Last week at CC, during lunch, Eva said she had to got potty. This is a big deal. I have to unstrap Quinn from his booster, haul them all away from the table and march down the hall to the potty. It takes no less than 10 minutes and lunch is only a half an hour. Sometimes, if I'm feeling super tired, I'll ask a mom at the same table to keep an eye on the children who don't have to go. But that day, because I was feeling super ballsy, and because Eva is the oldest and she knows where the potty is, I told her she could go by herself. She looked dubious, but went.
She wasn't even out the door of the cafeteria when Sully said his hands were sticky and he needed to wash them. (He says this no less than five times per meal, even though I encourage him every time to just wait until he's done eating so I don't have to wipe them every two to three minutes.) I told him to hurry after his sister and wash them in the bathroom with her.
Within five minutes, two less than flattering things happened, another mom approached our table with a stern expression on her face and Sully in tow and said, "Does he belong to you? I found him wandering in the hall saying he couldn't reach the sink in the bathroom. He should be supervised. I say this only because we were reminded to stay with our small children at all times."
A myriad of emotions coursed through me, the biggest two rearing their heads being shame, closely followed by anger. I'm not sure what showed up on my face, being the open book that I am, but I just said, "Right. Of course." She walked away and I ventured a glance at the two moms at my table, both parents to boys in Eva's class, both parents of multiple small children, both infinitely more understanding than this woman had just been. They were also both fighting back giggles. My mood immediately lightened.
"Let's go, Sully." I grabbed his hand, barely aware that the uber-mom had taken to patrolling the hall again. As we rounded the bend to the bathroom, uber-mom, who was now coming back in the direction of the cafeteria, made an about-face, headed for the bathroom, and muttered, "Someone's crying in here, I better find out what's going on." It seemed to me that she was actually taking delight in taking me and my kind down. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach only deepened when the door to the bathroom was opened and Eva's familiar cry reached my ears. I could see her sneakers dangling near the toilet in the first stall. I sighed, resigned, and said with great defeat, "This one is mine, too." I didn't even bother to look at uber-mom's face. I didn't want to see the judgement in her eyes.
When I got back to the table, I shared my tale of woe with my friends. They both laughed and laughed. My one friend kindly said she would pray grace over me. I was fighting my pride and my pride won. I said, somewhat indignantly, "I'm pretty sure she has ONE kid! I saw them walk in this morning and he's like 10!" She's older than we are, easily in her late forties, so I doubt she has any smaller children and I've never seen her in the nursery. Knowing both of these things helped assuage my guilt a tiny bit, but I knew I was in the wrong. Laziness had kept my butt securely anchored to my chair when Eva had started this ball in motion. I should have sucked it up then, gave Quinn copious amounts of cheese, and asked my friends to keep an eye on him the first time around, instead of having to be admonished by a woman who seemed to have never been in my shoes before.
I seem to be eternally caught in that web of wanting my children to be self-sufficient and never grow up. The contradiction drives me crazy as much as them being little and needy drives me crazy and nearly as much as I love being needed. It all makes me want to run, full-tilt, into a corner, pull my hair and scream.
I learned some valuable lessons that day, one being that I should never assume my children are ready for something, when it's very possible they are not. Another being that I can't stop being a mom just because I'm tired --something I know and hold in the back of my mind always, but something inherently more obvious at two in the morning. I also learned that I do not enjoy being admonished now any more than I did in elementary school.
I'm committed to improving on these "issues." But I also need to improve my attitude toward the mother who reigned me in. I'm still raging at her on the inside. It's not so much that she did it. It was how she did it and how I perceived her while she was doing it (which is clearly for ME to wrestle through). If any of the other women in that room with three plus kids had said to me what she did, even if they'd had the tone she had had, I would have been okay with that because they have walked where I have walked. I want to pull her aside the next time I see her and say (if I may uncensor myself here completely), "Listen, I know you meant well last Thursday in pointing out that my toddlers were unattended, but your tone and delivery were lacking much in the way of empathy. I'm trying not to be judgmental in the same way I perceived you were judging me, but I can't help but notice that you seem to only have one child and he appears to be much older than my children. Would it kill you to try to put yourself in my shoes for five minutes? To dig down deep and find that bone of understanding? And, if I'm wrong, and he's the youngest of a whole brood of children, where is your empathy as my sister in Christ?! Are you that perfect of a mother?" Ironically, just as greatly as I desire empathy from her, I should be trying to muster some of that FOR her. I have no idea what her life circumstances are. I learn new things about these moms I'm mucking through the trenches with every Thursday.
I'm struggling with knowing that I was in the wrong and wanting to throttle her. It's not a pleasant tug of war. I'm confident that approaching this with humility is the only way to go. A confrontation, of any kind, is not. So until we meet again, and I know we will, I will pray for the swift death of my pride and for God to grow in her a modicum of understanding for us moms in the dregs of toddlerhood.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Friday, December 2, 2011
Stubbornacity
I don't think being hormonal and parenting mix. Regrettably, for all parties involved, you can rarely have one without the other. I now see the wisdom, far beyond the charitable and philanthropic gesture it is, of adopting.
I often wrestle with the obvious position of blessing I am in and the disturbing knowledge of just how hard it is to be a stay-at-home mom. Today started out and has been going just like any other day, but it's only noon and I feel like I've been mentally torn to shreds. Sully began by whining, Quinn by crying and all of them by needing to be told what to do repeatedly. My patience is wearing so thin by this point, if the essential savior of each day --quiet time-- were not a mere one hour and 45 minutes away, I would fear for the lives of my young brood.
**CAUTION** The below photo is not for the faint of heart!**CAUTION**
I just finished a reading lesson with Eva, during the course of which Sully made Quinn cry no less than three times, Eva balked at EVERY attempt to learn and I nearly pulled out most of my already thinning hair. I walked away from it thinking, "Can I do this? Am I kidding myself? Should it be this hard?" You know, and I know, that I've asked myself these questions so many times in the past 11 weeks that it's become redundant. (Just call me Lady Redundant Woman. Props to "Word Girl.") At what point does the asking of the question become the answer? I mean, if you've stopped asking the question, normally, that means you've had it answered. But if, on the other hand, you keep asking it over and over, does that mean that you don't want to know the answer, you honestly don't know the answer, or you know the answer but can't bring yourself to say it out loud?
Yesterday was CC and Eva was a complete wreck. The worst she's ever been there. I actually had to pull her out of class and have a little chat with her, which to me, felt completely ineffective. The little pisser actually had the nerve to tell me she was paying attention and knew what she was doing. The kids were practicing the tin whistle and trying to learn "Mary Had a Little Lamb." She wasn't even looking at the teacher. She was blowing at all the wrong times and not sitting in her seat. In short, she was all over the place. It was the end of the day, the kids were already a mess from it being the first time back since Thanksgiving break, so maybe I should have been easier on her. I don't know.
I said to her, once out of the room, "Wait. So you're telling me you can actually play 'Mary Had a Little Lamb?' You already know how, huh? Okay. Fine. Play it for me." Naturally, she refused.
I think the thing that blows my mind the most about all of this is the level of sass involved at such a young age. I really don't think I had balls like that at five. I certainly don't recall bluffing about the amount of knowledge I had. If I didn't think I could do something, I admitted to it. And if my parents were staring at me menacingly while calling my bluff, I highly doubt I would hold up under that kind of pressure. She just stares me down like it's the easiest thing she's done all day, which makes me wonder if I'm not being hard enough on her.
I think Eva and her shenanigans would be enough to push most parents to the brink, but add Sully and you've got a very effective cocktail for insanity. He makes Eva's stubborness look like a picnic, full of the sweetest, fluffiest, most delightful pastries imaginable. ('Cause that's what MY ultimate picnic would look like, of course. Theron's would be full of different pork products.)
He's stone-cold stubborn to the max. You'll tell him to stop doing something or to do something and he'll look you in the eye and do it again or smartly tell you "no." Even when he knows the consequences. Especially when he knows the consequences. Sigh.
And Quinn, God bless his chubby, baby heart, has taken, lately, to shunning me at every possible turn when his father is in the house. I've tried not to take it personally, but it's not been easy, given my hormonal condition and the fact that I was his favorite up until a few days ago. Last night he woke up from a bad dream in a complete panic and I wanted to comfort him, but he screamed, "NO!" so loudly whenever I came near him I was afraid he'd wake up the other kids. Daddy had to save the day. I guess I should be glad that he got less sleep than I did.
