Captain Me Planet

Private One, our eldest son, 10 and a half, just. started. a. shower. for. himself. without. being. asked.

Because he just felt like it.

I think my daughter rocks. Of course, I’m her mother. But my observation of her yesterday in her co-op classes, as I was teacher’s helper, really makes me proud.

She didn’t listen to one word of the history lesson.

Why?

She didn’t like her teacher’s outfit.

And this, I think, is hysterical.

I saw her. Eying Mrs. Green. Up, down, watching. And I knew she was not absorbing the intimate details of the ancient catacombs under the streets of Rome. Sure, it’s interesting that the first Christians were so persucuted that they had to dig for their lives in an effort to escape. But Mrs. Green’s outfit? Whew.

On the way home, she told me her profound thoughts. First, I asked her if that was the teacher that barked at her once for answering a fellow classmate’s question. Sho’nuff. I could just tell.

Then, she said, Mom, Mrs. Green only has 2 skirts. And they’re both ankle length. One is denim and the other is khaki. And she only wears those to teach each week. Back and forth, back and forth. You think those are the only sort of bottoms she owns? Or does she like them? And today was the first day she wore flip flops with them. She usually wears white walking shoes.

Love it. Other children are absorbing the agony of the days of the ancient Christians. My girl is sizing up Mrs. Green’s wardrobe. And not too fondly, at that.

My old Previa. Aaaah. My paid for car. The car we bought 0 down, paid out over 5 years, from Carmax, 6 moves ago. She has just been replaced.

Oh my Previa. When we first bought you, you were the first minivan I ever drove. And my hatred of such a genre of car swiftly became intense love as I experienced how far back the children could actually get. How many diaper bags and pack ‘n’ plays you could hold. You held me up, high in my captain’s chair, with excellent visibility, and played cassette after cassette after cassette of Arthur stories, and Thomas tales. We driven to Texas and back, 4 times. Loaded you with Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving and beach gear. You brought our new baby home from the hospital, 5 and a half years ago, and drove us out to my parents’ lake house for recouperation time.

You’ve heard a few arguments. Seen some tears. Been present for dream sessions, when we needed to figure out where our life would go next. And you’ve held approximately 1, 260 Happy Meals in your lifetime with us. I did the math.

I’ve changed hundreds of diapers on your floors. Taught my boys how to pee in a bottle when there was no clean restroom on your seats. Taught myself and my daughter how to use a ziploc on the way home from New Orleans, shortly before the devestating hurricane, when we were stuck in rush hour traffic. You helped us travel the city before she would never be the same. Oh, Previa. We owe you so much.

You’ve seen 7 different carseats between our 3 children. Watched us leave 2 of them in dumpsters across the country when they were yarfed uncontrollably upon. You didn’t tell when I just held the children in the back, while they recovered and we found a WalMart to get another. Or when a baby was so hungry, I just crawled back there in your warmth, and nursed them.

I’d like to say you kept us cool and comfy in the heat of the southern summers, but alas, this has never been your forte. Regardless, for all the rest that you’ve done for us, we keep putting the miles on you, happy that you are ours.

But now, you have a replacement. The years have caught up with you. Your little AC motor that tried, is weakening, and we’re told it is obsolete. You need more put into you now, than maybe your financial value is worth, but never more than you are worth. And dear Previa, you’re getting a little rough around the bumpers. Rusty. But still dear to us, all the same.

We know there is a family out there, who really needs you. One that has children to cart, and very little money with which to purchase a vehicle of your caliber. And will recognize that 153, 000 miles of love doesn’t mean you don’t have more in you. You are…a Toyota.

So we bought the Mazda MPV last night. No, don’t fret. She’s not brand new. She is, however, 5 years old, instead of your valiant 15. She happens to look almost just like you. This, I think, is testimony to our fondness for you. She is not better than you, and never will be. But we felt the time had come. As she sits behind you in the drive this morning, I hope you’ll teach her a thing or two. How to not let the children fall out of the back door when they disobediently unbuckle and scramble to find the lost toy. How to keep chugging when it seems you’ve run out of gas miles and miles ago. You never let me down. How to go, and go, and go with so little repairs necessary.

And for you? We have a plan. We will invest a little TLC, and find that family you are destined to continue on with. Just never forget us, and that moment we first saw each other, that early winter evening in 1999, as you sat in the Carmax parking lot, with seemingly a beacon shining upon you.

You have served well. You have been loved. Adieu, my dear Previa, adieu.

