It's ironic that today is both New Year's Eve and Thankful Thursday.

I'm not feeling especially thankful,  chagrined would be the better word.  Chagrined because I keep losing sight of all my blessings and what's worse- mentally pouting.  I hate pouters.

When I think about the 2010 coming I'm not feeling especially powerful either. Closer to the truth is that I'm doubtful of my abilities to be the person I want to be.

Which leads me to the passage that was read last Sunday night at church:

Last year about this time our then 2 year old son was very sick- he spent Thanksgiving in the hospital and would spend 5 days in the beginning of January in the hospital.

It was a major time of stress for me (duh) caring for him and keeping up with my other children.  My 16 year old son had been struggling with a poetry assignment.  Late the night before it was due he asked me to read what he had written.  I expected poetry along the lines of my son's normal Monty Python-esque sense of humor.  The poem was an unexpected blessing:

My plans to attack my kitchen with a total reorganization and scrub down today have led me to a conundrum.  If I do in fact empty and organize my kitchen junk drawer... then what is the junk drawer's purpose, and even more importantly; what would it then be called?

Perhaps I should just sit back and contemplate a while longer...

What's the worst thing about home schooling?

It's not what many people might imagine.  It's not the fear that you will wake up when your child is 15 and suddenly remember that you completely forgot to teach math.  It's not the messy house caused by home science experiments and omnipresent children.  It's not even the daily grind.

It is the fact that after any holiday break, when your kids have been jazzed up on diets abnormally high in sugar, when your family has abandoned all semblance of a regular schedule, when family "togetherness" has begun to wear thin; you can't just send them off for someone else to whip back into a learning frenzy.

Which is why I think I will spend the next week of vacation feeding my children nothing but beans and rice while they work pressure washing the house, painting the downstairs,  cleaning out the garage, finding matches to all the orphaned socks, and re-calking the bathtub.

My husband and I just had our 22nd wedding anniversary.  That's a long time.

In related news I just watched Twilight with my older teens.  The repeated refrain of, "Oh, Edward" was sung out in a falsetto voice by my teens- especially my 17 yo son, whenever the hormone gushy emotions of a scene exceeded the bounds of reality and/or sanity.  O.K. we sang out the refrain quite a bit.  Interactive viewing at it's best.

Why do I relate this to being married for 22 years?  Because if I can teach my children anything about love,  especially my girls, it's two related things:

•   Staring into a beloved's eyes is only romantic for a limited time period.  Stare too long and both you and your beloved will find there is nothing there to stare at anymore but boredom and annoying habits. 
• The feelings of romantic love will not sustain a marriage long term.

Hello, my name is Susan and I'm a uber-hypocrite-Mom.

Yesterday, I saw in my calendar that my 10 yo, Bekah, had a pediatrician's re-check appointment at 9:00.  It was 8:15 when I read the entry.  Panic and running and guilt ensued as the doctor is 30 minutes away and we were both still in our jammies. Guilt because it's easy to forget about my healthy kids medical needs when Jack's needs are so much more obvious.

As we ran out the door I grabbed a bag of frozen peanut M&M's and threw them to Bekah.  Breakfast of champions.  We munched chocolate goodness all the way to the pediatrician.

Of course the flow of time stopped completely in the waiting room.  I had the opportunity to amaze myself with my own hypocrisy:  In the waiting room there was girl about Bekah's age who was eating breakfast out of a baggy.

"Look at that baggy of full of some sort of crappo-sugary cereal complete with dyes of the rainbow variety. Poor child, what a horrid breakfast," I thought to myself.

Yes, I had fed my daughter M&M's for breakfast yet I had the temerity to mentally scoff at another mother who had planned ahead,  purchased, and packed cereal for her daughter.

A hypocrite's motto: It doesn't matter what your children eat as long as no one sees.

• I watched Teminator- Salvation last night.  It gave me hope.  Judging from the looks of the women in the movie; trendy clothing boutiques and hair salons can survive a nuclear holocaust.
• If you want to eat candy without being noticed by your children you must first put it into a container that does not broadcast a tell-tale crinkle noise. 
• Mommy blogging is often as over produced as reality t.v. - wouldn't you kick that dirty sock out of the shot of your kids putting puzzles together?
• You know you blog too much when something funny happens and one of your children says, "Mom you should post about that."
• One of the many blessings of having teen aged girls is that they take over all the holiday baking. 
• Does anyone know why the normally ubiquitous flats of cheap pansies for Fall planting were nowhere to be found this year?   

In many places I've lived if you want to say something negative you just say it. For instance, "Did you know Beatrice, the slob, has run off with a trapeze sales man?"

In the South you would say, "Bless her heart, did you know that poor Beatrice has turned into a slob and run off with a trapeze sales man?"

If you want to gossip in the South without appearing to be gossiping you might say. "We need to pray for poor Beatrice, bless her heart; did you know she's always been a slob and has run off with a trapeze salesman?"

