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American Dream

2011-02-26T21:41:00.000-05:00

You're four years old, and you should be in preschool in order to prepare you for school. You need to learn your colors and begin to use scissors.

You're five years old, and you should be in full day kindergarten in order to prepare you for elementary school. You need to learn to line up and raise your hand and wait to go to the restroom.

You're six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven and you should be in elementary school in order to prepare you for middle school. You need to be playing a team sport, learning to play an instrument, going to your first dance in fifth grade, doing your homework.

You're twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and you should be in middle school in order to prepare you for high school. You need to fill out a form for the guidance department stating your career and college plans, begin to be funneled into academic, vocational, or technical classes, begin to record outside activities for college applications, seek out some volunteer hours, find a boy or girl friend, wear clothes that your peer group finds acceptable.

You're fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and you should be in high school in order to prepare you for either college (or a low-paying job). You should be taking AP classes, studying for college entrance exams, learning to drive, going to prom, taking a set of prescribed courses, doing a lot of the same stuff you did in middle school all over again, relearning stuff you forgot over the summer, visiting college campuses, preparing applications.

You're eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, and you should be in college, in order to prepare you for your chosen career and for life. You should be taking the prescribed courses, finding a likely mate, establishing credit, looking for a job, going on job interviews. You should be graduating.

You're twenty-three, and you should be able to find a job your degree has prepared you for. You should be engaged to be married, planning a wedding, looking at houses, applying for mortgages, planning a family.

You should be happy.

You should be.

Here's an idea: Instead of happiness being the goal you try to reach by doing all of the things you think you "should" do to get to Happiness, why not start there? Start at Happiness. Then let your life unfold. No matter what happens, where circumstances take you, you already have "the goal" -- you started there, remember? So what have you got to lose? Be happy. Let life unfold for you.

Raise your Hand If You Think That These Are By the Same Artist

2010-10-11T19:20:00.000-04:00

I know I'm not the only one who thinks that the current news story about the family with the "Lost Pieta" behind the sofa is a lot of hogwash. If that painting is by Michelangelo, I'm La Gioconda.

Michelangelo drawing, Pieta for Vittoria Colonna

Painting That Has Spent Years Behind A Sofa

Give me a break!

Of Primary Concern

2010-10-09T07:38:00.003-04:00

"Too many of us have too many irons in the fire. We get distracted by the intellectual claim to our interest in a thousand and one good things, and before we know it we are pulled and hauled breathlessly along by an over-burdened program of good committees and good undertakings. . . . The concern-oriented life is ordered and organized from within. And we learn to say No as well as Yes by attending to the guidance of inner responsibility. . . . And I am persuaded that concerns introduce that simplification, and along with it that intensification which we need in opposition to the hurried, superficial tendencies of our age." Thomas Kelly

All that to say . . . this weekend I am CONCERNED with doing laundry and making lists and packing for the beach.

Poor Daphne does not suspect that her comfortable napping place

in the bedroom closet, on my sweaters, is about to be dismantled and aired out!

In November, it will be two years since Mark's job was moved to Hot Springs, and we subsequently decided to keep this house as home base. There were a number of reasons why pulling up stakes and moving the whole family to Arkansas at that time felt wrong. We paid attention to those feelings, and arranged our lives in concert with them.

When Mark comes home for a bit, whether he's home for meetings in Richmond, or for holidays or vacations, there are a million little things for him to do. Last visit, he hauled soil to build up an area near the foundation of the house that wasn't draining well and changed the oil in the vehicles and fixed the toilet that runs and -- well, you get the idea. Not very relaxing.

To Do. Done!

So, this time we're vacationing at the beach! Meredith and Joseph are coming for a week and Mark's mom is coming for a few days, and, most importantly, we can relax and be together as a family without a "To Do" list hanging over Mark's head! Mark and Jesse are training for the Richmond Marathon in November and will be able to run together at the beach. Joseph and Meredith are in charge of bringing games-other-than-Monopoly, and, because we are getting old and losing our faculties, we are bringing Hector with us. (I know, I know, just shush now!) Note to self: pack Frisbee

I get anxious when I think about all of the lists of arrangements to be made -- ask someone to take care of Daphne, stop the mail, remind three guitar teachers we won't be here for lessons, etc., etc. I'll feel better when I have a few piles of clean clothes and towels ready to pack, a few lists and reminders posted.

"The concern-oriented life is ordered and organized from within." Okey dokey, then -- this weekend, the primary concern is order and organizing and completing lists and preparing for family time at the beach!

We Had to Raze the Building

2010-09-30T06:51:00.001-04:00

Photo by Robert Stacy

    So. Over the past few weeks, I've been involved in a number of discussions, both online and in real life, about parenting and children and labels and disorders. A couple of these stemmed from this article: How Teenage Rebellion Has Become a Mental Illness: Big pharma has some new customers. Not complying with authority is now, in many cases, labeled a disease. In one conversation, the parent said that all of the answers I was giving were about parenting, that the "disorder" was something that went far beyond that. I can only give my perspective from what we learned when we made the shift from authoritarian, controlling, reward-and-punishment parenting to Seeing Things Differently. I wanted to write about some of this in detail, partly to comb through and lay out what I see as a fundamental shift in not "just parenting", but in how we see life and living and Love -- for myself as much as to answer questions from other parents:

    Parenting is about learning what Love is, so, yes, I think it's the root of everything. When we have a child that challenges us and isn't "easy", it's a gift, because we're learning how to love -- how to let love come through, manifest -- in different ways. An author I like says that "Parenthood is the most intensive course in Love there is." (Paraphrasing Polly Berrien Berends.)

    One reason that a conversation about a shift in how we parent is like careful translation is because when people talk about parenting, or ask "what would you do", it's like they are asking what color to paint the top floor of a leaning building. "You know, this apartment isn't working for us. It's depressing, dark. What color would you paint it?" When we were questioning our parenting and thought that we would be changing "methods", we assumed that it would be like looking through paint chips to pick a different color for the depressing apartment (that was the relationship with our children). What no one tells you -- the real and wonderful cosmic joke -- is that in order to change the "apartment" -- that isn't pleasing you, that just doesn't feel right -- you must blow up the building and start over from the foundation. So, asking me "what would you do" or "what DID you do" is like asking "what color", and the answer is "we had to raze the building and start with a new foundation" -- which turned out to be a new perception of what parenting IS, what Love is, what wholeness is. It wasn't "just parenting", this shift -- it was life-changing, and not something that we could explain easily.

    What I discovered, when we first began to make changes in the way we parented, was that what I thought would be a project, a change in rules or parenting "methods" or "philosophy", was, in fact, a fundamental change in the whole idea of what Love is. I think that from the time we are born, we are introduced to the (false) idea that Love is something that we can give each other or can get from each other, that we can "deserve" or "earn", bestow or withhold. Seen from this perspective, "love" is something parents use to control their child's behavior: You're good, you earn Love, you're bad, and Love is withdrawn. Most parents would say, "Oh, no -- we may hate the behavior, but we will always love the child." But, if you have learned that Love is like currency, something we exchange ie "I Love you, you Love me", then anger feels like the withdrawal of Love.

    What parenting teaches us, if we seek to learn it, is that Love is NOT an exchange. It's way of seeing, a mode of perceiving, not an exchange, not currency. Seeing your child through Love is a way to see them as whole and perfect JUST THE WAY THEY ARE. This is the foundation of the new building.

    As a parent, if we see our child as damaged, as in need of fixing, as not whole and perfect, they learn to see themselves this way. Some of them -- the brave, the resilient, the courageous -- fight the perception of themselves as "broken", and the fight is painful. It's painful to know that the people who are there to show you love and acceptance, to celebrate the wonderful, whole person you are, see you as flawed and in need of fixing. The healthy ones rebel against this. The submissive ones learn to take special care to hide what parents see as unacceptable, as not worthy, and they bury their feelings. And then they have to deal with it sooner or later, start excavating. Or not.

    This a jewel of a passage from Whole Child/Whole Parent, by Polly Berrien Berends;

"'Oats, peas, beans, and barley grows.'
. . . It is written into the very nature of the oat, pea, bean, and barley to grow into fruitful plants. Nobody questions whether they want to do this, or can. So why do we doubt our children? When the farmer sows a nice, round, healthy oat and it doesn't grow well, he doesn't say, "What's the matter with the oat? It must be lazy or sick or emotionally disturbed in some way." He assumes that something is wrong with the environment in which that oat is trying to grow. Then he sets about trying to perceive what is needed."

Headcold-Pajama-Soup-Book-Movie Day

2010-09-29T09:03:00.000-04:00

It's been weeks since we heard the sound of rain on the skylight in the kitchen -- for any length of time -- and today the weather forecasters are using words like "downpour", "gully-washer" and "drenching". Our region has been experiencing a drought, and, because we're dependent on well-water here, we've been a little careful about spacing showers, laundry, dishwashing, etc. I don't even bother washing the car, because one trip down the long, gravel driveway is all it takes to cake it with dust again, which, it appears, gives my "friends" (you know who you are) a chance to do this:

Oh, hearty-har-har. It is to laugh.

I have a headcold, which is lovely. Really. Just enough stuffiness and headache and cough to relieve any guilt I might otherwise feel about spending the day in my flannel pajamas, curled in a corner of the couch with the new book that came in the mail on Monday. Since I spent the weekend making soups, I have a fortifying Green Soup as well as a warming, golden Butternut Squash and Pear Soup. Since I bought a flat of pears at Sam's, and we all know how fast pears "go off", as Mark says, I made a double batch of the latter, in order to use up more pears. As I made the soup, I thought that I would share some and pictured myself taking lovely, golden soup to friends -- until I tasted it. It was so good that I put the extra away in the freezer, so, if you want some, you have to visit me. And maybe, you know, bring me a present. Or a fresh box of tissues.

(Because my poor head is stuffy, I will forgo the cream and grate some fresh ginger into my soup, sprinkle some nutmeg on top, thin it with some cider. More cream for you!)

Jesse's Marathon: The Details

2010-09-04T05:49:00.000-04:00

The date for Jesse's Marathon is Saturday, September 18th. Time for start is 7:00AM. He will be running a 26.2 mile course through Ashland, down the tracks, around the Randolph Macon College Campus. He'll start from the corner of College Ave. and N. Railroad Ave. Depending on how parking looks that morning, my car, um, Support Vehicle, will be right in front of the little train station, across from Henry Clay Inn. There is a Randolph Macon parking lot right there.

Here's the map of the corner. I'll have course maps available the morning of the race.

We'll have a Party Zone and donuts and bagles and water. Ashland Coffee and Tea is right around the corner! Bring a folding chair. Jesse's course takes him by this corner a couple of times. I'll have course maps available, if you want to go cheer him at another point in the course.

T-shirts still available on Zazzle! Please come join us! Let me know if you have questions. Hope to see you there!

HOME

2010-08-21T08:45:00.000-04:00

Mark is home for a whole week!

We got in from the airport around 10:30 last night. Jesse, who has a training run this morning, had gone to bed, but Owen was up, ready to share peach cobbler with his dad. Thanks to Grandma Sylvia for the Shawnee Springs peaches, and thanks to Paula Deen for the cobbler recipe. It was, in fact, The Best Cobbler Ever.

It made Owen's face do this:

This morning, Mark and Jesse got up and headed into Ashland in the Little Red Truck for Jesse's run. This weekend is 12 miles, next weekend 20, etc., until Jesse's Marathon Day, September 18th. Please come cheer! More info -- time (early!), location (near train station/RMC parking lot) to come. Or email me.

Here's Jesse beginning his 22 mile training run last weekend:

It gets hotter, and he loses the shirt. Running along the tracks in Ashland. (Ashland, Center of the Universe. A train runs straight through it.) That is pretty Randolph Macon College campus on the right.

And, finally, My Foot In Ashland. Take the train -- I'll meet you at the station!!

Hmm. Can I get a pedicure in Ashland? My foot is waving at the people on the train:

"Hi, people -- cheer for my running son!"

Rainy Day -- FINALLY

2010-08-18T06:57:00.001-04:00

We've had the odd thunderstorm almost daily, and as welcome as they are, there's something about a true rainy day spent at home that restores my soul.

Of course, the image in my head of a rainy day spent snuggled in a blanket with a book versus the reality of our day leaves something to be desired. Jesse will still want to go run this morning. The high school cross country team that he runs with will meet to run this morning at 8:00, rain or no rain. Lightning would stop them, maybe hail, but not rain. Note to self: Stock the car with towels.

Guitar and bass lessons with Brent in Ashland this afternoon won't be rained out. After guitar, both boys want to go to Carytown, Jesse to Guitar Works to look at classical guitars, and Owen to One Eyed Jacques, the gaming store.

So, the reality looks like a day spent with my sons. They are 16 and 17, and these days of them needing me to drive them to places they want and need to go are coming to an end. I love driving with the two of them laughing and talking and listening to LOUD music in the car.

There will be lots of rainy days to relax and read or nap or enjoy a cup of coffee after I'm no longer needed as a driver. I'm going to appreciate today with my boys and enjoy their humor and fun and energy. A good way to spend a rainy day.

Facebook Status Update After Jesse's Training Run

2010-08-14T12:21:00.000-04:00

I was posting a status update on Facebook after returning with Jesse from his 22 mile marathon training run this morning, and it kept getting longer and longer, so I decided to blog it, instead:

I thought about Jesse and his determination to run a marathon before he turns 18 in September when I read the article by that (radio?) guy I saw someone post a link to the other day. He asked unschoolers in general, "Does anyone really believe it’s an advantage not to have structure, timelines and goals? Is there anything in your life that works better when you start when you want, do what you feel like at the moment, then quit when you’re unhappy?" Okay, here he is.

To Mr. Graham: I don't think that you understand unschooling, and I wonder if you have read much at all about it. No one said that there are no timelines, goals, or structure in unschooling. A child who grows with parental trust and assistance to meet his or her OWN goals is an amazing force. He or she sees the possibilities, and goes after what he or she wants with confidence. These kids do not pursue goals for the purpose of pleasing parents or society or teachers, and then wake up one day wondering how they ended up with a life they never consciously chose for themselves.

My thoughts were on one of my own self-motivated unschooling kids, so they continued: No one suggested this marathon to Jesse. No one even encouraged him very much at first, because we (Mark and I and his coach/friend and everyone, really) knew that a marathon in September in Richmond requires grueling training runs in awful heat and humidity. There ARE no marathons near us in the summer and early fall for that very reason. Mark, living Arkansas, can not train with Jesse. Jesse runs his long training runs alone, and he runs because he wants to. He has never had anyone nagging at him to "remember your run today" or trying to "motivate" him with guilt and shame. Do most kids who have to be nagged and coerced -- reminded and punished and rewarded -- in order to reach a goal really even understand this kind of self-motivation? When do they get a chance to experience it?

To answer the radio guy's second question, "Is there anything in your life that works better when you start when you want, do what you feel like at the moment, then quit when you’re unhappy?" Yes. I believe with all of my heart that EVERYTHING in life "works better" when we start when we want, do what we feel like doing at the moment, and quit when we are no longer happy doing what we're doing. It leads to a life that we are choosing, moment by moment. A life lived by doing things we don't choose to "start when we want", then continue to do these things even when we "don't feel like doing them" and push them through to finish while we are "unhappy" leads to a life of pain and confusion and dissatisfaction, leaving us wondering how we got to this place and whose life this is, anyway?

I loved watching my son run today. I am pleased at his pleasure in working toward his goal. If he wakes up tomorrow and has decided during the night that he's had enough of running and doesn't really feel like doing a marathon, anyway, it wouldn't bother me at all. I would feel pleased to know that he was that in touch with what HIS wants and needs and dreams were, without worrying about what his parents would say if he QUIT, and to feel free and trusted to make this choice for himself.

And that's what I couldn't fit into my status update. Heh.

Radiant Peace

2010-08-11T10:08:00.000-04:00

I was talking to Mark on the phone last night about how quiet the house is while he is in Arkansas and Meredith is all married and stuff. Jesse was upstairs playing guitar, plugged into his headset, so I could barely hear him; Owen was outside swinging on the backyard swingset. In the dark. He says that the bats fly around him as he swings. Okey dokey, then, son.

When Mark is home, the noise level goes up as soon as he walks in the door. LOUD opera music fills the house. His voice is loud. He's spent years on the floor of manufacturing facilities, yelling to be heard over the machines, and he doesn't have a lower volume switch. When he isn't talking, he's whistling. He whistles along to the opera, he whistles as he cuts the grass, cleans the gutters, trims the boxwoods, changes the oil in the cars. If you've ever been an anxious child, worried that you're "in trouble", that someone is mad at you, that you've done something wrong, that the world is a hostile and frightening place, having a husband who never stops whistling is very calming. It makes me smile. His default whistle tune is "If I Only Had A Brain", which makes me grin. When Mark comes home, the house is filled with noise and energy and ACTION. I do like peace, calm, serenity, silence -- but a house should radiate life and joy, as well as hold times of restful silence and stillness, and when both of us are here, the balance feels just right! These days, with Mark living and working in Arkansas, I'm grateful for the chance to see the contrast and to truly appreciate the noisy, joyful peace my husband brings to our home and family. Grateful, and looking forward to his next trip home! (In about a week!)

Anyway. Peace isn't about how quiet or noisy it is here. Peace is that centering feeling that all is well and that you are loved. After I got off the phone with Mark, I googled "peaceful home unschooling" and rediscovered Sandra's article, "A Loud Peaceful Home". From the article:

"What is peace, then, in a home with children? Contentment is peace.

Is a child happy to be where he is? That is a kind of peace. If he wakes up disappointed, that is not peace, no matter how quiet the house is or how clean and 'feng shuid' his room is.

Peace, like learning, is largely internal."

A peaceful game of cut-throat monopoly.

My most important job, as I see it, is to create a peaceful, joyful home for my family. I read an essay in one of my Quaker books about "concerns", as in the Quaker saying, "I have a concern." The essay was by a man who recognized when he was letting his attention be pulled by so many concerns that he lost his inner peace, became jangled with worries and duties. When he let himself be led by the peace at his center -- his "internal peace" -- his true concerns fell into place. Too many "heady" concerns draw my attention away from what is, for me, my primary concern: A peaceful, joyful home for my family. Tend your own inner peace, tend your home and hearth and loved ones, and peace radiates. Joyful peace, noisy peace, soothing peace, grounding peace.

I'm That Mom

2010-07-26T19:41:00.000-04:00

An impromptu blog carnival started by Ronnie based on a post by Flo.

I'm that mom who doesn't have an eye on the "outcome", the result, the payoff. My kids want to join a writing group, take guitar lessons, buy a book they're interested in? I don't feel the need to justify the time spent as "good for them". If they enjoy what they're doing while they're doing it, that is enough for me. If they take guitar lessons for 3 years, then put the guitar down and never pick it up again, that is okay with me. If they want to run a 5K, but don't feel like training for weeks before, that's their choice, and I will cheer them on and support them, not wait at the finish line with a ready moral and an I-told-you-so. These days, I hear so many parents justifying the activities their child is involved in as "looks good on a college application" or a resume. BLAH! Allow your kid enjoy something for whatever reason, without attaching your hopes and aspirations for him to the chosen passion or activity. If my kid enjoys it, it's HIS business, not mine. I'm that mom.

Jesse's Marathon

2010-07-05T08:34:00.004-04:00

"I am fast-I am fast-I am veryvery fast . . . "

I don't remember a time when Jesse wasn't pushing to move forward, to go faster. He raised his tiny head and rolled over in his crib when he was two weeks old. He first sped around in his walker on these wood floors, then zoomed around on his toy fire engine, doing laps down the hall, through the dining room and whizzing past me in the kitchen. He has always been a boy on the move.

When he was in first grade, the year before we all began unschooling, he ran his first race on Field Day. When he was 10, he ran an 8k with his Aunt Valerie. My husband, Mark, is an experienced runner, and he made sure that Jesse trained carefully for longer runs. Mark and Jesse ran 5ks, 10ks, and two half-marathons. They did a duathlon or two, road races and trail runs and mountain bike courses.

When he was 13 or 14, Jesse began to express to me that he wanted to find other runners his age to run with. He found the training runs by himself were becoming boring. When he and Mark ran on the weekends with Richmond Road Runners, there were only adults, and, though Jesse enjoyed the training runs, he was hoping for others his age to run with. He was also reading books about running, like "Running With the Buffaloes", about the University of Colorado cross country team, and "Harriers", about a high school cross country team. He read "Once a Runner", the cult classic for runners, and "Pre". He watched both of the "Pre" movies. He was curious to see what the team experience was like.

