Benson.

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Last year I made the gutsy decision to switch this little life story of mine over to a different blog, one that I hoped would center a little more specifically around home schooling now that we were doing it officially with two kids. I stopped blogging over here, obviously, and I have been writing at least monthly in the other one, but haven’t actively sought a new readership. I just haven’t had time.

Of course, not making time to write is mostly from me physically not having any free time on my hands to do it anymore. But on some level, it also means that writing has become a little less important to me. If it were as big a priority to me as, say, picking up milkshakes with the kids every Thursday after the library, than I’d find the time for it. (What can I say, Shamrock Shakes are a passion like no other.) Usually, when things are rough for me, writing helps. I wind up doing it more even when there are half a trillion more pressing obligations vying for my attention in the background, silent but deafeningly obnoxious. Likewise, when I’m not writing, it’s usually because things are going pretty well.

And now that things are going well, it bothers me a little that people who read so much about our family in times when they weren’t, always, don’t get to see it.

For one, I am baffled by how much home schooling has helped Mary to grow. I am equally in awe of how take-charge she’s become about her workload everyday. I’ve started to write about the slow, costly, ultimately successful transformation no less than a dozen times this month alone, to no avail. Time is just never on my side these days. Our mornings start so early, breaking just to eat is sometimes such a burden… But there is such an abundance of good news to share. It’s hard to believe that this time last year I worried so much about where we’d be right now with her. The kid is an ace. She really is. For the sake of avoiding the jinx that would wind up turning this into another unfinished blog post, I won’t get into that now. I will later though, promise. For now I’ll just go on record saying, I don’t know how I could be any more proud of her.




In other news, we also got a dog! Like, whoa, right?

I know, I know, that’s not usually a big screaming deal for most families, but it really was for us. You, old blog, are not familiar with what a hellstorm home schooling has brought unto the unsuspecting order of my little brick house. If I ever thought that raising three kids, on it’s own, was hell on the unyielding girth of our home, forgive me for being an idiot. Homeschooling has us living day-to-day in a way that actually, on sort of a serious note, makes both me and my husband notably unhappy. Like, we know that it was a necessary thing and all, and that it was good for her and stuff, and that we don’t regret that we did it and everything… but my gosh, I can’t even remember what a luxury it must have been not to live in a world where scissors, pencil shavings and uncapped now-uselessly-dry markers don every imaginable surface. What were we talking about again?

Oh yeah, the cutest Goshdarned thing in the universe.

So getting puppy was weird. Well, wanting to get a puppy was weird. It wasn’t a whim. It was something I’ve been aching to do for almost a year now - if not maybe longer. I don’t know. I don’t write anything down anymore.

Puppies don’t make messy houses cleaner. I know that. If they weren't so freakin cute, more people would see them for what they really are: garbage disposals that poop - and also only dispose of things you want to keep.

But they are pretty good for easing panic that comes with realizing, holy shit, kid, you’re only just turning 27 and will never have another child ever again. Like, ever. You’re approaching that time in your life when these are the things (bridal registries, house hunting Saturdays, gender-reveal parties with personalized invitations) that would traditionally fill your world with butterflies for the next four to six years. But for you, they are already a page in your diary, dog-eared and relived many, many times since they happened.

Even though this year I needed the responsibility of training a puppy like Dolly Parton needs more plastic surgery, it was an investment. Next year, with Mary and Matthew both suddenly just… away… at school all day, I know I’ll need the warmth and distraction of a hefty, time-consuming responsibility. Scarlett is too much fun to count. She’s not even a challenge. Man, while we’re on the topic, isn’t she the best?

Anyway, Benson is remarkably more awesome than anything we expected to get out of a free exchange at six months old. He’s very low energy compared to every obnoxious dog I’ve ever owned, or even watched someone else own from a close distance. And that makes him all the more hilarious once you get outside with him off-leash, because he is a freakin jackrabbit once he has the space to run around. Everyone loves a crazy ball of energy pup… especially one that comes promptly when called, gives polite eye contact for treats, uses the bathroom outside in the same area everyday, has a predictable and courteous potty schedule, walks without ever pulling on the leash and doesn’t rocket out the door any time someone opens it a crack from inside, doesn’t pounce on people like they’re inanimate playthings with kidneys that cannot be punctured, is somehow perplexingly civilized inside of the house, and has never eaten food off the table.

Really, the only down side to him so far is that he likes to make a snack of his own steaming piles of poop sometimes, which… is not attractive, I’ll admit. He also eats everything in sight. And that’s bad when it means I can’t just lay things that, no, Benson, I did not actually mean to throw in the trash on the coffee table. But it’s good when my floor is remarkably spotless because if a kid does forget to put a toy of theirs away as SOON as they’re finished playing with it so it won’t get eaten (you mean that was POSSIBLE!?) - it’s already eaten.

Gotta say… I did not expect, after owning barely managed cats who have learned to rely more on birds for food than the five and twelve-year-olds responsible for keeping them alive, that owning a dog would suddenly and miraculously teach my darlings so much about responsibility.

Never underestimate the persuasive powers of dog logic. “Pick up that toy, buddy, or I will not hesitate to gnaw that shit into an unrecognizable plastic deformity, poop it’s digestible parts out onto a pile of leaves in the backyard, eat it all over again, and then lick your damn face.” This dog is a prodigy, I’m telling you. It might be better at raising my kids than I am.

Yo, I'm at Wordpress.

Pin It Alright guys, I've done it. I'm at wordpress now. This one's been building clutter now for a while and it finally bothered me enough to split homeschooling material, art material, and personal junk into separate but equal spaces.

www.LittleBWords.wordpress.com will take you to our new personal blog 

and 

www.NewRidgeHomeschool.wordpress.com will take you to the blog I'll be updating daily with a quick breakdown of our day 'at school.' 

Fresh starts are nice, and I'm looking forward to this one. Please, come keep me company because I'll be jumping from 180-some followers to zero. And my daughter already makes fun of me for having significantly less friends on facebook than she does. Seriously, her last message on my timeline was: "That awkward moment when your daughter has more friends than you do on fb." What a little B word, right? ;-) 

Her Birthday.

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We've been so busy adjusting lately that Scarlett turning two was sort of marginalized right up until it actually happened.

Then the day came. And suddenly, our little punk woke up looking just the same as she had everyday before it for quite some time, but being this brand new, unfamiliar number. And I can't explain why it mattered, but it suddenly did.

