Dear Mrs. Stuart M. Jones,
It's still many years before I'll meet you, but I wanted to write in advance about your husband's eating habits. Sort of an apology, but also maybe a perspective that will make things easier for you.
Not to mince words, my firstborn son is a picky eater. But try not to hold it against him. He's really good about trying new things. It's just that he's got that gag reflex. All humans have a gag reflex, of course, but Stuart's is special. It's like an evolutionary step up. If most of the population were wiped out, leaving only people with Stuart's type of gag reflex, eventually the human race could breed built-in defensive weapons. "Okay, soldiers, they're advancing. Load green beans!" (Soldiers stuff their mouths with handfuls of green beans.) "Ready... Steady... Regurgitate!" No invader could stand before them.
Even now, years before he marries you, he's learned to control the Reflex. But it's pretty hard get him to enjoy a dish that's not made the way he likes it. Oh, you think you're going to sneak in a new ingredient? Change up the way you cook it? Maybe substitute rosemary for dill? You sweet woman, I wish you the best. But -- not to brag on my boy or anything -- he's pretty gifted. In fact, I'm thinking that the CIA might be interested in him for taste-testing purposes:
A group of agents sits down to a meal. Stuart tastes the soup and barks, "Stop! Nobody take another bite! This soup doesn't taste like it usually does."
"Whatever you say, Agent 22. You're the expert. Bruno! Bring out the chef!"
Bruno strong-arms a woman wearing a black leather suit under her white apron into the room. They recognize her at once as one of the enemy agents.
She hisses, "You're all still alive? Impossible! I poisoned the soup with arsenic!"
The agents around the table guffaw. "Arsenic? Oh, come on, you can't get arsenic past Agent 22! He can taste iocaine powder in cupcakes! Take her away."
"Oh, and can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead of this soup?" Stuart says. "Except not the jelly you used last week. I didn't like it."
His potential is enormous.
As you know, my dear future daughter-in-law, there's a lot to love about Stuart. I hope that any mealtime frustrations will seem small in comparison to his other loveable qualities. Also, I'm including with this letter a six-month supply of peanut butter and jelly. I feel it's the least I can do for you.
Love,
Your mother-in-law, SJ
(who just tonight made "fast-bake" French bread instead of the usual 3hr-40min French bread, and was informed that "it doesn't taste the way it usually does.")
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Love Languages
I hadn't really heard about The Five Love Languages until I met Darren's family. Then I think I heard about them the first night I ate supper with them. Miss Bev likes identifying personality types and has found the Love Languages to be especially helpful. Once I took the quiz and found out my and Darren's "languages," I realized how valuable it was in understanding each other.
The author has identified five broad categories -- "languages" -- that we use for giving and receiving love. The premise of the book is that there are one or two languages that best communicate love to us. Some people crave compliments and encouraging words from others (Words of Affirmation). Others feel deeply loved if someone gives them a gift, either material or of time and attention (Gifts). Touching, patting, or cuddling is most important to some (Physical Touch). "Wow, you cleaned the kitchen for me!" really does it for lots of people (Acts of Service). And then there are people like Darren and me, who feel at peace with the world if our loved ones are simply WITH us, either in person or by phone and letter (Quality Time).
Obviously the languages overlap: what one person sees as Quality Time someone else may receive as a Gift of time, and both are happy. And obviously we all enjoy being loved in many ways, not just one or two. But for most people, there are one or two ways that stand out above any of the others.
(1. "I don't like those personality type things because it puts people in boxes and categories and you don't really get to know them individually." Yes, yes, I see your point.
2. "I don't like those personality type things because people use them as an excuse for bad behavior. 'Sorry I didn't call you back! I'm a 'giving gifts' person so I just don't get around to doing a 'quality time' thing like phone calls.'" I see, yes.)
Okay, having dealt with common objections, we'll move on.
Last week we found a quiz to identify children's love languages. (I've lost the link. I googled something like "Love Languages Kids Quiz.") We've always attempted to identify them, but now Addie and Stuart (and Daphne, sort of) are old enough to help us. I think Addie and Stuart enjoyed taking the quiz, even though it's pretty long for the under-10 crowd. Daphne got bored halfway through, so I filled out the rest for her with occasional input when she happened to overhear a question.
It was fun looking at the results.
We realized right off that the Acts of Service language gets a short shrift with kids. They don't know enough of what's done for them to appreciate it. And Gifts is unusually popular because every kids likes just the IDEA of gifts. As Darren pointed out, the point is to understand how our children most understand love right now.
Addie's top scores were Gifts and Words of Affirmation. She ranked lowest on Physical Touch. Wow, we didn't figure that out YEARS AGO.
Stuart liked Quality Time and Gifts, and didn't care much about Words of Affirmation. Again, no surprise there. He'll choose hanging out at home (preferably with Daddy) over going somewhere almost every time.
Daphne scored just about as high as possible on Quality Time. In fact, Daphne's Quality Time tank has a leak in it, so it never gets full no matter how much attention we pour into it. I'm grateful for Grandpa and Nana who welcome phone calls from Daphne. (It's hard to type right now because Daphne is leaning against my right side, being With Me, as she looks at a book.)
Knowing how they feel loved helps us as parents love them that way. It's generally a positive thing all around. Still, a little knowledge in the wrong hands... Daphne now comes to me while I'm cooking or typing, wiggles herself under my elbow and wraps my arm around herself, and says, "I feel most loved when somebody hugs me."
-- SJ
The author has identified five broad categories -- "languages" -- that we use for giving and receiving love. The premise of the book is that there are one or two languages that best communicate love to us. Some people crave compliments and encouraging words from others (Words of Affirmation). Others feel deeply loved if someone gives them a gift, either material or of time and attention (Gifts). Touching, patting, or cuddling is most important to some (Physical Touch). "Wow, you cleaned the kitchen for me!" really does it for lots of people (Acts of Service). And then there are people like Darren and me, who feel at peace with the world if our loved ones are simply WITH us, either in person or by phone and letter (Quality Time).
