From the Homeschoolblogger.com archives of Chronicles of a Family at Home - November 18, 2007: I did it!

And without too much fanfare, all things considered.  My baby Garrison's ultrasound photos are no longer on my refrigerator.  I had tried to do it a million times in the last 2+ years and have answered scores of questions about them (you usually don't keep ultrasound pictures on display when you aren't pregnant any longer).  I had kept my now-17 mo. old baby Devon's up there also, so it wouldn't seem quite so weird.  Garrison's photos gave me pleasure, because they documented the last time I "saw" that precious baby alive.  At the same time, they held me hostage and ruined many a day when I'd make a failed attempt to relocate them to the memory box.  But this weekend I was having a very small potluck dinner in honor of a special friend with thankfulness as the theme and the scales of grief and thankfulness must have finally reached "equal" status.  On Friday, I simply reached up, took off the photos, ran upstairs and put them in my scrapbooking drawer and then ran away.  I was instantly happy about it and so strangely proud of my accomplishment.  It felt like a weight was lifted.  Didn't even cry about it until I was telling Mrs. MonkeyParade about it on Saturday (now yesterday).  Note to self:  Mrs. MonkeyParade is an extraordinarily good listener.  In spite of what people say, I know that, while I can tuck a photo in a drawer, I will never really be able to tuck that grief away, or outgrow it entirely, or have "time heal all wounds."  Occasionally, like this morning (in the shower), a memory from those terrible days strikes me and is still as overwhelming and fresh as July 12th, 2005 -- when I got the unbelievable news and had to relay it to the King via telephone because he was so far away.  But I think the tapestry of my life is made more elegant by Garrison's very existence, however brief.  If he had never happened, I would have been robbed of the joy I experienced in the few months I carried him.  And what of the blessing that I received in conceiving Devon just 2 months after a stillbirth -- when I was past 40?  Somewhere I read that there's only a 10 percent chance of even getting pregnant at the age I was.  In short, I got pregant twice in about 7 months -- at an "advanced age" with two completely perfect baby boys.  [Garrison died from a cord accident, which can happen to anyone -- and boy, did I suffer anxiety through the next pregnancy.]   I'm a lucky lady indeed.  Extremely "blessed" is more like it. So, the photos are now out of sight, but in my heart, I'll carry the love of my precious Garrison forever.  And I will try to count my blessings more than I think on my life's tragedies.  It's a difficult balance, trying not to forget the good, in the inevitable remembrance of the "bad."

The Gruffalo and Why it is a Primer for Social Change

I can't help myself.  I was born an activist. I know that's a weird way to describe oneself, especially with current society's prevailing view of such people as completely wild-haired or even as an adjective for someone who is doing something wrong, like in the case of "activist judges."  My friends at Merriam-Webster define it thusly:

Definition of ACTIVISM

: a doctrine or practice that emphasizes direct vigorous action especially in support of or opposition to one side of a controversial issue

 In my case, it is both nature and nurture.  My father is a great man, with great ideas, all of which require significant devotion, promotion, and passion to perpetuate.  He raised me to be THAT person who would vigorously act in support of what he believes in.  That person that would keep his dreams alive.  Other people call their fathers on Father's Day.  Some spend time daily with their fathers.  Instead, I show up at public meetings and PAC meetings and advocacy meetings and protests, and... well, I just make sure that I show up.  My dad and I both know that our connection, and my calling, was work my rear end off to make sure the Great Smoky Mountains National Park -- and ALL the land around it -- would be preserved to some degree as a monument to our forefathers, to our Creator, and as a classroom to all children anywhere within spittin' distance. I don't say this lightly:  I was born for this job. And I'm really hoping not to fail!

I know people like me are annoying.  But someone has to tilt those windmills! ;-)

All that said, this should explain why my very favorite children's book is The Gruffalo.

I read it to my little son often and always think about how it is a brilliant primer on how individuals who inherited the "warrior" gene, or involved in small non-profit or political action committees (like The Raven Society, which Dad and I helped to found together) can succeed in a world that is corporation-friendly, developer-friendly, and equally devil-may-care toward its regular citizens.  It is a brilliant text for any PR or communications professional.

