About two weeks ago, Logan made the startling announcement that he will not, in fact, be a kindergartener this fall.

This was news to me on several fronts. First and foremost, the boy is nearing his fifth birthday. In our house, the fifth birthday is the official time of some sort of required schoolwork--albeit little more than a short period of sustained work. Up until the age of five, a simple, "No thanks," cuts it with me, and you're off the hook for preschool-y type instruction, as long as you manage to keep yourself mostly occupied while everyone else is doing school. Logan has always been exceptionally good at working when he wants and playing quietly when he wants. Maybe a little too good, in fact.

This was also news to me because honestly, it had never occurred to me that any of my children would ever simply opt out of learning. And frankly, that's what Logan has done lately. He has said "No, thanks<" more often than not to any sort of organized lesson, unless it involves drawing instruction. Since he's under five, since he seems to be struggling with some underlying learning issues and since I tend to think that drawing is a wonderful skill that ought to be encouraged, I've allowed this continual state of "No, thanks," to go on for the past two or three months.

It never occurred to me that he had no desire to learn in an organized way. I just thought he was busy in other areas. He's a busy kid, after all. Stickers to be stuck. Tape to be taped. Paints to be blended. Buildings to be constructed. That's learning, right? And if you can learn like that, you can learn from a book, too, right?

So you can see why his little announcement caught me totally off guard.

Despite my own inner "Ack!" I didn't make much of an issue out of his statement. He followed it up by letting me know that he planned on buying a guitar and becoming a musician. O.k., fair enough. I told him that all the musicians I know most certainly read, and suggested that he follow in their footsteps. He smiled his impish grin and said, "No, thanks."

Fast forward to Saturday morning. The whole family is loading up to get Jo off to her latest rabbit show. The boys are completely ready--faces washed, hair brushed, shoes on--and beginning to get that "what now?!?!" chaos where they start poking each other and wrestling like puppies. In desperation, I order them to the couch and tell them to look at library books while I finish making the sandwiches to take along. Things are quiet for three or four minutes. Suddenly, Logan starts howling.

"Please! PLEASE! PLEASE! "

Atticus shrugs and says, "Not right now. I'm busy."

You guessed it: Logan is desperately begging his older brother to read a book to him. Atticus, absorbed in his own book, is saying no. And all hoopla is getting ready to break loose.

Being the wise homeschooling mother I am, I seized upon the moment.

"Welllllllll," I smiled sweetly at my youngest, "too bad you don't want to learn how to read. You know, there are going to be lots of times when there's no one around to read to you, or when we're all too busy. Boy, especially once some new little brothers or sisters arrive ... hmmmmmm...."

Guess what? We started reading lessons again this morning. Logan attacked 100 EZ with a whole new appetite. I asked him, as he sat on my lap just after finishing the insipid story about a cat on the sand, "So, do you think you're going to be a kindergartener this year after all?"

"I guess so," he replied, already wiggling down to start a new Lego creation.

Good enough.

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An occasional update on what the family is currently taking in:

DH


Me



Jo


Atticus


Logan

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FINISHED!

Can't believe it even as I write it! We had our last visit with our social worker this a.m. While it was fraught with a few more uncomfortable moments than I would have liked (note to self: remind Atticus that not everyone is as interested in word etymology as he is), I think it went well.

Our next step is to begin carving a little space out for our new little arrivals. Jo's bed is going to be lofted, and a new bed will be placed in her room--converting it, officially, into "the girls' room." No, no ... we don't know for sure that we're getting another little girl. It just makes sense to start setting things up in there since she has more space. If we need to move things into the boys' room, then we will when the time comes.

Our wait could be anywhere from a week (highly unlikely) to a year (also unlikely). Neither prospect dampens my spirits right now!

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It snowed again here. A lot. The funny thing is, it isn't supposed to snow here in the winter. It's supposed to rain. Gallons, buckets, barrels of the wet stuff ... but nothing flaky and fun. Guess what? Someone forgot to tell the clouds, because we just got our second major dump of the season. SNOW DAY!!!

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We're on, oh ... about week fifteen of studying the American Revolution. This wasn't my plan, nor was it Sonlight's. We're still stuck firmly on week 20 of our IG--right where the Revolution gives way to the Constitution. After chafing for nearly two weeks under what has become an absolute obsession with all thing Revolutionary, I finally decreed on Wednesday that it was time for the war to end.