Before she woke up I wrote this long, embarrassing letter to her. Then after dressing in the first fall outfit of the year, we took her to the apple orchard. The orchard is dubbed the official tradition for our family in celebrating Scarlett. It just so happened to be the first place that we took her to as a newborn, fresh from the hospital bassinet. Well, that's not true. Actually the first place she had ever gone as a newborn was a wedding that I was a bridesmaid in - which is pretty notable for a kid who's ten days old, but the orchard was the first place our family had gone, officially complete. Seeing the photo afterward of myself, hunched together with these four ridiculous people I've come to love in such a short time like flowers love spring, grinning under that universally unflattering 2:00 sun in a wagon of hey was incomparable to any other I've felt before or since. The week she turned one, we wound up there again. I can't remember now if it was coincidence or not. But the picture of her actually leaning over the wagon herself this time, smiling like she somehow knew this would wind up being the kind of shot we'd show at her high school graduation party - it made me want to never, ever stop getting ones like it. So far, we haven't.

This year, being so mentally beat from adjusting to homeschool and its accompanying changes to family life, we decided just to forgo the party and take her there instead. We invited a few family and friends - most of whom couldn't make it on such short notice -  but there was no cake, only a handful of balloons her brother and sister blew up in the car ride there, and no money spent other than the price of admission and the nine dollars splurged on a toy broom and dustpan I had her pick out from the store herself.

It was one of the greatest days in Stucky family history - without any of that. In fact, I think it was even better without any of the usual, stress-inducing distractions. Because, like everyday since the one in which we perched her, looking terribly uncomfortable on top of a pumpkin at eleven days old, it was filled with her in a hundred irreplaceable ways. Ways that make everyday as a part of our family, incredible.

I mean, wow. Just look at all we have to celebrate over cider and doughnuts.

Successes, Little and Ginormo-humongous.

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Preparation 

Daylight breaks in a gap between the curtains and the coffee isn't piping anymore. It's my cue, finishing up with grades. This is when I tidy the schoolroom a little. I gather the paintbrushes and cardstock we'll need later, write a summary of her activities on the dry-erase Monday-Friday calendar posted above her desk, and transfer today's print-outs from the filing cabinet to her work tray. This is when I pull up any relevant websites we'll use today: dictionary.com, a Grammar Girl article, an image, historical maps, video clips. I take a minute to brush through each of her textbooks, just so the information is fresh in my head. Then I plan the day for Matthew. 

Preschool Time 

The shower hisses to start a few rooms away and dishes echo into the kitchen sink after breakfast. Matthew and I meet in the school room, Scarlett usually trailing in a thin, bopping ponytail behind us, and we do "circle time" activities at the calendar; singing, spinning, pointing and clapping. After that, we have a phonics lesson about letter blends at the start of words, or word families that rhyme. He helps me to spell special words at the board with magnet letters and a dry erase marker and chants, earning candycorn with his lunch for tough ones that he gets on the first try. Then, he gets to illustrate each of the words, which is always his favorite part - one that lasts for as long as I'll allow it to before I need the board for Mary's grammar lesson. Today he's watching a leap frog video on complex words, because that's what we've been practicing to spell lately. Aside from joining us later to do crafts, listening to a story, and touching on math for a bit, he's free to play. Usually though, he likes to hover near, crafting at his desk or on the floor while I work with his sister. 

Morning Work 

Mary starts the day, sometimes with a clear lack of enthusiasm, by typing. I forgive her shortness of patience when it's an issue because it's early. "Fingers poised above home keys the whole time," I remind her, trying hard not to be a neuisance. Failing. We move onto reading, and that's more successful, a little less like stepping lightly around chipped glass. The Giver is a book that she picked out from the library on her own - one of my favorites growing up, and required reading for fifth grade. It's a great place to start because both of us know and love this story, which means that we can pull more from the text than what's in black and white. I read most of it, but we alternate the narrative, discussing occurrences at the end. Intermittently, I clear up parts of conversation that make her hesitate and squint. As always, she reads with a beautiful inflection in her tone, giving life to narration the way a third grade teacher would to a library class - and I enjoy it so much. Being read to is a joy no matter what age you are, I think. The babies seem to agree. Though he only comments on small parts that are easy to understand, Matthew listens. And because of that, so does Scarlett. 

If it's Monday, Mary has vocabulary to work on. This week her focus word is "patriarch", but there's vocabulary woven into every one of her subjects. Plus, we'll take the time to tack any new words that we come across in our studies on a decorated slip of paper to a wall in the schoolroom once we've had the chance to look it up. Otherwise, there are just a few cursive tracing exercises to complete within her morning work binder. At least, that's what the default routine is, but I've left morning-work activities open ended in the schedule so that we can take this time to learn about other things unrelated to the curriculum if there's an opportunity. For instance, on September 11th, we watched a documentary. The next day, after she bombarded me with a ton of terrific questions about Al Qaeda, we took the following morning to look over a Ven diagram, the top half of which compared Muslims to Christians; the bottom half of which compared extremist Muslims to extremist Christians. Over the next few weeks, we'll be following the presidential interviews and debates. 

Then we get down to brass tax. 

The Daily Grind, Part 1. (Grammar/Spelling/Editing/Writing) 

Mary hates grammar most, which makes sense because growing up, I loved it. She and I are polar opposites in regard to any school-related interest. (Save for reading, but that's only really become an enjoyable obligation to her in recent weeks. A MAJOR homeschool success, as far as I'm concerned.) So knowing this, we knock grammar out of the way first thing.

There are pitfalls to this. Last week, in a fit of bravery, she threw her worksheet about past participles of irregular verbs onto the floor and after refusing to pick it up, resigned herself to dish-duty for the day and half a week of grounding. Nothing triggered it, she wasn't even struggling to provide the answers. But this is the merry-go-round that we're on. 