1. First, following the plan the main character lays out in the book, you identify yourself as an established entity (mouse), firmly networked with totally scary groups or individuals... like the Gruffalo himself!  "A Gruffalo, Fox?  I'm surprised you don't know!"  In my head, this translates as "I am the spokesman for a very large group of powerful people and I can't believe you are so clueless that you don't know who I am!"   

2.  Spend a great deal of time elaborating on the qualities of aforementioned totally scary and intimidating people/organizations that you are aligned with:  "He has terrible tusks, and terrible claws, and terrible teeth in his terrible jaws."

The scarier and uglier the better.  That is just who you want to be allied with if you are trying to accomplish something good in a governmental or political setting.  Especially if you hope to control a large block of voters.  Just sayin.'  Never forget to mention that ALL the people you are speaking for are diligent voters and you might want to leave the impression that they are all lawyers, too, if you think that will help. ;-)

3.  Make the other guy (the owl) feel vulnerable:  "...and his favorite food is owl ice cream."

You are communicating that "Yeah, baby!  My network's favorite thing to do is consume their opponents (you people with no scruples!) ...with glee."

4.  Then, when you meet the enemy face to face, you freak him out by making yourself seem like the scary thing.  "Good?" said the mouse.  "Don't call me good!  I'm the scariest creature in this deep dark wood.  Just walk behind me and soon you'll see, Everyone for miles is afraid of me."  A Gruffalo doesn't need to know that he is actually the scary one.

5.  Threaten things you have no intention of executing. Why not?  Life is short.  Yes, I know how that sounds.  But listen to this awesome, veiled threat!  "Well, Gruffalo," said Mouse, "don't you agree?  Everyone in the wood is afraid of me!  But now my tummy is beginning to rumble, and my favorite food is...Gruffalo crumble!"  Talk BIG, people.  If your cause is just (or you are completely desperate!), try this strategy and things might very well fall into place. 

6.  When you're "out of the woods" with the current issue, relax.  Praise the Lord!  Give God the glory for your great accomplishment.  Enjoy your success:  "Then all was quiet in the deep dark wood. The mouse found a nut and the nut was good."  Whew.  Rest.  Start working up your personal "scary" for the next battle!  They are endless in this life.  Especially for those of us who were born to be warriors.

Teenagers make you old

Oh, how I have wished a thousand times that I had recorded my older boy's voice before it changed. One day, my sweet little boy was talking to me. The next day, a croaky little man. There were other malevolent changes that weren't as obvious, initially.

First, girls stopped having cooties.

Then NPR News was "slanted."  (Because I happen to like NPR News.) Followed by the proclamation that there  should be no gun control.  (I'm ambivalent on the topic, but don't allow guns in the house because there are too many small boys.)  Soda for breakfast became perfectly healthy, despite all the carefully pronounced evidence to the contrary.  In fact, if I said the sky was blue, it was most certainly olive drab.  Last but not least, the prevailing theory became the end would justify any means, if the aforementioned "end" happened to be unsupervised internet access.

We won't even delve into the difference of opinion on what constitutes a valid career goal and corresponding educational aspirations. Suffice it to say that "Living off the Grid" is not what I had dreamed of while playing endless Mozart to my Harvard-bound infant.


I know some people (*cough* Madam Smallworld *cough*) enjoy the teen stage, but so far, I'm not digging it.  Don't get me wrong; I still love my teen, but I don't like how his feelings about me have changed.

I long for the days when everything I said was accepted as practically biblical truth. (Yes, I know that it was wrong to tell him that sharks weren't allowed near the beach.)  I long for the days when he knew he could count on me for protection, love, and acceptance, no matter what went on outside the house.  I long for the days when he knew that Mommy always had his back.  I long for the days when he understood that I loved him more than life itself.

