Diversity, Trust, and Religion

I recently became aware of research by Robert Putnam that paints a mixed view of ethnic diversity. Here is an excerpt from the abstract of the study:

In the long run immigration and diversity are likely to have important cultural, economic, fiscal, and developmental benefits. In the short run, however, immigration and ethnic diversity tend to reduce social solidarity and social capital. New evidence from the US suggests that in ethnically diverse neighborhoods residents of all races tend to ‘hunker down’. Trust (even of one's own race) is lower, altruism and community cooperation rarer, friends fewer. In the long run, however, successful immigrant societies have overcome such fragmentation by creating new, cross-cutting forms of social solidarity and more encompassing identities.

Unsurprisingly, this study has been cited by numerous anti-immigration and anti-multiculturalism folks -- usually minus the reference to the possible long term benefits. The come-back from progressives is usually to focus nearly entirely on the long term findings. I think this is equally problematic. Both the short and long term effects must be taken seriously if we care about the quality of our own lives and the lives of our neighbors – wherever they come from.

People who work with diverse populations at schools or in community settings will tend to file this study under the heading “not news”. The darker side of human nature makes diversity difficult. But diversity (and, I dare say, immigration) is here to stay, so what do we do? How do we make the short term problems as “short term” as possible? How do we get over the mistrust and “hunkering down” tendency?

I’m especially interested in thinking about what role religion (or spirituality, if you prefer) can play in the drama. It strikes me that when religion is at it’s worst, it exacerbates the problem – creating enclaves of suspicion and encouraging us to pass judgment on our neighbors. I’m sorry to say that I think this happens more often than not, but that doesn’t mean that secularism is necessarily the better answer. Secularism can just as easily lead to “me first” thinking, and suspicion of differences in manner or culture. No-holds-barred capitalism is thoroughly secular (in spite of the many Religious Right types who embrace it, seemingly contrary to biblical principles), yet it is the major cause of migration between countries, both legally and illegally. Not only are people drawn to western countries to seek opportunity, they are also “pushed” from the other direction by impossible economic situations brought on by a secular “theology” of globalism that elevates profit above any other social, political, or human good.

But what about religion as 17^th century Quaker Robert Barclay experienced it?

“For when I came into the silent assemblies of God's people, I felt a secret power among them which touched my heart; and as I gave way unto it, I found the evil weakening in me and the good raised up.”

Religion at it’s best raises up the good in us and weakens the evil. It reminds us that we are all loved by God, all part of the same sacred creation. Even when we can’t manage to feel that way about our fellow human beings, good religion disciplines us to behave as if it were true anyway. (“Love thy enemy” and all that...)

I’m interested in what others think about these topics. Please share!

Finished product

Since the jam post was so popular, I thought I'd share some pics of the results!

It took me almost exactly 3 hours to do 4 batches -- less time than I anticipated. I guess after doing this a few times, I'm getting more efficient! I got the kitchen totally prepped before going to get the berries: canner out and filled, counters clear, jars washed, etc. So if you count that part, maybe it would be closer to 4 hours. Still not bad. You'll notice that the fruit floats to the top of the syrup. No biggie -- we just stir it when we open it, but if anyone knows how to avoid this, I'd be interested. Even my grandma didn't know, and she's done her share of jam-making.

A couple of readers asked about cost. I purchased 8 quarts of strawberries (one flat, or about 16 lbs.) for $20. Buying direct from the grower at the farmers' market is definitely the way to go! I already owned the jars and ring parts of the lids, so no additional cost there. The flat part of the lid is not re-usable, so I had to buy those: $1.50. Pectin came to $6.00, and I estimated the cost of the sugar used to be about $0.50. (I used store brand sugar, and only about 3 1/2 cups total.) Grand total cost = $28.00

I processed the equivalent of 26 eight ounce jars. (6 twelve oz. jars and 17 eight oz. jars) That comes out to $1.07 per 8 oz. jar. I *might* be able to buy the very cheapest store brand for less -- I don't know, as I haven't priced them out. But since I would normally be buying brands with low sugar and no artificial colors, it's a decent savings. (That's not even considering the taste factor, which is a biggie.) I save even more when I use them as gifts. A jar of homemade jam and a homemade loaf of bread make a wonderful (and usually highly appreciated) gift for a neighbor or casual friend, even though the total "value" might only be about $2. Saving money isn't the point in that case; what you are really giving is time and care. Nevertheless, it's a welcome by-product when you're on a tight holiday budget.

Can't wait to break one open tomorrow!

Oh, and here's a tip for anyone who decides to try this: consider keeping your jars warm in the oven (set at about 200 degrees) rather than in simmering water on the stove as most recipes instruct you to do. Your stove already has the huge canner going, plus the 6 - 8 quart pot for cooking the jam, plus maybe a tea kettle of hot water to add to the canner as needed. I don't know about your stove, but mine has no room for an additional huge stockpot filled with jars! Putting them in the oven saved hassle and space -- I just took the hot jars out of the oven as I needed them. I kept the lids in a pot of hot water in the oven as well.

Strawberry Jam

This Wednesday is strawberry jam day at our house. I was informed by one of the farmers at our local farmer's market that he would have strawberries "by the truck load" this week. The kids will be going to a friend's house on Wednesday so that I can get the strawberries and make jam from them on the same day.

You're probably thinking, "Nice, but so what? Lots of people make jam."

The thing is, we haven't had any jam at all for about 2 1/2 months now, so it feels like a treat to us. We are not full-fledged localvores -- I'm not ready to give up bananas, for one thing -- but we're trying to eat that way more frequently, especially with foods that are grown in our area. So in March, when we ran out of the jam I made last summer, Firmin and I agreed that we would simply wait until jam-making fruit was in season again instead of buying jam at the store. We had a plentiful supply of local raw honey to eat on our toast and to be a sweetening addition to a peanut butter sandwich. (No, peanuts are not grown in Michigan, but this isn't really about pure-ism. Read on.) The final deciding factor was the relatively high cost of jams which contain neither high fructose corn syrup nor artificial food coloring. We would wait.

What I've discovered to my own surprise and delight, is that rather than missing the jam (though we have at times), the primary experience has been one of joyful anticipation and gratitude. I'm thankful for these strawberries in a way I never have been before. I'm actually looking forward to the long afternoon of processing and canning the jam. The kids are thrilled at the prospect of an honest to goodness PB & J sandwich! We have stopped taking jam for granted. It's a very small thing really, but small things can teach big lessons.

Next, I'm thinking about apples. Michigan is second only to Washington state in apple production, and Michigan apples are available year-round. For organic apples, however, the Michigan supply is about dried up. My choice now is pretty much Chilean organic apples or Michigan conventionally grown apples. Hmmm... It won't be long before the early varieties are ready -- mid-August I think. Can we wait? If we do, how good will that first bite of a crisp fresh-from-the-tree apple taste?

This waiting for the season is quickly becoming a lost experience. Previous generations were forced to wait. Waiting today requires discipline, which is much tougher and sometimes hard to justify. I can testify from personal experience that it can feel downright silly to walk by food that you want when it's right there in front of you, especially if your cart already contains other items that are not local or in season. (I buy broccoli year-round, for instance, and plan continue to do so -- it's one of the few green veggies the whole family likes!) Yet walk right by I do, and with increasing frequency. There are plenty of good reasons to eat locally and in season whenever possible, but one that's often overlooked is the pure pleasure of delayed gratification. Still skeptical? Just ask your grandma how good blueberries used to taste in July when she was a girl. Note her big smile...

The Conservative in Me

Every once in a while I pick up a book that resonates so strongly that it makes me comment out loud -- "Yes!" "That's exactly right" "Absolutely!" -- while I am reading it. (I can only hope to be either alone or amongst understanding family members when it happens.) I just finished such a book. Given that it's written by a conservative journalist who has worked for the National Review, the book has had a particularly profound effect on me. It challenged some of my assumptions about conservatives, caused me to reconsider how best to describe myself politically, and gave me hope for some common ground between at least some liberals and conservatives in this grossly polarized era. It also spawned about 20 blog post ideas, lol! I'll dole out a few of them here and there over the next couple of months.