I keep reassuring myself that this stubborn streak in my children will serve them well in adulthood if we can mold it, by the grace of God, into something useful. Tenacity is not a bad trait to possess. But having the wisdom to know when to hold on and when to let go is invaluable. Right now, I just pray that I can get them through it without killing them or myself in the process.
I often wrestle with the obvious position of blessing I am in and the disturbing knowledge of just how hard it is to be a stay-at-home mom. Today started out and has been going just like any other day, but it's only noon and I feel like I've been mentally torn to shreds. Sully began by whining, Quinn by crying and all of them by needing to be told what to do repeatedly. My patience is wearing so thin by this point, if the essential savior of each day --quiet time-- were not a mere one hour and 45 minutes away, I would fear for the lives of my young brood.
**CAUTION** The below photo is not for the faint of heart!**CAUTION**
 |
| This is a pretty accurate depiction of how my brain feels...on kids. |
I just finished a reading lesson with Eva, during the course of which Sully made Quinn cry no less than three times, Eva balked at EVERY attempt to learn and I nearly pulled out most of my already thinning hair. I walked away from it thinking, "Can I do this? Am I kidding myself? Should it be this hard?" You know, and I know, that I've asked myself these questions so many times in the past 11 weeks that it's become redundant. (Just call me Lady Redundant Woman. Props to "Word Girl.") At what point does the asking of the question become the answer? I mean, if you've stopped asking the question, normally, that means you've had it answered. But if, on the other hand, you keep asking it over and over, does that mean that you don't want to know the answer, you honestly don't know the answer, or you know the answer but can't bring yourself to say it out loud?
Yesterday was CC and Eva was a complete wreck. The worst she's ever been there. I actually had to pull her out of class and have a little chat with her, which to me, felt completely ineffective. The little pisser actually had the nerve to tell me she was paying attention and knew what she was doing. The kids were practicing the tin whistle and trying to learn "Mary Had a Little Lamb." She wasn't even looking at the teacher. She was blowing at all the wrong times and not sitting in her seat. In short, she was all over the place. It was the end of the day, the kids were already a mess from it being the first time back since Thanksgiving break, so maybe I should have been easier on her. I don't know.
I said to her, once out of the room, "Wait. So you're telling me you can actually play 'Mary Had a Little Lamb?' You already know how, huh? Okay. Fine. Play it for me." Naturally, she refused.
I think the thing that blows my mind the most about all of this is the level of sass involved at such a young age. I really don't think I had balls like that at five. I certainly don't recall bluffing about the amount of knowledge I had. If I didn't think I could do something, I admitted to it. And if my parents were staring at me menacingly while calling my bluff, I highly doubt I would hold up under that kind of pressure. She just stares me down like it's the easiest thing she's done all day, which makes me wonder if I'm not being hard enough on her.
I think Eva and her shenanigans would be enough to push most parents to the brink, but add Sully and you've got a very effective cocktail for insanity. He makes Eva's stubborness look like a picnic, full of the sweetest, fluffiest, most delightful pastries imaginable. ('Cause that's what MY ultimate picnic would look like, of course. Theron's would be full of different pork products.)
He's stone-cold stubborn to the max. You'll tell him to stop doing something or to do something and he'll look you in the eye and do it again or smartly tell you "no." Even when he knows the consequences. Especially when he knows the consequences. Sigh.
And Quinn, God bless his chubby, baby heart, has taken, lately, to shunning me at every possible turn when his father is in the house. I've tried not to take it personally, but it's not been easy, given my hormonal condition and the fact that I was his favorite up until a few days ago. Last night he woke up from a bad dream in a complete panic and I wanted to comfort him, but he screamed, "NO!" so loudly whenever I came near him I was afraid he'd wake up the other kids. Daddy had to save the day. I guess I should be glad that he got less sleep than I did.
I keep reassuring myself that this stubborn streak in my children will serve them well in adulthood if we can mold it, by the grace of God, into something useful. Tenacity is not a bad trait to possess. But having the wisdom to know when to hold on and when to let go is invaluable. Right now, I just pray that I can get them through it without killing them or myself in the process.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Potty Training vs. Homeschooling: Is there a lesser of two evils?
I feel like I've deserved today. I had just finished extolling the virtues of my daughter and how receptive she had been as of late with her schooling. Today it was like pulling teeth. Or potty training. Or something infinitely worse that my tired mind cannot conceive of at the moment. To be fair to her, the tantrums were fewer, less intense and shorter, but it was still trying. To make all of this worse, I think there's been a shift in my pregnancy hormones and I my tolerance for any kind of toddler shenanigans is way down.
To put the title of today's entry into context, allow me to "esplain:"
As per my last post, we were visiting with my parents this past weekend. My parents live in a lovely, cottage-like home in the middle of nowhere. I'm not exaggerating, but I am digressing ever so slightly... It's always so nice to have help with the children and to be able to enjoy them without all the work and chores waiting for me in my own home to taunt me. At one point in our visit, we were talking about potty training and I voiced my great disdain for it. I love my children. I don't mind feeding them; I can handle the poopy diapers; discipline is a necessity; the laundry just comes with the territory; but if I could hire someone to come in and potty train them and clean up all the messes and deal with all the setbacks and inconsistencies and, well, crap, that'd be totes awesome. I HATE potty training.
It all came to the forefront today when Quinn came running into the kitchen, pointing to his luscious baby buns and saying, "PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I've always thought it good to encourage use of the potty when they start to recognize they're going to the bathroom in their drawers, so I said to him, "Do you have to go potty?" He sweetly, but in his abrupt way, replied, "Yeah." So I whisked him off to sit on the potty and, you guessed it, nothing happened. This happened three more times in the course of the morning BEFORE he finally pooped in, you guessed it, his diaper.
I had low expectations. He's not even two yet. But this is what I HATE about potty training! It takes so long for them to make the connection and the wait feels like an eternity because you have to wait with them! To hear my mom tell it, you would think it was the easiest thing in the world, "Oh, you just put them on the training potty after their nap in front of a show they like, give them a snack, and SHAZZAM! they've made dookie!!!"
Truthfully, I'm less worried about Quinn's ability to do #2 on the pot and more worried about his ability to get his pee in the potty at all. His poor little noodle is a wee button of a thing and it's incredibly difficult to tuck down in between his chubby legs. I don't know that teaching him to do it standing up would be any easier. Sigh. Just one more reason to hate this loathsome task.
This morning's events all led my train of thought to when I would have to get serious about training Quinn and all the glorious things I'd have on my plate when that time finally arrived. I think I've decided on making a go of it this summer, unless, of course, he miraculously makes the connection before that time. At least in the summer I won't have to juggle Eva's schooling AND a new baby with potty training. This way I'll only have to worry about enjoying quality time with Quinn on the john in between nursings and I'll be able to let him run around pantless in the backyard. Good times.
To put the title of today's entry into context, allow me to "esplain:"
As per my last post, we were visiting with my parents this past weekend. My parents live in a lovely, cottage-like home in the middle of nowhere. I'm not exaggerating, but I am digressing ever so slightly... It's always so nice to have help with the children and to be able to enjoy them without all the work and chores waiting for me in my own home to taunt me. At one point in our visit, we were talking about potty training and I voiced my great disdain for it. I love my children. I don't mind feeding them; I can handle the poopy diapers; discipline is a necessity; the laundry just comes with the territory; but if I could hire someone to come in and potty train them and clean up all the messes and deal with all the setbacks and inconsistencies and, well, crap, that'd be totes awesome. I HATE potty training.
It all came to the forefront today when Quinn came running into the kitchen, pointing to his luscious baby buns and saying, "PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I've always thought it good to encourage use of the potty when they start to recognize they're going to the bathroom in their drawers, so I said to him, "Do you have to go potty?" He sweetly, but in his abrupt way, replied, "Yeah." So I whisked him off to sit on the potty and, you guessed it, nothing happened. This happened three more times in the course of the morning BEFORE he finally pooped in, you guessed it, his diaper.
I had low expectations. He's not even two yet. But this is what I HATE about potty training! It takes so long for them to make the connection and the wait feels like an eternity because you have to wait with them! To hear my mom tell it, you would think it was the easiest thing in the world, "Oh, you just put them on the training potty after their nap in front of a show they like, give them a snack, and SHAZZAM! they've made dookie!!!"
