Good Things Come To Those Who…Give Up

Hurray!  Hurray!  Hurray! <wild cheering in the background>

My almost 3 1/2 year old son has FINALLY decided that it is TIME to go poopy on the potty!  I’ve waited three days to go by before writing this post…hoping that it wasn’t some sort of fluke.  For some inexplicable reason (because I had given up complete hope) he has decided on his own that he was ready.  He never even told me he needed to go!  He just helped himself to the potty (without the kid’s potty seat, no less) without me knowing then yelled for me to come and see the poop in the potty for myself!  I was only too happy to wipe his butt for him as tears of joy rolled down my face for I had truly believed I would never see this day come! 

Needless to say, I was completely overjoyed as was my newly trained 3 year old along with his 7 year old brother.  We all started doing the Snoopy Happy Dance and singing and carrying on.  I even baked cupcakes to celebrate!

I’ve gotten alot of grief from members of my family about my boy’s delayed progress in this area…and I’ve given myself some of that grief, too.  After all, my first son was completely potty trained at 2 3/4 years old so why was it so difficult training my second???  After months and months of failing at The Art of Poop Management (and believe me, there wasn’t a tactic I hadn’t tried) I finally, with great exasperation, resigned myself to the fact that the boy will be potty trained when he is ready and not a minute sooner. 

Good things do come to those that wait give up!

No more coaxing, bribing, pleading, reprimanding, or withholding…no more poopy diapers…it is FINISHED!   YAHOOEEEEYYYYY!!!!!!!!

The Evil Mother-In-Law

I am sure many people can relate to the title of this post.  Unfortunately, the title was a shameless and underhanded trick on my part to hook you into reading this post which is, in fact, about my Mother-In-Law (MIL) except the dear woman is anything BUT evil.  In fact, in the eight years that I have been married to her son, she has consistently invoked overwhelming awe in me because she is as close to perfect (if not already perfect) as one could be as a Mother-In-Law.

I never really gave much thought to the “in-law factor” when I decided that my DH was the one for me.  My in-laws were nice and all but if they weren’t I don’t think it would have changed my mind about marrying DH.  If anything, I was prepared for the worst kind of MIL based on my experiences with my own mother (no offense, Mom).  My mom is loving and generous and nurturing and will defend even the slightest of her children’s transgressions.  But at times, she can also be overbearing, critical and controlling and knows she can get away with it because…well, because she can.  These traits of hers I’ve learned to accept and deal with.  After all, she is my mother. 

But to also have to deal with the same traits in a MIL?  I don’t think I could have borne that so easily, if at all.  Fortunately, for me, I don’t have to.  Know why?  Because in addition to giving me the gift of my perfect match in a husband, God also graced me with the best MIL in the whole world!  This ain’t no suck-up post, either.  She’s not dying…or dangling some juicy inheritance over my head.  She’s very simply…AWEsome!  (Too bad that’s such an over-used word.)  It brings me so much pleasure to pick out a greeting card for her for some special occasion (birthday, Mother’s Day, Christmas, etc.) because there isn’t a card out there, dripping with sweet, loving, kind words, that she is not deserving of.  I wish I could buy ALL of them for her!  [This exercise is in stark contrast to my ill-fated attempts to buy an appropriate greeting card for my own dad for his special occasions.  These visits to the greeting card store inevitably result in a psychological and emotional struggle because...well, because...they just don't write greeting cards for adult kids of alcoholics whose mean-drunk fathers are still miraculously alive with their organs intact after 40 years of hard liquor.  There simply aren't any sentimental or nostalgic moments from my childhood that warrants the purchase of the "best Dad in the whole world" card!  For some reason, the greeting card makers either don't write these type cards or if they do they don't display them.  Heeeeyyyy...I think I'm onto a great idea on marketing to the dysfunctional masses...]  But I digress.  Suffice it to say that I am utterly delighted in being able to pick out the right card for my MIL and that any agony suffered in the process is in choosing the card that is the most beautifully worded.

In the 10 years that I have known my MIL, not ONCE has she ever criticized me or chastised me in anything that I have done or said (and believe me, I’ve done and said PLENTY that warranted that from her…especially those moments when I was unkind, impatient or harsh towards my DH or my kids…pretty much daily).  She is a devoted wife, mother and grandmother and unselfishly serves others before thinking to serve herself in any capacity.  She is ALWAYS genuine, patient, tolerant (Lord!  Is she tolerant!), loving, kind, humble, polite, soft-spoken, considerate and always eats what I make for dinner (on those rare occasions that I actually do make dinner).  She is ALWAYS available and willing to help in any capacity.  She does not gossip, is never boastful nor does she speak badly about anyone…ever.  She has NEVER nagged me or so much as suggested I do or say anything a certain or different way or rendered her unsolicited opinion.  If she has ever judged me I have never known about it.  And she has never created an opportunity for contention (which has been my life-long strong suit).  I have never heard her raise her voice much less yell except when addressing my FIL who, in the last few years, has suffered a partial loss of hearing yet refuses to get a hearing aid.  The mere fact that she has been married for 45+ years to my dear FIL alone qualifies her for sainthood!  She is very simply a most wonderful person…not just a wonderful MIL.

Now some of you reading might be thinking “Yeah, yeah…how wonderful for you…big deal.”  But you know why it is such a big deal?  Because this is a woman who comes to our house EVERY DAY.  Sometimes MORE than once a day!  My in-laws live 10 minutes away in the next town over but they also own a 9-acre farm adjacent to our farm so we see them all the time!  In fact, I see them way, way, WAY more than I do my own parents (who now live right next door to us).  All this time together would very definitely be a problem for my unsociable self if my MIL wasn’t the gem that she is.

She doesn’t know this…no one does for that matter…but every single time I am in her presence she unknowingly models to me the Proverbs 31 woman and causes me to pause.  On one hand, I am so grateful that God has placed this woman in my life to be such a poignant reminder on how to be the wife and mother that He desires me to be.  On the other hand, as I observe her gentle demeanor and interaction with those around her it is a painful comparison to my anything-but-gentle demeanor and interaction with those around me…and quite glaringly points out how really ugly of a person I tend to be…surely a tendency I’ve inherited from my father!  My self-awareness of my crude and abrupt demeanor is the reason why I have recently initiated a mom’s study group at my house called “Homeschooling With a Meek & Quiet Spirit” by Teri Maxwell.  It is my hope that the fruits of this study will spill over into every other area of my life…not just in the area of homeschooling.  It is, to be sure, a bittersweet moment of observation and reflection when I am in my MIL’s meek and quiet presence.

