I can't count how many times people have said to me, "I don't have the patience to homeschool."  I'm not sure what makes them think I do.  It's true that I have no problems standing in long lines at the bank, waiting for two hours to finally see the dr. or could care less if that car just cut me off.  When it comes to my children though I'm not that patient.  It irritates me no end that I have to spell everything out.  I get mad.  I yell.  

Yes, homeschooling is hard work but it's also so much fun!  Even in the midst of my yelling I have burst out laughing when my son Cheeko says, "My eyes awr pewfectwy fine!"  

So what keeps me going?  Even though I've said that public school is not an option it doesn't mean that there haven't been days that I wanted to get away from my children.  When things are going wrong I take a look at what is going on and see if I can fix it.  It's not always a quick fix.  Sometimes I have to be really honest with myself.  I will bite off more then I can chew and will fool myself into thinking that I can handle it.  (Makes me sound like a druggie doesn't it?)

More often then not when my children are way out of control the problem lies with me.  I have seen parents choose to put their children back into public school because they don't want to deal with themselves.  If the child goes to school it looks like the problem is solved but it's not.  The problem still lies within them, they've just rearranged their problems so that one or two faults are hidden or disguised.  It's a whole lot easier to spend forever on the computer if noone is standing there wanting to be fed, wanting you to correct their work, or just plain want you to play a game.  

While I've had to get real with myself I've also had to get real about curriculum.  Man, some of that stuff is boring!  I have wanted to keep plugging away because I paid good money for it.  My children are crying, I'm yelling, and that curriculum is still sitting there on the desk.  Again, I have to step back and ask myself, "Just what is going on here?"  "How can I make this better?"  I can't afford a new curriculum but I can afford to change the way I use it.  Curriculums are just guides, not prison wardens after all. 

One year for math Eyebright was really struggling.  One day by accident I started using a Fisher Price Little People king to "teach" her.  His kingdom was falling and he needed her help.  I would talk in a silly, deep voice and waggle the king this way and that.  He didn't have arms so he couldn't write the math problems himself and would "order" her to do it.  Eyebright loved it!  She wanted to help the king solve his problems and save his kingdom. 

Another year, another curriculum.  Same old song and dance.  That  year I had read a book that showed me how to use index cards to make games.  We turned Eyebright's math problems into games she could play over and over.  We were using the curriculum we had, just doing it differently.  Neither of these ideas took a ton of money.  I just needed to figure out how to use what I had.  As long as you are willing to search for a solution instead of the escape hatch you can find a cure to the problem. 

The only reason your situation would require a true escape is if you won't take care of a growing problem sooner.  A pilot doesn't just let a gas leak keep on leaking on his plane.  He finds out why it has a leak and fixes it.  He's only going to need that escape hatch if he was too stubborn or lazy to take the time to fix things while the plane was still on the ground.  While a plane can get a sudden leak, unlike a plane your child doesn't just up and become a problem that is about to blow.  The problem was there you just refused to face it.

So that's my second tip.  Get real with yourself and the situation.  Don't expect a quick fix. 

This past weekend we went camping in our new motorhome.  Dear Man has named it RVena.  It was just a quick trip to pick up Dear Man's bow from the archery shop and to test the motorhome before any longer trips were made. 

The weather was not in our favor.  The wind blew so hard and it was so cold the first night that when we woke up the next morning the west side of the trailer was a solid sheet of ice.  Thankfully, we were snug and warm inside the motorhome.  We stayed at a decent enough campground called the Narrows.  I say only decent because while it was clean, friendly, and has internet, it was after all near Burns, OR which is not my favorite spot on God's great earth. 

There was a yurt there at the campground, so after the honeymoon couple left we asked to take a peek inside, never having had the pleasure to view the inside of a yurt.  It was very nice and I told the children that perhaps when they got married we could have yurts built on our property to house them. 

Second day dawned fair and we headed off toward John Day.  First we made a quick stop in Canyon City at the community center.  They were having a garage sale to raise funds to fix the center.  Not finding anything too interesting to actually purchase, we traveled on to our camping destination, Clyde Holliday State Park.  It was pretty and there was only one other camper by the time we went to bed. 