So, I did what all unschooling moms are there to do: I sought out paths to help Jesse find a way to experience what he wanted and needed to experience. First, I tried within the homeschool community. There were plenty of responses to my post on the local homeschool list about running, but they were all from families with younger kids who wanted to train to run a mile or less. There was one homeschool track team, but they were in Hampton, and they were Christian-based, with a statement of faith signature required to join. I find these "homeschool" teams irritating and deceptive. It's misleading to promote your team or organization as "homeschool", and then require a statement of faith. Why not just say upfront "Christian Homeschoolers Only" and be clear about it? Still, if it were in Richmond, and if it would have given Jesse the experience he was seeking, I would have pursued the idea, but, while we could have traveled to Hampton for meets, Jesse still wouldn't be training with kids his own age. Most of his running would still be alone.

Next, I called a woman in a nearby town who had organized a bunch of kids to run together over the summer. She sounded great, but said they weren't meeting any longer, as all of the kids were back in school. She did give me a couple of names to call. One guy, the father of a runner about Jesse's age, sounded very promising and upbeat, telling me about his son's running group, who met to run at a park not too far from us. After our first talk, he never called me back. I left messages, but never heard from him again.

Finally, I sent an email to the cross country coach at the nearby high school. Coach Dobrinski was wonderful -- enthusiastic, supportive. By this time, it was summer, and Jesse was 14. Coach told me that several of the runners from his team met over the summer to run. He put me in contact with Jo Menk, the mother of one of the boys. Jo has an impressive running background. She was a teenage track star in England, where she set a world record for 16-year-olds in the 1,000 meters that still stands. (Josephine White: 2:38.58. Amazing.) She came to the US for college and was a three-time All American. She was very welcoming to Jesse, and her son, Julian, is Jesse's age, and a terrific runner.

Coach Dobrinski went out of his way to try to let Jesse run on his team. He checked the Virginia state high school league rules, which unequivocally prohibit homeschoolers from participating on high school teams. When school started, he invited Jesse to practice with the team and took Jesse with them to out-of-state invitational meets. He gave Jesse a team uniform and let him run in home meets as an eight grader, whose times don't count toward the team score. Jo invited Jesse to go to Footlocker National races and to AAU and USATF races. Sometimes truly wonderful people come into your children's lives.

Jesse is 17, now. Several months ago, he told his dad (who, you'll remember, is living and working in Hot Springs, AR) that he wanted to run a marathon before he turns 18 in September. Mark and I searched, but, because of the Southern summer heat, there were no nearby marathons before October or November. Mark told Jesse that he would schedule a trip home to run the Richmond Marathon with Jesse in November, but Jesse was adamant: Sure, they could run the Richmond Marathon together, but he still wanted to run one before he turned 18.

Hmm.

So training and planning for Jesse's Marathon began. Now, Mark sends Jesse running schedules and training advice. Mark calls every evening, and Jesse can ask him about ice baths and handheld water bottles and mapping his run through Ashland. One of the worst things about Mark working out of state has been that his sons are growing up without him here. Planning Jesse's Marathon has given Mark and Jesse something to talk about and connect through. When Mark comes home for a week in August, he and Jesse and I will plan a route for Jesse's Marathon, which is scheduled for September 18th or 19th, the weekend before Jesse's 18th birthday. We'll be calling for volunteers to man water stops and cheer Jesse on. And if you would like to wear a Jesse's Marathon Support Crew T-shirt, whether you can be there in person or not, I'll be posting a link to Cafepress, soon. *Okay, done. Not Cafepress, but Zazzle. least expensive white cotton shirt is $12.95 + shipping. Just for fun and to make Jesse smile. Don't worry about buying one, if you don't want to. :) If you do, send or email me a photo, so I can paste you to the GO JESSE poster! Jesse's Marathon t-shirt.

He Ain't Heavy, etc.

2010-02-27T16:27:00.002-05:00

They're only 14 months apart, and Jesse, the older brother, is a bit smaller than Owen. He's lighter, with that runner's build. Still, he's definitely the older brother, forging ahead, directing Owen peremptorily.

Like many siblings, as they grew, they each had their own interests, likes and dislikes. In recent years, Jesse has been the athletic one, running, biking, climbing, skating. Owen has had no interest in organized sports, but he walks the trails, plays casual soccer with his friends, skates occasionally, practices with his bokken, and he spends lots of time swinging on the swing-set out back, listening to his ipod.

Owen really got into watching the Olympics this year. Last week, he told me that he had been skating at night in the basement, doing laps wearing his inline skates. I never even heard him! Owen generally stays up all night, going to sleep around 5:00 AM. "Didn't you hear me when I crashed into the boxes?", he asked. (Not over my snoring, I guess.) Anyway, Owen wanted to find out more about speed skating. We have a speed skating short track club about 40 minutes away, and we found their website. He may check the club out.

What I've noticed, and what touches my heart, is that Owen is asking Jesse about training: how far is one lap of the basement, how should he start running to train for skating, how long is a meter. :) Jesse is sweet as the older brother, giving his younger brother advice on training and healthy eating and dedication to his chosen sport. :)

I really enjoy these two brothers -- their company, how they make me laugh! (Me: "In my day, all of these chopped up little countries in Eastern Europe were the Soviet Union." Owen: "In your day, they were Pangaea.")

My friend, Eileen, wrote something the other day about how she's getting kind of misty-eyed watching her kids grow, thinking about when they were small. Oh, me, too! I've been having dreams about when they were little and needed me so. Now, Meredith is getting married (she and Joseph are upstairs addressing invitations), Jesse is driving, Owen is shaving. Oh, my heart!

So I will spend a little time looking through old photos, folding a tiny jacket, flipping the pages of an old "bedtime" book. And then I'll think about what wonderful people -- close brothers, loving sister, fun, kind, interesting, unique adults -- they've become, and I'll focus on the joy in the present, and look forward to them stopping by home before they dash out again!

Setting Free the Tree, A Christmas Eve Poem With Cursing

2009-12-24T06:54:00.001-05:00

If you were here

Helping me untangle

You could curse the man who

Wound the twinkle lights so tightly
'round this little tree

Weaving in and out of branches
Winding, binding, each light tied off
Just so,
The wire knotted tightly

I'm not kidding knotted

Plug it in and
Light will not escape this little tree
It is bound forever to green wires and tiny glass bulbs.
My hands hurt from trying to free it.

You could curse the man who
Wound the lights so tightly,
With such precision and determination but I
Am his daughter.

So curse him for me.

(Um, love you, Dad. xoxo)

Hibernating

2009-12-19T11:23:00.006-05:00

(My voice sounds like I have a pack-a-day cigarette habit. It's the cold.)

Mark flew back to Arkansas on Monday, after his father's funeral last Saturday. His plan was to drive back here early this morning, around 4:00. It's a 16 hour drive from Hot Springs, but this snow storm would have made it twice as long, so he's waiting to hear more about what the roads are like early tomorrow morning. Or maybe Monday. Tuesday? :(

After congratulating myself for not catching the cold that Mark caught on the plane last week, I seem to have a bad *head* cold. To me, that means that my head feels big and heavy and clogged up. Sniff, cough cough.

We are officially snowed in. Couldn't get out if we wanted to, four-wheel-drive or no four-wheel-drive. We live off of a long gravel road, which is not state-maintained. I have no idea when we will be able to get out of here. Mark's mom's house is about three miles away, so, if we had to, we could hike on over there.

Stuck at home with a cold is not bad at all. We still have electricity. Yay! That means coffee, hot chocolate, baking gingerbread, watching movies, dragging trees and ornaments up from the basement to decorate. (Finally.) I have the makings for oyster stew and a bottle of champagne is chilling in the 'fridge, for when Mark arrives. I have presents to wrap and twinkle lights to untangle. I have a bowl of clementines and a box of Puffs aloe tissues; a bottle of brandy -- for the gingerbread, I mean -- and lots of blankets fresh from the dryer; Stayman apples, my favorite, and a video of Little Women. I'll pull out my Christmassy books, to ignite my lazy-ass Christmas spirit.

Susan Branch, Gladys Taber, Tasha Tudor, all of the Little Women, Sarah Ban Breathnach

Hector is snoring on his dog bed, tired from his exuberant romp in the snow. Jesse and Owen have been playing "Timesplitters 2" on the gamecube. Meredith has been doing laundry, and just came up the basement stairs with a load, which she said she intended to bury herself in. Ahh. Fresh, warm laundry smell.

It's a much-needed peaceful interlude here. Not bad at all. Peace to all of you. And some fresh, warm laundry, too. Ho ho ho.

xoxo

Gift of Owen

2009-12-04T06:23:00.006-05:00

Owen's friends coerce him into playing soccer.

In the past week, we have recovered from Thanksgiving, Jesse has been to run in the Footlocker Races in Charlotte (and run well!), we celebrated Mark's and Owen's birthdays early -- before Mark had to return to Hot Springs on Sunday -- had Owen's Basement Gaming Gang over and, today, celebrate Owen's real birthday. He, of course, is sleeping after a night of WoW, and probably won't rise until late this afternoon. Or ... we could all troop in with Hector and sing him an early morning Happy Birthday song!

The Stinkeye.

As usual, Owen's birthday requests leave me a bit bemused. He asked for a copy of Sun Tzu's "The Art of War" and one of Miyamoto Misashi's "The Book of Five Rings", as well as some wooden Bokken practice swords. As a surprise, I ordered him a DVD of "Dieppe", because, last week, watching a Britography of Lord Mountbatten's life and military career simply cracked him up. He got no end of enjoyment out of hearing about "Mountbatten Pink", as well as how Mountbatten's flotilla of ships ran into trouble again and again, because of his rash decisions. Signaling jokes to the other ships at night got them spotted by the Germans and bombed. They went in for repairs and returned to sea -- to find themselves in a German minefield. The documentary was not flattering, to say the least, and Owen got a real kick out of it. A recent exchange with Jesse went something like this:

Jesse: "Is that chocolate on your arm?"

Owen, after licking arm: "No, it's a scab."

Jesse: "A scab? It's brown."

Owen: "No, it's pink. Mountbatten Pink."

He drives me crazy, he keeps me laughing -- he's such a wiseass. She says, proudly. :)

Just ... stuff.

2009-11-19T17:38:00.004-05:00

Is she shopping? Playing paintball? "Give me all your groceries!"

Well, Hector thinks it's a good time for a game of fetch-the-tennis-ball, and walks around with a dingy, yellow ball in his mouth, looking up at each one of us hopefully.

It's dark and raining outside.

Jesse and Owen have plonked down on couches to watch Judge Judy and eat sandwiches. It was a Basement Gang afternoon, when their friends come over to game in the basement. We picked up a copy of the new Mario Brothers game for the Wii, Madison brought pizzas, Sean and Brandon and Crawford all came, and they all had a fun afternoon. No Sydnors. :( Maybe next week. Wait. That's Thanksgiving, isn't it?

Meredith is walking around in her pink flannel Nick and Nora's. She'll probably change soon, as Joseph is coming later.

Yesterday morning, I posted a quote on facebook. I had read a story about a young guy from Richmond, who was working as a coffee shop manager when he began having episodes of numbness on one side. This past July, his doctor sent him to a neurologist and after tests and biopsies, he was diagnosed with an inoperable stage 4 brain tumor. The quote I posted from Colin's story was: "People get so stressed and it's all downhill from there. Look at the bright side. It sucks, but you might as well make the best out of it."

Because. It's a brain tumor. And they can't operate. And he has chosen to enjoy his life. Because, you know, if you are into complaining, a BRAIN TUMOR beats all other complaints hands down. (With the possible exception of ALS, which my father-in-law -- also Not a Complainer -- lives with.)

It just made me think about how we live in a culture of complainers, each of us laying down our sad stories and tales of woe. Try to go for a day without complaining. Huh. We draw energy from others' sympathy, and it's impossible for some of us to give up that energy. We become stuck, making no changes, working overtime to elicit more sympathy.

Anyway. I don't want to get into all of that again -- complaining about the complainers. Colin's blog is inspiring. It's full of what life with cancer and cancer treatments and their side effects is like for him, but there is no self-pity, no wallowing. It's exciting that, through the efforts of some of his friends, he has a wish coming true soon. He'll be able to visit the set of "Lost", in Hawaii. Or maybe he's just come back from his trip. I need to go check his blog for updates.

Yesterday, after turning this *complaining* subject over, and holding it up to the light, and examining my feelings about chronic complaining, I left the house to take Jesse to guitar and track. I was sitting in the almost-dark parking lot at the high school, when Meredith called me. She was still at work, at Hanover Academy, where she is an art teacher, and works in the after-school program. Her voice was shaky, and she was having trouble putting words together into sentences. She told me that she "felt funny" and her hand and side of her face were numb. She was in the office, trying to find aspirin. She kept trying to say "pain reliever", but couldn't, and it scared her. I told her to go back to the gym and get the gym teacher (one of the only staff members still there) to call the rescue squad, and Jesse and I would be right there. She walked back to the gym, but said the kids and teacher had moved to the kindergarten classroom. But "kindergarten" came out as "ginder ... ginder ...". She couldn't say the word.

When Jesse and I got there, a rescue squad vehicle was out front, and a paramedic was with Meredith. She said that it sounded like a TIA -- a mini-stroke -- to her, and that Meredith needed to see a doctor. The ambulance arrived and took Meredith to the hospital. I took Jesse home, called Grandma Sylvia, rooted through Meredith's file cabinet for her insurance information, and headed for the hospital. When I got there, Charity and Joseph were already there and said that Mer had been taken for a CAT scan.

A few hours later, Meredith was released with a referral to a neurologist. We've seen neurologists before, gone through tests and MRIs and hospital stays several years ago, when she was having simple-partial seizures, but she hasn't had an episode in seven years. And she said that this experience was different. What a day for me to have found Colin's blog. I tried not to let that mess with my head.

So, that's the latest. This morning, we had to be in court to testify in a case where Meredith's credit card was stolen and her account cleaned out this past February. There's more to THAT story, as some of you know.

She came through the last 24 hours doing pretty well. Glad to have the court case over with, glad that she had the option to carry her health insurance from her job at World Market with her when she quit working there, glad to put on pajamas and have a peaceful evening at home, with Joseph coming a bit later.

We'll deal with the neurologist stuff next week. We'll figure out how to get her car home from the parking lot at work. Mark talked to her on the phone last night, and he really wanted to be here. He's driving home Saturday and will be home for a week. Meredith told him that we were looking through recipes to find good things to prepare for Thanksgiving. It's fun to fix food when Mark is home. :)

So, the day is winding down. It's comfortable, the lamps are lit against the darkness. (Heh heh -- I just threw that in because it sounded so corny. Hey! Jesse! Go turn on that lamp!) This afternoon, I won two tickets to any upcoming Virginia Opera performance by posting a story -- just a paragraph -- to their fan page about how three-year-old Meredith used to sing "Musetta's Waltz" while she fingerpainted. When I was notified that I won, I yelled upstairs, "I'M A WIENER!" And Meredith yelled back down, "That's AWESOME!"

All is well.

Soft, still, quiet, happy

2009-11-05T03:36:00.005-05:00

Centered.

This is a wonderful quote from Sandra Dodd, by way of Alexandra. (Thanks, Alex.)

"Here's what your children need you to do, and what all our children need us to do. Pay attention to your children the way you wish your sister and sister in law and cousin and neighbor would pay attention to theirs. Do for your child what you wish had been done for you. Indignation doesn't make a person soft or thoughtful. It just makes a person indignant, and pissed off, and self-righteous, and absent.

You can't be with your child while the inside of you is railing at
Nestle or Disney or Japanese fishermen or the Spanish Inquisition.

Of course things aren't always wonderful. Rather than becoming one of
the things that's not wonderful, be a wonderful thing. Be a soft, still, quiet, happy attentive mother.

We can't fix all the lives in the world. If we're not careful we can
screw up our own and our families'.

Each moment you have a choice between better and worse, warm and cold,
focused or scattered."

Sandra Dodd

Here is a link for ordering Sandra's book.

Mindful Parenting Thought for the Day and Assignment

2009-10-27T06:38:00.007-04:00

This is less a blogpost, than it is a Thought for the Day. :)

I was corresponding with a friend, and it got me to thinking about the idea that, as parents, we are often the mirror that reflects our child's image back to him or her Self. It seems like a good idea to take a minute and think about what we are reflecting back to them:

How do I want my children to see themselves? As flawed and damaged and in need of "fixing" and medicating OR as whole and perfect and loved and capable of exploring life and the world? Reflect the latter back to them, show them the pleasure you take in their company, and watch how they respond, and unfold/blossom. It's just beautiful.

How would my life change if I felt whole and perfect and loved and capable? Don't I want that life for my child?

So, today, try biting your tongue about the dirty socks left on the floor, or the gobs of toothpaste around the bathroom sink, every niggling little criticism and reminder and complaint -- squelch them before you open your mouth. Notice only the positive things about your child, and reflect those things back to him or her. Take joy in your child today. See what it does for your relationship.

Tomorrow: Repeat. :)

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast ...

2009-10-25T06:32:00.015-04:00

Today is a day for s-l-o-w-t-i-m-e, for steeping in the feeling of being home on a beautiful fall day, with no plans and no obligations. There are six pounds of Granny Smith apples in the bowl on the counter, waiting to be peeled and made into an enormous apple crisp, and I'll manage to get them all peeled, but there is no rush. Today there is no rush to do anything. So come hang out and take a nap on the couch in the sunny bay window or in the hammock on the porch. Have a bowl of soup or a cup of coffee, or give in to Hector's pleading eyes and take him for walk on the leaf-covered trail.

Mark flew in from Arkansas Thursday evening, and we've had a hectic schedule since then. It's been nice, but busybusybusy. Friday, Mark and the boys blew leaves and cleaned gutters and moved summer furniture up from the field to the front porch. The boys and I made a run to Party City and Kentucky Fried Chicken for, you know, a bucket. Any guesses as to Jesse's costume choice?

Saturday Mark took Jesse to the Harvest Run in Ashland, where Jesse won the 5k. After the race, they came straight to the ALS Walk in Bryan Park. The day was blustery and rainy, but the showers paused long enough for the walk, which was lovely. Mark's sister, Valerie, and her kids, Aaron and Morgan, were down from Pennsylvania for the walk, and we kidnapped Aaron, then came home to get costumes ready for the Halloween party at Dave and Samantha's. Meredith and Joseph, both dressed in kilts, stopped in after a morning at the Celtic Festival, to watch me boil up a batch of Karo syrup blood. Too pink? Too blue? To runny? Ahh, just right!

Joseph had, thoughtfully, borrowed his brother's black assassin's coat for Owen to wear to the party. He threw in his own ammo belt, and Mark provided black steel-toed boots and too many knives to count. If you hear lots of clanking and stomping, you probably have plenty of time to get away before Owen the Assassin shows up.

Charity arrived, and she and Meredith spent some time getting pretty, before sweeping back out with Joseph and piling into Charity's car for a trip to North Carolina for a friend's birthday party. The boys and I spent some time coming up with a spur-of-the-moment costume for Aaron, which ended up involving a pink Snuggi, candy cigarettes, and a large magazine photo of a baby's head. Yeah, don't ask. It was creepy, I assure you. The boys had already decided that Mark's yardwork outfit, a red sweatshirt under blue overalls, needed only a red cap to turn Mark into Mario, and I wore my flannel PJs and carried a teddy bear, adding a gruesome Karo syrup-slashed throat to transform me into the First Victim at the sleepover in a slasher movie. I was suitably gruesome, AND got to go to a party wearing flannel pajamas, most comfortable party outfit ever!

Dave and Samantha's Halloween Party was amazing, and deserves a post of its own. Madison was there, taking plenty of photos, so, with his permission, I'll post some soon.

But today is a good day to recover from the rush, to read a favorite book, fix another pot of coffee, listen to my favorite fall music, Bach's cello suites, and to enjoy our family all being here, before Mark has to go back to Arkansas Tuesday morning. It will be a month before he's home again, so taking some time to appreciate his being here, to fix him an apple crisp and homemade chicken soup and to throw an extra afghan over him as he naps on the couch, feels special.

