Wake up. Start Learning.

Head on over!

2010-08-01T08:06:00.002-05:00

For the past few months, there have been some strange things going on with this blog. Weird icons coming up over my posts, strange people commenting in fonts that don't make sense, general mayhem in trying to post, etc.

However, I do have another blog that I post on quite frequently. Almost every day, in fact. :) I am in the process of deciding if I should cut down to one blog and move my homeschooling posting over there.

If you're at all interested in continuing to read about our adventures, hop on over and follow me at A Farmish Kinda Life.

See you there!

Piles

2010-07-07T06:00:00.000-05:00

It was one of those days where you look at the house and wonder if you'd be able to find your brain if it was hanging in front of your face on a string.

I told the kids I just need a day to get my things organized.

I was trying to figure out how to get things out of piles and into places they belong. I was trying to figure out what those places of belonging even were. Or if they even existed.

I have papers and books and treasures and things in piles all around the house.
I just needed a day to organize the "stuff".

Exactly twelve minutes into my searching for the spaces my piles could melt into, Iggy appeared.

"Mama" he asks. He's stopped calling me mom. I've been Mama now for about two weeks.

"Yes, dear?"

"You know what I've always wanted to learn how to do?" he asks, so very non-chalantly.

"What?"

"Sew."

I turn to him.

"You do?" I answer, and hope I didn't sound too surprised.

"Yeah. I want to sew a doll."

"Really?" (Again, hoping I covered the surprise.)

"Yes."

Out came the paper. He drew a pattern. Then out came the fabric so he could pick what he wanted.

"I'm making AquaMan. With a water bomb."

Perfect.

He thought he'd try his luck with hand sewing.

You can tell from the look on his face, it wasn't his favorite experience.

For another section of the doll, he decided he'd be brave and try the machine.

He was excited.

So we sat together and worked on another piece of his doll.

We stopped sewing when it was lunchtime, because withholding food for half a second from two growing boys is a terrible idea.

I looked around the room. There were still piles everywhere. Piles of papers, piles of books, piles of undiscovered stuff I thought I had misplaced...and now piles of fabric and scraps of thread.

Sigh.

My husband looked at me and smirked.
"You didn't actually think you were going to get away with a day of no learning, did you?"

Sigh.

I'll never be rid of the piles.
But thankfully, a magical life still goes on. :)

You do school...year round?

2010-06-20T21:29:00.012-05:00

I often get asked if we take a break from "school" for the summer.
Nope.

Why should we?
There's so much to do!

There are local dairy farms to tour! (They give you funky blue boots to wear so you don't track dirt inside the bottling area...)

There are bugs to catch and identify.

There are creeks to dip into...

...and tadpoles to find.

Things to build

and build

like anemometers and weather vanes (that really work!)

There are wars to fight...

...and battles to win!

Wait, you say. That's not school. That just looks like a whole lotta fun.

I say...why does there have to be such a difference?

Sometimes it just happens

2010-06-07T06:00:00.000-05:00

We've come upon that place where reading "just happens". I love it.

You call for Iggy and when he doesn't answer, you look for him and find him

there he is

sucked into a great book.

And you sigh.
Then you look for Ooky.

Found him!

Apparently its a great day to relax with some reading. I think I'll go find a book...

Energy Expended

2010-06-05T09:40:00.011-05:00

Life takes Energy.

It seems like lately, when we get done with our Energetic Day, I have no Energy left to write about the Energy we expended.

But I know that you all get that. Because you're Energy Expenders like we are.

That's why cameras are so great.

They catch a bit of the Energy and still leave you with enough Energy to show what happened.

So I'm relying on the camera to do our catching up with you while I soak up whatever it is that renews my Energy.

Because I need it.

More Energy, that is.

That one scream

2010-03-23T20:50:00.010-05:00

I have loud kids. The boys could probably be hired by the National Weather Service to replace tornado sirens in at least three states. We function within ridiculous decibels here. But even so, even this Mama knows the difference between I-just-wanna-make-noise...and the scream of serious distress.

A few days ago we finished our coop. Because we finished ahead of schedule, we were able to pick up our hens earlier than we planned. It was an exciting day for MamaTea, Iggy and Ooky. Brownie Ba-Gawk, the rescued rooster, was quite pleased as well. Who wouldn't be among a harem of women like this?

We all worked together to finish up the chickens outdoor fenced yard so they could have a little...shall we say "breathing room" after their introductions to each other.

(FYI - We fully intend to free range these cluckers and allow them to roam the property during the daytime, after which they will obediently return to the coop for a little shut-in shut eye. However, I'm not sure how obedient you can be when you're not even sure where home is, so for now, they play in the coop or the fenced yard.)

Anyhoo, once their outdoor pen was all buttoned up, we let the clucks out to play. And play they did - what a lovely time they had. Those dust baths are a hoot to watch, but not easy to get a picture of. ;)

Hubster and I had a few loose ends to tie up in the barn so we left the boys in the fenced yard with the chickens (at their request) with explicit instructions not to harass the chickens.

Yah, ok mom. We'll be fine.
I believed them.

Into the barn Hubster and I went, only to be brought back out a couple minutes later by the bloodcurdling scream of an Ookster. You know, not the I-wanna-hear-myself-make-noise kind of scream. No, this was that one scream where you know something is wrong.

What I imagined was happening as I hightailed my way back to the chicken yard was that Ooky had got between a love-starved Brownie Ba-gawk and his hen of choice, and was currently getting his eyes pecked out of his head.

I rounded the corner, and three things happened in rapid succession:

1. I sighed in relief. He was not losing his eyeballs to a love-starved rooster.
2. I laughed. Ooky was crying and screaming (and crying! Sobbing uncontrollably!) and pointing because HIS beloved chicken, named just moments before as Isabella, had flown over the fence and was running a hundred thousand miles an hour towards the woods.
3. I said, "Shit", and realized it was my duty as MamaTea to catch this so called Isabella who had proven in the half day we'd owned her that she was a complete and total Sass. (First S in that last word is optional, by the way.)

GRR.

To make a very long story shorter, we did end up catching Isabella. And then we had to catch her again about ten minutes later when she flew out. Again. And then we had to catch her sister Teacup who flew out as well.

Cripes. This was not what I envisioned in my peaceful chicken daydreams. No, I'm pretty sure there was nothing anywhere in there about not-to-be-contained chickens, and the sobbing school aged boys who were in hysterics over the possibility Mom and Dad could not catch them.

Needless to say, it wasn't long before we hatched a plan to counteract this constant chicken chasing.

The very next day we got ahold of some deer netting and fashioned ourselves a roof for the chickens fenced yard. Because we are so cheap and didn't want to buy one that would fit a 14x14 yard, it required MamaTea and Hubster to roll out a 100' by 7'piece of said deer neeting and cut/sew/weave together into a piece that would suit our purposes.

Did I mention it was windy?
And 30 degrees?

Another thing that generally happened in my peaceful chicken daydreams was that when the chickens did arrive, Iggy and Ooky would be more than willing to help with whatever needed to be done, keeping a fantastic attitude and learning scads of information from this real-life adventure in the process.

Ask me how that's working out for me. ;)

Oh well, at least Hubster and I got some quality alone time together.
Right?

That netting is nice an' tight!!

But it was all ok in the end (four hours after we started the netted roof) because when everyone was happy and safe and feeling loved (chickens included), we got rewarded with this:

Life is good. ;)

Best Buddies

2010-03-19T07:23:00.007-05:00

A couple weeks ago, if you would have told Iggy that we were going to have a chicken anywhere on our property, he would have busted out in tears. Iggy had a bad experience with a sassy rooster once while we were helping a friend with a garage sale. Buffington the Rooster was about as cocky as they come, and had no qualms about chasing Iggy. I told Iggy to stand his ground, and that running from the rooster would make it worse...but I guess its hard to believe Mama when a giant (GIANT!!) Buff Orphington is coming at you with his beak to "peck your face off."

That day scarred Iggy and now whenever we visit anyone with chickens, he literally cries if they are outside of a coop and ten feet from him.

I cannot believe his mean ol' mom was contemplating getting chickens this spring.

So imagine my surprise when the other day a stray rooster shows up...and one day later we have this:

Iggy has decided that he needs to feed him every morning.

He also informed me that he can talk to chickens and that the rooster informed Iggy that his name was to be Mr. Brownie Ba-gawk.

I think its quite possible that Iggy now has a case of chicken love!

To see what else is going on at our house in chicken world (we're hatching eggs!), check out my other blog.

Wet Feathers

2010-03-13T05:54:00.010-06:00

Just about the time I was thinking our routine needed a little shaking, it got shook.

Yesterday (which was one of many in a series of will-it-ever-quit-raining days) the boys and I were holed up in the basement, trying out a science experiment that was failing miserably. Through my frustration, I hear my husband calling down the stairs "Can you come up here?"

He doesn't normally summon me with such gusto while the boys and I are in the middle of such a fascinating (miserably failing) experiment, so I figured there was good reason.

There was. It had wings. And my mom had it in the house.

I don't know where this hunk of roo' came from, but he was sitting in our ditch like a drowned rat. Soppin' wet and shiverin'. My husband saw it, made the mistake of mentioning it, and my mom went out to rescue the poor thing. The rooster never ever tried to get away. Mom says she walked right up to him and picked him up...and then brought him into our house.

Oh readers out in blogland, please raise your hand if you know how badly I want chickens??

It is a good day. :) Yes, this was the routine shaker I'd been hoping for. The boys were ecstatic. And Hubster kept asking why I was so smiley. ;)

Mr. Drowned Rat's beak is clipped, and one of his feet were tied (purposely, it appeared) with a long piece of twine. I cut the twine off, and then my mom handed him to me.

"I'll get the crate ready," she said.

We're like an amateur animal rescue here, prepared for almost any animal we find who needs to be nursed back to health. I distinctly remember a baby raccoon being raised in our dining room when I was in elementary school. So keeping a rooster in an extra large dog crate in one of our bedrooms hardly seems odd at all.

When the crate was ready for him, we set him inside and he seemed to be glad to be out of the rain. He was workin' at his feathers, but he sure wasn't drying off very fast. He needed some help.

Of course, blowdrying him through the door of a dog crate only dries off the top of him, so out he came again.

I'm not sure what people are called who rescue roosters from freezin' to death in a 35 degree F rainstorm.

Or what they call people who bring roosters into their house while their husbands are smirking and rolling their eyes.

I'm not sure what they call children who immediately decide that their entire education now will be based on the rooster who currently lives in the bedroom.

I'm not sure what they call people who let the rooster snuggle in and fall asleep in their laps.

But we are those people.

The Winter I-Wish-It-Were-Spring Olympics

2010-03-01T23:16:00.015-06:00

Many of you probably caught bits and pieces of the Vancouver Winter Olympics. Perhaps you followed the ice skaters, the bobsledders, or the skiers.

What you probably didn't know was at the same time in a smallish town in Minnesota, there was a less known but equally as exciting sports event taking place: The Winter I-Wish-It-Were-Spring Olympics.

There were only two countries competing. Ooky hailed from the country of Screamtownia, from a little village just north of Tantrum.

He is a model citizen. ;)

Iggy was from PineBranchia. He demonstrated the customs of his country by gathering pine branches (knocked down in a snowstorm) and organizing a parade of Olympic competitors to the bonfire pit.

There were many events at the Winter I-Wish-It-Were-Spring Olympics. Ice Hammering was a big event which Ooky performed well at.

But then everyone expected that, seeing as he's got all that pent up aggression and rage...being from ScreamTownia and all. (Thanks to Falcon's Nest for the ice hammering idea.)

When Iggy joined into Ice Hammering, the event changed to Free The Grass. Competitors tried feverishly to knock enough snow and ice away to see the grass underneath.

And let me tell you, when you haven't seen a blade of grass since before Christmas, this is seriously exciting stuff.

The next event was Bike Down a Snowy Hill But Be Careful for the Ice at the Bottom...

...followed by Jumping Your Bike Over Snowhills Is Not The Same As Dirt Hills. The boys were great competitors in this event. They survived without breaking their tailbones, which in my book means they tied for the gold medal.

The scrapwood pile was attacked and a Combination Balance Beam/Trampoline was constructed.

Ooky from Screamtownia gave and impressive bouncy balancing act and earned much applause.

Because throwing chunks of wood and knocking stuff over is always a good time, a really techincal event called Knock the Cones Off Grandpa's Ladder was played.

Iggy from PineBranchia took the gold.

An Olympic event which seemed to keep coming up was Ice Falling, in which Ooky of Screamtownia got the gold, due to his many extra style points.

And there you have it, folks. A sampling of the Winter I-Wish-It-Were-Spring Olympics. Perhaps next time, you'll catch it on television.

I can hardly imagine what Iggy and Ooky would come up with for the opening and closing ceremonies. ;)

What do you mean " I have to"?

2010-02-25T07:06:00.008-06:00

Medication for pinkeye sucks, at best. An ointment you apply in a "ribbon" across their eyeball? Come on.

I've been creative (and very very patient) as I'm sliming this crud into both Iggy and Ooky's eyes.

* Creative in telling them the medication is Will Turner and Jack Sparrow Good Goop, fighting the Davy Jones Bad Goop. And that the resulting sting and tears is just leftovers from the battle inside. I have also bribed them with Wii...and dark chocolate from my candy stash...and countless other things I have pulled out of my bag of tricks.

*Patient...well, because one (or both) of my children might have a tendency towards dramatic behavior...and a tube of medicine coming at your inflamed eye is just reason #475 to kick the dramatics into high gear.

Medication goobering is not necessarily the highlight of my day, but its getting better. Oddly enough, the whole thing got me thinking about how this relates to school. Or maybe...that much loved and hated label of unschooling.

Ooky has pink eye in both eyes. The medication is slightly more than annoying. He doesn't want to take it. The Idonwannas are in full swing when the tube of goop comes out.

This is not unlike his reaction to certain things that might be beneficial for him to learn, but are of absolutely no interest to him. You know, like anything having to do with math. Or reading. Or anything that isn't swordfighting.

Now there are a couple different ways to deal with this - medicine, or school. I can #1: scream and yell and threaten and freak out until we are both angry or sobbing or both. (Operating under the "because we absolutely have to do this this way and right now"!) Or #2...we can work around it. I can acknowledge that medicine or certain subjects just aren't a bucket of fun. I can do whatever is in my power to make medicine or certain subjects more fun, interesting, creative, off the wall...whatever works.

What isn't an option, however, with certain subjects or medicine, is not doing it.

Now, anyone who knows me or has read this blog for any amount of time knows that I'm not referring to duct taping my kids to a desk and having them write out worksheet after worksheet after dry and ridiculous worksheet on subjects that are outright insane and unnecessary. But I do think there are things kids need to know. Real life things that help them get along in the world. Iggy and Ooky have a lot of freedom in what they learn and how they learn it, but I'm not going to blindly assume that by me opening the door and letting them run in the backyard, they are going to learn everything they will ever need to know. Is it creative, freeing, and inspiring? Yes. But is it the complete answer? No.

If you want to read a great post on the difference between unschooling and unparenting, check out On Bradstreet. Really, I couldn't have said it any better or differently myself. So much of my frustration with parts of the unschooling community is there are parents out there who have taken themselves out of the game in the name of granting their children complete freedom. There are no longer expectations, responsibilities, etc...because they are somehow evil and crushing to a child. The middle ground, which I believe most of us lie in, has apparently been erased. You're either a "tyrant" of a parent who expects your child to work from dusk til dawn with unreasonable expectations, or you're a "freak" freethinking gypsy imposing no rules, no responsibilities and no worries upon your children. My gosh, we can't have middle ground, can we?

There are members of the unschooling community who would think it terrible I have expectations of my kids. Iggy and Ooky have responsibilities around the house, and consequences when their behavior is ass-hat like. I have occasionally heard that if my dear child has no interest in anything resembling math, why would I try to sneak it in? Just let them be, girl. It will be a.o.k.

So my question is, while I'm gooping more gloppy gunk into Ooky's eyes...what happens when your kid has to take medicine they don't want to take?

Do you say "Its ok, you don't have to take it."
Do you say "That's fine honey. Eventually you will feel sick/bad enough you will decide to take it"...after infecting everyone in the house.
Do you rationalize with your child and whole-heartedly believe they will absolutely agree with you?

A lot of people talk about how what goes on in public school isn't "real life" and they enjoy that by homeschooling, their children can experience Real Life. I'm just not so sure how it is that being respectful to people, helping out around the house, or learning the best way to spend your allowance became a bad thing to learn. Aren't those important parts of Real Life? I agree that respectful kind behavior needs to be modeled for children, but I am also a firm believer that as fantastic as the Golden Rule is, its not infallible. There are plenty of people who know what right choices should be made, and just don't do it (for whatever reason). Don't expectations come into play...somewhere?

As much as I'd like to continue on this one-sided discussion, I have to go. Because right now there's a pink eyed child staring at me knowing its just about Goopy Ointment Time. He doesn't want to do it. And I get it, because I'd rather not be shoving a tube of goop in his eye either.

But the thing is, we have to. ;)

Before the flood, there was Lego Soup

2010-02-23T21:45:00.004-06:00

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Call it wanna-climb-the-walls boredom. Or maybe it was if one more person in this house starts shootin' pinkeye goopish snot from their eyes, I'm gonna spit fire. Or maybe it was frustration at the Spring season which seems so...right...there...but its just a big fat tease.

Teasing sucks.

Anyhow, today it seemed like as good a day as any to make some Lego Soup. Which is a creative way for MamaTea to say Iggy and Ooky, you are sick with way too many things, and we now probably have Ebola or Mad Cow growing on the Legos...so heck. Let's wash them.

Sidenote: I'm not a germ freak. I'm the person who laughs at friends of mine who may grab a case of Lysol to de-germ the house at the slightest case of sniffle. But between the children's eye snot, the vomit, the ear pain, the my-bones-hurt-like-I'm-dying, and whatever else of the past week has melted away into the recesses of my brain...even I was up for a little toy sanitizing.

Anyhoo, so Lego soup was on the menu and it was to be served in the laundry room. Because there is a sink and a tile floor. And you can't hurt it. Can you?

Lego Soup Ingredients

* Two tubs Legos, possibly infected with viruses or bacteria you're so effin' tired of dealing with, you just want to drown the little plastic pieces of creative crap.

* A hefty squirt of soap. At this point you don't care if its organic or plant based or is so full of chemicals that it incinerates the plastic pieces of creative crap upon contact.

* Hot water. H-O-T.

Mix until bubbly.
Ah.
There. That's nice.

And see how much fun we are having? We are washing and rinsing and laughing. And no one is fighting. Its like a giant Lego Car Wash except there aren't any cars built. And there's no scary brushes or dryers that you think might blow your windows out...

I left the boys to their fun.

Everything was going great.
Like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
And then...all of a sudden, the stars got all out of whack and the planets tipped out of alignment and I was overhearing someone say "Gosh, that's a lot of water..." followed by "Well, when I realized I wasn't a very good aimer when I was pouring..."

