Them Write Real Good One Day

As you might guess, learning to write intelligibly is a skill high on the list of Important Things My Kids Must Learn. It's ranked somewhat higher than How To Make a Key Lime Pie, but somewhat lower than How to Plunge a Toilet Successfully so Mom Doesn't Have To. Therefore, armed with dewy hopes and ambitions, we plunged into this book when Ian was an impressionable young lad of six.

Notice the cover. I believe the message being communicated here is that a tender young child fresh from God and full of wonder at the world around him will surely embrace daily implantations of nouns, pronouns, and verbs into his touchingly fertile mind.

Friends, bless Ms. Wise's heart, but we just couldn't make it. It didn't take long before I was yawning right along with my kiddos. Something about the scripted "dialogue" and the redundancy of asking my six-year-old boy to repeat the definition of a pronoun just felt too artificial to a mother who likes to hold "school" on a picnic blanket. We tumbled right off that apple cart.

And seriously, does a six year old really need to truly, madly, deeply know that stuff? I am a grammar nazi, and everything I know I either learned from my mother's faithful correction or the English Workshop class I sat through as a high school freshman.

So here's our current, [mostly] complete grammar curriculum. (Although we do adopt the Charlotte Mason's practice of copywork -- essentially, copying out poems and short passages of the Bible and literature.)

1. Very popular around our house. I consider us successful if we get through an entire mad lib without using the word "stinky" for an adjective.
















2. This is a game I made up with index cards. (A secret: a homeschooler with index cards is like MacGyver with duct tape. ANYTHING can happen.) It's like Go Fish, except that instead of numerical suits, we have sets of common nouns, proper nouns, punctuation marks, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, pronouns, etc. Instead of "state the definition of a noun," it's "Eliza, do you have any place nouns?"




3.
I just discovered this little gem, called Grammar Grater. It's a very witty series of free podcasts, each about 10 minutes long, each focusing on a different aspect of verbiage. Example: a vignette about onomatopoeia, recorded at the Minnesota State Fair. We listen in the car. The kids giggle sometimes, but Mom always does, because she's a bit of an eccentric. And that is just an aspect of her personality up with which they simply must put.


P.S. I messed up the date and time of the Bananagrams giveaway in my previous post. It ends Wednesday, October 14, at 11:59 p.m. So send in those vacation faves. Don't be shy!

An ap-PEELing giveaway

Remember how a few weeks ago I was blathering on about Bananagrams? That fun, fastpaced word game that travels around in the most adorable pouch, like, ever?

I'm giving away one set, here on this blog. Brand new. And all you have to do is leave an entry in ...

A Quiet Spot Vacation Sweepstakes!

Why am I feeling so expansive? Oh, well, it might have a tiny bit to do with the fact that I met this afternoon with a very sweet, very wise older friend, sister in Christ and travel agent who is helping us plan our graduation celebration trip in December. It's true, friends. The Aspiring Professor is finally finishing his course, and less than two months from now, he'll be parading down the aisle in his fancy pants suit while I snuffle back tears, wiping away mascara tracks.

Hearing Pomp and Circumstance does that to me. It's a psychiatric disorder. I'm currently in therapy.

Wait, where was I? Oh yes. The trip and the contest. So, for four years we've planned that when he graduates, we will celebrate by selling some stocks and taking a family vacation. Now we're considering the options, all involving sun and water and adventure (for me) and vegging on the beach (for him). I think we're leaning toward Mexico. Oh, the kids are coming. We will be sure to all don our matching snow white outfits and stroll along the shore hand in hand, all laughing in unison, like good American vacationers in a tropical paradise.

This is where you come in. Leave me a comment telling me either 1) where we absolutely MUST go, or 2) the condensed story of your favorite vacation ever, with or without kiddos. Hey, leave two comments if you want! Enter as often as you like! Tell your friends, your pets, your blog readers, the girl at the Starbucks drive-thru! I'll randomly draw a name after 11:59 p.m. on Wednesday, 10/13.

Here, I'll start. My favorite vacation Before Kids was Kauai in 1999 with my husband. Even though it rained half the time, the whole experience was just so far removed from our daily life in the grey underworld of MIT, and the setting so lush and beautiful, that we had an absolute blast. Did the helicopter tour, the snorkel boat trip with a fellow passenger heaving over the side for hours, the whole nine yards. Still have in our shower a large pumice stone given to us by a friendly hitchhiker. No doubt about it: we will return some day, when an airline decides to fly us there for free. With Kids: Probably Fripp Island, SC, a lovely place where you forget your car and zip around on golf carts, dodging deer and toting your boogie board. Did it with the extended fam in 2003. One among many treasured trips to the South Carolina shore.

So tell your story and maybe you'll get to tote along one of these on your future travels, wherever they may be!

Guess who said this on her way to sleep tonight?

"Mommy. You annoy me. But I love you anyway."

No wonder I'm so secure.


(P.S. Watch this with your hanky at the ready. You will remember it during the moments of greatest drudgery.)

Daddy needs to start saving

Ever wonder how much your kids borrow their personalities from their birth order? Ever look at your second/third/fourth/sixteenth child and wonder what she'd be like if you were raising her first?