S-l-o-w-t-i-m-e and centering down restores us. Tomorrow and the rush and the fun and the plans and obligations will come around soon enough.

Clear a space and take some time to just be.

Early Saturday at Home

2009-10-17T08:02:00.017-04:00

The woods-all-around are turning color. We don't have any curtains in our windows -- and we have a LOT of windows. The quality of light coming in through them changes with the seasons, and, right now, it still has a yellow-green cast to it, contrasting with the red walls in the big kitchen room where my computer is. Fall colors are slow this year, creeping in, a maple going yellow in the back yard, a dogwood turning red near the edge of the woods.

Hector and I walk to the pond and around the trail. Mist rises from the pond, and the Great Blue Heron that nests nearby takes off, flying low across the water as we approach. Hector is used to him, and barely notices, intent on snuffling deep in the wet leaves beside the gravel road. He comes up, shaking his ears vigorously a few times, then pulling ahead to the mailboxes at the end of the drive. We turn to go back and a group of Canada geese fly in above us, honking and landing with a series of splashes breaking the calm surface of the pond. This catches Hector's interest, and he stands alert, watching the noisy intruders. Oh! The kingfisher is back! He flits back and forth, from the dock to the fence, chittering noisily at us. So, Hector and I are the intruders, I guess.

Once we're back in our driveway, at the opening to the trail, Hector finds one of his old tennis balls. He has these stashed here and there throughout the woods, and he can find them whenever he chooses, with his amazing lab sense of smell. His father was Big Red, champion Master Hunter.

Dad:

Hector wouldn't know what to do with a duck if one waddled up to him. Ducks are perfectly safe around Hector, son of Big Red. But Hector is a Master Tennis Ball Locator. So, huh.

The woods are still dark. We follow emerald moss trails. Trees drip overhead, deer prints are scattered here and there in the soft, black dirt.

Heading back to the house, I see lights in Jesse's bedroom window. Once inside, Hector gulps and slurps at his water bowl, and I can hear Jesse upstairs playing his acoustic guitar. When he's playing the electric guitar, I rarely hear him, because he plugs his headphones into the amp.

The guitar, the smell of fresh coffee, the warm wood floors all speak of home. We've lived here almost twenty years, now. There's a sense of place, a grounded, confident feeling that comes from knowing one place as home for this long. And, once having known that feeling, you carry it with you, wherever you go.

“Traveling is all very well if you can get home at night. I would be willing to go around the world if I came back in time to light the candles and set the table for supper." Gladys Taber

Back From Visiting Mark

2009-10-13T05:18:00.012-04:00

Promenade overlooking Bathhouse Row.

I had a lovely trip to Hot Springs. Mark met me at the airport in Little Rock with flowers (which he knows I don't like, but he is sweet and couldn't help himself). My flight arrived three hours late, and he had made me a sandwich and packed it for the hour-long car ride to Hot Springs. Those of you who know me may be thinking that I don't deserve him, and, of course, you are right.

His condo was amazing. Built on a high ridge, it overlooks Lake Catherine with a view of the mountains (Ouachita) in the distance.

More touching than the flowers were the red and green and yellow hot peppers, piled onto a tray on the black marble countertop in Mark's kitchen. He knows that I do this -- group colorful vegetables and fruit on the black countertops at home. He set to work making a variety of things for dinner, while I sat at the counter and watched. He put out smoked salmon and crackers and cheeses and olives and shrimp and then he poured me a glass of wine and grilled a big fillet of salmon. Also? He wouldn't let me cook or clean up the whole time I was there. Wow. I was thinking that maybe I should have suggested he move into his own place years ago.

Okay -- just kidding, there. Mark misses the family and his kids, and the noise and dog hair and general clutter of home, but he'll get a good dose of that stuff when he gets home for a visit in about a week.

We hiked a bit at Quachita State Park, drove up West Mountain for the view of Hot Springs, looked at some houses, visited with some of his friends from running group in their beautiful turn-of-the-century house in the city. We walked the promenade that overlooks Bathhouse Row in Hot Springs. We sat and read and drank wine. He's reading the latest Dan Brown book, and I brought Sandra Dodd's Big Book of Unschooling along, and read that. (I want to buy a copy for everyone I know.)

I got home last night, and Meredith and Jesse were out at Trivium's Into the Mouth of Hell We Tour concert at The National. Mer bought tickets for Jesse's birthday last month. Whitechapel, Darkest Hour, and Dirge Within played, as well. I'm learning terms like "deathcore" heavy metal, thrash, and "black death metal". Well, now.

Jesse seemed really pleased when they got home. He had caught one of the drummer's gloves, which he said was "really sweaty". Eww. He grinned.

Owen and I stayed home and watched "Two and a Half Men" and "Big Bang Theory". We laughed big. He asked me to make him a dental appointment, because he think's he has an abscessed tooth. Someone online (World of Warcraft) told him that was what it sounded like to them. Heh.

I'm kind of looking forward to cleaning and putting the house in order some, today. Gotta get back in the routine. Tuesday, let's see, that's Super Happy Fun Day at the Hawes', Jesse's guitar lesson in Ashland, Jesse to track, swing by and pick up Owen. Call dentist. Check dates for Megadeth concert.

Repost, because it makes me happy.

2009-10-07T05:13:00.002-04:00

I found this video that Jesse made when he was little, and I posted it last year, but I'm posting it again, because it makes me happy. He's SEVENTEEN, now. Time rushes by, but here, I can hold it for just a minute or two.

Posted last year:

... his hands are so small, his little boy voice is so sweet.

He's 16, now and has a man-voice and long, slim fingers, suited for playing his guitar. Oh, my gosh -- where did the time go?

He must have made this the year he got the little video camera and began producing his own movies. Very quietly. On the rug in his room. The first two installments of this -- the Big Battles -- are too long to post here, but this is the end and credits. Oh, you've got to watch it all the way to the end for the credits.

Yoda and Luke Skywalker. "You still need a lot to learn. I don't think this is the last we'll see of the emperor. Until next time." I just love this.

"Teaching Moment"

2009-09-10T06:15:00.008-04:00

Jesse and I have been talking about his work on and interest in his guitar. He's been taking guitar for -- I dunno -- three years? Two-and-a-half? Anybody remember, 'cause my memory is shot, and I'm just having my first cup of morning coffee.

Jesse spends hours pouring over Youtube videos of famous and not-famous guitarists and downloading songs to his ipod. He is reading his way through H. P. Lovecraft novels, because some of his favorite metal bands reference Lovecraft's stories in their work. He recently got composing software for his computer, so that he can compose and record. He's impatient to learn more, and, for me, it's like working in the furnace room of a steam train, stoking the fire, helping him find what he needs to feed this burning interest. Driving him to Plan 9, Guitar Works, Guitar Center, Sam Ash, Barnes and Noble; reading a Lovecraft novel, so that I can share his excitement over some lyric he has found in a Metallica song; being aware and open to things like the Buckethead concert that Jesse might have an interest in.

I talked with another guitar teacher the other day. Jesse likes his current teacher, who has been GREAT. He furnishes his students with what they need to know to find and play the music they like, showing them how to find and play tabs for their favorite songs. But Jesse wants to add more music to his week, more work.

A few months ago, Jesse asked me to take him to the bookstore to find books on music theory and reading music, and, for a few weeks now, he's been asking for "more music". We've looked at the classes and workshops offered by parks and recs system, at the community center class listings, and more. Jesse wants to learn to play classical guitar, now, to read music, and add to what he has learned so far. He wants to work. The other day, I talked to a guy that plays in a popular jazz group here and teaches guitar, and his classes consist of a very structured program of lessons. Before I could finish asking Jesse if he wanted to add another day of guitar lessons to his week, he was nodding and saying, "Yes."

Now, interestingly, I have never asked his current teacher how Jesse is "doing", "progressing" -- as long as he's happy, I'm happy. But, the other day, after all of this talk about "more music", I couldn't resist asking Jesse, picking and poking a bit:

Me: "So, how are you doing with Brent?" (His current teacher.)

Jesse: "Fine."

Me: "Does he think you're good?"

Jesse, shrugging: "I don't know."

Me: "Are you doing well in his class? Does he think you're awesome?" (Gawd, Laura.)

Jesse, thinking: "I don't know. It doesn't really matter."

I smiled and went off to ponder this. In my life, my learning and interests and performance were all geared to what others -- parents, teachers, my "audience" -- thought of my work and my progress. Report cards, tests, awards, praise, approval, all told me how I was doing. And here was Jesse, saying that that stuff wasn't what mattered to him. The learning was important, and necessary feedback about what was being learned, but the approval was not the objective, the goal.

"What?" My brain hurt trying to understand this, but I knew that understanding it was very important -- for some shift in thinking my brain was trying very hard to make. My Work: You mean, I'm doing it for myself? Not to please others, to garner praise, money, awards? Extrinsic things? You mean that the work itself, my own growth and my experience in creating my work was what was The Thing, not the value someone else slapped on the finished product?

Well, Holey Moley and knock me over with a feather.

This leads to implications that MY value is intrinsic, that I'M worth something more than a grade or a stamp of approval or an award or a pat on the head and a "good job".

And Jesse just knew this already? Didn't question it at all?

That makes me smile.

Happy Yellow Day

2009-09-05T09:26:00.002-04:00

Today is a Yellow day.

Why are You Telling Me?

2009-08-29T16:40:00.005-04:00

My New Philosophy

[SALLY]
"oh, yeah. That's what you think."

[SCHROEDER]
What?

[SALLY]
That's my new philosophy: "Oh, yeah?
That's what you think!"

[SCHROEDER]
Well, why are you telling me?

[SALLY]
What?

[SCHROEDER]
Why are you telling me?

[SALLY]
"Why are you telling me?" I like it!
That's a good philosophy: "Why are you telling me?"
Why are you telling me?"

"Why are you telling me?"
My new philosophy
The teacher gave a "D" on last week's homework
She said, "Miss Sally Brown,
Your grades are going down."
I could have told her-

[SCHROEDER]
You new philosophy?

[SALLY]
My new philosophy!
[as teacher]
Miss B?
[as herself]
I'm she

Look see.
A "D?"
A "D."
Well, why are telling me?
And that's my new philosophy!

[SCHROEDER]
That's your new philosophy?

[SALLY]
Why are you telling me?
My new philosophy!

[SCHROEDER]
That's great, Sally, but I've gotta go practice Chopin's
Nocturne in B-Flat minor.

[SALLY]
No!! I like it! "No!" That's a good philosophy.
"No!" "No!" "No!"

[SCHROEDER]
That's you new philosophy, huh?

[SALLY]
Yes. I mean-- "No!"
Just like a busy bee
Each new philosophy
Can fly from tree to tree and keep me moving
When life's a dizzy maze
On alternating days
I choose a different phrase-

[SCHROEDER]
Your new philosophy?

[SALLY]
My new philosophy!

[SCHROEDER]
Sally!
Some philosophies are simple:
"Man does not eat by bread alone."
Some philosophies are clear:

[SALLY]
"Leave your message at the sound of the tone."

[BOTH]
Some philosophies pick and choose
Deciding what goes in it.

[SCHROEDER]
Some take a lifetime,

[SALLY]
Mine take a minute.

[SCHROEDER]
But, Sally, anything that takes only a minute can't be
very lasting. For instance, Beethoven took over two years
to complete his brilliant Ninth Symphony.

[SALLY]
"No!"

[SCHROEDER]
I can't stand it!

[SALLY]
"I can't stand it!" I like it!
It's like a guarantee.
My new philosophy.
And things are sure to be a whole lot brighter
"Oh, yeah? That's what you think!"
"Why are you telling me?"
"No!"
"I can't stand it!"
Now life is free and easy,
Much more philosophy-zy,
With my brand new-

You know, someone had said that we should live every day as
if it were the last day of our life.

[LUCY (passing by and overhearing)]
Aaugh! This is the last day!! This is it!! I only have
twenty-four hours left!! Help me! Help me! This is the last
day!! Aaugh!

[SALLY]
Clearly, some philosophies aren't for all people.
And that's my new philosophy!

** I was in You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown in high school. I was Patty. No, not Peppermint Patty. No, not "Frida" with the naturally curly hair. No, not "Violet". Just "Patty". She has since disappeared from the script. This was not due to me or my acting abilities or lack thereof.

Life Lately. Anticipating Autumn

2009-08-14T06:00:00.008-04:00

Oh, poor, neglected blog -- do I have the energy to pick you up, dust you off and set you on your feet?

I doubt it.

I blog best when I am either riled up about something, or when life is so full that the wonder and joy spills over into a blog post. These days, I'm feeling the first stirrings of that anticipation of fall, when the languor and torpor of August give way to the cool morning breeze blowing from the North, the first leaves turning. (Yuh huh. I've got photos!)

The other day, Jesse announced, "If we're not going to move, I want to DO something, this year." After a bit of discussion, I believe that he means he wants his days filled, that he wants new things to explore. His time these days is divided between running in preparation for the cross country season (team practices begin on Monday), playing his guitar and reading H.P. Lovecraft novels, this latest activity sparked by his interest in Metal music. He wants composing software for his birthday next month. He wants MORE music -- once-a-week guitar lessons are not cutting it. We went to see a local bluegrass string band last night, and he liked it. Did you know that Buckethead plays the banjo? Yup.

Meredith's summer vacation ended this week as she began working at the drama camp at Hanover Academy. She was asked to write, produce and direct an original take on The Wizard of Oz, incorporating local elements of Ashland and Hanover. Heh.

She wrote a 30 page play. I read her script, and it is amazing -- so clever, entertaining, funny. However, after the first day of camp, she came home and cut 15 pages and adapted the script to work with three narrators (the older kids) and numerous parts for the younger kids, ages 5 to 12. The boy playing the cowardly lion wanted to be a cowardly Yeti instead, so Meredith is lending him her hat (What? You don't have a Yeti hat? So sad.), and he is working on the rest of his costume. They've been hard at work on the backdrops and scenery this week, and Mer came home the other day and announced that their enchanted forest is filled with Mario and Nintendo characters as well as Halo Master Chief and Sergeant Major. She knows how to keep the kids happy and involved!

Owen is playing Warcraft again, after taking a break for a few weeks. He purchased his own Yeti hat at the Carytown Watermelon Festival last week, after coveting Meredith's. He wore a Yeti hat when the kids and their friends went to play laser tag last week, and reportedly triumphed over his non-Yeti-hat-wearing friends. He's reading the latest series from his favorite science fiction author and settling back into his room, since we decided to KEEP THIS HOUSE.

For a lot of reasons. When Mark was home a couple of weeks ago, we had some good talks and agreed that we love this house and want to keep it. We're working out the logistics of living in Hot Springs and Glen Allen. Mark looked at an affordable three bedroom house in Hot Springs yesterday. Also? We are planning to win the lottery! Yeah.

This morning, I'm making oatmeal-raisin-coconut-walnut cookies to send to Mark. He keeps taking and sending me photos of the meals that he is making himself in Hot Springs, which do look kind of pitiful.

Okay, so that's Life Lately around here! I hope everyone is experiencing that feeling of excitement and anticipation of something new on the horizon that the change in seasons brings. It's energizing!

BACK TO SCHOOL or Holy Mother of God -- Laura Runs Off at the Mouth, and She Can't Blame It on Turning 50. Yet.

2009-08-08T06:25:00.001-04:00

*The Back to School talk is starting here -- parents complaining about summer and looking forward to sending their kids back to school. That stupid Staples commercial (no, I won't link it -- google it, if you really want to see it). I was doing some blog cleaning when I came across this post from December. I get totally obnoxious here, and, sorry, I can be totally obnoxious if I WANT to be -- so there!

He could take her on and wrassle her back into her closet.

So, the other day, I posted about visiting the unschooling blogs and websites, and then felt guilty about being "exclusive" as an unschooler, or sounding judgmental about families who choose school or homeschool. And I sent a lot of emails to people I really like and admire and respect, assuring them that I was trying to express what unschooling has meant to our family, not judge families who don't unschool.

The more I unravel this, the more I see what I AM judging: Our culture, our society's tendency to see kids as broken and in need of "fixing"; to try to make them fit into a system, whether it works for them or not. To give our Power, as their parents, over to the Experts who are ready and waiting to tell us what's wrong with our kids, and start us down a road to MAKE them fit, sometimes damaging them forever.

Boy, did pulling that loose string get Mean Bitchy Opinionated Laura all hoppin' mad. She rattled the closet door, where I try and keep her, finally throwing herself against it until -- look out -- she was FREE.

And there was no stopping her then. I tried reigning her in, really I did, but once she starts, there is no shutting her up. You, however, have the power to totally skip this post, Reader. I won't tell her.

Below are my replies to Gina and Karen's perfectly innocent comments on the last post. I start off reasonable, measured, explaining why we unschool, why I don't really think that everyone should, then -- well, I can't shut her up. That Closet Laura, I mean. How she does go on:

Hi Gina -- The way Jesse put it when we talked about his going to school (so that he could be on the cross country team) was "It might be worth it." I think when kids who have the choice to go to school or to unschool decide on school, yeah, something makes it "worth it". For Jesse, it would be running on a high school team. I guess we'll find out if it's "worth it" if he wants to go to high school in Arkansas.

For Meredith, it was the social life she felt she was missing that made her consider going back. So we ramped up her social life with teen groups and theater groups and cotillion and movie groups and book groups and writing groups and ice skating and art camps and Renaissance Faires and Celtic Festivals and trips to story-telling festivals and a trip to England, France and Wales with her best friend and Mark. She did the "ramping up", really. We were just her facilitators. It was hard to keep up with her.

Jesse is totally different. So, huh? I guess it's not about schooling or homeschooling or unschooling at all, really, is it? It's about working to give your child what they need, when they need it. Not an easy task, sometimes, but fun and interesting and horizon-expanding! I had never been to a Renaissance Faire, or cotillion before Meredith's interest in those things!

So, anyway, today, Owen and Jesse and I are going to the big Guitar Center to look around and spend birthday money and make Christmas wish lists. Jesse's guitar teacher is going to take Owen the lesson before Jesse, so they can work on songs together, if they want to. They were never interested in playing the guitar before Guitar Hero, so chalk another one up to learning from video games. :)

Hey Karen -- Meredith loved school, too. She loved people and friends and action when she was Nathan's age. When Nathan is happy and thriving, why would you question school or consider homeschooling/unschooling? If something is working for your child, your family, why fix what isn't broken?

And I don't think that you complain about Nathan at all. :) I don't mean to set myself up as the Complaint Police -- I'd do a lousy job, anyway, complaining about the complainers. ! -- (*Okay, Karen, right about here, this thing leaves the tracks completely, and I'm not replying to your comment anymore, I'm barreling through the countryside, run-a-way blathering. I swear to God, I had not even had a glass of wine.) -- What annoys me is the way that people complain about their kids to make themselves look good, or noble or all-suffering or funny, and HELL -- their kids are RIGHT THERE! What kind of a message do they get about themselves? I think parents who complain about their kids for sympathy and attention are self-indulgent and are not putting their kids first. They are using their kids to make their jobs as parents look all Important and Difficult and Noble. Pah. Suck it up, For God's Sake, people. Deal. Also? Not. Funny. The "my kids are a pain in the butt" blogs are NOT FUNNY. Period. It doesn't matter if the kids ever read them or not. If you (not you) are writing that kind of stuff about your kids, you're feeding something inside of you that grows and needs more. Your kids will sense how you feel about them, how you're using them, whether they read your blog one day or not. I can't stand those blogs. Mutter, mutter, mutter, grumble ...

It's like Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy for Whiners. Using your kids to build yourself up. Ugh.

Oh. I feel sick, but I can't stop her now. Why don't you tell us how you really feel, Bitchy Laura, while you're at it? (Run away, people. Quickly.)

To EXPOUND on the reasons we ever began to question school for our kids: Meredith, the well-adjusted kid who was happy in school, was the first sign that something wasn't "working". I think puberty and our car accident and those seizures threw her, and she needed the comfort of being home. She asked to homeschool, when I didn't know anything about homeschooling, had certainly never considered it for our family.

Jesse was very quiet and shy, but he liked school. He would absolutely fall apart when he got home, though. Like, he had held it together all day and just spun out of control once he was home. He was tired a lot, too. They started throwing out those dreaded letters: ADD, blah, blah, blah. Morons.