I'm not sure what possessed Igg and Ook to pour whatever (full) bucket or tote of water into another (full) bucket or tote of water. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact they realized this was not Lego Soup, but Mom's sneaky little trick to get them to do work again...and they wanted to get it done fast. Why not combine all the tubs of water?

I stood at the laundry room door.
"What happened?"
"I dunno."
Hmmm.
"Well, I guess math didn't go so well today."
They both stood there soaking wet, "Huh?"
"A full tote of water into another full tote of water?"
They looked like two deer stuck in the headlights. I wasn't sure if they were trying to figure out why I wasn't yelling...or were stuck on what the heck a flooded laundry room had to do with math.

Sigh.
Well, at least the Legos are clean. And if there happened to be any pink eye, Ebola, or Swine Flu lurking on the laundry room floor, that's gone now, too. :)

important but difficult

2010-01-30T07:14:00.011-06:00

Our "schoolish" life is a hip happening place to be.

ziggurats built out of boxes

pharaoh Ooky

trying our hand at cuneiform

winter surfing

and all over general silliness

But there's other stuff. Like things that are starting to happen because of my last post. Big things, but hard things. Important, but difficult.

After writing my last post, I came to the realization that I often (without realizing it) expect things from my kids that I don't expect from myself. Or assume that I am already doing, but in reality, I'm not. I could have continued on unharmed after that smack upside the head realization, but really, it flattened me for awhile. And the more I paid attention to our conversations, unspoken exchanges, etc...the more I found that I didn't like. And a good chunk of that was what I saw on the MamaTea end of things, not the Iggy-Ooky end of things.

So instead of writing in my blog and wasting countless hours on Facebook, I've been reading. And listening. And thinking. And hopefully, changing.

It's big stuff. Like me learning to say half of what I want to, which is still probably more than I should, but its a step in the right direction.

Like me, spending less time trying to be what I'm not, and focusing more on being who I am.

Like me, looking at my behavior and my intentions and picking them apart. Why do I do what I do? Why did I just say what I said? Why am I planning to do what I'm planning? Why do I make the choices I make? No, now go back and answer that honestly, MamaTea. And when I can sit with myself in real honesty, I really don't like what I find. I mean, really. The intentions behind my actions aren't always noble or pretty.

I've been really trying hard to just live in this moment. And this one. And this one. And realizing that it isn't some cliche quote at the bottom of someone's email...but finding out what each and every word means for me.

I've been sitting and being with life for real. Knowing what works our family and being ok with it. Realizing there will always be issues, and sometimes they aren't issues that need to be fixed. Does that make sense? Sometimes there just isn't a solution to the problem. Sometimes the solution is figuring out how to deal with the problem until the problem takes a break. And sometimes you just have to be ok with that.

Its an interesting place to explore, not one that I've ever been able to sit inside of and be comfortable. Its a good place, but a hard place. An important place. And I know that my sitting inside of it can help every relationship I have.

I will never understand why stuff like this isn't part of the national standards.

do as I say, not as I do

2010-01-16T07:00:00.000-06:00

I'm not a person (read: mom) who takes a liking to having to remind people (read: kids) to do something a billion times (read: more than once). Consider it a glitch in my brain, but I'm wired to see a failure to respond to "remember, its your night to set the table..." as flat out anarchy against authority (read: mom). If a kid says "in a minute"...they're just brushing you off. They are so obviously saying "What you have to say is not important. And anyway, you're a goon."

Um, right?

Yesterday at 2:00, the boys said they were hungry (when aren't they??)and asked for some apples and peanut butter. I told them I would get some for them in a few minutes.

(Which, buy the way, is not the same as saying "Just a minute"....is it?)

They cheerfully said ok and disappeared back to The Wonderful World of Legos.

I had every intention of getting the apples for them. Truly, it was right there. Right in the forefront of my mind.

And then I remembered I had to put that order into Amazon.
Then I had to help a customer of my mom's.
Then I remembered I had to bring a load of stuff to the backyard.
Then I had to put the dogs out.
Then the woodstove needed to be stocked up.
Then I had to make sure I had the ingredients for supper.
Now its time to open the box I got in the mail.
What a cool book I ordered...I am so excited to read this....

At 4:00, there came a boy to the kitchen table.
I'm so hungry, he said. Can we have those apples and peanut butter yet?

Two o clock to four o clock is far longer than a few minutes, I hear.
Cripes.

Don't you love when Life smacks you upside the head and pokes around inside you to point out all the ironies? Those things you get so upset about in other people... but are guilty of doing yourself? Knocks you down a few notches, tells you to stop being so serious, and by the way, you ARE a goon?

Yes, the kids got their apples.
And I learned my lesson. ;)

The magic of little boys

2010-01-15T07:00:00.000-06:00

Sometimes its amazing what things can turn into. Other times, its downright magical.

Little pieces of paper, when correctly folded, will turn into pyramids.

And then little boys will draw pictures on them of dead pharaohs...complete with "blood from when they were killed"...just because they are boys.

Sugar cubes, when stacked in the right mathematical order, will form a lovely step pyramid.

And then little boys will ask you 14 times if they can eat the sugar cubes. And then they will ask again. And again.

An old bedsheet, when cut up into strips, will make lovely mummy bandages.

And then, one little boy will ask you "If we are making mummies of our dolls, does that mean we get to cut the dolls open and pull out their guts to put in canopic jars?"

And then the other little boy will ask, "Yeah...can we pull out their brains through their noses with a hook?"

Legos, when stacked on top of a mummified doll, will make perfect Egyptian amulets (good luck charms).

And then, little boys will tell you the legos they chose to be amulets were "special". And what they mean by special is not "good luck charm" special, but "that's the one piece I wanted play with after school today" special.

But they won't tell you this until the amulets are wrapped up under the final layer of linen, and the mummies are resting comfortably.

Little boys, when Mom remembers not to take herself so seriously, are absolutely perfect. ;)

What works for one...

2010-01-13T20:50:00.007-06:00

As a mom-teacher, its a good idea to have many different bags-o-tricks to dip into. Or at least a lot of creative friends with many bags-o-tricks. Because I'm learning, again and again, what works for one child does not work for the other.

Meet Iggy, my almost seven year old who learned how to read much the same way he learned how to breathe. Reading is his thing. He explains that he just "knows how" to do it.

His current daytime reading obsession revolves around:

(You'll have to tip your head to the left...darn pesky picture....)

Iggy: Mom...its a thick book. I can read thick books now, you know. So let's find the thick ones. They last longer.

Yes, dear. ;)

His nighttime reading selection is a bit more varied:

MamaTea: You really need all these books in bed with you?
Iggy: Yup.
MamaTea: Where exactly does your body fit in the bed?
Iggy. There is plenty of room.
Iggy loves to read. End of discussion.

Now meet almost six year old Ooky, who wants to read. Oh gosh, how he just wants to know what that word says!!! Not in the sense that he wants to sit down and read story books, but more in the sense that he wants to figure out the back of cereal boxes and instructions on the Wii games and other sorts of real life things. But he's all caught up in short vowels and long vowels and what do these letters make and this doesn't make any sense, I thought you said once that "oo" makes the sound in moo...so then why doesn't blood sound like mood?

Yeah. Exactly. Don't ask me...

I really don't want frustration to bash down the desire to read what Lego Indiana Jones just said on the Wii game. So we have to figure out how to explain it. And then we have to tweak it. And then we have to tweak it again.

Thank God for other homeschoolers. The ones you can sit down with and say "Ok, Long vowels. Really struggling. Any ideas?"

That's how we come up with things like:

You know how silent e makes the vowel "say its name"? I've politely pointed this out at least 13 or 25 or 48 times to the Ookster. But it wasn't clicking. So a fellow homeschooler (who remains blogless) suggested the Ookster give those long vowels a face. You know, because the silent e makes the vowel say its name. Therefore, in a silent e word, the vowel is like a person...with a name.

Aha.

He totally got it. Totally. And now spends a lot of time talking about that cute little i guy I drew in the silent e word.

Another difference in the boys is while Oggy would like to sit and read a book, Ooky doesn't want to sit and do anything. So we've devised a game where we flop a bunch of words out around the room, and as long as Ooky can figure out the what the word says, he can jump (or otherwise move insanely) to the word. Active is good for him. And anytime Mom is encouraging jumping on the couch or down the stairs...its a good day. :)

With Iggy, I see the "if its quiet, I can concentrate" thought process.
With Ooky, I'm pretty sure its the exact opposite. The louder and crazier and active it is, the better his brain works.
Maybe I could borrow a little of that sometime? I'd be a far more sane Mom-Teacher.

Um...yep, I planned it that way

2010-01-09T09:50:00.007-06:00

Maybe it was just a strange coincidence, but our current dive into the study of Ancient Egypt came exactly 24 hours after the boys became obsessed with a certain Indiana Jones Lego Wii game.

I'd been considering a trip through Ancient Egypt for quite some time. I mean, nothing says boyish fun like removing organs from dead pharaohs or the how'd they do it mystery of building the pyramids. So I'd picked up some books along the way and was writing it into our plan of fun.

About the same time, a sweet Ooky, with his own saved up money, bought an Indiana Jones Lego Wii game. Why? Not because he knew anything about Indiana Jones. Nope, it was for the sheer delight of kickin' some brick in another Lego Wii game.

Note: If you're not a fan of Indiana Jones, you're not seeing how this is related. Just wait.

When we sat down for some schoolish delight the beginning of January and I brought them into the world of Ancient Egypt, they went wacky silly crazy and I thought "Wow...what a love of learning these kids have." That was, of course, until I heard shouts of Mom!! That's where Indiana Jones takes place. Egypt!! That's where the game is! We play the game in Egypt! That's what he's exploring!! This will be so awesome!! Thank you, Mom!

Now you might think that's kinda funny, but the really funny part is that MamaTea, who was two years old when the original Indiana Jones movie came out, and who has not played Indiana Jones Lego Wii...said "Egypt? No...I think you're mistaken."

Yeah. Laugh your pants off, people. Because after I was told to watch the boys play the Wii game and had to sit down and watch the original Indiana Jones movie...well, lookee there. Egypt.

So now the boys think I planned this all out. You know, the all of a sudden obsession with Indiana Jones...and Mom all of a sudden breaking out the cool Ancient Egypt stuff.

Maybe I'll just let them think that they are right.... ;)

Here's just a (very) few of the things we've been working on. More to come....

Playing a game of Egyptian checkers

Carving a scarab beetle out of soap

Iggy's finished product

Iggy and Ooky's timelines of their life
(to help understand the timelines we look at for our studies of Ancients)

A New Year of...disapproval?

2010-01-03T07:32:00.004-06:00

When you are a Mom-Teacher, and you sit down to reflect over the past year, you hope to remember happy, peaceful, "I'm so glad they picked up on that" moments spent with your offspring students.

You are sometimes surprised, however, to get bolted in the face with the very recent memory titled The Moment my Almost Six Year Old Turned Into The Parent, And I (the one who is supposed to be the Mom) Felt Like A Disobedient Teenager.

It went something like this:

MamaTea: Ooky, I'll be gone tomorrow for a little while.
Ooky: Where are you going?
MamaTea: Well, tomorrow is the last day of the year and I have to use up my gift certificate for my tattoo before it expires.
Ooky: Tattoo? Like a temporary one?
MamaTea: No, like a real one. My first real one.

At this point, Ooky screws up his face into the most horrific expression of disapproval I have ever seen on anyone's face this side of 80.

Ooky: You are not getting a tattoo, Mom.
MamaTea: Um, actually I am.
Ooky: But Mom. They use needles. Real needles, Mom.
MamaTea: Yes, Ooky. That's how the ink gets into your skin.
Ooky: But you're probably going to bleed to death. And then you're going to die.

I should point out here that you're going to bleed to death was not stated with weepy eyes or given in an I'm so scared for my Mama quivery voice. It was just said very matter of factly. You're going to bleed to death. And then you're going to die.

Well, obviously.

MamaTea: Do you really think I would willingly go into a tattoo shop if I thought I was going to bleed to death and then I was going to die?
Ooky: Well, no. Probably not. But you will bleed. A lot.
MamaTea: I really don't think so.

The longer the conversation continued, it became very interesting to me how you could so easily change his comments to "parent" and mine to "rebel teenager".

Ooky: Well, I really don't think its a good idea.
MamaTea: Thanks for your opinion. I bet you'll think its cool when I come home and you see it.
Ooky: Mom? I don't want to see it. I don't even want to look at you after you get a tattoo.

Ouch.
Seriously, it was like staring into the glaring eyes of a parent with their arms forcefully crossed, telling me, "No can do! Absoutely not! I am soooooo not letting you do this. I totally disapprove..."

So what did I do?
Like the disobedient teenager....I got the tattoo. **

I couldn't take the bandage off until the next morning. When I arrived home, Ooky ws caught up in Wii and New Years Eve excitement to care much about my arrival home. But the next morning, when he had somewhat regained his senses, he asked (still very serious and flat and disapproving) "So. What does the tattoo look like?"

I showed him.
"Hmmm." he said.
And after a long pause, he continued, "It's kind of pretty. I guess."
And then he walked away.

So does that mean we made up?
I guess.
Even though my last memory of 2009 will be a severe scolding from an almost six year old for something I chose to do, I will still consider the event a success because a) it reminds me that I have a child who will stick up for what he thinks, even if it means he doesn't agree with his Mama...and b) it will be hilarious to remind him of this in ten years when he's asking his Mom or Dad to sign for him at the tattoo shop.

:)

** Tattoo symbolizes: green and blue are colors of nature, celtic knot signifies the interconnectedness of everything, star symbolizes the story ot the starfish (the man who walks along the beach throwing all the starfish back because "it matters to that one".)

big

2009-12-28T17:11:00.009-06:00

Its hard to peg how old kids are in Homeschool Land. In fact, homeschooling and age together in the same sentence are kinda tough. You can't look at what someone is learning and assume they are a certain age, because in Homeschool Land, kids are all over the board. In Homeschool Land, the kids mix up with other kids of all kinds of ages. You can't walk into a room of homeschoolers and say "This is clearly a room of 7 year olds."

So I've got two wee homeschooled babes. Or...well, not so wee. Hubster is 6 ft 5, so...let's be honest... my wee babes have never really been quite wee. In any event, sometimes its hard for passerbys to figure out their age.

Sometimes MamaTea has a hard time figuring out their ages. I know from their birth certificates they are almost 6 and almost 7. Some days (the whiny crabby dramatic ones) it feels like they are almost 2 and 3.

But lately, there are frightening glimpses of having almost 12 and 13 year olds. Case in point:

These are my winter boots. Size 7 Columbia's I inherited from a foreclosed house I helped to clean out. They are just about brand new.

Yup, my boots.

But I don't wear them. Nope, that honor goes to my son. Darling Iggy, who will be 7 in March, who stands 4 ft 3 inches tall, has claimed these as his boots. Because they fit him.

He's gettin' bigger.
Sigh.
He wanted boxers for Christmas. No more tighty-whiteys for me, Mom.
He reads at night in the top bunk, with a flashlight clutched in his hands. He tells me in the morning, "Mom...I finished that book last night. It was pretty good. Can you find me another one?"
He needs to shower. Like, right now. Not like a few months ago, when he showered because he was muddy from playing outside all day. He needs to shower now because he has the faint (but distinct) odor of Boy. I mean, Guy.
He's almost 7.
S-e-v-e-n.
Is this normal?

Oh. My.
Life is a crazy thing.
When did everyone get so big?

warm fuzzies about wild boys

2009-12-22T22:24:00.010-06:00

Every so often, when things are wild around here, I get to wondering how exactly the boys got to be the way they are. As in, what moment did their life turn utterly spastic? What event in their short lives caused their brains to short circuit and changed them from lovely, calm, well behaved boys into crazy-insane, more than slightly off, deranged, messy, risky little men?

And then I remember...they've always been crazy

Ooky, 22 months old, Feb 2006

insane

(Iggy, almost 3 years old, February 2006)

more than slightly off

(Iggy, almost 3 years old, February 2006

wearing MamaTea's zip up heel boots)

deranged

(Ooky, 22 months old, February 2006)

messy

(Iggy, 14 months old, May 2004)

risky

(Ooky, not sure of age or date)

little men.

(Ooky, 22 months and Iggy almost 3 years old - Feb 2006)

And now that I think about it,
I wouldn't change a thing.

Bring it on. :)

so, instead....

2009-12-21T11:04:00.003-06:00

We had many peaceful, magical plans for learning about and celebrating Winter Solstice today.

Life, however, had its own plans.

Although our piratey sword carrying boys tried their darndest to defend the house from illness, sickness somehow weaseled its way in. So we now sit in the middle of sneezes, coughs, dizzy stumbles, sore throats, not hungry, pleeeeeeease sit by me Mama, but I don't waaaaaaana throw uuuuuuup, toss and turn and can't sleep, freezing, sweating, temperature taking, lay on the couch and watch old cartoons. And I mean OLD cartoons. (They have magical healing power, I am told.)

We could still make borax snowflakes stationed on the couch.

I could hang out our ice ornaments in trees specified by Iggy and Ooky while they lay on couches with eyes barely open.

I could read to them from Winter Sosltice by Ellen Jackson (a really good book).

We could still discuss weatherlore and imagine how these sayings came to be.

We could still fasten our wishes and hopes for the next year to a lovely log and add it to the fire already in the woodstove instead of building a giant bonfire in the backyard.

Or...

I could keep all these treasures in my back pocket for another day.

We could just rest.
And snuggle.
It might be peaceful.
And magical.
So then, I guess it all works out in the end. ;)

Happy Solstice. Enjoy.

not your average christmas party

2009-12-20T21:35:00.007-06:00

The invitation was set in front of me.

Trying my best job to decipher a five year old's invented/phonetic spelling, I gathered this much:

Elizabeth Swann, You are invited to a party for pirates. There will be legos, guitars, and doings.

Me: Elizabeth Swann?
Ooky: That's who you are from Pirates of the Caribbean. Remember? I'm Will Turner.
Me: So we're having a party?
Ooky: Yes. Tonight after supper.
Me: And there will be legos, guitars...and doings?
Ooky: Yes, Elizabeth. That is another way to say stuff going on.

You've gotta love him.

Ooky: Don't forget you have to wear a black shirt. And you have to talk in your best Elizabeth Swann voice.

That means thick British accent, I think.

Come to find out, the entire household (except for Hubster, who was leaving for work) was invited.

Grandma, who apparently plays the character of Calypso, even got a costume made for her.

When I asked how we would know the party was starting, Ooky explained: "You will know it is time for the party to start...because it will start."

And there you have it.

So we all hurried into the appropriate attire, were presented with wooden or plastic or Construx or Lego made weapons, and posed for the very important picture.

Front Row (L to R): Iggy as Captain Jack, Ooky as Will Turner.
Back row (L to R): Grandma as Calypso, Grandpa as Barbossa, and Me as Elizabeth Swann.