The kids weren't thrilled at this prospect. While my idea had been to give them a nice overview of the war--it's causes, its reality, the key thinkers, pivotal points and outcomes-- they, clearly, have an appetite far beyond the scope of a mere overview. All three of them have been breathing redcoats and congress and Bunker Hill. They can't get enough of Phyllis Wheatley, Ceasar Rodney and Thomas Paine. Their playtimes have included impressive stagings of crossing the Delaware, as well creating some very nice examples of broadsheets. And their movie requests have been almost exclusively for a PBS show called "Liberty's Kids."

You'd think that this total saturation would have worn thin on them as well as me. But, oh, no. They are still going strong. I think they could do an entire year on nothing but the American Revolution.

The stuff they are learning ... wow! Jo explained to me in great detail last night several complex links between the American and French Revolutions. These are things that I didn't tie together until college, when I took a course contrasting the post-Civil War Reconstruction of the South with the steps taken to ensure unity through the signing of the Constitution. Atticus is of course enchanted with the personalities of the key historical figures. And Logan has memorized various weapons, major battles and quite a few tart cultural tidbits.

Despite these lovely rabbit trails, I am ready to move on. I have gathered all of the library books, movies and games into one spot to be returned. I'm not pointer my browser toward any more sites with photos of reenactments. And no, I'm not making another batch of those disgusting hardtack biscuits, thank you very much.

Time to move onward! Let's get going! What's up next? Oh, no. Westward Expansion. Lewis and Clark. Sacajawea. Jim Bridger.

I'd better get my library card ready.

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Not punk as in rock-star cool, but punk as in: I have the chills, I have a fever, and my tummy is well ... we shall say "not pleased" and leave the imagery to you.

I so do not want to be sick. But it seems like everyone else on the west coast is, so why not me?

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Here's hope for those of you who struggle with a child who seems completely morally flawed: Jo is driving me crazy with her seeming perfection lately. It's gotten so bad that I feel sometimes like I am living with Mary from "Little House on the Prairie."

Oh, don't be coy--you know what I mean. You always identified with Laura, right? Spunky Laura, who always wanted to do right, but somehow let her anger or frustration or just plain curiousity get the best of her. No matter how well intentioned she started out, by the end of the chapter, there's Pa, looking down at her with those understanding eyes and giving her that legendary gentle correction.

And then there's Mary. Mary always does what's right. She may have a battlefield of temptation going on in her mind, but that girl just never steps outside of the box, does she? She's all "Yes, ma'am" and "No, Sir" and "For shame, Laura!" Her dress is always clean and she's quite content sitting beside Ma even on the sunniest day, being helpful and suppressing the urge to run in the creek  or roll in the grass.

That Mary. ((sigh)) I was never a Mary. Were you?

I never thought Jo would be a Mary, either. To be honest, when she was 5 years old, I was fairly certain that I would be fighting an uphill battle with that child for the rest of my life. If you pointed out that the sky was a beautiful shade of blue, chances were good she'd stick her hands on her hips and tell you that in no uncertain terms was the sky anything but purple. She had a particularly irritating tone that tended to remind me of my own mother, and a few of my mother's less savory truth-twisting habits beside. She also bossed anyone and everyone who came into her path.

In other words, it was not looking pretty. But if you saw her today, you'd have no clue of the shaky beginning this girl had in the obedience and attitude department.

Jo says thank you about a billion times a day. If she thanks you once and doesn't think you heard her, she will repeat it until she's sure she's expressed her gratitude. As a matter of fact, sometimes she's so thankful for such tiny things that I find myself getting annoyed ("I'm glad you're happy with the apple, Jo. You're welcome already. Just eat it!") Jo is also the queen on checking in with me. I have to tell you, it's an incredible trait in a firstborn, and I am spoiled. I never worry about not knowing where she is, or not knowing what's going on. She also seeks permission for things that most kids wouldn't think twice about. She asks before she uses more hot water in the bath (doesn't want to deny anyone after her a warm soak). She asks before she takes her shoes off when we come in the house ("Are we going back out again soon? Should I just keep my shoes on?") .

She's also responsible to a fault. If you ask her to play with a friends' two year-old, she will bring you any scrap of paper she finds on the floor for fear of them eating it. She will take them on endless tours of the house and will wait patiently while they recap the plot of "Go, Diego, Go" for the fiftieth time.

