In praise of Arnold Lobel

It's no secret that I love reading aloud to my children. It's one area of mothering where I consistently feel like I'm doing a pretty good job. If we accomplish nothing else of note in a day, at least we've read at least one good book together.

When Eliza was about three, she went through a big Frog and Toad phase. At that time, Ian was coming into his own as a reader, and I combed the stacks of beginning readers at the library for quality material. These stories satisfied both needs. Now Eliza herself is in that phase, and once again I reflect on how difficult it is to find Easy Readers that are a treat to behold, and just as delightful for the reading or listening adult as they for the reading or listening child.

Which is why I harbor a deep and abiding affection for Arnold Lobel. You can keep your Dr. Seuss. Give me instead a man who understands the value of wry, understated humor -- humor you can unwrap in layers. A child might think it's silly that Toad wants to write everything on a list and then cross it off -- an adult laughs knowingly, understanding that impulse with perfect sympathy. And so on. Every story in the Frog and Toad collection is a gem -- Lobel doesn't skip a beat.

But the fun doesn't stop there. Did you know that Frog and Toad starred in their very own Broadway Musical? It's called A Year with Frog and Toad, and my friends, it's more fun than a barrel of chimpanzees. Think Big Band-style sound mixed with musical retellings of Frog and Toad's greatest hits. If you step into our home and hear us warbling about Toad looking funny in a bathing suit or crowing, "IIIIIII am not AFRAAAAAAAAIIIID! Well, I am, but I'll be brave!" -- no need for alarm. We're just channeling our amphibious friends.

Mr. Lobel's lesser-known works turn out to be just as steeped in both subtle and uproarious wit. Here are a couple favorites:
Owl at Home (I Can Read Book 2)
Mouse Tales (I Can Read Book 2)
Uncle Elephant (I Can Read Book 2)

They're all a treat. Do yourself a favor and share one with the nearest child in your life. If that child happens to be you, so be it. Permission to giggle aloud hereby granted.

[Disclaimer: When I was high school, my childhood friend Joe told me that I had an "odd" and "acute" sense of humor. Just thought you should have all the relevant facts before proceeding.]


P.S. This post is linked to SteadyMom's 30 Minute Blog Challenge. Whew! Right under the wire, too!

Housecleaning? Bring it on!

Photo by Lancaster County Market

I have a dirty little secret.

I'm going to whisper it, so you'll have to lean in real close.

Lately, I've actually enjoyed cleaning my little house. Why this burst of clinical insanity? Well, I simply follow these four motivational steps, and guess what? YOU CAN TOO.

Step One: Have a cleaning schedule.
    Folks, if it's not on the list, it doesn't happen. Wait; correction: If it's on the List, but I don't look at the List, it doesn't happen. The List is key. The List makes my cleaning world go 'round. The List keeps my workload nicely parceled out across the week. The List costs me only $8.00 per year, and believe me, I consider that a bargain, considering that my sanity is worth waaaaaaay more than $8.00. Three Cheers for the List! I get mine from Motivated Moms here.

Step Two: Use cleaning products that make you happy. Not sneezy. I personally use Basic-H from Shaklee, which is so economical it's almost frightening, since one bottle of the stuff lasts me at least two years. In a reusable, environmentally-friendly spray bottle, I mix my warm water, my tiny bit of cleaning concentrate, and whatever essential oils I deem necessary to the psychological health of my family.

Step Three (my favorite): Load up your MP3 player or personal listening device with something fun. This could be something spiritually enlightening or, as is more often the case with me at cleaning time, something quite humorous. I DARE YOU to scrub your toilets while listening to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me and not enjoy yourself immensely.

Step Four: Accept imperfection. Resolve to do your best within the time you have allotted and let that be good enough. If you're struggling with this concept, read Mrs. Potter's Pig to your little ones for a sense of perspective. The goal is sanitary and comfortable, not museum-ready.

Remember, we're not just housekeeping -- we're keeping a Home.

Snippets for Your Amusement

In random order:

1. Before kids, two of the things I thought would be a breeze were making one-on-one time with each child and being completely chill about how they chose to express themselves through their clothing. HA! That latter one especially makes me squirm. It's one thing when your daughter decides to wear her princess costume to Costco. That's charming. But when she insists on wearing her taffeta party dress and SNOW BOOTS to the playground? Where every other child seems to have stepped out of Gymboree display window? Folks, it turns out that I am quite shallow, because I felt a great disturbance in The Force. Being chill about their clothing choices? Working on it. 

Anyway, this is all by way of saying that I made strides as a mother on BOTH counts this weekend. Tim, Ian and Caroline sallied forth on a Cub Scout campout, taking our only family car. Eliza wanted to stay behind in order to attend her BFF's birthday party. So yesterday, we rode the bus down to the Children's Museum, bonding all the way there and back. We told jokes. We played math pattern games. We enjoyed the vistas of our fair city. My Love and Belonging child's cup overflowed. Oh, and by the way, she wore an outfit that clashed like nobody's business. I'm still here to tell the tale, and I think I'm a stronger woman because of it.