Truthfully, I'm less worried about Quinn's ability to do #2 on the pot and more worried about his ability to get his pee in the potty at all. His poor little noodle is a wee button of a thing and it's incredibly difficult to tuck down in between his chubby legs. I don't know that teaching him to do it standing up would be any easier. Sigh. Just one more reason to hate this loathsome task.
This morning's events all led my train of thought to when I would have to get serious about training Quinn and all the glorious things I'd have on my plate when that time finally arrived. I think I've decided on making a go of it this summer, unless, of course, he miraculously makes the connection before that time. At least in the summer I won't have to juggle Eva's schooling AND a new baby with potty training. This way I'll only have to worry about enjoying quality time with Quinn on the john in between nursings and I'll be able to let him run around pantless in the backyard. Good times.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Much Trepidation
I've obviously been remiss in keeping up with this blog. Sigh. I suppose the main reason for that is that I think we've hit our stride with this homeschooling thing. We hit some speedbumps early on, but I've started to form a sort of daily routine and now that we've been at that for three weeks or so, it's been pretty smooth sailing. Don't hear me saying it's been easy. We still have days where Eva spends a good portion of the morning sitting on the toilet in the bathroom (My new favorite, isolated, time-out location.) contemplating cooperating with me while I blow off some steam folding laundry or putting dishes away. But, for the most part, things have been going well.
Her brothers are still in active-participation mode, especially when it comes time to sing the history sentence. I'm encouraged that they find it so interesting, but it's a bit distracting to have Quinn climbing on my lap while singing a song about the Declaration of Independence. Although, I should be used to the lap climbing by now. During the opening exercises at CC on Thursdays, all three children take turns climbing on me and making me feel more claustrophobic than anyone ever should.
Which brings me to my insecure moment of the day and venting about it. I love Thursdays. Eva loves Thursdays. What I have come to not love so much about Thursdays are lunch time and the crazy, free-for-all recess after it. For the first two weeks of CC, we sat and ate lunch with a lovely mother of four whose brood very closely matches the ages of mine. But since those two weeks, we often sit by ourselves, the other family we shared such a nice time with off in another corner of the cafeteria. I keep telling myself it's nothing personal and the two weeks between the last time we had lunch together and the week before last, I was able to fend off the fear that I had slipped up and somehow offended her. This past week, however, we got to the cafeteria super late because I had volunteered to help in the nursery. The only table left was one against the wall in the far corner. There were no chairs around it so I scrounged for some from between the moms who already knew each other and their chummy kids, until I found three. I felt like the bad kid stuck in the corner, or worse, the kid no one wants to eat lunch with.
I know, logically, this is all in my head. Most of these moms knew each other for a year or more before this year, so it's natural that they would have formed friendships and habits and are sticking with what they know. The voice in my head, though, keeps interjecting, "Eff that! They should be making an effort to be friendly and include you!" Then the OTHER voice in my head says, "Maybe nobody has these set habits you think they do. Maybe they all just sit where they can because you know, as well as they do, that it's a zoo down here at lunch! Every mama and brood for herself. Stop being so sensitive!" And yet, here I am, venting about it because I can't stop being sensitive, it's how I'm wired. And also because I've experienced uncomfortable, painful, exclusion before in my life and so I'm prone to find it where it isn't and exaggerate its effects where it is.
The mom who doesn't sit with us anymore still talks to me. I don't sense any difference in our relationship except that we don't sit together at lunch anymore. And, to be fair to her, it could have just been a fluke that we managed to sit together two weeks in a row. I wouldn't have wanted to take her away from other friends every week. I don't like being exclusionary any more than I like being excluded, but I am admittedly more timid about inviting people to join me or inserting myself into places I with which I am unfamiliar.
I suppose what I should take away from this...actually, I'm not at all sure what I should take away from this. I truly feel like I'm back in junior high, floundering my way through the day. I don't do well among my peers. And by peers I mean women equal in age and social status to myself. I have always been more comfortable with a group of guys. (We can psychologize about that later, but I have my theories...)
It all comes back to me needing to feel secure, comfortable and resting in the knowledge that I am who I am supposed to be and where I am supposed to be by the sovereign will of God, who I truly believe ordains all things. If I trust that to be true, I can't let something as silly as sitting with just my children at lunch bother me. I can't worry about what the other moms may or may not think of me. And, truthfully, if they're half as busy as I am at lunchtime, the last thing they're concerned about are the feelings of the mom left to sit in the corner.
Since the beginning of October, lots of other chaotic things have happened in the Perez household. Theron's mom came to stay with us for a few months...wait...no, it ended up only being a week. Then, while she was here, Theron's car died. (It was overdue for death. It had over 200,000 miles on it and was built the year I graduated from high school.) We ended up car shopping at exactly one place and looking at exactly one car and got what, I guess, I can only view as the next size up from our minivan, and Theron's dream machine, a used Chevy Suburban. I'm still wincing at the gas mileage. Theron, however, can't stop reveling in driving the beast to work regularly. I must say that the four-wheel drive did come in handy when that freak snow storm hit this past weekend. Eva caught the cold the rest of us have been fighting and it went straight to her chest while the power was out. In a panic, Theron took her in the 'burb to his office, which still had electricity, to give her a much needed nebulizer treatment. But without the 'burb (as I've come to semi-lovingly refer to it), I would have been panicked about him driving in the snow and ice. There is a strange element of safety accompanied by driving a domestic tank.
This week has been more mundane, but I'm sure the weekend will hold more fun. Theron's going squirrel hunting with my father. Theron hasn't shot a thing in his life and he recently passed the hunter safety course just so he could go deer hunting with my dad this fall/winter. This weekend is supposed to be his initiation into killing living things. I wish I could say I'm happy about it, but I am, instead, filled with dread and trepidation. I'm not against shooting animals, per se. I'm more afraid of my husband toting a gun through the woods and pulling a Dick Cheney. Prayers would be appreciated -- for us all.
Her brothers are still in active-participation mode, especially when it comes time to sing the history sentence. I'm encouraged that they find it so interesting, but it's a bit distracting to have Quinn climbing on my lap while singing a song about the Declaration of Independence. Although, I should be used to the lap climbing by now. During the opening exercises at CC on Thursdays, all three children take turns climbing on me and making me feel more claustrophobic than anyone ever should.
Which brings me to my insecure moment of the day and venting about it. I love Thursdays. Eva loves Thursdays. What I have come to not love so much about Thursdays are lunch time and the crazy, free-for-all recess after it. For the first two weeks of CC, we sat and ate lunch with a lovely mother of four whose brood very closely matches the ages of mine. But since those two weeks, we often sit by ourselves, the other family we shared such a nice time with off in another corner of the cafeteria. I keep telling myself it's nothing personal and the two weeks between the last time we had lunch together and the week before last, I was able to fend off the fear that I had slipped up and somehow offended her. This past week, however, we got to the cafeteria super late because I had volunteered to help in the nursery. The only table left was one against the wall in the far corner. There were no chairs around it so I scrounged for some from between the moms who already knew each other and their chummy kids, until I found three. I felt like the bad kid stuck in the corner, or worse, the kid no one wants to eat lunch with.
I know, logically, this is all in my head. Most of these moms knew each other for a year or more before this year, so it's natural that they would have formed friendships and habits and are sticking with what they know. The voice in my head, though, keeps interjecting, "Eff that! They should be making an effort to be friendly and include you!" Then the OTHER voice in my head says, "Maybe nobody has these set habits you think they do. Maybe they all just sit where they can because you know, as well as they do, that it's a zoo down here at lunch! Every mama and brood for herself. Stop being so sensitive!" And yet, here I am, venting about it because I can't stop being sensitive, it's how I'm wired. And also because I've experienced uncomfortable, painful, exclusion before in my life and so I'm prone to find it where it isn't and exaggerate its effects where it is.
The mom who doesn't sit with us anymore still talks to me. I don't sense any difference in our relationship except that we don't sit together at lunch anymore. And, to be fair to her, it could have just been a fluke that we managed to sit together two weeks in a row. I wouldn't have wanted to take her away from other friends every week. I don't like being exclusionary any more than I like being excluded, but I am admittedly more timid about inviting people to join me or inserting myself into places I with which I am unfamiliar.