Obviously the languages overlap: what one person sees as Quality Time someone else may receive as a Gift of time, and both are happy. And obviously we all enjoy being loved in many ways, not just one or two. But for most people, there are one or two ways that stand out above any of the others.
(1. "I don't like those personality type things because it puts people in boxes and categories and you don't really get to know them individually." Yes, yes, I see your point.
2. "I don't like those personality type things because people use them as an excuse for bad behavior. 'Sorry I didn't call you back! I'm a 'giving gifts' person so I just don't get around to doing a 'quality time' thing like phone calls.'" I see, yes.)
Okay, having dealt with common objections, we'll move on.
Last week we found a quiz to identify children's love languages. (I've lost the link. I googled something like "Love Languages Kids Quiz.") We've always attempted to identify them, but now Addie and Stuart (and Daphne, sort of) are old enough to help us. I think Addie and Stuart enjoyed taking the quiz, even though it's pretty long for the under-10 crowd. Daphne got bored halfway through, so I filled out the rest for her with occasional input when she happened to overhear a question.
It was fun looking at the results.
We realized right off that the Acts of Service language gets a short shrift with kids. They don't know enough of what's done for them to appreciate it. And Gifts is unusually popular because every kids likes just the IDEA of gifts. As Darren pointed out, the point is to understand how our children most understand love right now.
Addie's top scores were Gifts and Words of Affirmation. She ranked lowest on Physical Touch. Wow, we didn't figure that out YEARS AGO.
Stuart liked Quality Time and Gifts, and didn't care much about Words of Affirmation. Again, no surprise there. He'll choose hanging out at home (preferably with Daddy) over going somewhere almost every time.
Daphne scored just about as high as possible on Quality Time. In fact, Daphne's Quality Time tank has a leak in it, so it never gets full no matter how much attention we pour into it. I'm grateful for Grandpa and Nana who welcome phone calls from Daphne. (It's hard to type right now because Daphne is leaning against my right side, being With Me, as she looks at a book.)
Knowing how they feel loved helps us as parents love them that way. It's generally a positive thing all around. Still, a little knowledge in the wrong hands... Daphne now comes to me while I'm cooking or typing, wiggles herself under my elbow and wraps my arm around herself, and says, "I feel most loved when somebody hugs me."
-- SJ
Monday, March 21, 2011
Kid Bits
Phillip loves to talk. He tells us about everything in his world. The only problem is that he can't actually say any words. In fact, at this stage, he doesn't even use consonants.
"Eh uhuhuh eh eh!" he'll remark.
At church yesterday, he cornered one member and chattered to him at great length. "He's talking to you," I explained.
"Oh, I know! He's told me about seven hundred things, all with the same syllable."
I told Darren that Pip is going to be disappointed when he starts saying actual words. He won't be able to say everything he wants to.
***
We were in Home Depot, and the kids were enjoying a display gazebo with patio furniture in it. Daphne laid down on the loveseat and noticed a sign. "Hey! It says free sleeping!"
Stuart burst out laughing (having no sense of awe that his four-year-old sister can misread something). The sign said, "Free Shipping."
***
With Addie turning ten years old this year, I'm discovering the young woman she's growing into. One emerging interest evidently is Shopping.
I don't know where she got this gene. Not from me. I mean, I wasn't as bad as my brother Matt, who was so ornery during one trip that my brother Neil stole his clothes from the dressing room so he'd have to try on the clothes Mom brought to him. But I was nearly as bad. So how did I get a daughter who writes "Mother-daughter clothes shopping day" on the calendar and asks to go to a store with a dressing room so she can try things on?
I mean, my way of "shopping" for the last several years has been to send a list and a check to my mother-in-law, who then sends a box of beautiful clothes for all my children.
Oh. I think I just isolated the shopping-gene in my genetic pool.
So Addie and I took a couple of hours this past weekend and went to Old Navy, where she picked out and tried on and came home happy as a lark. And at least I had more fun with her than my mother ever had with me.
(Dear Mom, I'm sorry. Love, Your daughter who is now a mother.)
***
Stuart and Darren played Bible Trivia the other day, Stuart using the kids' deck and Darren using the adults' deck.
Stuart blasted Darren out of the water.
It's like in every fantasy legend, where the Dark Lord is overthrown by his own son.
-- SJ
"Eh uhuhuh eh eh!" he'll remark.
At church yesterday, he cornered one member and chattered to him at great length. "He's talking to you," I explained.
"Oh, I know! He's told me about seven hundred things, all with the same syllable."
I told Darren that Pip is going to be disappointed when he starts saying actual words. He won't be able to say everything he wants to.
***
We were in Home Depot, and the kids were enjoying a display gazebo with patio furniture in it. Daphne laid down on the loveseat and noticed a sign. "Hey! It says free sleeping!"
Stuart burst out laughing (having no sense of awe that his four-year-old sister can misread something). The sign said, "Free Shipping."
***
With Addie turning ten years old this year, I'm discovering the young woman she's growing into. One emerging interest evidently is Shopping.
I don't know where she got this gene. Not from me. I mean, I wasn't as bad as my brother Matt, who was so ornery during one trip that my brother Neil stole his clothes from the dressing room so he'd have to try on the clothes Mom brought to him. But I was nearly as bad. So how did I get a daughter who writes "Mother-daughter clothes shopping day" on the calendar and asks to go to a store with a dressing room so she can try things on?
I mean, my way of "shopping" for the last several years has been to send a list and a check to my mother-in-law, who then sends a box of beautiful clothes for all my children.
Oh. I think I just isolated the shopping-gene in my genetic pool.
So Addie and I took a couple of hours this past weekend and went to Old Navy, where she picked out and tried on and came home happy as a lark. And at least I had more fun with her than my mother ever had with me.
(Dear Mom, I'm sorry. Love, Your daughter who is now a mother.)
***
Stuart and Darren played Bible Trivia the other day, Stuart using the kids' deck and Darren using the adults' deck.
Stuart blasted Darren out of the water.
It's like in every fantasy legend, where the Dark Lord is overthrown by his own son.