Let me digress here for a minute just to point out that most of our days are spent skating, without a hiccup, from one subject into the next. It's just that there's a point in almost any given day, where she has to challenge my authority, brazenly, regardless of the consistent consequence. We get past it every time, returning to our work with an attitude for the rest of the day that's both pleasant and cooperative, but not before she has to be punished. It's discouraging - more to me than to her, I'm sure. Last week, when she threw her paper to the floor, I went so far as to ask her (genuinely, so that she had an "out" of the situation) if there were anything that I could do at that point to earn her cooperation before I was forced to dole out another consequence, and she told me no. Adding that she didn't even care if I grounded her. When moments like this occur, I have to stop teaching because we've hit a wall. When she refuses to learn, no amount of preaching or prying from me is going to make it happen until she decides herself, to want it. This is the biggest difference between teaching a classroom full of students and teaching a single one. If three kids in a classroom are refusing to learn, there are still a majority who are going to hear what you say, and respond. If the single student in a homeschool setting refuses to cooperate, you can't even continue to talk. 

Like it or not, she's in control of the situation from this point. She also loses the opportunity to communicate with me until it can happen respectfully. This takes time from our day obviously, which is a testing scenario, but it's the only strategy I've found to be effective. 

Nevertheless, it is effective. So once that's over, and she's taken a break to collect her thoughts over a few retroactive chores, we get back to work. 

Grammar is not always a struggle. There's a lot of work involved and it's not only difficult to make exciting (because there are no less than three lengthy worksheets a day to complete), it's also a subject that I think's been neglected in her recent years of public schooling. Despite that, more and more often, she works with a diligence here that makes me proud. One really great thing that we get out of there being so much practice involved, is that for most of the week, her work is independent. This frees time for me to work on math or Reading Eggs with Matthew. Scarlett takes this time to color next to us, or pretend that she's a part of the lesson. Sometimes it's a challenge to focus when she's being such a daggone cutie, but after that it's off for a nap, so we eat up all the time that we have with her around and try to enjoy it as much as we can. 

After grammar, there's writing. This takes a level of effort that she doesn't like to give up to me easily, but it's creative, too, so there's a degree of fun to it. She's fought me on this one a time or two or twelve, but her writing has already begun to sprout by leaps and bounds. Seriously, a little guidance and the girl's aptitude has just taken off. Time and again, this is where I see homeschooling pay off. Still, finishing feels good. Spelling is next, and if it's a Tuesday, she'll have an editing worksheet to complete after that, while there will be other subjects she won't have that day. 

Lunch and Reading 

This is usually where we'd take a break to get some lunch. Yesterday, as I sometimes do, I took the opportunity while we were all around the table eating, to read aloud. Mary couldn't choose between two really great chapter books at the library last week (The Giver and Number the Stars. I mean, wow!), so it felt good to forge ahead in the one we're on now so that we'll have time enough to get to the second before they're returned. Subjects after this are all major ones; fact-based more than skill or practice, almost always accompanied by some sort of project. And this is where we shine. 

Part 2. (Math/Science/History) 

While Mary works on her math program (which is done independently on the computer unless a given lesson is particularly challenging - as has been the case now that we're into more complicated division), I clean up the house, then read Matthew a story and take him outside. More often than not, this is when his friend from a few houses down knocks on the door, asking to play.  We pile pillows from the patio furniture in the grass under the shade of our tree, and I read a few of the books that they've picked out together. I give them each a turn to say what they're DYING to say about each illustration after I've read the page, before I turn to the next, lifting a finger to my lips so everyone can hear. This part of the day is, without a question, one of my favorite rituals. It ends with each of them saying thanks, helping to put back the books and the pillows, tackling me with a hug to the leg, and then scampering off into the yard. 

While Matthew's playing, I tend to the baby and check on Mary. When she's ready to switch subjects, I try to do it balancing a grab-happy toddler on my hip. This part of the day can be a little tricky to navigate because the baby's not even a little tired and Matthew's at his rowdiest, joined now by sometimes as many as three neighborhood friends who all want refreshments at mismatched intervals. Sometimes though, Matthew just wants to play at a friends' house which is OH MY GOSH, AWESOME. Still, the baby is a factor and dinner-prep is closing in. The good news is, we're over any behavior hurtles by this time of day, so in comparison, the skies are clear and the sailing is pretty smooth. 

If the assignment Mary has for history or science is one that she needs to work on independently, I'll drive the kids up the street to our neighborhood park. Having a minute to breathe easy for a while on a park bench while the kids contentedly wear themselves out independent of me, is pricelessly therapeutic. Even if I use the time outdoors with them to burn a little of my own pent-up energy, it's a nice recharge before getting back to the grind. 

Back at the house, we do some kind of hands-on activity. Something messy. And we have fun. Last week, while Mary dug further into the rich history of ancient middle east, Matthew learned a corresponding bible story about Joseph and the colorful coat, which takes place in the same historical setting. To tie the two of their lessons together, I had Mary do a short research paper on the history of famine - and then bake cookies!

Our activity was to cut "gingerbread men" out of homemade sugar cookies that Mary was to bake, and decorate them with a "coat" made of colorful icing and sprinkles that, like Joseph's coat, would shimmer in the sun. Most of what we learned about famine from the research project was too gruesome for Matthew to be taught, but with cookie crumbles falling into our lap, we discussed with him what famine was, exactly, and answered A LOT of his questions about it. I've noticed that the two of them are starting to learn a lot from each other's separate assignments; Matthew gets to participate in most of Mary's projects and watch the videos that I gather for her lessons - while explaining concepts to Matthew and answering his questions about what we're doing helps Mary to internalize the information she's just taken in. 

Last was physics because we ran out of time before making it to mechanics. Atoms! This subject is one of my favorites because it's not only pretty easy to make interesting, Matthew can memorize almost the same level of information that Mary can - even if he doesn't fully comprehend it all right now. We learned that size-wise, the nucleus of an atom is akin to a marble in a football stadium. We learned that the most accurate way to visualize the insane density of an atom would be to imagine somehow stuffing every single car that has ever been created into a 1 foot square box. Then we watched a funny music video parody about atoms (people in costumes, holding electrons) combining to make different chemical compounds - calling out the elements we recognize right away from their abbreviation on the costume. After that, we made our own lithium atom out of painted Styrofoam spheres and drinking straws that today, we'll display on a cardboard square decorated to look like the lithium square on our periodic table. We also memorized this song from last week, just because it's awesome. Yeah... Come on, come on and meet the elements... 

I can't even begin to pretend that homeschooling isn't the most difficult thing I've ever tried to do alone. I've battled with my daughter like never before; I've cried to my mother over the phone in hair-pulling desperation for answers to conflict; I've even stood, without much of a defense, against my husband's encouragement to maybe consider that we stop. I have had support, but as a whole, it's been a lonely, alienating struggle. 