I wish I could tell you exactly what happened to "cure" her. I think the best explanation is that a whole bunch of things took root and began to grow. Our family started attending church regularly. We started homeschooling. We moved to a new area. She started Awana. My husband's priorities shifted from work being number one on his list to family occupying the top spot. I gave her chores--things to be responsible for--and began holding her accountable in ways I had not previously. And oh, yes: I started praying ferverently that she would become a woman who brought joy into the world.

I guess I got my answer. In spades, as they say.

I have no doubt that Jo will make mistakes. I will get angry with her behavior at some point. Or she will just be led far enough by her frustration to snap in a given situation. She may even go through a rebellious period. Honestly, part of me hopes that she does. Because living with Mary, nice and rose-colored as it is, is sometimes harder than you'd think.

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Logan can't pronounce the letter "r' if it falls in the middle of a word. This results in the kind of kiddie speech impediment that I personally find rather charming under the age of 8 or so. I admit that this little quirk probably would have worried me to distraction if it was almost 5-yo Jo we were talking about ... but it isn't, and I freely admit that I apply a totally different set of standards to number three than I did to number one.

Which has made me wonder: how will I be when I am parenting numbers 4 and 5? If my expectations of parenting when I hopped on this roller coaster were mountains, I'm already slaloming somewhere mid-slope at this point. Can I really afford to let them slide any further?

More things that prove I am a mom of more than one:

1. I let my kids wear jeans with holes in the knees. I remember seeing parents whose kids were wearing ratty clothes and thinking that they really could do better. This was, of course, when Jo was fully outfitted in the latest attire from very generous grandparents. Nowadays I calculate how long it is until the end of the season, divide that by the number of kids those clothes are going to serve over their lifetime in my house, and base any purchases on the final outcome of that equation.

2. My sons have cowlicks that run amok. And I don't even spray them down unless we're leaving the house. There. I've said it.

3. Our collection of Tonka trucks live on the back patio. Was a day when I considered it time well spent hosing them off after each trip to the sandbox. After all, gotta keep those pricey little items looking sharp so that when the grandkids come to visit in 30 years, they're still in pristine shape. Now the poor things are blooming rust under our grill. Oh, well.

4. I read really simple storybooks to Logan when he asks for them. ((sigh)) Poor Jo. I can remember my own excitement to get to the chapter books I had so loved as a child. As a result, I pushed her into the "big girl" read-alouds probably waaay earlier than I should have. granted, she seems none the worse for the wear. But I do wonder how many times she would have rather heard "Brown Bear, Brown Bear" but took my suggestion of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" instead.

5. Jo is just now learning to braid her own hair. I really have never taken the time to teach her. Frankly, it's always easier to just do it myself in between tying little brother's shoes and trying to brush my own teeth as we're heading out.  I always thought that if I had a little girl, we'd be doing each other's hair from the time she was three.

6. All of our birthday party invitations say "no presents" ... and we mean it. I'm fairly certain that there's not a single toy out there that we need. Funny thing is, my dc are mostly convinced of this as well. While they look longingly at live animals (Jo), comic books (Atticus) and art supplies (Logan), they very, very rarely ask for anything toy-like. And I'm more than happy with that!

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We leave for vacation in a little over a week and boy, is it a good thing. I realized this afternoon that I am dangerously close to burnout.

"Yes, clearly!" you say, having read my previous post. "You're going on and on like a lunatic."

Thanks. I see that now. It's funny, though, that I always have to skirt the edges of exhaustion before I finally get the message that it's time to take a big step back.

Oddly enough, it hasn't been homeschooling that's been crowding my brain. School has been fine--it's been fun and productive. I've been given a steady stream of fruit to watch blossom these past few weeks, and I don't just mean grasping concepts or breakthroughs in understanding. I mean the real stuff: heart issues, grace and a desire to follow the Lord. You can't ask for more than that.

It's been everything else that's been beating me down. Stress over the homestudy. Ministry needs. Helpmeeting my husband. Fielding calls from friends. Everything, lately, has been pouring out of me much more than is being poured in.

And I'm tired. I don't want to answer the phone, and I don't want to be anyone else's shoulder to cry on. I just want to soak in a hot bath or read to my kids.

In other words, I want to be selfish.