-- SJ
Saturday, March 19, 2011
A Certain Slant of Light
Isn't that a great title? I wish I was the one who came up with that title. Instead, it's the name of a recent YA book by Laura Whitcomb. I listened to it during my California weekend, and finished it with a mixed bag of pros and cons. Which I will share with you here because, after all, it's my blog and that's what I do.
The premise of the story is that Helen has been dead for 130 years. She knows she's a ghost, although she refers to it as being "light." In order to avoid a terrible hell of icy cold pain and water, she attaches herself to humans who have a deep love for literature. They never know she's there. She's lonely.
The story opens with Helen haunting a young English teacher in a modern high school. One afternoon, one of the students looks up and sees her. Naturally she seeks him out. It turns out that he's not the pale, apathetic boy who used to sit in English class. That boy's spirit left his body, and James -- dead 85 years -- took the body.
So here's a surprise: they fall in love! This part of the book did for me what Twilight apparently does for 80% of the rest of the female population. Whitcomb's writing is very good, and this was a romantic and touching story: James in a body, Helen as light, both lonely and delighted to meet each other, falling in love and longing to be together physically as well as emotionally.
Of course, now Helen needs a body. James's body was abandoned by a druggie with a chaotic homelife. Helen finds a tidy, placid girl whose spirit has fled a well-to-do home where her life is tightly controlled by her domineering father and her rigidly organized mother. I thought the contrast between the two homes was interesting: that there are many ways a spirit can be broken.
The story loses focus in the middle. Scenes are too long or purposeless. It takes far too much time for Helen to face her personal hell. Once James and Helen are together in their borrowed bodies, their physical love is described more graphically than I'd want my teenagers reading.
(A note about that, though: Twilight's Edward and Bella were so celebrated for Waiting Until. James and Helen take the very first opportunity to get away together. But James doesn't emanate abusive-boyfriend vibes like Edward does, and Helen doesn't exhibit the alarming self-destructive tendencies that Bella does. I was way more comfortable around James and Helen, even if I did wish they'd close the door.)
One aspect of the story that was both a pro and a con was that the girl's oppressive home was a Christian one. At least, everything they did was in the name of Christianity, although it's abundantly clear that at least one parent is better at preaching than practicing. I suppose an undiscerning reader would take it as a faithful portrayal of Christianity (and teenagers aren't known for their literary discernment in general). But I thought it was obvious that the family was plenty dysfunctional even without the daily Bible verses about obedience and God's wrath. Not only that, but Christianity has a long and ignoble history of being misused for spirit-breaking.
Darren looked up the author and found her to be, as he put it, "full-on Wiccan." She got a lot of the Christian-speak correct so she's obviously familiar with it. I wasn't comfortable with the picture she portrayed, but agreed with her that a spirit would try to escape it if possible. I also was cheering on Helen (in the girl's body) when she told off a lot of ladies at a prayer meeting who thought they knew who got to Heaven and who went to Hell.
The ending is happy... for Helen and James. But they leave rather a mess behind them. It's an appealing idea, especially in ghost stories, that everyone is welcome in heaven and hell is only what you make yourself; but if God wasn't going to make them set things right first, the author should have mentioned it to them before they went sailing off toward the horizon.
One last con that irritated me continually, but is a specialized annoyance: the names. Helen inhabits the body of a teenager named Jenny -- or Jennifer Anne when she's in trouble. James lives in Billy Blake's body. Those are names of teenagers in my generation, not current teenagers. The names should have been Jenna and Will. Similarly, the mom-names were Kathy, Elaine, and Judy. Those are grandmother names now. The moms should have been Christine, Michelle, and Denise. This sort of mistake drives me crazy. I should pursue a career as a name-editor.
Overall, I liked the book. It was a good paranormal romance, well written. The flaws weren't bad enough to inspire me to great flights of literature, as I was here, but you can't have everything.
-- SJ
P.S. Forgot to mention that the language is pretty bad during the Billy-Blake-homelife scenes. It fit the context so didn't bother me much, although I'm still puzzled as to how people can take one of the most obscene insults we have -- f*** -- and turn it into a filler word. Why waste your resources like that?
The premise of the story is that Helen has been dead for 130 years. She knows she's a ghost, although she refers to it as being "light." In order to avoid a terrible hell of icy cold pain and water, she attaches herself to humans who have a deep love for literature. They never know she's there. She's lonely.
The story opens with Helen haunting a young English teacher in a modern high school. One afternoon, one of the students looks up and sees her. Naturally she seeks him out. It turns out that he's not the pale, apathetic boy who used to sit in English class. That boy's spirit left his body, and James -- dead 85 years -- took the body.
So here's a surprise: they fall in love! This part of the book did for me what Twilight apparently does for 80% of the rest of the female population. Whitcomb's writing is very good, and this was a romantic and touching story: James in a body, Helen as light, both lonely and delighted to meet each other, falling in love and longing to be together physically as well as emotionally.
Of course, now Helen needs a body. James's body was abandoned by a druggie with a chaotic homelife. Helen finds a tidy, placid girl whose spirit has fled a well-to-do home where her life is tightly controlled by her domineering father and her rigidly organized mother. I thought the contrast between the two homes was interesting: that there are many ways a spirit can be broken.
The story loses focus in the middle. Scenes are too long or purposeless. It takes far too much time for Helen to face her personal hell. Once James and Helen are together in their borrowed bodies, their physical love is described more graphically than I'd want my teenagers reading.
(A note about that, though: Twilight's Edward and Bella were so celebrated for Waiting Until. James and Helen take the very first opportunity to get away together. But James doesn't emanate abusive-boyfriend vibes like Edward does, and Helen doesn't exhibit the alarming self-destructive tendencies that Bella does. I was way more comfortable around James and Helen, even if I did wish they'd close the door.)
One aspect of the story that was both a pro and a con was that the girl's oppressive home was a Christian one. At least, everything they did was in the name of Christianity, although it's abundantly clear that at least one parent is better at preaching than practicing. I suppose an undiscerning reader would take it as a faithful portrayal of Christianity (and teenagers aren't known for their literary discernment in general). But I thought it was obvious that the family was plenty dysfunctional even without the daily Bible verses about obedience and God's wrath. Not only that, but Christianity has a long and ignoble history of being misused for spirit-breaking.
