Do you stand for our National Anthem?

My children play basketball for a local Upward league.  Because I have three children with three different playing abilities, I am often forced privileged, on game days, to sit through three hours of basketball.

Don't get me wrong, I adore the "watching the kids play basketball" part of the three hours.  The part that is somewhat...um...challenging is enduring the two hours that the other two children are not playing.  For some reason, watching his siblings race up and down the court just doesn't hold the same thrill for Z-man as it does for his Momma. To be fair, his sisters aren't exactly "in to" his games, either.

 This leads to my having to enjoy tolerate a minimum of one complaining/fidgeting/asking-for-something-from-the-snack bar child for approximately 1.5 hours of the three-hour tour.


(Kindly send your 'how to better discipline your children to sit through boring stuff' advice emails to: yourchildrenarenotminesoyoudonothavethefirstclue@gmail.com)

Another part of the day that can become a bit tiresome is the opening events.  They are always fun and refreshing the first time; the church we play at does a GREAT job with them!  However, even the most enthusiastic Europe fan can become a bit jaded at the third playing of "The Final Countdown" during the team announcements.

One saving grace during these opening rituals is the playing of the USA National Anthem.  They have chosen a particularly good rendition for this year. It is Lee Greenwood's.  It starts with a stirring drum rhythm, and then Lee sings in a key low enough for me to follow along and actually hit the "land of the free" part with gusto!

What I have found interesting, especially by the third time through the song in the day, is to watch people as they prepare to listen to or sing along with the Anthem when it starts playing.

I find it beautiful to see the WWII-aged gentleman "uncover", and place his 'ARMY' ball cap over his heart.

I find it precious to see Mothers (and Fathers) instructing children to stand up and place hands over hearts.

I find it interesting when others stand, but hold hands clasped behind the back.

But I mostly, especially, tear up when I see that everyone stands.

Now, I have no way of knowing the hearts and minds of the people who are standing during the song.

I wonder who, like me, becomes overcome by a wave of patriotic emotion and tears up during "oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave?"

I wonder if some, unlike me, would prefer to sit, arms crossed, in an attempt to send a message about what they "really" think of our country.

I also consider: it could be that many find no significance whatsoever in the song; maybe some have simply always stood for the Anthem.  To them, it is possibly "just what's done".

But, no matter what the motivation/reason/implication, everyone stands.

Everyone stands, and no one is forced to stand.

We who stand are standing in a state of liberty, not out of a fear of repercussions.

We who stand do so out of a patriotic duty, perhaps, but it is a duty we choose to commit ourselves to.

Even if a man should choose not to stand, he would be expressing, no...he would be the embodiment of the liberty we citizens of the USA posses, which  is something he is exhibiting a disdain for.

His protest would be turned into silent irony.

I think about the freedoms I enjoy as an American all too infrequently.  I am thankful that our Upward league has chosen to offer this small, yet meaningful salute to these freedoms, three times a week, every week, all season long.

Moms, teach your daughter to hold her husband's hand

My Z-man was hit pretty hard by the infamous flu this year.

While he's had colds, croup and sinus infections over the course of his four years, this was my first time dealing with him through this sort of an illness (fever, aches, chills, dry cough, lethargy).

I've been through it with his sisters, enough times that I know the drill.

I kindly stroke their hair until they bat my hand away, and then I scare them into staying hydrated.

"Drink lots of fluids, or you will have to go live at the hospital!"

My girls want to be left alone when they are sick.  They want to go upstairs to the "big bed" , have the television put on, and be left undisturbed so that they can sleep and sleep and sleep.

So, it was somewhat of a surprise to me that when Z-Man started to go down, he crawled up into my lap and stayed there.

For four days.

Did you read that correctly?  Did you comprehend that I spent most of those four days sitting in a chair, with my baby on top of me, feeling his fiery skin against my cheek?

Don't get me wrong.  Of course I got up to use the restroom, to fetch him drinks, to do things for the girls.  But, on each occasion, I had to slide his sweet little body off of mine and watch him sink pitifully into a heap on the chair.

If I did not return from my errand in the expected amount of time, he would get up in his feverish state and find me, and crawl up onto me wherever I was.

And, as I sat there, stroking his little body, feeling for a change in the fever or in his respiration, growing increasingly irritated by the sound of coughing and repeating the mantra "Mommies don't get sick" as he blew his wind of germs into my face over and over, I started to contemplate how differently the girls handle this sort of illness compared to the boy.

These thoughts took me back to just after Z-man was born.  He turned blue on us, and was rushed to the special care unit of the hospital.  Once there, I was informed that my precious boy had been labeled "min stim".

