. More kids, that is... ;) With other men. :O

Anyway, this is the kind of girl whose maternal grandmother took her out just before her 12th birthday and had her eyebrows "done". She hasn't had so much as a stray in 28 years. My sister and I, on the other hand, were small, brown potatoes in comparison. My cousin was so sweet, cute, and well groomed, that it made us look like wild west prospectors. We tried not to stand too close.

She's 40 years old now, and still living in Atlanta. She's married to a nice man 10 years older than she is. She's homeschooling her perfect 13-year-old daughter and will probably homeschool her 2-year-old boy as well. Here's the kicker. Her Facebook page links to here: The Patriot Post.

Scary, no? This is a web site that declares Barak Obama to be "This Week's Alpha Jackass" for nominating Sonia Sotomayor to the Supreme Court. Heh? How does Rush Limbaugh not get that award for, say, EVERYTHING HE'S SAID ALL WEEK?

And all this couldn't be weirder, because I'm actually a Christian, too. I'm just not the kind who would post the following on my Facebook page: "Not only is the Lord an unbreachable defence to those who find their identity and righteousness in Christ, but He knows intimately each whom He defends. He is aware of our every need and every weakness, and thus, we, His people, can be supremely confident in His ability to bolster us in the face of even the fiercest enemy. Rejoice, O believer, for He is our great shield and high wall of bastion!"

What tha? I don't even want to know what web site she got that from... She's just revolting.

So, what's my problem?

It LIVES...

I'm finally over my cold. You know what finally kicked it? The kind, lovely, ever-practical mom in my PE group made me corn soup. Cures what ails you. How sweet is that?

The Husband is down with it now, but sufficiently recovered to go to the "Vintage Vinyl" shop and leave me with two bored, hot kids. I just bought the nicest sprinkler on Amazon...

School is seriously winding down now. We've done nothing but one grammar page, one math page, and some arithmetic for three days now. The Boy is getting off easy because I've got him doing his placement exams for Calvert. The Girl is just getting off easy.

And speaking of The Girl, she has been like a vacuum cleaner lately. She eats like a full-grown man! I've never seen anything like it. Oh, and the skirt I made for her with the 25" hips? The one that would have fit her two weeks ago? Not so much now. Her hips are now 28". I'd better build that "getting my period" social story going SOON. Oh the humanity. She's not even 10 yet! Here's hoping she takes it well.

Is anyone else a compulsive planner? I'm looking at airfare for Christmas already. They're not even scheduling flights yet, but I'm On It.

The food coop finally went online, so I have to get on over there. I hope it's a good interface, 'cause I'm tired of driving half-way across the county to place my order every month. They're trying to phase out the monthly price books, good hippies that they are. Go Green!

Oh, the humanity...

I've been on the same cold-like thing for two days now! This is the worst kind of cold -- it makes you woozy, achy, tired, and gives you a sinus headache, but you don't *look* or *sound* sick. Oh, the calamity... No one will leave me (or the popsicles in the fridge) alone.

The Husband came home yesterday evening and found me in a heap on the couch. I told him, "There are pork chops thawed in the fridge, noodles in the pantry, and summer squash in the crisper." He checked the pork chops and put them on the counter to finish thawing. Half an hour later, I was still lying on the couch. He walked by and asked, "Did you want me to cook dinner?" Well, duh.

True confession: I helped The Boy cheat on an exam today. Sort of. He's coming down with this thing, and had to take a grammar test for Calvert. I just kept handing the page back to him and saying, "You know better than that. Fix it." Because, honestly, he does. And I mean, when it says "There are three adverbs in this sentence; underline them," he should at least underline three words, no? Boys. Pah. (Why do I still feel guilty? It's not like I didn't leave enough mistakes!)

Now, I have to scrape my carcass off the computer chair, pack up some water bottles, and take the punks (I mean, my children) to the park for homeschool play date. I wouldn't do it, except that maybe the house won't be trashed as quickly if they're not home...

Facebook -- what gives?

I'm not clear on what Facebook is for. I'm guessing that it's self-congratulatory or self-pitying drivel that you post to get your "friends" to ooh and aah over you. It just seems, well, needy.