Maybe I'll feel better about that when I'm given my designation selfish time ... ie, vacation.

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Feels like I haven't written about school in forever. Maybe that's a good thing--it's coming so naturally and going so well that I don't really have much to post about! ;-)

Atticus is almost finished with his first grade A Beka LA. Believe it or not, he actually enjoys writing out rhyming words and marking vowels and writing three-sentence stories about George Washington. He's just that kind of kid. He's also loving the WinterPromise chess curriculum that we purchased at Christmas time. He's dreadfully close to overtaking me in chess skills already. Good thing I bought the Instructor's Guide, or I'd never win another game.

Logan still perplexes me with his dyslexia-like reading and writing. On the advice of our friendly OT, I'm running him through the paces of Handwriting Without Tears. I purchased it for Atticus, but have honestly never done handwriting with my older two. (Bad mommy. Bad mommy.) They just learned to read and learned to write and honestly ... well, I did very little to help them along. Logan doesn't mind HWT very much; he enjoys the wood letter pieces, which appeal to his very creative nature. He's also really liking an Usborne Number sticker book that I got for him in December. It's nice because it doesn't require any writing to have success.

My busy little Jo has been flitting in between big projects as of late. She's written several mini-reports (one that she came up with on her own after reading a particularly inspiring biography of King George III) and has been loving a science unit on simple physics that allowed her free reign with a hammer, nails and sections of pine 2x4. She recently competed in her first 4H rabbit show and was awarded Junior Novice Champion for Fit and Show. Now it's on to Awana Bible Quiz Bowl this Saturday before gearing up for Spelling Bee season.

So yes, we're still homeschooling. Still packing in as much fun and learning in 24 hours as we possibly can. Still keeping our local library staff accountable with dozens of weekly holds. And still very much loving the journey.

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We had our first homestudy visit today. It went well. Really well. Our case worker is hoping to have the homestudy written by the time we leave for vacation in just three weeks. I can't tell you how exciting that is for a family that's walked the road of "how do we expand?" for over two years.

In just three weeks, our name goes into the hopper of consideration for little children who need a home. We will still be pursuing our foster license, in case that's the method the Lord chooses to use to bring more hearts into our forever family. That process should take about three months. But just knowing--knowing for the first time in this whole rocky road--that someone is actually actively searching for the children the Lord wants us to raise ... I can't even give words to it.

I'm walking on air this morning. Thank you, Lord, for bringing me to this place. I know that there will be rough moments and days ahead. But at this second, I am surrounded by the evidence of your goodness!

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Ten inches of snow has a way of messing up your plans. And that's precisely what's happened here. Not only did our homestudy get postoned, but so have about a million other things. I am trying very hard to stay in the moment--enjoying the sledding hill with the three children the Lord has placed in my arms and taking in the sight of His majesty in the form of soft white drifts...

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The social worker is coming THURSDAY for our very first homestudy visit. ((phew)) O.k., I admit that I am cleaning like a maniac and trying to make our house look as if five people do not actually live in it. Any spare prayers floating around this week? Send 'em my way ... pretty please???

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I like to clean on New Year's Day. Something about a fresh year makes me go digging through closets and sweeping in the garage. Call it a fresh start.

This year as I did my annual "unearthing old stuff" clean-up, I found a plastic shoebox full of old pictures. Are you like me? Does a discovery like this turn your well-intentioned cleaning binge into an hour-long sobfest in which you relive every single memory? Things rarely make me sentimental ... but pictures can send me in a tailspin. Which is, of course, precisely what happened on New Year's Day.

Exhibit A: 23 year-old me holding 5 day-old Jo. Baby pictures usually make me weepy anyhow, but this one knowcked the wind out of me. First of all, I was just a baby ... what was I doing with one?!? I really don't remember being that young when Jo was born. We have a girl at church who teaches Sunday School who is 23. I can't even begin to picture her married, let alone with a baby. But there I am: sitting on the couch in my husband's baggy flannel pj bottoms, cute hair and bags under my eyes looking like I haven't slept in oh, five days or so. And Jo! I know she was a big baby (she weighed in at 10 lbs. 2 oz. at birth) but somehow I don't recall her being so round. She was a whopper. No wonder everyone who saw her thought she was two months old!