So how is it that this sweet demeanor comes so easy to some people (like my MIL) and is such an awful struggle to others (like me)?  Is it learned behavior or a divine gift of the “sweet demeanor gene” that has somehow not made it into my particular strand of DNA?  Is my crass demeanor one of God’s ways of ensuring that I know that His strength is made perfect in my weakness?

Perhaps I wouldn’t be singing my MIL’s praises today if I had her for a mother for can you truly appreciate the good qualities in someone if they’ve always been in your life and you don’t know any differently?  It’s possible but I believe that appreciation comes later into adulthood.  Take my dad, for example.  My siblings and I have unanimously agreed from the beginning that he was just an awful dad.  Mean, strict, yadda, yadda, yadda.  Only when I was in my late twenties (and in therapy) did I realize that for all the terrible ways he was as a father he was, in fact, excellent in providing us with our basic needs:  food, clothing, shelter.  He may have been an alcoholic but he was a functional alcoholic.  For as mean as he was during his bouts of drinking he never once physically abused my mother or us kids and, to my knowledge, never cheated on her.  But these are the positive attributes that we overlooked in favor of the negative ones simply because they were not glaringly obvious day-to-day.

I have never wished for a different mother.  My mother is a saint in her own right, too.  After all, she has put up with my belligerent, alcoholic father for 40+ years.  And she did what any caring mother in her situation would have done:  she overcompensated with an overabundance of affection and nurturing (not to mention provided the best home-cooked meals) and did everything possible to salvage what she could of our shredded self-worth.  But now that I’m an adult that woman just unmercilessly nags and criticizes me!  I mean, she must truly think it’s a MIRACLE that I, the idiot daughter, have been able to raise my kids these past few years because I just can’t seem to do anything right in her eyes (not even load my own dishwasher properly).  LOL!  But it’s okay, Mom.  I know you don’t realize you’re doing it and that when you do nag and critize me it’s done out of love.  I learned about 6 years ago (when DS1 was just about a year old) that my way is just as okay as your way and it doesn’t get me upset anymore that you think otherwise.  I love you more than you can ever know!  But back to my MIL… 

Everyone should be as blessed as I am in this regard.  I know that a MIL like mine is a precious rarity indeed.  I also know that I’ve got just over 10 years to start modeling the same attributes she has or when it becomes my turn to be some young woman’s MIL, I will completely alienate her (and probably my son) because I am just as overbearing and nagging and critical as my mother is to me.  I will, in effect, be known as “The Evil Mother-In-Law”.  Ugh.  Thank God that the bible is full of hope.  Between that and a good supply of duct tape to tape across my mouth, I should be in good shape when that time comes!

I love you, my dear MIL.  Thank you…for being so incredibly gracious to me when I have been such a pathetic and undeserving daughter-in-law.   Please know that, in my heart of hearts, I deeply treasure your son and your family and it is my sincerest heartfelt wish to be every bit the Proverbs 31 woman that you so exemplarily demonstrate.  Until that day comes, however…I have my work cut out for me for there is still much, much, MUCH work left to do!!!  Please don’t give up on me! 

“Her children rise up and call her blessed…”
-Proverbs 31:28

My Turn Under The Proverbial Microscope

“So…”, my 75-year-old retired engineer father-in-law begins, “what’s RJ’s report card look like???”.  This was a question that took me by surprise in the middle of a homeschool day last week.  How do I answer this so that I don’t have to take an hour away from our already constrained homeschool schedule yet do it succinctly enough that he understands?  I reply without much pause: “RJ doesn’t get a report card like the public school kids, Pop.”

“Well…how’s he doing in math?  Is it better than his reading???”  Ouch.  Was that an intentional zinger or a well-intentioned yet misspoken voice of concern?   Within a split second I realize it is my turn to be officially squeezed under the homeschool microscope…a place I knew that I already lived although not strikingly reminded of it on a daily basis.  Today was the full frontal assault by a well-meaning and understandably concerned grandpa.  His 7-year-old grandson is, after all, having trouble reading.  This fact has caused me some level of concern during this past year but I’ve been pretty good about shoving my concerns aside (thanks in large part to the MANY articles I’ve read from other homeschooling moms who have shared how their children have each taken a different length of time to read based on their individual developmental stages) and I try desperately not to be tempted to compare my child’s progress with those of others his age.  Perhaps it was the Christmas card that Pop received from his nephew and his family on the west coast that mentioned how their 7-year-old private-schooled daughter was now reading her third Harry Potter book.  I have to admit that I gulped when I read that statement in the same card we received…then hurriedly buried the thought in the “Don’t You Dare Compare” mental file.

“Well, Pop,” I responded, “if you’re asking if RJ can convert celsius to farenheit and vice versa like your sister did at the age of five…then no.”  I cringed after the words came out of my mouth but I knew that his genius sister (who I adore) was one of his measuring sticks.  She is the same sister who was allegedly potty trained at nine months of age and is, undoubtedly, the reference against which my 3.5 year old, who refuses to make any progress in this area (see my post on The Art of Poop Management), is being measured. 

“Then how do you know how well he’s doing?” Pop asks.

“I know he’s doing well when he masters his lessons.  Sometimes it can take 2 days to master a lesson, other times 2 weeks.  We go at his pace, Pop.  That’s the beauty of homeschooling.”

It wasn’t a spectacularly articulate explanation and I’m not sure how well he received it but I got the feeling he wasn’t walking away with the warm and fuzzies.  Can’t say I blame him.  Most times I don’t walk away with the warm and fuzzies.  Most times I wonder what in tarnation am I doing trying to educate my beloved boy…I am for sure going to ruin him.  The good news is that most times I’m also quick to knock those moments of insecurity out into the poop pile.  But when I’m officially under that microscope…jeez louise…I am just not in love with that feeling AT ALL.

