Captain Me Planet

Check out the Carnival of Homeschooling at Why Homeschool. I, the Captain, am again graced with a submission being accepted. Go. Read!

This schooling the children at home comes back to me. Ultimately. The buck stops with the Captain. The Colonel can weigh in, and does. But daily, I’m in the trenches with the privates, and have my finger on the proverbial pulse of that they are doing. What they need. How to help them. Their strengths and weaknesses. Or, at least, I should.

Often I do. Feel confident. Good about our direction. We’re banging on all cylinders. But then there are the things I’m just not sure about. That involve more prayer. More trust. More angst, really. These are the things I want an expert to tell me about. Somebody to swoop in and and say here. Do this. This will work in this way, at this time schedule. Yet, this person never materializes. Or better yet, when she does, out of the recesses of my psyche, she is often trumped by the loudly whispering skeptic that’s also lurking in there. Nooooo, no no. That will never do. This kid needs more than that. You need to get her tested. Maybe she has an LD. She probably has something going on you can’t handle. All children should be able to (fill in the blank) by age (whatever you want).

We have a daughter who is so bright. So beautiful. Don’t we all? At 8, she is an artist. A problem solver. A puzzle master. Quick with Dad’s tools, and the concepts of simple engineering. A peace maker. An eager helper. Also an expert brother torture-er. An animal lover. Math whiz. Lego builder. Horse rider. She is so many things to be proud of, pleased with. But what am I doing as her teacher mother? Against all the books that tell me otherwise, the so-called experts to whom I look, I am beginning to have angst over her lack of desire to want to read more fluently. Does it trouble me that her 2 years-her-senior brother is not on level in math? Nope. He’ll get it. We’ve actually done that on purpose. But when the 5 year old started telling her words she can’t seem to figure out, at least not easily or readily, I started to get that niggling worry. Should we be doing something else. How can we help. What am I to do to make it better. Does it need to be made better?

She has basic phonics down. Most of the time. I see improvement when we practice regularly. She’s technically in the second grade, and probably proficient on a first grade level. Can muddle through grade 2 readers. But she really is just not into reading much. I cannot determine if she is not into it, because it doesn’t come simply and quickly, or if it does not come simply and quickly because she is not into it. Chicken? Egg? She doesn’t want to read with me often. She wants me to read to her, but not with her. She is not that keen on working it out herself. An occasional ‘d’ becomes a ‘b’ and vice versa. But not all the time. When she reads a word, works it out, it may or may not stick in her brain. It seems to stick like glue in the boy’s brains. Not that I’m comparing my children. I would never, of course. It makes no nevermind to me that once the boys began piecing words together, the entire world became something to read, while she’s content to see letters as gibberish all over the place. Nope. No worries about that at all. She will say from time to time, I wish I could read better, and when I offer to work with her, usually just get a naaaah. This is where my dilemma comes in. Do I push? Do I relax? Is there an underlying problem, or is this just equivalent to her big brother and his math. When she’s ready, she’ll a-go-go? Are the books right on this too? Which ones? The ones that say wait, or the ones that say definite problematic LD? Can she really suddenly become fluent at say, age 12, and it’ll seem she’s been reading steadily all along? Or if I wait that long to see, will I miss some critical developmental stage that will leave her at a disadvantage all the rest of her could-have-been-pleasant reading days? Is this just a case of some people having certain strengths and interests, and others holding different ones? She’s just not a huge fan of reading? Lord knows I don’t like math. I am not an artist. I’m definitely not some engineer. We all have gifts, right?

What is it about this so-called delay that has me irked. Is it our societal rule that even pre-schoolers need to be knowing their phonics before entry into the next K class? Is it these read to a kid PSAs? We’ve always read to her. Kept interesting books around. Taken her to the library. Can you make someone a reader who really doesn’t have that interest originally? And should I if I can? Obviously she needs to become proficient, but after that, there’s a vast array of options for how far, or how not far, she may go with it. She just may never get it when I tell her my favorite ever thing to do (by myself, that is) is to crawl under the covers with a great book on a cold and rainy day, and stay there till I find out who did it. Other people don’t get it, so why should I mind if she doesn’t?