It was a wild party. A swashbuckling good time. And the invitations were correct. There was, in fact, lego pirate ship building:

a pirate playing his guitar:

and lots of other "doings":

It was wildly unlike any other near-Christmastime party I've ever attended.
I don't know that any other near-Christmastime party I've ever attended has inspired so many smiles to brighten my face.
Christmastime parties should be like that.
Thank goodness for little piratey boys.
:)

shh...enjoy the loud

2009-12-19T22:10:00.007-06:00

Life with boys is loud. Out of control in a sort of smack-fest, you're the worst brother ever, I hate you, rubber band gun fight, Christmas crazies, incessantly kicking the bottom of the bunk kind of way.

That's why it doesn't surprise me when in pictures, certain shots might look like they are trying to tear off each others ears.

Life here is insane. Crazy. Did I mention loud? Loud, like I'm pretty sure if a tornado ever goes through, the roaring tell-tale train sound from the wind will just be static underneath the decibels at which our house operates within.

I won't lie - sometimes I get crabby.I have been known to summon Freak Out Monster Mama...who is not unlike the Kraken (sea monster), who will swallow you up whole and drag you under the sea if provoked. Trust me, its not pretty. It generally starts with a look like this:

and heads south. Really fast.

I hate those days. Days where Thing 1 and Thing 2 band together as their own monstrous force to do what I refer to as "GUMS and PHO" (or Get Under Mom's Skin and Piss Her Off.)

I hate those days. I hate how one thing sets the rest of the day off kilter. I hate how it skews my view of everything. I hate what it does to me.
December has had a lot of those days.
I'm all for honesty, so I want you all to know that last week I was in fact laying in my bed all crabby and Krakenish, fresh out of ideas on how to deal, and even a little bit I'm-so-frustrated-I-think-I'm-gonna-spit-tears over the insanity, chaos, and random yuck of it all.

I'm sure no one reading this blog has ever had a day like that. ;)

Nevertheless...Perspective, that darling, she eventually comes. And through visits with friends in real life, and reading writings of friends in blog land here and here...I can get up off the bed and put the Evil Krakenish Mama away.

Yes, we need boundaries.
Yes, some form of structure is a decent thing.
Yes, mutual respect is necessary to co-exist.

But aside from that...I am being way too serious for Christmas.
Perhaps even for most days.
It's just Life, right?
I don't want to believe we are here to sulk, be crabby, dwell on The Crappier Side of Life, keep tabs on what's wrong, or beat ourselves up for not being able to fix something out of our control.
We are here to learn and explore and taste and imagine and invent and wrap ourselves up in the good things around us and explode into silvery bits of Light.

Shh...let it be.
And enjoy the noise.

** Check out this super hilarious (and sweet) post about raising boys. If you're the only female in a family of all boys/men...you will understand.

how the spelling thing made me smile

2009-12-18T14:48:00.005-06:00

Some days in December, there is a very likely chance I will spontaneously morph into Freak-Out Monster Mama. It might be due to the energizer bunny on cocaine type of energy blasting through the house.

Other days, however, it is easy to laugh and smile. I've yet to pinpoint what exactly the difference is, but thankfully...today was one of those days.

Working on spelling today, my darling Iggy and Ooky had me belly laughing.

Ooky is asked to spell "star".
Ooky: Mom...can I just sign the word star to you? Because I know how to do it in sign language, but I'm not exactly sure how to spell it.

Iggy is asked to spell "Santa".
Iggy: Mom. Here. I spelled Saint Nick (s-a-n-t-n-i-c-k)instead of Santa. You know, that's his other name.
Me: But we are working on spelling Santa, darling child.
Iggy: Does it really matter? I mean, he goes by lots of different names. Can't I just spell one of his names?

Ooky is asked to spell "tree".
Ooky: Tree? So I need to start with a letter "c"...
Me: Um...tree most definitely doesn't start with a c, darling.
Ooky: What are you talking about? You don't even know how to spell, Mom. Sound it out. Ch....r...eee.

I casually point out to Iggy that his "s"'s are backwards in what he has just written.
Iggy: It doesn't matter. Because you know that its an "s", right?
Me: So it doesn't matter if the "s" is backwards?
Iggy: Nope.
Me: Ok, Not Lock.
Iggy: Not Lock?
Me: Yeah, that's your name backwards. C-o-l-t-o-n backwards is n-o-t-l-o-c. Not Lock.
(I think he laughed so hard he almost peed his pants.)

Ooky is asked to spell "bell".
Ooky: This is one of those words that ends with more than one L, right?
Me: Yup.
Ooky: Because its got a really long LLLLLL sound, right?
Me: Yup, I guess.
Ooky answers with:

I feel like I live in the middle of a comedy show. The best days are the ones where I remember to laugh. ;)

Yup, its busy

2009-12-18T00:04:00.013-06:00

It's a busy time of year with so many things to do.
Like what, you ask?

It is delightful to make stars.

Can you believe it was our first year to make
cinnamon applesauce ornaments?

It is a very important job to hang them on the tree.

Iggy and Ooky had their first experience with a Twinkie while we made miniature french yule log cakes.

(Not difficult. Frost a Twinkie with chocolate frosting, drag a fork through the frosted sides to make it look like bark, sprinkle with powdered sugar for snow effect. Taken from the book Merry Christmas Everywhere that we are currently having a slammin' good time with...)

It's a messy and lovely project. And if you like Twinkies, I suppose it might be tasty, too. ;)

We made a batch of our bestest hot chocolate ever to share with friends.

Also not difficult. Add these ingredients to an empty ice cream bucket: 2 lb can of Nestles Quik, 7 oz jar Creamora creamer, 2 cups sifted powdered sugar, and 10 cups dry milk powder. Mix it up! Add 1/3 cup to mug of hot water. Enjoy.)

We also survived another pirate invasion. Thank goodness we didn't have to stop talking about pirates just because the unit study was done!

We hope you are pleasantly busy with holiday goodness at your house as well. And may you be equally as lucky in any pre-Christmas encounters with pirates. ;)

frozen, but yummy

2009-12-15T06:20:00.007-06:00

Windchills here in Minnesota are approaching normal winter gorgeousness: -25 to -30.

Love it. ;)

And like many families, we are doing a countdown-to-Christmas chain here. Inside each loop, I have added a little note that tells of something lovely about the day…a fun project, something groovy to create, a special place we are going, friends who might be coming to visit…

A couple days ago, when it was particularly frozen outside, my little note mentioned “frozen puppy chow”.

Some (or all) of you may be familiar with the recipe for Puppy Chow. (Or Muddy Buddies, as the actual Chex recipe is called.) But we do things a little different with puppy chow/muddy buddies here.

We eat them frozen.

Yeah. Like from the freezer.

Which only makes sense to someone from Minnesota. You know, eating something that cold when it is...this cold...outside.

I don’t know how it started. Someone at one time decided they’d be goofy and stick the puppy chow in the freezer (maybe in an effort to hide/stash it and keep everyone else from eating it) and discovered that puppy chow which is frozen is quite tasty.

I love accidental discoveries, don't you?

Anyhow, puppy chow makin' time had come. The boys did not try to contain their excitement, and got right to work.

Regardless of the fact they are frying brain cells, they can't resist watching (and giving a play by play report of) the butter, chocolate and peanut butter melting together.

What a relief to me to discover that there are still a few instances when Iggy and Ooky can refrain from talking for more than 30 seconds…

Then again, isn't licking the spoon the best part??

By the way, stuffing the puppy chow into the freezer does not make it last any longer. 24 hours after you have made it, you will still be wondering where it all went, and vowing once again to make a double batch for next time…

** When making the freezer version of the recipe, allow the puppy chow to cool completely (like the original recipe states) and then place in freezer.

Pay attention

2009-12-13T20:38:00.002-06:00

As a parent it’s important to have at least a clue about what your kids are into. Or up to.

It’s a good idea to have at least a clue about what they’re watching on tv, listening to on their MP3, or googling on the internet.

It might also be a good idea to know what it is they are doing in the back of the van. Or what they might be playing on their Leapster. Otherwise you might end up in a situation similar to this:

MamaTea was quite proud of herself for having gathered the eclectic mix of “stuff” that would help her to carry out a little ditty on telling time. She thought it might be beneficial for Iggy (6.5) and Ooky (5.5) to know that out in the big wide world, there are clocks with hands…and they can be a bit on the tricky side if your only exposure to time has thus far been digital.

Technology, ain’t it great?

So she drags out the stuff one day, all geared up for the creative excitement to begin. She gives her schpeel and hopes to see a bit of light flickering from behind the eyes of either child in the room. She blabs on for a moment about time and clocks and blah dee blah. Then she waits.

Nothin'. Absolutely nothin' but a blank stare from the Iggster.

What is it? she wonders. Did I not explain it well enough? Should I slow down?

Iggy: I already know this stuff.
MamaTea: No…we haven’t done this stuff yet. We haven't talked about this yet.
Iggy: No, mom. I already know this stuff.
MamaTea: Oh yeah, where did you learn about telling time on clocks with hands if there are no clocks with hands anywhere in this house?
Iggy: (sighs) Its on my Leapster.
MamaTea: (silent with blank stare)
Iggy: On the Jedi Math game. I learned this stuff a long time ago.
(Iggy then demonstrates he can actually tell time on a clock. With hands. Cripes.)
MamaTea: Oh yeah? Oh yeah??? Well then, how many seconds are in a minute?
Iggy: 60.
MamaTea: Minutes in an hour?
Iggy: 60.
MamaTea: Hours in a day?
Iggy: 24.
MamaTea: Days in a week?
Iggy: 7.
MamaTea: Days in a month?
Iggy: Seriously, Mom? Do we have to do this? Ok. It depends on the month.
MamaTea: Months in a year?
Iggy: 12.

Ok. Well. Class dismissed?

That, my friends, is how MamaTea wasted a lot of time preparing a telling time unit, simply because she wasn’t aware of what all was on that Jedi Math game…which Iggy frequently entertains himself with in the van.

And I thought I was such an involved parent. ;)

Life with an Ook

2009-12-12T21:04:00.008-06:00

Today was my Christmas date with Ooky. We got all dolled up fancy and had ourselves a special afternoon, just the two of us.

The thing about an Ook is that he's hilarious. You're around him for longer than 14 seconds...

...and he's working on you. He's trying to get you to laugh.

He generally succeeds.

You can see how simple things like school could be a challenge. Good thing he's so sweet.

I mean, really...who does he get this chaotic insanity from??

One will never know.... :)

Lego Men need Christmas, too

2009-12-10T11:33:00.006-06:00

Through our Early Christmas unit, we've been learning about how the early American settlers celebrated Christmas. And we're learning a lot...today's most interesting tidbits revolved around the dishes that were sometimes served: boiled buffalo hunp, dried moose nose, smoked buffalo tongue, and beavertail.

I guess that's called using what you have. ;)

But what's always most amazing to the boys are the many (many) things the early settlers did not have that we take for granted today.

Like, for instance, lego men.

Life is so incomplete here without Lego Men, according to Iggy and Ooky. And I suppose that's to be expected. What was not expected, however, was MamaTea figuring out a way to deck the halls in Lego Land.

(I can't take the credit for this. The credit goes to some late night/early morning blog wandering here.)

I think its a nice eclectic segway...don't you? Pioneer Christmas to...Lego Man Holiday?

"Don't look now, men...butI think there is a giant snowman sneaking towards us...coming through the forest..." (Iggy)

"Is it time to open presents yet?" (Ooky)

"Stop distracting me! I'm trying to decorate this tree with joint poppers!" (Iggy)

"Wow. You guys are tall. And freaky." (Ooky)

Ah, the fun of Lego Men. As long as the boys don't try to feed them boiled buffalo hump, I think we're ok. ;)

Cold but uncaged

2009-12-09T16:03:00.014-06:00

We live in Minnesota, which means a) it snows and b) it gets cold.

Last night we had our first decent snow. Not nearly what they had predicted (6-10 inches at one point), but enough to whiten the ground a bit.

Now, don't get me wrong. I do love the outdoors. Love the outdoors.

But I hate being cold. Really hate being cold. So it takes a bit of convincing to get my warmish self outside into a blowing snow, below zero with windchill kind of day. You know, like today.

But there is one thing that always convinces me: children who act like caged animals.

Now while its cute to think that two high strung boys and yourself can relax, staying warm and dry inside the house, snuggled in together under a quilt reading storybooks and sipping hot chocolate...the truth is, that hardly works.

I was blessed with two boys who go until they crash, never giving into defeat. They don't know the meaning of slow down. They run without stopping to rest, they talk without stopping to breathe. They need to move. A lot. Snowy cold weather does not mean snuggling to Iggy and Ooky. It means sledding and wrestling in the snow and snowball fights and run run run turn your cheeks red and no we don't want to go inside. That's just the facts of how it is.

But not liking the facts doesn't change the facts.
Sigh.
So we bundle up and go outside.

Smile for the camera, MamaTea. Come on, its not that bad out, is it? ;)

And within a few minutes, the boys are doing what they do best. Attempting to use all that energy. All that excitement and zest and power that I wish I could bottle and sell to every adult I know.

I wish I could bottle and sell their flexibility as well. Iggy plowed himself right under a chair around our campfire ring while whizzing down the hill at a billion miles an hour. He laughed the whole time, even while his crazy mother was saying "Holy crap, Iggy! Are you ok? Wait...let me get my camera!!!"

I'm glad he was laughing. I can tell you, for sure, I would not have been laughing if I would have been stuck in the same position. Under a metal chair. At the bottom of a hill. Notice, his legs are underneath his back??

But I was laughing. Laughing because he was happy, because Ooky was happy, and because I was happy. And warm.

Ooky tried to give himself a Santa beard...

Iggy tried to see how much (very clean white) snow he could fit in his mouth at once...

After an hour or so of playing in the cold, it was time to call it quits. We did have hot chocolate. And a wee bit of a snuggle. You know, for that brief moment Iggy and Ooky weren't moving. But I'll take what I can get. Because its not long before they are up and ready for round two. Or three. Or ten.

Such is life. :)

When magnets are funny...

2009-12-08T06:44:00.011-06:00

We recently started a magnet unit here and it has proven to be quite fun. And funny.

Funny? How can magnets be funny, you ask?

Funny #1: I tripped across the above book from my collection about a week ago. It seemed like it might be an interesting thing to do with the boys during December. (Keeping them busy, trying to ward off the christmas flu.) Hmmm…Magnets…electricity…sounds perfect! But where in the world will I find a bar magnet to do the experiments? I know what a bar magnet is, but what does one cost? Is it hard to find? Is that something they sell at Walmart? If so, what section do I go to? Would I be better off at Menards or Home Depot? How will this fit into my simple farmish life of really trying hard not to go to the store unless we are absolutely in dire need of something?

“Gosh,” I said to Hubster one evening, and explained my whole dilemma. “Do you know where I could find a bar magnet?”

“Gosh,” he said. “ Maybe in the magnetic-electric-science kit we have on top of the entertainment center?”

Yep, seriously. You’d think I don’t stare at that shelf everyday.

Funny #2: After experiencing the embarrassment and later joy of finding a bar magnet, it turned out the bar magnet was totally lame. El cheapo. In fact, so non-functioning that most of our experiments with it went totally wacky or flat out failed. (How can you screw up a magnet?) So after all that we ended up dragging out our canister of Magnetix to do our experiments – which are surprisingly powerful for being so small. Yep, turn to the magnetic toys instead of the actual magnetic scientific kit.

Funny #3: While doing a little ditty with north and south pole ends of a magnet, we let our minds wander. A lot.

See, our book suggested we strap a bar magnet (or Magnetix, in our case) on top of two different Matchbox cars and see if we could get the cars to pull or push each other on the floor. So we did that.

And after we’d exhausted our fun with that, we brought out the next obvious toy choice: Star Wars Lego Men.

Yep. Call it lack of caffeine or not enough sleep or just going with the flow, but we went all out in Star Wars Lego Men Magnet world.

We wanted the Lego Men to be pushed around by the magnets, and quickly figured out we had to have a magnet on both their stomach and their back, otherwise the Lego Men just tipped over. Too much Space Juice, or something.

Then we figured out this really important guy needed really big magnet guns. So we built them.

We staged awesome battles, most of which weren’t easily caught by camera. The boys thought it was hilarious how they could either get the Lego Men to push each other around, stick to each other, or (if we got really fancy with how we attached the magnets) we could get them to kinda whip each other from one side to the other.

Now that's some funny magnet stuff.

In case you’re wondering, at the end of the battle, the Star Wars Lego Men ended up getting sucked into the Magnetix Cave.

One managed to escape, but the other was pinned under falling…magnets.
“Save yourself!” he said. “ Go…save yourself…”

My kids really got into it. They were very dramatic. And funny. And I’m pretty sure they will never forget north and south poles of magnets. :)

A swashbuckling good time

2009-12-07T07:08:00.010-06:00

Pirates invaded my house yesterday.

Argh.

Since Pirates of the Caribbean had (out of the blue) become hugely important and cool at our house, we got ourselves a little piratey unit from Currclick and had some fun. It was mostly a language arts unit with a bit of history thrown in...so MamaTea had to get a few piratey books from the library to supplement Iggy and Ooky's But what about and Do you know if and but I thought what actually happened...all in all, we learned as much about syllables, spelling, and writing as we did about designing Jolly Rogers, making old fashioned treasure maps, lego pirate ships, Blackbeard, being marooned, and of course, pirate weapons.

Its perfectly safe to say they learned something. And were excited. Many dinnertime conversations have turned to something piratey. And for this odd duck of a mama, that was a good thing.

Anyhow, the invasion of actual pirates began because I told them on the last day of pirate our unit we were going to have a little quiz. I also told them I might be convinced to introduce them to a certain piratey game online after the quiz was done.

This is who showed up to school that fateful last day of piracy.

Why if it isn't Captain Jack Sparrow and Will Turner!
(They did this while I was still sleeping. I had nothing to do with it.)

So after Elizabeth Swann (who the boys decided I was) got over the cuteness of her fellow pirates, the boys decided there was something that just didn't look right.

Elizabeth Swann had the answer, and we made some changes. (Aye. The magic of facepaint.)

We had a jolly time. We took our quiz (which went lovely, except for them inheriting their mother's terrible sense of direction: if you are facing north, what direction is right behind you?) and then we played some online piratey fun. They slashed up some undead and battled giant rock crabs. Delightful fun.

Iggy said at the end of our day, with a little bit of a quiver in his voice...

"Mom, now that our pirate unit is over, does that mean we can't talk about pirates anymore?"

Seriously, Iggy. What school do you think you go to?
;)

Yes, I probably live in a cave.

2009-12-05T06:41:00.002-06:00

A fellow homeschooler and I chatted over coffee while our kids played football in the backyard.

“So,” she began. “Do you ever go to Currclick?”

I didn’t know what she was talking about. Never heard of the thing.

Apparently I’m one in a bazillion.

She explained what it was (a great place to get downloadable curriculum for homeschooling) showed me some of the fantabulous things she’d gotten (both knights/armor and magic treehouse lapbook thingies) and, as a bonus, told me how cheap they were (on sale for a couple bucks).