The last thing I want is to cause our friends and family concern.  Scratch that.  The next to the last thing I want is to cause our friends and family concern.  The last thing that I want is to do wrong by my child and throw him into the lion’s den every day…all day.  I’ll take that uncomfortable feeling of being under the microscope, scrutinized up close as well as from afar, any day of the week in exchange for the knowledge that my child is exactly where he belongs:  home with us.  I’m going to give him the best education I know how.  And if I can’t…then I’ll find a resource to help make it happen.  But that resource will no way, no how, not ever be the public school system…or even a private school system.   The goals set for our children are (first) spiritual, (second) character-based, and (third) academic…in that order.  I certainly trip throughout the days, weeks and years keeping those priorities straight but they ARE what we strive for.

The magnification of the homeschool microscope I’m under pales in comparison to the magnification of the microscope that God has me under.  That’s a slide under which I’m perfectly content being under even as uncomfortable as it, too, may be.  I will happily expose my transparent flaws with the knowledge that He will fix what needs fixing when He deems it’s time to be fixed.

In the meantime, however, I guess I’ll have to develop callouses on my homeschool tissue so that intentioned or unintentioned zingers don’t cause me to doubt myself or the path we’ve chosen.  That shouldn’t be too tough to do.  If there’s one thing I’ve gotten good at over the years…it’s the building up of callouses where they need to be (and sometimes where they don’t need to be…but that’s a post for another time). 

The Art of Poop Management

Warning:  This post is not for weak stomachs or the faint of heart.

I made a vow to myself that when I started blogging I would only blog with a topic that’s laying on my heart.  Know what’s laying on my heart these days?  Poop.  That’s right.  Poop.   It’s an ugly but necessary fact of life.  Every living creature does it.  Most of us humans learn at an early age how to propery deal with it.  Our youngest, however, who is almost 3 1/2 years old now, refuses to be potty trained.  We’ve been trying for a year now…with very little success.  So as I continue to change poopy diapers every day (sometimes several times a day) poop lays heavier and heavier on my heart.

Potty training issues notwithstanding, we live on a farm.  Not a productive, revenue generating, working farm but rather a counter-productive, financially draining, hobby farm complete with most of your standard stock of barnyard animals.  And with that comes…POOP, of course.  Lots of it.  We’ve got horse poop, miniature donkey poop, sheep poop, goat poop, peacock poop, rabbit poop and, not the least of which, dog poop.  We used to have cat poop, too, but we learned that poopers who don’t mind property boundaries always end up meeting an untimely and often early death of some sort or another (hit and runs, midnight snacking for wild life and the like).  So we have no cat poop at the moment.

When an excess of poop abounds, one quickly learns and masters the art of poop management.  There’s even such a thing as poop etiquette.  Oh, you won’t be able to find ”Poop Etiquette” on Wikipedia, much less a book on it.  But if you’re a farmer (productive or otherwise) and you’ve got critters…you know the etiquette.  For you casual farm visitors, here are a few simple pointers to help you navigate through (and around) the poop (the “poop” on poop, if you will):

Recyle your poop.  This is one of the 3 R’s of the green initiative, of course:  Recyle, Reuse, Reduce.  Like most farmers, we make compost out of our poop (mostly the horse & donkey poop) and use it for fertilizing our pastures and gardens.   You’ll never get Martha or the Backyard Gardener to show you how it’s done so if you’re interested, come on over for a live hands-on tutorial. 

But composting is just one way that we recycle our poop.  Our eclectic band of barnyard animals also contribute to the recycling initiative…oh, yes they do!  They actually eat each other’s poop (hey – I warned you this wasn’t for the faint-hearted).  Here’s how the poop recycle cycle works:  The miniature donkeys (Eeyore and Merlin) eat the rabbit poop…the dogs eats the donkey poop…and…well, nobody really wants to smell much less eat the dog poop so that’s really where the cycle ends.  But there you have it…recycling with poopers eating other pooper’s poop.   

Poop in one place.  When I was in my early twenties and on-the-go, my dad used to say that I was “like horse sh*t….all over the place”.  He was so complimentary toward me, wasn’t he?  That one wasn’t as bad as telling me the reason my eyes were brown was because I was full of sh*t.  Too bad I hadn’t yet learned the laws of genetics back then as he, too, has the dominant brown-eyed “sh*t” gene that I inherited.   But I digress…

Pooping in one place is a big deal when you have lots of ground to cover.  Most critters don’t really care about this particular rule of etiquette but every now and again you come across one or two very poop-conscious animals.  We have two such animals at the moment:  Jimmy, our Paso Fino Stallion and Bunny, our bunny.   Jimmy is very thoughtful and poops in one of several large poop heaps in our pasture as shown in Exhibit A:

(I included the basketball in the photo as a point of reference…
my kids don’t actually play in the poop).

The other two horses and two donkeys (and the rest of the barnyard gang for that matter) just poop willy nilly all over the place with reckless disregard.  Poor Bunny has no choice in the matter as she is held prisoner in her rabbit condo and her poop just conveniently collects down below her but we give her credit for poop etiquette just the same.

Don’t poop indoors.  This applies to most everybody.  Most horses, including our kind and considerate Jimmy, do not have enough of a disgust for their own poop that they refrain from pooping where they sleep.  We do have two, Reno and Brownie, who do actually hold their pee until morning (that’s a topic for another post) but not their poop.  I did own one beautiful white horse, Libra, back when I was a teenager and she was a verifiable poop snob.  She never, ever pooped in her stall!  And for that she earned the World’s Greatest Horse title from me.

If you’re going to poop indoors then, for crying out load, don’t poop on walls or window sills.  This may seem like common barn sense to some, but to others it’s just another messy day in the barn.  Brownie, our mongrel horse, as well as Eeyore and Merlin, have a penchant for backing their butts up against a wall (or window in Brownie’s case) and pooping away.  This makes for very difficult poop scooping as well as leaves unsightly skid marks up and down our newly renovated barn walls.