Owen, hah! My Owen! He was indignant that adults -- teachers, cafeteria monitors, parents -- would tell him what to do -- what books he could and couldn't read, when he could and couldn't play, when he could and couldn't eat, go to the bathroom, talk. He played The School Game and did well with the work and the little "good behavior" stickers (pah), but he HATED it and had to be dragged to his classroom every morning for a while, upsetting me and Jesse and himself. He would come home and criticize kindergarten: "We all HAD to color the bus yellow." "They wouldn't let me check out the book on birds of prey, because it wasn't my reading level." "We didn't have recess today because we didn't have time." In kindergarten? Full day kindergarten, and no time for recess?

He was full of scorn and indignation. He would not drink the school kool-aid. So to speak.

And, finally, famously, he said, "It all seems so pointless." And he sat down in the front hall and REFUSED to go. I pulled him out to homeschool TWO WEEKS before the end of the school year. He has never ever breathed a word about going back. Ever.

It was during this period that I was turning from a parent who saw all of the problems with school as being my kids' problems, to being a parent who started to question what "authority" and the "experts" were telling me, and to take the time to really look at my kids and see what THEY needed. It was a revelation. It was my job. MY job. Hallelujah.

That Owen always amazes me. Yesterday, he turned 15, and received the birthday gifts he had requested -- a bass guitar, and a Bill Maher book. He stayed up and finished the book last night, then played Warcraft until morning.

You know -- if school had been okay for my kids, I never would have questioned it. You do what works until it doesn't work, then you try something else. The BIG mistake I see, that makes me furious, is when school isn't working for kids, and parents and teachers blame the kids, medicate them, punish them, send them to "learning centers", try to "fix" them, rather than see them as whole and the system as flawed. Just because you're having trouble hammering a square peg into a round hole, doesn't mean that there's ANYTHING wrong with being a square peg. Square pegs are awesome. Round pegs are made to fit round holes. Yawn. So what? Big deal. A-plus, crikey.

Believe in your kids, question the system, not the other way around. Step up. Be your child's ally, their advocate, for Pete's sake. Question all of the crap the "experts" feed us. It's your job. Stop trying to pass it off to someone who tells you they're an "expert" on YOUR child.

This subject makes me run off at the mouth, um, keyboard. Obviously. This makes me passionate and furious and obstinate and obnoxious. I'm almost 50. I can be those things if I want to be. Crotchety. Heh.

Plus. It says Radical Unschoolers at the top of my blog, so I guess that is fair warning. :)

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At fifty, the madwoman in the attic breaks loose, stomps down the stairs, and sets fire to the house. She won't be imprisoned anymore. - Erica Jong

Sunday Morning Ordinary

2009-07-19T07:40:00.009-04:00

It's just a gorgeous morning after a fun night after a busy, long day of playing stay-out-of-the-house-while-the-Realtor-is-showing-it. Nothing from the Realtor, yet. Nothing interesting to read in this post, I'm just writing because the blog gives me a place to let the ordinary happiness spill over.

I was outside throwing the tennis ball for Hector yesterday evening when Owen came out, talking on the phone to Mark, in Hot Springs. Then Mark told me about his day with his running buddies and the 30 mile bike ride they did after the run. Afterward, he went to look at another house on the water in Hot Springs. This one has a tennis/basketball court. Cool!

Meredith and Owen and Jesse waited to start movie night 'til I was off the phone, and we watched Jurassic Park 2, The Lost World. Owen postulated that if you were bald and/or wore a hat in JP2, you were doomed. His theory was proven throughout the movie, until every time we saw a hat or a bald guy, we knew it was only a matter of time before they were raptor food. Really, only Jeff Goldblum and the token female were safe. Oh, and the token child. There was talking and laughing and eating, and it was fun movie night.

Just an ordinary day, followed by an ordinary night at home, followed by a cool (!), crisp morning. Hector is hoping for a nice walk, Meredith is coming down for coffee, boys still sleeping. Life is good. :)

Wishing you all a happy-ordinary day with your families!

PS Meredith reads Owen's facebook status from last night, and laughs: "I love Owen! He says he is going to shave his head and put on a hat and go sit by a puddle with Jeff Goldblum!"

I'd rather be drawing ...

2009-07-16T13:48:00.013-04:00

... than visiting the spiders in the crawlspace, trying to find the leak in the hot water tank.

Well, first things first, then I can settle down to work on finishing the girl.

__________________________________________________________________________

I'm enjoying working on the blue dress more since Jodi sent me the link to this:

Tim Burton's Alice is coming!

Learning to Listen

2009-07-02T11:33:00.007-04:00

Sometimes I wonder if everyone gets the wake-up call. Do some just chose not to answer? To sleep through the call or use addiction -- drugs/alcohol, food, sex, etc. -- to muffle the call to awareness?

I've written about my wake-up call to unschooling, but I've had numerous similar experiences, and sometimes, shifting my life to align with my new awareness is so. damn. hard.

When my pediatrician was advising me to nurse my daughter every four hours, even if she cried to nurse, so that I could Train her to be on a schedule, I ignored him and listened to my inner voice (and my wailing, hungry baby). But that was relatively easy compared to some of the other wake-up calls.

Going against mainstream parenting has been a struggle for me. When we've all heard "eat your vegetables, clean your plate, tidy your room, mind your manners, do your homework" and have been accustomed to the idea that a parent's job is to TRAIN a child to fit into The Real World, shifting to a focus on what fits the child and partnering him or her can be a little difficult to wrap your head around. Wrenching the giant ship's wheel of your life around to head for this perspective takes courage and can be tough work until the shift "clicks", and it's (mostly) smooth sailing. But first comes the wake-up call. Without it, there's no reason for a shift.

Deborah Donlinger writes about her wake-up call after listening to experts and following the mainstream without questioning:

"But, somewhere along the way, another birth happened. What started as a small whisper grew into a joyous and adamant shout, saying “LISTEN TO ME.” My inner guidance made her voice heard. I realized I had been giving away my power. I realized, with an absolute heart-dropping thud, that mainstream doesn’t know the answers, and worst of all, it doesn’t know that it doesn’t know.

Somewhere along the way, I started hearing my own inner voice and somewhere along the way, I learned to listen."

What wake-up calls have you experienced in your life? In what ways have you begun to learn to listen to your inner voice and stop relying on the so-called experts? How have you been Brave? It doesn't have to be about parenting. It could be about your job, your marriage, your shift to vegetarianism -- how did you get The Call, and how did you choose to respond?

Quickly, then back to work ...

2009-06-29T20:25:00.007-04:00

Life lately:

Owen at Brandon's paintball party, Madison photo.

Jesse at Brandon's party, Madison photo.

Meredith wearing her lovely birthday crocheted halter, which I commissioned from Talented Abbi. Amazing, Abbi. :)

Back to the drawing board. Literally.

Not Our House

2009-06-23T05:57:00.006-04:00

I feel all mopey.

I found a house in Hot Springs that I really liked and was ready to send Mark out to see, to grab before someone else bought it. I told him that, although this house was more than we had planned on spending, I would sell a kidney to help with the purchase.

Alas. The house was already sold. My house. Sigh.

So, I'm going to be mopey for a few more minutes, then I'll go put on a pot of coffee. and take the dog for a walk.

Things that have me overwhelmed: Need to load garbage cans in red truck and make a trip to the dump. Need to cut the grass. And get boys to help cut the grass. Need to take Jesse to get Learner's permit. Need to find time to drive with Jesse. Need to sign stack of papers and take to the post office to send to Mark. Need to finish portrait. Can't. Make. Myself. Do. It. Need to do laundry. (Always.) Need to make vet appointment for Hector. Need to find house that satisfies Mark's desire to be near the water, and my desire to find the right space for everyone. Need to let our house of 19 years go in my heart. Need to be centered and confident that Mer will be happy and safe here without us.

But, right now, I need a cup of coffee.

And I need a house to plunk my hopes and dreams down in. I can't pack up my emotions for this house, for our lives here, without having somewhere to put them down, to start unpacking them.

One more time -- it was perfect for us:

A Story About Seeing

2009-06-12T10:30:00.006-04:00

This is the story of the boy who had better things to do than sit. His mind was always busy. He was quiet, very quiet, because when you take in as much as he does, that's a lot to process. He was a Seeing Being, as Polly Berien Berrends says.

When he was in a playschool, at age four, his teachers told his mother that he didn't talk. Ever. When he was called on in circle time, he just smiled softly and looked down at his lap and waited for the teacher to go to the next child in the circle. Surprisingly, he had a lot of friends. Was he talking to them during outside time? Why was he so well-liked? He smiled a lot. He was happy.

At home, he liked to ride his toy car around and around the house on the wood floors. He liked to run. Once, when he rushed past his mother, she heard him saying, under his breath, "I-am-fast-I-am-fast-I-am-very-very-fast."

In kindergarten, his teacher told his mother that he had a difficult time "staying on task". Every morning, the teacher wrote a sentence on the board. The children were supposed to copy the sentence, form the letters they saw on the board. Some of the children couldn't read yet -- it was kindergarten -- but looking at the squiggly shapes on the board, and putting them down on the paper was an important task, whether you understood what the squiggles meant or not. When the boy was at his desk, making his morning Important Squiggles, his eyes would wander around the room, taking in the other children, the bright colors and shapes on the walls, sunshine outside the windows. Sometimes, he got up to sharpen his pencil, and grinned at his friend as he passed his desk. This is called socializing, and, curiously, while schools worry very much about socialization being a necessary part of a child's life, you don't want 'em to catch you socializing.

When the boy got back to his desk, he had to try to remember which squiggle he left off at, and he would sigh, and look hard at his paper and at the blackboard, comparing them.

It was in kindergarten that the labels were first mentioned.

In. Kindergarten.

Labels. Letters.

Also mentioned were: Doctors. Diagnoses. Drugs. Study carrels. Behavior modification. Bio-feedback.

In kindergarten.

There were five boys labeled in that year's kindergarten class. One girl, who sat at a table and wailed after her mother dropped her off and was afraid to enter the gym, because of the high ceilings, got her own label.

When the boy tumbled off the school bus, it was after 4:00 in the afternoon. He was tired and anxious and irritable. Sometimes he cried over nothing. He began to hit his brother and push at his mother. His mother took him to the doctor, because, well, something was wrong with her son. Why was he crying so much? Why was he angry all the time? The doctor could find nothing wrong.

In first grade, the class was divided into reading groups. The boy was put into a reading group named The Horses. It took the boy's mother some time to realize that this was the "lowest" reading group, but she knew that her son would learn to read, and she wasn't one of those pushy moms, who pitted their kids against the other kids in report card showdowns. She was older, and the boy was her second child. She had put her first child through the silly competitions, and she was done with that.

One Friday, the boy tumbled off the school bus with a note from his teacher and a stack of books. The note said that on Monday, the boy was moving up two reading groups to the Cheetahs, the "top" reading group. Could the mother please see that he had read the stack of books by Monday, to catch up with his group? The teacher hadn't known that the silent boy could read. Wait a minute, thought the mother. There are four children in The Horses, and you didn't know that he could read? The teacher had finally heard the boy, reading softly, under his breath. Very quietly, but still. Definitely a Cheetah.

Sheesh.

Another day, the boy came home with a homework assignment: Write a story in four sentences.

As the mother watched him at his little desk, twisting and bending in his red plastic chair, smiling goofy smiles and laughing and turning impossibly upside-down, still marginally in the chair, she despaired of ever getting the homework done. She was tired, the boy was tired. There was little time in the evenings for family time after crowding in dinner and bath and homework. Everything revolved around school and the school schedule.

With a sigh, the mother looked at the boy and said, "This story -- it can be about anything. What would you like to write about?" "I don't know", answered the boy, putting his legs on the desk and his head on the floor. "How about skating?" suggested the mother. "You like to skate!" "Okay", answered the boy absently, stretching his body out full length on his desk. After many reminders to sit up and sit still and find his pencil, the boy was ready to write his story about skating. He sat at his desk and looked at his mother.

"Well", she said, "you like to skate. What if you wrote, 'I like skating.'" The boy yawned and gripped the pencil in his fingers and squinted his eyes at the paper, forming the letters. It took a while. "Come back!" the mother said, as he hopped up and ran off after stabbing the paper with a period. "You have three more sentences to write!" The boy turned and looked at her, disbelieving. The mother wasn't believing it herself, at this point.

"Why do you like skating?" she asked. "I don't know" answered the boy. "Do you like it because you go fast?" The boy shrugged and smiled and watched the cat patter through the room. "How about writing 'I am a fast skater.'?"

The boy got up to sharpen his pencil.

And it struck the tired mother like a ton of bricks. This was a waste of time and energy, and nights like this would slowly -- or not so slowly -- turn the boy's desire to learn and need-to-know into a weary, grudging, passionless plod through meaningless information and senseless homework exercises.

This could pit her and her son against each other for years, could kill his spirit, make him begin to lie about homework and hide notes home from the teacher. If he were successful at school, he might learn just enough to pass the test, get his "A-plus", then forget it, as she had learned to do in school. If he began to fail, he would suspect that he was stupid. Maybe for the rest of his life.

What did they do before school? When their days weren't bracketed by the bus pick up and drop off? When the boy was happy and the family could eat dinner without rushing, play together, have a long booktime, go outside and look at the stars?

"Do you want to go skating tomorrow?" the mother asked, gathering up papers that had drifted to the floor. "YES!" said the boy.

So they never did the homework. They went skating, and found the other kids who didn't go to school, the other families who went to the skating rink during school hours. The mother asked lots of questions of the other mothers. She saw her boy happy again, sleeping late when he needed rest, no more long, early morning bus rides to wake up for. No one mentioned the labels, because, at home, learning was geared to the boy. He'd been learning all of his life, after all. At his own pace, in his own way.

No longer in school, the boy made new friends. Sometimes he and his mom picked up his old friends at school for an after-school playdate. They picked up Greg during the summer, after his summer school classes were over. Greg came toward them with his head ducked, walking fast. He was only 6, but he was ashamed of being in summer school.

They picked up Alan. Alan was repeating kindergarten because he had not learned to read when his classmates did that year, but he was in second grade math class, because he was a math whiz who helped his father put together and take apart computers. He was having emotional problems and seeing a counselor. One friend had just started taking a new drug for one of the learning disorders with all of the letters that so many of the school kids had and came home with the boy and his mother to play, but instead lay down on their couch and fell asleep.

One day, they saw The Girl Who Wailed, sitting at a desk with her mother. They were waiting until after school when they would practice going into the gym together, because the girl was still afraid.

They met many homeschooled friends of all ages, who had stories similar to the boy's. They sat at a picnic table in the park on park days. They played Pokemon cards, reciting abilities and powers, which they read from the cards, adding and subtracting "health points", laughing and talking, the older kids helping the younger ones. There were lots of stories happening every day, but they weren't boxed into four sentences of painstaking letter-forming. When the boy and his friends wanted to get up from the picnic table and stop sitting, they ran to the playground swings and slide. There was no "recess", no stamps and stickers for "good behavior", no "silent lunch". The mother didn't need a report card to see that her son was learning, happy, thriving.

Every Thursday, they went to the Homeschool Skate, where the boy became The Boy in the Red Cap, and his brother, the Boy in the Blue Cap. They skated round and round together with their friends.

Life was good when the boy was in it, not shut away from it. Life is still good, almost 10 years later.

"I wonder whether there aren't hundreds of thousands of kids out there who may be done a disservice by having their uniqueness reduced to a disorder and by having their creative spirit controlled by a drug. " Thomas Armstrong, Ph.D, The Myth of the A.D.D. Child: 50 Ways To Improve Your Child’s Behavior and Attention Span Without Drugs, Labels or Coercion. **

**While this book sounds interesting, I've never read it. When your kids are out of school, school dx's tend to disappear. There's no need to "improve your child's" blahblahblah, we have found.

The Long Reply or Laura Thinks Too Much ...

2009-06-08T07:14:00.009-04:00

(I was writing a reply to The Other Laura's comment on the preceding post, and it spilled over into a blog post.)

I think I've tried to express this before, and I have a difficult time saying what I mean: It's not so much the fact of school or not school or unschool or homeschool. It's about connecting with your child and doing what you both (all, parents and child) need to do to keep him or her whole and centered.

Our family's experiences were that this is difficult to do in school, where reward and punishment -- in the form of grades, handstamps, awards and stickers for "good behavior", "Silent Lunch", sitting out the playground time, notes home to parents for 'bad behavior" -- lead a child to look outside of himself and to seek validation from others, from Authority and to measure him or her Self against others.

I was going to cut and paste a bit from one of Haven Kimmel's books about her school experience, but I can't find it right now. Zippy comes home with a terrible report card and her teacher's comment on the report is something about how much she talks or colors outside the lines or both, and her parents' reaction is "Way to go, Zip!" They are proud of her, basically high-five The Zip. :)

Oh -- Meredith found it:

... Mrs. Dockerty didn't like either one of us. On my end-of-the-year report card all she wrote was "Is disruptive in class. Colors outside the lines. Talks out of turn." When I showed it to my parents, they read it out loud to me, and my mom said, "Good for you, sweetheart." And my dad gave me a little pat on the back. A Girl Named Zippy, Haven Kimmel

That is one of the only examples I can think of in which a parent doesn't encourage a child to see himself/herself through the lens of school. Good. Bad. In this case, Zippy's parents supported Who She Was over who school tries to mold a kid into through reward and punishment. I think that it can be done -- keeping a child's sense of themselves as whole and perfect Just As They Are intact, but -- in my experience -- it's more difficult when your child is in school.

Here, Eloise Ristad is talking about weekly music lessons, but she says what I mean about school and Pleasing the Teacher better than I can:

"Lessons – in anything – can be dangerous to us, for the weekly guilt can become addictive. We can come to believe that we deserve scorn, and that we really can profit from being told repeatedly how to do it... Gradually we lose our child-like enthusiasm... and substitute instead an intense yearning to do it "right" for the teacher." (Eloise Ristad)

I think that it takes a kid with a strong sense of self and with very supportive parents to escape this aspect of schooling. Yeah, I think it can be done, and a parent paying attention can see when their child is having trouble with their sense of self, guide them back to their center. We've tried it both ways, and we have found living without school to work for our family and our kids. I think I'm too lazy to combat the ideas and structure of schooling, to focus on the joy of new experiences (whether you choose those experiences or they're chosen for you?). I think that some parents can do it. Kind of like I thought breastfeeding was the easier choice for me, but I see bottlefed kids who have survived and thrived!

Time to walk the Fox-Red Lab. It's a beautiful morning here, but getting hot and humid. I'm going to practice embracing the heat and humidity. Complaining about it hasn't worked so far. ;/

Under My Skin: "Preparing Kids for Life"

2009-06-06T04:06:00.006-04:00

I hadn't been to The Women's Colony in a while, although Meredith often visits there and reads me the good stuff out loud. I love Mrs. G., but I would never last a day in a true Women's Colony. The post on parents who "put their kids on pedestals" written by someone-I-forget-who and all of the "Amen, Sister!" comments that followed made me curl my lip. It's not a good look for me. So I took a break from visiting.

I did check in the other day -- I love Mrs. G. -- and came across a couple of posts by Mary Alice. She writes about being raised in a "large bohemian family" and being unschooled (after a fashion) and how that made life harder for her in The Real World. I found her post really irritating, mostly because, well, I disagreed with her. Heh. But Meredith just smiled, which makes me admire her and understand how she can put up with so much in the schooly world of traditional parents and labeled-and-drugged kids, and just focus on her love for the kids she works with and not JUDGE as her mother, the crotchety old FIFTY year old is wont to do.

Anyway, here is my reply to Mary Alice's post. It's, like, at least week late, but hey, apparently school didn't prepare me for getting things done in a timely manner:

I stumbled upon your post the other day, Mary Alice, and it sparked some interesting discussions in our (Radical Unschooling) family. My daughter, unschooled since age 12, is a 22yo K-through-8 art teacher, and therefor, has seen school from the perspectives of a student, an unschooler, and a teacher. She smiled when I read her parts of your posts here. She said that you seemed to feel that school and a traditional path made life easier, and if that was so, then why are most people who struggle in life products of school? It reminded us of the quote "It's no measure of good health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society." Krishnamurti

What Dharmamama says in her comment is true for us, and for the unschooling families we know: It's about connecting with your children, and partnering with them to get what they want. To our family, unschooling is like stoking and tending a fire. Not walking off and letting the fire burn or not, whatever. :)

This is from Joyce Fetterol's (Radical Unschooling mom) site:

"Standard thought is that school prepares kids for life. But how many kids is that true for? We want to believe it's true. We focus on the kids who appear to be models of success. We find ways of explaining the failures of school -- and point to causes other than school like unmotivated kids and uncaring parents and bad environment that school can't compensate for.