Exhibit B: Me holding 3 month-old Jo on the carousel at DisneyWorld. Talk about an alert baby. There's Jo in the Baby Bjørn, peeking over the layers of blankets and somehow looking directly at the camera as we whirled by. We're going to Disney for the first time since that trip in just a few weeks. And guess who has decided that she absolutely must get an almost identical shot with her little girl? Yes, that would be me.

Exhibit C: Was Atticus the cutest baby ever or what? All of my kids are cute ... even the ones I don't have yet. I know this because I am inherently biased toward my own children. But Atticus ... this kid was cuteness personified from the second he slid from the womb. The picture I found on New Year's shows him sitting on the floor chomping on a teething biscuit. His hair is red and curly, his cheeks are plump and pink and his eyes are big blue lakes. Man, is he cute.

Exhibit D: Too many couples have split up since my wedding. I found no less than five photos of couples who are no longer married in that box. It broke my heart to see them together, frozen in the happy moments. Each one of them married with the intention of being together forever, and yet somewhere along the line the promises fell apart. I know most of their stories--who did what and who hurt who, who hung in there and who just walked away. Looking in those faces was hard. I couldn't put the photos aside without praying over them.

Exhibit E: Logan was once Mr. Sedate. I forget this all the time. There was once a day when that boy sat on my hip from sun up to sun down, and took no interest in getting anywhere. Really. He was a calm, quiet people-watcher with no desire to do anything else. Really. No, really.

I realized as I looked at the photos that in another ten years, I wouldn't be able to have these moments of happy discovery. Thanks to the blessing of technology, all of my memories are stored on my computer. While I love the convenience of having them all on hand, I don't have hard copies of most of them. There are no doubles to put aside and forget until a later date. No image is ever really that far away; if I stay away from the computer long enough, they will begin to randomly flash across my screen, reminding me of moments from five years ago or five days ago.

And that's probably for the best. Because nothing puts an end to a good cleaning rampage better than memories.

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Three different children, three different learning styles. Three differing sets of interests.

Why, oh why, can't they all follow the same path?

Of course, I'm joking. I wouldn't want to live in a cookie-cutter world any more than I'd want my own children to be carbon copies of one another. Or, heaven forbid, carbon copies of me.

But it does keep things interesting, the way they all have their own methods and madness, doesn't it?

Today I am worrying over Logan in particular. He's 4--more than half-way to 5, at this point. Now, please don't take this as a comparison, but he is nothing like my other two children when it comes to learning.

As he is in everything he does, Logan hears his own drummer and marches along oblivious to the cajolings of a certain well-meaning mommy. I don't know why homeschooling would be anything different.

I honestly don't have a problem with that. He is my third (thank you, Lord), not my first, so I am not fretting over the things that drove me insane with Jo. If he wants to sit for two hours and snip the edges off of bird cutouts, so be it. Plenty of time for phonics instruction in his future, KWIM? I suggest things, and if he goes along, great. If he doesn't, that's o.k. too. Sometimes, to show his lack of interest (or just as his interest wanes), he'll start this game that I like to think of as "I'm Not Invested In This, Mom." In other words, he will slowly tune out. As his interest goes, so does his attention. Normal 4 yo stuff.

But this is where it gets a bit more tricky: Logan shows some of the "classic" signs of dyslexia and dysgraphia. There's a family history involved here, too--so my Mommyradar is going bonkers.I've got a boy who constantly writes in mirror-image, who tries to read backwards, who forgets things he learned a week ago ...

Which is not that unusual in a 4 yo, right?

I just don't know. Here it is--I'll be Bad Mommy and say it: Jo and Atticus never did this.

And I admit I am flummoxed. Is it normal stuff, or is it a learning issue? Am I being a nutcase, worrying over a child this young?

I just don't know.

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Our first homestudy visit is scheduled for January 11. I am excited, nervous, thrilled ... you name it!

My understanding is that these are totally normal emotions. We are half way through the process. The homestudy should be short (about a month) and then we are on to foster licensing. We will also be submitting our profile for birthmother adoptions, so it's possible that we could be selected that way. Praying that 2007 is the year we add new little hearts to our home!

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I loathe violence. I don't like hearing about it, watching it or being near it.