Darren looked up the author and found her to be, as he put it, "full-on Wiccan." She got a lot of the Christian-speak correct so she's obviously familiar with it. I wasn't comfortable with the picture she portrayed, but agreed with her that a spirit would try to escape it if possible. I also was cheering on Helen (in the girl's body) when she told off a lot of ladies at a prayer meeting who thought they knew who got to Heaven and who went to Hell.
The ending is happy... for Helen and James. But they leave rather a mess behind them. It's an appealing idea, especially in ghost stories, that everyone is welcome in heaven and hell is only what you make yourself; but if God wasn't going to make them set things right first, the author should have mentioned it to them before they went sailing off toward the horizon.
One last con that irritated me continually, but is a specialized annoyance: the names. Helen inhabits the body of a teenager named Jenny -- or Jennifer Anne when she's in trouble. James lives in Billy Blake's body. Those are names of teenagers in my generation, not current teenagers. The names should have been Jenna and Will. Similarly, the mom-names were Kathy, Elaine, and Judy. Those are grandmother names now. The moms should have been Christine, Michelle, and Denise. This sort of mistake drives me crazy. I should pursue a career as a name-editor.
Overall, I liked the book. It was a good paranormal romance, well written. The flaws weren't bad enough to inspire me to great flights of literature, as I was here, but you can't have everything.
-- SJ
P.S. Forgot to mention that the language is pretty bad during the Billy-Blake-homelife scenes. It fit the context so didn't bother me much, although I'm still puzzled as to how people can take one of the most obscene insults we have -- f*** -- and turn it into a filler word. Why waste your resources like that?
Friday, March 18, 2011
A Day in the Life Of
So many of you wrestle with this issue every time you get online. "How am I supposed to keep up with the Joneses if I don't know what a typical day is like?" I hope the following will assist you in reaching your dreams.
Morning
Between 5:30 and 6:30: Pip wakes up. Since I'm not a morning person, you can imagine how challenging it is for me to do early-morning care. I imagine it sometimes, too, and it's not pleasant. Fortunately for me, Darren does morning duty with the little ones. This morning, Phillip woke up giggling at 5:20 a.m. I think I owe Darren some biscuits for supper.
7:15: I get up, get dressed, wander out to the living room, wander past Phillip watching "Blue's Clues," and into the kitchen to check my email and Google Reader and basically hibernate until I'm functional. Darren is usually finishing his breakfast (I've never cooked him breakfast. Do I owe him biscuits for this also?). Stuart has reached Stage One of his waking up: he's staggered from his room to the couch, where he's fallen back asleep.
7:30: Daphne comes out, sleepy and chattering. Darren leaves for work. Phillip waves, one of his only tricks so far.
7:45: Addie shows up, asking anxiously if it's 8:00 yet. The rule is that if they get up before 8, they get a full 20 minutes of computer time. After 8, it's reduced to 10 minutes. This is of critical importance in the Jones House. She breathes a sigh of relief (literally and audibly) when I tell her she's good.
I toast a waffle, cut it up into pieces, and put it on the table for Phillip to find when he gets hungry.
8:00: Stuart reaches Stage Two of waking up: He opens his eyes and watches Addie play. I get breakfast for Daphne.
8:20: Stuart reaches Stage Three: Actual upright movement, at least from the couch to the computer.
8:40: All kids are up and Mama is functional. I remind them of the notice taped to the computer armoir: "Your Morning Mission: Brush Teeth. Get Dressed. Eat Breakfast. If you have not done all three of these things, you don't have time for reading or pretending yet." The notice bothers Daphne, who says that it should say "Morning MissionS."
From 7:30 to 9:30, I get cleanup done. I have to do it in the mornings because my other option is to do it at night. Afternoons are out of the question because I have no energy between 2 and 4.
About 9:45: School. Ideally, Pip has gone down for a nap, but Pip doesn't feel bound to live up to my ideals. Sometimes we just have to work around him, which makes me want to lock myself in my room for the rest of the day.
Daphne plays Starfall.com or with her toys until it's her turn for school. She's my most enthusiastic student, which is annoying because she's the one who needs school the least. Addie and Stuart join me at the table, and while they aren't fizzing with excitement, we usually have a good time with our work.
11:00: School is done. When discussing homeschooling, I tend to avoid mentioning the specific time we spend on schoolwork. But here it is, in print: We rarely take more than an hour and a half total in school. During that time, we cover AWANA, devotions, math, and language. Science and art and geography are once a week at co-op.
When I get anxious about something I realize we haven't gone over (writing paragraphs, U.S. geography, mapwork), I'll fit it in as needed. Since both Addie and Stuart are enthusiastic readers and quick learners, and since I've been teaching them since they were, um, born, we know each other's styles and don't have to spend a lot of time on any given subject.
I also keep things short to keep their attention alive. I'd rather take several days on something rather than get it all done and squash their interest in it forever.
And, finally, if Pip does nap, I've got just that amount of time to get things done in peace.
12:00: Lunch. Usually I make it, four different lunches for four different children. Yes, that's right, I'm THAT KIND of mother. (Wow, this turned out to be much more confessional than I was aiming for.) I even recently came across a motivational article on parenting which listed this sort of indulgence as one way to "ruin your kids' lives." But the fact is, this isn't a battle that Darren and I feel like fighting. He's instituted two rock-hard rules: They don't complain about what Mama cooks, and they have to eat what's on their plate (teeny tiny portions) without throwing up. Other than that, I accommodate the pickiness. It's annoying, but I was a picky child and I've earned every irritated moment.
On the other hand, bedtime battles are unheard of in this house. I figure it's a trade-off.
Afternoon
1:00: On a school day, especially in the winter, this is video time. I'm ready to crash by now, and videos keep even Phillip happy. As the weather gets nicer, we spend more time outside. Of course, outside with Phillp means I'm doing fun things like Following Him Around and Pushing Him on the Swing and Telling Him He Can't Go to the Neighbor's Yard.