They looked kinda cool.
No, actually they looked really cool.
I was so checking out CurrClick when I got home.

And I did. I found myself looking things up. Creating a wishlist. Looking up more stuff. Doing a little planning in my head. I mean, who knew there were so many absolutely cool things out there?

Oh wait. Any homeschooler currently not walking around with tunnel vision into one certain method of schooling. Yup, y’all would know about the absolutely cool things out there. Right?

Sigh.
Homeschooling is so much easier when you look at the world with eyes actually open and stop operating under assumptions. I think perhaps I will resolve to glue my lashes to my eyebrows in an effort to keep my eyeballs constantly doing their thang.

Then it happened. That darn Black Friday Sale came…right there at CurrClick…
I got out the check card.
I clicked and checked and chose and clicked some more and…

There it was. I was buying curriculum. A study of pirates (almost completed, post coming soon) and a unit on early/pioneer Christmas.
And I’m kinda excited.
Don’t tell anyone, ok?
Shhhhh.

Gratitude

2009-12-04T20:21:00.006-06:00

Gratitude. Its something you generally talk about in November. You know, with Thanksgiving and all.

But me, sometimes I'm a little off. I'm either late or early. Never quite on time.

December 1st I was at a mom-ish type meeting and part of the gathering was to make a Blessing Box - a simple little box to keep track of things you are thankful for.

Grand idea, thought I. And the following day I introduced it to Iggy and Ooky. I set it on an end table with lots of colorful papers and a pencil.

"What's that?" one of them asked.
"A Blessing Box. A Gratitude Box. Whenever you think of something you might be thankful for, write it down on a slip of paper, fold it up, and add it to the box."

They said oh. I didn't think much would happen. Not to say that gratitude isn't high on our list of important things or that we don't talk about it. Because we do. But lets be truthful: Ooky and Iggy are 5 and 6 year old boys. Enough said.

We decided we would look through the box and read the slips of paper on Christmas, to remind us of everything that has happened in the last month that we are thankful for. Everyone is in charge of their own writing (which means there may be serious decoding on MamaTea's part, but its sweet just the same).

I have added a couple things myself. I'm thankful we have a nice warm house with a woodstove that smells so divine. And I'm thankful that we could put up a wall in the basement (long story for another post) because it means we will get more time with Hubster.

Two slips of paper I put in.

This is what the box looks like tonight.

Now that picture is worth a million billion words...don't you think?

Cheers to November

2009-12-03T05:30:00.014-06:00

November was busy.

Very busy indeed.

Some days were rough and tough.

Some days were rather snuggley.

We've been to the cities...

...to see the lights...

We've built castles with giant moats...

for a giant medieval Christmas feast...

It's been a month of constant discovery of learning what works for us.

And what doesn't.

So cheers to November.

May December be as full of adventure and discovery.

a wee bit of daisy smashing (part one)

2009-11-28T21:32:00.005-06:00

Awhile back, the keynote speaker at a homeschooling conference I attended said one of the most important things you can do when homeschooling is have a written down list of goals. And by goals, she did not mean "what I want my kids to academically acquire this year". She was referring to something a little more like how I hope my children and family grow and gain from this experience.

So I attacked the assignment like the dutiful student. I will share with you what I wrote down awhile back as long as we have two agreements.

A) You will remember this was written when I was still furiously fighting for the daisy chain.
B) You won't laugh at me.

MamaTea's Goals For Homeschooling

1. I hope that my family grows to understand that we are free to express ourselves and truly be who we are.

That my friends, is the beauty of life all wrapped up into one little happy smiley dreadlockish phrase...right? Free to express yourself and be who you are. I should tattoo that one right across my forehead.

However. Even though the intention was positive…the reality of it only worked on paper. You see, free to express ourselves was wildly misinterpreted by two youngish boys named Iggy and Ooky. Those two boys weaved themselves through that goal and found it to mean running the length of great grandma's house screaming, because they felt like singing (and they were expressing themselves). Or falling down on the floor and having a two year old fit because I said you've had enough eggnog...and they were angry...and expressing themselves. Another favorite for freedom of expression was freaking out uncontrollably at bedtime because they were uncomfortable with the lack of light. Ah...self expression.

Did I mention that one or both of my children have been referred to (in the absence of their company, of course) as The Negotiator and/or The Manipulator?

Goal numero uno, as lovely and pretty as it was, needed to be rewritten. And so...MamaTea rewrites goal number one as: We value self expression and true-to-self living BUT will also live in a way that grants respect to the boundaries of others.

In simpler terms, darlings, there is a time and place for everything. When its time to be goofy, go at it. But when its time to chill, its probably a good idea that you take it down a notch. Or three. Or a hundred. Or you should probably just stop all together.

Freedom of expression, indeed. Whose crazy idea was that? ;-)

And by the way Manipulator and Negotiator...I know that you know what the time to chill is. If you don't, the intense glare I am shooting you with should be clue enough.

Gee. Sometimes i feel like I'm just a big daisy smasher. Don't you?

the reality of it is...

2009-11-26T22:11:00.009-06:00

What I want to do:
I want to wake up and start "school" whenever everyone is ready. Whenever that ends up being. You know, no big hairy deal. School in our jammies? Costumes? Bathing suits? Sure. Whatever. Show up when you're ready. Sometime today.

Actually, what I’d really like to do is just exist and experience life and take whatever learning we get from it as The Truth. I'd like to open the front door for my kids every morning and say “Run free, little children of the wind. Run free, explore and learn!” and be amazed at the tidbits of truth they find around every corner.

I would love to spend all day happy and free, working as much on my own self and what I want to learn as my children are happily exploring their world in whatever way they see fit.

I've read people's blogs and websites and books about this great and happy and free life. And I wanted it completely and totally for myself.

However.
The reality of it is...

It's not working.

And the deeper reality of that is...

It doesn't necessarily matter what I want in this educational choice called homeschooling. What matters is that it is working for my kids. You know, the kids who were the whole reason we chose homeschooling in the first place?

The reality is...

The happy daisy chain freedom that I've sucked out of blogs/websites/books/people is great for who it works for, but I've come to realize there are actually children who cannot function in happy daisy chain freedom. And I'm not meaning any disrespect with "happy daisy chain freedom" because I would very much like to have that. Its just not where we are. And I think its ok.

The reality is...

I have Iggy. And Ooky. And when plopping them in the middle of happy daisy chain freedom...it just plain isn’t working. I tried to ignore it, and then I tried to fight it. (Really hard.)But not liking the facts doesn’t change the facts. Right now, in this season of life, my kids need more structure and guidance than that. And my priority needs to be what works for them, not what sounds like a dreamy happy parenting theory to their mom.

In this season of life, my kids knowing that school is planned out and will last from 9 am to noon is security. In this season of life, my kids knowing that bedtime is 9 pm and that before that we always take baths, read from a chapter book, and brush our teeth is a good thing. In this season of life, it is important that my kids know when-you-do-this, this-is-going-to-happen (whether that thing be a good or bad thing). In this season of life, my kids knowing that they have some choices but also a lot of responsibilities is a good thing.

I have kids (like many people)who will, when given an inch, take a trip around the globe. Twice. In happy daisy chain world, those kids take over the house.

I have kids who, when not given enough boundaries, resort to freak out panic attacks and all sorts of insane "have you ever thought about taking him to a counselor" types of behavior. In happy daisy chain world, those kids take over the house.

The reality of it is...

I'm frustrated. Because after reading blogs/websites/people, I was left to feel if a more loose and free way of education wasn't working for me, there must be something I was doing wrong. In other words, I'd gone and screwed up "free".

But the reality of it is...

The only right way to homeschool is the way that works for you. And that's all that matters. There are so many options out there your head might just explode. And nothing works for every kid or every family. And nothing works forever. You find center, and then it moves. You move with it. Life goes on.

So if right now, in this season, it works for me to plan out lessons and research and "do school" in a way using methods I hadn't quite planned on...if its working, why should I worry? Why should I feel guilt? Why should I feel like I have to explain myself?

The freedom we are given in choosing to homeschool does not necessarily translate for every family to mean happy daisy chain freedom.

The reality of it is...

the freedom we are given is the freedom to do whatever works for us.

I'm working on somethin'

2009-11-12T07:21:00.013-06:00

I am in the process of working on a kinda sorta series for this blog...but because of real life things (one spelled I-G-G-Y and the other spelled O-O-K-Y), its taking much longer than I had planned. But that's ok...such is life. For now, I'll leave you with pictures of that life and what we've been up to. Keep your eye open for the series to come soon...

"Mom, if we lay under the birdfeeder, I bet we can get the birds to land on us..."

Gotta love an autumn day.

Iggy playing "football" with Nelly

Ooky and Grandma getting ready for the Packers/Vikings game

A little Halloween fun

Dad-Son time caught at just the right moment

Special Halloween treats Ooky made (Mummy Cups)

Never a dull moment, I tell ya. :)

Grabbing the Bull

2009-10-27T07:03:00.002-05:00

Have you ever been in one of those places in life where you aren't sure if you're in the middle of a phase, a transition...or a really sticky spot where you need to grab the bull by the horns and twist him around until he's headed in a different direction?

Yup, I'm there.

Life seems so very scattered and random and directionless lately. In between the screaming and the fits and the drama, there's the attitude and the kicking-the-crap-out-of-each-other and major anxiety and I-can't-sleep-take-me-to-the-doctor.

Life with children is beautiful, they say. And it is. There are just certain parts that never make it into the painting. Like when the Mom is really frustrated and can't focus long enough to string two thoughts together. And the kids overtake the day like this insane cosmic force that plows through the house and destroys everything in its path. And Mom just wants it quiet in her head so she can figure things out, but its never quiet.

Some people come to homeschooling because they don't like the rigidity of public school. They don't like the boundaries. They don't like being told what to teach their kids when. And so on and so forth.

And other people come to homeschooling and realize that somehow the complete and total freedom is somehow suffocating in its own way and that when the boundaries are taken away, you can get mixed up in anything from overkill to absolutely nothing, neither of which are any good at all.

Hubster reminded me last night that the entire point of homeschooling is that a family can make it work for their own situation. If something isn't working, the freedom is that you can change that "something" until it does work. Don't worry about what the label is for what you're doing educationally. Just do what works. Whatever it is.

And so today, for me, is about grabbing the bull. Figuring out where we lost it...whatever it is...and finding out where to pick it up again so we can move forward. Schoolishness, emotionalness, behavioral junkiness...whatever it means for us.

Because, after all, that's what homeschooling was supposed to be about.
Us.

Animal Rescue

2009-10-17T09:14:00.009-05:00

In between harvesting, canning, schooling, co-oping, building, baking, exploring, and just generally living life...we always end up involved in saving a few animals.

(And yes, we share a house with 5 dogs and 11 cats...and a clawed frog...and a bunny...but this post isn't about those animals. Or any other such domesticated four legged counterparts that may end up on our doorstep.)

We save a lot of birds. This little guy hit the window and we held him until he flew away.

This little guy was pounced upon by one of the aforementioned cats, and we saved him, too.

He won himself a spot in our Boot Hut, a birdhouse made by and bought from an Amish woman (at her roadside stand).

But it seems that lately, our most requested animal rescue story is from something that happened a couple weeks ago. Enjoy!

Imagine this: you're driving down the road, returning home from the dairy (weekly raw milk pick up) when you spy something on the road. A small something. A slithery something.

A salamander.

Now normal sane people would have passed it by. But not MamaTea! Not the homeschoolin' mama who just put up a poster on the wall about how to tell the difference between a Spotted salamander and a Tiger salamander! She spins the car around and picks the little darlin' up, so as to save him from the inevitable squish beneath a set of careless tires.

Aw, he's so cute!
Where do I put him?

I'm about a half mile from home, and the little guy is stunned so I figure I can just hold him.

Really, I was just a half mile from home.

Of course, this didn't work out so well. Because as soon as he hit the warmth of the car, he "woke up". I didn't figure driving with a slithery something or other climbing all over you (even for a half mile) was going to work. So I chose to do something that ultimately presented me with quite an issue.

I set him down in the passenger seat.

Really, it was only a half mile home. What could happen?

I'll tell you what can happen. In the length of a half mile, you can flat out lose the salamander. Because he's fast. And he hops off the passenger seat onto the floor, behind the mat on the floor, and up into...wherever it was he went. Who knew there were holes back there?

Great. I've lost him. In the heating system. The van is going to reek of fried fermented salamander.

I pull into the driveway, hoping that for once my husband isn't waiting at the door to help me unload the dairy delivery. I park and start tearing apart the inside of the van. Come on, little slithery friend. Come out, come out wherever you are...

Cripes. I don't know where he is. And the fact I'm clawing at the inside panels of the van certainly looks suspcicious.

A couple hours goes by and the slitherly darling still hasn't appeared. I end up confessing to Hubster that there is a salamander lost. Somewhere. In the van. You know, one of those Honey? So...I was wondering. What would happen, if say, I kind of set a live slithering animal on the seat of the van...and he kinda sorta...kinda...got away from me?

He sighs. Heavily.
(I love him.)

I start praying that perhaps the salamander crept out without me noticing and has happily slithered away to some wet patch of leaves in the woods. Because, as Hubster points out, the smell of fried fermented salamander just doesn't go away.

**

Later that day, we are packing to house-sit for my sister in law for a few days. We open the back door of the van to plop everything inside...and there he is! Crawling around on the floor of the back of the van!

Like he was politely knocking to get out.
I think he even smiled and waved.

Is this your salamander? asks Husbter.

Why yes, it most certainly is.
Sigh.

Life could be so normal...
thank God it isn't.

we make it work

2009-10-10T21:44:00.008-05:00

Question: What happens on October 3rd, 2009 in Minnesota?
Answer. Well, many things I'm sure. But for the sake of this blog post, October 3rd is the opening of duck hunting. And also, oddly enough, the day MamaTea's family decided to attend the Minnesota Renaissance Festival.

Well, some of us.

Hubster was definitely hunting. Besides the fact that hunting is his thing...the Ren Fest is definitely NOT his thing. He's just not much for being heckled by strangers. Perhaps it has something to do with being a cop.

Oh well, we make it work.

My mother, fully costumed in purple, attended with me. My father, like, my husband, was sticking with hunting.

But that's ok. They made it work.

My two sweet darlings, Iggy and Ooky were also costumed and ready to go, our costumes compliments of RuralMama and her billion totes of Ren Fest garb...but somehow, Iggy ended up that morning in something not very renaissancy...

Gosh...it almost looked like he was going...(gasp)...hunting???

We made it work.

We made it work, it all worked out. Iggy had a fantastic time with the big guys and their duck hunting day. Ooky had an equally fatabulous time protecting his mom and grandma with his cardboard sword.

MamaTea even got to mess around with a real sword.

It was neat to see Ooky do his own thing. He had a great time being heckled. He lives for drama, and playing the part of a Ren Fest boy was right up his alley. He talked about the great time he had into the wee hours of the night.

It was also cool to hear about Iggy doing his own thing. The day of hunting was totally him, and he got some important time with his dad and grandpa. There were many entertaining tidbits that were shared with me by Hubster and my Dad long after the two kids were in bed. Somehow, Iggy just seemed a wee bit older after that hunting trip.

The day went really nothing like planned.
But it was perfect, nonetheless.
Funny how that happens, ain't it?

the new "popcorn party"

2009-09-22T07:12:00.007-05:00

Back when I was in school and a class did well on a test, we’d be rewarded with an extra recess or perhaps a popcorn party.

Times have changed.
So has “the school”.

Case in point: Our recent “unit” on Alabama.

The US is a fascinating place, and there are so many questions about that gi-normous map we have on the wall. We thought this year we’d do an exploration of the US, and since we have that Alphabetical States and Capitals cd in the car (...the one that goes on and on and I try to drown it out with the many babbling voices in my head, but still I can hear the kids say “Play it again! Play it again!"...), I figure why not start with good ol’ Alabama.

So we dove into Alabama for awhile. Learned things like the average snowfalls and when the hunting seasons open and close and when Alabama entered the union and what the capital is. We talked about the Civil War and the north and south. We talked about Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr. We talked about a statue to a boll weevil and a cemetery for coon dogs and George Washington Carver and peanuts. We talked about the mail route delivered by way of water and the first 911 call and so many other things. And of course, we cranked Sweet Home Alabama (the ORIGINAL one) quite a few times.

So much information. Did they remember any of it?We decided to have a chat about Alabama with each of the boys (separately) to see if they’d picked up any of the information we’d traipsed across over the past couple weeks.

And guess what? They had.

We figured it was as close to a test as we’re ever going to get at this point, and decided a unit well done deserved something rewarding and creative. For all people involved.

That is why, my dear blogosphere friends, we decided to go hunting in Alabama.

(Ok, not really hunting in Alabama. But close enough for a really frugal family of four. And this will be far more entertaining if you imagine me with a southern accent.)

So here’s how ya do it. Hubster prints some targets off the internet and staples them to pieces of cardboard. But these aren't just targets of any animals, they are only of animals you would hunt in Alabama. Hubster goes out into the backwoods and sets them up in different places. You then go out as a family, one child with a BB gun, and look for Alabama Animals. When the young'in sees one, they get three shots per target, and then they move on.

Don't shoot the ones that aren't from Alabama, though, or you lose points!!

When you've found all five Alabama animals, take your targets down, and go sit on the bridge so Hubster can reset new targets. Then the other young'in has a go at it.

When everyone has done their Virtual Alabama Hunting, we figure out what targets you got a clean shot at, and you claim those as your prize.

This, my friends, is the stuff memories are made of.
(You can stop imagining me with a southern accent, now.)

first day

2009-09-21T16:40:00.004-05:00

Aw.
Look at us.
It's the first day of co-op. In the morning. Before we left.

What you probably can't tell in the picture is that Iggy still wasn't quite sure he was on board with the whole co-op thing. In fact, a few days earlier, after leaving co-op "orientation", he flat out told me "I'll be doing something else on Monday, because I am NOT going to co-op".

What you can't tell from that picture is I didn't sleep much the night before. Between trying to remember what I was supposed to bringing to co-op, finishing up last minute things on the poetry class I was teaching, wondering what my first hour wildlife biology class kids would be, and crossing my fingers really tightly that Iggy wouldn't hide in the corner somewhere to rock himself right into his happy place...

Well, and then there was the fact that I was just a wee bit excited.

Excited to teach 9 year olds about wildlife biology. Because I love wildlife. I love biology. And I don't have 9 year olds.
Excited to dip candles like they did in medieval times, because really...its pretty cool.
Excited to teach the upper grade kids about writing poetry. Because I like to write. Words are like candy. And hearing what older kids have to say about life is pretty dang inspiring.

But also excited that the boys were going to be exploring life separately. Homeschooled life together for two boys a year apart in age, lovely as it is in some areas, is downright difficult in others. (And yes, I know. Siblings always relate to each other in especially lovely ways. They are wired to drive each other nuts. But for whatever reason, those relational specialities have gotten out of control at our house. Blown right past annoying and arrived, full throttle, at absolutely wrong.

Time apart is good. For everyone involved. Time apart equals growth for two boys...and a little breathing room for their mother.