Next morning we woke up to three inches of snow and more falling.  Not certain of what the road conditions would be like further on down the road, we decided to break camp early and head home.  Again, we had spent a snug and cozy night, Dear Man actually  got hot. 

While we spend most of our time in the motor home due to the weather we absolutely loved the trip and didn't want to come home.  I'm trying to talk Dear Man into letting us become fulltimers, (those who live in their RV permanently).  I'm finding all kinds of interesting information about fulltiming!  As I learn I'll share with you, whether you care to read it or not. 
Dear Man doesn't think I would be happy fulltiming.  Looking around our house at all the stuff we have been blessed with he thinks I would have a hard time parting with it all.  Not so!  I'm actually longing for the day when my children will move out and I can fully outfit their own houses thereby removing it all from my house.  The only reason I keep this stuff is for them. 

Besides, I could put my really good treasures in storage and come back to them someday when I'm forced to give up fulltime RVing.  I want to do it now before I'm decrepit and cranky and Dear Man is still alive.  I doubt it will happen though.  Dear Man is not in favor of it, at least not as long as we have to do it with four children on a permanent basis.  Still, I'll keep researching.  I can dream can't I?

This is my entry for the Homeschool Times News Blog Challenge.

New Sleep Disorder Among Homeschool Moms Diagnosed

The National Association of Pillowheads (NAP) has just realeased its two year study about a new sleep disorder among homeschool moms in the U.S. While this study concentrated on American mothers, NAP is certain that the disorder can be found in Canada, the UK, Australia, and all homeschool friendly countries.

The study showed that these mothers would fall asleep while listening to their child sound out words like epitome or while studying their child's textbook to figure out what went wrong with the science experiment.  Other cases revealed that these fits would occur during multiplication drills, spelling tests, correcting reports on the Battle of Actium, and family discussions for the 100th time on whether or not it is good hygiene to eat something off the floor after someone has let the dog in.

NAP has labeled this sleep disorder as Nardomoducelepsy. (Home educators that fall asleep suddenly.)  If you have experienced similar problems please notify NAP by leaving a comment below.

Dear Man is something of a Star Wars fan and he usually quotes movie lines at appropriate times.  For instance, when we are driving along and we hear a funny sound coming from the car he will say, "Minox chewing on the power cables."  (I have no idea if I've spelled Minox right, and a quick Google search wasn't very helpful.)  He also likes to wave his hand in front of me like Obie Wan did to the Storm Troopers and tell me what I will or will not do.  "You want to help me clean the garage."  Yeah.  Whatever.

After several weeks of reasearch Dear Man finally settled on the GPS navigational system of his choice, the TomTom.  The deciding factor?  He could get a Yoda voice telling him where to turn.  Dear Man says we won't call it the TomTom but YodaYoda.  I'll be driving down the road and Master Yoda will say, "In 200 yards a right turn you must take."  It's kind of fun, but why do I get the feeling that I may start to talk like that all the time? 

The children think this is great fun of course and think YodaYoda is much better then the voice we first chose before we downloaded Yoda.  The woman's voice would say, "Bear right."  My smart alek daughter, BlueJane complained for three miles that she didn't see any bear on the right and wondered if it would tell us about all the wild life we came across. 

I don't think that would be to far fetched of a possibility as long as the animal had a radio collar or micro chip in it.  Wouldn't that be interesting to be driving along and be told of all the animals that had wandered near our path of travel?  Maybe even someday YodaYoda will tell me that Minox are on the right. Then I'd know to get out of there fast!  That's the last thing we need, Minox chewing on the power cables.

We are still trying to teach Neeto how to drive.  Where we live you can either have the student drive for 100 hours and take the test or go through a drivers education course.  Most of the homeschoolers we know choose the drivers education course, I suppose because they are scared to death at the prospect of sitting in the passenger seat with their child at the wheel.  I also suppose it's because their children are impatient to get their license.  There are even parents who can't wait for their young teen to get their license because then they can send them to town on errands.