Today I stand, not far from those occurrences, charged with a current of sudden, unmistakable sureness that she is learning to learn again. Maybe for the first time. At the heart of all this confusion, mostly derived from trying to settle into a routine before either of us were on the same page, it's always been convincing her to take a self-propelled interest in learning that has been key. That's always been the drive behind wanting so badly to do this, even when it was tough. And it's paying off - finally and bountifully. 

She isn't just working harder, absorbing the information and retaining the information, but beginning to enjoy the pursuit of it. The research. The editing. The refinement of presentation. The pride in craftsmanship. Finally believing that in every job that must be done, there is an element of fun - or at least, less of a necessity to compare your life to a fart. 

Something she does with alarming frequency, by the way. Alarming. 

By the second week of the school year, Matthew began to fight me on every planned activity I offered - right down to holiday crafts - when he saw how much his big sister did it. And for a while, I thought that irreparable damage was being done. And that's just gone now. Sure, he's still a four-year-old. He still needs a little tug from time to time, reminding him not to do handstands off of his school desk, but he takes pride in a job well done - which requires doing a job in the first place. And we're there again. And I love it. 

Plus, I mean.. They're working together. Brother and sister, side by side. Laughing, learning, all that mushy, gushy, feel-good momma stuff. I love that even more. 

The Nitty-Gritty.

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Mary has had to learn this year that sometimes, just because something is good for you, doesn’t mean that it’ll be easy. Even after she accepted that home school was probably the best thing for her, she struggled with the fact that just ‘accepting’ it wouldn’t be enough. I expected more than the bare minimum of effort out of her and I think that came to her as a big surprise.

For the past few weeks we’ve wrestled with the idea of who is in charge. It wasn’t easy for her to get, at first, that just because I want the best for her, doesn’t mean that I’ll bend to her every whim. Just because I trust and value her input doesn’t mean that I want her to call the shots.

For the first time in the history of our relationship, we’ve fought. It was rough on me because I’ve never genuinely “fought” with one of my kids before. Matthew’s always been the one to defy me, and because of his age, it’s always been easy for me to see past the verbal jabs he took for what they really were - a cry for attention, a need for rest, a rush of emotion too big for him to handle all alone - but with Mary it was different. She’s at an age where the opinion she voices can sometimes really sting; her words carry a weight with me that suddenly pack a punch I can’t so easily dismiss. I have to have the will and patience made of solid steel to decipher in the heat of a moment, where what she’s saying actually stems from. She just got loud with me: Quick! Is she testing my resolve right now, or does she really not understand why this assignment is important? Is she being insubordinate, or did I do something first that made her feel the need to get defensive?

More to the point, she can’t learn if she’s unhappy. And that posed a problem I couldn’t conquor all alone because she was determined, with all the wrath of a woman scorned, to be exactly that: decidedly unhappy.

At the price of too much of my sanity (literally, my hair is falling out by the fistful), we’ve reached an easy understanding. Everyday we make it to the end of a school day feeling good about what we learned. I like to ask her at the end of a particularly grueling assignment: “Whoo! So, do ya feel smarter?” and she’ll answer every time with a non-begrudging yes. We hug easily four times as much as we ever did before. At first it was just because we fought so often that making-up happened more too. Now, it’s just the way we like to start and end a conversation.

I worried, when we got into the nitty-gritty of this, if it was going to hurt our relationship more than fixing her social-educational life was worth. After all, as the mom, so many other facets of her well-being depend on the two of us being at a respectable standing with one another. If she keeps losing respect for me because… let’s face it, I’m not perfect at handling all of this sudden controversy under such a stressful load of responsibility - then, what?

But everyday so far for more than a week, she’s grown in a visible way.  Without being asked, she takes care of her little sister. The sister that, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t even think she noticed half the time before. Now, she’s doing her hair and bathing her and changing her diaper and insisting on putting her to bed. She works side-by-side with Matthew everyday, even on things that he sometimes is too young to help out on without hindering production. She’s become patient. She’s become softer. She’s become impressively considerate. More importantly, she’s learned more than I could have ever hoped to teach her before about how to voice opinions in a way that won’t show disregard for someone else’s.

It’s been hard on her to separate from the friends she had at school. Don’t get me wrong, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that it needed to happen, but I can’t ignore that it’s been the roughest part for her. She’s come to depend a lot on the girls on our street for companionship. They come over everyday after school and go places together in the afternoons. She’s joined a youth group that she has an absolute blast at every week - but she takes her best friend, and that’s probably slowed her from reaching out to other kids there yet. I know it’ll happen for her, but she’s voiced that it’s tough to reach out and find friends when you aren’t surrounded by kids your own age all day long. She’s never had to put even the smallest effort into finding friends; they’ve always flocked to her because of that outgoing, clown-around personality. Next week she starts girl scouts with two of her friends, and soon she’ll be getting into 4-H, too. So we’ll cross our fingers and see where that goes.

Despite that hurtle, though, her self-esteem is through the roof. Or so it seems, at least. For the first time in… well, probably as long as I’ve known her, she just looks proud of herself all the time. And it’s manifested itself in such positive ways, too. Everyday she asks to help cook, for instance, and without looking for constant reassurance or bragging, she just looks and sounds so pleased - graciously saying thank you when we gush over how awesome she is, offering to do it again as much as we want her to. I’m not sure how to explain the difference between how she is now and how she was then, but she looks like she feels more at ease, if that makes sense. More content. So much less defensive. In a word: happy.

I never expected her to be super-grateful that I was putting so much of myself into this effort. I mean, first off, she’s twelve. Secondly, this wasn’t her choice. And to boot, there were a lot of things about this that we went into it knowing wouldn’t be easy. But honestly, she has been. Not from the beginning, no… But she has been, despite everything else. And that takes character that I wouldn’t have guessed her to have. Character that I don’t think most kids have at such a tender age. I don’t think that I can credit home schooling itself for turning anything around. I don’t. That’s really all just books and worksheets and projects. I think it’s probably more to do with the time we’re forced to be around each other, and the position we’re in to depend on every member of the family.

We’re uncovering things about ourselves through the rough patches of this experience that we didn’t know were under the surface. Myself included. And when things get rough, we don’t get an hour between dinner and bed to hash it out and then a night and a day to almost forget that it happened. We have to solve it. We have to get to the other side of the experience, and we have to do it together. And I don't know, I think we've done pretty well.