So yes, I was excited for co-op to start.

So it started.
It was great.
Actually, it totally kicked ass.

The co-op earned itself two goofy grins and giant thumbs up from Iggy and Ooky, with Iggy's additional compliment of "Mom, is there anyway we can make the week go faster so next Monday can be here right now?"

Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a winner!

if you were a school picture...

2009-09-14T07:12:00.007-05:00

We don't generally take "school pictures". You know, that single kid, posed, nice clothes kinda thing. We're always snapping so many other random pictures of the kids, who has the time to actually stage a picture?

But...

My grandparents 50th wedding anniversary open house is coming up this weekend, and it was requested (for a little display she is making) that I submit a "school type picture" of each of my sweetie pies for her to put out on the table.

I thought great. This will be like pulling teeth. Kids...great grandma wants a picture of you for....wait! where did you go?...

But actually, they took right to it. Ooky pulled out a "fancy outfit" from the closet (size 12, not size 5) and said he was going to take pictures like he was from a magazine. Here is what we got:

Iggy picked out his own very mismatched, free spirited outfit, and wouldn't sit still for long. He was sure that every time I pointed the camera at him, he was supposed make monster faces...or scared faces...or I'm dying faces...or....

But we did get this shot, which I thought was pretty handsome.

or this one, zoomed in a bit...

Which I thought was pretty good, since the last picture I had snapped of him, the night before, was this:

How about that one for grandma's display? ;)

A gift for "back to school"

2009-09-06T19:12:00.008-05:00

People, in casual conversation the past week, have asked aren't you excited your kids are going back to school in a few days?

smile, sigh.

Iggy told me the other day "Mom, we don't really go back to school. I guess in a way, we never leave school. You know, because we're always learning."

smile, sigh.

But there is something about September. Something about those back to school sales, the air, the season, the I-don't-know-what, that make this time of year seem a little more exciting for me. Even as whatever-kind-of-homeschooler-I'm-classified-as...dang, I still kinda like the "newness" that comes along with September.

So even though we don't do any official "back to school" big hurrah, and even though the only thing different about our September 8th from our September 7th will be that we can once again visit the library without fighting the crowds...I kinda feel like I got a back to school present.

It came yesterday from a family member who stumbled upon my blog (by way of Facebook) and sent me a little note (by way of email).
It totally made my day.
Go ahead, grab a big spoon and dig in...I'll share :)

I just wanted to say thank you. I have spent a good deal of the morning reading your blog. I have to admit, when I heard you were homeschooling the boys I kind of wondered how that would work out. But I have to admit your more "unconventional" way of teaching (as some would say) seems to me to be a better alternative than the herding of kids through school we have now. You have your teachings geared to what they are excited about and they wind up learning more because they want to learn and read. (...She then talks about some issues she's having with her high school aged daughter...)So again, I say thank you for teaching me that the road of the masses is not always the best route to take. Sometimes a little "off-roading" is much more enjoyable!

How sweet is that?
Delicious.

Happy Back to School, whatever that happens to mean for you and your family.

sit. stay. good girl.

2009-09-05T15:08:00.011-05:00

So in between a) making sense of the mess in the basement we call home and b) baking a chocolate zucchini cake with cream cheese frosting, I sit here to write.

It's good to sit.
No running.
A day to catch up.

Don't get me wrong, running is fun. I love to be out and doing. Running is great.

In our world, running is...

playing in the mud

hanging out with spiderman

becoming a butterfly whisperer

snuggling down in the camper

waking up quite early at the campsite to see this beautiful riverside view

and this rather silly view

discovering geocaching (and becoming flat out addicted to it)

Yes, that is running in our world.
I imagine within a few days, we will be off and running again.
Welcome to the world, boys. Have at it. ;)

a good ol' time

2009-08-29T20:34:00.011-05:00

Note: We've not been around much lately...we've been out and about having a good ol' time all over the state. I love those last minute, drop of the hat adventures that we like to make a habit of. I'm working on giving you all the details, loading all the pictures...but just about the time I get everything all set up to post...we leave again. My apologies. Just know we are out having fun. And eventually, you will hear about it!

***

I think I was meant to live about a hundred years ago. Perhaps a hundred and fifty. Don't get me wrong - I love how convenient the internet is and the massive amount of world and life it opens up for me, but I would give it up in a second to move out to the absolute outskirts of civilization.

Seriously.

A couple weekends ago, the boys and I got to mess around with some old fashioned fun. The boys had to remind me after some time that we couldn't stay all day at either of these venues. They actually close. And people get out of costume and go home to technologically advanced houses that have indoor plumbing and electricity and (gasp)high speed internet.

The first day was the Threshing Show. Dangit, I'm probably revealing just how redneck and old school I really am...but I think tractors are so cool.

I don't know a thing about the mechanics of them, but they're still really awesome. For some reason.
The older, the better.

At the threshing show, they also have a household set up as it would have been a hundred or so years ago.

I asked them if I could move in. The politely refused my offer. I stopped asking when they threatened to call security. (Ok, I'm kidding.)

I had oxtail soup and Ooky entertained himself with washing clothes.

Divine. Absolutely divine.

A couple days later, we went to Pioneer Park . Partly because the whole place is set up like an entire town from 100+years ago (using actual buildings from Minnesota that were either moved there or reconstructed)...

One room schoolhouse

Funeral parlor (one of only 14 historical funeral parlors in the whole country!)

Drug Store

(There are a million more pictures of a million more historical buildings, but I've found blogger gets pretty crabby with me if I post a lot of pictures. If you have the chance, you should definitely visit this place!)

We also went to Pioneer Park that day because they were having their annual fiddler competition. And seriously, fiddlers are even cooler than tractors. Did you know bluegrass is at the top of my list?

Fiddler "jam session" at the end of the competition.

We sat there in the shade of the giant oak tree listening to the fiddlers.
It was absolutely gorgeous.
The tree, the music...the freedom to just be there, doing what we do.
:)

and then, all of a sudden...

2009-08-29T00:13:00.003-05:00

Today started off as any other day at MamaTea's house - which is to say we didn't really have a concrete plan, but did have a list of many things we could do.

Like freezing sweet corn. Making salsa. Cutting and using the giant bag of apples donated to us from a friend. Shooting some arrows. Catching frogs. Collecting acorns.

Uh....yeah. Searching over that list...I don't see visit urgent care with child having severe reaction to bee sting.

Darn. I must have forgotten to write it down on the list of suggestions.

Ooky, who has been stung numerous times (without reaction) since he was old enough to walk, apparently tangled with the wrong bee today. Perhaps a mad mama who was having a bad day. Or some freak bee with extra terrible poison. Or maybe it was just "one of those things".

About eight minutes after he'd been stung, his ankle started swelling.
About three minutes later, Ooky started complaining about being itchy.
When MamaTea lifted his shirt to investigate the intense itching, she discovered a lovely spattering of hives all over his stomach and chest. Kid you not, if you sat there for a minute, you could watch them pop up on his skin. Kind of like something out of a weird horror flick.

Of course I didn't sit there to watch anything. We quickly plopped ourselves into the speedracer mini van and hightailed it to the nearest Urgent Care. All the while listening to the darling in the backseat coughing. Saying he was going to puke. And becoming less and less able to form actual words because his face or lips or whatever else was becoming nice and fat, getting in the way of itself.

All I could keep thinking was but he's never had a reaction before.

He's fine now. They pumped some good strong meds into Mr. Ooky to reverse the reaction and watched him like a hawk for a couple hours. His heart rate went back to normal, his oxygen levels came up, and he started talking (and making sense) again. Eventually the doctor released him with a couple prescriptions and we were on our way back to normal life.

Well...if you can call our life normal. ;)

If all for spontaneity. I'm down with living a fluid life. But rushing a kid into urgent care with very real thoughts of "just keep breathing, just keep breathing" running through your head was not what I had in mind as spontaneous or fluid. But, in a weird way, its ok.

It makes you stop.
It brings you back.
You take a second look.

You know, life goes on...business as usual...but every so often, all of a sudden, it changes. Things are what they are. And then all of a sudden, they're not.

Life is funny that way. Ain't it?

Gosh darnit, we're famous!

2009-08-21T10:57:00.000-05:00

Or at least that is what the boys think when they find things about our life on someone else's blog. :)

Check out my interview at Debbie's site. And then open your box of crayons and color a lovely picture. ;)

ganging up on mamatea

2009-08-20T14:06:00.004-05:00

Today Ooky was writing something and wanted to spell the word "inside". He writes i-n-s-i-d.

I pronounced what he'd written, and then suggested he might want to slap an "e" on the end of his word to make it work.

Iggy, who is also in the room, says "You know Mom, he could still leave it spelled like he had it. It would work. Without the e."

How so?

Iggy explains, "Well, you know, if you were inside someone's body, then his spelling would work."

I tell Iggy that regardless of what you are inside of, the way to spell the word is i-n-s-i-d-e.

"No," Iggy continues. "If he was inside someone named Sid, then his spelling would work. You know, 'in sid'? It would totally work then, Mom."

The two brothers shoot each other a look. And a smile.

I think they are ganging up on me. ;)

of bladders and kidneys

2009-08-19T21:13:00.004-05:00

Life kinda gets in the way sometimes. Its all those never things, again. Like saying "I will never join facebook."

Oops. I guess I screwed that one up, too.

Other things, I simply wished wouldn't happen. But you don't talk about them because really, they aren't on your radar. So you don't think you have to worry about them. Like sitting in the drivers seat of a car with two insane children who are really excited to go to that perfect ice cream shop that happens to be next to that really awesome park and that really cool sculpture garden...and realizing, a half hour out that you have to turn around. Because you're 372% sure you have a bladder infection.

You can't drive with a bladder infection. You just can't.

Then you explain to the insane children what a bladder infection is. They want to know how you get tested for one of those. You tell them "You have to pee in a cup."

Don't ever tell two young boys about peeing in a cup. Because its probably the funniest thing in the whole world. I mean, really. Hilarious. And they will repeat "pee in a cup" at least five hundred times. Its not funny to you, however, because you are now 412% sure you have a bladder infection. And you're driving. But you can't drive with a bladder infection.

The whole thing turned out to be a learning experience, though. We learned that there is an urgent care really close to the house. We learned that we hate the medication Cipro. Taken without food, it makes you feel completely drunk. Taken with food, you're just tired. Really tired. Bump on a log tired. We learned how bladders and kidneys are related, and that if the medication ain't doing its thing, you will end up with a kidney infection. Which is exactly what happened to MamaTea. We learned that MamaTea is extra crabby when all of this happens, and that when she discovers you have graffitied your name into an inside panel of the minivan, she's bound to freak out. A lot. Even though it totally washed right off.

Gosh, this learning from life is great. And sometimes funny. If you're a five or six year old boy. :)

something to be said

2009-08-15T14:12:00.003-05:00

Home is great. Home is your own private world. You can let in what you want and stay hidden from the rest.

Homeschooling is much the same. My family's hard-to-define educational process exists in our private world. We can let in whatever goodies we want and forget about the fluff or crap of whatever else seems unnecessary or otherwise unrequired.

And that is lovely and quaint and delicious.

However.

There is something to be said about two children who are so ridiculously attached to each other that they have a hard time functioning apart. Yes, they can be social, but its almost always that ball of tangled up IggyandOoky finding friends together.

There is something to be said for Iggy having friends.

There is something to be said for Ooky having friends.

Separately.

There is something to be said about Iggy hanging out with lots of other kids and finding out that even though Ooky lets him be King of the Hill (and everything else), most other people will not cave as easily. Iggy can't always be the first, the best, the most, the fastest, or on top. Sometimes hearing that from non-family members is most effective.

Conversely, there is something to be said about Ooky hanging out with lots of other kids and finding out he can be first, the best, the most, the fastest, or on top. Around his brother, Ooky tends to cave...even if MamaTea and Hubster are right there encouraging him to be tough and stand up to Iggy's sometimes tyrannical behavior.

Don't get me wrong. They are fiercely protective of each other. And extremely close.

They are also brothers. Who pick at each other constantly.

Over the past few months, I'm starting to see how constant togetherness can really hinder one child's individuality and bring out a few less than stellar personality traits in the other.

Its not as if I want to see Iggy's heart smashed to pieces and flattened on the ground. But I also don't want him to learn that the doormat responses he gets from his brother are indicative of the way the whole world works. And I don't ever want Ooky to think he's less than simply because of an older brother who makes it hard for him to be more.

So I'm excited for co-op. For all those other kids we will be with. For the situations we will be put in. I'm looking forward to putting my neck out a wee bit more and finding ways for us to be a part of something that is (socially) bigger than ourselves.

Yes, staying home is great and safe and controllable. But there's something to be said for the parts of life that aren't.

That whole socialization thing

2009-08-12T19:59:00.005-05:00

Today was actually hot. We went to the beach.

It was packed and hard to find a patch of sand to plop down on, but we made it work. Spongebob blanket spread out, cooler settled, sandals off...and just like that, they are gone.

Not just gone, as in off to the water. But gone. As in talking to everyone within a two mile radius. Interacting. Making up games and playing and laughing and running and soaking up the goodness that is other people. Various topics of conversations, with various people, included:

"Wanna play volleyball?"
"Do you watch Teen Titans..."
"Wanna play soccer? Wanna make teams?"
"Do you want to play Splashwars? But if you don't want to, that's ok, too."
and on
and on
and on
and on

In fact, on and on so much, that something questionable happened. Yes, don't tell anyone, but I started thinking that perhaps they were...dare I say...too social.

What? Two homeschooled children? ****

I found myself trying to figure out a way to gently advise the boys its not necessary to strike up a conversation with someone simply because they have a pulse. It is not required of you to make a greeting like comment when passing by anything that breathes. It is actually possible to be around other people and not have to engage them in a meaningful (or not) discussion.

Then again, why am I so concerned? Why does it bother me that they want to talk to everyone.

Oh yes, that's right. Because generally speaking, I don't want to talk to everyone under the sun. Not even half the people under the sun at the beach that day. Not even the two teenage type boy men who walked past and said whatever it was that they thought I'd be impressed with. I wasn't. I didn't want to talk to them.

My kids would have though.

Somehow, two not-quite-social beings conceived and bore two very social monsters. And sometimes I'm not sure just what to do with them.

I have to remember, this isn't really a bad thing. Kids who can be in a room with someone else and not have to size up the situation for two hours before saying a quiet "hi" are actually a blessing, I'm sure. I keep thinking of all the times I'd sat in the corner with nothing to say because I was too afraid of what someone would think of me and what I had said. All the people I didn't meet. All the friendships that never happened because one or both of us were too caught up in the whatever-the-word-is to get up and start a freaking conversation.

My kids don't have that issue. How amazing to walk onto the beach and see a sandy shore exploding with potential friends. I've never quite seen it that way before.

And that's kind of a bummer. For me, I mean.

I don't think I have anything to worry about with that whole socialization thing. Except perhaps a little tact, and a few directions regarding body language and when others might be ready to end a conversation.

But the simple love of chattin' it up with others...they've got that taken care of.

****
You know, I'm not sure we will ever win that socialization thing, anyway.

If my kids sit in a corner, they will be pegged as those homeschoolers. You know, they are too freaked out by the real world to know how to talk to anyone. Its such a shame, them sitting by themselves like that...

If my kids, on the other hand, have no issue talking your damn ear off, its immediately those homeschoolers. You know, they're so starved for attention and socialization in the real world, that they will talk to anyone or anything that moves.

Yeah, we just can't win.

at first glance

2009-08-10T10:31:00.005-05:00

...this might appear to be a sadistic ritual hanging of symbolic animals.

...but its actually a response to the request there are far too many stuffed animals on this bed, so pick half to put up in the pet net, or rearrange them so there is actually room for a five year old boy to sleep. Iggy was sad to think that Ooky would lose any of his 53 sleeping companions to to pet net, so he came up with the above pictured solution.

You see, it was a hanging done for love.

At first glance, this might seem to be a simple army tank and school bus, possibly used to play out wars between GI Joe and an antiquey set of Fisher Price Little People...

...but recently these have been used by two little men to deliver love notes to their Mom and to each other. Let me tell you, there is nothing like seeing a tank come around the corner with a love note taped to its gun.

And finally, at first glance, this might look like two boys and their Dad getting ready to blast the heck out of a bunch of pop and beer cans with their BB guns...

...but what it really is...ok, I won't lie. They are getting ready to blast the heck out of pop and beer cans with their BB guns. But its also a picture of two kids soaking up the Dad Love before he leaves home for another week of work.

Soak it up boys.
:)
And enjoy.

Never say never

2009-08-07T14:47:00.003-05:00

You know, its almost like when you utter the word never, you're tempting fate or the universe or whatever to mess with you. As if she perks up her ear and says "Really? Are you sure you meant never?"

Look at what happens when you say "Oh, I would never say that (or do that) to my child."

Yeah. Exactly.

This whole never business has a history of messin' with me. It was me, after all, who said she would never date a cop, fireman, or military man...and then ended up marrying someone who is two of the three.

You think I would learn.

Alas, dear friends of the blogosphere, I don't learn. And so I come to you today with yet another never that has been shot right out of the water. This time, it pertains to homeschooling.

Yup. I joined a co-op.

Gasp. Whisper. Whisper some more.

A few years ago, my knowledge of co-ops was limited, and the ones I had been exposed to through friends were pretty strict. And expensive. And strict. Did I mention expensive? I think I might have already said strict. Obviously, not something anywhere near my alley, let alone "up" it.

Although homeschooled kids together is a lovely thing (cue angelic choir) I just couldn't see how I would ever find a group of adults that would be open to the different ways that we do things here . Not that everyone has to agree all the time (in fact, that would be horrible!) but sometimes its hard to find in peace in something that is a) such a huge commitment and b) you spend more of your time caving in for the sake of smooth waters than truly agreeing with anything that is said.

Except for that one smallish sorta hidden co-op. You know, the one that always does the wicked cool things for the community that you always seem to end up at? The one with some members that you don't know incredibly well, but whenever you bump into them and chat, there seems to be a connection? That really different one that you've always thought I'm never going to join a co-op...but if I ever did, which I won't, but...it would be something like that one?

Yeah. That one.
The one that conveniently happens to have some openings?

So I called the phone number and talked to one of the women who started it. Have you ever had a conversation with someone and you feel like you don't have to explain yourself, because they get it? Have you ever found the things you disagree on aren't met with a gasp-whisper-you-horrible-mother, but more of a hey, whatever works for you? And then, as the person talks on, you wonder if she's been reading your blog and studying up on your fitting in posts...because you really feel like you're on the same wavelength...

And then you happen to reconnect with a friend (over something completely different) and remember she's in that same co-op, and when you ask her for the dirt, she gushes about how fabulous the co-op is, even though she (like your former co-op loathing self) fully expected to abhor it?

This all came just as the fitting in posts were being written and commented on...and the people concerned with this co-op I met and talked to just seemed to...for lack of a better phrase..."fit in" to everything I was talking about. What I was looking for. What I wanted.