I must give the full title, long as it is, so that you can understand why I picked it up in the first place. It is Crunchy Cons: How Birkenstocked Burkeans, gun loving organic gardeners, evangelical free-range farmers, hip homeschooling mamas, right-wing nature lovers, and their diverse tribe of countercultural conservatives plan to save America (or at least the Republican Party) by Rod Dreher. Those of you who know me know that I wear Birkenstocks, garden organically, eat locally-raised, free-range meat, homeschool my kids, and love nature. However, I have not read Burke, do not love guns, am religious but not evangelical, am sadly lacking much "hip" other than the ones above my thighs, am decidedly NOT right-wing, and can count on one hand the number of Republicans I've voted for. I just *had* to read this book!

The most important thing Crunchy Cons did for me was to smash some preconceptions I had about conservatives, and make me re-consider my own self-identification as a liberal. Dreher is the kind of Republican that I didn't know existed: one who would willingly restrain the excesses of free-market capitalism in the name of preserving authentic communities, strengthening families, and protecting the environment. (That I didn't know of the existence of folks like him is in itself is an indictment of our over-polarized political environment. Where are their voices in the mainstream media and the Republican party?) He believes passionately that our current state of affairs -- with ever-increasing consumption of material goods and unfettered pursuit of personal pleasure and gain -- is not only spiritually culturally impoverishing, but also economically unsustainable. I have felt this for a long time now, and Dreher captures how discouraging and lonely such a counter-cultural stance can be at times. Yet he also captures the joy and fulfillment that come from living according to one's deepest held beliefs.

I came to see that my core values -- which mesh pretty well with Dreher's -- really *are* best described as "conservative". I want to conserve values and ways of life that are rapidly disappearing: interdependent communities, strong family bonds, unstructured leisure time (and innocence) for kids, "real" food grown or raised the way nature/God intended, local economies, human scale development, the wise use and preservation of natural spaces, and more. Dreher is perplexed that some of the political policies intended to further these kinds of goals have become nearly the sole province of Democrats and are thus now considered "liberal" issues. Because of that, I think Dreher's sense of alienation from the Right is stronger than my sense of standing on the outskirts of the Left. (Check out the Crunchy Con manifesto. I count 7 out of 10 points that I definitely agree with and at least 2 that I mostly agree with. I know quite a few of my crunchy liberal friends that would agree with many of the points as well. It's easy to see why poor Rod gets blasted by many of his fellow Republicans. Kudos to him for having the courage to keep speaking out!) Finding so much in common with a self-described conservative made me more keenly aware of the ways in which I am different from many mainstream liberals, particularly in the areas of education, media consumption, and consumerism. (There being really no difference in consumerism between mainstream liberals and conservatives. Shopping is fast becoming the national pastime.)

Before reading this book, if the only thing I knew about Rod Dreher was that he voted Republican and wrote for the National Review, my initial impression would have been of a no-holds-barred capitalist who wanted to return to the oppressive-to-women-and-minorities 1950's. I know that's a stereotype, but I must admit that it's exactly what springs to mind when I don't know anything else about a person besides their conservatism. So what do conservatives think when I describe myself as a liberal? Someone who would happily regulate every aspect of life except sex and the media? Perhaps! Maybe nuance, though awkward and time-consuming, is called for if there is to be a meaningful movement of all of us crunchies (Left and Right) to "save America". I don't care as much about the Republican party. ;o)

Fast Math

My friend and fellow blogger Alissa has a son Brianna's age who is going through "quarterly assessment" testing at his school. One of the areas of assessment is math. Her brief comments about this got me thinking back to math tests of my own childhood, how I'm approaching math with Brianna, and how I might approach it with Alexander. I don't blog much about our homeschooling specifics, but I find this topic worth exploring a little bit.

Thankfully, I attended school before the current obsession with standardized testing and constant assessment. I took state standardized tests in 4th, 7th, and 10th grades, but the teachers didn't make a big deal out of them beyond making sure we knew how to properly fill in the bubbles. (Bubble tests were rare indeed!) The first tests that really felt "high stakes" to me were the tests I took for college entrance -- the ACT, SAT, and AP exams. By then I was an older teen and able to handle the pressure.

Nevertheless, my 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Frank, decided to introduce some "high stakes" testing of her own. Every week we had "time tests" in math. These consisted of a strip of about 25 math problems that we were to complete as fast as possible. The times of each student -- adjusted somehow for accuracy -- were posted for all to see. I believe they were even charted on a graph. I was one of those kids who was very accurate if given adequate time, but I could be slow to come to an answer. Time pressure only befuddled my brain, so my times were always near the bottom of the class even though I was capable of doing the problems presented. Needless to say, I exited 2nd grade with the (false) impression that I was bad at math. This incorrect belief lasted for years and negatively affected my math education.

So you can imagine my conflicted feelings when Brianna's math curriculum suggested "practice sheets" -- strips of about 25 math problems that the child should do repeatedly with a goal of finishing accurately in about 1 minute. Ack - Time Tests! Understand, they only suggest this *well* after the child has become proficient at solving addition problems mentally using a number of strategies not to include counting. The sole purpose of the practice sheets are to increase speed. I can't argue with the practicality of this. Brianna is highly proficient at maniuplating numbers mentally to solve problems, but when adding 3 digit numbers, all that manipulation takes time. Once you know what you're doing, it's much more convenient to have the basic facts committed to memory.

Uncomfortable with the timing aspect but understanding the rational, I decided to give Brianna the choice. She chose to time herself, and with her father's stopwatch, no less! The timing does not seem to add to her anxiety or make solving the problems more difficult, as it did for me. I suspect it's because she's only competing with herself. She has no idea how she would measure up against other 1st graders, nor does it occur to her to wonder about that. She's well above the 1 minute goal time -- more like 2:40, but I think that's due more to her slowness in writing than to not knowing the answers. When she dictates the answers to me, she's around 1 1/2 minutes, depending on the difficulty of the problems. In any case, it doesn't seem to phase her. I make sure to note her 100% accuracy, and assure her that accuracy is more important than speed. I don't recall Mrs. Frank every praising my accuracy. (She may have done, but so much emphasis was on speed that if she did, it didn't make an impression.)

Alexander's preschool teacher commented during our conference today about how good he was at math. I was a bit surprised to hear this -- not because I think he's slow, but because at home he does very little math talk or play that I see. (Unless I count being able to look at a Lego diagram and copy it fairly well, which I *should*!) Brianna did much more conventional math play at his age, and would ask to do math lessons for fun. Alexander asked for lessons a couple of times, then stopped. I think the difference isn't in math ability, but in how the children approach learning. Brianna's learning is so easy for me to see. She goes about it quite conventionally, as I did, so I recognize it. When we do math lessons together 3 or 4 times a week, I see the progress and know exactly what she can and cannot do. Alexander seems to draw from more diverse sources and then manifest his knowledge in ways that I don't always recognize immediately. (Like the Legos.) Homeschooling is going to be more challenging with him simply because he and I do not share a common learning style. Nevertheless, I think it will be fun and nearly as educational for me as it will be for him!

Real Moms Get Used to Gross

It starts with that first meconium-filled diaper. Maybe it's the first "poo" diaper you've ever changed, or perhaps you've confronted the messy diapers of a niece or nephew, or a baby sitting charge. In any case, you may notice -- or you may not, in your post-birth fugue -- that it's not as distasteful to deal with as you would have thought; not quite as nose-wrinkling as the messes of those other babies that were not yours. Good thing, because that little bit of mucky stuff is nothing compared to what awaits you: diaper blowouts that reach from your baby's hair to her socks, smelly "big kid" poos smashed into your toddler's training pants, preschooler vomit all over your preschooler, his bed, you, and your bed at 3 AM, and cold after cold bringing snot, snot, and more snot for you to wipe from nose, face, hands, shirt, nearby surfaces, and yourself.

Amazingly, moms are universally able to cope with all this and more (bloody gashes requiring stitches, anyone?) without tossing their cookies or even feeling queasy most of the time. (Unless they are in their first trimester of a pregnancy, than all bets are off!) Sure, we may wrinkle our noses, or let slip and "Oh yuck!" now and then, but we quickly do what needs to be done, wash our hands with plenty of soap, then get back to making dinner.

I thought about this the other night after I dug a large booger from Alexander's nose with a Q-Tip. It was bothering him to the point of not being able to sleep, and no amount of nose-blowing would dislodge it. It was indeed a pretty gross procedure, though not the grossest thing I've done for my kids by a long shot. Nevertheless, for just a moment, I lost my "mom" perspective and allowed myself to dwell on the "ick" factor of what I had just done. I let out a cough which ended in a bit of a gag. Then I got hold of myself and went on with life like the real mom that I am.