Prayer requests can be a tricky thing for me. I don't usually have a problem with gossip- I'm too stuck on my own issues to worry overmuch about what anyone else is up to. However, I realized this week that often when I ask for prayer requests for my son Jack and his illness; I'm actually using the request only as a way to let people know that he is having problems again.

I'm using the prayer request as a way to let people know why my oldest son is ferrying the kids around to church and events instead of my husband and me. As a way to let people know that if my older kids seem tired or cranky to please give them a break.

What I've not been doing lately is asking with faith; believing that prayer can actually change the course of Jack's illness or even heal him. I come close- I can totally get behind the idea that the prayer of others strengthens me, gives me wisdom and clear thinking. But somehow, I'm finding myself lacking faith to believe more.

I still feel blessed. Every night of crisis, like last night's, that blows over with treatment at home. Every time Jack bounces back I feel blessed. I know God has a plan for Jack. I believe in prayer, intellectually. I believe that the answers to our prayers are often ones we would not choose but they are from our loving Father nonetheless.

I guess I even feel blessed to realize my lack of faith. I've never related better to Mark 9:24- Immediately the boy's father exclaimed, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief."


I feel amazingly thankful to read in Hebrews 4:15 For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are- yet was without sin.

"We have a cancellation, can you make it in 20 minutes?"

Rushing, stressing, dressing
Tidal wave of roar, done.

Flourescents humming, wiggling, fretting, dreading.
An hour's view:





Blood-taking,
Picture making, toddler angle of good news.

The hustle and bustle of the holidays and the end of the semester have taken their toll on my family.  My older kids are revved up and ready to do more- oh except concentrate on school work.  My little two are revved up as well, but not in such a fun way:

• Samuel has a virus of some toddler variety- the variety that makes me thankful that I have not, in fact, potty trained him.  
• Jack's body is so revved up that it's temporarily burned out his limited ability to maintain normal blood sugar ranges.  He's back on round-the-clock blood sugar monitoring and extra starch dosages.

I think that by the time my chronically ill toddlers are grown up I'll be perfectly suited for a career in public relations.  I'll have had enough practice putting spin on news, at any rate.  For instance I had to call and tell my Dad not to come visit tomorrow because of the little one's illness. * In my announcement to the older kids I told the truth, "We don't want to share Sam's virus with GrandDad."  However, I left off the part about how Jack wouldn't be able to handle the energy requirements of any overnight visitor right now.

My Dad is not a drain- he's a fun, big tall Texan, with a shiny red pickup truck, hunting equipment, cowboy boots and hat, and funny stories.  My kids only see him about once a year; it is an Event when he blows through town.

I spin things because I don't want my older children to dwell on the many life-ripples caused by having a sibling with chronic illness.  I'm trying to balance having an active, fun, purposeful home for my teens with having a restful, calm, healing home for my chronically ill toddlers.

I have faith that there is a way.  The bummer with mothering is that it takes about 50 years to see how your choices worked out.  So, check back in about 50 years...

Friday Leftovers- odd random thoughts that might need to be explored or might need to be tossed:

• Taking a two year old and a three year old to a sibling's band concert is kind of like going to the dentist; you have to do it twice a year, you know it's the right thing to do, you are happiest when it is over.
• Gumby's voice is a lethal weapon.
• It's totally disconcerting to walk with my teen daughters and notice boys and men notice them.
• I have spent so many hours running to "Holiday" events that I now think Ebenezer S. may have had the right point of view before the ghosts got to him.
• This week I had to explain what "panty hose" were to my teens.
• While reading "Mrs. Piggly Wiggly" out-loud to my 8 yo,  I wondered about the sickly little boy that had the over protective mother. I wondered if she was really over-protective or if her son actually had mitochondrial disease or FOD, which were unknown during the time period the book was written.  Then I remembered the book is children's fiction.  Must go to bed early tonight.
• Had Spinning Guild today.  It reminded me how important it is to have creative outlets in my life that push me beyond my daily bubble.
• Batman and Robin don't have to wear pants.  As my 3 yo said, "They can wear just underwear."

Can a knitter make a good mother-in-law? This question may be years premature for me, but eventually I do hope to be a mother-in-law, quite a few times over. I think it important to figure things out ahead of time.

It has come to my attention that the heart of my home is the refrigerator; which no longer works. It has also come to my attention that my children are wandering about thirsty because they do not know how to get water from the sink.

Fod Family Support has helped our family learn how to treat and care for our two young sons with Fatty Acid Oxidation Disorder. I exaggerate not when I say that this group has saved their lives. Without what we've learned from Fod Family Support our boys would certainly not be climbing on fences.

Recently my children asked me to recount the odd cravings I had while carrying each one. I do not know why this amuses them so. They seem to view it as a personality test of some sort and tease one another about "their craving."