Who knew I would find them in a co-op?
Eek.

I'm excited as all heck for it to start up. Call me weird...or whatever, but I think this just might end up totally kicking ass. :)

hodgepodge

2009-08-06T17:52:00.007-05:00

That's the name of the jam I bought today at the farmers' market. Hodgepodge.
But its also a fitting name for the constant randomness of life.

We've been busy.
Getting dizzy with our vintage 1968 Battling Tops game.

Creating the Ninja Fighter Bike Gang.

You'd best watch out.

Losing teeth. That makes five so far. (I kid you not, i was seven before I lost a single one.)

Fishing.

But I've been busy, too. Me. Apart from We.

Having coffee with a friend who reminded me that a great many groups founded on perfectly wonderful philosophies can have members who turn those perfectly wonderful philosophies into psychotic unrealistic mindless babble. And I should be careful not to confuse the two.
I'm trying to find center, and deciding that center always moves. So play it where it is.
"Life is fluid".

I'm writing. I mean, writing besides this blog. I'm working on young adult fiction. And other stuff, too. Its all dark and messy, but I prefer a friend's term: edgy.

I'm baking. And visiting farmers' markets. And cussing out my own garden.

My brain is busy, too. I'm struggling with a certain six year old, whose attitude has blown through the roof, who tells me things like "Mom, if you would have bought me a better rod and reel, it wouldn't get all tangled up like this."
Did he seriously just say that?
Ungrateful. I don't care what attachment parenting, peaceful parenting, or radical unschooler term or reason or quick fix they want to apply to this, its still ungrateful. And it pisses me off. So I yelled. And then put the fishing pole in the barn. We were done for the day.

Hubster wants to help and tries to think of millions of grand things to do. And he has fantastic ideas. But I get frustrated. What I really want is to go ten minutes without kids feeling as though they need to be by us, with us, MamaTeaHubsterIggy Ooky. And then I get mad, thinking maybe that's the downfall of choosing this life. Constantly being THERE for the kids can sometimes be a double edged sword, no?

I'll take the double edged sword, however. Its better than the alternative. Everyone has a something to deal with.

Tomorrow we will be back to bike riding, creek wading, beach playing, tent sleeping, table building, and whatever else flops out of our brain and into the day. Maybe find a county fair or a demo derby. Who knows?

Every day is different. And you can't do anything but love that.

mud. sawdust. perfect.

2009-08-02T09:03:00.011-05:00

Some day we laze around and soak in the sun.
Yesterday was not one of those days. :)

Iggy grabbed a branch from the woods, a tie down, and all on his own, built a bow.

Our sensitive creek (which hasn't had rain for a couple days and is pretty dry again) needed some exploring. We discovered a pass through from the first creek to the second that shouldn't be there, and is diverting the water in ways it shouldn't be diverted. Which is definitely affecting the water levels. So...

...time to build a dam.

And you can't expect the boys to sit quietly to the side!

They've gotta get in there and pack the mud and guck around our built-for-free dam.

It was a chore to keep our boots on. They were stuck in the muck...

And then stuck on us....

Water diverted, showers were taken. Time to raid Grandpa's scrap wood pile.
Hubster and Ooky shared in a designing "somethin'".

Iggy wanted to do something "different".

We ended up with two tables: Ooky's, which he and Iggy demonstrated was sturdy enough to dance on...

And Iggy's, complete with a swing out cup holder.

The night ended around the campfire, where the boys were able to show off how great their tables worked for holding food, beverages, a mancala game, and other goodies.
Now, that's a good day's work. :)

fitting in, part two

2009-07-29T07:45:00.003-05:00

After all my crabbin' and ventin' about fitting in in yesterday's post, I have to tell you...there's another side to it. Once again the Fairy of Perspective visits and twists my head into thinking maybe, just maybe...there's another way to look at it.

My frustration comes because I've never felt like I fit in (like so many people who have commented here or emailed me about posts I've had on this subject). So then, I don't know if its human nature or what, but a person wants to search for a place they fit in. You think you find it, be it theater or unschooling or art or church or PTA or whatever your thing is. After awhile though, you figure out you don't absolutely fit there either. And the frustration builds, because you think you're supposed to fit. Somewhere. Absolutely. You start to think you don't belong anywhere. You're too different. No one thinks like you. No one is as insanely varied as you are. Right?

Well...after awhile, when looking at it from the tips of the trees that the Fairy of Perspective dragged you off to, you realize that whole mindset is actually feel sorry for me, I'm different, you'll never understand me. Sort of leftover teenage angst rolled up into a ball of adult-martyr-poor-me-hood.

Its not pretty. It's actually kind of whiny. And pathetic.

That darn Fairy of Perspective says, "So you like a lot of different things. So you're different and varied and undefinable. Does that mean you don't fit in anywhere? Or does that maybe mean you fit in a lot of different places."

See the difference?

It's attitude.

I have a cousin who can talk to anyone. I asked her once what her secret was. She said she figures you have something in common with everyone you meet. You just have to figure out what that one thing is, and go from there. In her world, everyone fits together.

The millions of different things I like to do or believe in or have opinions about can either be seen as a reason to not connect or a reason to connect. I can view them as a million reasons to be an outsider, or a million reasons to fit in. Once again, it's perspective.

There are no absolutes. I'm not supposed to exactly fit with any other person. You can only stare at yourself so long in the mirror.

I could put myself out there with blue hair, and the "alternative crowd" could still think I'm a poser. The cheerleaders could still hate my sarcasm. Some unschoolers could still think I'm not unschooling. Some other types of homeschoolers could still call me an unstructured hippy unschooler.

But who cares?
I mean, really. Who the F cares?
If that's what they think, their loss. I guess.

I'll keep doing what I do, and grow my group of friends who do what they do. And even if the things we do aren't the same, we respect each other's freedom to do so.

You all know who you are. Wink. Hug. Grin.

As for the rest, I'm not going to have them draw a black and white outline around me, framing in who I am as a means of figuring out where I fit in.

After all, without an outline, I fit in far more places than I ever realized.

fitting in, part 1

2009-07-28T07:56:00.005-05:00

Watch out for these dudes in about ten years.

Ok, wait. You'd better watch out for them now :)

A couple days ago the boys asked me if I could color their hair.
I smiled.
And said Yes.

(It's just washable markers. Works like a charm, and comes out slick.)

What does this have to do with anything? Namely, the title?

When I was in 10th grade, I colored my hair blue. On a whim. But 15 years ago if you colored your hair blue, you were a freak. Part of the alternative crowd. Now they have cheerleaders...teachers, even, with red and purple streaks. Now its fashionable. Its cool.

Anyway, my blue was totally temporary. (Washable markers, again.) And it was kind of fun...and a little frustrating...to wrap my head around the responses that people gave me regarding my new 'do. One teacher freaked out, seeing as how before that day I was apparently a Barbie Doll, super awesome student. But on this particular day, not so much. Now, I was one of those "alternative kids". I didn't fit the Barbie doll super awesome student mold anymore. (Interesting, since I didn't think I ever really had.)

I was kind of stuck in school, seeing as how the Barbie Doll thing never worked out (cheerleaders weren't too keen on my sarcasm) and the alternative crowd never worked out (they said I was just a poser). So there I was in a suburban mini-city (high school) where people ask "so what crowd do you hang with?" and no answer to give.

People, and their crowds, can be so elitist. Segregating. Rigid. Fenced in.
Fast forward 15 years. Present day.
I'd like to say that things have changed, but I'd be lying.

I've been thinking a lot about the end part of this darling's post, where she talks about having conflicted feelings about unschooling. I've also read (and re-read) the comments that were left. The whole thing gives voice to exact thoughts I've had on the same subject.

I think when you try to define a way of life whose basic belief is freedom, you run into all sorts of problems. How do you put a fence around that? When you start to define it, it becomes less of what it is, sometimes. I mean, if the point of unschooling is that the kids are free to learn, why do we have people snubbing their nose at kids who might want to pick up a workbook one day? Or play a game that (gasp!) might be described as downright edu-mah-cational?

I'm a member of some unschooling groups/lists, and sometimes I don't get it. The way things get picked apart, the somewhat elitist attitude that some seem to carry for subscribing to that way of life...or the you-clearly-haven't-done-your-research-about-unschooling-because-what-you're-doing-is-not-unschooling conversations that go on. Oh really? So if I'm not unschooling, what the F am I doing? I've never really understood how something based in freedom and flexibility can sometimes be so...rigid.

I mean, really. How can you not "fit in" to freedom? Isn't the point that everything fits?

I just get tired of groups. And rules. Boundaries that make no sense. Definitions that change. Trying to fit and knowing you don't. But still wanting a name. Wanting a way to identify yourself, if only to find other people like you. It was the same 15 years ago as it is today. Is it ever ok to do just do what we want? To hop in between groups...and maybe not fit into anyone of them?

Perhaps, when people ask what kind of homeschoolers we are, I should just answer...
well...
"we do what we do".
and smile sweetly.

it rained. we celebrated.

2009-07-27T07:00:00.013-05:00

We've had a a decent amount of rain the past week, so the level of the creek has come up a bunch. Nowhere near what it should be, but better, nonetheless.

We will take "better", and use it as an excuse to celebrate!

We built balloon powered boats...

...and raced them.

...drove them ashore

...to catch froggish friends.

The rope swing called to us...

We just have to splash.

And throw giant rocks.

No, Mom. I'm not tired.

Honestly. I could go all day.

I know.
Soak up the fun until you crash.
Because that's what we do.
Isn't life deliciously grand?

a good morning, indeed

2009-07-26T08:38:00.005-05:00

How much better can a morning start out?
Who wouldn't like to see this coming down the stairs as a start to their day?

"Good morning, mom. I brought you breakfast in bed."

Total sweetness. With honey on top.

exactly right

2009-07-24T10:08:00.002-05:00

So I added some tunes to my blog, because music is such a huge part of my life. One might accuse me of being downright freakish about it.

I was reading through the post from a couple days ago and Ooky runs to the computer because Amy Steinberg's Exactly is playing. Ooky has just discovered this song and thinks its fantastic.

And silly me, I thought he just liked the tune.

So I'm scrolling through the post, then he takes over scrolling through the post. And he says, "Mom, this song is perfect for your blog."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because it talks about how we need to be exactly where we are. And that we are where we need to be. All these pictures show us being where we need to be. No matter where we are."

Be still my heart.

And there you go. A profound statement from a five year old. On Learn Nothing Day :)

making it fit

2009-07-22T07:33:00.008-05:00

We've been having fun the past few days.

Smiling boys are always a treat.

So are smiling mamas.

Isn't it amazing how kids are drawn to water, even when their lips are blue?

Mama, remind me how to shoot an arrow.

I think I remember how to do it.

I forget how this all fits together.
Oh yes.
We were all together.
Having fun.
What a perfect fit.

quick lesson in perspective

2009-07-21T07:46:00.003-05:00

Yesterday we attended a get-together of sorts at a local splash park. I ended up running into an older friend I know through church. She's the mama to one of my mom-pals, and works at the post office near our Old House. Here's how the conversation went -

MamaTea: You know, W, I thought of you the other day. The tiger lilies are so lovely at my mom's house and I thought about when...
W: (finishing my sentence)...you and your boys used to walk up to the post office with bouquets of flowers for me from your garden. Oh, I miss that.
MT: Me too.
W: You know, I just love your boys. They are so full of energy.
MT: (thinking maybe its just one of those polite conversation things, so I roll my eyes in embarrassment.) Hmm. Is that right?
W: No, I'm serious. Your boys are so...special, MT. They aren't afraid to say what's on their mind.
MT: (really embarrassed)Um...yep, I guess.
W: I love it when you bring them to church and Pastor is doing the children's sermon...your boys are right there, telling him exactly what they think.
MT: And I'm usually in the pews, cringing.
W: (laughs) Aw...you know, sometimes the qualities in children that are most embarrassing to the parents are the most important ones for kids to have. You should be proud that you've got kids who can speak their mind and use that energy. That's a very important thing to be able to do.
MT: (now you've got me thinking...)I suppose you're right.
W: You know, my oldest granddaughter starts kindergarten this year.
MT: Is she excited?
W: Yes, she's really excited to go to school, but I'm a little nervous for her.
MT: How so?
W: Well, she's got lots of fire and energy and isn't afraid to say what she thinks.
MT: And?
W: I'm really afraid that public school will squash that right out of her.
MT: (big lightbulb) Ah.
W: Appreciate your kids' energy, MT.

And there you have it. Perspective. At a splash park. Sometimes my kids intensity drives me insane. But the alternative, having it possibly squashed into a little ball and trashed by someone else because intensity is inconvenient, just doesn't work for me.

Thanks for the reminder, W. The insanity isn't necessarily bad. Once again, its all about perspective :)

wild in the woods

2009-07-17T08:00:00.010-05:00

I grew up a tomboy. And if its ok to use that term as a 30 year old woman, I'll still claim it. Don't get me wrong, there are occasions where I like to put on something lovely and doll up, but for the most part, I'm not so glittery. I'm barefoot. Muddy. Probably scratched up a bit. But smiling the whole time.

We've spent a lot of time in the woods lately. Iggy has stepped up his level of concern about the creek to ultra-high. (Actually, as he put it, "Mom. No more messin' around. It's time to get out the big guns.") The creek is ridiculously low. Some parts are flat out dry. The fish are dying. The geese are gone. Iggy requested we get the DNR involved. Apparently, the DNR represents big guns.

We've driven around the area to see that all the water levels in the area are low. But in the 23 years I or my parents have lived in this house, we've never had parts of the creek go dry, even in years much drier than this one. So while I understand that we're in a dry spell (apparently), I don't get why this year is affecting the creek so much more than years past.

So we've spent large chunks of time figuring out what we can do, and if we can or should do anything. The DNR is taking their sweet time in repsonding to us, and since we live on an official "wetland", there are rules about what exactly we can "fix" and how we can fix it. Ah, don't you love rules? It will certainly be sweet if they can contact us before it completely dries up.

We side-tracked from worrying about the creek and directed our attention to the paths in the woods. After all, decided Iggy and Ooky, if someone is going to come out and help us with our creek, it would be nice it the paths were easier to walk on. Its been a couple years since we went out and trimmed the paths. Hubster was in charge of the weed whip and the occasional chainsaw. The boys were happy to be able to use handsaws. We trimmed back the lovely original paths, because as Hubster says, its no fun to be walking in the woods and be fondled by stingweed or thorny branches. :)

Trimming the paths also made a whole host of other lovely things accessible to us. Things we couldn't quite get to before because various pokey greens and browns had grown up around our path. Yesterday, we ate a lot of raspberries. :)

The evening ended just outside of the woods, at the campfire ring where we cooked over the fire and waited for fireflies. More sawing on scrapwood, nails were brought out, creations were constructed. Iggy asked for the three hundredth time when the DNR would contact us. Ooky wondered if they would land a plane in our backyard with equipment to help the creek. :) Ah, to believe in the help of those more powerful than you.

Sweet dreams, my wild woodsmen.

in their head, in my head

2009-07-13T07:27:00.005-05:00

My kids like to weave fantastic tales. Yesterday they spent an hour together writing stories. (Ooky is all about the words, Iggy wants to get it into book format, copy it on mom's copy machine, and sell it in a store.)They make me laugh.

They have the freedom to open their mouth and let their stories fall out. All day, if they want to. Weaving the story is just part of what they do. Like breathing.

Gee. I wonder where they get that from.

I came across an old notebook the other day. One of the pages held a list titled “books I will write when the kids are in school”. I smiled when I read that – how nice of my 27 year old self to create a list that my 30 year old self could pick up and take off with. All those ideas, right there. Many I’d forgotten about, and I salivated at the thought of previously fleshed out characters and renewed story lines.You know, the ones I had saved for when I had more time.

Then I smiled again, but a different smile. Kind of half cocked and devious. Kind of a who-woulda-thunk-it sort of grin. Because the last half of that list was, after all, “when the kids are in school.”

They aren’t in school. I don’t know if they ever will be in school. And I’m unbelievably happy about that, thank you very much.

But. What about that list? What about those billion tiny ideas? What about the new half fleshed out people screaming to get out of my head?

This peaceful parenting thing, I’d love to get there. But I fuck it up so badly. I need to be present with my kids. I need to be in the moment. But my head is so fogged up with stringy messes of words that need to be puked out, I can’t see straight.

Take the day for yourself, my husband says. Take your laptop. Spit everything out onto the screen. He’s known me ten years. He knows it works better if I can get it out.

I wish it worked that way. But seriously, the time the words come the fastest is when I. Can’t. Write. Them. Down. We’re in the middle of bocce ball. Hiking in the woods. An explanation of what implosion is.

The kids fall into bed, and I’m ready to spit it all out…but the strings unravel and fall apart and the more I try to reach for them, the breathier they get until they’re hardly a whisper and then they’re silent. And I’m angry. Angry because they are gone. Angry because I can pinpoint the exact moment they will return. When the first plop of soft feet hit the floor from the bunk bed upstairs.

And then….Words. Explosions of phrases.. A million ideas until my brain is fat and fogged up with beautiful messes. Beautiful and yet so very inconvenient.

I need to make peace with this. I am supposed to write. It’s as obvious to me as breathing. But so is being Mom. They don’t need to wage bloody battles against each other.

Do they?

to the woman who backed out

2009-07-12T07:57:00.002-05:00

(I'm a little steamed about something that happened yesterday. So I'm using this blog as a way to vent. Enjoy. - MamaTea)

Dear Woman Who Backed Out,-

Yesterday I had a fundraiser garage sale for a parenting get together type group I am in charge of. We sell everything for a quarter and have a good time watching people walk away with awesome deals. There's nothing like seeing people with several bags full of treasures and paying less for the whole lot than one outfit off the clearance rack at Target. (Or so I hear.)

But you, Woman Who Backed Out, knew that. Because you had committed to picking up all the leftovers. You said you would be there at 2:15. With two trucks and a trailer. With people to help load. This was confirmed more than once. And at 2:15, you weren't there. At 2:30 we called your cell phone (the number you asked us to call) and you didn't answer, so a reminder message was left. This is Me from the garage sale. We have everything all boxed up and are ready to help you load it up... At 2:45, we still hadn't heard so we called your cell phone again.

You answered.
Hi, this is Me. From the garage sale. Are you still planning...
You hung up.
Seriously?

I still wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. Because that's the kind of person I am. Maybe you didn't hang up. Maybe we got disconnected. Maybe you're en route and just running behind. We called and left another message. You didn't answer. You didn't return our call. You never returned our call. You never showed up.

I suppose you and a lot of the world would think so what. But what you (and other people like yourself) fail to understand is the problems that you make for other people. You never look past yourself to see how your actions (or lack thereof) affect everyone else. For now I have a pile of leftovers sitting in the middle of a church (where we held the sale) and its 3:15 on a Saturday. And in order for me to fulfill my responsibilities in cleaning up the church so the congregation can have service there in 16 hours (which I said I would do, and intend to do because I am responsible) I have to rearrange my day and enlist the help of other people. People who might have had things to do after the garage sale, like relieve the babysitters who were with their kids. Or maybe simply wanted to get home at a decent hour to spend time with their families before bedtime.