Note: This post is in response to a Real Moms tag from my friend Jennifer. It looks like it started as a contest, which anyone can still enter up until May 11 if they follow all the rules in the link above. However, several bloggers before me have deviated from the rules, and I'm not jumping through every hoop either. I love it as simply a tag theme that threads together many mom bloggers who may not even know one another. I'm tagging Ma and Jenny!

The original rules of the Real Mom challenge say to include a picture. (See note and link above.) I debated taking a photo of Alexander's mostly-clean nostrils, but he's asleep right now. Real moms do NOT risk waking a preschooler at 11 pm with a camera flash. So just for fun, I looked through my digital photo files and found a picture of a not-so-gross mess that I once had to clean up. :o)

"Sunflowers"

Alexander has been calling dandelions "sunflowers" this spring. I've corrected him a couple of times, but I'm going to stop. After the spring we've had, I think he's more right than wrong. What better sign of the return of the summer sun than the dandelion? This afternoon, Firmin will mow the yard for the first time this year. Xander was distraught about it until Firmin promised to leave a little patch of "sunflowers" unmowed.

Update on the seedlings

Six days after replanting, every single seedling looks healthy and strong! What a great kid I've got!

Brianna Saves the Seedlings

Yesterday at about noon, a small disaster struck. The wind was beginning to gust quite strongly, as a spring storm seemed to be blowing in. My mini-greenhouse on the porch had been weighted down on the bottom, but apparently not enough. It blew over with a crash, sending my heart crashing with it. Buried in piles of dirt and overturned flats were 2 - 3 week old tomato, broccoli and parsley seedlings -- all of the plants of those varieties that I had hoped to cultivate this summer. To complicate matters, I had not used flats with individual growing cells. All of the seedlings were growing side by side in one non-divided tray of soil.

I surveyed the mess with dismay. The greenhouse had fallen onto it's front, with the zip-up opening against the floor. Potting soil was everywhere and there was no way to limit the further damage that would be done when the greenhouse was righted again. My husband tried to be optimistic. "They can be replanted. They're all there." I was not so easily comforted. I could only see the trauma of my poor little baby plants, and think about the wasted weeks of germination and growth that must now begin again, delaying the harvest beyond what I had hoped. I mentally checked my seed stock and wondered if I had enough left over. I thought with a hint of bitterness of how much money would be wasted if I needed to buy all my seedlings from someone else rather than using my own (already paid for) seed. "They *can't* be replanted!" I snapped. "This is too much trauma for them -- they won't recover!" The thought of even trying seemed too much. My day was already overloaded with tasks that couldn't wait.

Brianna came out to see what had happened. She had helped plant and care for the seedlings. She was concerned, but calm. She stepped in close to survey the damage. "Mommy, I think we could save most of them. Their roots are still mostly in the soil, so we could put them in those paper pots we made. If we do it right now, they might live!" A few weeks earlier, Brianna and a friend had made seedling pots out of newspaper. I later decided to use the undivided flats instead, but I had not yet disposed of the pots, thinking I might yet find a use for them. Shooting down my husband's optimism had been easy (sorry Sweetie!) but with my child, it was different. She was already taking charge of the situation -- running to get the pots, triaging the seedlings. How could I discourage such initiative? And why should I? Her confidence made me take another, more objective look at the situation. I saw that she might be right.

My husband and Alexander left for preschool, but Brianna and I threw ourselves into the rescue mission. In the end, we re-potted 27 seedlings. We saved many of the tomatoes, a decent fraction of the broccoli, and none of the parsley, which had only *just* germinated and were too tiny to be saved. Time will tell how many of the 27 survive, but as of last night, they were looking quite well. It was a highly satisfying endeavor for us, and a bonding experience as well. I owe Brianna a debt of gratitude for reminding me that things are seldom as bad as they seem in the moments immediately following a mishap. Her sense of optimism about saving the seedlings may have been child-like, but it was not" childish". When it was all over and we were cleaning the dirt from our fingernails, I thanked her. She just gave a small smile, but I could tell she was pleased and proud of herself. I hope she remembers that feeling for a long time. I hope it helps her persevere in future situations. And when she forgets, I hope she has a child in her life who can help her remember.

Two Posts: A Problem and Safety for Homeschoolers

Today, here and there across the country, high schools and colleges were closed or on lockdown due to threats of Virgina Tech-style massacres. I don't know how many, but I heard about four on the news today, and a very quick Google search turned up six more. I'm willing to bet there were quite a few that I didn't find or hear of. How credible those threats are is almost beside the point. The fact remains that a disturbing number of people in our society are ill and/or angry enough to entertain the idea of mass murder. I think we need to focus less on what is wrong with the individuals who commit such acts and focus more on what is going on in our culture. We clearly have a problem.

Possible areas of investigation:
*Mental health treatment and lack thereof
*Bullying, and I don't mean just among school children
*Our consistent appetite for entertainment that appeals to our basest instincts, including graphic and incessant "news" coverage that claims to go "inside the mind of a killer".
*The availability of guns and ammunition at family retail stores with minimal (and apparently faulty) background checks. (The same stores where we can also buy toys and clothes for our children made by other children in sweatshops. Another blog entry, but perhaps not so unrelated.)

I'm sure there are more, but that should be enough to get us started.

******

Whenever school shootings hit the news, homeschoolers are abuzz with relief their kids are safe at home. (I even heard some in this most recent case, which is odd since it happened at a college, and most homeschoolers do aspire to attend college. But I digress...) I have some thoughts about this:

1) It's nice to feel that one's children are safe. I must admit that hearing of all the lockdowns today made me thankful that my kids and I don't have to go through that stress. My children are less likely than most to be murdered in a school shooting, and I'm glad.

2) The idea that homeschooled kids are safer from death is an illusion. (Though a nice one to entertain, as outlined above.) I don't think anyone has gathered the macabre statistics, but I would venture to guess that homeschooling actually puts kids at a greater overall risk for death. Think about it: accidents are the leading cause of death among children in the U.S. -- car accidents and accidents in the home. Where do my children spend 90% of their waking hours? At home or in the car! Statistically, children are relatively safe from death while at school and even when on a schoolbus, so the numbers would seem to favor children who spend 30 - 35 hours a week in school.

3) I don't care. Whether in school or at home, my children are much more likely than not to live to adulthood. Taking that as a given, I believe homeschooling provides them with the best environment in which to learn joyfully and freely. I also believe that homeschooling provides my kids the emotional safety they need to develop a strong sense of self to carry with them into the world. With a healthy self-image and sense of identity, they can interact with diverse people (even bullies if need be), face tough challenges, and make good decisions. Will they do these things perfectly and be 100% happy and successful? If only! But I believe they will be as well equipped as they can be.

So for me, the question of safety involves safeguarding my kids' sense of curiosity, wonder and love of learning. It also includes giving them a safe space to be fully themselves, whether they be with family, with friends, or off alone somewhere. Homeschooling allows me to facilitate a balance of each, according to each child's needs for social interaction and "alone time". It also allows me to protect them from some of the most toxic aspects of our culture for a while longer than I would be able to otherwise.

Physical safety? Well, that's what seat belts, bike helmets, eyes in the back of my head, prayer and luck are for. And if, God forbid, the unthinkable were to occur, I'd be grateful to have had the extra hours of learning, love and togetherness that homeschooling gave us.

Scheduling

I am a Flylady failure. I tried her system on two seperate occassions, and flunked out both times. Someone recommended the Home Management Binder system (*see note), at the heart of which are detailed schedules for each day. Desperate for some order in my life, I gave it a try. I always said I was not a "schedule" type of person. Apparently it's true, and that's exactly why I *need* a schedule to get anything done! I waste inordinate amounts of time when left to my own devices and then wonder why I don't have time for anything. With the schedules, I actually have *more* guilt-free free time than I did when I was always thinking, "I *should* be doing something else right now." I had fallen out of the schedule habit for several months and the chaos crept back slowly but surely. I'm back on track now and glad to be.

Below are some pictures of my binder. In addition to the schedule pages there are sections with frequently used recipes, to-do lists, weekly housekeeping tasks, etc. It really is nice to have everything in one place. Most pages are cased in page protectors so I can make notes on them with dry erase markers. The page protectors also allow me to pull the recipe out and use it in the kitchen without worrying about splatters and such. On the cover are "Guidelines for our Home" which include ideals we would like to live by to make our home a place of simplicity, love and warmth.