I need to get this right.  I'm grateful that I have a "village" of wise friends I can draw from constantly when I'm not sure of myself.  If you have teens, what philosophies or guiding thoughts help you be successful in maintaining a good relationship with him or her while still propelling the child headed firmly between the goal posts?

I realize that part of the problem I am having is that those goal posts are really not set by me.  They are set by God and have to be ultimately chosen by the child, as he enters adulthood.  So a better question for me to ask is how do you keep your parenting efforts in perspective, given that your child must ultimately hike his own hike?  How are you "there" for your child, when your child wants to move away from you?

Stuck

Almost 3 years ago, I declared war on my state of obesity.  I even raised an army to help me fight it!  I invented a Biggest Losers group for my homeschool mom friends.  Many hills have been captured since then, by many a great soldier.  (Gives a whole new meaning to the moniker "Queen of the Hill!")  At least 3 of us lost 50 pounds apiece.  But then I got stuck -- I needed to lose another 22 lbs. from the low that I reached.  Oh, if it were only 22 lbs. now.  But I got too comfortable with the level of success I had, then became disheartened that I hadn't gone further, then got sick, and then had a hard time getting my head wrapped around the effort again.  

  

So recently, I've been meditating on the old saying about insanity:  "Doing the same thing over and over, always expecting a different result." I always tend to blame something other than myself for not losing, as though I wasn't a participant in all in the number on my scale -- just a victim of unseen forces that want me to fail to reach a healthy weight goal.  I'm the Queen of Denial, as they say!  "This diet isn't working for me."  The real story is always that I haven't gotten desperate enough to do what I know it takes -- consistently -- to change the number on that scale.   So I jumped back on Phase 1 of the South Beach Diet on Sunday.  My reason?  I can say over and over again that I just want to be more moderate, make better choices, vague things like that, but then nothing happens!  At least, nothing beyond a week or two because anything I lose winds up being a wash within a pretty short time frame.  I believe that is because it doesn't really address my root problem -- the WHY of my overeating.  I eat for comfort, boredom, self-reward, self-pity, to signal the transition to a different part of the day, etc.  Mostly because it is the thing I CAN control in a life that so often seems to just happen to me.  But I can no more go cold turkey on quitting eating what makes me fat than an alcoholic can!  I can't even think straight about food, because I'm a carb addict. I never realized that about myself until the first time I went on Phase 1 of the South Beach Diet.  After about 3 days, I would have chewed your leg off if it had sugar in it!    It had never before occurred to me that my food choices could have been driven by something other than normal likes and dislikes.  By Day 4, I was in physical pain of withdrawal -- very similar to flu symptoms.  I had to take Tylenol!  That all passed by Day 7 or so, but I seriously suffered whenever my cravings were triggered, sometimes by a commercial, something I saw, etc.  Maybe you've been there.  The people that write restaurant commercials know what they are doing!  Bacardi commercials probably do the same thing to alcoholics.  By the time I got to the end of the 2 weeks, I was literally afraid to start adding good carbs back!  For one thing, I had lost 12 pounds and didn't want my weight loss to slow.  And I was afraid of losing control.  So I stayed on Phase 1 for 3 weeks and then begin to add 1 good carb back a day.  I had a whole new appreciation for food and, since I was able to step back from my drug-of-choice, could look at the right food for what it is:  gift from God to sustain us.  The things I wanted to eat were not processed and were not baked.  They came from the ground, or they came from an animal -- mostly skipping the middleman!  I have never had such appreciation for food in my life.  It was like my taste buds were Lazarus, raised from the dead. So the question I have asked my fellow soldiers to ask me when I'm not working at this Health Thing successfully is this:  "Do you want it badly enough to do what it takes?" And I'm posting that request here, in hopes of gathering even more accountability partners! My plan?  I know the South Beach Diet works for me and it works for the long-term.   I also know that DAILY exercise is an absolute necessity -- not just for the exercise, but for the chemical changes it makes in the brain that helps ward off eating for the wrong reason.  (I am afflicted by Seasonal Affective Disorder.)  I am now shooting for every single day of the work week.  If I can manage a weekend exercise, then I'll allow myself the day off -- the NEXT week, though.  No more borrowing from the future.  I know that drinking water is a crucial component.   It prevents my inclination to overeat, and I know now that I've often confused thirst for hunger.  It also keeps my blood sugar constant, making me less likely to *snap* and eat a box of donuts!  So, if you have a Weight Loss hill to conquer, think back on your goal weight.  What would it feel like to be at that weight?  What did you look like the last time you weighed that little?  What would your husband/wife think?  What would it do for your long-term health?  What things could you do if you weighed that that you cannot do now?   Is it worth doing what you know will work and doing that with all your might?  Today, I'm sure that it is worth that.  Tomorrow, when the going gets rough and there's a Chili's fried stuffed jalapeno commercial, you may have to remind me.  ;-)