My Old Car

Our Motto

Wear and Tear, Private 3 style

Old Mobile Mission Control, and Max

Our miles together, starting at 63K

The New Car

My New Mobile Mission Control

the cup holder that will hopefully prevent so much spillage. right.

the yet undefiled back seat. today.

May we travel the many miles together, as well as our time with my Previa.




You Are Chinese Food

Exotic yet ordinary. People think they’ve had enough of you, but they’re back for more in an hour.

What Kind of Food Are You?

I’m canceling my gynecological exam. Scheduled for my check up tomorrow, and I’m just not in the mood. Why would I not be in the mood? For one, I am lacking child care today, and hanging my arse out of the tissue paper gown with my feet in stirrups gives me some difficulty in effective child round-up and discipline.

For two, the whole event just bothers me. I know it’s necessary, you know it’s necessary, everyone knows it’s necessary. But what is not necessary is the annoying attempt at small talk intended to make me feel more comfortable. To engage me. I’m not going to be comfortable, I do not want to be engaged, and no amount of verbal drivel will change this. Hey, how are we today, great weather we’re having. I’m just going to put my fingers on your breast right like this…I’m not terribly modest. I don’t even wear underwear for Pete’s sake. My children see me naked all the time, and if a friend came in the house, as I was getting out of the shower, I’d probably only be embarrased at my saggy post partum belly. But to chat about the weather like he’s not fondling me in this clinical manner is absurd. So, I see from your chart you just moved. Are you liking Greenville? I’m just going to roll and squeeze this nipple, here, right like that, and now the other…Good. Can you put your arm over your head? In this position, flat on my back, I’m supposed to wax on about the merits of living in the small town south. How commerce is booming, what restaraunts I like. I give it a try. Um, well (wince at nipple tweaking), I really like that there’s so little traffic. Oh yeah, me too, now I’m going to go around the areola, that’s a great part of not being in a big city. Yeah. That’s grand.

Then it’s the OK, we’re going to have you sit up, and do the pelvic now. Are you comfortable? Hell no, I am not comfortable. I’m about to put my girly bits 3 inches from his face, and pray I showered well enough. Again, it’s not really the exam that’s so unnerving. It’s his insisting we have a little chat all the way through it. I’m thinking of questions I can ask him. So, um, how was that last vagina you took a look at? Blonde? Redhead? Yeah, those labias can be tricky when you do the speculum thing. I get settled in, spread eagle. And then get a can you scoot your bottom down just a bit more? Like I’m not already feeling his breath? I can tell what he had for lunch, and on what side of town. And somehow, that spread eagle scooting is the most humiliating part of the whole visit. It can’t be pretty. I know. I’ve seen what it all looks like. I mean, I’m all for the beauty of the body, and God’s creative wisdom in creating all sorts of things, including vaginas, but that is just not a flattering view. And I’m always wondering just what sort of person wants to get this view, like, 19 times a day? Can he be normal?

And then, this is going to be just a bit uncomfortable, gonna feel a little pressure. That damn shoehorn with the mini jack attached. And has he cranks, cranks, cranks (how wide can it go already?) he’s jabbering. You know, I saw a movie the other day with my kids…my eyes are closed, I’m practicing transporting far far away, and he’s doing a movie review while loading up on the KY. And really, it’s not that I’m embarrased of my girliness. Or my not so tight anymore body. It’s just that it feels so vulnerable, I don’t really want to wholly engage and be in that moment. I’d rather it just go on and pass, shoo, shoo, get away from here. But he won’t let me! Now, you’re going to feel my finger, and my hand pressing down from the outside. He’s trying to get his fingers to connect, one from in and one from out, through my skin. And going on about that movie. Yeah, it was about some spy, no wait (what else can I do), a family of spies. Yeah, they were undercover. OK, that’s good there. Now I’m going to feel for your ovaries. I’m transporting, I’m transporting…So anyway, yeah that feels right, this family has to capture this kid’s show guy, who’s nabbing all their friend spies, and threatening the security of the country. Did you see it? Wasn’t it a good one for the whole family? The guy is literally tickling my ovaries, and asking my opinion on a movie at the same time. I’m not here, but give a feeble effort. Um, well, OK, I think I remember that one. Yeah, very (wince again) funny. OK, Mrs. Captain Mom, I think that all feels good (really? according to whom?). Seem to be perfectly healthy. We’ll let you know via postcard the results of your pap.