Here is today's schedule, for example. Sections in blue are items which include the kids. This makes it easy for Brianna to check the schedule to see what's up for them that day:

MONDAY

7:00 – 7:30 get up, play game with Alexander (and B. if up)
7:30 – 8:00 Make bread dough
8:00 – 8:45 Breakfast – clean up after
8:45 – 9:30 Shower and dress, brush teeth, etc.
9:30 – 10:00 Morning Meeting; Kids pick daily chores to be done before lunch
(Check bread)
10:00 – 10:30 Mommy’s quiet time
(Check bread if necessary)
10:30 – 11:30 Housework time
11:30 – 12:00 Fix lunch & tend to bread (1/2 hour warning on chores if needed)
12:00 – 12:30 Lunch
12:30 Xander leaves for school
12:30 – 3:00 Homeschool time with Brianna (plus library or short errands)
3:00 Pick up Xander
4:00 – 5:00 Make simple dinner and clean kitchen
5:00 – 5:30 Eat dinner
5:30 – 7:15 Brianna’s swimming class
7:30 Bedtime for kids (Poppy?)
8:00 – 10:00 TV time
10:00 Evening Routine
10:30 Get ready for bed
11:00 In bed

You'll notice the lack of computer time on today's schedule. According to the schedule, I should be making a quick dinner right now, but Brianna's swimming class was cancelled, so I have some unexpected free time.

The kids like it too, because they know what to expect. "Morning meeting" is something new that we are trying out, and I tried very hard to keep it at 9:30 every day. (I think there was only one day when it was impossible.) Most days I have exercise scheduled in, which seems to be the only way I can manage to get to it.

Just don't ask me how I'm going to manage this in the fall with a newborn, lol! I may have to take a break for another few months or longer. ;o)

*NOTE* I won't link to the site I got the binder idea from because the basic binder and mother's schedule system are the only parts I can recommend. The woman who runs the site also schedules her children's every move -- down to when it is child X's turn to sit on the sofa and read (Yikes!) -- and believes in training her children like dogs to obey the parent's every command just as she apparently obeys her husband's every command. (I need a barf icon here!) I simply can't in good conscience direct any traffic her way. If anyone wants to know more about the pearls I picked out of that mud, I'd be happy to share via email.

Quickening

Sunday evening, Alexander needed me to sit in his room with him while he fell asleep. He's going through a phase of fear of being alone, so we find ourselves doing this often. With one of us there, he generally falls asleep quickly.

As I sat reading quietly on Sunday in Alexander's room I felt the first unmistakable stirrings of the babe within. I recognized it immediately, even though it has been at least 5 years since I last felt those first flutters of movement. Alexander was asleep by this time, but I remained for a few minutes more, cherishing the soft gentle nudges while they lasted. Historically, this was considered a sacred moment -- the moment the fetus became a person. In spite of all of our knowledge of fetal development, it still feels sacred and significant for me, as it does for most moms, I think.

Casualty

This is what happens to a Slinky when two children want it and both refuse to let go. Of course it was ruined for good and had to be thrown away. I tried to make it a teachable moment for my children. Without compromise, we often end up in a situation where both parties are unhappy. Had one child agreed to have a turn after the other, the slinky would still be intact. But no -- the principles of Who Had It First vs. Who Owns It vs. Who Had Been *Planning* to Play With It First vs. Who Had the Better Idea for What to Do With It seemed too important when the slinky still had value.

It occurs to me that children aren't the only ones who need to learn this lesson. We all sometimes make matters worse by focusing on ego-driven factors. Unfortunately, we adults sometimes break hearts and lives instead of toys. And sometimes we even start wars that break a heck of a lot more than we can ever repair or replace.

Where did my baby go?

She's already tall and smart and well spoken. Now that she's loosing all these baby teeth, she's looking even older! Luckily, she still loves pink and goofy jokes and cares not one whit for fashion. She may not be a baby anymore, but she's still my little girl!

Cultural Memory

So I have some cream sitting in my fridge, and I don't dare disturb it. You see, it's not cream that came nicely prepackaged in a little cardboard carton from a diary company 3 states away. It's cream that I skimmed myself from 3 half gallon glass jars of milk from an organic dairy farm near my home. Cool, huh? But here's the problem: the cultural memory of how to properly collect the cream from milk has been lost somewhere in the last century and I'm stuck! When I initially skimmed the cream, I knew I got a bit of the milk mixed in. (I was just winging it after all and didn't know how to avoid that.) So I put a lid on the glass bowl of freshly skimmed cream and set it in the fridge to let the milk settle out again. This it has done nicely -- there is about a half inch of milk settled below the 3 inches or so of cream.

Now what? How do I get all the cream off without disturbing that half inch of milk? Did women used to use this 2 step method? Did they have special equipment? Was there a "trick"? I will probably find some instructions online, but how much nicer and more personal it would be to have someone show me!

This experience got me thinking of all of the other kinds of cultural memories that are casualties of the rapid progress of the last century. The way we live and relate to one another is so different now than it was 100 years ago. We can barely claim to have a common cultural experience with our own recent ancestors.

There are lots of things we have gained and many reasons *not* to want to go back, of course. My marriage would have been illegal 100 years ago, and my children outcasts. I make my own bread, but I knead it with the dough blade in my food processor -- a time saver that makes all the difference. As a woman, I have choices and options about work and family that I cherish and that I want to maintain for my daughter.

Nevertheless, I feel a certain sadness for what we have lost. I sometimes envy those who live as their ancestors have lived for generations. It's hard to put my finger on why without sounding hopelessly nostalgic or naive about the past. It's not that I want to live just like my great-great-grandmothers did. It's more of a sense of spiritual loss that comes from losing touch with what was steadfast about life and what was known without knowing. The details are much less important.

Still, I would like to know how to skim cream properly...

Fears of Impending Motherhood

I'm expecting my third baby in September. It wasn't a total surprise, just a small one, but it's still hard to imagine how our lives will change with this new baby. I find that I'm more sober this time around. When Brianna was born, I knew life would change, but I had no earthly idea how everything was going to change -- even the way I related to the rest of the world. I had barely had time to absorb the realities of motherhood when Alexander was on his way. Brianna had been an "easy" baby, so again, I had no clue what was in store for me. I was unprepared for a baby who hated to sleep, refused any and all pacifiers or lovies, and needed nearly constant skin to skin touch. By the time he was 2, Firmin and I were sure we were done having children. He had the most delightful and entertaining personality of anyone in the family (still does), but he exhausted us. Thus, both my pregnancies were spent in a kind of naive bliss; the first a product of total ignorance, the second a product of false confidence. This time, my happiness is more tempered. I trust that this baby will be a bigger blessing to our family than I can now imagine, but I also know that every change brings challenges and even some loss.

I'm hopeful about many aspects -- having a baby with 5 and 7 year old siblings will be dramatically different from the last time, when we had a 24 month old toddler. Brianna and Alexander can put on their own clothes, coats, and shoes. They can get their own breakfast and drinks of water. They can buckle themselves into the car on their own. They can do simple housekeeping tasks without much supervision. Both will be able to hold and play with the baby and mind it for short periods while I shower or make lunch. Brianna will be able to pick the baby up and carry it once it can hold it's head steady. They are both eager to be helpful and loving, and I know they will be.

In other areas, I'm preparing for changes that will be inevitable. As Brianna and Alexander have become more independent, I've created routines that take up more time or require a more stringent schedule than a baby will allow. Baking and cooking mostly from scratch, tending a medium size vegetable garden and preserving the produce from it, knitting, reading for pleasure, going to museums on the spur of the moment -- all will become more complicated, and many will have to be put on the back burner for a year or more. I know these are small things, to be postponed only for a time. It's just that I feel I've only recently reached this point of contentment and confidence as a mother, and soon things are going to be thrown up in the air again. It will be a spiritual exercise in patience and acceptance of one's season of life. How we will manage our homeschooling is another open question. I'm the kind of person who likes to know how things will go in advance so I can plan, yet there is just no way to know how this baby will affect our routine. We will simply have to wait and see and work with the baby's rhythms.

This time around I know something I didn't fully know when I was expecting my last two babies. I know that by welcoming another child, I'm signing on for more joy, laughter, and love; for more growth, challenge, and uncertainty; and yes, even for more pain, tears, and difficulty. One thing I've learned in nearly 7 years of parenting is that it's a package deal. You take the bitter with the sweet, the self-sacrifice with the gratification, the fear of the unknown with the thrill of moving forward in love.