 Babies who are labeled "min stim" are to be handled as little as possible, and talked to as little as possible.  Their environment is to be kept dark and as quiet as possible...

 This meant that I could not hold and comfort my sick baby.  

All I could do was sit in a chair and look at him, suffering in his little plastic hospital bed-bucket-thingy.

I ached to hold him.

I argued with the nurses.  Surely they had heard of "kangaroo care", why wasn't this something we could try with my son?

The hospital did not budge.

For almost a week, he lay there, handled only by the efficient and capable nurses, who treated my pumped breast milk, the only comfort I could offer my son, as an additional burden, and who  puzzled at my continual presence, just staring at him, as the hours went by.

It is frustrating to think that this little boy, who loves nothing more than the arms of his Momma when he is not well, was deprived that very comfort when he was so small and helpless.

 Then again, perhaps his need for me to hold him now was born out of those lonely hours he spent as an infant - miserable, and uncomforted.

I am tempted to be angry with myself for not ignoring the nurses and scooping him up to my breast.

And so it was that this time around  I sat in the chair, thinking these thoughts, and snuggling my boy,  and kissing him the way I wanted to kiss him in that hospital room, and stroking his scarlet ears, and marveling at his tiny hands that were able to find so much mischief to do.

And then I realized that, when my son becomes a man, he might still seek this sort of comfort in his times of illness.

I realized also that, even when well, my son seeks out physical contact from those he loves with gusto.  Great, big hugs are the order of the day when Daddy returns home from a business trip.  Enthusiastic, loudly planted kisses abound whenever he is having an especially fun day.

And, of my three children, he is the only one who reaches for my hand when we are crossing a parking lot.

He just likes to be touched.  In fact, as much as Z-man likes receiving gifts, I would say that physical touch might be his primary love language.

And I love it!  I love the kisses!  They make my Momma-heart glow.  Daddy loves his "I've missed you so much" hugs.

But...

What is this...

This message that screams at me from our culture...

This message that men are only after "one thing"...

That men only have "one thing" on their minds...

Sometimes I wonder how much physical touch these supposedly sex-crazed husbands are getting outside of the bedroom.

How much is their body just screaming for a tad of reassurance from the most important woman in their lives.

And the horrific thought occurs to me; what if my son marries someone who does not understand his need for touch?

How heartbreaking to think that my poor, sweet baby boy, who is simply affectionate, is going to get the message, as an adult, that he is nothing but a "pig" who "can't keep his hands to himself".

Mommas, I beg you, if you don't already, please hold your spouse's hand in front of your children. Please stroke his neck as he is driving, or link arms in the church pew.

Please oh please hold hands at the farmer's market.  Stroke your hubby's face and tease him when he doesn't shave on the weekend.

Kiss him.  Just because.

Okay, okay, I will take just a minute here to say that husbands ought to do that sort of stuff for wives, too.

But, you see, I have an agenda, here.

 I am secretly hoping that God will have Z-Man's future wife's Momma read this blog, and that she will feel nudged to start modeling this behavior for her daughter.

Hey, at least I'm honest!

I will do my part.  I promise that as Z-man gets older, I will help him to learn boundaries; he will know what kind of touch is appropriate within the parameters of the different relationships in his life.

 I will teach him the importance of the other ways people feel loved, such as acts of service done, or encouraging words.  I will instruct him to consider the other person - to love others in the way that makes them feel most loved.

Lord, I pray for the future spouse of my son.   Give them both wisdom, Lord, to love one another in the way that is most important to each of them.

Praise God, Z-man is back to his normal self..  I am so thankful to see him up and about, swiping my phone, removing  the heat registers, and splashing around in the hot, soapy dishwater of the pan I had soaking on the counter.

Greasy water everywhere!!!!

While we  are up and out of the chair, I still get a bit of morning snuggle-time with him, which I cherish, wondering for how long we will have this little tradition.

It  is time to resume the hustle and bustle of school and housework and basketball and church, but that  time spent in that chair has changed me; it has caused me to pray for my son's marriage, even though he is not quite five-years-old.

Why do I abandon my blogs, journals, and diaries?

Well, it's the new year, and with it comes all the GREAT New-Year traditions like making resolutions, working out to burn off all those holiday calories, and...

Oh.

Wait.

It's FEBRUARY.

Um.

Yes, I have done it again; I have abandoned you, my faithful blog!

I have a long history of abandoning writing projects, starting way, back, once upon a time.