We chose to do the 100 hours.  I don't see any reason to put my daughter in a classroom that may or may not actually teach drivers ed among students who are more concerned about their freedom than understanding the responsibility that driving is.  (As to what is taught in the classroom, I saw a news report once about a teacher who just popped in a movie and another report where the teacher was combining their version of sex education with driving.)

It is interesting the different reactions Dear Man and I have as we ride about with our daughter.  I'm either so calm I could fall asleep or hollering that Neeto could have killed us all.  Not exactly relaxing but I figure it's real life learning.  One day she will have to drive with her own children in the car and they will be hollering from time to time.  Dear Man on the other hand takes everything very calmly, but asks questions the whole time. 

My reaction is about the same when Dear Man is driving.  I'm asleep or gripping the door handle sucking in my breath.  When Dear Man is forced to ride with me he tries to sleep and pretend I'm not there.  He says my driving makes him sick.  

I once knew a woman who had told me the story of her reaction to her husband's driving.  She was forever hollering at him to look out and one day he finally asked her what she saw that he didn't see.  She replied, "Death!"  

It takes a lot of trust to get into a car with someone else behind the wheel.  For the most part you don't think about it but then there's that person you meet and you realize with a queasy sort of feeling that you don't trust them with your life.  No way would you allow your child or yourself to ride with them.  It amazes me how many parents are hurt by the fact that you don't trust their child with your own child's life yet they would much rather not ride with their child.  Those that do somehow believe their child is always a safe driver whether they are in the car or not but they can't even trust that their child will feed the dog.

Driving is a responsibility, a privelege, not a right.  Neeto takes it very seriously, knowing that her life and those riding with her could be in jeopardy.  I don't just choose to believe it is so, I know it is so by the way she talks, how she frets when she realizes that she made a mistake, and how she has not been in any major hurry to get her license.  She talks about the day she can just get in the car and go shopping with her sister but she doesn't view it as a means of freedom from her parents. 

I won't expect everyone to trust my daughter simply because she has a license.  Trust her because you know that she truly cares about the lives she is responsible for.  Trust her because she doesn't view driving as a party on wheels.  Trust her because everything else about her life is something you can trust.  

Just over ten years ago, Dear Man and I purhcased a Select Comfort bed.  I was certain that I liked a firmer mattress then he did and he was adament that he needed something softer.  The Select Comfort was able to give us both what we wanted.  Interestingly enough our favorite setting for our own side of the bed just happened to be the same number!  No matter, we were both happy and knew that on any given night we could make our bed softer or harder depending on what we wanted. 

One night in a fit of anger towards Dear Man I deflated his side of the bed while he was sleeping.  Bravely as ever, he put me in my place by pretending not to notice and slept on that flat bed the whole night.  He was not going to give in to my childish games. 

After our last move we think somehow that we damaged the pump that fills our beds with air.  Dear Man's side of the bed kept deflating.  He began to blame me.  I explained that I had nothing to do with it but I could tell he wasn't ready to believe me.  That's what childish games do.  Leave lasting impressions.  Finally after some exploring and experiments Dear Man had to conclude that there was something wrong with the pump.  Although he did remark that he thought it was interesting that "his" side of the bed was the one with the problem.  (Don't worry, he said this with a grin on his face.) 

At any rate all of this has caused some serious sleep issues.  Dear Man's back hurt and he could never get a good nights sleep.  Even though my side of the bed was behaving itself, I'd still roll into the pit on Dear Man's side causing him to think I was crowding him out.  It's no fun sleeping on a grumpy, sleep deprived man in a pit, with my feet higher than my head. 

We tried seveal differnent ideas to build up his side of the bed but none of them worked.  We could have bought a new pump and hoped that it would fix our problem but we decided instead to get a different bed.  The beginning of our shopping had me voting for a firmer mattress but by the end of the day all the beds were beginning to feel the same and we opted for a softer pillow top version.  I figure it's ok seeing as I was so tired I almost fell asleep.  I did mention to the salesman that I thought slumber parties for mattress buyers might be a good idea.

We finally made our purchase and our bed will be delivered in a few days.  We are now anxiously counting down the days until we can both enjoy a good nights sleep.  I even dreamed about our new bed last night in the few hours I managed to remain asleep!