Come September Baby, I'll welcome you with arms, heart and eyes open wide.

Some Pictures

It's late on a Sunday night, but I didn't want to wait any longer to update this blog! It got neglected in the holiday glow, and I just haven't gotten back to it. Here are some pictures from our trip to Boston to visit Firmin's family over Thanksgiving. The other two little girls are Firmin's sister's children.



This rope climing structure is so cool! I wish they had them around here.



Poppy's birthday party at Uncle C's new restaurant. That's Brianna in the foreground and Alexander in the red and white shirt in the back.


Christmas morning! This one's not from Boston, but I realized I haven't had a good picture of Brianna up in quite a while!

Santa, Poverty, Charity, Jesus, Peace: Some Thoughts for Christmas

Well, it's official -- Alexander does not believe in Santa Claus. He asked me this morning if there was "really a real person" named Santa Claus. I asked him what he thought about that. He said no, he didn't think there really was. My Santa policy has always been not to actively promote belief, but not to actively discourage it either. I believe Brianna was also 4 when she came to the conclusion that Santa wasn't a literal person.

There followed a rather extended and wonderful conversation -- in which we were joined by Brianna -- about the meaning of Christmas, the giving of gifts to those we love, baby Jesus, the story of the real St. Nicholas and care for the poor. We all agreed that it was fun to pretend about Santa and that we would continue to do so as much as they wanted to. Toward the end of the conversation, I asked Alexander if he wished there really were a Santa. (I'm confident in my handling of this topic, but there's always the possibility that my children won't agree!) He said "no" so emphatically that I asked why. Apparently, the idea of an all-seeing, all-knowing large bearded man in a red suit invading one's home in the middle of the night can be just a teensy bit scary to a preschooler, even if he *is* bringing presents! LOL!
___________

The topic of care for the poor came up in our conversation because Brianna's First Day school class has sponsored a family struggling with poverty for Christmas. They are providing clothing, toys and food for a mother and her three children. It was the First Day school children's idea, which came as an outgrowth of their explorations of the Quaker peace testimony. They have been actively involved in raising money, shopping for gifts, etc., and the Meeting as a whole has caught the spirit as well. In addition to supporting the children's fund raising efforts, several adult members of meeting have made direct donations, while the Peace and Social Justice committee has allocated some money from their budget for the project.

I have conflicting feelings about this situation. The fact is, that without the help of the Salvation Army (or some other such organization) and/or caring people who respond to the need (like the First Day school class), there would be no merry Christmas for this family. The happy stories of Santa Claus would ring hollow for the three children. One of the First Day school teachers has been the primary contact with the family and has already been to the their house to deliver winter coats and other clothing items that just couldn't wait until late December. She confirmed that they have almost nothing in spite of the mother's employment (probably at a minimum wage job.) Confronting this kind of poverty in our wealthy country always makes me a bit angry. I love that Quaker children and the Salvation Army are lending a helping hand, but a working parent in the United States should be able to buy her children a couple of Christmas gifts, not to mention winter coats and good food! The current system being what it is however, I'm happy that our children want to help and that the mother was willing to ask for help. I wish she could see the innocent enthusiasm of the Quaker children as they undertake this project. There is little or no pity or condescension, only joy at being able to do something helpful in the "real world". I think children so often feel helpless or vulnerable, and they are so often the recipients of help from others, that they don't see these situations as out of the ordinary or shameful. I'm overjoyed that the children in the sponsored family will have many of the gifts they asked for, new clothes for school, and some extra food.

I hope the sponsored family is touched in a positive way by this experience. Charity can be tricky in our society, so there's no guarantee of that, but I'm optimistic. I know the Quaker children are learning a most vital life lesson: We can't leave it to Santa or even to God to care for the physical needs of those around us. We are God's agents in the world -- the hands and feet of the Divine Spirit. (Santa's elves, if you want to be secular about it.) Our good gifts come from those who love us if we are lucky, or from those who care about our welfare generally if we are slightly less lucky.

A larger lesson -- one the 6 - 8 year olds aren't fully ready for yet -- is a harder one. Jesus's birth was hailed with prophesies of "Peace on Earth". If we really want to see that ideal come true (be it physcially or spiritually), it's going to take more than pizza sales by Quaker kids and Salvation Army bell ringers. It's going to take a world where poverty is much more rare, and love of neighbor much more common. I doubt Jesus would care one whit about how, or even whether, we celebrate his birth. Imagine if we (as a society as well as individuals) took even half the collective time, energy, and economic power we spend on Christmas and put it into practicing the lessons Jesus taught as a grown-up: "Do unto others as you would have done to you", "Love your neighbor as yourself", "Turn the other cheek", "Love your enemies", etc., etc. We just might get closer to actual Peace on Earth than we ever thought possible. In the mean time, I wish everyone reading this peace in your hearts and homes this Christmas and always.

Best Buddies (or, My New Favorite Snapshot)

Alexander has his first best friend. Since I never had any brothers, I always wondered what little boys did when they were one-on-one with a best buddy. I'm still not sure, but it looks mighty important.

Not Old

This morning, Alexander climbed into my bed to wake me up. After a few minutes of grogginess, I reached out and said, "Give your old Mommy a hug!"

He giggled. "Mommy, you're not old!"

Me: Why thank you. I was just joking. I wonder who you know who *is* old?

A: Me and Brianna. We're old.

Me: I didn't mean old like a big kid, I meant like an old person.

A: Ohhh. Grace is old! [Grace is our 11 year old cat]

There followed a discussion of different family members and whether they qualified as old. "Old" according to Alexander is "When they get kind of worn out." Here were the verdicts:

Mommy -- not old
Poppy -- not old
Granny (Firmin's mom) -- old
Grandpapa (Firmin's dad) -- kind of old, not very
Grandma (my mom) -- not old
Grandpa (my dad) -- after a long pause to consider -- not too old
Great Grandma Betty -- "oh yeah, she's *really* old!"

Gotta love those snuggling in bed morning conversations, especially when you are deemed "not old"! :o)

Julie's Mom

Tonight, I was getting in my van after Brianna's swim class when a woman I know passed right in front of my headlights. She is the mother of one of Alexander's preschool classmates. I see her almost daily at the preschool, and we've chatted briefly a time or two. Tonight I saw her clearly, and it seemed as though she was just averting her eyes after seeing me. I moved to call out a hello, but stopped short. I didn't know her name! "Hi Julie's Mom!" seems a strange greeting between two grown women after dark, so I just buckled up and drove away. She seems to be a woman of average friendliness, so I'm sure she would have called out a greeting herself had she been able to call out something other than "Hi Alexander's Mom!" :o)

I'm going to look her up on the class phone tree tonight. I bet she's looking me up right now...

Sorry for the long break between posts. I haven't been feeling very introspective lately, and we're having trouble downloading pics from our digital camera all of a sudden, so I can't even do fun photo posts. Gotta get that fixed before Thanksgiving so we can take pictures! :-O

Simple Gifts

Alexander has learned the first verse of the song Simple Gifts in his First Day School at Quaker Meeting. He loves to sing it, and I love to listen. Tonight at bedtime he sang while I hummed the tune. After we were done he smiled and said, "That was nice."

It was nice. But I was touched in another way as well. As we sang, I was reminded of the pain of the Amish community this week as they mourn the horrible deaths of their daughters in the latest school shooting. Quakers are sometimes confused with the Amish. Although our theology is quite different, we do share a few things in common, such as the call to simplicity and nonviolence. I looked in the face of my little son and remembered that many of the Amish boys had been forced to leave their sisters in the one room school with the killer. I wondered how this incident will affect their faith as they grow. Then we prayed for children everywhere.

I heard on NPR today that as the members of the small Amish village prepared to support the families of the victims with meals and helping hands, they were also asking about the family of the man who victimized them. They were preparing to stand by and support that family as well. The NPR guest said they had "already moved on to forgiveness". I'm not so sure about that. Such an analysis makes the Amish reaction seem somehow super-human, or at least super spiritual. The Amish are human beings like the rest of us. I'm sure they struggle with doubt, anger, grudges, and grief, just as we all do. Forgiveness may come later, at different times for different individuals. Rather than forgiveness, I suspect the Amish show of love for the family of their enemy comes out of a consistant *practice* of humility and of seeing others as God sees them. When a person or a community practices these things, they can choose to respond with love even in the face of persecution or tragedy. They can more easily see through facades of negative emotions and behavior to the broken humanity that lies beneath. It's a "Simple Gift" to see and respond to such truths. A simple gift borne of coming "down where we ought to be".