2:00: Quiet Play. This event is set in stone in the Jones House. I schedule everything around it. Addie and Stuart go to the playroom, Daphne goes to her room, Phillip goes in his crib, and I set the timer for 45 minutes. Then I crawl in bed and go to sleep. Even if I don't sleep, I don't answer the phone or accept visitors. The kids don't watch videos during this time. I'm serious about QP: it's kept us all happy for many years now, ever since Addie outgrew her naps at age 2.
Pip can usually go about 30 minutes if he doesn't nap. Loudly, yes, but I figure it can't hurt him.
2:45: Timer goes off. Kids are released from their rooms. If Phillip is awake, Addie often will get him up herself. They watch a Pokemon or Phineas and Ferb episode.
3:15: I surface and reluctantly get up. This is my low-function time. I get very little done between 3:15 and 4:15.
4:15: Time to start supper. Pip gets up from his nap. I chase Stuart and Addie off the computer multiple times. Daphne talks a lot. I call Darren and ask him if he can make the day go faster.
5:00: Snack cutoff time. Often there are wails about how they're hungry and can't possibly wait till supper, but sorry, you can't argue with the clock, and the clock says 5:10.
5:30: Feed toddler. Chase older kids off computer. Tell Daphne that I can't look/answer/tell a story/play a game/etc.
Evening
6:00: Darren finishes a long and busy day by walking into a loud and busy house. He's a good man to come home ready to be a daddy.
6:15: I serve supper. Various kids react as if I've served radioactive waste. But they eat a few bites anyway, which is all we ask for. Darren always thanks me, and most of the time loves what I cook. One reason why I love him. I should make him some biscuits.
7:00: Pip's bedtime, usually pretty painless. That's because we put him to bed with a bottle. There, I've pretty much demolished any idea you had that I was a good and deserving mother.
8:00: Storytime. This is another fixture in our household routine, although it changes depending on the kids' ages and what mood Darren is in. Sometimes he reads a Bible story to them, sometimes does a lesson. Daphne loves acting out stories. He usually leads them in a modified version of the evening prayer. Lately it's been just a short few sentences. Keeping things small and interesting, after all.
8:15-9:00: Various bathtimes, depending on who needs it or who wants it.
9:00: Daphne's bedtime. She insists that Mama put her to bed, but sometimes Daddy does it anyway. When he does it, she insists on the same stories from his childhood, and corrects his wording.
9:30: Addie and Stuart go to the playroom, leaving Mama and Daddy in the living room with some together time. The kids don't quite get this "together time" stuff. Isn't it so much more fun with the kids around?
10:00: Darren prays with the older two and sets a timer, and then he and I head back to get ready for bed. About 10:30 we get two knocks on the door: "Goodnight! We love you!" They read until they fall asleep. Addie says she has "bad insomnia" that keeps her up until 1 in the morning, but she seems to cope with it by falling asleep by 11:30.
11:30: I fall asleep, glad that we aren't routinely awakened during the night anymore. Darren sometimes stays up till 12 or so, but he's getting older and needs more sleep, which makes him grumble like a cranky old man.
And so the day goes, with variations here and there. Babysitter and gym on Monday nights, AWANA on Wednesday nights, co-op on Thursday mornings. It's a pretty good life, all in all. And not a ridiculously high standard for you to keep up with. Except I didn't post the recipe for the biscuits.
-- SJ
Post idea snatched from here.
Morning
Between 5:30 and 6:30: Pip wakes up. Since I'm not a morning person, you can imagine how challenging it is for me to do early-morning care. I imagine it sometimes, too, and it's not pleasant. Fortunately for me, Darren does morning duty with the little ones. This morning, Phillip woke up giggling at 5:20 a.m. I think I owe Darren some biscuits for supper.
7:15: I get up, get dressed, wander out to the living room, wander past Phillip watching "Blue's Clues," and into the kitchen to check my email and Google Reader and basically hibernate until I'm functional. Darren is usually finishing his breakfast (I've never cooked him breakfast. Do I owe him biscuits for this also?). Stuart has reached Stage One of his waking up: he's staggered from his room to the couch, where he's fallen back asleep.
7:30: Daphne comes out, sleepy and chattering. Darren leaves for work. Phillip waves, one of his only tricks so far.
7:45: Addie shows up, asking anxiously if it's 8:00 yet. The rule is that if they get up before 8, they get a full 20 minutes of computer time. After 8, it's reduced to 10 minutes. This is of critical importance in the Jones House. She breathes a sigh of relief (literally and audibly) when I tell her she's good.
I toast a waffle, cut it up into pieces, and put it on the table for Phillip to find when he gets hungry.
8:00: Stuart reaches Stage Two of waking up: He opens his eyes and watches Addie play. I get breakfast for Daphne.
8:20: Stuart reaches Stage Three: Actual upright movement, at least from the couch to the computer.
8:40: All kids are up and Mama is functional. I remind them of the notice taped to the computer armoir: "Your Morning Mission: Brush Teeth. Get Dressed. Eat Breakfast. If you have not done all three of these things, you don't have time for reading or pretending yet." The notice bothers Daphne, who says that it should say "Morning MissionS."
From 7:30 to 9:30, I get cleanup done. I have to do it in the mornings because my other option is to do it at night. Afternoons are out of the question because I have no energy between 2 and 4.
About 9:45: School. Ideally, Pip has gone down for a nap, but Pip doesn't feel bound to live up to my ideals. Sometimes we just have to work around him, which makes me want to lock myself in my room for the rest of the day.
Daphne plays Starfall.com or with her toys until it's her turn for school. She's my most enthusiastic student, which is annoying because she's the one who needs school the least. Addie and Stuart join me at the table, and while they aren't fizzing with excitement, we usually have a good time with our work.
11:00: School is done. When discussing homeschooling, I tend to avoid mentioning the specific time we spend on schoolwork. But here it is, in print: We rarely take more than an hour and a half total in school. During that time, we cover AWANA, devotions, math, and language. Science and art and geography are once a week at co-op.