But in general -- not in every case, but in general -- people find success to be an elusive goal and the happiness that was promised with it never quite there.

If pursuing the American Dream led to happiness, then everyone who set out on the path to pursue it would be happy. But they aren't. And some people who reject the American Dream are happy.

Since pursuing the American Dream isn't a guarantee and some people find happiness without pursuing the American Dream, there's some other factor involved.

That other factor is what unschooling is about. It dispenses with the false hopes dangled by the American Dream and focuses on joy being the goal."

Anyway, Mary Alice, the focus on joy works for us! Come visit at CenterDownHome and see how unschooling works for our family, if you want to. :)

Oh, and hey -- I don't get the social security number problem. You're younger than I am -- I'm FIFTY -- but it's only in the last 25 or 30 years that kids are routinely issued social security numbers. I had to apply for mine when I was 18. It was no big deal! Other than that, I was handed all of those traditional parenting and schooling "keys" you write about, and at the end of the school assembly line, found myself lost in a life I hadn't consciously chosen as a working mom, graphic artist, unhappy with my job, unhappy with my life, wondering how I'd gotten to this place. After all, I'd done everything "right", followed the rules, been handed all those keys and all. :/

Anyway, thanks again for a topic that led to lively discussion here at our house!-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, you know, focusing on the joy is what works for us here. Today, Meredith and her crowd are going to a Renaissance Faire. She and Charity were tweaking each other's costumes yesterday. Their gang has been looking forward to this for weeks.

I'm heading off with Owen to a Yu-Gi-Oh Tournament. He's looking forward to some real tournament play, and I can have a latte and stroll through the bookstore where the tournament is held. Jesse elected to stay home and play guitar. We went to the Guitar Center yesterday, and he picked up a book and a Paul Gilbert instructional DVD that made the cashier raise his eyebrows. "You got some serious stuff here." Jesse grinned his quiet grin.

Mark called yesterday from Hot Springs. He was standing on a pier on Lake Catherine looking at this:

It's right on the water, facing the setting sun. Mark loves it. It's new construction, and I've always wanted an older house, but this is so pretty, and the lake and location are great. We'll see. We still have to sell this house, but Mark was so happy, so enthusiastic, standing on that pier, describing the sun on this house. It was nice to hear him so excited and happy.

So, life is good. Reading posts from people who don't "get" unschooling, who don't understand this life of trusting and respecting and partnering your kids, can get under my skin. My brain hurts from trying to explain. Then, I realize that I don't have to explain! I'll just let my life speak for itself.

Oh, I love mornings! Coffee and a walk on the trail and all of the fun stuff today holds! I hope everyone has a great weekend!

A Buddhist Koan: That's Bad. No, That's Good.

2009-06-01T08:24:00.006-04:00

A Short List of Bad Things About Walking on the Trail:

Walking into a spider web. There are a lot of spider webs. The first time around, anyway.

Ticks.

Biting flies.

Mosquitoes.

Breathing in a bug.

Coughing and gagging spasms trying to eject bug.

Too much time for obsessive thinking.

Sweat.

Bug Spray. Clouds of it surround me.

Dirty hair

Did it take this long last time?

Blister on my heel

A Short List of Good Things About Walking on the Trail:

I love morning. It's the most hope-filled time of day.

It's a beautiful trail. Green moss, red clay, light sand and dark, wet wood.

My muscles wake up.

My brain wakes up.

My ipod is filled with my music just for me.

Adam Lambert singing Black and White is just the right rhythm for swift walking.

I have time to think and rethink and overthink EVERYTHING. At the end, I am The Smartest. Yuh huh.

Soon, it will be over.

If I'm mad, I can walk FASTER!

Once, I saw a tiny red salamander.

Once I heard a crazy coyote. Or maybe it was a beagle.

On the downhill, I can run, if I feel like it.

Bug Spray is my friend. Unless it's causing creeping neurological damage.

I'm FIFTY and I can walk 5 miles. Don't mess with me. (No, really. You don't want to mess with me -- I smell like I just walked 5 miles.)

I have always wanted to be 50 and not afraid of anybody, not anxious, not shy, not nervous and full of fear, not here to please anyone, to line up for conditional love. This is me at FIFTY. Take it or leave it. I have waited and waited. It rocks.

The Trail and Life Lately ...

2009-05-30T14:18:00.005-04:00

So, I've been walking the trails around our house again recently. Jesse helped me figure out that down the gravel drive and back and once around the trail -- times 4 -- is about 5-and-a-half miles.

I walk the dog first, then head out with my ipod around 7:00AM. It takes me a little over an hour and a half. I'm not setting any records.

I've seen the Great Blue Heron down by the pond, a groundhog scuttling madly across the trail, a dead mole in the moss at the edge of the woods, and several times, four or five deer look up and freeze for a moment before bounding for the deeper woods. Once, I rounded a curve in the trail, and spotted Daphne, our white cat, sitting perfectly still against the dark green, like a ghost kitty, a memory of a cat.

This morning, when I awoke at 6:00, there was a rumble of thunder. I went out on the front porch with Hector, and the raindrops began. Sitting on the steps, waiting for Hector to sniff around the yard, I drank coffee from my little brown mug and felt the cool, damp air sweep in with the rain. Everything is so green. It's emerald green. It's Oz. It's like living in a terrarium, the trees an umbrella overhead and around our house, sheltering it and us.

Meredith and her friend, Charity, are asleep upstairs, after getting in late. Jesse will be up soon, checking out the running conditions. Wet, I'd say. Owen is asleep on a mattress on the floor of his old room. Sleeping in the basement no longer holds any allure for him. He saw one wolf spider too many. Now that the house is On The Market, Owen's room is, once again, The Sunroom, part of The Master Suite. Its newly refinished wood floors gleam. It's been empty since the floors were refinished a few weeks ago, but Owen is slowly moving back in, his possessions creeping back like tenacious little plants. His bass guitar and amp are in one corner, his laptop is on the floor beside his mattress. We have to hustle to empty the room and get the house in order for a showing or an open house, removing anything that says "teenage boy lives here". Jesse's job is to take Hector out while I remove all traces of dog and cat from the Master Bedroom, where they live now, as we try to keep the rest of the house pet-hair-free and spotless, the floors looking shiny and new.

It's wearing on me, living this carefully, this hesitantly, in our house. This house has seen gaggles of homeschool and unschool friends swarm through. The oak floors have seen roller skates, finger paints, dripping towels, muddy shoes, skittering dog paws, crumbs and soda and life leaving their mark, wearing away the surface shine.

Now, they're all smooth again. Shiny like brand new plastic. We leave -- and ask any visitors to leave -- shoes at the front door. No food except in the kitchen, please. Dog and cat confined behind the bedroom door. I've turned into one of those mothers I never wanted to be -- nervous and careful and dropping little nagging "reminders".

The metaphor that comes to mind is removing a Bandaid. Peeling it back s-l-o-w-l-y is tedious and painful. I am ready to rip it off with one good yank. Let's move already!

Unfortunately this move, this house showing and selling and leaving promises to be a long, slow, tedious tearing away of the Bandaid.

Well, the rain has stopped. Think I'll have another cup of coffee -- Meredith just came down and made a fresh pot -- and then walk Hector.

We are all one sheep?

2009-05-22T07:29:00.003-04:00

"A human being is part of the whole, called by us 'Universe'; a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as someone separated from the rest - a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty." Albert Einstein

Working to dispel the optical delusion of my consciousness -- one day at a time ...

Wha??

2009-05-20T22:23:00.002-04:00

People. I'm so disappointed in you. The only reason to watch American Idol this season just came in second. What a world, what a world. Kris Allen is a cute boy and a good singer and he's a dime-a-dozen. Adam Lambert is FABULOUS.

Well, I knew I was out of step. I think I'll keep on being out of step. And I'm so so tired of all of the droves of people who follow the safe and normal path. Weary. You bore me. Yawn.

Laura is tired and irritated, and she is disgusted with all of you sheeple. Go away and don't bother me.

The Man Cave

2009-04-19T06:30:00.002-04:00

A sheepish hala. (Hallah? Hollar?) I've been busy packing and moving stuff to the basement. And sick. No, not sick, more like premenopausal-slash-bladder infection-slash-tired. And I've packed the good computer, so this one sucks and makes it difficult for me to keep an internet connection.

Anyway.

Any blog posts I have begun over the past month sounded so whiny, I deleted them. I'm totally Eeyore these days. Sigh.

Mark is living in a condo in Hot Springs. He was home this past week helping get the house ready to put on the market. Bet you thought we'd done that already, huh? Look, we've lived here for 20 years. There's a lot to get ready, okay?

We're having the wood floors refinished this week. The refinishing guys should be out sometime this morning, and I just got back from the airport after dropping Mark off for his 6:00AM flight to Little Rock.

I hear that many families have their floors refinished when they go on vacation. They come home from a week at the beach and unlock the front door and admire their gleaming new floors! That just sounds way too easy, so ... the kids and dog and cat and I are going to live in our basement for a week, while the floors are being done. We'll have access to the downstairs bedroom (where the floors are still decent) and bath through a window on the porch. Heh. See that photo up there of the house? See those basement doors on the right? That's our new abode. :)

Our basement is a basement, not one of those fancy-schmancy drywalled, carpeted "rec rooms" that the realtors love. The walls of our basement are unpainted cinder block. The floor is cement. It looks the way a basement SHOULD look -- like a place where you store your stuff and do your laundry. Mark has shooed off a few black snakes over the years as they entered the basement looking for mice. We spent the weekend clearing our downstairs of furniture, and moving it to the basement. Where we will join the mice and snakes.

Owen is already living down there. He loves it. It's dark, so no sun comes up to wake him, as it does in his East-facing bedroom. He has internet access, television and video games, his bass guitar, his old drum set, all of the couches and rugs cleared from the first floor, and his recliner. There's a weight bench and punching bag at one end, and a toilet by the hot water heater. The dining room table is in one corner now, so Owen is free to call his buddies to come over for a poker night. This is his Man Cave, and I don't know how we will ever get him to leave it. When we finally sell our house, the new people may just have to get used to the guy that lives in their basement. Jesse has visited and spent time in the Man Cave, but tonight will be the first night that he won't have access to his upstairs bedroom, so we'll have to see if he decides to sleep in the basement or to crawl in through the window and sleep on a couch in the downstairs bedroom.

Well -- the sun's coming up. Time to move the microwave and coffee pot into the bedroom before the floor people come. Hope everyone is doing swell. I love that Meredith can tell me what's going on with some of my peeps because they are her facebook friends. What a world, what a world. :)

I'll try and post some photos of the Man Cave this week. xoxoxo

Hector Eats Snow

2009-03-02T15:29:00.003-05:00

Snowy Morning

2009-03-02T07:56:00.010-05:00

Wow. For us, this is a Big Snow. Hector-the-Fox-Red-Lab loves it! Daphne-the-Snow-White-Kitty follows me around, pleading for me to make it go away.

I'm off to make some hot chocolate! Happy Monday!

Name your poison ...

... but BRING MARSHMALLOWS!!

Soccer Afternoon at Camp Hanover ...

2009-02-26T05:54:00.013-05:00

Mostly teens, homeschooled and unschooled. They play a bit of soccer, hike a bit, do a service for the camp in exchange for use of the field, and, last time, had some creative fun with the parachute! A few of us parents stand around talking, but there are no coaches, no teachers, no adults yelling from the sidelines and anyone can play, including parents and younger kids. Remember playing just for the fun of it? Not to "make the team" or "win a scholarship"? There's a lot of laughing and joking.

My photos don't capture how cool the parachute play was -- the parachute lit by the setting sun, the kids grabbing hold and running it down the field.

This is what free looks like. :)

1. Breathe 2. Start New Week 3. Blast Music LOUD

2009-02-16T17:31:00.005-05:00

It's been a week of unpredictable, unbelievable, unspeakable crap rolling through like thunder. Leaving me scratching my head, looking around dazedly going, "Wha --- ?"

I'm so thankful for my family this week -- my sweet Jesse, out running the trails with his new trail shoes, bought with Christmas money he finally parted with, playing a new Trivium song on his guitar; Meredith, my precious girl, spending time with her best friends, Charity and Jenny, this week, doing a couple of sleepovers, lunching with the gals, dyeing last year's white trench coat tan/ochre; Owen, zipping through the last book in his favorite trilogy, updating me on what's happening on late night television, spending hours on the swing in the backyard while listening to the latest audio book he downloaded from itunes, playing hours and hours of Warcraft with his guild members. And Mark -- man, does this quiet house feel the loss of his noisy, boundless energy. He says the condo in Hot Springs is quiet, but it's quiet here, too, waiting for him to return for a visit. Probably in a couple of weeks. Everyone here needs him and misses him so much. Things are out of sync. There is a disturbance in the effin' force, for sure.

It's Monday, start of a new week. Let's start it off LOUD. I love my boy Buckethead!! Amazing, just amazing.

Her Morning Elegance Revisited. Sun been down for days ...

2009-02-11T06:43:00.006-05:00

For all of the peeps visiting my blog searching for the lyrics to Oren Lavie's lovely song. Leave a comment, won't you? I'd love to have comments from some of these countries. :)

Her Morning Elegance

Sun been down for days
A pretty flower in a vase
A slipper by the fireplace
A cello lying in its case

Soon she's down the stairs
Her morning elegance she wears
The sound of water makes her dream
Awoken by a cloud of steam
She pours a daydream in a cup
A spoon of sugar sweetens up

And She fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And She goes...
Nobody knows

Sun been down for days
A winter melody she plays
The thunder makes her contemplate
She hears a noise behind the gate
Perhaps a letter with a dove
Perhaps a stranger she could love

And She fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And She goes...
Nobody knows

And She fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
Where people are pleasantly strange
And counting the change
And She goes...
Nobody knows

Oren Lavie Her Morning Elegance Lyrics

Thinking About Partnership ...

2009-02-02T12:57:00.007-05:00

Ha! Now this looks like it takes some respect, trust, cooperation and patience!

I recently joined a yahoo group called "Peaceful Partnerships". Unschooling parents discuss applying the same principles of respect and relationship building in their marriages that they work toward in their interactions with their children.

The list owners have had the list down for a couple of weeks, while they did some tweaking, and now, it's back up. This message from one of the list owners was in my inbox this morning:

"While the list was offline, I did a lot of thinking about my beliefs
about Peaceful Partnerships. As we move forward as a group, I wanted
to clearly state my beliefs and objectives:

1.) to treat my partner with the same respect, patience, compassion,
and love that I offer my child

2.) to seek the joyful instead of focusing on the negative

3.) to keep the focus on what I can do, instead of what my partner
"should" do

4.) to understand that attempting to control other people only
diminishes them and me

5.) to live life based in authenticity

6.) to examine and resolve my emotional baggage

7.) to live fearlessly

8.) to move away from competition and seek out more cooperative ways
of living

9.) to understand and speak all 5 Love Languages fluently

10.) to recognize love gestures in all forms

11.) to love my partner exactly as he is, without an agenda to change
or improve him

12.) to accept reality

13.) to recognize that everything external is a reflection of my
internal processes

14.) to see that there is no limit to the amount of love I can offer
my family"

I like this so much, I think I'll print it out to read and help me remain conscious of Putting the Relationship First -- with my husband as well as with my kids.

Stone Angel

2009-01-24T16:26:00.010-05:00

The afternoon is quiet, restful, with the winter sun shining slant through the windows. The dog is asleep beside the dishwasher, which is running. The temperature is dropping outside, and I have on my favorite sweater. An old gray wool J. Crew cable knit, that I got from Goodwill. It has a couple of mothholes, but it is so warm. I really want a cup of coffee in a mug. But I'm weaning myself from coffee during this juice fast I'm giving a shot. This is Day Three. I feel good -- kind of good-tired, as though I could sit by the fire in a blanket with a book and take what Kate calls a "nana nap".

Meredith is still recovering from the flu, wearing her flannel pajama's, napping. Jesse is putting some tunes on his ipod. Owen is talking to Brandon on the phone and playing Warcraft.

I'm listening to Sarah McLachlan right now, but I think I'll watch Chocolat. Maybe fix a cup of green tea. Bleh. Or some hot water and lemon. First, I'm going shopping at Debra's to find a perfect mug. Look! Jodi's been there before me this afternoon! For my 50th birthday, I gave myself (or, technically, Mark gave me) this: It's so perfect. Just beautiful, and something I'm looking forward to moving to Arkansas and arranging our new home around. Now, I'm off to find a matching mug.

How's your afternoon?

Hope over fear.

2009-01-20T13:42:00.005-05:00

Because fear has kept us little and closed-up and small minded and dependant for so long, but hope grows, love expands and encompasses. Stand up.

Remember who you are.

"Braids"

2009-01-18T14:12:00.003-05:00

Andrew Wyeth died yesterday morning. I'm sorry he's gone, because he's one of the people who saw things as I see them. Some things. The way they are, unvarnished, not "prettied-up". Some artists, writers, photographers, actors have a way of examining something with a lack of sentimentality, seeing the Truth of it, and trying to communicate that honestly. Sally Mann, Diane Arbuss, some Robert Frost, maybe some Faulkner?

Anyway. This is one of my favorite Wyeth quotes:

“I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show.”

My favorites of his paintings were like that. Bone structure. Loneliness. Dead feeling. Something waiting beneath.

Who sees things as you do?

Self-Indulgent Scanner Play

2009-01-15T17:29:00.003-05:00

Me and my sister. Mom, is that you in the background?

I've packed most of the photos for moving, or I'd be messing around with the scanner even more. Instead of packing, as I ought to be doing ...

(Really, you don't have to leave comments. Just let me have my fun. :)

Messing With the New Scanner ...

2009-01-11T10:23:00.005-05:00

My pretties.

Look at that pin hole above Meredith's head. Heh.

Meredith says, "I remember that day. You pulled me out of school that day. To catch the light, I think."

So she was 8 or 9, and it was a couple of years before we pulled her out of school for good, light or no light. The boys around 3 and 4 in these.

I Love Veruca Salt

2009-01-07T06:42:00.006-05:00

I think that one is supposed to write this list before Christmas and to write a list of resolutions for the New Year. Tough. I feel like writing a list of "wants", hopes, desires.

I want:

To find a house that we can make a home in Arkansas.

To be able to join Mark and Jesse running. Okay, first walking.

To be less reclusive and to find some like-minded friends in Arkansas. Or to stop being so judgmental about not-like-minded friends. :/ Both. I want both.

To actually make it to an unschooling gathering or two before the boys are adults.

To find a healthy relationship with food and deal with some long-standing food "issues". Last night I made squash and zucchini and onions, and followed it with half-a-can of Pringles. WTF??

I want the peaceful, centered feeling of the morning to follow me through the day.

I want a Plan. A Routine. A plan for my day that includes walking the dog, yoga with Rodney, healthy breakfast, cleaning and packing, time to ~~draw~~ work, taking the boys to their activities, sitting and enjoying a cup of coffee with Meredith, sending Mark emails with photos, blogging time, etc. Oh, yeah. And laundry.

To stop thinking of my drawing time as optional, or what I do if I have time, if I finish the other stuff. It is my work. I'm tired of feeling silly or selfish when I make excuses to spend time drawing, feeling guilty if I refuse outings or visits because I need to spend time drawing. If I don't take it seriously, why should anyone else? Hmm. Practice saying: "I can't. I have to work."

I want to continue studying Byron Katie and The Work, to learn more about the teaching of Abraham-Hicks and LoA, to learn from the new crop of unschoolers, who incorporate these things into their lives. I'm not sure it's for me, but it fascinates me, just the same. And I can learn from these families.