Mary Joins A Youth Group.

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Over the weekend, Mary found a youth group.

There’s this church that my parents have been begging us to sit in on for months. This preacher is different, they kept telling us. He’s like, cool and stuff. And young. And relatable. And they call this place, “real church for real people.” It sounded like a lot of fluff I’ve heard before, a claim that always, always falls short of being the truth. And it annoyed me a little every time they’d bring it up, as if this were some revolutionary idea. Hey! Let's make church cool so even people who love God won't hate going! 

I love being a Christian, but I’m not any better about celebrating it outside of Christmas than anyone else. I drag my children to Sunday service in a stuffy room and suffer through their embarrassing behavior over awful gonging of an echoing organ, out of something that is more parts obligation and guilt than any respectable reason. As a parent eager to set my daughter on a path of hypocritical righteousness, though - or at least halfway decent decorum - I decided on Sunday that we’d sit in on this special-event-service thing this so-called “cool” church was having called Hot Seat. The notice on facebook said that Pastor Mark would host five sessions that weekend, of sitting on stage, answering hard, real-life, no-holds-barred questions about faith, submitted by others - without seeing any of them ahead of time. I respected that, and I thought that since right now I was under-qualifiedly tackling the elephant of answering Mary's questions on the subject alone, this was worth checking out.

Mary wasn’t thrilled at first, but she wasn’t completely against it either, which would have been enough to make me proud. Clearly, I didn’t have the highest hopes. I expected guitars and music that probably tried too hard to sound angst-y and hoarse.  But I didn’t expect any of us to come out of it changed people. Mary's twelve and spends ninety percent of Sunday service at our other church either making fun of people in the surrounding pews or otherwise making it flagrantly obvious that she's miserable and not paying even the smallest iota of attention to the pastor. It's exhausting and infuriating and an embarrassment EVERY TIME. Expecting a few electric guitars over an organ to make a dent of real difference here, would have been a joke.



But then, right out of the gate, the projection screen read: Does God really hate gays?

Wow. To my surprise, the questions actually were real questions. (By the way the answer is obviously a resounding no.) Questions that almost had me blushing. Questions that children under 5th grade weren’t supposed to sit in on. Questions that made me look forward to listening in on the available Podcast of the earlier four sessions that week, which tackled a different set of questions each time. These were the type of questions that Mary needed answers to, the type that people generally seem to skirt, but that I didn’t want to. Questions like these were the reason I wanted her to be there. For the first time in literally my entire life, ever, I was nodding my head in church. I was clapping. I was breathing in hard to keep from choking up. Every once in a while Mary would laugh out loud next to me, and intermittently, she’d pull her knees up to her chest in the chair and lay her head on my shoulder. And we’d listen together and we would say “amen” at all the same times.

At the end of the service, they announced that Youth Group was meeting there that night, and immediately, she wanted to go. She ran to her friend’s house down the street when we got home to invite her and I e-mailed the group leader to see if it was okay, and the two of them were enthusiastically encouraged to show up with any and all questions they had about joining.

When I dropped them off that night, the smell of grilled food resonated outside of the building and there were rows of tables set up with two-liter drinks and bagged snacks and buns before a row of grills to walk past before you even got inside. (They FEED these kids!? I thought. I LOVE THIS PLACE.) Someone met me at the door because they noticed we were new, and over live, thumping music, they offered a rundown of exactly what would happen while the girls were there. First, they watch the concert. Then they meet by the café and they the pastor leads them all in a “café-style” conversation about real issues facing kids their age today, in a faith-based format that’s designed to do exactly the opposite of what every other church on the planet does -- turn them away, guilt them into behaving, you know the drill. Plus, I can leave and just pick them up in two hours. SWEET.

“Try not to show up at exactly 7:30, if you can help it,” he said. “They usually want to stay for a while afterward.”

And true to his word, they wanted to stay. In fact, they came back with nothing but wonderful things to say - about the kids there, about that church, and about (WOW) God, Himself. Mary even found a teacher from her old middle school who promised to tell all of her friends back at GR how well she was doing. It was a good night that led to the start of a terrific week. Now, to say that I’m looking forward to many, many more just like it isn’t remarkable. But to be able to say that so is Mary -- That’s something. And I'm just really glad.

A Quick Update on This Being Hard, But Tons of Fun.

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To say that it’s been grueling, that I’ve been stretched to the pique of my limit, would barely do justice to what the past two days have been. Bouncing between three kids, two of which take a great deal of effort suddenly, while keeping dishes out of the sink, laundry at bay, meals on the table and sometimes very challenging experiences FUN -- whoo! NOT EASY. That being said, I’ve learned more about Mary in these past two days than I could have done in six months‘ time.

Part of what’s made this a challenge is caring so painstakingly much about her success in every area - from character development to spelling. She’s learned to stop asking me why doing an assignment or learning a subject is EVEN important because I’ll never just assume it’s a rhetorical question. We got sidetracked for fifteen minutes, just covering the importance of handwriting yesterday because she made the mistake of insisting that it would never matter. In two days time we’ve virtually wiped out the immediate “I can’t, I won’t” response that she almost instinctually jumps to even outside of schoolwork. And she’s already completed a few assignments she was positive to the point of even shedding a few tears, were impossible. Which is to say that I’ve definitely had to throw down the hammer a time or two, just to show that I’m not backing down from anything she thinks she has to throw at me, but it’s paid off ten-fold. Within minutes of crossing a hurtle or giving something new a chance (because I won’t get off her back until she does) she totally flips from having an utterly defeatist attitude, to dancing like a goof around the room because she DID IT! And taking on the next assignment with totally unshakable confidence. I. LOVE. IT.

This is the breakdown of her classes (a few of which she only has once, twice, or three times a week): speed typing, cursive handwriting, vocabulary, grammar, writing, editing, spelling, math, mechanics, history/geography, logic, and electives like art, phys. ed., and health. Beside those, we’re taking time everyday to focus on stress-reducing exercises, discovering what faith means to her, and character development. (No more snappy, condescending attitudes!) She’s also excited (legitimately excited!) to become a part of the girl scouts AND 4H this year! Spencer and I are both extremely proud of her enthusiasm.

