We had a beautiful autumn. That whole week was just gorgeous. And then the snow starting falling (which, I guess, is what falls when you don't have any deciduous leaves to fall), and even that was beautiful. It was the kind of snow I LOVE - it's surreal while it descends, looks gorgeous on the trees and lawn, and politely declines to overstay its welcome on the road.

Until today. The day we picked to rent a U-Haul trailer and pack it with all of the large items we are not taking with us but donating to the thrift store (the player piano ::sniff, sniff::, the loveseat, the recliner, a large chair, several desks, several microwave carts, and a myriad of cumbersome items I am forgetting). The day we got the U-Haul trailer here just fine, and then spent the next 2 hours man-handling it (Ethan at the tongue, me at the wheel chocks) around our dangerous, steep, slippery driveway. The day I prayed fervently that I would not be made a widow. The day we checked the weather a little too late only to realize there is no thaw scheduled for the weekend, tonight's temperature will be 8°, tomorrow's high is 29° (warmer than today's 22°), and more snow is coming.

It's very reminiscent of another day - the day we moved in. Granted, the weather is downright tropical compared to that -35° day when I wondered if frozen nose hairs thawed or just broke off, but the general feeling of frustration and prayer for another night where my bed is shared is the same.

We (and this is a very unbalanced "we," I readily admit) did finally finagle the trailer into a spot from which we can easily drive it out, but this means that the walk to the trailer is longer, down a number of steps, and more treacherous.

But it does make for a nice ride.

 Just be ready to slam on the brakes!

That's how we do it in Montana, baby.

If you're in the mood for winter, I have a suggestion: forego the hot chocolate and marshmallows. Just snuggle up with a U-Haul reservation, pull all your large furniture to the front door, and make sure you have your traction boots ready.

The other day, Lily (5) and I were doing her reading lesson. We use Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons, which I love but which is also perhaps a misnomer. Some days are "easier" than others. (For a hilarious recap of what the daily lessons look like in reality, visit Smockity Frocks here. She nailed it.)

But one thing I have noticed with both Ben (now 7) and Lily is that their speech starts to clear up when they begin reading. They notice that there is an "s" at the beginning of that word or that the "t" in this word is really a "c."

I'm not sure how much this was really sinking in with Lily on Wednesday, though. She came to the word with and said, "Oh, that's kind of like the word withard."

I would love to pretend she was talking about withered, but I know better. "No," I corrected, "that word is wiZZZZZZZZard. This word is with, you know, like 'Would you like to play outside WITH Benjamin?'."

She paused a bit with a suspicious look on her face before she countered, "That doesn't sound anything like the word WIFF!"

And you know? She's right.

Sort of.

My friend Carol has two little girls: Emily (3 1/2 years old) and Erin (just over a year). She recently asked some questions. I'm giving her my $.02; anyone else have some ideas? I'd love to hear (and implement) them!

I've been looking for some guidance on doing a devotional time with Emily, and your link about Circle Time really steered me in the right direction! Thank you!! I was wondering if you've used the Big Truths for Little Kids book, and if it's appropriate for a 3 1/2 year-old? Amazon says the suggested age is 4-8, so I'm wondering if I should find something else for now and save this book for a bit?

We have used Big Truths for Little Kids, and I think it would be fine for Emily, but not a necessity.  It's basically a way to teach the Westminster Shorter Catechism for Children: it introduces a series of catechism questions and then gives a short story to illustrate the meaning of the questions/answers being discussed. Even if you decide NOT to go with this book, I would encourage you to work on the catechism questions and answers. The beginning answers are simple enough for a 2-year old, and it's really fun to watch your child gain in vocabulary and understanding as she progresses. (First Catechism: Teaching Children Biblical Truths is available from Great Commission Publications for $1.50.)

Also, when you do Circle Time, does Jonathan sit in your lap or is he otherwise occupied? I'm wondering if this would be good practice for Erin to learn sitting still and being quiet, or if it's too much to expect. She normally stays in church with us at least until the sermon, but today she only made it about 5 minutes... not good! All advice is welcome!

I think I'll save how we handle church for another post. But for now, during Circle Time, the answer is nooooo, he does NOT sit in my lap. At least not consistently, quietly, or in any kind of orderly manner. Sometimes, when we're singing or I'm reading from the devotional book or the Bible, he'll climb up into my lap. But at other times he dances around, plays with his cars, asks for a drink, etc. I think your attention is going to be too divided if you try to use this time as a teaching time with Emily AND a training time for church for Erin. In church, I assume you want her sitting in your lap quietly.  But what it would take to do this in Circle Time, while you are also trying to work with Emily (you're talking, singing, laughing, asking questions, answering questions, coloring ... whatever it is that the day brings) will be frustrating to you and confusing to Erin. This is NOT what you are doing at church.