I am one of those mothers who vowed that my sons would never play with guns. (This has, actually, come to pass so far, but only in a convoluted way: neither Atticus nor Logan owns toy guns per se, but they do have an armory of toy swords and an assortment of plastic soldiers and cowboys and indians.) I can't stand wrestling, and I spend at least twenty minutes out of every day trying to convince my boys that they are not actually puppies, so they really don't need to roll around on one another. And words, I hold, can be violent, too. We don't use any of the following toward one another in this house: kill, stupid, dumb, shoot or hate.

Obviously I am aware that I am swimming upstream in this battle. Our culture is steeped in violence as a way of life--not in the horrifyingly authentic sense that those living in war zones have, but in the glorified, "this is cool" casualness of a people who live with the knowledge that most of us will never be bombed in our beds. It's almost inescapable. Some days, that fact is very, very disheartening to me.

It's not that I don't understand a certain amount of rough-and-tumble in life. I do, after all, have two boys. There is plenty of role-playing that goes along with that; most of it centers by default on testosterone-fueled pursuits like nabbing the bad guys. What I'm talking about here is over-the-top, response-provoking eye gauging and the like. I just don't like it.

So imagine my horror when, at this morning's library puppet show, a "Punch and Judy" routine is announced. You know Punch and Judy--the Medieval husband and wife duo who bash each other on the head and call each other horrible names for laughs. In other words, the epitome of everything I really, really dislike.

For a split second, I thought about dragging my three kids out of there. Really. How lame am I? Very. And honestly, I probably would have left were it not for two things. First, my friend J. was there with her three little boys, one of whom she had just commenced to nurse. What was I going to do? Leave her there with her shirt up and her boys following me out the door like so many ducklings? No way.

But the second thing, the one that really gave me pause was this: we have entered that phase in our family. The one I always knew we would get to down the line: innoculation.

See, my theory has always been that our home is a boot camp of sorts. We are here to fortify our children, to reinforce in them godly character traits. My husband and I work hard to impart discernment and Scriptural wisdom in our kids, so that down the road, they will be able to spot poor choices ten miles ahead and think them through clearly.

I have thus far kept my children away from many things that I consider to be beyond what they need to know about. This doesn't mean we walk around with blinders on; on the contrary, we see good and glorious things all the time. And we see bad stuff, too. My children know about divorce, they know about murder, they know that there are poeple out there who hurt children, and they know that drugs and alcohol can be abused very badly. They don't live in a bubble.

But my husband and I have been seeing signs lately that we are ready to move into that innoculation phase--the phase where the children are exposed to little bits of the bad stuff so that they can compare it to the good stuff. I am in constant prayer over this because believe me, I would love for God to give me an out on this. This is not the timing I saw for this. But clearly, it's God's time.

So back to Punch and Judy. Yes, there was punching and name-calling and lying and stealing. There was mockery of a police officer (an über no-no in our house) and even a great character that represented "the boogeyman." What a delight!

The children watched. All three of them giggled and found it mostly funny, although they enjoyed other bits of the presentation much more than the Punch and Judy skit. I noticed that Logan didn't laugh nearly as much as Atticus, who turned beet red from his ears to his toes. Later he told me that he didn't think it was that funny because they were "being naughty" (which tells me that we may be working on Jo and Atticus and leaving Logan to dance for a few more years in innocence). But it was the words Atticus spoke that were music to my ears:

"I knew it was bad stuff, mom. But it was just pretend. And they're puppets. If people acted that way, it wouldn't be funny at all."

Bravo, son. Keep that spirit.

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In honor of our most recent snowfall--and the fact that I find it too painful to do school when the sun is out and the ground is white--here is a brief list of things my children learned today:

1. Do not throw hard snow at one another. It is actually ice, and it really hurts.

2. Our family corresponds perfectly with the little "family" in Ereth's Birthday--the kits being a girl and two boys--as long as mom doesn't mind being the grumpy porcupine who barks orders now and then.

3. Mom tells you to cover your ears in cold weather for a reason. Ears left uncovered really do start to sting after a bit.

4. Digging a burrow is no fun in knit gloves. Note to self: purchase actual water-resistant ski gloves next year.

5. It is possible to see water in three states all at once. A brief look around our hill gave us views of it as a solid, liquid and even a gas as it evaporated off a fence post.

6. Sledding on icy snow is even better than sledding on powdery stuff, if you don't mind crashing into the blackberry bushes every once in a while.