Yesterday was fantastic, all things considered. One of the neater parts of the day was taking a trip to Glassgow Park for Physical Education and a lesson in mechanical science. She filled out a graph on all the different types of simple machines that could be found on the playground equipment, and then got to use my camera to photograph Matthew playing on sixteen different types. We had a total blast!

At the end of the day, we had our first club meeting for homeschoolers - where the both of us were totally blown away by just how HUGE the home schooling community in our area really is! Since Spencer decided to join us, the whole family stopped for ice cream on the way home and Spencer regaled us all with tales of learning how to shoot and care for animals in 4H when he was young. (And how, one of the best parts was all the cute girls! Which of course piqued Mary’s interest because it hinted to the fact that MAYBE there would be a few cute boys… Hmmm…)

Overall, it’s given us the opportunity to have many long overdue conversations, covering every topic from civil responsibility to abiogenesis to the latest gossip about her favorite band. This is certainly not the most well-constructed post I’ve ever thrown together, but getting the experience of these past few days on record is important to me. Our family dynamic has changed a great deal in a very short amount of time,  and I know that writing on here will be scant at best until we find out niche. So until I get the chance to update you again - just know that I’m exhausted beyond anything I could have imagined a month ago, and that I’ve never been more excited.

How The First Day Went.

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Matthew had been ready for days, so when I finally uttered the words, "Okay, buddy, get your sister. It's time for school." he popped to his feet like a kernel of corn.

"Mary! Mary!" he called, ripping through the hall, "It's a real school day today! Come on! Let's go!" 

Actually, it was just the orientation I talked about setting up a couple of weeks ago, but to him it was real because Mary would be there with us. 

Before this, we've kind of "played" school in the classroom - just Matthew and I. Sometimes he'd draw out scenes from a story I was reading, and we'd spend thirty minutes a pop just talking about it afterward, thinking of anything we could add to his illustration. Sometimes I'd give him an actual activity from one of the history lessons to work on. He'd roll clay, and twist pipe cleaners and come shrieking for me to evaluate whatever he came up with as soon as he was done. I found my teaching voice, redirecting his attention when doing handstands in the seat of his desk wasn't part of a game, without letting on that it was my motive. 

As elementary as the practice might have been, it helped me. I was able to see firsthand how letting the baby roam a little while in the adjoining room would work, and for how long. I was able to gauge how far his attention span had grown from last year, and what his maturing body language meant now. 

As agreed, by the time we met in the classroom (albeit later than it will be on Monday) everyone was fed, showered, and dressed for the day. Matthew sat at his desk, getting to work almost instinctively on a ball of purple, fragrant dough. Mary twirled in her chair. And I talked. 

I talked, without realizing it, until my voice did to my throat what truck tires do to a quiet gravel road. If it weren't for the fact that Matthew thought to bring a glass of water down with him, I might have had no voice at all today. Who'd have thought with a class of exactly two students, that could even happen? Suffice to say, Monday and everyday after that, I'll get my share of hydration. I also realized I'll need a bean bag chair or something. Pacing the room when I talked felt more natural than I expected it to, but I wound up sitting on the floor with a book between my knees toward the end, and that's just not a long term solution. 

I can't believe how fortunate we are that it all fell together exactly the way I hoped it would. For the most part, Matthew stayed at his desk and Mary barely gave herself time to digest answers to the last question she asked, before jumping to the next. I had to keep her focused, but because she's easy to make laugh, that wasn't a problem. Sometimes Matthew would raise his hand, and as usual, it was hard for him to wait when waiting was necessary. But they listened - both of them, remarkably well - and the baby was such a non-issue that a few times I wondered if the sound of my constant talking wasn't as much a source of soothing entertainment for her as the T.V. would have been. I remember being distinctly happy that I hadn't jumped to the assumption she would need it. She kept herself occupied for the entirety of any time she wasn't napping, just outside of the schoolroom with nothing more than a few blocks. 

Overall, the only surprises were good ones. Mary actually laughed at every attempt I made to snag a reaction out of her, and every time she piped up, it was to add something, not only enjoyable, but relevant, to the conversation. And a conversation it was, which was probably the best part. Anytime within the course of this summer that I thought about homeschooling in terms of it being worth any effort it took to set up; I thought about it happening like a conversation, one part unfolding into the next like no one had an agenda. 

If there's any doubt left nagging us at all, it's from reading so many blogs that say: don't try to mimic public school; remember, they left for a reason! While that's obviously true, and something to consider, it's all we know. Plus, she's going back to it eventually, so I can't afford to get too lackadaisical. I want to focus of character building and togetherness and all that quiet, zen jazz, but I also want her going back to school in ninth grade knowing her shit, and knowing it so well that returning to the world of standardize testing and a cafeteria lunch won't completely derail her. 

Arguably, one of the best parts of the day was just how much of it WASN'T spent with my drying eyes locked helplessly onto a computer screen, FINALLY. This past week especially has been the worst of it. Everything I've had to do toward to end was online, which I thought would probably be kind of nice since, after all, I do love to blog. Turns out, doing other stuff online -- even getting a facebook to help break the monotony of plugging assignment after assignment after bloody assignment into a gradebook -- not the same amount of fun as writing. Like, not even a little the same. At all. 

By four o'clock we'd lost all track of time. I guessed it was probably somewhere around two, when Mary popped her eyes at me after checking. (Note to self: SET WALL CLOCK.) We still had our electives to discuss, so we woke the baby, grabbed a snack and headed to the park for what was supposed to be the last of our discussion, but wound up being just what it need to be - downtime. We instagram'ed it up all over the baseball field, playground equipment, and dandelion dotted grass. The day rounded itself out in such a bafflingly (wow, not a word) flawless way that not one of the kids - not one - even whimpered a sigh of complaint as we bid the park adieu. Like, what? 

And just like that, we had done it. It's hard to tell if Monday will be any more difficult than yesterday, considering that everything we do will be 'on record', which sounds a lot more official than it actually is, or if it'll be a lot easier because at least there won't be so many kinda-sorta vague notions to cover. But if yesterday was any kind of a window into the soul of our post-September home, I'm glad. Yesterday was really fun. 

Just So You Know.

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This harrowing labor of love that came to us, a sheep in wolves' clothing, has turned into something unexpectedly powerful for me. Something really nice in an out of the blue sort of way. Moonstruck by this thing that I've actually managed to pull together for our family, it's hard to believe this homeschool plan has turned into something so cool, I can't wait ten more days to get started.