I suppose what I should take away from this...actually, I'm not at all sure what I should take away from this. I truly feel like I'm back in junior high, floundering my way through the day. I don't do well among my peers. And by peers I mean women equal in age and social status to myself. I have always been more comfortable with a group of guys. (We can psychologize about that later, but I have my theories...)
It all comes back to me needing to feel secure, comfortable and resting in the knowledge that I am who I am supposed to be and where I am supposed to be by the sovereign will of God, who I truly believe ordains all things. If I trust that to be true, I can't let something as silly as sitting with just my children at lunch bother me. I can't worry about what the other moms may or may not think of me. And, truthfully, if they're half as busy as I am at lunchtime, the last thing they're concerned about are the feelings of the mom left to sit in the corner.
Since the beginning of October, lots of other chaotic things have happened in the Perez household. Theron's mom came to stay with us for a few months...wait...no, it ended up only being a week. Then, while she was here, Theron's car died. (It was overdue for death. It had over 200,000 miles on it and was built the year I graduated from high school.) We ended up car shopping at exactly one place and looking at exactly one car and got what, I guess, I can only view as the next size up from our minivan, and Theron's dream machine, a used Chevy Suburban. I'm still wincing at the gas mileage. Theron, however, can't stop reveling in driving the beast to work regularly. I must say that the four-wheel drive did come in handy when that freak snow storm hit this past weekend. Eva caught the cold the rest of us have been fighting and it went straight to her chest while the power was out. In a panic, Theron took her in the 'burb to his office, which still had electricity, to give her a much needed nebulizer treatment. But without the 'burb (as I've come to semi-lovingly refer to it), I would have been panicked about him driving in the snow and ice. There is a strange element of safety accompanied by driving a domestic tank.
This week has been more mundane, but I'm sure the weekend will hold more fun. Theron's going squirrel hunting with my father. Theron hasn't shot a thing in his life and he recently passed the hunter safety course just so he could go deer hunting with my dad this fall/winter. This weekend is supposed to be his initiation into killing living things. I wish I could say I'm happy about it, but I am, instead, filled with dread and trepidation. I'm not against shooting animals, per se. I'm more afraid of my husband toting a gun through the woods and pulling a Dick Cheney. Prayers would be appreciated -- for us all.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Modeling
This week was particularly challenging. I have no idea why, specifically. I seemed edgier, moodier and more like a time-bomb than I had in previous weeks. I took more B-complex, but the mellow just wouldn't come. I prayed for it. I yearned for it. The edge came off a wee bit, but the kids got the brunt of my irritation. I think I'll blame it on my continually morphing pregnancy hormones.
Eva was like a piece of volcanic rock that refused to be shaped into anything. (Please note that she was happily compliant at CC this week! She's only obstinate and difficult with yours truly.) I begged, I pleaded, I bribed, and I threatened my way through reading, review and more review. It was torturous for both of us.
I know with most things that require a type of major life change (marriage, new baby, moving, etc.) there's an adjustment period. I've experienced enough of these adjustment periods to know that it's not easy, that there's usually a plateau period where it feels like nothing good is happening and, although you're doing all the right stuff, the change is still awful and you feel like you'll be stuck there for an eternity. I think we've plateaued (ALREADY?!?) with this homeschool business. The novelty has worn off. I fully expect that we will move past this and it WILL get better. (Right?!) I mean, it can only go up from here.
I'm the type of person who appreciates, in the extreme, perfection. If something isn't going the way I think it should, I labor mentally going over every juncture of possible failure. With homeschooling, I'm second-guessing it all! Am I too hard on her? Should I be more structured? Is she really ready for this? Am I really ready for this? How do I keep the boys busy?! Should I keep shooing them out of the room or let them stay? (It's not their fault they're interested to the point of distraction!)
I don't think there's a right or wrong answer here and that's both a relief and an added bit of terror. (I appreciate concise instructions, darn it! Why didn't life come with an instruction manual?!) I've cut myself a lot of slack, admitting early on that this would be hard for me (and Eva). I know that we are not two peas in a pod, that we butt heads A LOT, and that this teaching business would not come naturally to me. I do not have a knack for distraction or gently steering my young charges in the way they should go. My natural tendency is more to hit them over the head with a mallet and hope for the best.
And, so, my last hope for myself and my children is modeling. I don't mean the kind where annoying photographers snap pics of my beautiful family. I mean the kind where I actually DO the work I want them to be doing and they eventually start to do it, too, because they've seen and heard me to do it a hundred times before them. I had a lightbulb moment this afternoon while hanging wash where I realized that I learn from modeling! That has ALWAYS been the easiest way for me to learn how to do anything. I watch someone else do it and then I do it, too! I have been pretty hard on Eva. I think, probably, just expecting too much from her little 5 year old mind. She's a bit ahead of some of the kids in her class, but I think it's because of me pushing so hard. And while it's nice to see her achieving, I don't want to turn her into ME. I don't WANT her to be a perfectionist! I want her to enjoy the journey instead of spending her life trying to figure out how to enjoy the journey!
Sooooo, the goal henceforth will be to take in as much good stuff (discipline techniques, teaching methods, learning tools, etc.) as the other moms at CC have to offer and, thankfully, it is quite a bounty. I shall model their behavior, pray for God's grace and mercy for my family, and I shall model all of the information Eva is given in a week when she isn't abruptly forthcoming with it in the way I would normally desire her to be. I will not berate myself when a day isn't as fruitful in the education department as I would like it to be and I will encourage Eva, even though it feels like she's hedging me at every turn, to soak this information up like the little sponge that she is. And I will do it joyfully and not with gritted teeth! Well, at least let's hope so...
Eva was like a piece of volcanic rock that refused to be shaped into anything. (Please note that she was happily compliant at CC this week! She's only obstinate and difficult with yours truly.) I begged, I pleaded, I bribed, and I threatened my way through reading, review and more review. It was torturous for both of us.
I know with most things that require a type of major life change (marriage, new baby, moving, etc.) there's an adjustment period. I've experienced enough of these adjustment periods to know that it's not easy, that there's usually a plateau period where it feels like nothing good is happening and, although you're doing all the right stuff, the change is still awful and you feel like you'll be stuck there for an eternity. I think we've plateaued (ALREADY?!?) with this homeschool business. The novelty has worn off. I fully expect that we will move past this and it WILL get better. (Right?!) I mean, it can only go up from here.
I'm the type of person who appreciates, in the extreme, perfection. If something isn't going the way I think it should, I labor mentally going over every juncture of possible failure. With homeschooling, I'm second-guessing it all! Am I too hard on her? Should I be more structured? Is she really ready for this? Am I really ready for this? How do I keep the boys busy?! Should I keep shooing them out of the room or let them stay? (It's not their fault they're interested to the point of distraction!)
I don't think there's a right or wrong answer here and that's both a relief and an added bit of terror. (I appreciate concise instructions, darn it! Why didn't life come with an instruction manual?!) I've cut myself a lot of slack, admitting early on that this would be hard for me (and Eva). I know that we are not two peas in a pod, that we butt heads A LOT, and that this teaching business would not come naturally to me. I do not have a knack for distraction or gently steering my young charges in the way they should go. My natural tendency is more to hit them over the head with a mallet and hope for the best.
And, so, my last hope for myself and my children is modeling. I don't mean the kind where annoying photographers snap pics of my beautiful family. I mean the kind where I actually DO the work I want them to be doing and they eventually start to do it, too, because they've seen and heard me to do it a hundred times before them. I had a lightbulb moment this afternoon while hanging wash where I realized that I learn from modeling! That has ALWAYS been the easiest way for me to learn how to do anything. I watch someone else do it and then I do it, too! I have been pretty hard on Eva. I think, probably, just expecting too much from her little 5 year old mind. She's a bit ahead of some of the kids in her class, but I think it's because of me pushing so hard. And while it's nice to see her achieving, I don't want to turn her into ME. I don't WANT her to be a perfectionist! I want her to enjoy the journey instead of spending her life trying to figure out how to enjoy the journey!
Sooooo, the goal henceforth will be to take in as much good stuff (discipline techniques, teaching methods, learning tools, etc.) as the other moms at CC have to offer and, thankfully, it is quite a bounty. I shall model their behavior, pray for God's grace and mercy for my family, and I shall model all of the information Eva is given in a week when she isn't abruptly forthcoming with it in the way I would normally desire her to be. I will not berate myself when a day isn't as fruitful in the education department as I would like it to be and I will encourage Eva, even though it feels like she's hedging me at every turn, to soak this information up like the little sponge that she is. And I will do it joyfully and not with gritted teeth! Well, at least let's hope so...