Because she is mine. Because maybe deep down, that’s just when we have the hardest time being fair. Non-discrimnatory. We want our own to understand us deeply, and for us to return the feeling in kind. And when they come out of the womb their own little person, and continue to grow in the way they should go, and we don’t quite get it, it’s unnerving. Even as we realize it is only our place to help them along the way. Not create clones of ourselves. It’s really hard sometimes. My husband’s not a big reader. Oh, he can of course. But it’s not his prime choice of leisure activities. But I didn’t raise him. So I can’t be responsible for his flaws (Ha.). This girl I’m in charge of. Can’t I just make her into what I see fits? No.

So the dilemma becomes this. Figure out what makes her tick. And what doesn’t. Help her become proficient in what her life will need proficiency in, but not too early as to make it tortuous and difficult. Introduce these things at the right time, with the just right amount of nudging. But do not be over bearing. Help her challenge herself, and rise to challenges, but not have to wallow painfully about in the things that she just won’t need to worry with. If she is not to be a world class chemist, don’t beat her over the head with the periodic table chart. Figure out who she is just before she does, so I can help her get from here to there. Let her be her, not a take 2 on me. In other words, be perfect. A perfect mother, teacher and career counselor and friend. Yeah. Perfection. That’ll work. And afterall, what’s so hard about that?

He’s not tall. Shorter than my husband. Boxier, too. But tight. You know, bigger but not flabbier. Kind of squatty actually. But. can. he. cook. Smooth to the touch. And is. so. hot. I just love to rub my hands all over him - if I can stand the heat. He’s a fantastic multi-tasker, too. Does several things at once so well. What husband can you say that about? And is he ever hip. The latest in style and fashion. He can be cold, but warms up quickly. I don’t hold it against him. They’re just like that, you know. And, it takes at least 2 men to take him on. But he ain’t heavy. He’s my oven.

The latest, and greatest in kitchen appliances. A single footprint, double oven. Stainless steel. 4 gas burners with a large center burner for, oh, stock pots or something. Dual fuel. Electric convection. Did I mention it has TWO ovens in one? What would be a useless crumb and ash collecting drawer in the bottom has brilliantly been designed as a second oven. What’s that? Need to bake rolls on 450, and the casserole on 350? No problem here. Got a big ol’ turkey and some green bean dish? Fire up both ovens, baby. And no extra space is required from my already space challenged kitchen. Did I say brilliant? I meant astonishingly genius. Kitchen-gasmic. Comes with with a griddle. Fits just right in the grates up top. Self cleaning, of course. Comes to the desired temp in no time. Oh, forgot to preheat. Hey, it only takes a sec. By name, he is a GE Profile. I just call him Love.

The Colonel’ll just have to get over it.

After hearing me give some orders to the Colonel along the lines of bring home a Swiffer if you ever want to stop picking up black crap on your feet walking barefoot in the kitchen, Private 3 (age 5) says:

Hey, Mom. Getting a Swiffer? Yep. Good. They say it’s a dust magnet.

There they go again. And now the 5 year old’s in on it.

We just bought our oldest son a pair tennis shoes that fit ME. They fit me. Me. My feet. All I can see are those itty bitty toes I kissed those very early weeks and months. Long before they started stinking like a water treatment plant.

My boy’s feet are becoming a man’s. I knew it would happen. But. It still hurts my feelings. Grace in your journey, Private One. Grace for the road those men’s feet will travel.