As I get dressed I think about that last statement. Isn’t it sort of callous, maybe a bit crass, to probe me such and drop a postcard? It seems awfully impersonal for what we’ve been through together. At least a personal phone call, maybe? A cup of coffee? Nothing. Just a postcard, and a box of personal wet wipes left on the gurney. On to the next vagina. And the next. And the next. I wonder, what will he say to the others? Will he tell them about the great weather, the movie? Does he use the same lines on all the girls? I didn’t ask for this. I tried to transport. But he just had to go and make it personal. All his interested-in-me chatter. Damn him.

As I leave the exam area, I see him entering another room. That reassuring smile, offering his hand. I feel like chattel. Used and discarded. Replaced. And then, I go pay $180 for it. The check out lady smiles knowingly. What does she know? Does she know that he makes no disctinction from one out-stretched vagina to the next? That he tries to make us all feel comfortable with his incessant meaningless banter? That somehow, we feel, well, intimate, but we’re left with only a stupid postcard and the instructions to clean ourselves up? We’re left just hanging out to dry (so to speak)? Or does she just know that we all loathe that yearly exam, and feel helpless to do anything about it, and after all, she’s one of us, too.

to continue to address this at all. I know it should be left alone, but it’s sort of like that icky piece of peeling callous on my little toe. I. just. can’t. stop.

I just can’t help myself from pointing out a few things, in the hopeful conclusion to my picking at the this blasted callous.

1. I have yet to attack anyone. Even the Queen says she was being sarcastic, and running with the thought of sending some readers over to rumble (to be clear, not her exact words, mine).

2. I was indeed bold in my statements concerning my beliefs. I did not say anyone else should change their ideas, or even that they were wrong. I never even suggested it. I only pointed out differences, and asked some questions. And took my blog as my forum for putting what I felt down in type. Isn’t that allowed? Aren’t we all being open minded here?

3. I do not beat my children in the name of Jesus. I didn’t even quote scripture. I just said we do spank occassionally, if we feel it’s necessary. Period. And yes, it disturbs some that I would even do this on a crawling infant, but I assure you, if my strong willed crawler will not take no for an answer, and I cannot remove the danger, a pop on the hand is nothing compared to the electrical shock from a 110 voltage outlet.

4. Although she is entitled, the Queen left one comment in which, after reading through my little manifesto, said that sort of thinking made her want to vomit. I’ve not said such about anything I disagree with her on. And there would be plenty, but that just sort seems sort of rude. Just my opinion.

5. On being rude, another commenter, at her site, said I was stupid, had verbal diarreah, and shouldn’t be allowed to “breed”. Nice. May I just say again, I’ve never said anything like this to anyone. Ever. Not on this blog, and not in my life.

6. Laurie asked how I can be pro captial punishment, and pro life? Although I addressed that to her, in theory why those two positions can co-exist, I have never said I’m pro-capital punishment. In fact, I’m not. I fear the one wrong conviction sending an innocent person to death, and feel it is not for us to take a life. That’s up to God, and his deal, not ours. Again, my opinion.

7. I have agreed all hateful machinations committed in the name of Christ are wrong. Period. I’ve never condoned them. Not once, nor have I ever participated.

8. I have acknowledged Dani’s boldness as being admired. Not all her feelings on every subject. Or her husband’s. I never even mentioned him. And someone mentioned her using the word “homos”. I said, and will say one more time, I think that is wrong.

9. I appreciate Belinda’s comments. And not every post ever written, mine or another’s, is always a thesis or magazine article piece. Sure, I may wander, as thoughts swim around, but then, that’s sort of why I do this in the first place.

10. I have never excused the tragedy of the little boy being killed by a clearly disturbed woman. I don’t even like the Pearls. Which I’ve also stated clearly. I spank. They spank. That doesn’t put us in the exact same sleeping bag in the same tent, at the same camp.

11. I don’t really like Bush, either. Never said I did.

12. Kdubs seems to refer to my posts, and questions of the Queen as judging, condemning and persecuting. Out for a witch hunt. I’m not brilliant, but I’ve read and re-read these posts, comments, and whatnot, and I really don’t see that happening. On the other hand, I have been the brunt of a bit of that myself.

13. This is truly enough of this, unless anyone has a non-name calling, or bitter question for me. I’d be glad to answer.

OK, I think I’ve picked at the skin all it can take, and it seems to maybe be beginning to bleed. So it’s probably a good time to stop, and put my sock on. Whatever that means.

The weekend is gorgeous, and we’re cutting tile for new kitchen counter tops. That’s what I’ll be doing the rest of these next 2 days. And taking our son out for breakfast in the morning. Even though he’s been beaten hatefully, he seems to still want to be alone with me. Ooops. More picking. I. just. can’t. stop.