Monday, October 3, 2011
The Illusion of Control
This morning started out fine (and chilly). Theron's brother and his wife stayed overnight, we all slept in, and I made stuffed french toast for breakfast. (If there's one clear advantage to having company, it's that I thoroughly enjoy an excuse to make french toast.)
After getting quite full on such an indulgent breakfast, I checked my grocery list, put the dishes away, and packed the kids into the van to head to the grocery store. This is, oddly enough, the first time in a while that I've had to take all three kids grocery shopping and I was actually looking forward to it. Wegmans has this wonderful play area where someone will watch your kids for you, for free, for an hour, while you shop. I drop Sully and Eva off (They LOVE it! They actually cry when I come to pick them up.) and Quinn and I have a merry ol' time shopping. It has actually made me look forward to grocery shopping.
I should have had an inkling that the day was not to go as smoothly as I would like when I had to keep returning to the bathroom. I had also indulged in a rather large (for me) cup of coffee this morning and its spasmodic effect on my bowels was most unenjoyable, although Quinn didn't seem to mind the frequent interruptions in our grocery routine. To say the least, I'm through with coffee for a few days.
The constant trips to the potty, however, really made my hour feel much shorter than it was. Toward the end of the remainder of that time, I was running around the store trying to get everything on my list before I had to pick up Eva and Sully. It all worked out, though, and I managed to pick them up on time, almost exactly to the minute.
From there it went frighteningly downhill. When I got the check out, I put all of the groceries on the belt, had over half of them rung up, when it occurred to me that I probably had left my wallet at home. A cursory glance inside my bag proved I was right. (Deep breaths in, deep breaths out.) While this realization hit home, Eva and Sully were slinging insults, swats and hair pulls on the benches across from the check out. I started to sweat.
In a lightbulb moment, I called Theron and told my tale of woe. He, fortunately, doesn't work far from Wegmans and was able to come to my rescue. Unfortunately, I had to wait, with my full cart and hungry toddlers, for him to arrive with the money. More name calling and general harrassment ensued. Also, while we waited, I discovered that Sully had, once again, had a pee-pee accident in his pants. This has been a recurring source of frustration for me (and probaby him) and it felt like the straw that broke the camel's back. Silly of me to think that. There's always worse waiting around the corner.
I labored into the bathroom, for what felt like the 100th time, this time with all three kids in tow. Some annoying person, with no children, had taken the convenient family stall that's like a private bathroom, complete with a chair, a nice toddler chair that I like to strap Quinn into, and it's own sink, so we settled for the handicap stall. There was no way I could fit all of us into one of those 3 by 4 and 1/2 foot jail cells.
When I had Sully settled on the pot, he proceeded to pee all over my hands, his pants (again) and the floor. It was like his little manpart was a fire hose. Blessedly, Quinn was very interested in the flush handle (I don't normally condone any of the kids touching this stuff, but I had sanitizer and at that point in time, it was the LEAST of my worries.) and Eva was keeping close watch on his activites. They stayed clear of the lake of pee on the floor.
I finally got Sully changed, the floor cleaned up, and Theron called to see where we were. I told him to pay (They had held my receipt at Customer Service.) and I would meet him in a minute.
We then headed to the sub shop where Sully and Eva cavorted like monkeys. This is not an exaggeration. They were actually chanting/singing some sort of silly song about how they were monkeys while they hung on the chip racks and wrangled themselves back and forth while I tried to make a coherent order. The woman behind the counter was amazingly sympathetic.
Lunch itself went quite smoothly, but I was appalled at how late it was when we got home at nearly 3! Quiet time in this house starts at 2 and not a minute later, it was unnerving to me that our day, which had seemingly started out so pleasantly and well enough, had dissolved into such a mess.
Quinn was asleep halfway home and, unlike the other two primates in the car when they were his age, he goes right back to sleep when I bring him in and lay him down. Sully and Eva balked at being put in their rooms, but I wasn't about to let my brief, remaing hour of quiet time slip through my hands the way the rest of my day had.
As I type, it's 4:37. That's nearly forty minutes past when I would normally let them out of their mandated captivity. I guess, since they didn't go up until 3, that it doesn't feel that long to them. I'll have to work this to my advantage.
Theron has youth group tonight, which means I'm the lone parent for the majority of the day and I'll be putting the hooligans to bed earlier than they'd like. These days are always so long for me, but I'm learning to enjoy them more. Everyday, Eva makes it evident that she's not a baby anymore. It's encouraging, enlightening and sad all in one fell swoop. But it does make it easier for me to enjoy even the mundane tasks like brushing their teeth and getting them in their pajamas for bed. These days, too, will fly by and someday I'll laugh at how crazy some of my trips to grocery store were, wallet or not wallet, accidents or no accidents.
I was reminded in church on Sunday that God is sovereign, even in our mistakes, even in our accidents. While He is obviously not the author of our sin and He certainly doesn't make mistakes, my mistakes and my sin will be used according to His plan! What a wonderful, comforting, reminder to a mom who makes thousands (and probably more) of mistakes daily! I am NOT in control. And that's a good thing. :)
After getting quite full on such an indulgent breakfast, I checked my grocery list, put the dishes away, and packed the kids into the van to head to the grocery store. This is, oddly enough, the first time in a while that I've had to take all three kids grocery shopping and I was actually looking forward to it. Wegmans has this wonderful play area where someone will watch your kids for you, for free, for an hour, while you shop. I drop Sully and Eva off (They LOVE it! They actually cry when I come to pick them up.) and Quinn and I have a merry ol' time shopping. It has actually made me look forward to grocery shopping.
I should have had an inkling that the day was not to go as smoothly as I would like when I had to keep returning to the bathroom. I had also indulged in a rather large (for me) cup of coffee this morning and its spasmodic effect on my bowels was most unenjoyable, although Quinn didn't seem to mind the frequent interruptions in our grocery routine. To say the least, I'm through with coffee for a few days.
The constant trips to the potty, however, really made my hour feel much shorter than it was. Toward the end of the remainder of that time, I was running around the store trying to get everything on my list before I had to pick up Eva and Sully. It all worked out, though, and I managed to pick them up on time, almost exactly to the minute.
From there it went frighteningly downhill. When I got the check out, I put all of the groceries on the belt, had over half of them rung up, when it occurred to me that I probably had left my wallet at home. A cursory glance inside my bag proved I was right. (Deep breaths in, deep breaths out.) While this realization hit home, Eva and Sully were slinging insults, swats and hair pulls on the benches across from the check out. I started to sweat.
In a lightbulb moment, I called Theron and told my tale of woe. He, fortunately, doesn't work far from Wegmans and was able to come to my rescue. Unfortunately, I had to wait, with my full cart and hungry toddlers, for him to arrive with the money. More name calling and general harrassment ensued. Also, while we waited, I discovered that Sully had, once again, had a pee-pee accident in his pants. This has been a recurring source of frustration for me (and probaby him) and it felt like the straw that broke the camel's back. Silly of me to think that. There's always worse waiting around the corner.
I labored into the bathroom, for what felt like the 100th time, this time with all three kids in tow. Some annoying person, with no children, had taken the convenient family stall that's like a private bathroom, complete with a chair, a nice toddler chair that I like to strap Quinn into, and it's own sink, so we settled for the handicap stall. There was no way I could fit all of us into one of those 3 by 4 and 1/2 foot jail cells.
When I had Sully settled on the pot, he proceeded to pee all over my hands, his pants (again) and the floor. It was like his little manpart was a fire hose. Blessedly, Quinn was very interested in the flush handle (I don't normally condone any of the kids touching this stuff, but I had sanitizer and at that point in time, it was the LEAST of my worries.) and Eva was keeping close watch on his activites. They stayed clear of the lake of pee on the floor.
I finally got Sully changed, the floor cleaned up, and Theron called to see where we were. I told him to pay (They had held my receipt at Customer Service.) and I would meet him in a minute.
We then headed to the sub shop where Sully and Eva cavorted like monkeys. This is not an exaggeration. They were actually chanting/singing some sort of silly song about how they were monkeys while they hung on the chip racks and wrangled themselves back and forth while I tried to make a coherent order. The woman behind the counter was amazingly sympathetic.