As far as training for church, we have never successfully implemented a formal training time (when the children practice sitting quietly at the house while listening to a sermon, etc.) What HAS worked for us is general obedience training, instruction in being quiet, and removal of distractions. I will write more about this later.

So if you are not going to use this time as a "sit still for church" training time, what do you do with the baby? Since your time is going to be short, you could just do it during part of her nap. I save our "hard" stuff for when Jon (14 mos.) is napping.

The other option is to distract her and use this time as a training time for her to learn to play by herself. In that vein, here are some sites I've found helpful:

Kendra at Preschoolers and Peace gives an example of what she expects from her 18-mo. old. You could easily scale this down: you won't need HOURS of the baby being occupied; my guess is that your devotional time with Emily won't take you more than 15-30 minutes. Kendra has some good examples of what to realistically expect. Limited times of confinement (in a high chair, play pen, behind a baby gate, etc.) are GOOD. Children learn how to operate within set restrictions.

Here is a great compilation of preschool activities. You can scroll down and find all sorts of activities to keep Erin occupied (clothespins in a jar are popular around here, as is an oat box with a slit [or bigger hole] cut in the top and various toys or kitchen utensils [spoons] to poke through...).  You will ALSO find some good activities for Emily! These can come in handy as you probably want to have time throughout the day when you can devote your attention to the baby and let your older child practice playing independently.

Hopefully this helps a little. I'll give my thoughts on church with littles later -- just know you are not in the trenches alone!

Anyone else have ideas? I'd love to hear them!

My five-year old wore a bra for the first time yesterday.

Just so you're not misled, she's a relatively normal five-year old. I mean, she's not overly endowed or anything.

But the night before, we had had friends over for dinner, and their twelve-year old left about four good-sized bags of hand-me-down clothing. Yesterday morning, Lily (the five-year old) got to the clothes before I did.  We all loaded into the car to head to the farmers' market and other various places. At one of the stops, I noticed she looked a little . . . bumpy.

"Lily? How many shirts do you have on?" I asked.

"Well, I have this one," she said, pointing to her blue striped shirt. "And under it I have this," she said, pulling the spaghetti strap of a hot pink tank top. "And under that, I have this," she said, pulling the thin strap of a . . . well, I guess it's a . . . is that a bra?

"Oh. OK," I said, trying not to laugh.

When we got home, I told Ethan that Lily had on quite a few articles of clothing.

"Yeah," Lily said to me. "It took me a while, but then I finally figured out that little thing was a num-num shirt."

Uh-huh. You've got it all figured out. And you've got the vocabulary to prove it.

A new school year means, for us, a new routine. Far from being the structured mother, I have always been a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of gal, and that HAS worked. However, seeing how I have spent the last four months as little more than a puking couch potato, the start of school means there are several other areas of life that must be ordered if I have any hope of maintaining a school schedule.

My standards aren’t terribly high. I have only one child so far that Montana law dictates must be schooled – our seven-year old, Benjamin. His workload is, I feel, a reasonable one for him. We don’t go for the packaged curricula: part of the joy of homeschooling is tailoring the schooling to my child, and there’s no way a packaged program can do that. (And so then for what would I be paying all that money? For busy work? I think yes.) It's just not for us. I do have friends who use boxed curricula and love them. But I know I wouldn't.

Our five-year old, Lily, will continue to work on reading – we do about 15-20 minutes a day and call it good. Because she would have it no other way, she will also be included in the history time and, along with everyone else, in Circle Time.

As I started perusing our eclectic gathering of school material, I began realizing that this year is going to take some more formal structuring on my part. While the two oldest are able to stay out of trouble (for the most part), they are also capable of being responsible for far more than they have been. And while they are busy with chores or school, there are still four others who are busy in other, less admirable endeavors. Two four-year olds, a two-year old, and a 14-month old do not an organized party make. And, Lord willing, their number will be added to in February, when two newborns will join the ranks of the Clueless.

So I did it. I bit the bullet and wrote a ton of stuff down. I’m still tweaking, but we have a Master Routine, chore lists for each child, and a rough outline of the year’s courses. My goal is for the household to run as smoothly as it can without my input. I AM here and able to give input, but the more the children can be held accountable without my having to initiate every chore, the better.