When I write, I like to do it anonymously. Not exactly the point of Facebook really, is it? ;)

La grippe strikes the looney bin

Turns out the reason Lora was wearing bananas on her head yesterday was that she saw someone do it on TV. Makes sense to me. ;) Yeah, and it was a dancing cartoon duck made up of letters. So, sure -- I'd do it, too. ;)

I've come down with some kind of cold today, so academia will just have to wait. We did math, handwriting, and a little grammar. The Boy apparently works best when he doesn't have far to go. Yesterday, I thought he'd never finish.

The Husband is being taped for a local television show this afternoon. The Boy doesn't want to watch it because, well, because it's embarrassing. I think it'll be fun.

The Girl managed to break a compact fluorescent bulb this morning while playing Cowbear. To play Cowbear, basically, you get a lasso and start knocking things on the floor. That explains the lamp. The office needed to be aired out and vacuumed anyway, right? Eeeeeverything has a silver lining. I just have to repeat that until I believe it... ;)

I can't remember the things that I wrote in yesterday's blog that I said I would write about later, so it'll have to wait until tomorrow. Or whenever my brain congeals again, whichever comes first.

Love, don't wear bananas on your head.

I always come up with such great blog topics while I'm in the shower or during school, but I always forget them when I finally get to the computer. So I'm just going to blog anyway. How's that sound?

The above quote was yet another in a long list of strange things I've said in the last week. For some reason The Girl was wearing the banana bunch that I had just brought back from the store, and without hesitating or getting overly excited, I simply said (in my best kindly mom voice), "Love, don't wear bananas on your head. Put them down." Welcome to my world.

We have two weeks to go until the Official End of School. At our house, anyway. I'm running out of work, and the public schools get out soon anyway, so what the heck. The Boy will run out of A Beka math pages this week. They both ran out of spelling lists last week. We're finishing up the Babylonians this week, and doing Crete next week. (Long story -- remind me to tell you tomorrow.) I'm making up grammar review sheets for The Boy.

This morning, The Boy started on his Calvert entrance exam. I started him on reading comprehension this morning, and I was shocked -- SHOCKED I tell you -- at how far he got! Considering we have done almost no formal reading comprehension this year, I'm impressed. ;)

We're reviewing punctuation, capitalization, possessives, contractions, and parts of speech tomorrow. Wednesday, he'll take the grammar part of the exam. Friday, after we finish our section on fractions, he'll take the mathematics portion. I'm putting off the composition until next week. Yaag! He's so pitiful with writing. He just can't organize it all and then write it. From his self-centric place in his mind, he can't imagine that we don't already know what's in his head, so it's hard for him to write about it. Or he has trouble organizing his thoughts. Or something.

He just asked to read with me now, but I've told him he has to finish his math first. Sneaky me!

Lora passed (or is it failed?) the Verticity entrance exam for a language-based learning disability. Now they want $55 before they'll even fork over their entrance exam. Yeah, yeah, I'll get to it NEXT WEEK.

Then, I get to put together my homeschool portfolio and have it reviewed. "Did they make any progress this year?" "YES." "Oh, good. Carry on." I'm not too stressed about it, but I have to do it anyway.

Remind me to tell you about my new organizational system for the fall. It's cool...

It's stress-over-the-curriculum time...

I'm considering using the Calvert Homeschool program.It's a complete soup-to-nuts program for about $780, which would come from The Indulgent Grandmother. Tell me why this isn't a good idea. I'm sure there's a good reason, right? http://www.calvertschool.org/accredited-homeschool-curriculum/

In one way, it appeals to me because it's complete and visually attractive to The Kid. On the other hand, it won't be as much fun as creating my own material. On the other hand, it won't be as stressful as creating my own material. ;)

The Boy wold be 4th grade. I think that this year, I've gotten him up to grade level and ready to really learn, so his splinter skills wouldn't be a problem. There's a sample lesson plan at the very bottom of this page: http://www.calvertschool.org/engine/cal/files/library/HS044SampleLesson.pdf

Calvert also has a sister program called Verticity, which is designed for children with "language-based learning different (LLD). If there was ever a child who was language-disabled, it would be The Girl. I would place her in 3rd grade. I think we've brought her up pretty close to 3rd grade, except for the language thing. This year, they only have 4th through 6th, but they're adding 3rd for the 2009-2010 year. A sample lesson is here: http://www.verticylearning.org/images/pdfs/v_samplelesson_g4_red.pdf The cost for the Verticity is $1,250, bringing the total up to around $2,000 for the pair. Ouch.