Lunch itself went quite smoothly, but I was appalled at how late it was when we got home at nearly 3! Quiet time in this house starts at 2 and not a minute later, it was unnerving to me that our day, which had seemingly started out so pleasantly and well enough, had dissolved into such a mess.
Quinn was asleep halfway home and, unlike the other two primates in the car when they were his age, he goes right back to sleep when I bring him in and lay him down. Sully and Eva balked at being put in their rooms, but I wasn't about to let my brief, remaing hour of quiet time slip through my hands the way the rest of my day had.
As I type, it's 4:37. That's nearly forty minutes past when I would normally let them out of their mandated captivity. I guess, since they didn't go up until 3, that it doesn't feel that long to them. I'll have to work this to my advantage.
Theron has youth group tonight, which means I'm the lone parent for the majority of the day and I'll be putting the hooligans to bed earlier than they'd like. These days are always so long for me, but I'm learning to enjoy them more. Everyday, Eva makes it evident that she's not a baby anymore. It's encouraging, enlightening and sad all in one fell swoop. But it does make it easier for me to enjoy even the mundane tasks like brushing their teeth and getting them in their pajamas for bed. These days, too, will fly by and someday I'll laugh at how crazy some of my trips to grocery store were, wallet or not wallet, accidents or no accidents.
I was reminded in church on Sunday that God is sovereign, even in our mistakes, even in our accidents. While He is obviously not the author of our sin and He certainly doesn't make mistakes, my mistakes and my sin will be used according to His plan! What a wonderful, comforting, reminder to a mom who makes thousands (and probably more) of mistakes daily! I am NOT in control. And that's a good thing. :)
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Consistent, Constant, Redundant Lip Service
Today, for once, and I'm grateful to say that it's becoming more and more the case even after just 2.75 weeks, Eva very willingly participated in her memory work. She promptly repeated all of the new information several times over without complaining and seemed to beam when I praised her good efforts. (Usually, if her I tell her she's done an amazing job, she runs away angry. Go figure.)
I broke down and bought a dry-erase board this week and she took great pleasure in writing the numbers as we skip counted threes and fours. In short, homeschooling today was a delight.
Chaos and unruliness reigned supreme most of the rest of the day, though. Sully has mastered the whine/complain/cry. It's the "annoy Mama to the max" trifecta. And although he's so good at it he really doesn't need the practice, practice it he did. All. Day. Long. He was in bed last night at 9 and up at 7. Why a deficit in sleep of two hours should so adversely effect a little person, I don't know, but the end result was hardly enjoyable. Fortunately, he took a nap. Unfortunately, he woke up from it doubly whiny and cranky. Daddy couldn't get home soon enough.
Admittedly, I took a lot on myself today. We just got back from vacation on Sunday, and as many of you know, getting back from vacation almost requires another vacation in and of itself because there's so much to do. There is a mountain of laundry to get through and, although I usually clean the house from top to bottom BEFORE going on vacation, it just didn't happen this time, so I was compelled to clean it today. I thought I'd be able to stop my compulsion after cleaning most of the upstairs. Not so. Dinner came and went and I would not be stopped. I had to vacuum the downstairs and mop it. It feels good to have the house so clean and tidy, but I'm always more easily irritated when I'm focused on a task and I get interrupted by one of my little charges.
The title of today's entry doesn't just allude to Sully's tyranny, it extends also to my dear, sweet Eva. Lately, whenever she's in trouble for something, has to endure the consequences of her actions, and is rightly upset about these consequences, she has the audacity to say something like, "If you would have just let me not eat my vegetables, I wouldn't be so upset!" Or, "If you would have got me a toy at the store, I wouldn't be so sad!" You get the idea. She's upset, she blames me, and now she's being vocal about it. I liked it so much better without the narrative about why I'm the one always directly responsible for her misery.
It occurred to me today that, as one of her parents, I will often be the source of her misery, even if, in reality, her behavior is the reason for it. I can remember being fiercely angry and upset with my own mother and knowing, deep down, I deserved whatever punishment was meted out. I wasn't mature enough to move through the emotion of it as a teen, I can barely expect my five year old to do it. But what I dread with a kind of a horror movie level of terror is what will come from her mouth when she is a teen!
I am daily reminded that children are a special kind of refining fire sent to us by our dear Savior. (I partake of LARGE slices of humble pie almost hourly.) I shudder to think that I need four of these blessings (And a chronic illness, to boot!) to achieve the kind of refinement He seeks in me! Father God, give me the strength as I know only you can! I'm gonna need it.
I broke down and bought a dry-erase board this week and she took great pleasure in writing the numbers as we skip counted threes and fours. In short, homeschooling today was a delight.
Chaos and unruliness reigned supreme most of the rest of the day, though. Sully has mastered the whine/complain/cry. It's the "annoy Mama to the max" trifecta. And although he's so good at it he really doesn't need the practice, practice it he did. All. Day. Long. He was in bed last night at 9 and up at 7. Why a deficit in sleep of two hours should so adversely effect a little person, I don't know, but the end result was hardly enjoyable. Fortunately, he took a nap. Unfortunately, he woke up from it doubly whiny and cranky. Daddy couldn't get home soon enough.
Admittedly, I took a lot on myself today. We just got back from vacation on Sunday, and as many of you know, getting back from vacation almost requires another vacation in and of itself because there's so much to do. There is a mountain of laundry to get through and, although I usually clean the house from top to bottom BEFORE going on vacation, it just didn't happen this time, so I was compelled to clean it today. I thought I'd be able to stop my compulsion after cleaning most of the upstairs. Not so. Dinner came and went and I would not be stopped. I had to vacuum the downstairs and mop it. It feels good to have the house so clean and tidy, but I'm always more easily irritated when I'm focused on a task and I get interrupted by one of my little charges.
The title of today's entry doesn't just allude to Sully's tyranny, it extends also to my dear, sweet Eva. Lately, whenever she's in trouble for something, has to endure the consequences of her actions, and is rightly upset about these consequences, she has the audacity to say something like, "If you would have just let me not eat my vegetables, I wouldn't be so upset!" Or, "If you would have got me a toy at the store, I wouldn't be so sad!" You get the idea. She's upset, she blames me, and now she's being vocal about it. I liked it so much better without the narrative about why I'm the one always directly responsible for her misery.
It occurred to me today that, as one of her parents, I will often be the source of her misery, even if, in reality, her behavior is the reason for it. I can remember being fiercely angry and upset with my own mother and knowing, deep down, I deserved whatever punishment was meted out. I wasn't mature enough to move through the emotion of it as a teen, I can barely expect my five year old to do it. But what I dread with a kind of a horror movie level of terror is what will come from her mouth when she is a teen!
 |
| At least I have a constant barrage of beautious pictures to soothe my wounded heart. This is a portrait of Ariel and King Triton. And just in case you were wondering, Ariel's wearing her "special, underwater bra." |
I am daily reminded that children are a special kind of refining fire sent to us by our dear Savior. (I partake of LARGE slices of humble pie almost hourly.) I shudder to think that I need four of these blessings (And a chronic illness, to boot!) to achieve the kind of refinement He seeks in me! Father God, give me the strength as I know only you can! I'm gonna need it.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Teaching Like a Ninja
That's right. I karate (pronounced "kah-RAH-tay") chop my children into submissively learning from me every day. Not really. But what I have found with Eva in just this short week's (I actually started teaching here at home on Tuesday, so I do have an almost full week under my belt.) foray into homeschooling is that she learns best when she doesn't know it's coming. I have to be stealthy, fast and more than a bit sly to get her to actually participate. Memory work is best learned when a game is involved. Bribery of any kind is an effective tool when teaching reading (taffy) or her timeline (punching holes in paper, making muffins or cookies, art projects, etc.). Oddly enough, I don't mind this "popcorn" style of teaching all that much. It seems to coincide quite nicely with our lives at the moment and I'm sure, when she's older and has a much longer attention span, it will look different.
We got some valuable memory work in by having her answer my questions and if she answered them she got to run across the playroom at the futon, full tilt, and crash into it. Behavior not usually condone by myself, mind you, but I'm pretty desperate at this point. The boys enjoyed this very much, as well.