I'm sure it has something to do with just giving me a simple sense of purpose - which has always been covertly medicinal for people like me, people who are always questioning if what they're doing is enough. But I'm uninhibitedly proud of what I've built here, from everything left of last year's confusion. I've succeeded in taking an ambition to do something big, something uncertain, and I've turned it into something done. We haven't started actually homeschooling yet, but with every paper filed; every clip color coded by subject and day; every trip planned on her Hello Kitty calendar; every project detailed in pencil on the narrow lines of a thirteen-tabbed planner, I feel good knowing that I've actually pulled it off. For one of the few times in my relationship with this kid who is and will be forevermore such a monopolizing part of who I am, I feel like her parent. I feel like I finally have the opportunity to parent her the way that I parent her technically-half-siblings; to do more than just be here, watching her grow. But to be a working part of the process.

I'm always looking for ways to validate our wildly unorthodox relationship, without shoving myself too far down her throat. Most of the time it all just falls into place. We have a good relationship, but we also have nothing to really compare it to, either. It's kind of it's own thing. I came into her life too late to ever completely be a legitimate exchange for her real mom, even without her real mom being around. But I'm more than a step-parent because raising her falls, in a lot of ways, more on me than it even does her dad - who is the only biological parent in her life.

When you're a biological parent, you put aside yourself for the children you conceive without even consciously having control of the decision. You become pregnant and you lose control of your diet, your comfort, your body. You give birth and for a cluster of terrifying hours, you lose control of any and everything that has ever conceivably existed within your control. You keep an infant alive and you learn to play it's personality like a very tricky instrument you feel like you were born to play yourself, and without even being aware that any transformation has taken place at all, you look up from them and don't know where the old you has gone; you try to remember hearing them leave, and you can't. You don't care, either. This new thing, this new you is infinitely better than anything you've ever been or done before, and you realize that relinquishing control of yourself for them was the best thing you've ever done. You look back down at this child that is so mercilessly yours, wholly unaware of anything you might have missed about the old you if only you could manage to take a second's thought away from them, and you know that you've become something metaphorically invincible. You know, all at once, that you're a parent. You are impermeably strong, wise, and unrelenting in anything you do on their behalf. Because of all you've done without ever having to even really try, nobody can take that away from you, or deny that it's yours.

And then you have a child that you did not conceive. And you are in every similar way responsible for them. You are their protector, their guidance, their shoulder, their foundation, their voice. It's permanent, but it can be easily questioned; it's durability easily doubted. Mary has never once said to me that I am not her mother. But it's always with me that if she wanted to, she could. People don't often question what my relationship is to her, but it's always with me that sometimes, they will. Her mom hasn't been around in two years, but at any given moment, she might.

Mary's proficiency in grammar and physical science and algebra are completely unconnected to my relationship with her as a parent. Teachers teach and parents parent, and the rewards of each are not the same. But homeschooling has proven to be, even in only the preparatory stages, a shit-ton of work. I wake up everyday an hour before the sun drains darkness from the windows above our bedroom copy machine, and instead of writing - which has always been a great love in my life, I watch tutorial videos over cereal on how to teach shortcuts for dividing fractions. I make back-up plans for my back-up plans so that if this whole first week somehow falls to shit despite all of my efforts, I'll know exactly how to pull us out of the rut. I don't expect this thing to run like a military base, but I know that everything I consider now with military precision is one less thing I'll have to consider once we're in the thick of wanting to just enjoy it. Which is all to say that with everything I've put into this thing just to cover my every hypothetical base, I'm predicting an easy ride, come the sweet end to our very long August. I fully expect this whole endeavor to be a lot of fun. But getting us there... Getting us there has taken an amount of time and effort I've never had to put into her before.

I'll never be able to go back and pay closer attention to who she was back when she was somebody else's child, the way that I imagine all step-parents (especially those who raise their step-children primarily) wish they could. And I don't think that hyper-parenting her will make up for what is unquestionably lost in those relationship-fusing years of early child development. But setting this up for her and doing this for her has unexpectedly catapulted me, personally, into exactly that direction. Or so it feels, anyway. It's put me in a position to do what maternity did naturally for my relationship with her little brother and her baby sister. This wasn't what we went into homeschooling hoping to gain, but it's become a very welcomed way for me to say to her: Hey, just so you know... I am yours, whatever it takes. 

The Grocery Apocalypse.

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Shopping days are the worst. There aren't many moments in my life as a mother that I lose sight of how lucky I am to be in the moment that I am with my family. The little, compounding stresses; the struggle to balance authority with compassion; the big-picture issues that come with managing the lives of real people -- even when it sucks, I love what I do. In the very worst of our most trying family crises, I see clearly still that I do it all for them, and that they are worth it, a million times over. But shopping days are the worst.

In two days I've braved four different stores, stocking up on food and supplies for the end of summer and the establishment of our homeschool endeavor. Non-food items are crossed in hurried lines of ballpoint ink from the list. Time for Costco.

In high spirits, we step over the threshold, Matthew coyly showing a woman in a vest our Executive Membership card. I know that what's in store for us here is misery, at it's worst. When we leave, I'll be a shell of the person I was walking in. But I have to start optimistically because my ability to parent well will gradually be eaten away at with every minute we are here.

We have to eat, though. So here we are... again. I hate this place.

Mary eats us out of house and home as it is, and because she's the validating size of a pretzel rod, I'm glad she does. But it takes a small fortune just to feed her, and compared to what we paid in lunch money last year, having her home everyday will cost us, and require a good deal of stocking up. Wanting to feed my family of five meals that are reasonably nutritious will cost us even more. Healthy shit sucks to stock in a cart, too. Kale, spinach, peppers, they're all soft and squishable, and take up so much space. Space is an issue with a single cart, even if it is Costco size. A few minutes into any shopping trip, ever, I'm not sure we can fit everything that we need to buy in this cart. There's only so much space and two kids are wasting A-1 turf in the front.

On the rare occasion I get to run somewhere without them in tow, it makes me literally glow to set bread and   eggs in the little butt-basket usually reserved for kids. How perfect they fit! How protected they are!

