Songbird for Wilder

I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, absentmindedly listening to the some nightly news program, when the voice of an angel pierced right through my heart.  Her voice was so clear and strained with emotion that I walked, without thinking, to the TV.  I sat on the floor as close as I could get to our giant 70's console set.  I wanted nothing to break the spell I was under.  I listened intently to the newscaster talk about a lovely, lit from within, woman named Eva Cassidy.  They played pieces of several songs and I was captivated with every note.  Since I was not paying attention to the beginning of the story, I was brought to tears when I realized she had passed away some years earlier after a battle with cancer.  This beauty taken too soon hit a particular nerve with me as I was carrying our first child, a son we named Wilder, who would likely never breathe a breath on this earth.  He had been diagnosed with a genetic disorder and his chances of life outside of my womb were slim at best. So I sat in the floor, bathed in the light of the giant TV, and cried tears for trascendent beauty and terrible grief.

I went out the next day and found THE album.  The one with a picture of Eva Cassidy backlit by sunshine.  It perfectly embodied the angelic sound of her voice.  I took it home and listened.  Track number 5 was the one I had been meant to hear.   Wilder kicked in response to the music and it was his song.

The words were written for us.

If we forget our history, we are doomed to repeat it, right? Welcome to Vulcan 2.0

Everyone has met Flat Stanley, I assume.  He's a boy that got flattened and then goes on super adventures via the mail.  A friend of ours was just introduced to Flat Stanley and mailed us his ninja Stanley.  Yay!  Adventures in our great city!

First of all, we had to write an apology to said friend because that ninja is so stealthy, we cannot find him anywhere in our mess house.  So Sweet Girl crafted a new Stanley with a hoodie for the fall weather.  Crisis? Averted.

Now on to where the adventures would take place.  Let me give a little back story and exposition here.  Vulcan is a 50 ton cast iron statue that looks over the city of Birmingham, AL.  We have BEEN to Vulcan once before and it was replete with crying and gnashing of teeth.  (Crying and gnashing of teeth is our theme song around here so be prepared to hear it often.)  This mama has insane vertigo.  I have actually looked over the 2nd floor railing of the mall and gotten dizzy/terrified/nauseated.  My Sweet Boy is afraid of heights.  He is built like a tank but melts into tears at the THOUGHT of any height.  Elevator ride? Tears.  Standing on a step ladder? Crying.  You get the idea.  Sweet Girl is more on the fearless side but she sways with the crowd.

So whatever possessed us to go to Vulcan the FIRST time is beyond me.  It was nighttime.  Strike 1.  It was so windy. Strike 2. And did you know the walkway around Vulcan is open grate?  WHY WOULD ANYONE DO THAT?  STRIKE 3.  So we look around the park and had a pleasant time  We have a major meltdown about the elevator though.  My dear husband walks up the many flights of stairs with the kids while I ride the glass elevator alone.  The doors to the elevator open, I step out, and I'm stuck! I could not cross the open grate walkway from the elevator to the actual statue.  I promise, I tried but that metal walkway was made of flimsy Jello as far as my mind was concerned and the wind was making the whole statue gently lean from one side to the other.  Or, at least, that is what my vertigo was telling me.  My husband tried to coax me over and it wasn't happenin'.  So he starts to walk the kids around the statue.  There were several people up there.  One woman decided a skirt was a wise fashion choice and it flew up over her head.  My kids were shocked and did not notice (for a moment) that they were essentially suspended in the air, high above the ground.  THEN THEY NOTICED.  Let's just say leaving that place was in no way bittersweet.

Fast forward a few years and here we are with Flat Stanley in need of some fun.  Wednesday morning, I call Sweet Boy into my room to discuss a plan:

Me:  Where should we take Stanley?
Sweet Boy (SB):  VULCAN!!!!!
Me:  Uh...really?
SB:  Yep!
Me:  You remember what happened last time right?
SB:  What?
Me:  The crying and well, it just wasn't very fun.  Do you think you could handle it now?
SB:  Yes, I'm not afraid.
Me:  Even of the open grate walkway that is so high up in the air that it makes you dizzy?  (See, I'm trying to scare him because I don't know if I CAN HANDLE IT.)
SB:  Yep!

