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?