7. German Shepherds love the snow. (Well, o.k., we already knew that one. But it was reconfirmed today as we saw our 120 lb. dog dance on his hind legs in an effort to catch the chunks of snow he was tossed!)

8. Frozen bird tracks are really, really cool!

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This is the post where I admit one of my deepest secrets. Are you ready?

I am a dentophobe.

Lest you think I am creating a phobia that I alone suffer from (and that, therefore, the fear is utterly invalid) I provide you with this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dental_phobia

If you are one of my brethren in the dentophobe category, then not only do I welcome you, but I invite you to pull up a chair. And I promise .... it does not recline, and no one will hand you sunglasses as the glaring light drops from overhead.

Yes, I am afraid of the dentist. Afraid of the actual person who performs the procedures, afraid of the place where the procedures take place, afraid of the little plastic-wrapped tray of pointy tools and, oh ... let's not even get into the procedures themselves.

Unfortunately for me, not only do I harbor an irrational fear of dentists, but I have awful teeth. Anyone who thinks that the Lord doesn't have a sense of humor is free to email me for details.

I inherited weak enamel from my father and bad gums from my mother. Couple that with a childhood literally drowning in Coke and Twinkies and you get the picture. I discovered healthy eating and meticulous oral care in college, but alas, the damage was done. I am now an adult woman with fillings in every single molar. Since I've got a full set, that comes up to 14 nuggets of silver leaching chemicals into my mouth and three porcelain bandaids doing who-knows-what to me in the name of arresting decay.

Yesterday I got to experience my second root canal. And while I happen to have a very good provider to perform such acts of horror on my mouth, I still approached the idea of having my root canal-ed with something akin to cold sweats and night terrors.

Enter my friendly, smiling dentist and his magical prescription pad. "You know," he said on Monday as he pronounced the sentence on my aching, swollen mouth, "there's no reason to put yourself through this. I can give you something to take the edge off."

Take the edge off? Oh, boy. Sign me up.

So yesterday morning I went in for a root canal looped on 5 mg of Valium. My understanding is that this is a very low does, which is appropriate because I don't tolerate most medications very well. I wasn't incoherent by any means, and I can't say I was relaxed when I slipped my headphones on and waited for the drilling to stop. But you know, it could have been much, much worse.

So I guess I'm a convert. "Sedation dentistry" is what they call it. Hey, I'm all for it. Three natural childbirths and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. One medicated root canal and ... well ... next time I'll probably ask for 10 mg.

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For some reason, we have never taken a Christmas break. Now, before you call me un-American, un-Christian or both, hear me out. We do plenty of fun stuff in December. We also focus even more heavily on Christ than we do in the other months--mainly on the fact that God made a promise, and God kept a promise ...in His time. I like to point out that fact to my kiddos because I think as Christians is can be hard to hang in there for the month or two or twelve that we pray for something. Imagine how long the Jews were waiting! Boy, that measly year looks like a drop in the bucket, doesn't it? We've established that I am still very much a Christ-follower. I am also still a proud American citizen, though I will admit that I place that designation firmly behind my status as a Child of the Living God. This rankles some people, who see the two as one in the same. Sorry if you're one of them; we can agree to disagree. So why, why do we not take a Christmas break? Because we like school. We really do. No joke. My children will literally ask when we're going to do school if they see the sun creeping too high in the sky on any given day. They feel like they'v emissed something valuable in a day if they aren't read to over lunch. They also can't wait to listen to the pieces featured in "Story of the Orchestra." This is what we do. For them, it's life. Not school, but life. You don't actually take a break from that, do you? This mindset is totally foreign to most traditional schoolers. To tell the truth, it was totally foreign to me when I was a child. There would have been no way I'd have traded in my Christmas break. If someone had even suggested it, I'd have no doubt that that person insane. But here I am, on December 15, planning out next week's school. It looks like a good one. We're studying Benjamin Franklin, and reading "Johnny Tremaine" with SL. We're also doing some fun stuff with "Beautiful Girlhood," a unit study, and Atticus will be notebooking with WP. I've got a few educational videos planned, and Jo will keep flexing those math muscles with some QM Math drills. I've got a whole day planned for a craft party with homeschooling friends. That's Christmas-y ... but it still counts as school. So, who needs a break? Not us. We'll give it a rest Christmas Day, and probably the day after. But then we'll be back at it. Homeschooling is like breathing. It's just what you do.

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