So we go and it starts out so fun!

This time we went in the museum and it was a nice little set up.  However, my 11 year old son could not keep his hands off of anything.  I promise I have taught my children how to behave in public.  They just pretend I haven't.  The museum walks you through how iron is made, the life of people in the mines, Birmingham history as it relates to Vulcan and the iron industry.  It was visual enough and short enough to keep the kids' attention the whole time.

Then we walk over to the statue.  We give the seemingly nice lady our tickets and she proceeded to murder our plans for a happy ascent.  I was going to let Sweet Boy walk up the stairs alone.  This lady wasn't havin' it.  When I finally convinced her that he was old enough to go up the stairs alone, Sweet Girl wanted to go too.  Sweet Girl is tiny for her age and the lady did not believe she was 10.  Whatever lady.  I told Sweet Boy we were going to have to ride the elevator.  He welled up immediately.  I told ticket lady to excuse us while we had a talk. Once I convinced him to ride, we went up and I forced...FORCED...myself to smile and walk across that death defying grate.  I made it to the wall of the statue and the world started melting.  I managed to hang on to the side of the building and grab this picture.

Do you know how hard it is to focus a camera phone from the top of the planet with one hand?  It's hard.  I asked the kids if they wanted to go around to the city view and they said yes.  So we slinked around the walkway with our backs to the wall as if we were perched on the tiniest ledge of the highest building.  I made it about 3 steps and told the kids we were leaving.  We practically ran down the stairs.  

As we walked out of the building, I looked lovingly at my children and said, "WE ARE NEVER COMING HERE AGAIN!"  

Our adventure with Flat Stanley taught us we are willing to go to the highest heights for a friend and that when we learn a lesson, it needs to stay learned!

Keeping score

I had to ask myself how to keep up with attendence (required in my state) and how/if/when to record grades (not exactly required in my state).  You have to teach certain subjects here but grades are only needed if you want transcripts (which I do).

So, I google homeschool record keeping and rather randomly choose a free trial of one.  The set up was a skosh overwhelming.  Lesson plans?  Skills?  Grade weighting?  I'm not afraid to admit when I'm out of my depth.  And here, I am out of my depth.  I need to find a really concise, practical online record keeper.  What do you use?

I have decided I will grade my children's work.  I have to.  I'm a quantifier.  I want visible markers for progress.  Numbers MEAN something to my brain!  I am not going to stress it to my kids though.  If they fail a quiz, we'll just go over the material again in a way that sticks.  I want the knowledge to be their success, ya know?  Not a number on a page.

Do you grade? Pass/fail? ABC? 

We just jumped off the diving board!

Today, I am withdrawing my children from public school and beginning our homeschool journey.  So jumping off the diving board is the exact metaphor for how I feel.  My heart has been yearning to teach my children at home for years. YEARS. I've read about the Waldorf tradition, unschooling, Charlotte Mason, this and that curriculum set and I was always always always gripped with fear.

Finally, we were faced with a move (that is coming in a few weeks) and I really did not like our options for school.  I told my husband I would revisit the homeschool scenario again.  And again all the same fears came back.  I asked my kids what they thought of the idea.  Sweet girl was all for it.  More time with Mommy? Yes.  Did I mention she is 10?  Did I mention she has spent all those years trying to resume her living arrangement prior to birth?  Ok. So Mommy's baby was a no brainer.  Sweet boy was a different story.  He is 11 and he is my go to for the God's honest truth.  Does this make me look fat? Yes and your hair looks awful.  How does that dinner taste?  Like it has too much salt and it looks like cat food.  He tempers this brutal honesty with a well meaning heart of gold, so when I want real answers, I ask him.  "How would you like to be homeschooled?"  Pause.  Sweet boy replies,"Could you really give me a quality education since you and Daddy didn't go to college?"  Gee thanks for hitting the overwhelming fear I have right on the head!