Listen here, kiddies, and I will tell you a story about the "blogs" of the olden-days.

Once upon a time, we had these things called diaries.  They were made of paper (yes, real, physical paper!) bound together in the form of a book (go ask your grandma).  

But, these books weren't for reading. No, these were special books where one would record her innermost thoughts and fears, such as her fifth-grade crush on an eighth-grader named Darrell Potyzka.

These books sometimes even had locks on them, so that you could rest assured that no one could see your secret writings.  

But, what if someone DID break into your diary, or find your not-so-cleverly-hidden key?  As a safeguard, you could write a paragraph in your diary that said something like the following:

If you are reading this right now, I would just like to say that you are the most sneaky and horrible person ever! I will never forgive you if you reveal these secrets!  And you know what??  I will KNOW that you read this diary because of the secret way I put it down the last time!  And then you will be in BIG TROUBLE!

Of course, if you were that paranoid about the idea of someone finding and subsequently reading your diary, it would probably occur to you that once the diary was read, there was no "unreading" it, no matter how severe a penalty you executed upon your sibling...er...the perpetrator.  

Just to be sure your precious secrets did not end up in the wrong hands, you would probably stop putting anything of any real interest in the diary.  

Once you'd determined that truly interesting things did not belong in the diary, and realized that the uninteresting stuff was, well, uninteresting to write about, you would eventually put the diary down for good.

And that, my friends, was the early story of my relationship to "journaling".

In my later attempts at journaling, having come to grips with the idea that journals are meant to be read someday, I faced a new problem; who would this reader be?

After all, doesn't a good writer write for her audience?  What would this someday-reader want to read about?  How much "backstory" about my life will this future admirer of my writing desire?

Also, what about all the misspellings in my journal?  What about my horrid handwriting?  The cumulative effect is that of a drunken (if literate) toddler scrawling gushing poetry about men who would eventually break her heart.

Is THAT how I want to be remembered?

No, I decided, no, it is not.

I finally made my mind up to give up on journaling, which is funny, because it then seemed that a journal was the one thing that came to everyone's mind when considering what I might like to have for my birthday, or for Christmas, or for Groundhog's Day.

I have so many journals with filled first few pages...

*sigh*

So, thanks to the Trekkie-types and their fancy-schmancy interweb, I have now a whole new format in which to screw up.  

Alllllriiiiight!!!!

I was lured out of my journaling retirement with the promise of spell-check and neat-and-tidy font, as well as a long list of "safe" things to write about, such as my darling offspring and the joys of parenting.

And, blogging, in so many ways, IS better than journaling.
And, yet, I am flaking out as a blogger, just like I flaked out on the diaries of my youth.

I think I have started (and subsequently abandoned) a total of four blogs.  However, that number could be low...the early 2000's are kind of a blur.

The problem, this time, I believe, is comparison.  I compare my blog content to those with "big ideas", and "pet issues".  They seem to really have something to say, you know?  Their blogs have a real purpose, a real "vision".  Mine is...well...just Jamie.

I suppose there is some work that could be done on this front.  Perhaps I could narrow my focus, write exclusively about my adventures in homeschooling or some other thing...but I'm not exclusively enthusiastic about those things... 

I'd rather write about that which strikes my fancy...

...but then I know that is not what "readers" want...

...and isn't a blog really for the reader, after all?

I mean, I ask myself..."do I really have any business writing something that I am not sure anyone would ever really care to read?"

And, folks, is how to get from "blogs are great, I should write one" to "why even bother" in three easy steps!

So, here I am, writing the, "hey blog, it's been a while" post that I always swear to myself I won't be writing "this time".

Let's see, together, how long I can hang in there with this one, shall we?

Surprise!

The girls made this for me.  According to Trincy:"We're little chefs".  It actually tasted good, too; coleslaw, ranch, cheese, butter, and salt and pepper.

Settle down Jar - Epic FAIL

These "settle down jars" have been floating around cyberspace lately.

The concept: overwhelmed kiddo shakes jar and calms as (s)he watches the glitter settle. 

SOUNDS GREAT!

I improvised on the recipe found here (used 2 cups of water and had not enough glue, so used hair gel).

My jar is beautiful.  I even crafted a poem to accompany it and stuck it where the pickle label used to be (not because I was too lazy to scrape off the gunk the removed label had left behind, or anything.)

When I'm feeling overwhelmed

I shake the jar and see

The glitter like my feelings/thoughts

whirling crazily!

I watch and wait for it to fall.

It settles down, and then,

I find that I've calmed down enough

To face the world again!