The idealist in me had greatly desired for more idyllic moments in the morning. The boys would sit quietly in the living room, soaking up letters and numbers while Sesame Street soothed them into a semi-laconic state, thereby making it easier, of course, for me to mold their minds at a later date. Satisfied that the boys were nearing a coma, I would then sit next to Eva at a small table, in a corner of the house illumined by the gentle, yet mentally invigorating, morning sun, and we would cheerfully review memory work, practice some writing, and then decide if we felt like reviewing reading or doing a little math. These tasks, all the while, would each be met with a cheerful heart and willing attitude that made life worth living --a veritable banquet of joy and delight, if you will.
In fact, most mornings this week went something like this:
"Eva, what do you want for breakfast? Granola? Let's chop-chop so we can do some school work."
"Nothing! I'm not hungry. (A few minutes of introspection.) I'M THIRSTY!"
"Well, I'd be happy to get you something to drink as soon as you ask me nicely and you NEED to eat so you may choose between granola and toast with a banana. If you don't choose now, I will choose for you."
"FINE! I'll have granola. I'm THIRSTY!"
(This is the part where I start to sound like a broken record. So I'll just cut to the good part.)
Cut to actual "school time":
"Okay, Eva, let's practice our reading."
"Why?!? I don't want to! I already know a lot! I don't need to know that!"
"Well, honey, reading is pretty foundational. (I'm mentally cringing at myself for using a big word she doesn't know. This is where I backtrack and try to bring it back to her level.) I mean, we need to be able to read to learn and we're ALWAYS learning, even if you think you know a lot already. Mommy and Daddy are still learning things and we're much, much (sob) older than you."
"Well, I don't want to!"
"Okay, well, if you do what I ask you may have some taffy at the end of the lesson."
Lots of impressive nodding and agreement follow. The lesson, however, is still fraught with tension and more opposition than I'd like and, if I try to do it in the morning instead of after I've tucked the boys away for quiet time, imagine their feisty little bodies whirling, flying and cavorting around us like wild monkeys. It makes for quality learning time, let me tell ya.
I opted to save the reading for the beginning of quiet time for the sake of my sanity and this is how our little lesson went:
"Okay, Eva, let's start here... 'man, can, fan...'
She makes it to the beginning of the next line which starts with "map" and says, "Man." She's done this quite a few times in the last week and I'm sure I did it, too, when I was learning to read. It's much easier to guess than do the work. I just wish I could share with her that funny saying for the word "assume." Another time, perhaps....
I look at her, clearly frustrated at this classic blunder and tell her to look at ALL the letters in the word and sound them out. This is when she tells me she wishes she didn't have to do this part to be able to read a book. I, then, in what I consider to be a moment of sheer teaching genius (It doesn't take much for me to feel that way at this stage of the game, keep in mind.), tell her that learning how to sound out these little words is very important if she wants to read a book someday. I explain that it would be much like trying to drive a car that had no wheels. (This makes her giggle.) "You need the wheels to be able to drive the car, right?" I ask her. She nods and giggles some more and, encouraged greatly, I continue, "Learning these words is like putting the wheels on your reading car. Once you get them on there, you can read books!" She seems satisfied with this explanation and continues our lesson happily for another full 30 seconds. Reminders of taffy were the only thing keeping this boat afloat.
This example is nothing like the tantrum I was met with on Wednesday that led to a good portion of Eva's morning being spent in the bathroom for some lengthy time-outs where crying and all manner of screaming ensued. I was worried the neighbors were going to call the cops and I nearly called the local school district to see how quickly I could get her started. It's a good thing I'm almost embarrassingly persistent (Or is it stubborn?) when it comes to doing something I believe in.
I can picture myself trying to teach only Eva. I can see myself with her as the only child and me suffering through these sessions with the patience of a grizzly bear. I thank God that I have more than one child. That I have 3.3 reasons to have my patience tried, stretched and grown deeper and wider everyday. If not for them, this would not be happening. It seems strange to me that it should work that way, but the fact of the matter is, I wouldn't appreciate alone time with each of my beautiful blessings if not for the times when I have them all together. It just wouldn't be possible.
As much as I quake in my boots at the thought of being a mother to four children and, not just their mother, but the person responsible for their education (That should be true even if your kids are in public school!), I know that God has given me and my husband charge over them not just for their health, safety and betterment, but for our personal and spiritual growth as well. I might be the conduit for their learning, but I KNOW, without a doubt, they are the conduit for mine and I praise God for that.
We got some valuable memory work in by having her answer my questions and if she answered them she got to run across the playroom at the futon, full tilt, and crash into it. Behavior not usually condone by myself, mind you, but I'm pretty desperate at this point. The boys enjoyed this very much, as well.
The idealist in me had greatly desired for more idyllic moments in the morning. The boys would sit quietly in the living room, soaking up letters and numbers while Sesame Street soothed them into a semi-laconic state, thereby making it easier, of course, for me to mold their minds at a later date. Satisfied that the boys were nearing a coma, I would then sit next to Eva at a small table, in a corner of the house illumined by the gentle, yet mentally invigorating, morning sun, and we would cheerfully review memory work, practice some writing, and then decide if we felt like reviewing reading or doing a little math. These tasks, all the while, would each be met with a cheerful heart and willing attitude that made life worth living --a veritable banquet of joy and delight, if you will.
In fact, most mornings this week went something like this:
"Eva, what do you want for breakfast? Granola? Let's chop-chop so we can do some school work."
"Nothing! I'm not hungry. (A few minutes of introspection.) I'M THIRSTY!"
"Well, I'd be happy to get you something to drink as soon as you ask me nicely and you NEED to eat so you may choose between granola and toast with a banana. If you don't choose now, I will choose for you."
"FINE! I'll have granola. I'm THIRSTY!"
(This is the part where I start to sound like a broken record. So I'll just cut to the good part.)
Cut to actual "school time":
"Okay, Eva, let's practice our reading."
"Why?!? I don't want to! I already know a lot! I don't need to know that!"
 |
| Well, at least she LOOKS like she's ready to read. |
"Well, honey, reading is pretty foundational. (I'm mentally cringing at myself for using a big word she doesn't know. This is where I backtrack and try to bring it back to her level.) I mean, we need to be able to read to learn and we're ALWAYS learning, even if you think you know a lot already. Mommy and Daddy are still learning things and we're much, much (sob) older than you."
"Well, I don't want to!"
"Okay, well, if you do what I ask you may have some taffy at the end of the lesson."
Lots of impressive nodding and agreement follow. The lesson, however, is still fraught with tension and more opposition than I'd like and, if I try to do it in the morning instead of after I've tucked the boys away for quiet time, imagine their feisty little bodies whirling, flying and cavorting around us like wild monkeys. It makes for quality learning time, let me tell ya.
I opted to save the reading for the beginning of quiet time for the sake of my sanity and this is how our little lesson went:
"Okay, Eva, let's start here... 'man, can, fan...'
She makes it to the beginning of the next line which starts with "map" and says, "Man." She's done this quite a few times in the last week and I'm sure I did it, too, when I was learning to read. It's much easier to guess than do the work. I just wish I could share with her that funny saying for the word "assume." Another time, perhaps....
I look at her, clearly frustrated at this classic blunder and tell her to look at ALL the letters in the word and sound them out. This is when she tells me she wishes she didn't have to do this part to be able to read a book. I, then, in what I consider to be a moment of sheer teaching genius (It doesn't take much for me to feel that way at this stage of the game, keep in mind.), tell her that learning how to sound out these little words is very important if she wants to read a book someday. I explain that it would be much like trying to drive a car that had no wheels. (This makes her giggle.) "You need the wheels to be able to drive the car, right?" I ask her. She nods and giggles some more and, encouraged greatly, I continue, "Learning these words is like putting the wheels on your reading car. Once you get them on there, you can read books!" She seems satisfied with this explanation and continues our lesson happily for another full 30 seconds. Reminders of taffy were the only thing keeping this boat afloat.
This example is nothing like the tantrum I was met with on Wednesday that led to a good portion of Eva's morning being spent in the bathroom for some lengthy time-outs where crying and all manner of screaming ensued. I was worried the neighbors were going to call the cops and I nearly called the local school district to see how quickly I could get her started. It's a good thing I'm almost embarrassingly persistent (Or is it stubborn?) when it comes to doing something I believe in.
I can picture myself trying to teach only Eva. I can see myself with her as the only child and me suffering through these sessions with the patience of a grizzly bear. I thank God that I have more than one child. That I have 3.3 reasons to have my patience tried, stretched and grown deeper and wider everyday. If not for them, this would not be happening. It seems strange to me that it should work that way, but the fact of the matter is, I wouldn't appreciate alone time with each of my beautiful blessings if not for the times when I have them all together. It just wouldn't be possible.