Simple, but not easy.

Biology Lesson

Me, driving past a field of cattle: "Hey Brianna, did you know that cows have 4 stomachs?"

Brianna: "Yeah." (pause) "Whales have 3 stomachs."

Me: "They do??"

Brianna: "Yup. Probably, it helps them digest their food."


Wow. You learn something new every day.

Kinda weird to have the tables turned on you by a 6 year old, though!

The Other Anniversary

While we remember the tragedy that befell our country and the world 5 years ago today, I invite everyone to remember a more hopeful and heroic anniversary as well. 100 years ago today, on September 11, 1906, Mohandas Gandhi launched the modern non-violent movement. This movement has inspired hope and effected meaningful and lasting change throughout the word, including here in the United States.

Of course it's called the "modern" non-violence movement for a reason. There have always been visionaries who have called for a counter-intuitive response to provocation. Jesus comes to mind, for one. Today, I'm spending time remembering the shocking and sad events of 2001, but I'm also envisioning an evolution toward peace in the world and in myself. Perhaps one day I can muster the strength of character to fully embrace what Jesus, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., (and thousands of other brave souls less well remembered) knew to be the only way to lasting, sustainable and Spirit-filled peace.

Glimpses

Sometimes we are blessed with glimpses of our children's most authentic selves. Today I got to see such glimpses in Alexander -- twice.

The first time was when he gingerly took a baby doll from Brianna's arms and held it just as gently and lovingly as he may one day hold a child of his own. He carefully pulled the blanket close around it's shoulders and softly stroked it's cheek. Like all children, he often treats dolls roughly, as the mere inanimate toys they are. It's touching to see how tender he is when the doll becomes a real baby in his imagination. It felt like a peek into his future.

The next moment came late this afternoon when Brianna and Firmin were away on a bike ride. Alexander took advantage of a rare opportunity to play outside by himself. I busied myself in the house, but peeked out at him often. He was doing such classic "boy" things -- throwing his new football up and catching it, poking at bugs on the fence, looking under rocks for critters. I watched him be his true self -- perservering, curious, adventurous. What I saw out the window said little about his past or his future, but was a beautiful snapshot of the 4 year old boy he is right now.

All those nights (those many, many, many nights) of sleep deprivation were worth it.

Taking Notice

Remember Slugbug? The game where you punched your sibling or friend in the arm every time you saw a VW Beetle? I couldn't help myself -- I taught it to my kids. Soon thereafter, their cousins introduced them to a new variation: Pinch, Poke, PT Cruiser, which is pretty self-explanatory and quite a bit more annoying than slugbug, if you ask me. Before the children were into these games, I saw VW Beetles and PT Cruisers only occasionally when I was out and about. If asked, I might have estimated seeing them 2 or 3 times per week. Now I see them *everywhere*! Every time we go out I see at least one of each, and usually far more than that. I would guess now that I see an average of 5 of each model every day. Has there been a surge in sales of cute little cars? Of course not. The only difference is that I am taking notice.

Sometimes our blindness to things we aren't paying attention to can be complete. A couple of years ago, in the fall of the year, one of the children got a book about trees. In it was a picture of a smoke tree. I had never seen a smoke tree (or so I thought) and assumed that they must grow in some other climate. The following spring, when our next-door neighbor's smoke tree bloomed, I recognized it from the book. Suddenly I saw smoke trees every day. On a street that I traveled about once a week, I noticed that almost every house had a smoke tree in the yard! It's hard to believe these beautiful trees went completely unnoticed by me for 34 years, but it's true.

It makes me wonder what else is all around me that I don't take notice of? And what do I notice too often, so that my perspective is distorted? For example, is our culture really as "uncivil" as it appears to many people? Are there perhaps just as many "nice folks" as there have always been? Are most Americans really "sheeple"? (sigh -- I must admit that I'm pretty convinced the answer to that last one is "yes", but perhaps that makes it a good test case, lol!)

What would happen if we picked one assumption we have and spent the next week or month trying to change what we take notice of? I think I'm going to try it.

P.S. If you want a definition of sheeple, there's a good one on this site. The rest of the site does not necessarily reflect my own beliefs, however.

Peace

Peace is such a small word -- easy to say, easy to oversimplify, easy to underestimate. My thoughts about peace have been challenged and stretched in the 3 years I've been worshiping with Friends. The peace testimony has been the only one of the Quaker testimonies I've had reservations about. I'm coming to realize that I've confused peace and non-violence with passivity and naivete. As I come to recognize the spiritual underpinnings of peace, I see the strength and power of true Peace. Frankly it scares me a little! Genuine peace-making requires boldness and resolve, humility, love, courage and mental toughness. If we let the peace makers have some space to do their thing, (or better yet, if more of us join them) perhaps there will yet be an Earth worth inheriting.

The Tikkun Community is circulating an ad calling for a new approach to peace in the Middle East -- one that is based on the principle of the sacredness of all human beings, rather than who is in the "right" and who is in the "wrong". I encourage anyone who has been sickened by the reports of the death and suffering of innocents in Lebanon and Israel to take a look at it. You may be moved to add your signature to this effort which appears to me to be truly Spirit-led. In addition, though it is not a document crafted by Quakers, it could be. The approach of mutual accountability and responsibility, and the call to address the root *causes* of war are very much a part of the Quaker peace tradition.

Peace to you all -- in your hearts, in your homes, in the world.

Let this be a lesson to you

If you choose to grow zucchini, check it often.
Every single day would be good.
Maybe twice a day.

Good Times

Sibling rivalry gets a lot of press because it drives us parents nuts. Not only that, it makes us profoundly sad sometimes. A child that you adore causes physical or emotional pain to another child that you adore. No matter how a parent chooses to deal with it, it's a toughie, and since all parents of two or more children face this issue, we like to commiserate. What gets much less air time is the cooperation, love and support that siblings often show toward each other. It's a shame that we don't talk about this more often because these positive interactions are among the most gratifying moments in parenting. I suspect they are among the most important moments to the children as well. I'll share a recent example from our family.

Yesterday, Alexander wanted to build a skyscraper with Legos. He enlisted my help, and agreed (rather reluctantly, I must admit) to let Brianna help as well. Brianna sat down with us and announced: "Alexander has the best ideas for Legos. We should do his idea." This is a major compliment coming from Brianna, who has a healthy self image and generally likes to be in charge.

Alexander picked up on it right away. "I have great ideas for legos! I always have the best ideas."

Brianna wasn't done. "Alexander could build buildings when he grows up. I mean he could design them."

"You think he would make a good architect?" I asked.

"Yeah, he would be a great architect."

"I'm going to be an *architect* when I grow up!" Alexander declared. As we built the skyscraper, he continued to talk about being an architect. He's been talking about it ever since, as a matter of fact. (He's even got it all worked out how he can be an architect, a firefighter and a rock star at the same time -- he'll do one job each day on a rotating basis.)

When the skyscraper was done, Brianna declared it so wonderful that Alexander "should get a medal for it." She got one of her father's running medals and presented it to him. Then they posed for this shot:
It's a bit blurry, but you can see the love and pride in their faces.

The "bad" times are so easy to focus on, but most of those negative moments mean next to nothing to siblings and are quickly forgotten. My prayer for today is that I can forget them just as quickly and savor the positive moments longer.

The Easy Life

My Great Grandma arrived in the mail yesterday. I was momentarily confused by the large padded envelope. It was hand addressed to me, with an unfamiliar return address. "Handle With Care" was stamped on it, along with the hand-written phrase "Grandma inside!" and a smiley face. I opened it and discovered that it was indeed a memory of my Great Grandmother who died a few weeks ago at the age of 102.

Great Grandma was nearly 70 when I was born, so although I knew her for many years, she has always been elderly to me. When I got the news of her death last month, I regreted that I knew next to nothing about her life as a younger woman. I hoped the funeral would include some hints of who she had been in her prime.