When I get anxious about something I realize we haven't gone over (writing paragraphs, U.S. geography, mapwork), I'll fit it in as needed. Since both Addie and Stuart are enthusiastic readers and quick learners, and since I've been teaching them since they were, um, born, we know each other's styles and don't have to spend a lot of time on any given subject.
I also keep things short to keep their attention alive. I'd rather take several days on something rather than get it all done and squash their interest in it forever.
And, finally, if Pip does nap, I've got just that amount of time to get things done in peace.
12:00: Lunch. Usually I make it, four different lunches for four different children. Yes, that's right, I'm THAT KIND of mother. (Wow, this turned out to be much more confessional than I was aiming for.) I even recently came across a motivational article on parenting which listed this sort of indulgence as one way to "ruin your kids' lives." But the fact is, this isn't a battle that Darren and I feel like fighting. He's instituted two rock-hard rules: They don't complain about what Mama cooks, and they have to eat what's on their plate (teeny tiny portions) without throwing up. Other than that, I accommodate the pickiness. It's annoying, but I was a picky child and I've earned every irritated moment.
On the other hand, bedtime battles are unheard of in this house. I figure it's a trade-off.
Afternoon
1:00: On a school day, especially in the winter, this is video time. I'm ready to crash by now, and videos keep even Phillip happy. As the weather gets nicer, we spend more time outside. Of course, outside with Phillp means I'm doing fun things like Following Him Around and Pushing Him on the Swing and Telling Him He Can't Go to the Neighbor's Yard.
2:00: Quiet Play. This event is set in stone in the Jones House. I schedule everything around it. Addie and Stuart go to the playroom, Daphne goes to her room, Phillip goes in his crib, and I set the timer for 45 minutes. Then I crawl in bed and go to sleep. Even if I don't sleep, I don't answer the phone or accept visitors. The kids don't watch videos during this time. I'm serious about QP: it's kept us all happy for many years now, ever since Addie outgrew her naps at age 2.
Pip can usually go about 30 minutes if he doesn't nap. Loudly, yes, but I figure it can't hurt him.
2:45: Timer goes off. Kids are released from their rooms. If Phillip is awake, Addie often will get him up herself. They watch a Pokemon or Phineas and Ferb episode.
3:15: I surface and reluctantly get up. This is my low-function time. I get very little done between 3:15 and 4:15.
4:15: Time to start supper. Pip gets up from his nap. I chase Stuart and Addie off the computer multiple times. Daphne talks a lot. I call Darren and ask him if he can make the day go faster.
5:00: Snack cutoff time. Often there are wails about how they're hungry and can't possibly wait till supper, but sorry, you can't argue with the clock, and the clock says 5:10.
5:30: Feed toddler. Chase older kids off computer. Tell Daphne that I can't look/answer/tell a story/play a game/etc.
Evening
6:00: Darren finishes a long and busy day by walking into a loud and busy house. He's a good man to come home ready to be a daddy.
6:15: I serve supper. Various kids react as if I've served radioactive waste. But they eat a few bites anyway, which is all we ask for. Darren always thanks me, and most of the time loves what I cook. One reason why I love him. I should make him some biscuits.
7:00: Pip's bedtime, usually pretty painless. That's because we put him to bed with a bottle. There, I've pretty much demolished any idea you had that I was a good and deserving mother.
8:00: Storytime. This is another fixture in our household routine, although it changes depending on the kids' ages and what mood Darren is in. Sometimes he reads a Bible story to them, sometimes does a lesson. Daphne loves acting out stories. He usually leads them in a modified version of the evening prayer. Lately it's been just a short few sentences. Keeping things small and interesting, after all.
8:15-9:00: Various bathtimes, depending on who needs it or who wants it.
9:00: Daphne's bedtime. She insists that Mama put her to bed, but sometimes Daddy does it anyway. When he does it, she insists on the same stories from his childhood, and corrects his wording.
9:30: Addie and Stuart go to the playroom, leaving Mama and Daddy in the living room with some together time. The kids don't quite get this "together time" stuff. Isn't it so much more fun with the kids around?
10:00: Darren prays with the older two and sets a timer, and then he and I head back to get ready for bed. About 10:30 we get two knocks on the door: "Goodnight! We love you!" They read until they fall asleep. Addie says she has "bad insomnia" that keeps her up until 1 in the morning, but she seems to cope with it by falling asleep by 11:30.
11:30: I fall asleep, glad that we aren't routinely awakened during the night anymore. Darren sometimes stays up till 12 or so, but he's getting older and needs more sleep, which makes him grumble like a cranky old man.
And so the day goes, with variations here and there. Babysitter and gym on Monday nights, AWANA on Wednesday nights, co-op on Thursday mornings. It's a pretty good life, all in all. And not a ridiculously high standard for you to keep up with. Except I didn't post the recipe for the biscuits.
-- SJ
Post idea snatched from here.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Four Friends
If you're a person who never takes pictures, you do well to make friends with a photographer. Thanks for the picture, Danielle.
Left to right: Marti, Jessica (the bride), Danielle, Sara
Left to right: Marti, Jessica (the bride), Danielle, SaraWedding in the West
I went to a wedding this weekend. The wedding was in California, and the weekend lasted four days. It's something I definitely could see my way to doing again.
The fact that I went was a pretty big deal, in the same way that the Grand Canyon is a pretty big ditch. I've never left Darren with the kids for more than two overnights. Not that I doubted him: he of course handled things splendidly and I'm not sure that Pip ever really noticed I was gone. It's just not something I'm accustomed to thinking of as, you know, possible.
This was an event I couldn't miss, though. Fifteen years ago, five of us shared a house during our six-month HSLDA internship. Lots of things have changed since then: homes and jobs and beliefs and marriages and kids and opinions. But we're still basically the same girls who survived six months in close quarters with our friendship intact. This weekend, Jessica got married, and Marti and Danielle and I were there to celebrate with her (Jenna was the only one missing).
Since Jessica married a man as socially enthusiastic as she is, they turned their wedding into a weekend vacation for all their guests. The actual ceremony took up only 35 minutes of the three-day event. (The actual ceremony also included a Dachshund, in a tuxedo, as ring-bearer, a mariachi band providing the music, and the groom's sister in a tux as the best man.) I'm not sure what everybody else did during the rest of the time. I know I spent a lot of time by myself, writing or listening to an audiobook, savoring the hours when I didn't have to take care of anybody except myself.