 

Sadly, the Four-year-old with overwhelming feelings and emotions it was created for doesn't care for it.

Not. at. all.

He LIKES the "shake the jar to show me how you feel inside" part.  He has ZERO interest in watching the glitter settle down. 

Even when he "accidentally" caught the jar in his eye and was looking at it with some curiosity, he only focused on it for 2.3 seconds.

We'll have to wait and see if his sisters do any better with it.



Fraction Fun

J-Bird is baking shortbread cookies and learning the very important difference between one half and one quarter.

Play-dates, chorus, church, sports, co-ops, and AHG - our answer to "the socialization problem"

One of the many objections to (concerns about?) homeschooling is the fear (worry? concern?) that homeschooled children will not be well-socialized.  After all, people think that since the children spend the "schooling hours" at home, within the same four walls as their own family, that they will miss out on the opportunities that public schooled children have to socialize with other people, particularly children in their own peer group.

This kind of makes me giggle, since I remember being chastised as a chatty young public school student with the admonishment "you come to school to learn, not to socialize!"

I am not blind to this concern, nor do I dismiss it out-of-hand. Instead, I look for ways to overcome this objection by being intentional about socializing my children.  

 I consider socialization VERY important, but not just socialization between my children and other children who happen to be the same age as they are!  I take J-Bird with me to my chorus, and she is the youngest member.  I am fairly certain the median age of this group is somewhere around 49.  She "socializes" quite well with these ladies, and I enjoy watching them coo over her. 

I forget sometimes just how little she really still is...

The world itself is a part of our classroom.  When I have banking to do, a package to mail, or the water bill to pay, I am dragging my kids here and there and everywhere and forcing them to talk to people of all ages. 

I belong to several online homeschool support groups which offer park days and outings such as roller-skating and bowling.   Pretty soon, basketball season will be upon us, and the girls will join an "Upwards" league.  In the summer, we give them golf lessons.The kiddos also have church Sunday School with children who are the same ages as they are.

Another way I am intentional about socializing our children is through homeschool co-op.  Our family is enrolled  in  the highly desirable Seeds of Faith Homeschool Co-op.  This is our third year with them.

First day of co-op, 2012

What is a homeschool co-op, you ask?  Basically, it's families pooling knowledge, resources and inclinations to give our children learning experiences not readily available in the home.

Translation: I'll teach your kid a subject you hate if you teach my kid a subject I hate.

Okay, well, not really.  At least, it is not always that, and it is not only that.

Sometimes it is simply giving homeschooled children some of the opportunities not readily available in a homeschool classroom.  Take gym class, for example.  Unless you are the Duggars, you are not going to have a sufficient amount of students in your homeschool to effectively offer games like "sharks and minnows", "spiders and flies", or even baseball.  

Science labs are another area of homeschooling often more efficiently handled through a co-op.  Many parents chipping in make the cost of all that fancy-shmancy lab equipment more affordable.  Plus, your home doesn't have to get all formaldehyde-stinky on frog dissection day.

Not only is our family enrolled in Seeds of Faith, I have also worked with a wonderful team of ladies to start an additional co-op closer to home, called HEARTH.

Because I had nothing else to do in all my spare time...

This year, my children are taking co-op classes that include: Martial Arts, Gym, Michigan  Facts and History, American Icons, My Amazing Human Body, Astronomy, and more.

First day of co-op, 2012 "silly face" pose

Our family is also a scouting family.  At least, the female 3/5 of us are (z-man isn't old enough, yet). The girls and I are members of American Heritage Girls.  The girls are earning badges this year in the Science and Technology, Heritage, and Family Living frontiers.  Also, as a part of the American Heritage Girls program, the girls and I have each completed well over 10 hours of community service (Z-man comes along when he can).

This is a highly sociable activity.  There are 22 girls in J-Bird and Trincy's age-level unit, and 46 girls altogether in our troop.  

Just try to keep that many 5-18 year-olds from socializing.  I triple-dog-dare you.

J-Bird - ready to March with Troop MI3130 at the Burton Memorial Day Parade.

Trincy - ready to march  with Troop MI3130  at the Burton Memorial Day Parade 

So, that is how our family handles the perceived "problem of socialization" in our homeschool.  I like that there are still educational components to these activities.  I must say that we are adequately busy, but not overly so.  Our co-ops and our AHG Troop each meet only every-other week,  This means we have entire weeks "off" when we can refresh and re-charge for our away-from-home learning adventures.

I'd love to hear how you have been intentional about socialization!

Thank you, God, for the wonderful volunteers who make all of these activities possible!