2. Speaking of fashion -- and then I promise I'll move on -- have you been to Target in the past week? It's been hit by a style tsunami called Liberty of London. Y'all. So fetching. From women's clothing to accessories to pajamas and, ahem, unmentionables, to girls' clothing (oh! the! cute! skirts!) to housewares. Consider yourself forewarned.



3. If you're homeschooling, or thinking about homeschooling, or know someone who does, or passed a homeschooler at an intersection once, you might wonder just how freakishly they're going to turn out, especially if their home barely resembles school. If so, you might find this interview with a homeschool graduate, now on a full ride at the University of Chicago, enlightening, reassuring, or inspiring.

4. I just finished reading Charles and Emma (see sidebar for link). It's a fascinating look at the marriage of Charles and Emma Darwin -- man of science, woman of faith. Can you imagine being married to  someone who not only did not share your faith, but also pioneered the science that would call into question the faith of thousands? What's absolutely amazing about these two is that they made it work -- respecting each other, adoring each other, raising an unusually close-knit family, weathering tremendous grief together, hardly spending a day or night apart from one another for over forty years. She even proofread The Origin of the Species for him! And yet she agonized over the fate of his eternal soul, while he could not hide from her his doubts. If you read it, I'd love to know what you think. (In case you're wondering, I believe that faith and science can coexist harmoniously ... but we won't open that can o' worms tonight.)

Also. It turns out Mr. Darwin suffered from ill health, particularly of the digestive nature, for most of his adult life. I am hereby diagnosing him with gluten intolerance. You heard it here first.

5. Since the Olympics, Ian's enchantment with commercial jingles has ramped up into hyperdrive. To converse with him, you'd think he watches the telly all day ... which, need I even say, is so not the case. So the other morning at breakfast, we were reading about how David, in the book of 1 Samuel, played harp music to calm the troubled mind of King Saul. Ian interrupted in a syrupy voice: "Get refreshed and regenerated with David's (TM) Harp Music today!"

There's just something about that "TM" that unglues me.

Thankful Thursday

Today, like many Thursdays, I'm thankful for our home meeting.

Home Meeting: (n.) A gathering of Christian believers in a home in order to share fellowship, and usually food, with one another in order to encourage each other for the edification of the Body of Christ.

For the past four years, we've opened our home on Thursday nights, often not knowing whether two or twelve will walk through the door with tummies a-growl. Our average demographic has shifted, over the years, from couples around our age with young children, to single folks in the their late twenties who are working for pay or an advanced degree. And this time has taught me one lesson: I AM NOT IN CONTROL.

Over the years, people have come and gone. A very few have come nearly every week for a year, two, three. A few have drifted in and out with barely a blip on our radar screen. A few have become regulars and eventually left, often due to a geographical move or even to answer a call for full-time service, but occasionally for unexplained reasons. I've been known to shed tears when that happens, because it seems almost impossible not to take a departure like that personally. I clean, I cook, I open the door, I try to touch base with everyone who comes through it to let them know their presence is a gift to us, I spend a little time at the table with everyone, then I retire to put my reluctant children to bed. When someone leaves, it not only feels like an uprooting of the almost-family relationship, but also a failure on my part. Was it something I did or didn't do? Something I said? Was the food too spicy, too hot, too cold, too salty, too plain, too gourmet? (Okay, not that last.)

Many times, at moments like these, I've asked the Lord whether we should let the meeting go. And every time, His answer has been something along these lines: Yes, you should let it go. But not in the way you think. Let it go out of your hands and let it be more fully Mine.

In the process of learning that this time is His and not mine to direct, control, and own, more peace and joy have stolen in. With less help these days, I'm doing more of the cooking on my own, but the simple act of chopping vegetables becomes a walk up to Zion. If anxiety pokes its nose in to wonder whether there will be enough for unannounced guests, I remind Him that this time and this home are His and that I expect Him to provide.

This letting go thing is such a hard-won joy, I'm wondering if it would work in other areas of my life as well. You think?

Baby steps. Baby steps.

Math for Jedi Knights

Remember my gushy post about the amazing-ness of my fellow moms?

So. I have this friend. Her name is Elsie. She assists me in our homeschool co-op on Fridays when I teach about Japan to eight delightful girls first period. She is a fabulous assistant. Then, I assist her when she teaches about Ancient Greece to eight delightful girls third period. She is a fabulous teacher. 

What does Elsie do during second period? you ask. Answer: She teaches Jedi Math. Fabulously, of course. And during lunch, she feeds ideas into my brain, where they spin around, breed, multiply, and pop out at home. The result is more exciting than a ride on the Millennium Falcon as it makes the jump into hyperspace. Especially since the Math Facts Drill Hating Force is strong around here. 

For example ...