Poop and be still.  This etiquette rule applies only when pooping inside barn stalls, otherwise pooping while walking (as when horseback riding) is perfectly acceptable.  The problem with pooping and walking around in the stall is that the poop gets kicked around and mixed around with the clean, fresh-smelling, fluffy wood shavings on the stall floor making it impossible to eradicate the poop from the area.  Like throwing out the baby with the bath water, you end up having to throw out $10 worth of contaminated shavings out into the poop wagon the morning after.  Fortunately, we have only one such horse, my Reno, who is the midnight pacer in the family.  The others obediently obey the poop and be still rule making clean up much easier and relatively inexpensive.

Wear your boots.  This etiquette rule also fits into the Top 10 Rules of Owning a Farm (a post for a future date).  Stepping into poop while barefoot and feeling it squeeze up and around your toes is just about the grossest thing that could happen to you on a farm, especially if it’s dog poop…the worst smelling poop there is.  Wearing flip-flops or open toed shoes of any kind is just plain fool-hardy (unless you happen to like the look and smell of poopy feet).   And visitors…if you’re visiting a farm, bring your boots!   I remember one time about 10 years ago my cousin’s 5 year old daughter came to stay the night at our farm.  My cousin, a non-farmer, always had her daughter outfitted in the most adorable girly-girl clothes.  When I picked her up to bring her to our house, she had on the most beautiful pair of new, white sneakers complete with lacey trim and glitter embellishments.  That was her worst pair of shoes, according to my cousin.  I shook my head and drove away with the excited little girl.  And promptly returned her the next day with sneakers that were completely dirt brown, poopy smelling, torn lace and no more glitter embellishments.  But she had a darn good time getting those sneakers dirty!

Look down when you walk.  This is yet another rule that also fits into the Top 10 Rules of Owning a Farm  list.  If you’re not looking down when you walk, you WILL step into poop.  This is a solid no-clean-soles back guarantee.  Nothing more needs to be said on this one.

Don’t buy a house near a charming farm if you don’t want to smell poop.  Some people love the thought of living next to or close to a nearby farm.  And why not?  They’re pretty to look at with all the rustic barns and fencing and animals grazing in green pastures.  They just never consider the poop factor.  Farms = animals = poop = SMELL.  No way getting around it.  I happen to love the smell of horse poop.  It is, in fact, the sweetest smelling poop of all creatures because of the sweet smelling grass they eat (cow poop is not sweet smelling given that their digestive system is much more elaborate and thorough and consequently less sweet smelling grass is pooped out).  One of the most heavenly smells on earth to me (other than horse fly spray…the farm girl’s ”eu du toilette”) is the aroma of horse poop swirling in the warm summer night air.  I love to just close my eyes and take a long, deep breath of horse poop through my nose (aaaaahhhhhhh…slowly opening eyes now).  Okay, I know I just lost the respect of most of my readers with that visual but believe you me when I say that there IS a secret club of horse poop smell lovers out there.  Maybe I should start a new web ring for that just to prove it?

Don’t throw poop.  It’s just plain rude.  Unless it’s at your younger brother who tattled on you for watching more than the daily one hour of alloted TV viewing you were permitted and then it’s perfectly justifiable (especially with the big, flat, dried cow poop chips…you can really get one flying through the air like a frisbee and nail him on the back of the head).

So you see, poop management and poop etiquette is really not as difficult to grasp as you have thought.  The bigger truth is that poop management inside the home is much, MUCH harder.  Back to that 3-year-old…the one who cannot be reasoned with, bribed, threatened, coaxed or begged…the one who defies all potty training theories and practices.  I have been, as yet, completely defeated in this endeavor.  Me…the older, wiser, more mature, more cunning, more intellectually developed adult.  The one who has mastered the skill and art of farm poop management, for crying out loud!  Defeated!  By a snot-nosed, dirty-diapered 3-year-old.  Sh*t. 

The Optical Illusion

I’ve taken it on the chin alot during my adult life.  Mostly as a result of the stupid mistakes I’ve made.  But also as a result of no wrong doing on my part whatsoever.  The stupid mistakes have, thankfully, waned in number as I’ve gotten older (although I have been known to make a doozie now and again later in my life…crude reminders that no matter how I try I remain flawed).  Most recently I’ve come to learn that most of my hits the past few years have come as a result of what I believe to be an optical illusion:  the illusion that a person of perceived means has it easy and, therefore, judged to have no reason to struggle with righteousness.  It’s also my personal opinion that the more visible one becomes, such as a person in public or private leadership, or even celebrityhood, the greater the chance for the optical illusion to appear.

This optical illusion does not appear to discriminate to whom it would appear for these hits have not only come from some of my own family members but from those outside my family as well:  people in my church and (gasp!) even my homeschool support community.  Not by everyone but by enough that it’s terribly discouraging because the truth of the matter is that I struggle just as any other mom, whether she’s a working mom, or stay-at-home mom, or homeschooling mom, or single mom.  I struggle, too.  Means or no means.

The other day, a fellow homeschooling mom and I were discussing this dichotomy in the context of homeschooling with and without means and how the optical illusion of the former appears to the latter (although the optical illusion reaches well beyond the homeschool environment).  We both happen to be of perceived means.  I emphasize the word perceived because my husband and I don’t really have means.  It just appears that we do with owning a construction business, 30 acres of farmland, a big charming farmhouse with an inground pool and playground, some investment properties (including a vacation home in Lake Tahoe), a Lexus parked in a five car garage, and until 6 months ago having a mom who watched my youngest for me and helped me with my household duties so I could focus on homeschooling my youngest during our first year of homeschooling.  Looks and sounds like an easy life, all right, doesn’t it?