My first child at age 3, watching Winnie-the-Pooh for the first (and only) time:
"Aughh! No! Why is that cake getting all over his face!? Why did he get HIT with that birthday cake?" (Sob, sniffle, sniffle, borderline hysteria.) Click. Apparently Pooh's adventures are just far too disturbing for this sensitive child. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming: Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends.

My third child at age 3, watching Star Wars with her siblings (because what am I supposed to do, lock her in her room?): "Darth Vader is a MEANIE! We HATE him!" Pause. "Can I get a light saber for my fourth birthday?"


My first child at age 3: Claire [his best friend] is a girl? Oh, well who knew?! I just thought she was a quirky kid like me! (I'm not putting that in quotes because trust me, the subject of gender just didn't ... really ... come up.)

My third child at age 3 (two nights ago, at the dinner table): "There is a BOY named ASHLEY in my co-op class. And he is SO DREAMY." Big sister: "Really? Do you have a crush on him? Are you going to marry him?" Little sister, beaming: "YES!"

(Today's follow-up: while making cookies, we must discuss the relative merits and general dreaminess of Sir Ashley again. Why exactly does she want to marry him, this 21st-century mom wants to know? "Because he's so ... handsome." [Insert motherly remarks about a suitable husband needing to be kind, intelligent, blah blah blah] "And Daddy said he would buy me some white high heels to go with my wedding dress and veil!")

People. I am sunk.

I made this (and you can too!)

Seriously. I really did. Try not to collapse in a faint.

Not only the outfit, but the model inside. Of course, I had quite a bit of help with that one.

Which brings me to my point. Ahem.

How Sewing and Childbirth are Alike:

1. Childbirth is laborious work.

Sewing is laborious work.

2. Childbirth mystically connects you to millions of women who have traveled this earth before you, drawing you into its productive sisterhood. [Note: I remember thinking this very thing as I paced my front lawn under the stars, laboring to bring forth Eliza.]

Sewing (for one's children, especially) mystically connects you to millions of women who have traveled this earth before you, drawing you into its productive sisterhood.



3. When childbirth is accomplished [and considerable time has elapsed], you're so entranced by the cuteness of the finished product that you forget the words "NEVER AGAIN!" and start to think, "Hey, maybe I could do this again!"

When the sewing is accomplished, you're so entranced by the cuteness of the finished product that you forget the words "NEVER AGAIN!" and start to think "Hey, maybe I could do this again!"


4. After childbirth, you can't help but marvel at the tiny, detailed perfection of what you have wrought.

Um. Sewing is also a pastime.



[Time to give credit: directions for the skirt can be found here, complete with photos. T-shirt was made using a pumpkin stencil, fabric scraps, and something called Wonder Under. Can't help you with how the girl was made. Most of y'all are moms (I think). You've figured it out. Let me know if you make the skirt, though!]

Crowning Un-glory

It was time to deal with a very serious situation this weekend.

A situation that had gotten out of control.

A crisis that simply could not wait another day.

And it looked like this:


That, in case you're going cross-eyed wondering whoa! What the Sam Hill is THAT bit of ugly?, is my hair.

Folks, I am thirty two. Not eighty two. Not even fifty two. But, thanks I suspect to my grandmother, who is entirely lovable in all respects, including her prematurely snow white hair, my mop up top has ... issues.

And so every month or two, I turn to the Aspiring Professor and say, "Darling, it's time." Time for a visit from our friend in the little box.


We mix up a delightful, earthy-smelling bowl of hideous gunk. He smears it all over my scalp. We watch a short movie. The whole experience is indescribably romantic. Some couples canoodle at four-star restaurants. Some couples ramble through Napa Valley on bicycles, stopping to wander through vineyards and sample fine wine. We henna my hair.

I spend about fifteen minutes in the shower watching horrific muddy rivulets run off my noggin and down the drain.

Ta-DAH! I am thirty two again.



(Next up: Battling the Frizz. Stay tuned!)

We been busy

So, you know how we homeschoolers are. In accordance with our reputation, most of us keep our impressionable children either locked in a closet or chained to the kitchen table all day, reciting the times tables.

Here's what our closet interior looked like this week:

Monday: Morning - co-op for the girls. Afternoon - Cub Scout hike and creek cleanup.

Tuesday: Dance (Caroline). Tae kwon do (older two).

Wednesday: Morning - drive Eliza to Round Rock for playdate. Evening - AWANA.

Thursday: Morning - tennis lessons at park. Afternoon - Visit from friends. Tae kwon do. (Kids need exercise. Kids with attentional issues need even more. Grownups with attentional issues need ... never mind. Hm. Paging a personal trainer who will work for food!)


Friday: Friday Co-op. Probably followed by toting extra kid(s) home.

Can I take off the handcuffs yet?


(An aside: moving toward the park for tennis at 0.02 miles per hour with the girls on a bike and scooter, Ian far ahead, I was suddenly visited by the memory of my brother muttering "the patience of a SAINT" a few weeks ago while watching me deal with Her Royal Intractable-When-Tired-ness. I had to laugh, knowing that it's only by the transformative influence of the daily grace PLUS thousands of moments like these that I can boast of anything resembling patience. Shuffling along yesterday, I knew I still had miles and miles to go in that department. Fortunately, neither of those influences looks to run out any time soon.)