Costco is the only store in which Matthew will agree to be placed inside of a cart-seat. This way, he can eat all of the free samples without having to watch where he's going. Plus, this is the only store with a cart that seats two kids in the front. In every other store, 93% of my attention is consumed protecting Matthew on foot: keeping him from shouting, keeping him close to me, keeping him from getting distracted and walking off in a different direction, keeping him from making his sister cry, keeping him from taking EVERYTHING off of the hooks to ask if we can buy it/if I need it/if I think his friend would like it because it has Spider Man on it, keeping him from knocking down displays, keeping him from hiding in clothing racks, keeping him from climbing into freezers, keeping him from licking the floor to make Scarlett laugh, keeping him from being kidnapped and chopped into little pieces. I am not ABOUT to suggest that he walk.

But space is an issue. I have to buy as much as I possibly can right now so that we don't wind up back here in a week and a half. I have to do that without going over the grocery budget, which my husband would say is liberally, about twenty-four dollars. Although I would argue that it takes around five hundred, easy, to feed everyone on an inorganic, mildly processed diet for about two months. Because we were particularly low yesterday, and we cannot look forward to Mary eating at school this year, it was over that.

Trying not to think about it, I can't help myself from envisioning the spiel when I get home, having to justify every single purchase. Although, when I try to cut out snacks, the only dispensable thing on the our list, it's the first thing he'll complain we don't have. Thinking about this makes me irritated. Plus, I remember, Mary eats four snacks a day between meals. If there are no snacks, she'll pick through all of the vegetables and pastas I was planning to make dinners with. She'll eat three bites and  throw the rest away, just to open something new 30 minutes later, take three bites of that, and put it in the fridge without covering it so that it spoils. Then, in an hour, she'll open something ELSE. With every dinner item that's wasted on a half-eaten snack binge, I'll be forced to come back here a day sooner. No! Need snacks. Healthy snacks. Filling snacks. Inexpensive snacks. Stewing in my own thoughts, I head for the snack isle. The cart already weighs a ton and these isles are impossibly narrow. Nothing fits my criteria of filling/nutritious/inexpensive, but I fill the cart as best I can, heavily resenting that I have to buy so much. I can already hear Mary complaining that she has to help me unload the groceries, declaring outrageously that I "always" buy too much, then eating half of it that night. I can hear Spencer groaning about how much must have been spent when I get home to unload it all myself, then complaining in a week that we don't have enough cereal.

I'm already at the boiling point it takes someone to eat their dog alive, when Scarlett reaches backward into the cart, just to punch the eggs. WHY. Seriously. WHY the eggs, of everything in here that would have been easier for her to reach? I'm not even questioning why she feels the need to punch anything; I feel exactly the same way. That part, I completely understand.

Trying impossibly to nest six loaves of bread into the cart safely, I fantasize about surviving a zombie apocalypse. I could loot these stores of canned goods without worrying about budgets or feeding the kids every single time that they're hungry. I'd go by myself, so that Spencer could keep the kids safe back at "camp." Better yet!: Spencer would venture out to do the shopping, which he wouldn't mind because he'd get to carry a gun, and I'd stay home with the kids. I sigh. Seriously, that would be the life.

Mentally, this is where I'm at before the kids start screaming and trying to climb out of the cart, aiming for a concussion over concrete floors, and throwing things off of shelves because I won't buy them 30 dollar bags of candy for no reason. This part gets ugly every time. Once, Matthew sat on the floor of Walmart and threw his sneaker across four isles, screaming at the top of his lungs because I interrupted him. Another time, Mary took one of those giant bouncy balls from one of those bungee cord cages and purposely bounced it so high that it knocked a shit-ton of canned vegetables off the top shelf of the next isle over. THEN LAUGHED. Yesterday, Scarlett shrieked so loudly in Costco for so long that people were still talking about it when we left.


We left the store yesterday with two carts, the heavier of which a stock boy had to help me get out the door to my van. But ten minutes before we checked out, as I was standing over my list, crossing things off and counting in my head like my mom used to do when her children little enough to fit in the front of a cart, a woman approached me.

I could see the bottom of her skirt coming toward me in my peripheral, downward vision. I ignored it, bracing for one of those familiar: "Ma'am, I think your kid is licking the cart handle" type of comments that make me want to scream at THEM for being such a fucking tattle-tale. I'm not in the mood for this. I never am. Shopping sucks. I want to go home.

"Ma'am", she starts. I look up, exhausted; feeling impatient, but conditioned as the mother of three kids never to show it. "I just want to tell you that you have two very well behaved children. And so beautiful, too. I just saw them from across the isle and couldn't help myself from pointing it out."

Immediately, I wanted to hug her. I genuinely wanted to hug her.

Then I laughed, reality settling in over dumbfounded silence. "Oh, they were the ones you may have heard screaming at the top of their lungs twenty minutes ago. I don't know if you were here for that part."

She smiled, and I wondered if she expected me to think of something negative to say. "Well, they must have gotten it out of their systems, at least."

I'm not that kind of mother anywhere else in the world, I rationalized to myself. I'm the kind of mom who encourages her four-year-old to be loud when we're anywhere it won't hurt anyone, the kind who makes messes with her toddler on purpose, the kind who deals pretty well with her preteen having ROYALLY obnoxious opinions for the greater good of letting that child know that she is listened to and cared about.

But shopping days will do to me what being left on the dashboard of a hot car will do to a happily yellow banana. Shopping days are the worst. I looked down at Scarlett, who was sitting with her arm around Matthew's back, in a way that she only rarely does. (Certainly not when we're shopping). Matthew had folded his arms into a pillow over the cart handle and was lying, uncharacteristically docile with patient boredom.

Before she made it too far away, I said, "You don't know how much I needed to hear that. Thank you."

I bought them a smoothie on our way out. And while I unloaded the cart, a second woman approached me to ask if she could take my two carts for me. "I know how hard it can be with little ones," she comforted. "Let me take these for you so that you don't have to walk them all the way back from the cart return."

When I got home, Mary was there to help with the groceries. Matthew pitched in without being asked. Spencer walked in the door while there were still boxes piled into categorized sections of the kitchen, where he could see all of our "wasted" money in bag and box form before it was taken to the pantry and chest freezer downstairs; he didn't complain. To my surprise, he hugged me. He thanked me... and looking around at the noisy kids and the boiling pot of water on the stove and boxes and boxes and boxes of crap, he said, "... for doing all of this."

Shopping days suck. But as far as shopping days go, yesterday is one that I will remember for being a little less awful than fighting off zombies.