I wouldn't make a good travel writer. For one thing, I don't much like to travel. Even once I got all the way out to the West Coast, I found a cozy little routine and stayed in it. I even sat at the same table for breakfast and lunch every day. Secondly, I had to make a conscious effort to tell Darren about the food I ate. It was all very good food: quinoa and asparagus salad, rosemary potatoes, rotisserie chicken, breaded bass, cream of asparagus soup, barbecue brisket... all marvelous. I just don't care that much about food.
Thanks to Jessica, I did a wine-tasting. We were in wine country, driving past acres and acres of vineyards. I've developed enough of a taste for wine to know that what we tried was really good. It's a good thing for me that they were dry instead of sweet.
(The chocolate and rum martini, on the other hand... oh yum. Fortunately I have an acute anxiety about getting tipsy and acting stupid, so was able to limit my intake.)
Thanks to Marti and Danielle, I hiked about five miles mostly uphill. It was supposed to be a leisurely walk through the redwood forest, but somehow (by which I mean "Marti") we ended up on the long trail. I should have known better: Marti-and-Derik and Danielle-and-Josh are all prone to the particular madness known as "hiking." I was the only one winded. Heck, Danielle had her six-month-old baby strapped to her chest the whole time, and wasn't even breathing hard.
Redwood trees are as amazing as the pictures make them out to be. As we stood in front of a 1400-year-old tree, Derik remarked, "This one is only three hundred and eight feet tall. That's two feet shorter than that other one. It's not as awesome." Redwoods like a damp environment: the whole forest was spongy. It got less spongy the higher up you got, as I inadvertently discovered.
Jessica has led a varied life, and in each phase she collects friends who love her. We all hear about the other friends, so this weekend we were all delighted to meet each other. When we all gathered in an old apple orchard to watch Jessica and Derek exchange vows, it felt good to be one of those who are lucky to call her a friend.
Danielle and Josh took me back to the airport with them, which was a nice way to end a fun trip. I was glad to get back to the East Coast: the California landscape is beautiful, but I'm a Southern girl, and I like my mountains small and blue.
Four kids and a husband welcomed me home. It was good to go, and good to come back.
-- SJ
P.S. Of course I don't have any pictures. I lost my camera three weeks ago. I'm hoping Danielle will have a couple I can beg off her.
The fact that I went was a pretty big deal, in the same way that the Grand Canyon is a pretty big ditch. I've never left Darren with the kids for more than two overnights. Not that I doubted him: he of course handled things splendidly and I'm not sure that Pip ever really noticed I was gone. It's just not something I'm accustomed to thinking of as, you know, possible.
This was an event I couldn't miss, though. Fifteen years ago, five of us shared a house during our six-month HSLDA internship. Lots of things have changed since then: homes and jobs and beliefs and marriages and kids and opinions. But we're still basically the same girls who survived six months in close quarters with our friendship intact. This weekend, Jessica got married, and Marti and Danielle and I were there to celebrate with her (Jenna was the only one missing).
Since Jessica married a man as socially enthusiastic as she is, they turned their wedding into a weekend vacation for all their guests. The actual ceremony took up only 35 minutes of the three-day event. (The actual ceremony also included a Dachshund, in a tuxedo, as ring-bearer, a mariachi band providing the music, and the groom's sister in a tux as the best man.) I'm not sure what everybody else did during the rest of the time. I know I spent a lot of time by myself, writing or listening to an audiobook, savoring the hours when I didn't have to take care of anybody except myself.
I wouldn't make a good travel writer. For one thing, I don't much like to travel. Even once I got all the way out to the West Coast, I found a cozy little routine and stayed in it. I even sat at the same table for breakfast and lunch every day. Secondly, I had to make a conscious effort to tell Darren about the food I ate. It was all very good food: quinoa and asparagus salad, rosemary potatoes, rotisserie chicken, breaded bass, cream of asparagus soup, barbecue brisket... all marvelous. I just don't care that much about food.
Thanks to Jessica, I did a wine-tasting. We were in wine country, driving past acres and acres of vineyards. I've developed enough of a taste for wine to know that what we tried was really good. It's a good thing for me that they were dry instead of sweet.
(The chocolate and rum martini, on the other hand... oh yum. Fortunately I have an acute anxiety about getting tipsy and acting stupid, so was able to limit my intake.)
Thanks to Marti and Danielle, I hiked about five miles mostly uphill. It was supposed to be a leisurely walk through the redwood forest, but somehow (by which I mean "Marti") we ended up on the long trail. I should have known better: Marti-and-Derik and Danielle-and-Josh are all prone to the particular madness known as "hiking." I was the only one winded. Heck, Danielle had her six-month-old baby strapped to her chest the whole time, and wasn't even breathing hard.
Redwood trees are as amazing as the pictures make them out to be. As we stood in front of a 1400-year-old tree, Derik remarked, "This one is only three hundred and eight feet tall. That's two feet shorter than that other one. It's not as awesome." Redwoods like a damp environment: the whole forest was spongy. It got less spongy the higher up you got, as I inadvertently discovered.
Jessica has led a varied life, and in each phase she collects friends who love her. We all hear about the other friends, so this weekend we were all delighted to meet each other. When we all gathered in an old apple orchard to watch Jessica and Derek exchange vows, it felt good to be one of those who are lucky to call her a friend.
Danielle and Josh took me back to the airport with them, which was a nice way to end a fun trip. I was glad to get back to the East Coast: the California landscape is beautiful, but I'm a Southern girl, and I like my mountains small and blue.
Four kids and a husband welcomed me home. It was good to go, and good to come back.
-- SJ
P.S. Of course I don't have any pictures. I lost my camera three weeks ago. I'm hoping Danielle will have a couple I can beg off her.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Fat = Stupid
(Here you go, Liane! That note's been in my little box down there so long that the corners are starting to peel up.)