I was in luck! Turns out, one of my dad's cousins put together a book about my great grandmother in the late 1990's, interviewing Great Grandma and soliciting remembrances from her sisters, her children, grandchildren and others. At the funeral, my father read some of the remembrances of Great Grandma's five children. What I learned startled me. The lonely, cranky old lady that I knew had been a patient, tolerant mother (by the standards of her era anyway), an outdoors woman, a hunter. She had taken in laundry to earn money, and done it all by hand on a wash board. She had preserved nearly all of her own food, and made all of her children's clothing, including their underwear. She loved to camp and could get chickadees to land on her hand. The book clearly contained much more than the several pages my father read at the funeral, so afterward I tracked down my dad's cousin and gave her $5 to print me a color copy of the book and send it to me.

As I read the book cover to cover last night, I was struck most by two things. The first was how much I resonated with her life. I think I'm a bit (a lot?) like her in many ways. I have some of the same passions, and I suspect some of the same foibles. Some time ago, I took her unhappiness in her advanced age as a personal warning. I recognized in myself some of the same tendencies toward self-pity and inertia that I believe contributed to her dissatisfaction late in life. I am thankful that I now have positive connections with Great Grandma as well. I now know that she liked the outdoors, gardening, being a mother, and learning new things, just as I do. I know that one of the qualities that first attracted her to her husband was his kindness, just as my own husband's kindness was one of the first things that attracted me to him.

The second thing that struck me came at the end of the interview with her granddaughter who put together the book. Naturally, I had been comparing the stories of her motherhood years to my own, and thinking primarily of how much easier it is to be a woman today. I was viewing her life as one would view a museum artifact: respectfully and a little in awe, but not quite able to touch the reality of the past. Her final statement caught me up short and made me wonder if I had been indulging in some generational (even cultural) bias. I've been pondering it on and off all day, still not 100% sure what to make of it. For such a short statement, it contains a lot to reflect upon. I share it here in that spirit.

"I grew up the hard way, but really it was easier." -- Opal E. (1903 - 2006)

Rest in Peace, Grandma. I'll join you on the other side some day, and then we can talk. :o)

Brianna and the Bee

Yesterday, the kids and I were perusing the offerings on the newly installed cable TV, which we only get for a month or two every 4 years so that Firmin can catch every possible minute of World Cup soccer he can manage. Anyway, we ran across the 2006 National Spelling Bee on ESPN. Brianna was hooked right away and we watched over an hour of the middle rounds. When we learned that the finals were to be shown in prime time last night, I agreed to let her stay up and watch. We had a wonderful Mommy-Daughter time complete with a bowl of popcorn and a supposedly unabridged dictionary, lol! Her idea -- not mine! -- was to look up the words as the contestants were spelling them, but it proved to be too difficult, especially given the fact that hardly any of the words were in our "unabridged" dictionary!

You know what I liked best about the spelling bee? The fact that the contestants were mostly middle school kids. (I believe kids in grades 4-8 are eligible.) What other event showcases humans in their most awkward, geeky stage of life? We see lots of dimply-faced elementary cuties on TV -- especially precocious ones, as the spelling bee contestants undoubtedly were just a few years ago. We also get to see lots of fresh faced teens, looking confident and cocky. But we don't see the 11 - 13 set all that often. There's just no denying it -- these kids are smack up against the horrors and humiliations of puberty. Their bodies are oddly proportioned, their faces are often spotty, their senses of humor are embarrassingly immature. They hover between childhood and adolescence, and the balance is a tough one to maintain.

But the Bee revealed the best of this stage of life. They were old enough to sit quietly awaiting their turn, yet young enough to be touchingly authentic. Old enough to hold in the tears at the moment of elimination, but too young to pretend they didn't care. One boy exited the stage with a stoic expression, then collapsed in his mother's lap and buried his face in her shoulder. (That sure melted this mom's heart!) These kids had a certain gawky charm that was so real you could feel it right through the TV. I felt very silly at the number of times I actually choked up watching them.

I doubt kids in the midst of middle school misery would have noticed the sweetness that was so evident to me. I know that at that age, I would have been more embarrassed my fellow specimens of puberty than anything. ("Do *I* look like that???") But perhaps they noticed the final few contestants, all of whom were 8th graders aged 13 or 14. (The 13 year olds must be close to 14 by this time in the school year.) No geeky, odd looking kids in that bunch. By 14, the awkwardness is fading fast, and the bloom of adolescence is apparent. The final 3 contestants were all confident, beautiful girls. (Go girls!!) As sweet as those 11 and 12 year olds were, I know it can be a harrowing time of life. It's good to be reminded that it does come to an end!

See and read about the winner of the Bee here.

Ack! Don't even ask me how many misspellings the spell checker just caught in this post, lol!
"embarassing: E-M-B-A-R-A-S-S-I-N-G, embarassing"
DING!
Needless to say, spelling was never my forte.

Read This Book

I just finished reading The Ominvore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. I highly recommend it to anyone who cares about food, oil, animals, health, or just enjoys a good work of non-fiction. I was already aware of some of the information the author presents about pasture raised vs. corn-fed meat, and I had already changed my meat-buying habits accordingly. However, reading this book has prompted me to make even more effort to localize my food supply wherever possible. I’m going to have to get dh to read it (I think I’ll get it on CD for him) so that he doesn’t think I’ve gone off the deep end. ;o)

Seriously though, did you know how huge the percentage of our American diet is derived from corn? Even things you wouldn’t think of – meat, eggs and dairy products (because the cows and chickens all eat corn), spaghetti sauce, bread, beverages, and on and on. I was amazed at the list of additives which are really corn in disguise. Citric acid? Gee, you would think that would come from citrus fruits, but no. It’s corn. A researcher who has analyzed the number of carbon isotopes in humans that are unique to corn say that “We North Americans look like corn chips with legs.” The problem with this is not the carbon isotopes in our bodies, but what they reveal: our increasing reliance on a monoculture of corn. Not surprisingly, this is unhealthy for our bodies, our environment, our livestock, and even our economy.

Don’t even get me started on the fossil fuel issue. [sigh]

Now I’ve gone and ranted and made you think this book is one of those that makes you feel bad about something you can’t do anything about. Not so! (Or not entirely so, anyway.) The sections about organic farming, local food networks, and pasture farm systems were engrossing and even inspiring in places. Pollan is an engaging writer, with a self-deprecating sense of humor that is just right for the topic at hand. You also get to meet some wonderful characters in this book -- the two farmers featured prominently nearly pop from the pages in full rural color.

There is a lot in the book about meat, but I don’t think vegetarians should shy away. As I said, the implications of The Omnivore’s Dilemma go beyond the plate and touch upon farm policy, economics and local food systems. In the last section, he gives fair consideration to the animal rights movement, struggling with his own ethical qualms about killing animals for food. Ultimately, he defends the omnivorous habits of most humans, but he asserts that we should eat animals only after looking honestly at the reality of what it takes to get them to our table.

As Brianna says in every book report she writes: “Everybody should read this book!”

Speaking of Digging...

I've been absent from the computer more than usual the past week or two, as it's heavy-duty gardening time here in Michigan. We had what should be our last overnight frosts a few nights ago, and Memorial Day is fast approaching. This year I have over 800 square feet to prepare and plant. (Don't think I'm not a little intimidated, lol!) I have some spring crops already up (peas, spinach, lettuce, garlic, and the perennial herbs), but most of the garden was waiting for the warmer weather. Earlier this week, Brianna and I planted leeks, oregano, chamomile, chard, kale and broccoli in one section. Over the last two days, I've been gathering the rest of the seeds and seedlings I need for transplant. I hope to get them in this weekend.

I have a new bed that was grass until last week. I had a guy from The Garden Project till it up, but that only broke up the sod. I've been busy double digging the new bed, which is very hard work, but so satisfying! It's wonderful to see a high, fluffy bed of soil where there used to be tough, hard dirt. And no shower is as satisfying as the one that rinses off the sweat and dirt of productive labor! Ahhh!

Once again, I'm impressed with the flexibility that homeschooling offers us. I love that our lives can reflect the rhythm of the seasons (to whatever small extent) rather than an simply an external calendar. I've tried to sneak in a lesson or two during the week, just to keep us in the habit, but most of the "sit-down" stuff is on the back burner until we get the garden in. Both kids have been helping, of course, and learning the kinds of things that just can't be taught in a classroom. They are also still in the process of re-acquainting themselves with the ability to be outside for several hours a day. :o) We'll get back to the books eventually. I don't plan on putting them away for summer for good. Our schedule will undoubtedly be even more leisurely than it was during the winter simply because there is more to do outside, and more special events to grab our attention and time. The garden will require some attention most days as well, even after the major work of May and early June is done. It feels just right to be organizing our time this way -- around our community, our food, our seasons, our bodies.