A Not-So-Happy One Year Anniversary

Today is the Saturday after Thanksgiving -- a day that will always live in infamy for me, at least.  It was the kick-off to one of the most difficult years of my life.  One that would test me in ways I had never been tested before.

Last year, on the Saturday after Thanksgiving Day, my life changed dramatically for the worse.  When I say "worse," I mean I was previously in pretty good shape.  I had maintained a much-needed weight loss of 50 pounds for about 18 months.  While I would never be a bikini model, I was able to do most anything that struck my fancy:  bike, run, hike, climb, snow ski, water ski, etc.  But when I got out of bed that particular morning, I stood on two feet that felt broken.  It was weeks before I got any relief, and in the meanwhile, other strange symptoms emerged:  my hands felt as though all the bone inside had been crunched by an unseen force; various joints randomly failed to operate; muscles from hips on down tightened to the point I thought they would snap, and they throbbed as though pulsing with electric current.  Later, I thought I would go insane from insomnia.  I felt powerless to do any of the things that make me happy, and sometimes, I was in such pain I avoided drinking water for fear of having to get up and walk to the bathroom.  It was a dark time for me, and there were occasions that I felt my life, as I knew it, was over.  By April, I had lost hope that the mystery would be solved and I would be "stuck" that way.  I began to express these thoughts out loud, by way of explaining to people why I wouldn't be able to do all I was expected to.  Five months had passed, and nothing had changed except an increase in the number of alarming and energy-draining symptoms.   I started to withdraw from life and I mourned that which would never be.  Or so I thought.

At six months in, when I had nothing to lose by trying even the weirdest ideas, the lightning of healing finally struck.  Early on, someone had suggested to me that I try to eliminate gluten from my diet.  As a subscriber to the South Beach Diet (good fats, lots of fiber, whole foods, and plenty of water), I was sure my food intake couldn't be the problem. But finally, in desperation,  I did eliminate gluten on a trial basis starting on May 1st -- along with corn and dairy.  I also launched my first ever "cleanse."  Three weeks later, it dawned on me one afternoon:  I was in a total absence of pain! 

Hindsight is 20/20 isn't?  How I wish I had listened to that person who first mentioned "gluten-intolerance."  I am 45 years old.  Six months is a lot of time to waste in the Big Scheme of things! So I've had to adapt to a new concept of healthy dieting.  I am not celiac, but "gluten intolerant."  Nope, whole wheat and whole grains just aren't good things for me.  It doesn't matter how organic the wheat/gluten is (I'm still not sure if it is just wheat or all gluten), in 24 to 36 hours after I ingest a good chunk or the final straw in a camel's back of small tastes, I will experience that all-too-familiar sensation of broken-up, gelatinous bones.  Corn has a slightly different but almost as egregious effect on me, but I do think I can now have some dairy.  The jury is still out on how much is too much.

Even the last six months of new hope have been difficult.  It takes the mind a while to wrap around such a significant lifestyle change.  Next time you are in the grocery store, just try to find a product without corn and/or wheat in it!  You'll find these ingredients in the strangest places.   I recently watched Food Inc. to try to understand the reason for that.  King Corn is next.  It is good, in that it forces me to avoid most empty carb calories.  It is good, in that it makes me read all labels.  It is bad, in that most gluten-free items are ridiculously expensive, and that my friends often feel inconvenienced by planning around my "intolerances." 