I began by upping my fortitude with help from some of my favorite sites: Preschoolers and Peace, Pleasant View Schoolhouse, and Large Family Logistics (here and her older blog here). I reminded myself that less is more: more planning is better, but less “formal” schoolwork and busywork is also far better. I don’t agree with those that start their children’s schooling too early or that teach a course because “the schools teach it to their kids in first grade.” I was a teacher in a “real” school – a private one, even – and I am convinced that for the most part teachers impart a bunch of bologna.

The main points that I tried to keep at the forefront of my mind:

1. Less is more.
2. Consistency, consistency, consistency. If we can get in 2 pages of math a day, great. If we get stuck on a concept, OK. We'll work on it again tomorrow. It's much more important that we work on it again tomorrow, spending time to try to understand. But not spending too much time. A little done regularly is better than a lot done sporadically or too much done too often.
3. Morning chores before school. If we can get the basics of the housework out of the way, we will all be much more able to focus on schooling. There will be less for the littles to get into, the washing machine can work without me, and we don't have to dread the work after school.
4. What are the littles doing? It is very important that I have a plan for what they are doing while I am working with the older children. They need to have a "job" ALL THE TIME for which they are responsible. Sometimes their "job" will be to color at the table next to us (NO CRAYONS LEAVE THE TABLE UNDER PENALTY OF DISCIPLINE AND AN EARLY NAP).
5. Variety - be mindful of attention spans. After we have done bookwork, we need to do something a little more active. The same goes for the littles. Each day they have a different activity assigned - they only color one day a week. Also, my time has to be carefully divided between the olders and the littles. After Ben does math, he helps me do the lunch prep work and then sits down to do his copywork while I read to the littles (read, and tickle, and play "don't take that book away from me!"). Then he plays outside with the littles while Lily and I do her reading (just 15 minutes). Then the littles come inside to do table work while Ben and Lily have history. Does that make sense? He sits, he does something active, he sits, he does something active, he sits ... And the same goes for the littles. They listen to me read (while they wiggle and dance and whatever else), they play outside, they "work" at the table (or in their highchairs) ...
6. No overscheduling. Because of the ages of our children and what I can realistically expect them to contribute and what they realistically need from me (a happy mommy who can play and love on them), my schedule is relatively loose. (I'll be glad to share it if you want to see it, but I won't force it on anybody!)

I’m excited. I just started the children with their chores today (they’ve always had chores, but now they are written down and illustrated and are THEIR VERY OWN CHORES instead of being something I came up with spur of the moment or had to recall from the fog that is my brain). And you know the biggest complaint – the chore that brought tears? Abraham, one of our four-year olds, got upset because I dumped the downstairs trash, showing him how I wanted it done. “I wanted to do it! That’s MY job! I can do that!” he sniffed. And no less than four times today, he reminded me, “I will do the trash tomorrow, not you, right?”

Right. It’s all yours, buddy.

Yesterday, Benjamin (7) came up and asked me, "Mom, what are the five centses called again?"

"Nickels," I answered quickly.

"No. We have five centses. What are they called?"

"NICKELS."

He began to get more frustrated, a bewildered look on his face. "I'm talking about centses."

I started speaking more slowly, looking directly at him. "If you have five cents, five pennies, then you have the same thing as a nickel. Are you talking about 'coins'? Or sometimes we call it 'loose change'?"

"MOM! I'm talking about the FIVE CENTSES!! S-E-N-S-E-S!!"

Oh.

It seems the change isn't the only thing a little loose around here. My head hurts from all the rattling.

Thursday we were invited to some friends' house to watch them shoe one of their Clydesdales. The pair that our friends own are true working horses -- they are used in Jeff's logging business. So, understandably, it is very important that their feet be in top shape. The entire process can take four hours (removing old shoes, shaping new shoes, nailing new shoes on, filing hooves), but we only saw the last bit of the last shoe to be put on good ole Bonnie.

(Photo: Jeff readying a nail. Incidentally, this is the man about whom Miriam [3] said, "Oooh, I like that boy. He is SO. HANDSOME.")

The contraption that she's in is called a shoeing stock. It was handmade for them by the inventor. These  horses are STRONG, and, according to Jeff, he would not have survived horse logging without the stock.

Afterwards, we were invited inside, where a teeny dog ("Princess") captured 2-year old Edee's heart. I think she is absolutely enthralled with the idea of a DOG! ("No, it's a puppy dog, not a kitty cat!") that is smaller than she is. She kept loving on her and offering her anything she could find as a present (Edee was doing this to the dog, not the other way around!). As we left, we told the kids, "Wasn't this fun? Say thank you!" Edee turned to the dog and said, "Thank you, puppy!"