Except that it’s anything but an easy life.  Our construction company, while looking okay on paper, completely drains us financially month after month.  When all company credit cards are maxed (and we’re talking in the 6-figures) in order to make payroll week after week, we resort to using our savings and retirement accounts as well as our own personal credit cards until they, too, are shut down for non-payment.   Because of the 16-hour days my husband dedicates to our livelihood, we have precious few minutes to share with one another (and most of the time we share the worst of ourselves).  Our beautiful 30-acre farm doesn’t produce anything except weeds and mosquitos and we haven’t figured out yet how to generate an income off of either.  In fact, the farm is it’s own black-hole of an expense center.  Our big farmhouse?  It’s 250-years old with a crumbling and mold-infested dungeon for a basement that causes me great physical affliction (as I have a high allergy to dust and mold).  It doesn’t have central air and costs roughly $8,000 in fuel oil to heat it with our 30-year old furnace and boiler.  There isn’t a door or window that shuts completely and every wallpapered corner of the house has giant tears through it.  Why?  Because sometime in the last century one of the owners removed a critical bearing wall on the 1st floor causing the 2nd floor to cave in on it.  A few years ago, my 6′4″ tall, 70-some year old father-in-law, God bless him, a retired civil engineer, spent three weeks hunched over in our 5′6″ dungeon jacking the house up and installing an iron I-beam through the middle of the living room ceiling which, by the way, is still not boxed in.  Our unmatching furniture is old, stained, and in disrepair and the carpets are in even worse shape.  And let’s not even go into the leaky pipes, faucets and toilets.

Our large, refreshing pool is a drowning accident waiting to happen…which, during the wait, we constantly wage war against algae and pay hefty water bills for leaky pipes underneath the concrete deck. 

Properties we have purchased for the purposes of financial gain are now unsellable in today’s market and are a financial drain.  We will likely foreclose on some and flush what’s remaining of our credit down our leaky toilet in the process.  We have overwhelmingly more combined debt than we have income.  Donald Trump wrote in his book “How to Get Rich” that sometime in the late 80s/early 90s he remembers walking past a homeless person on the streets of NYC and reflecting that the homeless person was financially better off than he was because he was in debt to the banks to the tune of 90 billion dollars or some equally ridiculous figure and the homeless person had no debt.  But by all appearances, Trump was a man who had it all…who had it easy when in reality he was a vagrant dressed in rich man’s clothing.

My mom, God bless her, up until she was diagnosed with cancer this past June did help me with my youngest and my household duties while I focused on homeschooling and attending to other responsibilities (farm, rentals, construction biz, etc.).  But we paid her the same salary she was making at the customer service job she left in order to come work for us.  As much as she might have wanted to do it for free, we valued her time and worth and were only too happy to pay someone we could trust so completely with our family and home.  But I also had to suffer her critical commentary at every turn (don’t worry, Mom, my battered self esteem and I still love you!).

My Lexus is 7 years old, needs a jump every other week because the electronics drain the battery no matter how many times we replace the battery, and has just as many half-eaten lollipops, uneaten french fries and snot-filled tissues stuck to the seats or littered on the floor as the next mom’s car.

Regardless of whether a family of means is perceived or real, the notion that they are not without struggles is incorrect thinking.  We don’t like to put our struggles on display anymore than the next person.  And just like everyone else, we have marital problems, spiritual problems, family issues, health issues, psychological issues, social issues, academic issues, character and heart issues with our kids as well as with ourselves…and yes, even financial issues.  We struggle to manage time, priorities, interruptions and various crisises with the rest of the them.  These challenges do not discriminate according to income level nor are they resolved any easier.

I’ve accumulated callouses on my devastation tissue over the years so this is not so much devastating as it is disappointing and disheartening to be so harshly judged by certain persons in this way.  If I stumble because of my humanness, in the “grandeur” of my lifestyle, are not I entitled to the same grace and forgiveness as the homeless person?  Just because I am not homeless (yet), does that require that I am to be any more or any less righteous?  Sometimes I don’t even stumble yet am unfairly judged on things that they think I should be doing:  Do less!  Do more!  It changes with the hour.  I recognize that despite our challenges we are incredibly blessed. I’m not looking for pity. Just compassion.

Both DH and I desire the very best for our family as most parents do.  We share what we have, including our time and service, with others as much as we can.  Do we make mistakes?  Absolutely!  Can we do better?  Always!  But to be cast down because of the misconception that material blessings equates to perfectionism and righteousness?  I’d rather someone poke fun at my droopy nose (or droopy butt) instead.  At least I know there’s truth in that.  

Most people don’t recognize an optical illusion when they first see one. That’s not the real danger, however. The real danger with optical illusions is if you keep looking at one long and hard enough it can make you cross-eyed and prevent you from seeing the multiple layers in their entirety.

This is my final post for 2007.  Have a blessed New Year, everyone!!!  God willing, I’ll be back with more in 2008!

He who justifies the wicked, and he who condemns the just,
Both of them alike are an abomination to the LORD.
- Proverbs 17:15

The Five W’s of Our Homeschool

The “Five W’s (and one H)”:  in order for a report to be considered complete it must answer a checklist of six questions, each of which comprises an interrogative word: Who? What? Where? When? Why?  How?

This post will be the launching pad to six other posts that will answer each of the questions above from the perspective of our homeschooling family.  This is a work in progress (WIP) so please keep checking back!

Who…do you homeschool? (WIP)

What…is your homeschool day like? (WIP)

Where…do you homeschool? (WIP)

When…did we first hear of homeschooling?  A Life-Altering Moment.

Why…do we homeschool?  Ask Me Why We Homeschool.

How…do we homeschool?  (WIP)

Purposeful Parenting: It’s Not By Accident

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
-Samuel Johnson
-John Ray
-Saint Bernard of Clairvaux
(take your pick)

One of our dear friends (to protect his privacy I’ll refer to him as Darn Funny, or DF for short) has been having a bad few years with this teenage son.  The boy has been doing poorly in high school, left behind one year, was cutting class, getting detention, and this year transferred to a school for the “bad kids”.  The hardest blow to date was the boy was caught doing drugs in that school.  In complete exasperation, DF was lamenting to DH about the situation and asked the question “Why couldn’t my son be more like yours?”.  My DH’s first-born son, Aaron, from his first marriage is the same age (18) and a freshman at college.  Both he and his sister are good kids with good grades and good hearts and they’ve kept away from bad people and bad situations. 