This week we've had some minor bumps in our Littles' health. Nothing serious, just more adjusting of medications, minor illnesses, and few extra hours at the pediatrician's office. We are very blessed with how great our little ones are doing and very blessed with how little medical intervention they require. However, the "bumps" put me back in ponder-mode about life with chronically ill children.

About 6 years ago I was working in my kitchen when I saw Bekah, then 4 years old, streak by shrieking, leaving a faint smell of smoke trailing behind her. It was simultaneously cartoonish and frightening. Long story short- for reasons Bekah could not explain, she had stuck something in an outlet in the entrance to our bonus room. It had sparked and shocked her, melted the outlet plate and some carpet, etc. My husband fixed the damage to the wall/carpet while I kissed/chided Bekah and the incident was forgotten... until today.

Any fans of "Raising Arizona" out there?  My husband and I loved this Coen movie, until we had children.  I have to admit that the car-seat scenes make me sort of queasy now.  Still, there are many, many lines in this movie that we quote regularly. 

Godbeat LIVE! Live Streaming Concert! - Jason Eaton & Robert Mauti - Nov 21st

This post is linked to Thirsty Thursday- have fun.

While I was out schlepping the girls to their band practice my 17 yo, Luke, stayed home to babysit his youngest brothers.  While I was still out I got a phone call from Luke that raised the hair on my head.  There was a strained quality to Luke's voice that had me on instant alert- until I realized that his voice was strained because Luke was struggling to speak without laughing.

In 2000 my husband shot this footage while on a job in France.  The amazing thing is that the audio was captured by the video camera.

Language is fraught with difficulties. For instance, Jack told me yesterday during his brother's math lesson that, "The clock said it is not school time.  The clock said it is movie time." 

The mark of a good friend is truthfulness.  I'm blessed with good friends ergo I'm blessed with truthfulness.  I just wish fun and flattering were more often part of the definition of blessed.

At the beginning of September my 15 yo and I were working on her goals for the school year. Science is not her favorite subject; it became late and we got a little punchy.  We ended up designing a video-education curriculum for high school sciences.  

I lay in bed this morning from about 2:00 A.M. to 5:00 A.M. listening to the sounds of my three youngest children coughing.  One goopy cougher was in bed with my husband and me.  He managed to roll just in time to cough full in my face at least once every five minutes.  Lovely.  It made me reflect on sleep and lack thereof.  

I’ve always found it a curiosity that the term “veteran home schooler” has become a title signifying required respect.  “So and So, a veteran home schooler, is giving a lecture on how to teach Klingon to fulfill high school language requirements,” or, “so and so, a veteran home schooler talks about how to make algebra your child’s newest hobby.” The term “veteran homeschooler” alone is supposed to denote authority, competence and success,  and cause you to buy their seminar/product/philosophy/tutorial. 

 To my twisted mind it always brings up an image of a 37 year old woman wearing a denim jumper and flak jacket.  In my imagination the "veteran" is talking into a microphone to a bevy female spectators as she shoots a barrage of flashcards out of a cannon into an opposing ditch filled with her offspring.  The offspring are warding off the flashcards with an assortment of shields made of pots, pans, Harry Potter hardbacks and Bionicle warriors.  The bevy of spectators file up to buy the flashcard system as soon as the children are led off for a snack.

 Am I perhaps a tad cynical?  Am I experiencing a wee bit of home schooling burn out?  Perhaps.  However, ponder a moment.  How does one cross the line from home schooler to “veteran” home schooler?  What are the requirements? 

Is veteran status earned merely after a certain set number of years in the trenches?  If so when do you start counting?  At birth, at age 5?  Are years home schooling with greater challenges weighted like A.P. classes are?  For instance, every year you home school while pregnant or nursing could count as 2 regular years.  Every year spent teaching beginning reading counts as 2 1/2 years, etc.

Does veteran status require a certain number of children in your home school?  If so, are you disqualified from ever achieving veteran status if not all of your children are home schooled or if you only have 1?  Are you given faster promotion to veteran if your children are unusually close in age.  What about extra credit for an especially aggravating child?

Does graduating your oldest from high school instantly qualify you as a veteran?  Does it count if you didn’t home school the entire 12 years?  Relatedly, does veteran status require having your child/children accepted to college? Or does it require having children accepted to Ivy League Universities?  What if they drop-out of college to move to a remote missionary post? Can your veteran status be revoked?

Who is the accrediting body anyway?

I prefer another term, "Mother."  Hopefully "Mother" connotes love rather than war, as well as implying warmth and dedication. I want to be a mother, a good mother. One that just happens to also organize my children's education at home.  One that doesn’t claim to know everything but is willing and ready to learn with my kids.  One that doesn’t’ have to run in circles following the latest guru; one that can fall down and get back up. 

However, if I ever have twins that are still nursing while I'm concurrently teaching reading and high school chemistry all while traveling in an R.V. on a history tour of America-  I want the appellation of "veteran" instantly granted.

Some things are just too funny to get mad about.