You'll be glad to know, Woman Who Backed Out, that we got it taken care of. We always do. The moms who were working the sale all stayed late, cleaned out their vehicles (three minivans and an Expedition) and somehow we got everything loaded up. Actually, we stuffed the vehicles so full of garage sale leftovers, it looked like they might pop, but whatever. You weren't there to see it. We then drove the leftovers to the parked semi where all my household goodies/furniture from my Old house are stored and waiting for a New House. We then unloaded the four vehicles. It was hot. We were tired. It wasn't exactly what we had planned to spend the afternoon doing, but we did it. Unlike you, who planned to do something and then didn't do it.

I'm tired of dealing with people like you, Woman Who Backed Out. Would it have been so hard for you to say sorry I changed my mind? Or sorry, its not going to work? We did what we could do on our end of things. You messed up your end of the deal. We had to fix it.

People who mess with me in ways like this really irk me. But what bugs me more than that is all the other people you let down. See when we started looking for people who would take our leftovers, like we do every year, we always get lots of people who want them. People who want the stuff for their own benefit garage sales. Or simply because they're in a situation where they need it. For whatever reason. But we chose you because you were absolutely sure you could commit to being there. So we had to tell everyone else no. That's the real bummer. There tons of other people who could have used it.

And so, now it sits in my semi. I could track down those other people who originally emailed and offered to take it. I could then drive back up to where my semi is parked and let them have all the stuff. But once again, that will be taking time from My Life. But I will do it, because that's who I am.

I've learned something from this experience, Woman Who Backed Out, although they are things I don't really care to be re-taught. You know, those things like no matter what some people say, some people can't be trusted. And you'll forever and always be taking care of the messes they leave behind.

Sincerely,
A chick who just tries to help people out and gets kinda pissy when she gets burned

kid + coffee = clarity

2009-07-08T07:26:00.007-05:00

One of my goals for this summer was to create the opportunity for the boys to spend more one-on-one time with each parent. Since its almost always MamaTeaOokyIggy jumbled up into one ball wherever we go, whatever we do, 24 hours a day, its healthy (I think) to separate and see each other in a less jumbled up scenario. It's also nice, because it gives them some one-on-one time with Hubster instead of everyone in the MamaTeaOokyIggy ball fighting for Hubster's attention when he's able to be with us.

Yesterday I was able to spend a few hours alone with Ooky. It's always fun to see how different the boys act when they aren't involved in the insanity of sibling cattiness. After all, if you're not distracted by pestering that brother who is right there, you might have to actually be YouYourself.

Ooky asked to go to the library. We stayed there for about an hour looking at all sorts of things. We walked out with our usual mountain of books. Then he wanted to go to a coffee shop. We played games on the chalkboard there.

Ooky: (drawing a sort of differently shaped tic tac toe board) Mom, this is Rib Tac Toe. See the shape of the board? It looks like ribs.
MT: Yep, it does.
Ooky: Ok, now you be the O's. Those stand for the hearts.
MT: Ok.
Ooky: And I'll be the X's. Because those stand for the soul.

I spent a lot of time just watching him. Just seeing him for who he is. Not judging him or trying to figure him out. Just seeing Ooky where Ooky stands.And I like when I get to do that. Its nice to step away from the context of the jumbled up ball, to see things without the filter of frustration of what happened yesterday, or who will be mad if a certain someone says a certain something. To just see Him.

Ooky hears stories and music in his head all day. I know, he's told me. In those quiet spaces of life, just he and I, he talks about these things. Ooky is a kissy affectionate kid. He's also easily frustrated. He's intense. He explodes. At the core, he and I are so similar...we just work through different filters.

Ooky: I've been thinking, Mom. About what color Power Ranger I would be if I were really a Power Ranger.
MT: And what did you decide on?
Ooky: Mom, I just don't think there are enough colors in the world to explain the Power Ranger I would be.

I understand you. Totally. I know what you mean.

So while he's trying to invent colors to explain who he is, I'm smiling. Because everyday I realize he is all those parts of Me that I have a hard time figuring out. I'm smiling, because they're all being explained in a little spitfire of a boy who sits in front of me with a dripping ice cream cone and chalk all over his hands.

I don't need a self-help book. My way out is through the simple (yet so complex) ponderings of the Lives I helped to create.

Thanks, Ooky.

reconsidering the records

2009-07-06T11:06:00.008-05:00

Its nice to know at 30 years old, when you might think you have a grasp on what you're doing, you wake up once again and realize you're just punting and what you thought you were doing right was just a step in the process of getting to wherever it is you're going to end up.

A little while back, I posted about trying to figure out the legalities of unschooling and recordkeeping. I had found some information and a seemingly simple way to document our learning that would satisfy the state. Its now been a month of that system, and my verdict is in.

Positive: Dang it, it is amazing to look through all that note-taking and remember the bazillions of things we have done in 30 days. Especially amazing because most days, by the time lunch rolls around, I can't remember what I had for breakfast. Or if I even had breakfast. So trying to remember what tidbits the kids might have picked up a week after an amazing revelation took place is practically impossible.

Negative: Seriously? Come on. I am dissecting every single day of our life. Although I was convinced of the fact that learning happens all the time, I went overboard on trying to figure out what exactly that learning was, where it could be categorized, what it fulfilled, etc. You know, trying to prove it to the state. Talk about a headache.

(And yes, I realize that for another year we will still be flying under the radar. So I don't technically even need to be worrying about this at all. But I still feel the need to be prepared in certain areas of life, and making sure I know how to be legal with something that no one else in the family tree is even remotely attempting, is one of those things. Especially since half the family tree works in law enforcement. So I guess I'm supposed to know.)

Neither the strong coffee nor the glass of red wine was doing anything to remedy the headache, so I figured it was time to reassess the whole recordkeeping thing. Figuring I probably needed to be redirected, I found myself a life long MN unschooler(with high school/college aged kids) and asked my questions.

Stop worrying about it, she said.

I should have guessed.

According to Ms. Ultra Experienced MN Unschooler:

1. Its very rare that someone steps in to check on records.
2. There are a great many people unschooling in MN who don't keep any records at all.
3. She did very little recordkeeping when her kids were younger, and when they got to be high school aged, her record keeping was for the sake of creating transcripts to be used for college - not to satisfy the powers that be.
4. If she had ever been called upon by the powers that be, she'd have made an appointment for a couple weeks out, and spent that time on compiling an amazing list of resources they've recently used...and completely overwhelm the aforementioned powers.
5. She suggested a once a month simple journaling of places visited, topics touched on, library books checked out, etc. Nothing tough. Nothing stressful. Because it shouldn't be stressful.
6. If they call on you and want to check your records, she said, call me. I'll help you.

Well, then. There you have it.

So for June's summary I have a list of books/DVDs we've checked out, a few websites we've played around with, the more memorable things we've done the past month, some places we've visited, etc. Way less stressful. And, as i tuck it into the file, its amazing to me, even though I know there are so many things I didn't even mention in the "records", there is still a rich and varied learning thing that's now been documented.

I'm feeling much better. I even did a little thinking on the whole need to prove learning...but that post is for another day.

the big wide world

2009-07-04T11:00:00.000-05:00

Its funny how people can get stuck. Stuck in things they've always done. Driving the same roads they've always driven. Following the exact footsteps laid down the day before, even if they don't mean to.

Its time for something different. Let's go places we haven't been before. Let's find something new.

How about the sculpture park that you've driven by several times but never stop? Let's start there..

And then, how about that state park with the lovely trail you used to hike before you had kids? Why not let them in on that slice of paradise?

And then maybe, with a little research, you might find out there is another state park hidden just a few miles from a place you already drive at least twice a week. How about we stop there?

Yes. Different is good. Refreshing, uplifting, energizing. Just plain good.

Unschooling Therapy, Motorcycle Style

2009-06-30T13:40:00.000-05:00

I just got back from 550 miles on the back of a Harley. And although I'm sure the bones in my backend might have worn through the butt of my jeans, it was well worth every minute. And for more reasons than I would have expected.

Hubster requested a couple days off work and showed up here with his brother's Harley. (Hubster's bike isn't quite built for a lengthy ride.) He said, "I'm off work for two days. Grandma and Grandpa volunteered to keep the boys. Wanna go somewhere?"

So we did.

Wait. Back up. I forgot to mention I haven't been on the back of a bike since I was 12. That was 18 years ago.

Its also worth mentioning a year ago, if Hubster would have shown up and tried to take me somewhere without a month's worth of planning taking place, I would have flat out refused. Without knowing exactly what route we were taking, where we were stopping, what we were eating, where we were staying, I wouldn't have been able to breathe.

Things are different now.

So we hopped on the bike (with very minimal things packed in the side compartments), the boys waved us off, giggling and cheering that MamaTea was a "Hot Motorcycle Mama"
(direct quote from the boys, by the way), and we sped off. We had a map. Our only plan was that we didn't really have a plan. We were going to enjoy the countryside and each other's company. Stop when we wanted to stop, for as long or as little as we wanted to. Look at what we wanted to look at. Eat where we wanted to eat. Stay wherever we wanted to stay.

It was kind of foriegn to me, as far as traveling goes. Its the first trip I've ever been on that was so unplanned. And yet it was total bliss. Really quite freeing. Totally relaxing.

It didn't take me long...somewhere around Stillwater, I think, when I started to realize that this motorcycle trip was much like unschooling.

1. The motorcycle trip was so much about something my husband and I wanted to do. Something we needed to do, for whatever reason. Something we believed would bring us closer together, to reconnect in a life/living situation that can sometimes be hard to connect in. (For those who are new to this blog, we share a home with my parents, and my husband spends his work week away from us, only coming home on his days off.)This time together was just about us being together and exploring whatever came along.

Unschooling is the same thing. Something the family enjoys because we want to do it. We feel like we need to do it, for whatever reason. We believe it will keep us close together in a life/living situation that might otherwise be really stressful. Its about us being together...and being free to explore and experience all the awesome things that come our way.

2. The motorcycle trip was really more about the journey than it was about the destination. We didn't really know where would would end up. We just rode. We watched. We smiled. We stopped. We hung out. We saw parts of the state I didn't even know existed. And where we ended up staying overnight wasn't even in Minnesota. It was awesome.

In unschooling, we have to focus on the journey, not the destination. How can we even know what the destination is? Can we really know where we're going to end up? There is something peaceful and yet so energizing about welcoming the adventure that is wrapped up in a day, instead of worrying about what the whole purpose of the day was.

3. The really cool thing about being on the motorcycle is that everything is right there. You could reach right out and touch it if you wanted. The wind is right in your face. The smell of the lake or the farm or the woods or the dirt is right there. You are smack dab in the middle of life exactly as it is happening...instead of seeing from the other side of a car window, within the safety and comfort of the climate controlled interior.

Unschooling...well, that's the beauty of it. You're free to be smack dab in the middle of life exactly as it is happening. Everything is real, because you are in it. Your senses soak it up because its all around you. Its not a picture in a book. Its not some far off hard to grasp concept. What you want to know is right there. You can reach out and touch it. That's the best part.

So, regardless of the fact I need to sit on an ice pack to soothe my poor back side, I had an awesome time. Then again, maybe that's another parallel between the two: Motorcycle riding, if done with zest and an unwillingness to give up, can leave you with (seemingly permanent) marks (bruises). I'm sure, in some way, unschooling and learning through life will do the exact same thing. But just like the marks from the motorcycle ride, it will be well worth it.

Proven by, of all things, Pokemon

2009-06-26T05:53:00.000-05:00

Iggy has just recently discovered the world of Pokemon and was fortunate enough to score a "Pokemon handbook" from a garage sale. Yesterday he got wrapped up in his own sweet and lovely world and sat down to read it.

It always tickles me when he grabs a big ol'book and wants to read it. Because it consistently shows me, at least with my experience, that if a kid wants to know something, he will plow through those words he might not know to find the information he wants.

In this case, he wants to know all about pokemon.

And so he pushes through words like poison. And psychic. And a million pokemon names. He starts telling me all the attacks they have.

How do you know that? I ask, with a half grin.

Mom, it says it right there.

And so it does.

Lo and behold, working through those bigger words wasn't the only accomlishment. We also had to find out what a phrase such as 3' 11" meant. When Iggy realzied it referred to height, a whole new world was opened. I mean, figuring out how tall all the pokemons are, and how that relates to how tall Iggy is, or Mom is, or Dad is...that was the most interesting thing in the world to him.

So this little seed Pokemon is only an inch? he asks.
Yep.
He holds out his fingers to estimate an inch.
Wow. I hope no one steps on him.

Then he wanted to go through the book and figure out who was the tallest, who was the littlest, who weighed the most, etc. And I sat back and marveled at all the concepts he was sucking up into his brain. From a Pokemon book.

I'm sure I have friends and relatives who might suggest that Pokemon is useless crap.

I have to disagree.

The best way I've seen so far...

2009-06-25T19:32:00.000-05:00

...to explain learning.

Check out this little ditty. It compares learning to a musical composition. Sums it up pretty good. The last line is the best :)

Mr. Cool, before and after

2009-06-25T13:11:00.000-05:00

Yet another cool moment from the homeschool rendevous we went to a couple days ago...

Before:

and After:

Let me tell you, Iggy was soooo cool. He was Mr. Tough. Mr. Awesome. Mr. Invincible. But, between you and I, Mr. Cool insisted on washing out the color before bed - his own wishes - so he didn't mess up his lion pillow that he sleeps on. :)

My heart is pretty warm-ish today...

2009-06-23T14:43:00.000-05:00

...and not just because its almost 100 degrees outside.

Here's what happened.

Today we went to a little homeschool rendevouz of sorts at a park. There were many booths set up for businesses or groups that had something to offer specifically to homeschoolers (classes, games, different opportunities, etc.). There was also an area of kids activities. Everything was free.

So we did some looking and gathering of information for MamaTea, which included chatting with many area homeschoolers she hadn't seen in awhile. Then we went to the kids activities.

There was a trivia game Iggy and Ooky wanted to play where you spin a wheel and the color you land on determines what subject you have to answer a question in. After you figure out what subject you have, you get to choose easy question, medium question or hard question. There are prizes to be won.

Ooky went first, landed on green, and chose easy. He gets the question "What color is a raven?"...which got a blank stare from the Ookster. When the kid running the game explained a raven is a heck of a lot like a crow, however, Ooky answered "black."

Wahoo, good for you, pick a piece of candy! says the older kid running the game.

Iggy is up next and before he goes up to spin, he whispers to me "I'm going to pick a hard question." I told him that it was up to him. (But I wasn't sure why he'd pick hard since the questions we'd heard in the hard level, when just watching the game, were a bit over his head. Oh well. Perhaps he likes a challenge?)

So Iggy spins, lands on blue and picks hard.

The question?

"The Statue of Liberty was a gift from what country?"

MamaTea thinks: Seriously? The kid is not going to get this. I mean, come on. I don't ever remember even mentioning anything about...

Iggy says, "France."

Shut up. How did he know that?

Now that, my friends, was not the warm heart part. What happened next was.

Because he chose and answered a "hard" question, he gets, as a prize, a big blow up ball. It was the very last one available to win. He takes the ball, walks it over to this kid he doesn't know, and gives it to him.

Mamatea: Um....you don't have to give your toy away, Iggy.
Iggy: No. Its ok. I won it for him.

Apparently, a bit farther away from us, an older boy (maybe 10) had been picking on a younger boy (maybe 8). The younger boy wanted to answer a hard question and win that last ball. The older boy had already won a few blow up balls and was pestering the younger boy about how he (the older one) was going to answer another hard question and win another blow up ball and there wouldn't be any left for the younger boy to win.

Apparently Iggy watched this all take place, and felt bad for the younger boy. And that is why he wanted to answer a hard question. So he could win the blow up ball for that other boy.

Yep, my heart is warmish today. Hopefully yours is, too.

And then there was Guilt

2009-06-22T07:08:00.000-05:00

Ooky said the other day, "I just hate my life." He's a bit spirited, perhaps explosive, and will probably teach me everything I don't know about the world.

Iggy, who always wants to come out looking shiny and sparkly, says, "Oh yeah, well I love my life. Love love love it."

I love my life, too. Which happened to be the topic of discussion with Hubster last night. Because while I really adore the life I have, I feel really really...well, guilty. Even though we're not in our own home in the town we had planned on being in (and that will come)...Life is so so good.

I have a simple life. We wake up, we explore and eat up the day, we go to bed.

Hubster said "You do more than that," and told me I shouldn't think that what I do during the day isn't considered valuable work.

But that wasn't what I meant. I didn't intend for the conversation to be a booster about all the little things I do during the day, and how much they mean. We've had that conversation a million times before. He tells me how much I do, and I tell him I'm quite thankful for the opportunity to do so (him coming from a family of siblings who all have double income households, making us the weird ones.)

What I meant is that while I'm at home with the kids catching turtles, playing bocce ball, hiking in the woods, going to art festivals, baking bread, weeding the garden, he's off dealing with the really crappy messed up part of the world. He's a deputy working the night shift. He gets called to deal with people who are kicking the crap out of each other. Busting into each other's houses. Suddenly dying. Etc., Etc., Etc. The way I see it, he gets the short end of the stick.

I'm not naive. I know People, and People will suggest to Hubster that if his Looney Whackjob Hippie Wannabe Wife would just put the kids in school and get a job, all the problems of the world will go away. Because Common Knowledge tells us that two incomes and public school means you never have financial problems, and your kids are perfect.

Hubster reminded me that the way People think isn't how he thinks, so who cares what People think.

I told him I feel guilty for the simpliticy and the fun and the peace that I get to have every day, and he's out dealing with the exact opposite.

Hubster told me I was nuts if I thought I had a peaceful life. After all, I have to deal with Screamy (meaning Ooky).

But I didn't mean Peaceful as in quiet. I meant Peaceful as in everything is right.

He said I shouldn't feel guilty for being happy.

I feel like I'm in this big shift of how I look at most everything. It started with reading lots about unschooling and blew up into this whole different way to look at life in general. I mean, really. Truly. Completely. Its the difference between skipping along on the surface...or jumping in and going all the way under and not caring if you come up for what others might consider air. Just strapping on your gills and breathing something completely different.

Hubster said he likes our simple life. Hubster said that I am his normal in a world of insanity. And that I shouldn't worry. Or feel guilty.

I'll have to work on that.

What's the word?

2009-06-19T09:07:00.000-05:00

Ooky wanted to play hangman the other day. He tells me he wants to be the person who decides what word we're doing, and I'll be the guesser. I agree and he starts writing down dashes to represent where the letters will go.

I'm assuming, since we'd just been talking about Star Wars, that the word he's going to try and make me guess is Star Wars. The number of dashes don't fit, of course, but I knew they wouldn't. Invented Spelling Hangman is always a bit more fun anyway. :)

So I start guessing S and T and throw an R in there and I'm pretty sure that we're headed for Star Wars. I guess a W and he says "No."