This blog world is funny. Lots and lots of witty, pithy, entertaining women putting it all out there, writing and sharing. But it has been my observation, and maybe I’m just not getting around enough, that most of these women are, well, may I say, much more liberal (Gah. I hate that word.) than I. This is fine. Really. It takes all kinds, right? But when I say, leave a comment or something, asking about an issue. Maybe for clarification, or OK, maybe I’m being an eensy weensy bit beligerant, and feel somewhat compelled to well, point out a contradiction in there thinking, I am sometimes deleted. Washed right off the comments board. Poof! As if I never was. Why? I promise I was nice. Just not in agreement.

I may be awhile here.

Like at The Queen of Spain. Now maybe I just accidentally hit delete, instead of post, but when I asked if she saw any contradiction in these two posts, my comment seems to have vanished. Basically, I was asking about her thinking that her SIL was around the bend for having trouble with the potential message that Barbie sends young girls, but she had a later post about trashing a toy tank given to her son becauses she didn’t like the potential message it could give him. She thought her SIL was being pretty ridiculous. I was just wondering. OK, I was goading a bit.

I see 2 camps out there. One is the sort of blog described above, which I think is entertaining, and often well written (just my humble opinion). Funny women. Women willing to hang their dirty laundry out there. Discuss their anatomy when applicable. Tell it like it is when their four year old smears his boogers on the ceiling. But often, although certainly not always, these blogs are by women that will generally clash with my core set of beliefs. That’s fine. It’s just that I like to read good writing at interesting sites. And if I go looking for blogs that are, well, more conservative or let me just say it, Christian, typically what I find is bland stuff covered in quilted duck prints. Does believing in Jesus = Hummel figurines and teddy bear back grounds? Whassup with that? Does having witty prose and a dynamic site = anti-faith and a firm belief that any spanking is child abuse?

I know I could be over generalizing here, but I’m telling you, I see it over and over and over. And from previous experience, I can say with certainty that if you decide you’d like to speak your mind, and it’s *gasp* conventional, or even worse, your best interpretation of Biblically based, buckle up. You are poo poo for a swarm of flies out there.

On the other hand, often (I’m trying hard not to paint with too broad a stroke here), if you’d like to agree that porn with your husband is fun (I could link sites here), or gay marriage should be legal, or that there are no consequences to shacking up and not marrying, then bring it on sister. We’re all in this together. Unless, of course, you’re a Jesus freak. It’s about the only kind of freak not allowed. Because we aaaallll know that means you condemn, hate and use that worthless piece of antiquity, otherwise known as the Bible, as an excuse to stay atop your high horse. You may disagree with others’ choices all. day. long. Unless your reason for disagreeing is in some effort to walk out a faith that calls us to something higher than doing just whatever feels good whenever we want.

I’m still sounding this out. Go take a break if you want. Pee. Get a drink. Or go on to another more important task in your day. I’m just saying my piece.

There has been a firestorm among homeschool bloggers this last couple of weeks. A tragedy happened in North Carolina. A small boy was killed by a clearly disturbed care giver, in an effort to make him stay in bed. She claimed parenting advice gleened from a ministry in Tennessee, No Greater Joy, suggested such tactics. No matter who suggests what, no balanced parent or care giver would have gone to the lengths this woman did, resulting in this little boy’s death.

But now, light has been shined on No Greater Joy. And in an attempt to just summarize here, they believe in and advocate spanking, training, and teaching children actively. As a parent, we are responsible for their well being, and how they turn out. D’uh. But in doing this, they advocate certain tactics that bristle quite a few people, and sometimes me, as well. But in general terms, their message is one I believe in. We are the ones to prepare our children for the world, and for the role to which the Lord is leading them. We train them. Train seems to be a very bad word among many bloggers now. Why? We say potty train, why not train to teach manners, respect, how to tie shoes, zip pants, say excuse me, not hit a sibling, and on and on. But the worst part is that the Pearls, the founder of NGJ, advocate spanking. With an object. Like a small, thin, line of plumbing pipe. Or a switch. Or maybe a wooden spoon. If the first makes you blanche, I understand. But if you consider spanking OK, then consider that a thin piece of something delivers only a swift sting, while a hand, to get the point across, can be heavy, and bruising. I can practically hear the anger bubbling all over the blogosphere over this comment. Homeschoolers are up in arms, and dividing right and left, literally, and battle lines are being drawn. Are the “pro-spankers” spitting on the “anti-spankers” (these terms are ridiculous) Nope. It’s the other way around. But don’t get me wrong. I am not enamoured with Michael Pearl. I think he’s arrogant. But if he’s suggesting that I may need to spank my child, I’m in agreement. Even an 8 or 9 month old who can crawl and touch something dangerous is completely capable of understanding a pop on the hand each time she does so means no. More bile rising, I’m sure.