Back to the 50 pounds I had lost.  About 20 of it is back.  Sadly, most things that are produced as gluten-free are chock-full of sugar, which I didn't eat at all before this.  Rice flour (a simple carb) replaces whole grain (a complex carb).  So I constantly struggle with mixed instructions on what I can/should eat. 

My goal for this next year is to find my balance again.  I want to rejoin the life I had before.  I want to climb the highest mountain, and then ski down.  I want to be ready for opportunities to challenge myself as they present themselves, without the huge training curve.  By next Thanksgiving, my story will be one of victory!

Queenofthehill in Alta,Utah, 2 years ago. Happy as a pig in slop!

The Pacific Northwest

We walked here from the waterfront, but you couldn't
have convinced me to go up to the top for all the
tea in China!  (Or coffee in Seattle!)

I'm always amazed at the scenery when I travel to my husband's sometimes-childhood home in Central Washington State.  Typically, we fly into Seattle and then drive to the place his dad and step-mom currently live.

This is beautiful, downtown Leavonworth.

It's a medium-sized town called Wenatchee in the Columbia River basin.  In doing so, we pass through several distinct climates.  Seattle is uber wet, with the Puget Sound and Lake Washington to draw your attention.  Then you go from Big City to suburb to truly small town as you drive up and out of Western Washington.  The Cascade Mountains are even more wet and rich with evergreen and thick undergrowth, but sparsely populated with cabins and orchards and what we Southerners like to call Gentlemen's Farms.  Once across the mountain pass of your choice, you reach drier climes, until you are practically in the desert, if not for heavy use of irrigation. 

This is the front stoop of my in-laws' bed
and breakfast, and yes, that's an heirloom
piece!

We marvel at the unscreened doors, and antique porch furniture.  In the humidity of the South, you would never leave anything of value outdoors, for fear of moss growing up its North side.  Bugs are a given back home, but comparatively innocuous here.  Fall has already come here, in earnest.  There's a chill in the air and a hint of gold in the landscape. 

The famous Pike Street Market.

Whenever I come here, I feel that I stick out like a sore thumb.  There's a certain style among Seattleites, to be sure.  There's no nice way to say this, but it can very difficult to ascertain who is actually homeless and who is, uh, not.  [But I mean that in the nicest possible way!]  I find myself looking at the quality of the backpack and hiking shoe to decide whose Starbucks cup is meant for collecting coinage and who is actually just partaking of the nectar of the gods. 

My boys on a pier along the waterfront in Seattle.

I love that there are bicyclists everywhere.  I love that people are running and walking, in spite of inclement weather.  I love that the color of the water, even right here at the Waterfront, is azure blue and clear as a bell.  I love that the air smells fresh and pollution free.  I love the views of the far-off and not-so-far-off mountains and how, unlike other places I have lived, there isn't a barrier of smog between here and there.  Clearly, they are doing something right.

As my Grandpa "Benton" used to say, "There is more than one way to skin a cat."  They are skinning some mighty fine cats here in Seattle, but I'm glad I have East Tennessee to go home to.

Notice this neon sign near Pike Street Market 
says "Turkish Delight."  I took this photo because Madam
SmallWorld had been experimenting at making the stuff.
I know it reminds her of Edmund. :-)

The Simplest Ideas are the Best

You can tell I love all this organizational stuff!
I get really into it for like two days each year.