To continue to find ways to nurture my relationship with my husband. I totally recommend moving your family hundreds of miles from home and friends and relations as a way to strengthen your marriage. I mean, it's like you really need each other when you move away from everything familiar. Mark and I are much kinder to each other already. :)

And finally, I want to make a drawing or diagram of my Concentric Circles of Priorities philosophy. I am at the center. My marriage, my kids, etc., fall into each widening circle. If I don't take care of myself, nurture myself, I don't have anything for others, and giving becomes a heavy, resentment-filled weight for me and a guilt-loaded gift/burden for the receiver. My giving becomes their burden. You can't save the world if you don't save yourself first. Too many people try and end up rushing around the airplane clapping their oxygen mask on every passenger, trying to save everyone. First, they lose consciousness, then everyone around them does. And the plane goes down. You can only save yourself and be an example to others of how to save themselves. You can only save yourself. I want to remember that.

And I want it NOW.

Morning After

2008-12-26T06:05:00.005-05:00

* Photo from Last Last Christmas

I like it best when the dust settles. When the rush abates. We had a nice Christmas. Meredith has started saying things like, "Our last in this house." The house they all grew up in, the only house the boys have lived in. Puts some pressure on Christmas. :/ The Last Christmas.

I am better at looking forward than looking backward. (Sorry, Mer.) I'm already thinking about the first Christmas in Arkansas. How much room will we have? If we buy the house on the Quachita river with lots of room, everyone who wants to come visit can come! We'll have a houseful at Christmas!

Wait. Back to this Christmas. The kids were happy-- Mer with her aqua ipod shuffle, Jesse with his new guitar pedal and Metallica T-shirt, Owen with his Whose Line and Last Comic Standing DVD's (thanks, Josh!). I gave Mark a couple of books and he gave me a computer! Remember when the monitor went up in smoke (actual smoke!) a few months back and we dragged the old tiny, blurry monitor up from the basement? I've had computer headaches ever since! Now, the headache will be from transferring files to the new computer -- a desktop with a 22' monitor and a keyboard with keys that don't stick! Bliss.

We had breakfast with Mark's parents, and will visit mine tonight. Friends stopped by last night and we mostly stood and talked, because as Mark goes from room to room painting, the rooms empty of furniture. The kitchen room is still cozy -- if you don't mind the happy, drooling fox-red lab greeting you and pleading with his eyes for you to join him in a game of frisbee.

Daphne-the-snow-white-kitty is loving that the new computer is set up in the dining room -- her territory, not the dog's. She is curled up purring next to me as I type. She likes this temporary set-up as it means her food bowls, her servant, and a warm lap are all in the same room.

I got a lovely, soft gray robe from Meredith, and I'm off to find it. Merry day-after to you and yours.

Never Gonna Give You Up

2008-12-24T04:36:00.004-05:00

Do you know what a "Rickroll" is? (It's a trick, a bait and switch. Have you been Rickroll'd?)

Ask your kids.

Now, the Barackroll is sweeping the internet. Meredith, Owen and Jesse were rolling with laughter the other night, showing it to us. Watch all of it -- funny!

Celebrate Me Home

2008-12-22T04:58:00.004-05:00

Mark is home and already has been to the dump with a load of stuff, painted the front hall, and cleared and prepared the dining room for painting.

His energy and attitude transform the house and everyone in it. He whistles and sings as he and Jesse paint. He turns the music up too LOUD. Rock! Opera! Heavy metal!! LOUD! He gets up early, and falls asleep in the evening on the couch watching TV with the boys. He buys a huge tray of sushi, because Meredith likes sushi. He goes for a run with Jesse. He asks Owen how his bass guitar lessons are going. "Can you download a song from itunes for me and put it in my library?" "Sure."

Mark leaves the gate between the kitchen and rest of the house open, because he feels sorry for Hector, alone in the kitchen. Hector races upstairs and, soon, he pokes his head out of Meredith's room, a stuffed animal in his slobbery jaws. We chase him, just as he was hoping we would do. The cat grumps and sighs. (Oh, cat, I know.)

I like things quiet. And predictable. Controlled. He is bouncy Tigger, and I am fussy Rabbit. And forlorn, pessimistic Eeyore.

It's nice to have him home. :)

Brothers

2008-12-19T07:03:00.005-05:00

They are standing, leaning back against opposite walls of the front hall, facing each other. We're almost ready to leave for guitar/bass lessons, and I'm rushing around trying to find my keys while they wait.

Jesse, looking at his little brother: "Your 'stache is trash."

Owen grins, and returns: "Your beard is weird."

Both of my babies are shaving! Well, they've been shaving for a little while now, but they are commenting on each other's shaving techniques! I feel old!

He looks like he is singing, but he is mouthing off to his momma!

He would deny it, but he's really getting good! Working on a song that Buckethead wrote for his mother, when she was sick, "For Mom". Oh, that sweet Buckethead!

La Bohème

2008-12-17T07:22:00.003-05:00

Now. Now is the time, today is the day that I treat myself to listening to "La bohème" as I decorate (finally) the tree and wrap some gifts. It's Christmas Eve in Paris, Mimi and Rodolpho fall in Love -- so beautiful. I love to listen to this at Christmas. When Meredith was three, she used to sing "Musetta's Waltz" (Quando me'n vo), she had heard it so much in the car. But I like Rodolpho singing to Mimi:

YouTube - Bohème 01 - Scala 1979 - Che gelida manina ("What a frozen little hand")

From the Libretto, in English:

How cold your little hand is!
Let me warm it for you.
What's the use of searching?
We'll never find it in the dark.
But luckily
there's a moon,
and she's our neighbour here.
Just wait, my dear young lady,
and meanwhile I'll tell you
in a word
who and what I am.
Shall I?
Mimì is silent
Who am I? I'm a poet.
My business? Writing.
How do I live? I live.
In my happy poverty
I squander like a prince
my poems and songs of love.
In hopes and dreams
and castles in air,
I'm a millionaire in spirit.
But sometimes my strongbox
is robbed of all its jewels
by two thieves: a pair of pretty eyes.
They came in now with you
and all my lovely dreams,
my dreams of the past,
were soon stolen away.
But the theft doesn't upset me,
since the empty place was filled
with hope.
Now that you know me,
it's your turn to speak.
Who are you? Will you tell me?

It's so Christmassy! Then, someone will probably want to watch "Rent": Seasons of Love

... wait -- the "Che gelida manina" part of La bohème would be Would You Light my Candle

in Rent.

Oh, I love today!

*Recycled post from last year, Dec. 21st. I didn't decorate the tree 'til the 21st?! Wow -- I'm got days to continue procrastinating!

Chasing Christmas Down, Beating It Senseless, Slinging It Over My Shoulder and Hauling It Home

2008-12-15T06:14:00.011-05:00

That's right. The Spirit of Christmas has eluded me this year. So, I had to go looking for it. Sigh.

Like, haven't I got enough to do, people? I have to produce a major holiday, as well? I gotta pack, man. Who, in their right mind, spends time unpacking Christmas when they should be packing up the rest of the contents of the house? Isn't that kind of like that dude rolling the boulder up the hill over and over again, forever? Or like Owen's definition of kindergarten? Pointless? Yeah.

Ho ho ho.

Still, I really didn't want my attitude about Christmas to harden into something that would make me grumpy and sour and old-before-my-time, like some people. (You know.)

So, the other morning, I set off in pursuit of the Christmas Spirit.

I hauled out some of the books that have helped me jump-start the mood of the holiday season in the past:

Channeling Susan Branch, Gladys Tabor, Tasha Tudor, all the Little Women, Sarah Ban Breathnach -- wait, where's Martha Stewart??

I made gingerbread. Laurie Colwin style. With brandy, and everything.

Mmm, brandy.

Mmm. Gingerbread.

I dragged up one of several little artificial trees we have in the basement. We usually end up putting up one real tree and one artificial tree. When we take the artificial one down every year, I leave the lights on it and haul it down to the basement. This year, with a little dusting off of cobwebs, it was good to go.

Oh, yeah. I turned on that radio station that plays All Christmas, All the Time. That almost did me in when they played The Christmas Shoes, but then the Bush shoe-throwing incident occurred, and gave a whole new meaning to that tune. I can almost listen to it without running to cut the radio off now. No. That's a lie. That song plays, and I? Need. More. Brandy.

So, this morning, the twinkle lights twinkle. The dog snores beneath the tree (beside the packing box). That fecking radio station is playing Andy Williams' Let It Snow. It's, um, raining. And I'm enjoying my pre-dawn cup of coffee, while I shop online.

It ain't half bad. Jingle, jingle, hohoho.

Peace On Earth

2008-12-13T13:16:00.007-05:00

Bowie

and Bing.

I know. Hard to believe. But one of my favorites.

Peace on Earth, can it be
Years from now, perhaps we'll see
See the day of glory
See the day, when men of good will
Live in peace, live in peace again

Peace on Earth, can it be
Every child must be made aware
Every child must be made to care
Care enough for his fellow man
To give all the love that he can

I pray my wish will come true
For my child and your child too
He'll see the day of glory
See the day when men of good will
Live in peace, live in peace again

Peace on Earth, can it be
Can it be

... and rum-pum-pum-pum, etc.

* Okay, this part is bothering me. "Every child must be made aware ... made to care"

I mean, a child is born a little bundle of awareness -- they reteach US about "aware". Let's consider gently leading, not making them do anything.

There. Maybe now I can enjoy the song again. If not, it's coming down and Dominic the Donkey is going back up!

Finding the Chicken Head in the Cabinet -- recycling last year's post from Dec. 12th

2008-12-12T06:07:00.002-05:00

Okay, it started as a joke, I guess. No, it started when I began to clean out cabinets in the kitchen. I found this nasty, old wooden chicken that used to sit on the front porch. It was about 10" tall, roughly carved, a green wooden chicken. I picked it up at a shop in Ashland several years ago. I wasn't too sure about it even then. I know chickens. My sister and brother-in-law kept chickens. Andy had a collection of chickens, even chicken Christmas tree ornaments. Her chickens were cool. This chicken I mistakenly purchased was not a cool chicken.

It hung around for a few years. Got older, dustier, chipped its beak. One day, my feelings about the chicken crystallized: I didn't like it. I felt my eyes narrow with animosity. It was a hokey ol' chicken, not even really old, just fake-old. A dumb, fakey, chipped chicken, cluttering up my cabinet. What did it say about me, that I would buy this unattractive chicken for my home? I must, I thought, get RID of this chicken.

So, the next time Mark was loading the truck for a trip to the dump, I put it next to a bag of trash by the door. Of course, we had to have a Conversation about the chicken going to the dump. Apparently, at our house, you can't just set a chicken out by the trash and expect it to go to the dump without a Conversation about one's motives.

"Where did this come from?" asked Mark.

"I bought it in Ashland a few years ago," I said. "Just take it to the dump. I'm tired of it."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, really. I just don't like it. I'm getting rid of clutter."

Later, I saw that Mark had gone to the dump, but set the chicken on the brick shelf by the back door.

Sigh. "Take that chicken to the DUMP!" I yelled.

The next week, I put the chicken head-first into one of several trash bags by the door. Okay, I thought, there it goes, off to the dump.

In the morning, when I opened the cabinet to make my delicious morning coffee, the chicken was sitting there in front of my coffee mug. Gawd, it just gets uglier and uglier, I thought, blearily. I want my coffee.

That afternoon, I went out to the shed where the garbage cans are, and dug a hole next to the cans, and shoved the chicken head-first into the hole. Its dumb, green body and chicken feet stuck up out of the hole where Mark could not miss seeing them. But it was dark when he got home, so I figured the chicken could stay in its hole until next dump trip.

The next morning, when I opened the bread cabinet to make Mark a sandwich to take to work, guess who was sitting in front of the loaf of bread. Did he even wash its dumb head off before he put it in my bread cabinet??

We don't speak about the chicken. No more Conversations. We act without words, each of us with our own motives. His are wrong. Mine are right. This chicken belongs at the DUMP!!

Yesterday afternoon, Mark and the boys readied the truck to go to the dump. (Yes, we are a family of five, and dumpwise, we have a large eco-footprint, I'm SORRY, okay?)

While no one was looking, I plunged the chicken deep into a trash bag. You couldn't even see its dumb chicken feet sticking up, you know?

When I got up this morning, I smelled fresh coffee. Meredith was up, going in to work early. I was so happy that coffee was ready. "Have you looked in the cabinet?" Mer asked. "That thing scared the crap out of me."

It was there all right. But not all of it. Just the chicken's head, roughly sawn off, was sittin' in the cabinet in front of my coffee mug.

Okay. Well. Upped the ante, did he? We'll see about that.

Meanwhile, I'm a little nervous, wondering when and how I'll encounter the rest of the chicken.

Stopping By Woods

2008-12-10T10:29:00.003-05:00

Just kind of soothing right now. The illustration and the poem, I mean. Um, apologies for the song.

Susan Jeffers, illustration for Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost

Oh, My Heart ...

2008-12-06T09:45:00.005-05:00

... his hands are so small, his little boy voice is so sweet.

He's 16, now and has a man-voice and long, slim fingers, suited for playing his guitar. Oh, my gosh -- where did the time go?

Yoda and Luke Skywalker. "You still need a lot to learn. I don't think this is the last we'll see of the emperor. Until next time." I just love this.

Beneath an Orange Sky

2008-12-01T17:53:00.008-05:00

Mark is back in Hot Springs. I thought that I'd be ready to do some bloggin' yesterday. I had hours of cold, rainy-outside, cozy, free-time inside. Jesse was away in NC for the Footlocker races, Mer was working, and Owen was ... what were you doing, Owen? Oh, yeah. Sleeping in and then messin' around on his new bass guitar, an early birthday present.

I did some dishes, threw in a load of laundry, sorted through some stuff in my studio in preparation for packing it away. But when I sat down at the computer, I didn't feel like writing anything. What's the word I want? Ennui.

Instead, I found myself visiting the blogs of fellow unschoolers. Just poking about, visiting a long-time unschooling friend here, a new unschooling contact there, reading, smiling, recharging my unschooling batteries. It was refreshing, restorative, reassuring. It was surrounding myself with like-minded parents, with community. I got the idea from Christa at SandyFeet, unschooling mom to three boys. Thanks, Christa. :)

A whole afternoon of visiting blogs where no one complained about their children. Or made snide cracks about teenagers. Where no one wrote about tests and grades and homework and days and weeks and months that center around the school schedule.

Sweet, joy-filled, rich and varied stories of families who live in harmony and value their relationships. Who treasure their children for Who They Are, not for Who They Wish They Were/Hope They Become/Want Them to Be.

It's been several years since I spent close to every waking hour investigating unschooling, reading books, posting questions to lists, corresponding with other unschoolers. I rarely think of our family life now as centered in unschooling. It just is. We just are.

But visiting the blogs yesterday, reading some of the message boards, reminded me why we took this path. I was reminded of what we hold dear in our family -- what is important and what is NOT important. Those unschoolers -- they know how to do happy.

Then, it was evening, and Meredith was home, bringing movies she thought we all might like to watch together. Jesse was home, telling us about his trip. Owen and Jesse spent hours in the living room playing electric guitar and bass, a laptop on the floor between them for searching out tabs for songs they both like. Mark called from the road, driving back to Hot Springs, and talked to Jesse about his trip, asked about the guitar and bass playing.

No one was reminded to go to bed because they had school in the morning. No one was asked if they had finished their homework, or told to lay out their clothes for the next day or take their shower. First Meredith, then I went to bed, while the boys stayed up late playing Smash Brothers and more guitar. They're together now, this afternoon, in Owen's room, Jesse explaining something about the electronic tuner-thingy to O. It's relaxed, it comfortable, it's homey and warm and family-filled. Pretty close to perfect. Life is good.

I'm off to take photos to send to Mark.

An incomplete list of Unschooling Blogs and Websites that restore my soul:

Blog of the Zombie Princess (Ronnie)
Learning in Freedom (Ren)

SandyFeet (Christa)

our joyful life (Kelli)
Warts and All (Schuyler)
Where Karma Meets Camera (Hay)

Zenmommasgarden (Mary)

Sandra's Unschooling Page
Parenting a Free Child

Joyfully Rejoycing

This site is about unschooling. And it's about parenting more peacefully. But overall it's about living more joyful family lives. If I had to summarize it the message would be "Put the relationship first and then figure out how to fit everything else around that."

*There are other blogs out there that restore my soul, that aren't unschoolers' blogs, and other unschoolers' blogs that don't blog so much about the unschooling life, and blogs that I forgot and left out. I'm sorry. I love you all. The list above is just what got me through the last couple of days. :) Some rich unschooling links there.

What was lost

2008-11-21T23:20:00.001-05:00

Oh, yeah, he'll love that I posted this: (That is not a unibrow -- safety glasses, you know.)

When Mark came home a couple of months ago and told me that he thought there was a possibility that he would be offered a promotion to a position in Arkansas, my "Me-think" began.

First, I dismissed the possibility. He had turned down moves before. I remember a conversation when were dating where he made it clear that he wanted to stay in Richmond. He was born here, has never lived anywhere else. Our family moved several times when I was a little girl, and I liked the idea of my kids spending their childhood in one home, centered, growing up with life-long friends.

Then, as it became apparent that the Richmond location where he worked would be closing, and the Hot Springs job became less of a "would you like a change of scenery" choice, and more of a "would you like to have a job promotion rather than face unemployment" choice, my Me-think kicked into high gear. What would a move mean for Me? Would Me be able to keep this house we've lived in for close to 20 years? How would Me feel about leaving a place that she had grown used to, leaving connections and family? And, okay, checking out Arkansas homeschooling law was the first thing for Me to apply Myself to. Sorry, Arkansas: The state homeschool testing requirements were a real disappointment for Me. Fortunately, our boys are both too old to fall under those laws. Still -- looks like a tough state to unschool in.

Finally, it became about Me deciding that, if we had to move, the best thing for our kids and our family was if the whole process was done with a positive attitude on My part. The boys were surprisingly easy-going about a move. The internet makes keeping in contact with their friends a snap, and all of these years of trusting them to make their own choices paid off when, lo and behold, it was apparent that they trusted us with this moving choice.

There. Me was all settled, all okey dokey with the move to Arkansas. Oh boy! There are tons of online real estate sites for Me to browse through houses! Pretty! Shiny! Shopping!

The first reaction of many of our friends and family was surprise that we could be dislodged from Richmond at all, then sympathy for us. Oh, too bad, was the general reaction. I heard Isn't that in Tornado Alley? more than once. For the record, No. It isn't. Also, for the record: No, it's not in the desert -- Hot Springs is surrounded by beautiful lakes and rivers; Yes, we've heard how bad the schools are there, and -- hello? -- it's not the school, it's the schooling. Read John Holt.

Somehow, in all the Drama, all the swirl of possibilities and questions and excitement and uncertainty, the fact that Mark had earned a very impressive promotion, that he was recognized for the hard work he puts in every day, was lost.

I forgot to say that I'm proud of him. I didn't buy him a "congratulations" present. We didn't celebrate. Our friend JoAnne gave him a nice bottle of wine, but Me? I was totally caught up in my own story, Laura Moves to Arkansas, in which Mark had a minor role -- "Laura's Husband".

Now, he's working in Hot Springs. He's been to Little Rock to meet with a representative from the railroad. He's had business dinners with local politicos. He has spiffed up his wardrobe! :)

And I'm proud of him. He is dependable, honest, and focused -- have I blogged about the night I was in labor with Owen, and Mark sat beside me, studying for a mid-term, while I writhed in agony? Yeah. Focused.

Mark is driving home right now. He ought to be in, let me see, Tennessee, somewhere near Nashville, maybe? Anyway, he'll be home in the morning, but the boys and I are traveling to Ashburn, VA, for a C-3 Brawl Tournament. (This is not cage fighting. It's Smash Brothers. You know -- Mario and Luigi?) Owen has had his heart set on going to this tournament for months. We won't see Mark until we return late tomorrow night.

Well, he'll be home all week. We'll find a way to focus on him. On Sunday, the kids can challenge him to a game of monopoly, while I cook a special meal and open a special bottle of wine. We'll listen to some of Mark's favorite opera music, and NO ONE will complain. If he puts on Gershwin, I'll complain, though. Isn't Gershwin irritating? Is it just me? There I go again, Me, Me, Me ...

Not so good day.

2008-11-15T16:40:00.004-05:00

Things are thrown off with Mark gone. (This is an observation, not a whine.)

Here comes the whining.

This morning, I was mean and nasty to Meredith when she got lost (again) going to her seminar. Did she not mapquest the location? Did we not discuss how to get there? (Um, yeah, Mom, you told me it wasn't far down Rt. 1 and it was Far. Down. Rt.1.)