Digging Deep

We have the Kids Book of Questions by Gregory Stock, a book full of thought provoking questions for children to answer. Some questions are clearly written with pre-teens in mind, but many are appropriate for young children. I love asking them to the kids, and hearing their thoughts about all kinds of things. Since Brianna can read now, she likes to ask me some of the questions as well, which is great. Last night she pulled the book out and we did some questions. It was mostly between Brianna and me, but Alexander was hanging about and contributed a few answers. Here are some highlights:

Would you eat a worm sandwich if doing so meant that next week you could appear on your favorite TV show?

Alexander: "No way!"
Brianna: "Umm, Yes! I'd want to eat the worm sandwich *on* the TV show!"
Me: "What show would that be?"
Brianna: "Zoom -- they always eat the recipies they make."

What is the worst word you know? Where did you learn it?

Brianna: "Stupid. Nooo... Super-Duper Dummy Head! [look of satisfaction on her face] I made that up!"

What is the hardest thing about growing up?

Brianna: "Some things are hard to understand."
Alexander: "That you have to dig deep holes."


You moms out there gotta get this book -- it offers moments of insight, sharing, hilarity, and even perplexity (deep holes??) all in one sitting.

Thank You

On May 1st, my kids and I marched to support immigrant rights. They are the children and grandchildren of (legal) immigrants on their father's side. I understand that the issue is complicated, and that there are real problems created by illegal immigration. But I've been concerned with the increasing virulence of the "send 'em back" crowd. They speak as if illegal immigrants are *only* a vile burden, and their tone implies that we'd be better off without the legal immigrants as well -- at least the ones from countries south of our own latitudes.

Hatred and fear isn't going to solve anything. Laws can be enforced with respect, dignity and an an eye toward the practical. Richard Rodriguez is a man who understands the importance of treating all people like, well, people. His essay is called "Gracias!"

Time Flies!

Yikes! It's been nearly 2 weeks since I posted an entry here! I've had an inspiration or two, and a moment or two to write, but not both at the same time. I've also been trying to prioritize sleep a little more lately.

(sigh)

Anyone got an extra hour or two they'd like to swap for (for what? I don't have anything worth swapping for that I'd be willing to give up!) Never mind.

See -- now I'm wasting time with this silly post! I'm a lost cause.

;oP

Pondering Prayer

I pray every night with the kids at bedtime. We also sing a prayer at meals. But prayer is among the most abstract of religious practices. Quakers don't make it any easier by doing most of their praying silently and not even calling it prayer. We "wait upon God" or "hold someone in the Light" or "settle into silence" or "seek unity in the Spirit". I love these varied terms and images, but I'm sure it can be confusing for children. Ah well, educating my kids about God is ultimately my responsibility, and I enjoy it most of the time. I feel I'm doing a good job with Bible literacy and incorporating our values (many of which are based in our faith) into our lives.

I have to admit, however, that prayer has been more difficult. I find myself repeating the trite phrases of my own childhood prayers at the bedside with the children. They were fine when I spoke them out of innocent faith as a child, but now they seem weary and rote. When I try to be more creative, I often find myself saying something silly that I don't really mean. The kids don't usually want to say their own prayers, probably because they don't understand what prayer really is. Alas, our bedtime prayer ritual has become what Quakerism has traditionally resisted: an (almost) empty form.

I finally got a clue a couple of weeks ago. A baby was born 8 weeks early in an emergency situation to a couple in our Meeting and a request went out for prayer. I told Brianna about it at bedtime and suggested that we hold the baby and her parents in the Light. I instructed her to imagine the baby healthy and strong and surrounded by a warm light and love coming from God. She was eager to do this and kept at it for much longer than I thought she would. At Meeting the next Sunday, she was interested in news of the baby and came over to look at pictures that someone had brought. I believe she finally found a *reason* to pray, and a way to do it that made sense to her. Unfortunately, I was lax about following through on this opening. I went back to the same old tired prayers the next night. Why? Laziness I guess.

Truth be told, my own prayer life could use some attention. I tried to make time in my morning schedule for it, but it never really worked out. The moment the kids realized I was actively seeking to be alone, they needed me for something every 2 or 3 minutes. Somehow growling at them repeatedly to leave me alone didn't seem all that conducive to a nice conversation with God, kwim? Nevertheless, I need to try again, maybe at a different time. I also need to try again to treat prayer with the respect it deserves for the kids -- to ditch the empty form and focus on finding ways to help my children connect with that portion of the Light of Christ which has been given to them.

Must be a Guy Thing...

Alexander and Poppy "watching" a video together.

Is it just me, or is falling asleep in front of the TV highly correlated with having a Y chromosome?

Walk and Roll

Brianna received some zinnia seeds in a neat little shaker box from my mother as part of her Easter gift. They are clearly not packaged in the northern climes, as the box instructs the gardener to "plant in early spring when all danger of frost is past." Ha! Around here, you aren't truly safe from a killing frost until Memorial Day weekend. (Though most of us live dangerously and plant before that, rushing out to cover precious seedlings with whatever bags, buckets or draping material we can find in case of a late spring plunge into the 20's.)

Frost threats not withstanding, Brianna was eager to get her seeds in the ground. We prepared the soil and sprinkled the seeds according to directions. The wind blew at least 100 of them into the garlic patch. I've mentally penciled in extra weeding time.

The highlight of the planting process for Brianna, and for me too as it turned out, was tamping down the seeds. No doubt recalling my frequent admonishments not to walk where seeds have been planted, she read aloud:

"Tamp down seed by rolling or walking over seeded area." Thoughtful pause...
"But we aren't wearing good clothes for rolling, so I think we should just walk."

:o)

Photo Fun with Brianna

Brianna took about 220 pictures with our portable webcam over the course of a few days this week. Here are couple of highlights:

New law enforcement idea: issue cheap cameras to everyone to catch assailants in the act.

Yeah, that's one of my good throw pillows -- the ones they aren't supposed to play with.



"Hey Mommy! I took a picture of myself!"

Gifts From a Stranger

Today a young man came to our door. He was pale and dressed in a tattered coat. He shuffled a bit as he asked to use our bathroom. I hesitated. I became acutely aware of my children watching me. I was thinking simultaneously of their safety and their spirits, as well as this poor man's bladder. The inner conflict was nearly paralzing. How many times have we talked about the plight of the poor with the kids? How many times have we felt warm and fuzzy as we read the children's Bible and discussed what Jesus meant when said, "love your neighbor"? On the other hand, what about those afternoon talk shows about home invasion and the sly ways predators get themselves inside one's house? On a practical level, how can you say no to someone who really *does* seem to need to pee?

My husband was home and in clear view from the door, and I didn't get a bad vibe off the man, so I let him in and showed him to the bathroom. As he was about to leave, he asked for some money for food or the bus. He thanked us for letting him use the bathroom and sheepishly said that he hadn't wanted to go in public.

After he left, I kept thinking about him. I wondered what his history was. He claimed to be on his way to his mother's house. I hoped she was the kind of mother who would feed him and be a comfort to him. I thought about how our middle-class material security isn't nearly as secure as we like to believe. I could be walking in his shoes given the right (or wrong) set of circumstances. Too late, I remembered the nearly new coat that my husband has never liked much and so doesn't wear. It's a toasty down filled parka. Winter coat weather is nearly past, and I don't know if he would have a place to keep it over the summer, but I wish I had thought to offer it. The coat he was wearing was spilling stuffing from several places.

We gave him only what he asked of us: $2 and something to eat, along with the ability to pee with a shred of dignity. (How can it be in this wealthy country that not everyone has access to that??) We might have given him a new coat as well, had I been on the ball. We also might have been friendlier. Unfortunately I didn't recover from my apprehension quickly enough to respond adequately to this man as a human being.

What he gave us was much more valuable than what we gave him. I got an experience that countered the scare tactics of the local news and the heart-hardening overload of poverty statistics, a reward for trusting in an untrusting world, and an opportunity to minister to "my neighbor" in front of my children (though I wish I had done a much better job at it). Quakers believe that there is "that of God" in everyone. I'm thankful that this man brought his piece of God to our house today. I'm only sorry I didn't give him/Him the welcome he deserved.