But I keep thinking there has to be a catch. Do you know what it is?

Sleep, beautiful sleep...

Okay. I've had enough of this.

All my adult life, I've had one child-rearing rule that I have never violated, even after having children. My kids watch TV, they eat candy, they refuse to eat spinach, they weren't toilet trained by 3 years old. But to date, I have held the line on letting them sleep in my bed. But no more. They've finally broken me.

The Girl has taken to waking at 3am and coming to visit us. We have two choices: let her sleep with us or take her back to her room and hope that it doesn't wake her up. Because, boy howdy, if she wakes up, she'll be up partying until 5am or whenever The Husband has to get up for work, whichever is later. So, The Husband, sometimes without even waking me, has allowed her to sleep on his side of the bed while he goes to sleep on the couch. Ooh. Bad. On the other hand, I get to sleep most of the night. Oh sleep, how fondly I remember you...

Then The Boy got a cold. (You can look down below to see how well he handled it.) The only safe, comfortable place that could keep him from weeping uncontrollably (at 10:30 pm) was -- you guessed it -- our bed.

What is it about the magical realm of The Big Bed? I remember its magic from when I was a child. The Big Bed was lofty and elevated. Its sheets were cool and smooth. The pillows smelled like "parent". It was a land unto itself, forbidden territory.

And now, my kids have discovered that. It's gotten to where The Husband and I are considering buying ourselves a new bed and letting the kids keep the old one. Oh sleep, beautiful sleep. How fondly I remember it...

And why can't they make decent bras?!

Somehow, The Industry thinks that if we're "petite", we don't need any support at all. Sure, when I was 25, it was just a gesture of politeness to wear a bra, but now?! Sorry. Like two dead gophers. Being held up by a little lycra and some foam disks? I SO don't think so.

I mean, I appreciate Playtex making a 38-A 'cause no one else will, but maybe I can put some boning in to make it underwire?

Somewhere out there, someone is a "normal" size, but those of us on the fringes will continue to sow the seeds of discontent. Rise up!

Praying to the porcelain god

Okay, why didn't I see this one coming -- before his college days, anyway?

The poor child was DYING of a cold. Is there a male version for the term "drama queen"?

Easter: The Aftermath

"Honey, don't rub your chocolate on the cat."

Chalk up one more ridiculous statement I never thought I'd hear come out of my mouth...

The Good Wife

I just had to tell you -- I had a "I'm a good wife" moment yesterday. You know how the men are supposed to bring home the ends, and we're supposed to make them meet? Y'know, by checking the rates on car insurance, getting good deals on groceries, fixing stuff ourselves? I arranged for The Husband and me to meet with the house refinancing guy at the credit union yesterday, and we spent a half-hour figuring out how to refinance. Basically, you need about $600 in cold, hard cash, and the rest can be folded into the new mortgage. We had the idea last week when the rate was 5%, but now it's 5.5% -- not a whole lot lower than what we have. Still, I felt like The Good Housewife for all of an hour. I'll take it where I can.

Freaky coincidences - or - Twins Separated at Birth?

Okay, I know -- two posts in one day after months of no posts, but I just had to put this out out there. As pointed out to me by SuburbanCorrespondent, there was a freaky coincidence in the world yesterday, and I think we've discovered two more men Separated At Birth.

For your perusal, I present Mr. Potter and Mr. Cheney:

Truly scary...

A new day...

I knocked off school around 11:00 yesterday for the inauguration of Barak Obama, and now it feels like a New Day of personal responsibility, civic responsibility, global responsibility. I've decided to take this to heart and declare a new household age of responsibility -- for my kids.

It is now The Boy's responsibility to get his butt to school in the diningroom, do his work, and get it done. He made his own lunch (mostly) and then *gasp* cleaned up after himself! Same with The Girl. Honestly, I couldn't take much more of the laziness and the "I'm ordering lunch at Hardee's" attitude anymore anyway. So, in effect, it's Independence Day as well. Whee!!

Now, if someone could explain how an intelligent and bold woman like Michelle Obama chose both the gorgeous, glowing inauguration dress and the cheesecloth-and-tissue-wad ballgown on the same day, please let me know. I guess I was hoping for something more glossy for the inauguration balls.

Still, I'm pumped and ready for a new day!