"Are you sure there's no W?" I ask.
"Yep."

Hmmm. So I start thinking of all the other words he might be doing, taking out some vowels of course because he generally forgets about them and we stick them in later.

"Mom" he says. "I'll give you a hint. How about you guess a letter...that kinda looks like a ghost that's upside down."

What?

"Oh," I say. "U."

A vowel? Wow.

"Correct!" he answers, and writes it down.

So now I'm totally confused and the letters I'm guessing aren't fitting in. Finally I'm ready to give up.

Ooky says, "Why don't I just tell you what the word is."

Ok.

"It's 'struggle', Mom."

Struggle?

"Yes, Mom. Struggle."

Well, alrighty then.

If you give your kids an...

2009-06-17T20:08:00.000-05:00

... instrument, or the materials to build one, they will create a band. They will name their band Bikini Wicked Wake Up. They will ask you to get out your own guitar and play the bass line to Seven Nation Army. They will make up their own words to the song because they can't remember the real words. And you will laugh. Really hard. And smile. Really big.

(I was really hoping the video we took would load, but since its not working as of right now, I'll have to give you kinda sorta actiony shots. Should the Powers That Be be more cooperative at a later time, I will add the video then. Telling you its hilarious would be an understatment.)

If you give a kid a ball and some safety cones, they will create a makeshift bowling game.

If you give a kid a croquet mallet, he might surprise you by actually playing the game. With new rules, of course, because who actually understands the official rules of that game?

If you give a kid some bocce balls, you'll get an awesome picture that captures just how silly and insane this sweetie pie is...and then you'll wonder if it was a safe idea to give him really heavy solid could-possibly-be-used-as-weapons type balls in the first place.

random backyard beauty

2009-06-17T07:01:00.000-05:00

Chillin' out

The backyard art studio and the things boys create

Laughing at a funny joke

Butterflies and bees

Truly, our days are quite lovely. :)

What's in a name?

2009-06-16T07:30:00.000-05:00

I remember sitting at a homeschool gathering and listening to one of my buddies talk about how she feels she doesn't fit in. Anywhere. Even with most homeschoolers. Because even though she teaches her kids at home, her methods and ideology are often questioned by whoever she is with. The classical method people thought she was way too relaxed. The unschoolers thought she was too structured. And whoever is middle of the road thought she was too far reaching of either side of middle to be truly called middle. She attends church, but isn't homeschooling for religious reasons. To be involved in a group setting of Christian homeschoolers is sometimes far too evangelical and preachy for her tastes, but the secular homeschooling groups sometimes assume you're flat out atheistic.

She doesn't fit.

What exactly is in a name? And why do we feel the need to label who we are? Is it because it makes other people "like us" easier to find, or does it actually work against us, because we have preconceived notions of what those other labels are?

It reminds me a little bit of high school. You had all those different groups and the people who fit into them. And then there was this odd sect of the school population that didn't really fit anywhere and were kind of forgotten about. They just kind of "were". That's where I would have been. I wasn't enough of any certain one group to be lumped in with them, nor did I want to be lumped into anything. I just kind of went about my daily thing and "was".

I think that's how I still am, I guess.

People impose labels for whatever reason...to group others who might be similar with each other. To find others who might be like or unlike themselves. But it doesn't always work. A lot of people would consider me an unschooler. But some unschoolers might say I'm not. A lot of people would consider me a Christian. A lot of Christians are uncomfortable with my questions of the faith and the broader sense of beliefs that I give to my kids. A lot of people would consider me homey or old fashioned or simple. But i've visited with some conservative christian families who would say I'm not any of the three.

So what's in a name? How do you think you might be labeled...and do those labels work for you? Why or why not? What issues have you had with being labeled...and what in the world to we teach our kids about how genuine labels are?

Our own Sunday Funnies

2009-06-14T12:58:00.001-05:00

Iggy and Ooky have this fascination with spitting. I don't get it. Yesterday they went at it again. Spit on the ground, spit in the creek, spit kinda sort of close to each other...

MamaTea: Guys, stop spitting.

The boys are apparently deaf, because Iggy continues to spit. I am starting to think he has over active salivary glands.

MamaTea: Seriously guys?

Ooky fires himself up to return a whopping wad of spit at his brother, but before he does, he gets himself into prime fighting mode by pulling the power rangers mask he had sitting on top of his head down onto his face.

Then he spits.

Then you hear...

Ooky: Oh. I guess that doesn't work when you have a mask on.

So now Ooky has a mask full of spit, and Iggy is kind of grossed out at the thought of having a mask full of spit.

Problem solved. :)

Freaky Friday: Its not always necessary to point it out

2009-06-12T07:23:00.000-05:00

A couple days ago we were running deliveries around the state for my mom's pet food business. I really like this day of the month because it takes me about 90 minutes south to a lovely and simple farming community where I can breathe easier and smile a lot. This, dear blogging buddies, is where "my peeps" live.

The couple customers/families we deliver to there are so very lovely - I do enjoy spending time talking with them. Both are homeschooling families; one a die hard unschooler, the other conservative christian, classical method. The kids all run and play together while the adults have rip roaring wonderful and respectful discussions.

On this particular recent delivery day, Iggy and Ooky were tearing around the yard with the conservative Christian family's two boys (ages 9 and 11, I think) and after some time, I told them it was time to go. Iggy and Ooky loaded into the van and grabbed their Leapsters, getting ready for the 90 minute ride home. The adults were still saying goodbyes, and so the other two boys were kind of leaning into the van, watching Iggy and Ooky. This is how the conversation went:
Other Two: What game is that?
Ooky: Its Spongebob.
Other Two: Oh.
Ooky: Its for my Leapster. What kind of Leapster games do you have?
Other Two: None.
Ooky: Oh.
Other Two: We don't really have games like that.
Ooky: Oh.
Other Two: We do have Legos, though.
Ooky: I like Legos...
Other Two: But I guess Legos isn't really a game.
Then it was time to go.

I thought about this after. A few months ago I would have probably spent a lot of time talking about the ways the other family is different from us in some sort of effort to "open their eyes to the different culture"...or something like that. Talking about the conservative Christian aspect, how they don't have a tv or Leapsters,the girls all wear dresses, why they live the way they live, etc., and blah blah blah. But for some reason, in that moment while we were pulling out of the driveway, it just didn't seem important. Because from what I had gathered, my boys didn't think it was weird that the Other Two didn't have Leapsters, and the Other Two didn't think it neccessary to assert why they didn't have them. Both sets of kids were pretty much like this is the way I live, and it didn't go any farther than that. No judgement. No explanation. No nothing. Movin' on.

Sometimes I think we as adults can mess this part up. Making too much of something before we even need to. Because I really think that if I had gone into pointing out the differences between our two famililies in a totally innocent attempt to "educate the kids on cultural differences", there would have been something different about how they played next time we were together. Dare I say that pointing out the other families differences may have let that unspoken freakiness factor creep in? You would hope it wouldn't...but one never knows. Even if the discussion about their differences was surrounded by different is ok, sometimes pointing the differences out can make things afterwards weird.

I mean, really. Its obvious the kids don't much care. Why ruin a good thing?

Inside Ooky's world

2009-06-11T16:07:00.000-05:00

Ooky: Mom, what does "oddball" mean?
Mamatea: Why do you ask?
Ooky: I dunno.
Mamatea: Did someone call you an oddball?
Ooky: (silent)
Mamatea: Well, it usually means different. You know, a little bit crazy. A person who likes to do things a different way.
Ooky: (no response)
Mamatea: You know, I'm kind of an oddball.
(Ooky gets this totally incredulous look on his face.)
Ooky: You are not an oddball, Mom. You are totally normal.

Oh. No. I have completely skewed his sense of normal.

Insert evil laughter here. A couple times. And again.

Ooky drew some pictures today and asked me if I could write down the words for the story for him because he couldn't write fast enough to keep up with his brain. Here are a couple of excerpts from his book (without pictures, sorry.)

"This is Mallard, the duck. He lives in a cave with a spot of water and a spot of land. He has toy minnows he got from the fishing store. He plays with his minnows all day and night. But he sleeps about ten hours at night, too."

"This is killer whale and his name is Killer. He is 500 years old. He got to be so old because his birthday is before everyone else's. His favorite dessert is chocolate cake. His favorite thing about being in the water is that he gets to eat other squids. The part he doesn't like about the water is all his friends go away, like the squids and Dolphee and the Diver." Mamatea's note: his friend the squid? You mean the ones he likes to eat?

"Ok, this is the last one. He's an octopus and his name is Squidee. He likes to travel in different seas. His favorite one is the Africa Sea because that's when his friends traveled with him."

Ah, Ooky. He just makes me smile.

Moments Like These...

2009-06-10T07:56:00.000-05:00

...are why the rat race kind of issues that arise at swimming lessons (see yesterday's post) bug me so much. Our life is just so not that. Example:

Iggy and Ooky decide they are going to build a tent out of gym mats.

At some hour of the night (that I'm sure i'm a terrible parent for letting them even know exists) they crawl inside and snuggle in for a good night's sleep.

About three minutes later, the two campers arrive at my bedside and decide that since its a dadless night, hogpiling on mom would be far more fun than camping in that dark ol' tent anyway.

Perfect. And yes, that is my oldest son, Iggy, in a silky pastely pj top intended for girls. He bought it at a garage sale because it has bloodhounds on it and he likes bloodhounds "and the feel of silky things, mom."

You go, my big little man. :)

The Crabby Cave Dwelling Mom vs. Swimming Lessons

2009-06-09T14:00:00.000-05:00

Last January we found this lovely place for Iggy and Ooky to take swimming lessons. We loved the teacher, daytime class sizes were tiny, and it was never busy. It was a-w-e-s-o-m-e.

And then came summer.

The plan was to take one more session of lessons and then be done for awhile. Iggy and Ooky are past the point of buzzin' through their lessons and are at a place where whatever skills they pick up in a lesson will have to sink in for sometime before they would "pass" another level. So we'd figure out what skills they needed to work on, and then stop official lessons and spend our own time working on those skills. I'm not one to pay someone else to oversee my kids reviewing things that just take time to figure out.

So today, we walk into our first lesson of the new session, expecting things to be just as they were before. You know, one class in the pool....six kids, very minimal stress...

Yeah. Right.

We have seven classes going on at the same time. There are so many parents and kids watching the swimming lessons that I don't know if I can (or should) sit down anywhere. I have no clue where the kids teacher is. There is no indication of where level whatever is. Everyone is walking around looking totally lost.

I find the lifeguard, who I have talked to many times before, who smiles at me and says "Welcome to summer lessons." She tells me where she thinks Ooky's lessons are. Iggy and I sit. We are next to a table and decide we probably aren't going to be able to play cards like usual. Its hard to do that when there are kids climbing on and sitting on top of it. There are kids behind us walking between the glass wall and the line of chairs against it. All the moms are calling kids and yelling at kids and freaking out at kids and wondering where kids are and yadda yadda.

Focus on the pool, shall we? Some upper level class who is working on the backstroke (I think) is kind of jumbled up because some lower level class just had a bunch of kids jump in the pool over the top of the kids who are backstroking. And no one looked too concerned. Me, I'm seriously wondering if I'm in the right place.

Iggy's class is after Ooky's class and its another hour of acid bubbling in my stomach and crawling up my throat. Not necessarily because I was worried something bad was going to happen (even though it could have), it was more along the lines of feeling like we were a room full of cattle, being pushed through the swimming lesson thing as fast as we could so someone could make some serious ching.

After the lesson, we waited in line for 15 minutes to get into the locker room to change. And some of us couldn't wait in line like actual adults. We had to, dare I say, cut in line and rush for the door when someone was done! Iggy had to use the bathroom but couldn't because some yahoo decided the family style bathroom would be a good place to change her four kids. Nevermind that if you're in there, no one else can pee!

Whatever. I kept my cool. And when I got home, I made a phone call to this establishment. Below is a very brief summary of what happened.
Me: Your summer lessons are stressful and totally lame.
Them: You can't cancel. No refunds.
Me: You could keep my money in your account and I will use it in fall or winter when I don't have to trip over a thousand people on my way to the pool.
Them: Nope, sorry.
They then insinuated that I was irresponsible for signing up for classes and wanting to cancel when there were so many people who were sitting on a waiting list right now. But then when I said I would gladly trade my summer spot for one in fall, they said "And who would we get to take your spot?"

Um...what?

So dear buddies of blogland, what would you do? Eat the $66 you paid for lessons and pull the kids, or figure out a way to stick it out? We have seven lessons left (one month, twice a week.) Is my sanity worth something, or is this more about sticking with something we committed to? Am I an over sensitive homeschooler, or someone who "gets it"?

And WHY is the world obsessed with fastquickeverythingrightnow and thinking that they have to do things a certain way even though the stress that accompanies it is ridiculous?

Perhaps its just another reason we chose to homeschool. To be out of all that.

In Their Own Words...

2009-06-08T21:05:00.000-05:00

This weekend I was away at a planning meeting for a group I'm finishing up my last year in (nothing to do with homeschooling). At the meeting, we were presented with letters from our kids - basically interviews the Dads had done, asking questions and writing down what the darlings had answered.

I know. Too awesome. And of course I have to share...

What makes your mom special?
Iggy - We love her. We wouldn't even exist without her. We like to play with her.
Ooky - If she didn't exist she couldn't tuck us in for bedtime. If she wasn't born ever, we wouldn't have her.

What is one thing you love that your mom does?
Iggy - Helps me find my eight million dolls.
Ooky - Bakes with me.

What do you miss most about your mom when she is gone?
Iggy: I don't really know because we have boys days when she's gone and those are pretty fun.
Ooky: All of her.

What does your mom do that makes you proud?
Iggy: Plays badminton
Ooky: Is on my team for badminton

What is one thing you'd like to tell your mom?
Iggy: That my brother keeps doing it.
Ooky: That is all my brother's fault.

I especially love that last one. Because I was of course assuming I'd get a sweet somewhat staged nugget about being a fantastic mom. But no. Given the chance, the ONE thing they want to tell me is that their brother is the source of all pain and anquish in the world.

Perfect. :)

Life with Boys

2009-06-06T11:07:00.000-05:00

Iggy approaches me the other day with this lovely uniform.
"What do you plan on doing with all that on?" I ask.
"I'm doing Extreme Bailing," he answers.
"What?"
"Extreme Bailing, Mom. Bailing out from a wagon going down the hill. Or maybe I'll purposely bail off my bike."
Nice.

Some boy moments actually are kinda quiet. When they stop for half a second. It happens every so often.

But mostly, its loud. Or messy. And sometimes a bit dangerous.

Its a bit of a crazy life, living with boys. We dig giant worm pits, have light saber fights, make diet coke fountains, and bail out of wagons. Its a messy life. The ring around the bathtub never seems to go away. But I wouldn't want it any other way :)

Freaky Friday: Random freakiness

2009-06-05T07:33:00.000-05:00

Alas...we arrive at another freaky friday. Where you get to find out a little bit (or a lotta bit) of "offness" that lives inside of MamaTea.

Here's a website that's a little "freaky". Go visit it...especially if you have kids who are obsessed with the bathroom habits or body noises. Whopooped.org is a little trivia type game from the Minnesota Zoo about animal scat. The boys loved it, are now reciting lovely facts to anyone who will listen...and I even learned a thing or two. At the end, you get a "Poop Expert" certificate to print off. We have two proudly displayed on the fridge here.

Here's something I thought was a little "freaky", but in a different sense. A college here that most people know simply as St. Kate's is changing its name from college to university Um, seriously? In this economy....you're going to change your name? What about all the banners/signs/letterhead/etc/etc/etc you're going to have to re-do now? There's been all sorts of things published about why the name is changed - and I don't understand any of it. So maybe I'm the freaky one. Is there really that big of a difference between a college and a university? Does it really make that much better of an impression on your resume if it says university? I mean, I didn't graduate from a college or a university(and therefore have a lame resume anyway), so perhaps this is something I'm extremely uneducated about. Fill me in. Who is freaky here - me for not getting it, or the school for thinking the name is going to draw more people?

And last but not least in freakiness is the new hands-on-CPR we learned about on television the other day. "We don't breathe anymore?" I asked deputy and former fireman Hubster. He informed me that people are a little weird about germs. Throughout a bit of reading I did, it was insinuated that the upper-uppers decided more people would do CPR if they didn't have to worry about the "mouth to mouth" part. Hmmm. Perhaps its just me, but met with the decision of try to save a life vs. suck up some germs...hmmm. But then you know me. I'm just freaky.

Genuine Kids

2009-06-04T07:06:00.000-05:00

My kids have an unsquashed love to feel and explore the world. It can be exhausting.

My kids are intense. Explosively colorful. I sometimes describe them as super high bouncy balls in a room full of sunken golf balls. My brain usually gets painfully tangled up as it tries to wrap itself around what exactly is going on inside them. Not to mention, I'm physically tired.

Enter homeschooling, which works out pretty well for us, in that they can explore that intensity. That excitement. That emotion. That need to know. The millions of questions. Etc. Etc. And on and on.

Then again, there is that whole issue of being out in public and relating with the world. For instance, the poor checkout girl, who very recently engaged my children in conversation (and soon after, wondered what she was thinking) and got an earful from Iggy and Ooky about everything from homeschooling ("except that we don't really do school like most kids do school, ya know.") to beverage choice ("we love to drink coffee. Mostly only big people drink coffee, but we really like it so we drink it too.") to extracurricular activities ("oh today? today we're going to a cemetery. we visit them a lot to look for really old graves. we try to figure out why they died...") All in the time it takes to pay for gas and a couple treats.

Breathe.

Another time (last week) we were at a canine festival and stumbled upon some kid games that my lil' darlings wanted to play. They were a quarter a piece and you won a prize. Perfect. So Iggy, who is six, is so gosh darn excited to play this game, and he's making it pretty apparent to everyone around how excited he is. Not necessarily loud and obnoxious, just excited. To play a bean bag game. The boy scout (9? 10 years old?) is looking at Iggy like he's got six heads. I clearly saw him thinking Seriously. Its a bean bag game. You are weird. But Iggy didn't care. He just went on being Iggy.

Anti-homeschooling folk might say in the first example that my kids were talking the checkout ladies ear off because they are absoultely starved for social contact. And then I would counter that, no, they aren't starved for the opportunity to talk, its that they aren't afraid to talk to anyone...and you should be careful engaging them in conversation. Because they aren't afraid to take you on.

In the second example, Iggy was genuinely excited. Anti-homeschooling folk might say its because he's so sheltered that an otherwise lame bean bag game would entertain him. I counter with, nope. He just likes it. And he's not afraid to show it. Sorry.

I don't usually post anything outright anti-public school, because I'm really a live and let live kind of gal. But I will say that I often wonder if they gone to public school, would this kind of thirst for everything that's out there, and the intensity that comes along with it, still exist? Or would it have been squashed out of them? Would they have just smiled at the checkout girl? Would they have passed by the bean bag game because it was babyish? Or would they have still been genuinely Iggy and Ooky?

Hmmm. It makes me wonder.