School -- or in our case, homeschool -- has been in session full-time for two weeks now.  ALL of my freshman boy's classes are taught by other people, which means my task is merely to go through all the syllabi* and break all the tasks into edible chunks and then fit them into the context of each day.  This involves my daily flipping through a binder where I dutifully stowed my copy of the class info from the teachers into the protective sleeves, or just three-hole-punched and inserted, using labeled dividers.  I then pen the instructions for the day onto a spiral-bound notebook.  I stole the spiral-bound part from Mrs. Smallworld.  Yes, it is pathetic that an idea so simple and so low-tech had to be stolen!  Yet it works so well, I want to slap myself on the forehead 10 times a day and say "why didn't I think of this before?"  I draw a box beside each "to-do" and he puts a check in it when the individual tasks are complete.  I'm doing this for my 6th grader as well and am flabbergasted at how inspirational he finds an empty box waiting for a check!

No, this is not my family.  We are nowhere near this neat!

The second embarrassingly simple idea that I've adopted this year is twice-daily sit-down FAMILY meals.  Yes, I know that every other homeschooling family on earth probably already did this, but up until two weeks ago, I was very likely to slap something together, summarily drop the King's portion onto his desk in his cave, seat the boys at the counter to eat like cavemen and then crawl into my easy chair to catch CNN during our lunch break.  With the cooler weather -- and let's be honest here, the big pile of junk on my kitchen table that rendered it useless -- it became pleasant to just carry all the food out to the big table on the screen porch.  Well, the first day of school, the King decided he could take a few moments out to sit with us. He works from home and is here most days.  One thing led to another, and we decided to quiz one boy on his Spanish vocabulary and another on the status of his chore list (coming up next!).  Before we knew what happened, we were having twice daily check-ins on progress and a whole lot less was slipping through the cracks.  Not only is it making it less likely that any students get away with a sorry work-ethic, but it fulfills a real need in creating more focused family-time all around.  Our four-year old loves it, sets out the silverware, and demands his turn when it comes to asking the blessing.  It helps the King be more involved in the daily workings of our homeschool, as well.  And I sometimes needed the reinforcement of a "principal" figure.  After only two weeks, this program has been such a raging success that I am now sad for all the lost years I've spent not doing this.

I guess my idea of putting the kids
to work isn't a new one.

Which leads me to the Chore Charts.   My children and their habits have really suffered from my frequent failure to hold them accountable on various fronts over the years.  I admit I have failed in this, but I will save you the boredom of hearing me psychoanalyze myself.  The short story is that I'm lazy.  I am inconsistent.  I am overcommitted.  I am distractable.  We'll just leave it at that, shall we?  But I'm hoping I can still turn it around.  I think the humble checkbox may just be the answer!  For years, the King has encouraged me to require more from the kids in helping me around the house or at least cleaning up after themselves and I struggled with how I could do that consistently without having to be a constant nag.  So I spent a great deal of time before we started school re-doing their rooms.  Really, I just restored them to sanity!  So this created a "baseline" for them to aspire to in maintaining their private spaces, in addition to a number of other tasks they are perfectly able to do.  I created a very comprehensive list and designed a Chore Chart for each child.  For the younger school-aged boy, I included matters of daily hygiene and health (like drinking water and taking vitamins), as well as a reminder of piano practice.  There are things that must be done daily and then different things that are done in addition to the daily list on Wednesdays, Fridays and weekends.  Every item and every day has a place for a check mark.  I also included a comment line to record whether the duties were completed with too many reminders or with a bad attitude.  So far, so good!  There are no dust bunnies on my stairwell (middle son, Wednesdays) and no leaves on my driveway or decks (oldest son, Fridays).  My teen doesn't complain that his laundry hasn't been done because he has been assigned a laundry day of his own.

I feel as though these simple new initiatives are restoring a bit of control, hopefulness (on my part!), and joy to our household and family.  Even as I type that, I am reminded of something Beth Moore said in one of her "Beloved Disciple" bible study videos.  This is not a direct quote, but it went something like this:  We just think we're in control.  Then we realize we are standing there holding a leash with an empty collar attached to the other end and the dog is long gone!

What new amazing ideas have you incorporated into your homeschool this year that are simple enough for even me to try?




*I looked up the plural of syllabus and was flabbergasted to learn that either "syllabi" or "syllabuses" would work.  Who knew?  And that's my random grammar thought for the day.