But this is no sheer accident or a luck of the draw or a complete act of divine intervention.  It’s been the result of purposeful parenting by the part of their mother.  Oh, there may be some of the other three ingredients mixed in for good measure but by far the key ingredient of this recipe is the vigilant, downright militant focus their mother has placed on her children…sometimes at great expense to her own personal relationships with others.  She is their greatest protectors…and their biggest fans.  Despite having been a single working parent for most of their upbringing, she has lengthy conversations with each of them every day after work and school about anything and everything.  Not superficial conversations…but heart-to-heart conversations.  She counsels them, guides them, corrects them, loves them…and has lots of fun with them.  She builds up their self-esteem and encourages them to do great things.  She is up their butts making sure their homework is done, that their chores are completed, that they love one another and gives them no slack.  At one time she jokingly explained that the reason behind the kid’s good behavior is that she has instilled a sense of fear in them…not a fear of God…but of her!  But despite her tough love, her kids love her as fiercely as she loves them.  As is the case in many similar situations, this mother has done such a good job at parenting her children that in doing so, she has given her (ex)husband a free pass in that regard.  DH is a part of their lives as they only live half a mile down the street from us but he’s not involved in their day to day upbringing…the dirty, ugly stuff…the necessary, purposeful hard work of parenting.  He’s completely a shoot-from-the-hip kind of guy; the fun-loving, pal-around dad; the “can you give me a ride to school?” dad, the “How was your day? Fine? Great!” dad; no deep conversations (not even about sex) dad.  He makes parenting look easy when the truth is, all the real work is done half a mile down the street.  He loves them alright and cares about their welfare and has certainly contributed to their lives in a way only he can.  And they love him in return.  But they don’t stay out of trouble because of his involvement in their lives or out of honor and respect for him…they stay out of trouble because of their mom’s involvement and out of honor and respect for her.  And deservedly so.

Serving the best interests of a child requires purposeful parenting.  It can’t be accidental or well-intentioned.  It’s simply not enough.  I’m not judging DF on his parenting skills.  I’m simply stating that it’s by no accident that my stepkids have turned out the way that they did.  Thank God they did have such purposeful parenting from their mother.  Oh, to be sure…their mother is perfectly flawed as the rest of us are and has certainly made her share of mistakes.  But in this single regard, she has done a magnificent job.  So many children would be so much better off if only their parents would take a page out of this one mother’s book.

How the Chucklehead Forgot Christmas

It’s 10:30pm Christmas Eve night.  We are all back from a Christmas Eve open house at one of our dear friend’s house which was cut short for me and DS2 because of his allergic reaction to their family German Shepherd.  The presents have long been wrapped and the kids are finally going to bed.  DS1 prefers to sleep in our room tonight and we oblige.  DS2 also prefers to sleep in our room but until he can go poopy on the potty he is sleeping in the guest bedroom (and has been for the last week).  I can hardly believe that I am able to go to bed before midnight on Christmas Eve!  Every last detail is attended to and I’m about to get 8, maybe 9 hours of sleep before Christmas Day arrives!  Yippee!  I mosey on to our guest bedroom where DH is tucking DS2 into bed.  I whisper very explicit instructions to him before I retire:  There are wrapped presents in a garbage bag in our pool storage room.  Put them under the tree, along with the stuffed stockings, before you go to bed tonight.  No problem, he whispers back.  I proceed to my comfy fluffy bed…elated that I do not have to lift another finger until tomorrow.

7:30am Christmas morning.  The only one sharing my bed is DS1 and he’s still sound asleep.  I don’t find anything strange about this as DH is often out of our bed and off to work long before I wake up.  I take the opportunity to do my morning devotionals then read from a book that’s been on my nightstand for the last month entitled “Celebrate Jesus at Christmas: Family Devotions for Advent Through Epiphany” by Kimberly Ingalls Reese.  It’s the first time since I’ve had it that I actually had the time to look through it and I quickly regret that I didn’t do it sooner.  I flip to Christmas Day and begin reading all the wonderful suggestions for celebrating this day (songs, bible verses, food for thought, etc.) and vow to use it for next year.  Then at that moment, inexplicably, I experienced my own epiphany:  This is not a work day.  DH should be in our bed.  I bet he fell asleep with DS2.  Go and check to make sure the presents are under the tree!  I jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs and took notice that there was not a single present or stocking underneath the tree!!!  I quickly scour the downstairs for DH and there is no sign of him but I know he’s still in the house because the house alarm is still activated.  I dash up the stairs and into the guest room and there he is…snoring away next to DS2.  In a split second I have visions of waking him from his deep sleep with a quick and effective punch to the face…but I remember it’s Christmas and violently shake him up instead.  His first glimpse upon opening his oh-so-sleepy eyes is a fire-breathing, fist-clenched wife with daggers shooting from her eyes…hovering an inch over his nose…speaking through clenched teeth in a slow, deliberate and loud whisper so as not to wake up DS2: ”YOU…FORGOT…TO PUT…THE PRESENTS UNDER THE TREE!!!!!”  DH quickly realizes this is not a dream he’s having but a nightmare of the worst kind.  He dashes out of bed and down the stairs to complete the one task he had been assigned this entire Christmas season.  I begin taking big, sweeping deep breaths on my way back to my bedroom and am thankful the boys are still sleeping.  With the disaster now averted I climb into a hot, soothing shower in attempt to lower my blood pressure and ease my throbbing head…and begin singing Joy to the World…my attempt to keep the focus on Christ and not on my anger.

Upon drying off I notice that DH is back in our bed snuggling up with DS1 who is still sleeping.  How precious, I think to myself.  I whisper hopefully to him “Did you get all the presents under the tree?”  He nods confidently and with a smile which should have been sufficient to the average person but my woman’s intuition (or was it just being married to him for the last 8 years?) was instructing me to confirm the affirmative.  So down I go in my bath robe and wet head and sure enough I see that the stockings are, indeed, under the tree but there is only a SINGLE wrapped present!  ONE!  In complete exasperation I march to the pool room, grab the lawn & leaf trash bag FULL of wrapped presents and drag it to the tree then proceed back upstairs to breathe more fire onto my dear, clueless, seemingly innocent husband.  We proceed to have a heated exchange and begin playing the blame game: he blaming me for giving him confusing instructions (there were TWO garbage bags full of presents: one with wrapped gifts, the other with unwrapped gifts.  In my Christmas delirium I mistakenly put a single wrapped present into the bag of unwrapped gifts and THAT was the bag he came across first and so he put the SINGLE wrapped present under the tree.  How he thought one present labeled for DS2 would cover all the children is beyond me); and me blaming him for having done nothing to prepare for this day AND failing to execute on the one critical task that was assigned to him (well, okay, he did toil endlessly for financial provision so that I could go out and buy the presents…but my heart was no where near being soft enough to remember that fact much less give him credit for it).  I interrupt his poor attempts at defending himself and ask him (or did I order him?) to go downstairs and put the presents under the tree before the kids wake up!  It’s now 8:15am and I have lost that loving feeling.