At ODonnel Web, he has pointed out:

GMALASHEP

It’s pronounced Ga-Mala-Shep, and it’s apparently some sort of secret organization that is organizing the boycott of Homeschoolblogger. It’s just a tool they are using to spread their anti-Christian message far and wide…BTW, it stands for Gay, Marxist, Atheist, Libertarian, ACLU Supporting, Home Educating Parents.

And the primary venom is being aimed at Christians. Because some of us, although while not suggesting any child rearing book should be read without prayer and a giant dose of salt, do feel spanking is perfectly appropriate. If not just necessary. And we believe a whole host of other stuff that riles the above self described. Spanking just seems to be a hallmark of which side of the fence you sit on, modern and enlightened, or convential and of grandma’s school.

I’m of grandma’s school. And I try my best to be of God’s. I must not be enlightened. And if the current culture of children is the result of such parental enlightenment, Lord help us all.

I am a believer. In Christ as the son of God, and in the Holy Trinity of their existence as Father, Son and Spirit.

And in the redeeming love and grace of Christ’s sacrifice and death on the cross.

I try to live my life according to this principle the best I can.

I believe that next to being a child of God, that my privilege of wife and mother is the hightest calling I could ever have.

I believe that am in a supportive, partnership role with my husband. That I am here to help him be the best man God is calling him to be. And that he is here to love me, as unconditionally and sacrificially as he is able with God’s grace.

I’m not embarrassed to be a “help-meet”.

We are created differently, as God intended men and women to be. But complimentary, as He also intended.

No ship can have 2 captains. If we just can’t come to agreement, I’ll defer to him, in the knowledge that every decision he makes is the best prayerful one he can. In honoring him, I honor the Lord.

I do not believe the public school are adequate to prepare our children for the rest of their lives.

Most private schools would not be able, either.

We homeschool not for the best education in subjects like math and history, but for the best preparation of their hearts and spirits.

Yes. It is like brainwashing. Someone will, it better be us.

I believe our children should be, brace yourself, obedient. And respect us as their authority, in an exercise to learn to submit to the authority of our Lord. I know, radical.

Although we often like to give explanations, I believe in because I said so.

I don’t think shacking up before marriage is right.

Or sex before marriage, either.

I struggle with 2 partners of the same sex adopting or having children together. There is a reason God created the family with a mother and a father.

I believe I can completely disagree with another person’s way of life, or choices in life, and never let any hatred or condemnation enter the relationship. Jesus did it.

I think it’s OK to say no, I don’t choose that for me. And that making that decision comes from a jugdement we are called to make, as believers. Again, that doesn’t mean we act in anything but love towards those we disagree with.

I believe house work and meal planning are blessings to my family, and a high holy calling. And every bit as important, if not more so, than the highest paid job out there.

I’m not just a mom. I am a mother.

I believe pornography is wrong. In any use. Even in consensual married relationships. So what defines porn? I can only say what my definition is, for me. But I sure feel like I can make some broad strokes here.

I believe abortion is wrong, and that it breaks the Lord’s heart. But I’m not at all sure I want it legislated by the government.

I believe there is a real spirtual battle going on . For our children, especially. And God calls us to the battle front.

So that’s it. I’m outed. A bible thumping, conventional thinking, occasional child-spanking, husband-honoring, toilet cleaning, meal making, homeschooling, prayer saying, Jesus freak. And I intend to talk about it as freely as some women do their vibrators.

Thanks, Dani, for a bit of inspiration.

Why Homeschool posted a great article. It seems Time has a recent piece called The Multitasking Generation. Henry Cate sumarizes the main thrust of the article with this:

A main part of the article is that with our advances in technology, and how cheap the new toys are, many children have computers, cell phones, and so on. And they’ll use them all at the same time, and often while they are at school or at home. The current generation of children is multitasking at a degree higher than ever before. Researches are concerned that too much time spent trying to multitask is harmful. “Habitual multitasking may condition their brain to an overexcited state, making it difficult to focus even when they want to. ‘People lose the skill and the will to maintain concentration …’” (I added the bold) Some children are spending all their time trying to do several things at once. The article makes the point that it is important “… for parents and educators to teach kids, preferably by example, that it’s valuable, even essential, to occasionally slow down, unplug and take time to think about something for a while.”