I read some more articles and looked at more sites and then I did what you do when you have no other foreseeable options.  I prayed.  Ugly crying, hand raising, thanking the Lord for all His glory kind of praying.  And like Laura Ingalls Wilder described the quietness of a prayer spoken by Reverend Alden, I felt the coolness of peace wash over me.  All I had to do was start at step one.

I researched several cover schools but thought I should wait to enroll when it was closer to our move.  Then this morning, as I bemoaned the fact that I had to wake up a very cranky Sweet Girl, I found a school that met our needs.  It also occurred to me in a divine flash...I AM IN CONTROL OF OUR SCHOOL DECISIONS.  Holy smokes!  You mean, I could go ahead and enroll them in this new school and just start teaching them?  You know the Bible verse where Saul is converted and scales fell from his eyes?  That is what I felt like (maybe not THAT dramatic).  It was such a revelation to me and again, the coolness of peace comforted me.

So here we go...off the diving board into the deep end.  

I didn't think 35 was that old until this weekend.

I thought 35 was the new 25 or something equally fabulous.  When I was 25 I was a lot lighter, newly married and the world was my oyster.  Now that I am 35, I am heavier, a DECADE into being married and truth be told, I don't really care for oysters.  So there.  However, I never really felt my age.  Any time anyone asked me how old I was or what year I was born in, I would respond but in this sorta out of body detached kind of way.  In my mind, my mom is 35.  I am still dewy skinned and rosy cheeked.  (Just because it's from exertion doesn't matter!)

So this weekend I did two things that showed me how "not young" I am.

1) I played Kinect with a few family members and a few strangers.  Not only was it exhausting but it was a real kick in the pants too.  Mainly because I was the only one that exposed herself during the game.  Yes, I jumped up with such excitement that my shirt nearly went over my head.  Luckily, it stopped just before the bra.  And while all of this seems like a micro-second faux pas, what I haven't yet told you is that the Kinect TAKES PICTURES OF YOU WHILE PLAYING.  So at the end of the game it flashed the picture on the giant TV screen for everyone to see.  One woman laughed so hard I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.  I guess that really has more to do with my pride than my not being so young anymore but my shoulder did really hurt this morning.

2) I danced with my daughter and nearly ruptured her spleen and almost broke my arm.  Even typing is making my elbow throb.  This was a double whammy of old age.  No balance and no resilience.  I fell over backwards because of the balance issue.  I landed on my poor little daughter.  And because I am no longer a child whose bones haven't even finished fusing, I will probably feel this injury for DAYS to come.  My back hurts, my arm is partially numb and it took me a full minute to get up off the floor.

I feel like I have skipped being my mother and gone straight onto being my grandmother.  This sucks to no end and I am going to do something about it.  What, exactly, remains to be seen.  So wish me luck and send some Ben-Gay my way.  Address it to the nursing home.  Thanks.

The next chapter...

Long time no blog Amanda.  Geez what gives?  Well, I have gone back to work.  I cannot say in one blog post how much I love my job.  It is part time, meaning I still take my kids to school and pick them up every afternoon.  I work for an organization that is very dear to my heart.  I work with people that I love and respect.  Plus I have a sunny little office that is a slice of organizational heaven.  That is the upside.

The downside is that I have little time for my bloggin' and craftin'.  I have, however, set up a great new crafting station in my house.  I was severely impeding my family's ability to have dinner because our kitchen table was covered with glitter and paper scraps.  My motivation for getting a desk just for me was this:

This is the YourStory thermal book binder and laminator. Word.  I have laminated everything but the cat since getting this thing.  I have not bound any books yet, mainly because I have been trying to get some pages together that are "book worthy".  What really grabbed my attention about this gadget was a demo I saw on some PBS craft show.  The woman had taken her child's hand written/drawn story and bound it.  It was adorable and a true keepsake.  Avery and Alden have come up with some real beauties in the story department.  I can't wait to start my own library.