While I’m blow drying my hair, DH informs me that while he was downstairs attending to his task, he noticed that the freezer door on our kitchen refrigerator was wide open and everything in it had either defrosted or melted.  The entire kitchen floor was wet…and he wanted to know what he should do.  Oh, just go handle it already.  I didn’t care if he threw everything into the trash at that point.

The children, God bless their souls, don’t wake up until after 9am.  While still in our bedroom, the children and I sing Joy to the World followed by Happy Birthday to Jesus.  I get them caught up on the Advent Christmas book we had been reading (but fell behind on) before heading downstairs.  The focus is back on Christ, the kitchen is all cleaned up, presents are now under the tree, and all is well at the Taschek Funny Farm.

Later that evening we attended a Christmas Day dinner at another dear friend’s house (to protect his privacy I’ll refer to him as Dear Friend, or DF for short).  At the dinner table I recounted the story to DF because he’s also our company’s finance manager and knows all too well the forgetful nature of DH.  He busted up with laughter not believing that DH could possibly have forgotten to put the presents under the tree…but then again, knowing him, could believe that “Chucklehead”, his pet name for DH, could have.  As he was shaking his head and still laughing, DF asked Chucklehead how in the world would he have responded to the kids had they gotten up at 6am like every other normal child and found that there were no presents under the tree!  Chucklehead just calmly shrugged his shoulders and responded that he would have told the kids that Santa had Old-Timers and must have mistakenly placed the presents in the wrong room of the house.  No worries!  And you know what?  My mini-Chuckleheads would have believed every word that came out of Papa Chucklehead’s mouth and there would not have been any worries.  Why is it that when I think my DH is being the all-time biggest dope, that it’s really me being the biggest dope of all? 

Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret—it leads only to evil.
- Psalm 37:8

Twelve Days of Christmas Calendar

Being a self-professed idea thief is bittersweet.  On one hand, stealing people’s shared ideas often times enhances the lives of me and my family (the sweet part).  On the other hand, it really emphasizes how utterly boring my own ideas are that I have to resort to idea theft (the obvious bitter part)!!!  This particular project of mine, the Twelve Days of Christmas Calendar, is actually born out of not one, not two, but THREE stolen ideas.  The way I look at it, if you’re going to be an idea thief you might as well be a good one and go for the gusto.

Idea #1 was stolen from Mary Ann Eagleson’s article “Calendar Memories” in the November/December 2007 issue of Homeschooling Today magazine.   The concept of observing the Twelve Days of Christmas starting on December 26th was extremely appealing to me.  It’s true that there’s so much hype and expectation leading up to the day of Christmas…and then POOF! it’s all over with.  How depressing!  Observing the Twelve Days of Christmas serves to extend the focus, excitement and spirit of the holiday.  I love that idea!  So for the first time this year, our family will be doing just that…continuing to keep the focus on Christ…lighting candles and doing devotionals…and a 12 Days of Christmas unit study stolen from Just Call Me Jamin!’s blog (Idea #2).

Idea #3 was taken from Heather Johnson (an apparently very crafty lady) who shared her Christmas Advent project on her blog. I really loved her idea and wanted to implement it for our Advent countdown this year but I discovered her idea a day before Advent started and didn’t have enough time to make the project (or have enough toilet paper cardboard rolls saved up). But I did have enough toilet paper cardboard rolls to create a smaller Twelve Days of Christmas Calendar project! 

And thus, my Twelve Days of Christmas Calendar was created from these three stolen ideas (although I am not so arrogant as to think that someone, somewhere has already stolen these ideas to create a Twelve Days of Christmas Calendar for themselves and I simply haven’t seen it yet to steal their idea).  I thank Mary Ann Eagleson, Jamin and Heather Johnson for sharing their wonderful ideas with me and the world and hope one day I can share an equally wonderful idea in return.

So…without further adieu…I present my Twelve Days of Christmas Calendar!  It consists of:

• 12 toilet paper cardboard rolls
• each roll wrapped with Christmas scrapbook paper (applied with double sided scotch tape)
• each roll trimmed with ribbon or fancy pipe cleaners (applied with hot glue)
• each of the 12 rolls hot glued to each other (Heather stapled hers but my stapler was too big)
• each roll with a foam shape glued on with numbers 1 through 12 stickers or rub-ons adhered to it
• each roll adorned with as many emblishments as I could find (applied with hot glue)
• a red ribbon threaded through the first roll and tied off for hanging
• each roll stuffed with strips of 3″ wide tissue paper on each side

My plan is to put a note with directions or a map in each roll for of my kids to follow in order to find their single gift to open for that day.  They love scavenger hunts (they are currently obsessed with pirate treasure maps) so it should be met with lots of enthusiasm (at least that’s my hope!).  I’ll let you all know how it works out!

Here are some photos of my project.  Enjoy!

Ask Me Why We Homeschool

Now that you know how it was that I first heard about the Homeschool buzz (see my A Life-Altering Moment post), I suppose it’s time to learn why we ended up choosing to go forward with it.  Most people of the non-homeschool community usually aren’t armed with all the facts about the benefits of homeschooling.  It’s a pretty safe bet that judgments are made pretty quickly once the term “homeschool” is uttered.  Most people have an immediate visualization of homeschooling to be complete isolation from the outside world…with a sub-standard education provided by inept mothers.  I’ve even had a doctor friend of mine who, along with her siblings, was homeschooled by her missionary parents…give me the most unexpected response to my decision to homeschool:  “NOOOOOOOOO!!!”.  Her homeschool experience was obviously not a pleasant one and didn’t care to perpetuate the experience onto her own children.  But forced homeschooling (because her parents were missionaries they traveled to and lived in foreign countries) from 35 years ago is much different than today’s homeschooling options.  Even as far as 20 years ago homeschooling was illegal in most US states.  Today, it’s legal in every state.  And the curriculum choices are so great now as opposed to 20, 15 even 5 years ago!  One’s head can spin from all the different choices!  There’s probably more curriculum choices available to homeschoolers than there are available to public and private schools!  The beauty in all this, of course, is having the luxury of being able to research and select the best curriculum for your child based on his learning style, his gifts & challenges, and the style of homeschooling right for your family (Oh yes!  There are about a dozen different styles of homeschooling from the traditional, out-of-the-box textbook style method to Charlotte Mason to Classical to Unschooling and lots more inbetween).