I came across a quote where someone was lamenting the overabundance of fat people in America. He stated "as a fact" that "rolls of fat are unsightly." Although a wildly inaccurate statement, it IS true for our society in general. Our standard of beauty is Thin. The thinner, the more beautiful, even if you actually look unhealthily thin (Emma Watson in the latest Harry Potter, anybody?) Those of us who have rolls of fat, even small ones, are acutely aware of that opinion.
So according to cultural standards, fat people aren't beautiful. That's unfortunate, because we assume that beauty must also mean goodness and intelligence. (By "we" I mean "me and probably other people so I'm going to pretend I'm stating universal opinions.") Result being that a fat person has to prove her intelligence or her goodness, and possibly offer an apology for not being Thin.
This goes for kids, too. Here's a familiar image: a group of kids on bikes. Bringing up the rear is the fat kid, pumping hard and bleating, "Hey guys, wait for me! Hey! Wait up!" He's fat, which means he's lazy and probably stupid. At least he's good for comic relief, which must be the reason why the Thin Kids let him hang around.
That isn't even logical. Even aside from things like metabolism and body type, it makes sense that someone more interested in reading, thinking, and creating would be less active. He might even be fat. But he's not necessarily stupid or greedy or lazy or all of the other labels we paste on an overweight back.
Think you don't do this yourself? Um, well, you might be right. On the other hand, pay attention to how you react to people you see. Somebody talking loudly on a cell phone in Wal-Mart is all the more obnoxious if she's thirty pounds too heavy. Someone eating an oversized plate of pasta at Olive Garden isn't remarkable if his waistline is small. Someone asking a stupid question at the DMV looks even stupider if she's a size 18.
Seriously, this is a mindset we all buy into, whether or not we realize it. Fat = stupid in a world where food and thinness are the new morality. I for one am not going to join up for worship services.
-- SJ
I came across a quote where someone was lamenting the overabundance of fat people in America. He stated "as a fact" that "rolls of fat are unsightly." Although a wildly inaccurate statement, it IS true for our society in general. Our standard of beauty is Thin. The thinner, the more beautiful, even if you actually look unhealthily thin (Emma Watson in the latest Harry Potter, anybody?) Those of us who have rolls of fat, even small ones, are acutely aware of that opinion.
So according to cultural standards, fat people aren't beautiful. That's unfortunate, because we assume that beauty must also mean goodness and intelligence. (By "we" I mean "me and probably other people so I'm going to pretend I'm stating universal opinions.") Result being that a fat person has to prove her intelligence or her goodness, and possibly offer an apology for not being Thin.
This goes for kids, too. Here's a familiar image: a group of kids on bikes. Bringing up the rear is the fat kid, pumping hard and bleating, "Hey guys, wait for me! Hey! Wait up!" He's fat, which means he's lazy and probably stupid. At least he's good for comic relief, which must be the reason why the Thin Kids let him hang around.
That isn't even logical. Even aside from things like metabolism and body type, it makes sense that someone more interested in reading, thinking, and creating would be less active. He might even be fat. But he's not necessarily stupid or greedy or lazy or all of the other labels we paste on an overweight back.
Think you don't do this yourself? Um, well, you might be right. On the other hand, pay attention to how you react to people you see. Somebody talking loudly on a cell phone in Wal-Mart is all the more obnoxious if she's thirty pounds too heavy. Someone eating an oversized plate of pasta at Olive Garden isn't remarkable if his waistline is small. Someone asking a stupid question at the DMV looks even stupider if she's a size 18.
Seriously, this is a mindset we all buy into, whether or not we realize it. Fat = stupid in a world where food and thinness are the new morality. I for one am not going to join up for worship services.
-- SJ
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Love, Sara
Dear February,
HA HA! I outlasted you one more time!
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Person in BH&G,
If you created a business selling customized planners, if you specifically mention that your children are "highly organized" and it makes you happy, if you say your schedule is "a tightly-choreographed dance," then please realize that when you say, "Organization isn't an innate skill. Everyone has to work at it, even me.", you don't know what you're talking about.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear My Priorities,
Have you noticed that you never have enough in the budget to freshen up the front of the house, that you're still reeling over how much you just spent on new clothes, and that you've been living with a broken lamp for several weeks... but you can rustle up enough money stuff for another electronic gadget? Seems to me you need to work on getting in order, Priorities.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Body,
We're both working hard to be disciplined in our eating and exercise, yet we'll probably always be larger than society thinks we should be. Let's make a pact: I'll ignore them if you will, and we'll work on being comfortable together.
Love, Sara
***
Any online interaction is brought to you by my Kitchen eStation, courtesy of my netbook, which the budget made room for even though it couldn't find any way to buy furniture for the front porch. Any non-interaction is brought to you by my lack of innate organizational skills. My life is not a choreographed dance, but a stroll, meaning that it's probably always going to be less accomplished than society thinks it should be. Society can just rot in February.
--SJ
HA HA! I outlasted you one more time!
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Person in BH&G,
If you created a business selling customized planners, if you specifically mention that your children are "highly organized" and it makes you happy, if you say your schedule is "a tightly-choreographed dance," then please realize that when you say, "Organization isn't an innate skill. Everyone has to work at it, even me.", you don't know what you're talking about.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear My Priorities,
Have you noticed that you never have enough in the budget to freshen up the front of the house, that you're still reeling over how much you just spent on new clothes, and that you've been living with a broken lamp for several weeks... but you can rustle up enough money stuff for another electronic gadget? Seems to me you need to work on getting in order, Priorities.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Body,
We're both working hard to be disciplined in our eating and exercise, yet we'll probably always be larger than society thinks we should be. Let's make a pact: I'll ignore them if you will, and we'll work on being comfortable together.
Love, Sara
***
Any online interaction is brought to you by my Kitchen eStation, courtesy of my netbook, which the budget made room for even though it couldn't find any way to buy furniture for the front porch. Any non-interaction is brought to you by my lack of innate organizational skills. My life is not a choreographed dance, but a stroll, meaning that it's probably always going to be less accomplished than society thinks it should be. Society can just rot in February.
--SJ
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