If once again this blog is void of new posts don't worry it hasn't died, it's just gone dormant as I've decided to hibernate through the rest of winter.

If your blog is beginning to bug you every time you look at it then what you need is an extreme blog makeover!  Christi, the wonderful designer of my blog, is sponsoring a contest on the HSB Company Porch giving away a very classy blog template.  It will give your blog a wonderfully calm atmosphere. 

 

 Many of us know the saying, "Never judge a book by its cover."  Which is to say, "Don't judge someone by their appearance or by first impressions."  I have to say though, that if I am looking through a stack of books and come across one with a scantily dressed woman clinging to the leg of a scantily dressed man with long flowing hair, I am going to keep moving on.  The cover told me plenty about what was inside the book.  Could I be wrong?  I may be wrong about what wound up actually being inside the book but I wouldn't be wrong about the author's or publisher's values for choosing that cover in order to draw in people's attention. 

What I am about to say now is going to make some people mad and probably make them think I am elitist. 

                        The same principle can be applied to people. 

If I see a scantily dressed girl with her hand in her boyfriends back pocket, and he can't seem to keep his hands off of her, right away I know something about these two people.  They are shameless in their public displays of affection, the girl believes she can dress however she wants and if a guy lusts after her that's his fault, (although she probably dressed that way with her boyfriend in mind and is displaying the fruit of her efforts), and the boy has pretty much got one thing on his mind and it isn't about mowing his elderly neighbor's yard. 

Does this mean that they aren't nice people?  No.  Does it mean that the boy doesn't ever mow his elderly neighbor's yard?  No.  However, it does say something about a few of their morals.  Then I have to ask myself, "Is this a book I want my children reading?"  No. 

Does that make me elitist?  It would only make me so if I believed I was any better than they were.  I am not.  I have many, many failings.  If I want to overcome those failings or if I want my children to overcome their own, I am not going to put myself or my children in the paths of books or people that will not raise us up or edify the Lord. 

As a closing thought, why is it always the same people who holler that you can't judge a book by it's cover who adamantly declare that they believe in love at first sight? 

I don't know about you but when I was a child I would day dream about some long lost relative dying and leaving me their thousands of dollars.  (That was a big number for me back then.  Come to think of it, it still is!)  It had to be a long lost relative so that I wouldn't miss them and because I knew that the relatives I did have were either not rich or likely to leave me anything. 

I have an eccentric uncle who I love to pieces and several of his nieces, including me, have vied to be the "favorite niece", all in play of course.  This uncle is wonderful for several reasons but one of those is that he collects all sorts of things from which he is always pulling out something to show you.  Some of which can be pretty nice like bedtime stories, and useful things like old, Navy flashlights.   There are things though that you wonder why on earth he has kept them, like the melted something or other from off of a car he had in the 80's.  Some of his things are actual collections but it would be better to say he is a collector of stuff.  Realization dawned upon me one day that if I was the favorite niece, and he being eccentric, he just might will all his earthly possessions to me.   That would mean I would get his stuff.  I quickly declined to remain in the running for favorite niece.  

When my Aunt Sissie died I inherited her cat.  Well, not really as it wasn't written in a will or anything.  The cat just needed a home and I was willing to take her.  Aunt Sissie called her Minnie and in honor of my Aunt who was called Lou, I named the cat Minnie Lou.  She is  a siamese and quite the lady.  She has tiny little squeaks and tiptoes daintily about the house.  She isn't worth thousands of dollars but she certainly acts like she is.  In a funny way she reminds me of Aunt Sissie.  She has charmed us all, except for the other siamese cat in residence.  Ka-Tu wants nothing to do with her and he hisses at her whenever she is near.  He will no longer go to one half of the house because he knows she's back there! 

I don't really want an inheritance of thousands of dollars anymore.  (Although I wouldn't turn one down!)  The memories are worth so much more.  I hope that my memory bank can hold all the wealth that I have and will continue to encrue.  That's what scares me the most about growing old, not a broken down body, not having so little money to live on, not that I won't look twenty ever again, not even losing my memory of where I put the check book, car, or Dear Man, but losing my memories.  Perhaps that's why I write, to remind myself of all the wonderful people the Lord has brought into my life.  Each one of them has unknowingly said, "I leave this to you to remember the good time we had together because someday, I won't be here to remember with you."  It's a grand inheritance.