Notice that there is very little snow on the ground. Later I'll post some pics of what happened that night. Gather the snow boots, everyone.

Mondays are Ethan's "day off." The traditional Saturday is just too busy, him putting finishing touches on his sermon and creating/reviewing the Sunday School lesson and us getting food ready and the house cleaned in case we have Sunday guests. So Mondays we try to get out and explore this new state of ours.

This past Monday, we headed over to the local Goodwill for their 50% off sale in honor of President's Day. We picked up a few items and then decided to head to Lincoln, Montana. The annual Race to the Sky  (which has one of the most mountainous trails in distance mushing -- that is, sled dog racing) was scheduled for February 13-18, and I thought I had seen something about some finishers coming in on Monday. So we fueled up with yogurtccinos and shaken green teas at a local coffee shop and headed for Lincoln.

Ben (7) and Lily (5) were excited, as a little over a year ago we attended an event in Virginia where musher Doug Ruzicka from Alaska brought one of his sled dog pups and his sled and gave an outstanding presentation to the homeschoolers.

A little over an hour later, we were there, at the Hi-Country Trading Post. The snow was much deeper there than here (which makes sense, I guess, if you are going to hold a SLED dog race), and we cheered up at the sight of the finish line. Despite our not checking our facts, we had arrived at the right place! We saw people gathered in chairs and warm blankets at the finish line, and one of them told us that the first musher had come in, but the next one was expected between 12:30 and 1. It was 12:22. What good fortune!

There was an outside play set, feet-deep in snow, but the children didn't seem to mind. They finagled their way up to the top and slid down into the snow at the bottom. After about fifteen minutes of that, Ethan and Ben climbed the hill where they found an ideal spot for viewing the finalists coming down the hill to the finish. So we all climbed up there (note to self: clogs are NOT ideal for climbing in deep snow to an ideal viewing spot) and staked our claim on a pile of rocks next to a pine tree. The children pretended to be Grandma and Grandpa and the other Grandma and Mrs. Hollen. Jonathan (8 mos.) was on my back, impatiently begging for sweet potato puffs. Edee (2) was on Ethan's back, alternating between fussing back at Jonathan and trying to sleep on Ethan.

We waited. We kept thinking we were hearing dogs, which of course we were as there were several sled teams gathered at the bottom of the hill. But we kept thinking we were hearing THE team, the next one to come in. But they didn't come. 12:30 had already come and gone. 1:00 came. The team didn't. 1:15 came. The team didn't. 1:30 came, and Lily and Miriam (3) insisted they had to go to the bathroom and just "can't handle it. And I'm very sealious!"

So I took each of them by the hand and we headed down to the Trading Post. It took a while to see past all of the Montana paraphernalia to the door marked "Skirts," and they headed in there. I took their hands again when they came out so that I could pull them quickly through the store. I had one of those foreboding feelings.

And my feeling ended up being an intuition. Because there, as we squinted into the painful sunlight, was the dog team that had just come down the hill, just slid to a stop, just completed the race. And there were Ethan and the three other children, gathered around the team, excitedly asking what it was that the musher was giving his dogs to eat. And here was I, dragging two little girls over to a dog team and trying to explain what they had missed.

Jonathan was fussing, so I took him off my back and started to load into the van. The children were cold and the musher had started to care for his dogs, so the kids all piled into the van. Ethan ducked into the Trading Post, and I shook my head at the inevitable "OF COURSE"ness of it all -- the dog team coming in as I was debating whether the girls could go in the bathroom marked "Trousers" since they were, in fact, wearing pants. But just as I was feeling my keenest circumstantial kinship to Erma Bombeck, I noticed a group excitedly cheering at the finish line. And then I caught a quick flash of dog hair...there was another team coming down the hill! I called to the kids, "Look! Look out the window! Look! There's another team coming down! Lily! Miriam! LOOK!" Lily ran to the window and watched the team come down the hill, the sled anchor fall, and then everything slow to a stop.

"Did you see it?" I asked her.

"Yes." Then: hand hitting forehead, other hand coming up to cradle head, sob turning into wail: "That was it?? That was so short! That was all we missed??"

Hmmm. I didn't even know how to answer that, and I still don't. "Yes, dear, sorry, that was all we missed"?

Anyway. The corn dog at the Lincoln Pit Stop put an end to all sorrow, and we made our way back home, full of sunshine and snow and fresh air and cold cheeks and cheap fast food.