As much as I quake in my boots at the thought of being a mother to four children and, not just their mother, but the person responsible for their education (That should be true even if your kids are in public school!), I know that God has given me and my husband charge over them not just for their health, safety and betterment, but for our personal and spiritual growth as well. I might be the conduit for their learning, but I KNOW, without a doubt, they are the conduit for mine and I praise God for that.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
The First Day
(I told myself that when Eva started school I would start a public blog about it and our crazy family life. I'm going to do my best to keep up. I might post daily. I might post weekly. But I'll need to vent, so stay tuned...)
Today was Eva's first day of Classical Conversations (http://www.classicalconversations.com/). So for me, even though she wasn't getting on a school bus and even though she wasn't out of my sight for more than 30 seconds at a time, it was a momentous occasion that marks the beginning of our efforts to officially educate her --homeschool style!
The day was a bit trepidatious for a number of reasons. First, I felt like I was running late. (Turns out, EVERYONE was running late the first day. Phew.) Second, last Thursday was supposed to be her first day, but it was foiled by all the rain and flooding we got from Lee and today was oddly reminiscent of this time last week, especially when we noticed, as we were leaving, that a tree had fallen across the street and onto our elderly neighbor's car. Instant detour! Fun times. Third, I was terrified I would hate it. I still have my doubts about my ability to teach Eva anything of lasting educational value (By the grace of God alone...) and I was worried I would feel intimidated by the obvious genius mothers surrounded by their gaggles of mini-geniuses.
I needn't have worried. We're all in this together and that was what drew me to CC in the first place (Well, that, and it's an AMAZING program!) and what will probably be what keeps me coming back year after year. I'm not alone! I'm surrounded by Godly women who are not only incredibly friendly, open and helpful, but who also have the same fears and desires for their own children.
The day started with all of the kids of all different ages and grade levels in one room. We prayed; would normally sing the national anthem, but the flag was missing for some odd reason; would do review, if there were any (there, of course, wasn't any this week); and one family does a presentation. It's only a five minute stint (Praise the Lord for that!) and I've already convinced Eva that when it's our turn, we'll talk about living on the creek and show pictures of the differnt kinds of wildlife we frequently see in our backyard. This week, a sweet boy of about the age of eight, who from where I was sitting seemed very brave and not at all uncomfortable in front of a large group, showed us all of the fun things he had constructed with Legos, Kinex and other such playsets. It was quite remarkable and he was obviously very into his hobby.
Then, we all dispersed into our separate classes. The great thing about CC is that the moms get to stay with their kids. It's harder, of course, when you have multiple children at different grade levels and you have to divide your time, but for me, right now, I get to sit in Eva's class of 4 and 5 year olds and it is a HOOT! Those kids are super funny without even trying to be. It was probably the most fun I've had in 2 and 1/2 hours in a LONG time. The best part is that Eva LOVED it! I had thought she would and was relieved I wasn't wrong. And, as suspected, she wants to go back everyday. I had to break it to her gently that most days of the week she'd be learning with me as her teacher. I know. I'd cry, too. That is sad news, indeed.
After class time, we all headed to the cafeteria for lunch and that's when it got REALLY chaotic. Imagine a room not quite large enough for all of the people who need to use it, jammed with moms who, typically, have at least two to three children with them each and many of them under the age of 10. It was just nuts! The noise volume alone was mind numbing! Quinn could have benefited greatly from a booster seat, a situation I fully intend to remedy the next time we're there. I think there was just so much going on that he was on stimulation overload. It was all he could do to look at what he was eating, let alone stay in his seat. Sully was having similar problems and Eva, who is usually quite focused at meal times, was under the table at one point, clearly fascinated by the boy who had lured her there with promises of magic tricks. (He did not deliver.)
Then, after lunch, we let the wild minions run free in the gym. Normally, they'd be playing outside on the playground equipment, but with the weather being what it was, everyone was stuck inside and it, too, was a scene from my worst nightmare. Quinn kept chasing after balls that belonged to older children and would become completely furious when they would run away with the one he was currently enamored with. Sully was just a loose cannon is his own right and Eva was upset because she hadn't immediately found some pals to play with. I let this insanity continue for about exactly 10 minutes, at which point I rounded up my posse and heade for the car, thoroughly worn out.
Don't get me wrong, the morning was invigorating and exciting, but lunch and playtime were enough to send even the healthiest, fittest, and most unpregnant of mothers running for her minivan for a break. Currently everyone is upstairs, not napping necessarily (I cannot believe they aren't tired enough to sleep!), but being relatively quiet and waiting patiently for Mommy to call an end to their quiet time imprisonment.
I think I can officially call Eva's first day of school a success. Tomorrow is another story entirely!
Today was Eva's first day of Classical Conversations (http://www.classicalconversations.com/). So for me, even though she wasn't getting on a school bus and even though she wasn't out of my sight for more than 30 seconds at a time, it was a momentous occasion that marks the beginning of our efforts to officially educate her --homeschool style!
 |
| Yep, that's her school face. |
I needn't have worried. We're all in this together and that was what drew me to CC in the first place (Well, that, and it's an AMAZING program!) and what will probably be what keeps me coming back year after year. I'm not alone! I'm surrounded by Godly women who are not only incredibly friendly, open and helpful, but who also have the same fears and desires for their own children.
The day started with all of the kids of all different ages and grade levels in one room. We prayed; would normally sing the national anthem, but the flag was missing for some odd reason; would do review, if there were any (there, of course, wasn't any this week); and one family does a presentation. It's only a five minute stint (Praise the Lord for that!) and I've already convinced Eva that when it's our turn, we'll talk about living on the creek and show pictures of the differnt kinds of wildlife we frequently see in our backyard. This week, a sweet boy of about the age of eight, who from where I was sitting seemed very brave and not at all uncomfortable in front of a large group, showed us all of the fun things he had constructed with Legos, Kinex and other such playsets. It was quite remarkable and he was obviously very into his hobby.
Then, we all dispersed into our separate classes. The great thing about CC is that the moms get to stay with their kids. It's harder, of course, when you have multiple children at different grade levels and you have to divide your time, but for me, right now, I get to sit in Eva's class of 4 and 5 year olds and it is a HOOT! Those kids are super funny without even trying to be. It was probably the most fun I've had in 2 and 1/2 hours in a LONG time. The best part is that Eva LOVED it! I had thought she would and was relieved I wasn't wrong. And, as suspected, she wants to go back everyday. I had to break it to her gently that most days of the week she'd be learning with me as her teacher. I know. I'd cry, too. That is sad news, indeed.
After class time, we all headed to the cafeteria for lunch and that's when it got REALLY chaotic. Imagine a room not quite large enough for all of the people who need to use it, jammed with moms who, typically, have at least two to three children with them each and many of them under the age of 10. It was just nuts! The noise volume alone was mind numbing! Quinn could have benefited greatly from a booster seat, a situation I fully intend to remedy the next time we're there. I think there was just so much going on that he was on stimulation overload. It was all he could do to look at what he was eating, let alone stay in his seat. Sully was having similar problems and Eva, who is usually quite focused at meal times, was under the table at one point, clearly fascinated by the boy who had lured her there with promises of magic tricks. (He did not deliver.)
Then, after lunch, we let the wild minions run free in the gym. Normally, they'd be playing outside on the playground equipment, but with the weather being what it was, everyone was stuck inside and it, too, was a scene from my worst nightmare. Quinn kept chasing after balls that belonged to older children and would become completely furious when they would run away with the one he was currently enamored with. Sully was just a loose cannon is his own right and Eva was upset because she hadn't immediately found some pals to play with. I let this insanity continue for about exactly 10 minutes, at which point I rounded up my posse and heade for the car, thoroughly worn out.
Don't get me wrong, the morning was invigorating and exciting, but lunch and playtime were enough to send even the healthiest, fittest, and most unpregnant of mothers running for her minivan for a break. Currently everyone is upstairs, not napping necessarily (I cannot believe they aren't tired enough to sleep!), but being relatively quiet and waiting patiently for Mommy to call an end to their quiet time imprisonment.
I think I can officially call Eva's first day of school a success. Tomorrow is another story entirely!
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