How many of you remember that John Denver song, "Grandma's Feather Bed?"  I loved that song as a child because I had experienced almost everything the song describes except sleeping with a piggy from the shed.  Although I'm sure if given half a chance I would have. 

This post is actually a tribute to my Aunt Sissie, who was called Lou but that wasn't her real name either.  She passed away right after Christmas and I have been struggling with writing a tribute to her.  I can't remember the last time I kissed her.  I saw her this past summer but she wasn't an overly demonstrative person and I'm sure I hugged her good-bye but I don't think I kissed her good-bye.  That last kiss probably happened when I was a little girl.  I know it doesn't really matter, but everytime I think of that John Denver song I think of her and wonder how long ago that last kiss was.  I dont' think she would find that very flattering. 

She was strong, at least in my mind.  She married young, had five children, lived in harsh, stark, conditions at times, and became a single mom just after I was born I think.  She worked hard and was fiercly protective of her children.  Nobody was going to mess with her children, that priviledge was strictly hers.  My mom and I were often among those children that she protected as there was a large gap in my Aunt Sissie's age and my mom's, and we lived with her for a time. 

She never cut her nails, just filed them.  She wore lipstick every single day of her life I think.  She would put it on and then dab her lips on a square of toilet paper; ever thrifty because of those hard years.  I always cut my nails and I don't wear lipstick but I learned something about being a lady from her.  Taking pride in your appearance and putting your best side forward. 

She was a quiet, private person.  She enjoyed playing computer games, reading books, and redesigning her home.  She loved to travel and I have been to Canada and Mexico with her.  She could be quite stubborn and indecisive all at the same time and this has created a family joke.  Whenever we would try to decide what we were going to do or where we were going to eat, it could take at least an hour maybe three to finally make a decision.  My own children had come to learn that you may as well bring along a good book because that was going to be the best way to spend their time while waiting for us to choose something that Aunt Sissie would agree to and was suffiently satisfactory to the rest of the adults as well.  Now that she is gone we will probably decide on things rather quickly, but maybe, just maybe, I will purse my lips this way and that and stick to my guns that I don't want to eat at a hamburger joint.  I won't know where I do want to eat, I'll just know that it won't be at a hamburger joint.  I'll think of her every time.

I'll also still think of her when I hear "Grandma's Feather Bed" and that line, I've even kissed Aunt Lou, Eww! 

So here's to you one last time my Aunt Lou, S.W.A.K.

Last week I had been online and reading an e-book for far too long.  My son handed me his Bible work to correct and after reading his response to the first question I attempted to scroll down the page using my mouse!   After several attempts and my eyes not moving down the page on their own I finally looked at my mouse to see if something was wrong with it.   

I may need hard copy rehab. 

During the last month or so I've found Tiki wearing only one sock on numerous occasions.  I'd finally had it and told him he needed to find his missing socks.  He said he didn't know where the other one was. 

"Why do you keep going around in only one sock?" I asked him in frustration.

"It's climate control."  He said with all seriousness.

"Climate control?"

"Yes, if I wear two socks I get too hot and if I wear no socks I get too cold.  So I wear one sock and I'm just right."

They will ask to play outside.  Then they will come back in and ask if they can set up a tent.

Once in the tent, they will come back in and ask if they can make hot chocolate to drink in the tent.

After the hot chocolate they will decide they need a snack of buttered toast and candy.

Then they will come back in the house, get their blankets and drag them out to the tent.

They'll come back for their pillows.

Then it will be decided it would be nice to play a game or two but not knowing which game the children will take several back to the tent with them.

Then someone will come retrieve the cat who is for the most part an indoor creature who ventures out on rare occasions to sniff the air and taste the grass. 

Half an hour later a wet, traumatized cat will be dumped back into the house.

Finally, after dark, the children will come into the house for good, laughing, and lugging all of their things back in, and hoping that tomorrow will be another rainy day.

Yes, my children did all of this and I let them.