It's not her fault she got my sense of direction. And, my anxiety kicked in: Meredith is capable and intelligent and independent, but suddenly I worried about leaving her here and moving 1,000 miles away to Arkansas. Where my bad directions won't be of any use to her. It made me snarky to my girl, when she was lost and anxious. Bad Mommy.

Jesse's USATF race was today. I yearned for Mark to be home to take him. To hang out with the other running runner parents, to know what to say to Jesse before and after the race, to make sure he did his warm-up (he did) and his cool-down (he didn't). I'm so uncomfortable at those things, and I know it's me, it's my fault, my insecurities, because the other parents are just as nice as they can be ~~mostly~~.

If you are way cool, like moi, and have a pair of Rocket Dog Furballs, maybe you should not wear them to a cross country race. That would be stupid and embarrassing. You might look like an idiot. (What? Who was that who said wearing them anywhere would be stupid and embarrassing?? You in the back -- you have detention!)

When I spotted an old friend from High School, I groaned. We were on the gymnastics team together, and now she's a coach and P.E. teacher and runner, and, well, let's just say, I'm not. And I can't, like, carry around any of my fabulous artwork or ribbons or articles or junk to bolster my ego, because that would just make me look insane as well as out-of-shape. She was so pleasant and I was so uncomfortable.

When I got home, Hector had peed on the kitchen floor. He never does that. He was embarrassed, but, geez, why hadn't Owen checked on him during the four hours we were gone? Owen felt bad, Hector's dignity was damaged, and Jesse wasn't pleased with his time in the race.

Then Mark called to say that the house I had set my heart on in Hot Springs has been sold.

I know that I'm tired and that things will look better in the morning, and that, really, these are little things and I have so much to be grateful for. That is a thought that cheers me: this, too, shall pass. This tired, defeated feeling. It's supposed to be (partly) sunny tomorrow. The boys, Hector and I have plans to blow and rake the tons of leaves that fell during last night's storm and today's winds. It's supposed to be cool and crisp, and we have cider in the fridge. Hot chocolate. Marshmallows. I found another online listing for a house I like ~~just not as much~~ that I can send Mark to check out tomorrow. (1,000 miles away, and still running errands for me.)

So, you know, it's all good. Tonight I'll have a glass of wine (the first in a week, Hay!) and take a hot bath. The boys are playing WoW on their computers. Owen was sweet. When I poked my head into his room to ask if he wanted grilled cheese or tacos for lunch, he offered to IM Jesse, upstairs, and ask what he wanted. LOL. "You're chatting online with your brother who is upstairs? Ha! I love you guys!"

Have a good rest of the weekend, peeps. :)

"It's the Unconceivable Sight of Scott Dancing with Fran."

2008-11-10T08:14:00.003-05:00

Sunday Afternoon: Lila Downs

2008-11-09T15:47:00.008-05:00

I'm playing Lila (say, "Lee'-lah) Downs, loud, as I sashay around the kitchen and up and down stairs to the laundry.

When I glimpse myself in the bathroom mirror, I am surprised, for an instant, that I am not a beautiful half-Mexican singer. Where is my gorgeous coloring? My long, black braid?

La Llorona (The Weeping Woman)

Salías del templo un día, Llorona,
Cuando al pasar yo te vi;
Salías del templo un día, Llorona,
Cuando al pasar yo te vi;

Hermoso huipil llevabas, Llorona,
Que la Virgen te creí.
Hermoso huipil llevabas, Llorona,
Que la Virgen te creí.

Ay de mi, Llorona, Llorona,
Llorona de azul celeste,
Ay de mi, Llorona, Llorona,
Llorona de azul celeste,

No dejaré de quererte, Llorona
Aunque la vida me cueste.
No dejaré de quererte, Llorona
Aunque la vida me cueste.

Todos me dicen el negro, Llorona,
Negro pero cariñoso.
Todos me dicen el negro, Llorona,
Negro pero cariñoso.

Yo soy como el chile verde, Llorona,
Picante pero sabroso.
Yo soy como el chile verde, Llorona,
Picante pero sabroso.

The translation is beautiful, and I'll post it later. Mark and I are going to go drink a glass of wine on the porch before dinner.

Okay, so the lyrics are totally wrong, because there are a million different lyrics pages for this song, and that means the translation is, um, messed up as well, but here is the most beautiful one I have found, not from the above lyrics, sorry:

You were leaving the temple one day, Llorona
As I passed I saw you
A beautiful shawl you wore, Llorona
That I believed you to be the Virgin

I know not what the flowers hold
Those flowers from the graveyard
That when the wind moves them, Llorona
It looks as though they weep,

Ay, my Llorona
From the lily field
Ay, my Llorona
Take me to the river

Cover me with your shawl, Llorona
Because I'll die from this cold
Two kisses that I carry on my brow, Llorona
They may never leave me
The last one from my mother, Llorona

And the first one that I gave you
Ay, my Llorona
From the lily field
Ay, my Llorona

Take me to the river
And one who does not know of love, Llorona
Does not know of martyred pain

The List: Have You?

2008-11-07T07:22:00.006-05:00

Ugh. Shrimp salad.

Lifted from From Skilled Hands and from Sandy Feet. I have taken the rules into my own hands and combined myself, Mark and Meredith. It makes for a more interesting list if I ~~cheat~~ do it this way.

Bold the things you’ve done and will admit to:

1. Started your own blog (obviously)
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower (Mark?)
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland/world (as if!)
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped (Mark?)
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea (Mark)
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch (doll-making? I was bad at it.)
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning (It was the shrimp salad.)
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty (Wait. Was it the Washington Monument? All those monument steps seem the same when you're a kid.)
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France (This is where I blur into Meredith ...)
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping (I haven't, but I'm pretty sure Mark has.)
27. Run a Marathon (Finding Mark's list useful here. He's run tons of marathons. Me, not so much.)
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run (Mark.)

32. Been on a cruise (Here we will count Mark's stint in the Navy.)
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person (Again, Mark.)
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors (Mark. Meredith.)
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied (More money is always nice, but why not be satisfied in the meantime?)
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing (Yes, people. Mark has dragged me and Meredith rock and ice climbing.)
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke Meredith?
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt Mark?
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris (Not me. Them. Wait. Maybe.)
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling (Not me. Duh.)
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud (C'mon -- I have kids! What Mom hasn't?)
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Gotten flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check Heh.
68. Flown in a helicopter (Does Med flight count? Heh. Wait. Was that a plane?)
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy (Out, out, it all goes to the dump before the move to Arkansas!)
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job (I was a waitress, missed my shift, was going to quit anyway. Huh.)

76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London (or was that Windsor?)
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person (Mark)
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car (Mark)

83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper (I worked there. Lots of pictures. Mer, too.)
85. Read the entire Bible

86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating (I think that Mark had to do this in the military. Eww.)
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life

90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous. (Went to school with David Baldacci. Also, William Crowe. Met him, I mean, not went to school with him. Also, how famous are we talking?)
92. Joined a book club (Book group? I hate those groups where women talk about books. Sorry.)

93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby (three!)
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee

One thing I learned doing this list was what a lousy memory I have. Maybe I've done all that stuff, and I've forgotten most of it!

How about you?

How to Be Blue and Happy at the Same Time

2008-11-05T08:53:00.002-05:00

Watch the election results and listen to my playlist!

MWAH!!

I mean. Wow.

2008-11-04T07:26:00.004-05:00

Is she one of us? Come on.

So Mark got up around 4:30 and left the house to go vote a little after 5:00. From there he was heading straight to Hot Springs, a 16 hour drive. (He'd rather drive than fly. It's simpler. There's no direct flight to Hot Springs from Richmond.)

I told him I'd probably see him up at the little firehouse/voting precinct in about 10 minutes. I need my caffeine before I vote. The election could hang on whether I've had my morning coffee.

Before I left the house, I got a call from Mark. "You might not want to come up here right now. It's crazy. The parking lot is full and people are parked up and down both sides of the road."

But, what else am I going to do at 5:30 AM on a rainy Tuesday morning? I got in the little red truck and went to vote.

It was crazy: Pitch dark on a small country road, traffic backed up onto the highway. There were tons of McCain/Palin signs lining the road. One NOBama sign. Great. I had to park almost half-a-mile away and walk in the dark and the rain to the firehouse. Once there, the line waiting to get in wound around the back of the firehouse. It was too dark to see if Mark was near the front of the line.

I got in line behind a nice young couple with two little boys. How can you tell some people are fellow Democrats? You just know.

Actually, there seemed to be a surprising mix of folks: Bubbas in camo jackets and the ubiquitous cap; a couple of young, black men, barely 18, with their grandma; several blond pageboys which always denotes Stepford wife or Republican or both to me; some obvious Republicans and some obvious Democrats. How can you tell? You just can. I'm sorry. Call me a bigot. That's the way it is.

After about an hour, Mark came out, and I hollered to him. He said that the ballot counting machine was broken, and there was a wait for that. He left for his drive, and I continued to wait in line.

Inside, out of the rain, it was a mess. A sea of people who didn't know which line to get in. A nervous poll worker fluttering around asking people to please leave her black pens in the booths. Everyone was pleasant and patient. I was walking back to the truck by 7:00.

Yawn. I'm done. It's Tuesday, which means the boys' friends are expected for SuperHappyFunDay a little later this morning. Mark should get into Hot Springs around 10:00 or 11:00 tonight, if he drives straight through. Mer is working this morning, then voting this afternoon, then probably going to Rob's to watch the returns.

I'll find something to pack or clean, then watch the election results tonight. I'm really hopeful. Hopeful that we won't be moving to Canada, 'cause, I swear on all that is holy, I am not sticking around for another 4 years of Republicans, if things swing that way. Neither is Mark. Or Meredith. And, of course, the boys have to come with us, Arkansas or Canada, whichever.

But, fortunately, it's looking good for the Hope party, not so good for the Fear party.

Laura Keeps her Cool ... So Far

2008-11-02T18:22:00.006-05:00

It just seemed like it would be a fun thing to do. I would pop over to Gamestop and pick up the Guitar Hero World Tour game that the boys had been saving for. They had almost enough money, and we could make up the difference. Their friend, Josh, was visiting for a couple of days, and it would be more fun to start playing it while Josh was here. One on the drums, one on the bass guitar, one on the lead guitar. Wish cousin Aaron was here to man the microphone and be the lead singer. He does a fantastic job of this on the other Guitar Hero and Rock Band games the kids already have. World Tour has an awesome song list. I was looking forward to hearing the guys get started.

You know ... let me try to make this whole boring, frustrating saga of spending the day trying to get GHWT as short as I can: First there was the Gamestop with the card system down, so they could only take cash. The Target whose salespeople assured me over the phone that they had the game, "Oh -- we have it for PS2 and Wii, but not for Xbox!" after I get to the store. The Best Buy and Circut City who did not have the game.

I was nice to everyone. Even the manager at Gamestop who told me that the problem might be with my bank account, rather than their debit machine. I ended up going back there hours later -- with cash -- to be told they didn't have any GHWT games left. I insisted that they had one when their debit machine was down, so the guy looked and found one. Huh.

Then we got it home and the wireless guitar doesn't "sync", and the plug for the foot pedal on the drums doesn't work. I called Gamestop to be told that any faulty "peripherals" have to be sent back to the company that makes them. By me. Not them. About here, Mean, Sarcastic Laura is rattling the door to the closet where I keep her most of the time. I take a deep breath and ask for the phone number of the company. I just feel like I had a choice to boil over with self-righteous anger or to let it go and call the company. Which was closed for the weekend.

Ohmmmm.

ANYWAY. Here is a video of the kids -- Jesse, Owen, Josh -- playing, while Meredith and Mark and I watch and hum along. The boys were able to make do with the old guitars, and no drum pedal. They had fun, so all is well.

Gotta go call Activision now. Breathe, Laura ...

So, okay -- Hot Springs, Arkansas, ho.

2008-10-31T20:46:00.012-04:00

Some of you know that we've been in a state of Limbo, waiting to hear if we are moving to the state of Arkansas. Mark was offered a promotion, and we went out a couple of weeks ago to check out Hot Springs.

Heh. Hi Bill!

We had a great trip, electing to drive out with the boys instead of fly out, just the two of us. After all, they will be living here, too. The drive was 1,000 miles and 16 hours of beautiful autumn colors. We went from Richmond on a diagonal path through Virginia and Tennessee, across the Mississippi. Because Meredith stayed home, and I was the only female, we listened to Metallica, and Papa Roach, and Dragonforce, and Slipknot and Disturbed, and Nirvana all the way there. Oh, yes we did. Finally, I can headbang with the best of 'em!

Hot Springs is a beautiful city, nestled in the Quachita ("wash'-it-ah" -- yes, I asked) Mountains, surrounded by lakes and rivers. There are hot springs and mountain trails and rock walls -- it's almost like they made it for Mark, mountain and rock climber, runner, mountain biker. We are moving there. Does this mean that I will get up off my poor ol' butt and join him? Stay tuned, my peeps.

Mountain Tower overlooking Hot Springs.

Look, Hay! I took a picture that looks like a postcard! I think this is the hospital. Isn't it pretty?

Crossing one of the bridges over Lake Hamilton.

Jesse and Owen consider a steam bath in a pool a the foot of a cascading hot spring. Hot Springs is a city within a National Park. Thermal waters abound. There are even "water stations" scattered around the city where you can fill a bottle or jug with the 147 degree thermal spring water.

Ozark Bathhouse is one of eight on Historic Bathhouse Row in Hot Springs. Al Capone was a frequent visitor to Bathhouse Row. (Excuse me? Didn't he die of complications of, um, syphilis? No bath for me, thanks, I'll shower back at the hotel.)

That's right -- back at the hotel, Jesse and Owen leave Arkansas for Azeroth.

It was a good trip. Mark ships out on Tuesday, after he votes. He'll travel back and forth for a few months before the boys and I join him. Meredith is happy with her jobs and her boyfriend and her life here. Bittersweet to see her happy and independent, but to leave her behind -- ! Ah, well. Thank god for the internet.

Funny ...

2008-10-25T06:09:00.004-04:00

I had to steal this when I saw it on a site Jodi posted a link to. It makes me laugh!

There Might Be Armadillos

2008-10-18T07:26:00.006-04:00

Well, there could be. I like armadillos. Did you read "A Prayer for Owen Meany"? Anyway, we're going to Arkansas tomorrow morning to spend a few days and see if we want to move there. Also, 'cause Mark's company is moving us there, looks like. I don't really expect to see armadillos -- I mean it's not Texas -- but it is more likely to see one there than in Virginia, you can't argue that. Don't kill my dream.

My homies, Jodi and Hay, both got inked this week. I feel left out. How about this bet -- if I DO spot an armadillo on our trip I'll get an adorable armadillo tattoo, if not, I'll give it some more thought. Post a pic of your tattoo, if you are an inked person, to inspire me. :)

---

Have a good week, peeps. I will check in and visit blogs if I can wrest a laptop away from Jesse, Owen or Mark.

We'll always have Buckethead ...

2008-10-15T09:31:00.011-04:00

"There has been much speculation as to the identity of Buckethead. We do know that he was raised in a chicken coop by chickens. And possibly due to the unusual circumstances surrounding his upbringing, he is a very private person. He doesn't grant many interviews, and shuns most conventional means of contact. The mask and bucket add an eerie air of mystery to his activities and serve as a harbinger for his otherworldly musical stylings and sensibilities. He would prefer that his fans accept his eccentricities, focus on his art and enjoy the wonderland of joy that is Bucketheadland." From the FAQ page at the Bucketheadland website.

Jesse and I went to the Buckethead concert last night at The National, in Richmond. I had waffled when none of his friends were interested in going. Buckethead isn't for everyone, apparently, but he is Jesse's favorite guitarist. I wasn't sure the mosh pit at The National was quite the place for a 16 year old and his mother. I'm chicken like that. Bwuawk.

But Jesse is so go-with-the-flow, no demands or even preferences about most things, and he seemed to really want to go, even though, like I said, he wasn't insistent or nagging. Sometimes, I swear, you have to read his mind. I called The National, and talked to a nice girl who assured me that Jesse would be fine near the stage, and I could hang in the lounge at the bar. Heh. Okey dokey, then!

Well, actually, I stood the whole time in the gated area behind the pit. She was right -- it was fine. There were a few boys even younger than Jesse, and parents -- and grandparents, even --along with the huge crowd of 20-and-30-somethings. Everyone was having fun. I was chicken about nothing, as is usually the case.

And I'm so glad we went. It turned out to be one of those rare times, like the Brawl evening, when I was able to be there watching one of my kids following his passion. Maybe Mark felt like that when he took Meredith to the Louvre and she was able to see the Mona Lisa in the midst of her DaVinci Code interest. (Leonardo, Buckethead -- both geniuses. And, oh yeah, Diddy Kong. Him, too.) I got all teary when Buckethead came out. From my vantage point, back-a-ways from the stage, I could see that Jesse was only a couple of feet from him at times, watching his genius fingers on that guitar, up close! What an amazing thing that was for Jess, and I got to see it. Amazing for me.

And, wow? I've got to say, I'm a real Buckethead fan now. He is tall and thin, with long, elegant hands and fingers like delicate spiders, scuttling over the guitar. Look at his hands in that photo -- just beautiful. Angel hands. He always wears his mask and bucket. He tosses out toys to the audience, because, well, he likes toys. And Disneyland.

From FAQ: Does Buckethead have any hobbies? Taxidermy, Sports, Martial Arts (Nunchukas), breakdancing (robot-style), video games, and visiting Disneyland. He has been there over 500 times. "I like Disneyland. I want to be buried there--parts of me in It's a Small World, Haunted Mansion, and Pirates of the Caribbean, plus parts in Tokyo Disneyland, Euro Disneyland, and Florida Disney World. There are enough bones to go around."

See? A regular guy! :) Personally, I hate anything Disney, but if Buckethead recommends it, I may rethink my position.

He brought out the nunchukas at one point during the show. Jesse got some pics with his phone, but said he missed the nunchukas. Bummer. Also, though he reached and got close, no toy. But he bought a new CD and a cool T-shirt. This morning he was busy downloading (uploading?) it to his ipod. He has a guitar lesson this afternoon. His world is colored all Happy right now. I love that. I'm so grateful that I got to go with Jesse. How many concerts will there be before he is going on his own, with friends, with no mom hanging ~~at the bar~~ near the back? So, Buckethead, my boy, I am a fan, happy to "explore the wonderland of joy that is Bucketheadland". Indeed.

*Reading Kelli's post reminded me why Owen didn't accompany us: Buckethead isn't his cup of tea, but he probably would have come, except that the World of Warcraft pre-expansion patch came out yesterday, and he was loathe to leave his computer. :)

Okay, so this is me -- except for the make-up and all ...

2008-10-10T10:31:00.009-04:00

Okay, Hay has been bugging me for ages for a "clear picture" of me. Well, if she wants a good one, she's gonna have to pack that camera of hers and come to Virginia (or Arkansas?).

The other day, I put on make-up before taking the boys to soccer. Don't ask me why -- I never wear make-up. Oh, and I blew-dry my hair, which Meredith had cut several inches off of the day before. You don't have a daughter and a pair of scissors and have to pay $$$ for a salon cut? Poor you!

Anyway, it was like a disguise, or being undercover or something, this tarted-up me.

This is a picture of me feeling really stupid trying to take a picture in the bathroom mirror.

Notice the sweater is THE SAME ONE I'm wearing in the photo on my profile page, taken last year. I'm not much interested in clothes or make-up. Bother.

I'm starting to see the humor in taking these pictures in the bathroom and trying not to get the toilet in the background.

Funny, Laura.

I don't like doing this. It's stupid. You can't make me. Didn't I already take a pic of my butt for this blog, for pete's sake? Oh, hey, that's the same dark blue shirt I wore in the butt photos. Clothes = bother, I'm telling you.

PS I'm finding it difficult to get around and visit blogs and comment with Mark home. Well, I visit, but wait to comment until I can sit and think. I'm posting this, standing, while I fix sandwiches for Mark and Jesse. Things will be back to normal by Monday. xxooxx

Life Lately

2008-10-09T04:38:00.015-04:00

Maymont

Jesse at Maymont Cross Country Festival

Mark Cleaned Kitchen

Meredith's Fall Cookies

The Pumpkin Run:

An award, a T-shirt and a pumpkin!