And next time, I'll know the surest way to hurry a musher. Which way to the restroom?

It was about five minutes after I’d first thought, “Benjamin has sure been outside with the dog for a long time” when I heard the front door open and the jingle of Maverick’s collar. Maverick bounded up the stairs to the landing, where he noisily slurped at his water bowl. Benjamin (7) was not far behind.

“Well, I think Maverick has certainly had a long enough walk,” he said loudly. Then, after a pause: “We got lost.”

I responded with my best matronly look of shock and disgust. “Benjamin! You know you can’t go where you can’t see the house! YOU. HAVE. TO. BE. WHERE. YOU. CAN. SEE. THE. HOUSE!” We live on a mountain, and it is an ever-present fear of mine that my children will wander a little too far. So it has been a rule that when the oldest two go out without me, they must stay where they can see the house. I can’t leave everyone else here while I go traipsing all over the wilderness looking for…

It was then that I saw his chin quivering – very, very quickly.

My tirade halted and my motherly instincts kicked in (better late than never?). My oldest, who has been looking so big, suddenly looked so little. I put my arm around him.

Then, quieter and slower: “Were you scared?”

“Yes.” Tears began to spill. “I . . . knocked on doors.”

“What?!! What happened?”

On Sunday, Ethan and Ben and the dog had hiked halfway up our mountain, to a clearing where you can see part of Clancy and Jefferson City. They had talked about man things, like animal tracks and finding landmarks and what to do if you get lost. Ben came back full of testosterone and bragging about the fresh scrape on his chin from climbing a tree when a branch broke.

And apparently, he also felt a little empowered. Because on Tuesday, when he went to take the dog out, he decided to try the same trail he and Ethan took.

Only some of his landmarks had melted, and things looked different, and the trail didn’t lead where he thought it would. He was afraid, and then he saw a house.

He knocked on the door. No one answered, so he ran to the next house. No answer. It was at the third house that an elderly man heard him and came out of the garage. “Can I help you, son?” Maverick growled at him, but Benjamin talked to the dog until he calmed down. Maverick insisted on standing between the man and Ben, though.

“My name is Benjamin Allison, and this is my dog Maverick. I’m lost. Can you help me find my home?”

“Let me get my wife.” His wife came out of the house, and Benjamin repeated his information. He remembered the name of our road (which is miles long) but couldn’t remember the number. Someone thought to look on Maverick’s collar, where Ethan’s cell phone number is engraved.

They called Ethan, who was in his study. Ethan took the van and found Benjamin being hugged on the porch of the house right behind the gully behind our house.

I hugged Benjamin and told him how thankful I was for God’s protection (and how maybe I should get HIM a collar with our phone number!). I served him some warm tea and an English muffin with huckleberry jam, and then I ran out to Ethan’s study.

“WHAT???!!!” I yelled incredulously.

Ethan laughed at me and told me he knew I would be coming. When he picked Ben up, he took one look at Benjamin and could tell Ben knew what he had done wrong and felt bad enough, so he kept the conversation light on the way home. Then he went back into his study and waited for Ben to tell me his story and for me to barge incredulously into his study.

Incidentally, I hate that Ethan knows me well enough to anticipate exactly what I’m going to do. I mean, it’s unnerving. I also hate that he knew to curb the parental sermon while I thrashed full-force onto my soapbox. Well, I hate that he knew to do that, and I love that he knew. Mostly, I love it.

I’m thankful for God’s protection of Benjamin. It would have been very easy for him to be truly lost, or to have run into surly neighbors (although we haven’t met any yet) or to have been hurt. It would also be very easy to chalk it up to luck or the natural course of events. But I know better. I’m grateful that God provided a dog for Benjamin, and I’m grateful that he found kind neighbors and has a wise father . . . and Father.

And later today, we’ll be taking a freshly-baked loaf of bread to those kind neighbors.

And giving thanks. Again.

After hearing four of my children tell me about their wonderful adventures playing "bolleyball" with some friends from church, I decided it was time to set things straight.

"It's volleyball. Vvvv. Volleyball."

"Volleyball," said Benjamin (6).

"Volleyball," said Lily (4).

"Bolleyball," said Abraham and Miriam (3).

"No. Vvvvolleyball."

"Vvvvv...bolleyball," said Abraham and Miriam.

"No. Listen. Say van."

"Van."

"Now say volleyball."

"Bolleyball."

"We'll try again later."

[10 minutes later]

Abraham: "Mom! Mom!"

Yes, Abraham, what??!!!!

"Watch me! Watch! Ready?

"Ccccccar....bolleyball!!"