While plague and pestilence hung heavy over our home this last week, Project Kitchen Remodel marched on. This is what was accomplished, while I slept feverishly upstairs, between bouts of helping Private Three yarf in a bag covered bowl. Let me just say that while I, the Captain, and my dedicated hard working Colonel can get stuff done, our seniors put us to shame. By the end of day number 2, with 5 more to go, we were panting to keep up. The Captain’s folks can boogie. Thanks to them, what would have taken the two of us maybe 4 months, if all went perfectly, and we had no children, was accomplished in just under a week. And no body finishes a piece of wood like the Captain’s mom. No one. Every time I said, that’s OK, she said, NO, it is not. And so it went. Until the Captain’s mom was happy. And when she’s slaving in my home, I’m all about making her happy. Sanding after sealing, after staining, after shellacing, after steel-wooling, after half shellacing, after some more sanding somewhere in there. And some waxing. And many trips to various and sundry hardware stores. I know I vacuumed them off more than once, but the rest? A blur. Much still needs to be done, but this. This was a great jump in the right direction. Thanks again, Mom and Dad.

the original kitchen, circa 1951, or so

not original, but very nasty range

the new, and so perfect range

crew bosses (the captain’s dad, and the colonel)

the demo crew

private three’s success with a sledge hammer

something was nesting in the old vent hood duct work!

finish master extraordinaire (my mom)

almost there

Due to nearly dying this last 3 days, and 11 days of extremely gag-inducing NutriSystem food products, I am down 4 pounds in 2 weeks. Heh. What kind of whacked out person drags themselves out of bed for the first time in 3 days to hit the scale first? Um. Me. Well, only 9 more to go!

4 adults and 4 children, sharing a home undergoing a kitchen remodel
Old cabinets ripped out
Old range gone
Cooktop gone
Countertops demo-ed
Tile smashed
New unfinished cabinets sanded, stained, sealed, sanded, shellaced, rubbed, half shellaced, rubbed, and waxed
And, installed
New range in
New sink in
New faucet hardware in
Disposal reconnected
Dishwasher reconnected
One person fallen with bronchitis, sinusitis, flu
Another with vomit bug
One trip to Pediatric ER
Yet another with sore throat/cough that won’t quit
And 2 (my mom and dad) graced with love and keep-going-ness above the normal human capacity of call of duty, and to such degree that I’m sure I’ll never be able to live up to it.

And they called it Bronchitis (doctor speak for pounding deep chest coughs and hacking through the night till the throat is shredded like hamburger meat and the head is slightly askew from it’s originally intended attatched position). And Sinusitis (doctor speak for a raging, throbbing, swolled set of nasal passages, that constantly drip nastiness and need to be blown profusely).

Aaaaahhhh. Said the She Doc. You have much post nasal drainage and a raw throat. And your chest sounds not so good. Does it hurt when I (thumps her fingers under my eyes)? Does it hurt when I (attempt to pull her lower eye lids above her brow)? Yes. Dammit. That’s why I sat an hour in your waiting room with the rest of the disease infested city, in plaintiff hope of medication that will alleviate the situation.

I think we can fix you right up. Just take these (hands prescriptions and samples) and get plenty of fluids and rest. After I just told her I have 3 children at home, who stay. with. me. all. day. As in, I can’t get rid of them to to this thing you call rest. Oh, well, take it easy, then. Does she live on this planet? Has she ever heard of children?

And why, oh why (and if you work in the health field, please please enlighten), do they send in the nurse to take all the pertinent information, only to come back in, ask the same set of pertinent information, thereby wasting time for all of us? Didn’t I just tell the RN what meds I currently take, where it hurts, and when my last menstrual cycle was? What the hell was that for, and why did he write it down, only for She Doc to pick up the chart, not to read a word of it, and ask me all over again, while I semi-refrain from showering her with bronchial poo. I. don’t. understand.

Nonetheless, tonight I am armed with the Supreme Cough Medicine God, codeine. And that? That was worth 3 hours with all the rest of a significant chunk of the winter flu smitten south east.

All of the old cabinet’s contents are all over the lower level of the house. No table. No bar. No counters. No sink. No dishwasher. No new cabinets functioning yet. 4 adults. 4 children. 3 snotty noses, 2 hacking coughs, 1 set of watery eyes, and me. Now feverish, and coughing, and head pounding. 3 days of fast food. Hours and hours and hours of television reducing the children’s brains to the size of an old raisin. But, I think I’ll look back on all this with fondness. The marathon weekend when our old kitchen was demolished, and with our folks’ help, the new one took shape.