I am honored to be a member of the Peninsula Python Posse.Thank you, Debra!

Anniversary Flowers -- Thanks Mom and Dad!

The old work behind the new work.

That's about it. Today is skating, soccer, running day. Where's my coffee?

If I ever hope to hear that word again without rolling my eyes ...

2008-10-03T17:55:00.003-04:00

Can anyone suggest a good TV theme song featuring the word "nuclear"? Please?

Welsh Baritone, Bryn Terfel, as the Evil Scarpia in "Tosca"

2008-09-28T08:27:00.004-04:00

I can't help it. I always like the bad ones.

"Church bells are tolling. Intermittently, from the castle of Sant’ Angelo comes the boom of the cannon. A cardinal has entered and is advancing to the high altar. The "Te deum" has begun. Scarpia soliloquizes vindictively: "Va, Tosca! Nel tuo cuor s’annida Scarpia" (Go, Tosca! There is room in your heart for Scarpia).

He pauses to bow reverently as the Cardinal passes by. Still soliloquizing, he exults in his power to send Cavaradossi to execution, while Tosca he will bring to his own arms. For her, he exclaims, he would renounce his hopes of heaven; then kneels and fervently joins in the "Te Deum."

This finale, with its elaborate apparatus, its complex emotions and the sinister and dominating figure of Scarpia, set against a brilliant and constantly shifting background, is a stirring and effective climax to the act."

Synopsis from Music with Ease

Laura Watches the Debates

2008-09-27T09:28:00.005-04:00

Thank you, Jodi.

For Everyone Who Finds Themselves Blessed with a Wild Child ...

2008-09-25T08:10:00.004-04:00

From today's THE DAILY GROOVE ~ by Scott Noelle

www.enjoyparenting.com/dailygroove

The Wild Child

Domesticated animals confined to farms, zoos, and similar unnatural habitats lack a certain "spark" found in their wild counterparts. They've been bred or trained to live apart from their nature. They've adjusted to their lack of freedom.

Put a wild animal in a cage for the first time and behold the fury! What else would you expect from a creature who still knows it's supposed to be free?

Children are born free and wild, and they don't readily submit to"domestication." And thank Goodness for that! Because those who retain that spark are the ones who will uplift humanity in generations to come.

Today, look for evidence of the spark of wildness in your child ... and*celebrate* it! Trust that s/he will civilize in due time. And in the meantime, let that spark ignite the flames of an authentic, passionate life.

http://www.dailygroove.net/wild-child

Thanks for that, Scott. And, while we're thinking about it, why not reignite our own "wild child" spark that was "domesticated " out of us? I'm sick of the good and the nice and the sweet. Pah. Let's see some authenticity.

Maybe Better Not Call Him "Sweet" 16 ...

2008-09-22T04:41:00.003-04:00

Meredith's portrait of Jesse, "Splinter"

Our Jesse is sixteen today. He had a happy weekend, finally breaking that 20 minute time for his 5K on Saturday. He smashed it, coming in at 19:09! He placed 5th overall and first in his age group. WAY TO GO, JESSE!

It's lovely to see him when he is pleased. He's a quiet teenager these days, and he ducks his head and lowers his eyes, but he can't stop the smile from spreading across his face to a grin.

He had a great time with about 20 others at Madison's 24hour birthday extravaganza on Friday, leaving early to get some sleep before the race. Madison, a good, kind friend, had a cake for Jesse at his party as well!

I'll take him birthday shopping today, as he hasn't been able to make up his mind what he wants, present-wise. We can go to the running store and the guitar store and we're sure to find something that makes his eyes light up.

The other night, I dreamed he was little again, running around with his plastic hammer and toy chain saw, always busy, purposeful.

Now, he shaves.

And can reach the high shelves in the cabinets for me.

And mow the grass with the riding mower without cinderblocks to add weight and keep it from tipping forward.

The other day, he was tied off with a climbing belt, helping Mark on the roof. My baby! On the roof!

(Come on, Mom. For Pete's sake, get a grip.)

In honor of Jesse's birthday, my blog playlist will be featuring "Through the Fire and Flames" by Dragon Force. When Jesse's fingers fly over the keys playing this in Guitar Hero, it is amazing. He's fantastic. People at Lanshark stop what they're doing and watch him. Just listen to this song for a minute, my peeps. It's no "Slow Ride".

Happy Birthday to our Jesse.

"Relative to our children or any children with whom we would interact, our one dominant intention would be to give them a conscious understanding of how powerful and important and valuable and perfect they are. Every word that would come out of our mouths would be a word that would be offered with the desire to help this individual know that they are powerful. It would be a word of empowerment. We would set the Tone for upliftment and understand that everything will gravitate to that Tone if we would maintain it consistently."

Abraham Quote for the Day in my inbox this week.

Ideal Morning

2008-09-17T04:52:00.005-04:00

Too many mornings are finding me at the computer for too long. This morning, I have A Plan:

I put a load of laundry in first thing, make Mark some pita sandwiches to take to work, kiss him good-bye, feed the kitty, let her out.

Make coffee, enough for me and for Meredith.

Spend one hour -- from 5:00 to 6:00 -- at the computer, writing this post. Resist urge to do the blog-rounds and visit. Schedule that for later. Consider visiting FlyLady. Then, I remember her sweet cheeriness and little fairy logo and how she calls her legion of followers "FlyBabies" and I reject that idea. Is there a butch version of FlyLady out there somewhere? Somebody who keeps the household tidyness on track, but is kinda bossy and bitchy? There oughta be. I spend some time thinking about inventing her.

Back on track. Watch morning news and stretch in my room on floor. Think about doing Yoga. Where's that Rodney Yee DVD with Rodney on the beach? FlyLady would know.

Change into dog walking clothes and walk dog. It's chilly outside! Fabulous dog walking weather!

Come back and put laundry in dryer. Say "Good Morning!" to Meredith. Resist urge to start talking to her, 'cause she hasn't had her coffee yet. I hate people chatting at me before I've had my coffee, but I do it to her all the time. And she doesn't kill me, but she looks a little pained.

Shower and dress. Put in another load of laundry. Resist urge to eat some of Mer's granola. Have fruit instead. Pull out Raw Food books for inspiration. Wait. Where's the Matt Amsden one? FlyLady would know. Hmm. What should I name tough, no nonsense, no freakin' fairy version of FlyLady? Spend time ruminating. Get-Your-Shit-Together-Woman? She's no lady. She keeps you on track cleaning your home, but she doesn't try to sell you her fairy-emblazoned crap EVERY DAY, that spam crowding your inbox. She is kinda like, hmm, Colleen Dewhurst. She's a little scary. She doesn't tolerate whining or excuses.

Oh. Right. Where was I? Fix Jesse breakfast, write a dinner plan. Laundry in dryer. Where's my ipod? Get-Your-Shit-Together-Woman would know. Set up to draw outside, it's so nice out. Ask Jesse if he wants to run this morning, since the team has a meet this afternoon, and he has a guitar lesson. Have I washed his running clothes? " They're on the line in the basement!" rasps Get-Your-Shit-Together-Woman. Huh. I kinda like her.

Okay, that's got to take to me to mid-morning, when I can take a computer break and visit my peeps. Sign Jesse up for two upcoming 5K's. Search for a running DVD he wants for his birthday, but I can't find ANYWHERE. "Run Like Hell." Anthony Famiglietti. His website gets this old computer all tangled up and confused. It pants and wheezes and complains. Can't Load. Site. Puff. Stupid computer.

What's that sound? Meredith is up early! She's wrecking my plan! "Be flexible!" rasps GYST Woman. "Stop being such a whiner! Greet your daughter with a smile, but for God's sake, don't start talking to her yet! Let her drink her coffee! I MEAN it!"

Don't you love her? What could her logo be, instead of this? Suggestions welcome.

Have a Good Morning, all!

My Happy Little Life

2008-09-15T21:41:00.003-04:00

Originally posted in January. I've been practicing this outlook lately and needed the reminder.

Life is Good.

"But you are the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on the bus, or in the car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart. Not just your bank account, but your soul." Anna Quindlen

In her book (which is really more of an essay), "A Short Guide to a Happy Life", Anna Quindlen says a lot of things that we have all heard before about living a happy life. She believes that, in each of our lives, we experience transformative events that wake us up and offer a chance to view our lives in a new way and make conscious choices. Or choose to go back to sleep and let life just happen to us as we sleepwalk through it.

(Here, my friends are starting to look at each other uneasily and murmur, "Oh, no. She's not going to tell the Story of Laura's Life-Changing Car Accident AGAIN, is she? I think I hear my phone ringing! Gotta go!")

Very funny, People Who Know Me, but NO, I wasn't even going to mention THAT.

I was thinking about the blogging of our lives that I do here. One of my friends said something about how I had a store of experiences and family-happiness to blog about, but that her life just wasn't blog-worthy. No-no-no-no, see that's just it: How do you view your life? What are you looking at and calling it "My Life"?

If I gave you an assignment and said, "Sell me your life. Make me want to buy it." -- you wouldn't say, "Well, today the cat puked on the rug and I stepped in it when I woke up. No one did their dishes last night and the laundry is piled up and my shoulder is stiff and why am I the only one who ever replaces the toilet paper on the roll?! The Christmas bills are coming in. I need a root canal. You want to buy MY life? Well, I'll sell it to you cheap -- in fact, here, take it."

I think that all of us have days that we see our lives like this. When I blog, it's like panning for gold: Take your pan. Scoop up a big pile of your life. Shake and sift and swirl. Look at the gleamy nuggets that appear as the silt and soil fall away. THAT is your life.

Look at your children's faces. Look at them when they are happy and cultivate the happiness that you see. Look at the things that surround you and be grateful for them. You have a house? Food? Clothes? A car? Does it give you more pleasure to complain about the noisy, lazy kids, the small, untidy house, the boring, same-old food, the dented, dirty car or does it give you more pleasure to appreciate them and be grateful for them? Try both and see what works for you.

If you think that your life is all silt and that you are the ONLY ONE who has scooped up a panful of detritus and sediment, GET OVER YOURSELF and keep panning and sifting. Your life is golden and shiny and sparkly. Everyone. E-v-e-r-y-o-n-e has that other stuff to sift through. Don't doubt it for a minute.

Or. You could do your panning and keep your eye on what sifts and falls away and catch it up and hold it close and call THAT your life. Some people do. They find satisfaction in comparing the siltiness and sludginess (is that a word?) that they are holding onto with that of others. "Mine's nastier, darker, heavier." "Oh, no it's not -- mine is all of those things AND it smells bad! I win!"

Sometimes it takes a Transformative Experience to draw your attention from that silt and sludge that you THINK is your life to see the treasure has been there all along.

It's your choice. It's your life. Your Happy Little Life. :)

Untamed Adventure

2008-09-13T08:41:00.006-04:00

*Preliminary results are in and show Mark's team came in 7th overall, 2nd (!) in their category! Way to go guys!

Mark, Phil, Dan and Mike started their Adventure Race this morning at 7:00 AM. It is a 30 hour race. We can track them on the site with GPS tracking. Biking, river boarding, kayaking, orienteering, and I forget what-all else. They are insane.
Okay, wakeboarding. I'm sure Mark would have preferred a pic

with some whitewater in it.

Visit here, and leave them an encouraging message. They are team#18, "ASR To Be Determined". Don't write a really cute, funny, encouraging message and send it to THE WRONG TEAM as -- ahem -- I did. Oops.

Mark and Phil and Dan and Mike

I would love it if they got messages from all over the country, world. Cool.

Thanks, my peeps. :)

Cotton and the Chicken Lady

2008-09-12T05:38:00.008-04:00

No audio -- it was 5:00 AM, and I didn't have the TV turned up very loud. In the video, Cotton goes swimming, has a shampoo and blow dry, goes for a drive, goes grocery shopping and has a Big Mac. Wish you could hear Chicken Lady's sweet, cooing voice. Totally ~~loopy~~ happy. Love her.

A NYT review of the documentary here. Huh. Doesn't want to link. Try this: http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9E01E3DF143BF930A25754C0A9679C8B63

'This story naturally attracted Mark Lewis, a filmmaker who seems closer in spirit, with his whimsical vision of the natural world, to David Lynch than to ''Animal Planet.'' In movies like ''Cane Toads: An Unnatural History'' and ''The Wonderful World of Dogs,'' he has brought a deadpan sensibility and a vibrantly quirky visual style to the nature documentary.'

Check your local PBS listings

2008-09-11T21:00:00.002-04:00

http://www.pbs.org/tvschedules/

The Natural History of the Chicken comes on at 5:00 AM tomorrow morning. I'm usually up then, anyway. I'll flip video a bit. Hmm. Cotton and his Chicken Lady or Miracle Mike? I can't decide ...

(Here is where I was going to put a google image of Miracle Mike, but I just can't do it. Oh, I found it all right. Just can't put it here. No. Can't.)

The Natural History of the Chicken

2008-09-11T05:09:00.009-04:00

Trust me. Do you trust me, my peeps?

This is the best thing I have ever seen on television. Go buy it right now. Thank me later.

How can this have existed since 2000, and I caught it for the first time on PBS just last night?

Mark had gone to bed to read, the boys were watching TV and computing in Owen's room, Meredith had gone to see Hamlet 2 (Rock Me Sexy Jesus) with her friend, Charity. I settled in with the remote to flip undisturbed. (They all hate when I flip.)

One of the PBS stations appeared to be showing another boring documentary. Something about a neighborhood fighting a guy who had set up a rooster farm. Hundreds of roosters crowing. Something about the interviews with the people, something about the bright colors and cinematography made me pause the flipping. And it was either that or The Nanny and her @#*!@ naughty corner, that Nazi.

When the story pitting the neighborhood against the cockfighter (what? I can say that) was settled in court, I watched, mesmerized, the next segment about the Chicken Lady and her pet rooster, Cotton. They were swimming together in her pool. She makes him special rooster panties so that he doesn't poop in her quaint, slightly bizarre home. I LOVED the sweet-voiced Chicken Lady and Cotton. Charming, touching. I was enthralled. I started hollering, "THIS IS THE BEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN ON TELEVISION!"

Mark, still reading: "You've said that ten times. Can you shut the door? That rooster crowing is distracting and annoying."

Me: "That's what the neighborhood said!!"

Owen, quietly: "Jesse, shut the door."

Me: "This is the best thing I've EVER seen on television!"

Then came the story of Miracle Mike, the headless rooster. Destined for the stewpot, he had been decapitated with the other chickens by the farmer and his wife. Some of the other chickens hopped and jerked a bit after they lost their heads, but Mike kept running around. Without his head. The farmer cleaned him up and kept him, and took him about to fairs and such, fed him, um, his esophagus, with an eyedropper. Really, it was heartwarming. And kinda gross but heartwarming ...

Almost as heartwarming as the lady who found one of her hens frozen dead in a blizzard and gave it mouth-to-beak resuscitation. The chicken perked up, the lady named it "Valerie",and they made the newspapers and did a round of talk shows.

I sat with my chin in my hands, my mouth forming an "O" of amazement. I wanted to call Jodi and X, and tell them to leave off Project Runway and flip to PBS! NOW! My SIL, Valerie -- did she know there was a chicken on TV with her name?! I thought of emailing Hay, but worried that Headless Mike might be too much for her. RB? Kate? OtherLaura? Is it too intense for The Kid, in his weakened state? Debra? Do you have chickens? Jess? They cover a bit of the free range versus factory-farmed egg stuff. Mrs. G.? No Mancake here, I'm afraid. The Unity minister who tells the story of his chicken, Liza, and her quest to become a mother is kinda cute, Mrs. G., in a ministerial way ... GINA! Misty? Karen? Christa? UNSCHOOLERS? Joan! Joanharvest, I'm absolutely sure you could have found a dumbass or two -- the yuppies who moved out to the country and actually thought it would be quiet? The redneck cockfighter who claimed that his roosters only crowed at dawn? Peeps, have you seen this? Do you share my enthusiasm?? Is it just me?

I was so sad when the show was over. I was so happy I had seen it. I wanted to call everyone I knew and tell them to rush out and buy the DVD. I haven't wanted to do that since I saw Zeffirelli's Traviata! (Cotton loves opera, Chicken Lady says.)

Have you seen it? How could you not tell me about it??

Mann

2008-09-07T11:14:00.002-04:00

I needed some inspiration. Something smart with an edge. With something that lies beneath. Went searching. Aimee Mann will do for music, Sally Mann for images. They both "get it". "Cause they're both "homies"? Heh.

Pretty and sweet and "nice". Pssht. No substance. Surface. Turn over some rocks and see what crawls out. Really look at it. Learn to love it, because it ain't going away, and you can try covering it up, ignoring it, medicating yourself. Sooner or later, it eats right through to the surface.

Well, that was cheerful! I need to get some work done -- the art stuff. I can't make myself work in that sweet, Northern-Bathroom-tissue-portrait frame of mind. Can't put it into words. That's why I'm an artist and not a writer, I guess. The tension between what it is and what it should be. I want to get at what it is, not what it "should be".

"Cigarettes and Red Vines". Isn't that great? Love that imagery, the lightning bugs in the parking lot ...

Not Back to School

2008-09-02T06:35:00.006-04:00

Not for us, anyway. I keep forgetting that it's the first day of the school year for everyone around us.

Meredith had teacher work week all last week, and spent most of the time painting a mural outside the pre-k classroom. But she doesn't start her art classes until tomorrow.

The boys are looking forward to another SuperHappyFunDay. We had to change the hours because of Jesse's cross country practice and my drawing time, but we hope that there will be a passel of homeschoolers and unschoolers and one college kid coming over to play Super Smash Brothers and Capture the Flag and Guitar Hero and whatever else they want to do. Oh yeah -- eat. :)

Mark has the day off. He spent the weekend replacing the rotting boards on the dormer windows. On the roof with a gazillion wasps. He fashioned a protective hat with netting and wore several layers of clothing in the heat and humidity. Remind me about this household chore next time I complain about cleaning toilets! (Oh, yeah, I really wanted a pic of Waspman to post here, but Jesse warned Mark before I could get one. I had to settle for pics of the wasp nests and rotting boards lying on the ground. It didn't seem sporting to chase Waspman around with the camera. Besides, you know, there were wasps ... )

I feel a bit sluggish and lazy and my poem will have to stand as it is, sadly. I'm heading for the grocery store on an early run, stopping by DMV to pick up a Learner's Manual for Jess, heading back home to ~~batten down the hatches~~ make muffins for the group.

It's another cool morning here. Wish I had time to walk Hector. Hopefully, soon there will be many cool September mornings to come.

The Dog Ate My Homework

2008-09-01T08:48:00.006-04:00

Well, while he didn't exactly EAT it, he is somewhat responsible for the fact that I haven't had time to write my poem. This morning -- beautiful, clear, cool morning -- he ran into the woods before our walk and found some deer scat to roll in. Bad Dog! No, what's the use? You can't be mad at him -- just look at that face. As if to say, "Oh, good, you're here! Let's roll in this great smelling stuff I found! C'mon, you'll love it! Get the rest of the family!"

I hauled the reluctant, but still enthusiastic, Hector back to the yard for a bath. Then we went for our walk. He has had a wonderful morning, and is busy licking himself at my feet while I type.

ANYWAY. Here's my poem attempt that I sent to Kate. I know that I can do better, and plan to sit down tonight at my desk and inkwell, with my candle burning, and my bottle of whiskey at hand, and write something really GREAT. I aim for greatness, people!

I like OtherLaura's suggestion to tell what music we are listening to while we compose our poem.

I was going for Bach cello suites, but I'm feeling even more dramatic and, aiming for gloomy greatness, I may employ Beethoven. Or sumbody's Requiem. Or Wagner. Sturm and Drang!!

Here, again, is what I must improve upon, and here is a link to Kate's. C'mon, write one, my peeps. You know you want to ...

She likes crows.

And black.

Fall, when things are dying
and Winter.

When they're dead.

She thinks Eeyore is her totem.

Sigh.

*Please don't be intimidated by my awesomeness. You, to, can write good like me.

Okay, okay, here's an escape hatch for those of you who don't want to do this -- leave a ... creative excuse for why you didn't complete the assignment. Did your dog roll in deer scat? Or, is that BANANA PANCAKES song stuck in your head, too??