1. Luke, Han and Leia Vs. the Trash Compactor. Remember that scene in Star Wars (Episode 4) where those three heroes are stuck in the trash compactor, desperately trying to radio C3PO for help before they're smunched to death? Well, we use multiplication flashcards, and we're trying to get through the whole deck before we get flattened. I make the last card the "magic code," and when my young Jedi solves it, he's cracked the code and stops the compactor JUST IN TIME. Whew!

2. Anakin's Pod Race. Again, the flash cards (which we made as an art project). This time, he's Anakin in his pod racer from Episode 1. We use the stopwatch function on my iPod, and his previous time -- the time to beat -- is Sebulba, Anakin's main competitor in the pod race. If he finishes faster, Anakin wins. If the stopwatch finishes faster (hasn't happened yet), Sebulba wins. Go Anakin!

3. Find R2D2. Using the "line drawings" function in Google Images, I found simple images of R2D2 and C3PO, who go together like bread and butter, Gilbert and Sullivan, me and 70% dark chocolate. I printed about thirty copies of each, laminated them, and cut them out. Using dry-erase or wet-erase markers, I write the multiplication (or for Eliza, addition) facts on all the C3PO's, and all the answers on the R2D2's. We scatter them on the floor. Young Mathwalker works to joyfully reunite the matches. Awww ...

4. Word Problems. With a cursory knowledge of the Star Wars Universe, or a little help from a book like Star Wars: The Complete Visual Dictionary - The Ultimate Guide to Characters and Creatures from the Entire Star Wars Saga, one can come up with any number of zany word problems. Here are a few from this morning. Help yourself. 

1. Anakin is checking the fuel situation on his pod racer before the big race. His fuel gauge shows that his tank is three fifths  (3/5) full of fuel. Meanwhile, his chief competitor's tank is seven tenths (7/10) full. Whose pod racer is more likely to finish the race before running out of fuel -- Anakin or Sebulba?

2. Queen Amidala uses white nail polish as a tradition from her native village. This morning she painted half of her nails before being interrupted by a messenger from the Senate. How many fingernails does she still need to paint?

3. Jedi Master Qui-Gong Jinn has been training his apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, to use his light saber. Today they practiced for one hour. Yesterday they practiced for an hour and a half. How many minutes in total have they practiced this week? If they're aiming for 300 minutes by the end of the week, how many hours and minutes do they still need to practice?

My nine year old is the only one who does much formal math around here, and he happens to be somewhat obsessed with the ways of the Force. So, how's he feeling about math practice these days? 

Much improved, his attitude is. 

Le Migration

And now, under the category of "Netflix-schooling ..."


I hate to even admit this on a gorgeous day like today, but we're watching Winged Migration.

It's almost wordless, at moments poignant, at other moments funny, and overall incredibly beautiful. And yes, it's holding the attention of a four year old.

Have you seen it? If you liked Planet Earth or March of the Penguins, go thou and put this in thy queue. Those French, zey have zeir ways with de filme.

Begin with the End in Mind

The above is the result of a breakfast table discussion between the kids and me on the morning of our departure for a short vacation last week. In case you're wondering, the black letters can only be described as a Learning Experience, which we shall call "Permanent Marker is Not The Best Choice for Dry Erase Boards."

Hey. We all have to learn these life lessons sooner or later.

The four red marks represent everyone's vote AFTER we filled in the grid together. See, I realized that too many times, we depart for a trip in a high-stress flurry, with the Professor and I sulking in the front seat over the kids' failure to pitch in to an ideal degree. "All hands on deck?" Make that a few fingers. But usually, that's because we never quite transferred the thought, "We should all work together to make this trip happen" from our brains to the kids' ears. There's no group buy-in on the "all hands on deck" mission.

So this time, we began with the end in mind. And lo, our departure was both peaceable and reasonably prompt. Larks serenaded us on our way down our street, and angels flew by strumming their golden harps. Fluffy little kittens waved bye-bye.

Fast-forward to the vacation. We take this trip twice a year with my in-laws to a resort in San Antonio. And when I still had a babe in arms or a toddler in diapers, the idea of plopping myself in a beach chair and zoning out for the duration was simply out of the question. But now that all my kids are fairly self-sufficient and like to run in a pack with their cousins, I have more of a choice. Part of me wants to just relaaaaax. (And, truthfully, I do.) To slip the moorings of their demands and needs and lose myself in a book. To not get chlorine in my hair.

But. I have an end in mind. That end is a vision of a family that plays together instead of just making it from one day to the next. Of grown children who include time with their parents as part of their fondest memories. Of time spent deliberately enjoying them, rather than just managing them. Of no regrets, once they enter the years when bobbing around the pool with Mom and Dad has decidedly lost its lustre.

So, the Professor and I both endeavor to strike a balance. We need rest. The kids need independence. We also need them to grow up without us growing old, which means making a point of having fun together. That balance is different for every family, and kids whose loving parents don't play with them on vacation will probably turn out JUST FINE. I mean, they might grow an extra digit and develop a lifelong nervous twitch, but other than that? JUST FINE.

But with faces like these, who can resist?