And then he quoted the most powerful statement made in this piece:

“For all the handwringing about Generation M, technology is not really the problem. ‘The problem,’ says Hallowell, ‘is what you are not doing if the electronic moment grows too large’–too large for the teenager and too large for those parents who are equally tethered to their gadgets. In that case, says Hallowell, ‘you are not having family dinner, you are not having conversations, you are not debating whether to go out with a boy who wants to have sex on the first date, you are not going on a family ski trip or taking time just to veg. It’s not so much that the video game is going to rot your brain, it’s what you are not doing that’s going to rot your life.” (he added the bold.)

For years, I’ve heard a statement almost just like this. From my own parents, who against the grain of nearly everyone they knew, wouldn’t just let us sit in front of the tube. Friend after friend would ask “what’s so wrong with (pick a show)”, and my parents would respond, “what’s so right about it?”. It was not about whether or not the program itself was harmful, but about what other things could we possibly be doing with our time. And at that time, TV was just about it for the media distraction. I was about 10 before Dad bought our first Pong game. That fascninating ping ping back and forth across the black screen, flanked by fat white dashes to create a video game of Ping Pong. There were no cell phones. There were no handheld electronic games (until we were about 12). No iPods. No laptops. No virtual pets. Palm Pilots. Walkmen (or mans? and is this even out there anymore?) Good Lord, I’m feeling old.

But now. Now it is a free-for-all. And I’ve been able to witness first hand how addictive this stuff can be. In our home, our own 10 year old would melt into a video game or anime’ cartoon, if he could just will it so. And we’ve witnessed, when that stuff goes on, his brain goes out. Nighty-night. No more base thinking skills. Forget attitude, manners, or the ability to answer a question or follow a 2 item sequence of instruction. And at 10, he’s asking when does he get his cell phone? Is he kidding me? Like maybe when he can pay for one and is not constantly with me? How would I call him now? From the kitchen to the bedroom? He’s 10. And he’s homeschooled. How far can he possibly go? But that’s not the point, now is it. It’s all about having the stuff.

I am convinced that the prolific barage of media of all sorts is robbing our children of potential we’ll never know could be realized. That it literally alters the brain development. Check out The Plug In Drug, if you haven’t. Or studies between learning disabilities and too much media, here, here or here.

If you’re a parent, and you have media in your house (who doesn’t), be able to say no. Not now. You’ve had too much. That’s enough. Get outside and use your imagination. Your child’s future brain power may just depend on it.

at Mommy Brain. And I like it. Go. Check it out. There are some out there who really need this message.

Found at Dani’s site. I don’t feel well enough to wax on here, but boy, I sure could. Just more evidence that teaching our children at home is the only choice we have.

1940’s Top Disciplinary Problems:
Chewing gum
Talking-out-of-turn
Making noise
Running in the halls
Cutting in line
Dress-code violations

1990’s Top Disciplinary Problems:
Assault
Robbery
Drug abuse
Alcohol
Suicide
Pregnancy

Wonder if God and prayer being removed from the public school in the 1960’s (not to mention the new liberties being afforded in our society at that time, some good, yes, have had major impact on the family and the comittment and desire to remain one, in a role that is actually beneficial to the children coming into those families) could have anything at all to do with this?

In 2005, we can add school shootings, stabbings, drug dealing, pornography, along with rape and child molestation; committed by teachers and students alike.

Yay social progress.

Listening to music while doing math or handwriting focuses Private Two’s brain and enables her to much more quickly, and profienctly do the job at hand. Breakthrough. And better than the way I felt about it, was the way she felt about it. Mommy, I feel like a did accomplished something really major today, like I did something really important.

Why would she feel this way? Because for the last few weeks, it has taken her 2-3 times as long to complete the same tasks given not only to her older brother, but her younger by 3 years brother. Even if I gave her time and space by herself. And why else is this interesting to me? It’s just like her Daddy. Who, as a designer, does all his best work while listening to music, in the shower, or running. Something to distract him from becoming, well, distracted.

Other news? 20-25 minutes a day with an Alpha Phonics book, and a couple of books she really digs has already significantly increased her fluency. And her confidence? Through the roof today, as she read a second grade book to her Daddy. She’s in the second grade.

Today, schooling at home is looking really good. Tomorrow? Hell if I know.