But that’s not the reason we chose to homeschool.  Initially, it was my desire to have as much time as possible with my first born.  The thought of having to put him on a bus and send him away for 7-8 hours a day was unbearable to me.  I didn’t want to miss out on any part of his development.  That was reason Numero Uno.

Reason Number Two was that I was vehemently opposed to putting my child in a social situation every day where he could potentially be subjected to ridicule, bullying, and be taught every imaginable curse word and inappropriate behavior (and response).   No sir-ee….if he was going to learn those things he would learn them from me and his father! 

But seriously, I was socially ostracized from my elementary school days throughout high school.  I was physically and emotionally beaten up by black, white, rich and poor kids.  It was an experience I would never want to repeat (had I known there was such an option as homeschooling I would have begged and pleaded with my parents to do it) and would certainly not want to expose my children to it.  And it’s not gotten any better.  My stepchildren have had extreme difficulties in public schools…especially my stepdaughter.  It was an extremely painful time for her as early as 5th grade.  Even last year, at the start of her 10th grade, she changed schools because of oppressive social situations.   And although my stepson didn’t have the same social issues as his sister, he was not without scars:  while in 6th grade this meek, mild & kind-hearted child was beat up on the bus by an oversized 8th grader…completely unprovoked.  And the daily exposure to drug usage and sex in the bathrooms….this is not what I wanted for my own children.  Not even close.

So at the start of my homeschool journey, these were initally the two driving forces behind the decision.  However, as the year progressed I came to realize that there were more reasons, perhaps greater reasons, for desiring to homeschool:  my DS’s kinesthetic learning style and ADHD brain was not something that would have been embraced in a public or private school setting.  Also, as his parent I wanted to be the one to call the shots on what subject matter he would be taught and when (eg. teaching diversity, tolerance, sex education, etc. when I deemed he was mature enough to handle it).  I also very much wanted to make sure that his education was biblically grounded…something he was sure not to get in public school.  Bible studies are the first order of the day.  If nothing else gets accomplished that day, I’m okay with it because I view my child’s spiritual welfare as of paramount importance.

Our decision to homeschool was met with passive resistance from our family members and friends.  No one outwardly objected but no one outwardly encouraged us, either.   I could feel people’s eyes focused on us…perhaps with curiosity, perhaps with skepticism and criticism.  It’s not easy being under the microscope!  Are people waiting to see if I fail my children?  Or are they quietly cheering me on from the sidelines?  One thing is certain:  no one is more in fear of failing their children than a homeschooling parent.  Regardless of whether, as parents, we decide to homeschool or send our kids to public or private schools none of our children will learn everything that they need to (and in many cases will learn things they don’t need to) nor will they grow up to be perfect citizens.  We all just try to do what we think is best for our children and try not judge ourselves or others.

Some people think that in order to homeschool one must have material means to do so.  This is incorrect thinking!  While I happen to have the luxury of being able to stay home with my children, that is more the exception than the rule.  Most homeschooling families are notoriously poor…on a single income by choice, not by design.  They make do with one car, with humble dwellings, stretching every dollar to its maximum (homeschooling is not cheap) all in the name of keeping their kids home where (they think) they belong.  It’s not a luxury.  It’s a chosen lifestyle. 

And it ain’t easy, either.  It’s hard work.  Darn hard work.  Every now and again my mom or dad will make the comment “Wouldn’t it be easier to just send him to school?”.  Well, yeah…it would be a heck of alot easier.  But that’s not the point.  I’m not looking for the easiest solution for myself.  I’m looking for the best solution for my children.  I believe that the education of my children is my responsibility…not the government’s.  I remember years ago, when my youngest brother was still in high school, my mother was complaining about how he was not doing well and it was because he wasn’t completing his homework assignments.  She was so angry at the school for not making sure he completed his homework!  His HOME-work.  I wasn’t married or had children at the time but even then I remember thinking “My goodness…it’s your job, PARENT, to make sure your kid does his homework!”  And I also remember thinking that sending kids off to school has really given some parents a “free pass” in being academically responsible to their children and has, in some cases, fostered the feeling of entitlement and unreasonable expectations.

I don’t judge anyone for sending their kids to school.  I believe the public school system does has value to a great majority of children.  It just doesn’t happen to have the value I seek for my children.

Every homeschooler has their own reasons for doing it.  They are not all the same.    Some do it for spiritual reasons,  others for academic reasons,  and yet others for social reasons or political reasons.  The reasons are all different.  Regardless of the reasons, the one thing we all have in common is having the best interests of our children served.  Homeschoolers are not superior to public/private schoolers and vice versa.  It’s simply a choice dictated by the needs of the particular family.

I recently read an article in the November issue of Homeschooling Today entitled “So Why Do You Homeschool?” by Brenda Murphy.  I wish I had been the one to write it and share with everyone I know and meet.  It paints a perfect picture of why we homeschool.

There’s only been one person from our circle of family and friends who has expressed genuine interest in knowing more about homeschooling…asking for articles to read more about the subject.  And this person doesn’t even have a spouse or kids!  I am willing to talk to anyone who is curious about homeschooling so if you’ve got questions….I’ve got answers (or at least some of them)!  There is also a TON of information available on the internet (just google “homeschool”) as well as hundreds and hundreds of books written about homeschooling.

So the next time you’re in the same room as a homeschooler…don’t be shy about asking questions!  Homeschoolers LOVE to talk about their homeschooling experience…the joys as well as the challenges.  Be forewarned, however….you may end up catch the homeschooling bug, too!  You never know!