Oh and I finally broke down and got a printer.  It was a whopping $39 and I have already used almost all the ink that came with it.  Uh, did I mention we got it two days ago?  I am completely ashamed but I have been saving up printables for 6 months just for this occasion.  And since I don't do anything half assed, I started printing everything the minute my husband finished installing it.  Now I have more note cards than I know what to do with.  I also have a copy of Avery's hand and a pony named Friday.  (She waited until I was taking a shower to sneak those in).

I know you will be waiting on pins and needles for my next post.  I will try for the sake of your bottom end not to wait so long until the next post!

Valentine’s Day Recap

Sunday we tried to go out to eat as a family to what I thought was going to be a semi-dressy Italian restaurant.  I called ahead of time to see if they took reservations.  They did!  So I made one for all four of us at 6pm.  Since this was turning out to be fancy, we dressed fancy.  Alden was in his new shirt and tie, Avery wore a skort (that’s a big deal), I wore my snazzy new red sweater and Josh wore actual slacks.  And with much anticipation, we were off to our family Valentine’s dinner.

We arrived to find a brightly lit super casual pizza joint.  The woman that greeted us at the door was wearing a disheveled ponytail, untucked polo shirt and jeans.  I told her we had a reservation and she looked at my quizzically and said, “We don’t take reservations.”  Turns out her dad (the owner) just took my reservation.  But they don’t actually TAKE reservations.  At this place, you order your food at the cash register and pay for it before they bring it to the table.  FINE.  WHATEVER.  We were there, dressed up in our Sunday best.  So we decided to make the best of it.  We sat in a booth…by the way did I mention how bright it was in that place?  My retinas are still burning.  Josh took everyone’s order and went back to the cash register.  He promptly returned with our Styrofoam cups and my saran wrapped side salad and we waited for our food.

And let’s just say that things went downhill from there.  The food was pricey.  The service was awful.  Our server brought our appetizers, salads and entrees within minutes of one another.  Then made us wait for 15 minutes to deliver our desserts.  AND I had to saw through my veal parm with a knife.  Oh well…

When we got home that night, I had the kids get everything together for the next day.  Backpacks…check.  School clothes…check.  Valentine’s for the parties….  This is when my son decided to announce that he had ALREADY taken his Valentine’s to school last week and handed them out.  WHAT?!?!  So there I am at 9 pm trying to wrangle some goodies for the party out of thin air.  I will say this.  I am a magician.  I managed to throw together 18 prizes complete with name tags.  Proved to my husband that my box of flotsam IS actually useful.  All of this drama and it’s not even Valentine’s day yet.

Monday I awoke to not presents or notes or anything.  If you know my husband, you know this is par for the course.  He is the most caring, loving, genuine person I have ever known but his gift giving prowess is, well, not his forte.  But when I got home that evening, he had gotten me a pot of tulips.  And not just any tulips, but some that were the most lovely shade of violet.  I have never seen any that color before.  Plus he bought me a bag of Dove chocolate.  Not wrapped, just the bag.  He totally cracks me up.  I can never tell anyone what he got me for this past birthday without laughing hysterically.  Want to know what it was?  A universal remote.  A massaging pillow that felt like it was really, really mad at me.  Some headphones (which I did need).  And a yoga DVD (it’s been around 5 years since I last did yoga).

All that being said about his gift giving, I love him dearly.  I don’t need any special day to remind me of that.  And after 10 years of being with him, I will take him the way he is, especially since he takes me the way I am!

Oh and just as a PS to this whole Valentine’s drama, I asked Alden if his friends liked the goody bags I made.  He said that he had the best ones in his class.  Then told me that he shouted at the top of his voice in class, “ALDEN BURKE STRIKES AGAIN!”