30 ways, #3

PAPARAZZI

Everyone spend the day looking through the lens and shooting as many pics as you can--that means you, too, Momma! Dig out your old, unused cameras for the kids, or buy a handful of one-time use ones if need be. (Digital is better and cheaper, obviously, but hey--maybe waiting for prints will be an added bonus!)


When you're done with the day's shooting, load & laugh at the zillions of pics. Print your faves, or set them to music. Guaranteed memory maker!

30 ways, #2

SHADOW PUPPETS

Wait until the light is just so. It'll probably be right about when you should be making supper, which truly will make this that much more fun for your children. Mom's willing to ditch being a nag and telling us to give her ten minutes to get the food in the oven? Sign me up!

Warning: make a crockpot meal on the day you try this, because if your kids are anything like mine, then you will NOT get anything on the table before your husband gets home. But you will have some silly, giddy kids who have cracked you up with their creative animals and convoluted plots.

If you don't have the benefit of NW shadows in the winter, try a lamp in a closet. :-)

30 ways, #1

DANCE PARTY

I don't dance in front of adults. Never. It's a hard and fast rule that I have, mostly because I look like an idiot when I dance, and really ... I try pretty hard not to look like an idiot in front of other people.


But pull up Pandora, clear the path of stray toys, and give me a kiddo or two and man, I can party like it's 1920. Or something.

Spring this one on your kid. Even if you're not a dancer. Even if they are going to look at you like you have six heads. Even if they are teenagers. Turn on something infectious (my kids loved hearing the songs I thought were cool in junior high) and just go for it. 

30 ways

This year, we're trying out a new schedule here at Casa Blandings. Adopting the Nepali schedule to which Bee is tied, we "did" school from the end of August until Mr. Blandings and Atticus left in November. Then we took a long break. A very long break. 


A break which I now see that I needed. Badly. 


This long break was a godsend in more ways than one. Not only did it allow us to throw ourselves fully into Advent and Christmas, it also gave me permission to do something that somehow, I hadn't been able to completely engross myself in for a little while:


Really enjoying my kids.


During the long, quiet nights while Mr. Blandings was away, I pondered the rut that I think all homeschoolers find themselves in from time to time. We teach. We train. We coach. We orchestrate. And if we're not careful, we forget to be embrace. 


This is my theme, always. Be there. Drink it in. Bask in it. 


And you know, for the most part, I do. But sometimes, no matter how hard I try, the joy leaks away. Without my noticing, the wonder drains away, the giggles become less frequent, and I'm left with the good ... but lacking the best.


I'm not o.k. with that. No parent should be--whether you homeschool or not. Life is not making sure dinner is on the table, making sure the baby doesn't fall head-first from the dining room chair, or sighing your way through another read-aloud session punctuated by the shushing of preschoolers. No matter how real those moments are, there's still more. Much more. 


With that in mind, I purposed to create a month's worth of joyful moments with my children. 30 individual things that were guaranteed to bring smiles to the faces of my children--and to my own. I wrote them down, even though it felt a bit like cheating. See, I've always thought that spontaneous fun is the best kind. I still do. But what if your normal routine chokes out the chance for sparks of brilliance more often than you'd like to admit? In that case, I reasoned, it was o.k. to create a target (fun!) and aim my arrow (planned activities) straight at them. 


Shortly after completing my list of 30 fun to-dos, I was sharing with a friend how refreshed I felt. How much more inclined I was to abandon "must" in favor of "can." How my children seemed more patient with one another. How I was loving homeschooling again.


"I need that!" she gasped. "This is January, after all. It's almost time for the Yellow Bus Blues!"


I was so caught up in my own happy that I'd actually forgotten, if you can believe it. And that was what told me that I really should share. 


So, readers, here's the deal. Over the next few weeks, I'll be posting some of the best of the best of the ideas that made our December a refreshing, energizing, filled-up oasis. They aren't holiday themed. Most of them don't require any extra stuff or even much planning. But they do accomplish an important task: Turning your hearts to your children. Shaking off the dust of the rut, and truly tuning in to the souls around you (both little and big) who are what this whole homeschool journey is all about. 


I invite you to check back tomorrow for the first idea. Then, leave a comment and share some of your own. I'd love to gather even more ideas to add to my repertoire. April is fast approaching, and I'm putting together another list of 30 ways--not because my kids wants it, but because I do!

Right now

Somewhere between the stockings,

singing Christmas carols,

the Christmas story from Luke,

the presents,

the phone calls to family and friends far away,

the food,

and the lights,

it hit me.


This is it. Christmas 2011. One shot. No do-overs.


Just like every other day of my life.


Today, my kids are 15, 14, 11, 9, 5, 3, and 1. This time next year-- no matter where I am, no matter what has changed, no matter what the circumstances are-- they will be 16, 15, 12, 10, 6, 4, and 2, God willing. 


One day, one shot. Enjoy it. Occupy it. Be fully there. 

Squishing

I'm a squisher. I don't like to feel hurt, and I don't like to feel vulnerable, and I certainly don't like to deal with the nasties that try to rear their head in my heart from time to time. Given my druthers, I avoid confrontation. I have to work hard at intimacy. Like I said, I squish. Keep it inside. Fight the genie back into the bottle and slap a cork on top before he can escape.


Lately, I'm having to squish harder and harder. It's eating up energy that I don't have to spare and costing me far more emotionally than my stretched Momma self can afford to pay. 


What I've been squishing down is this: twenty years ago, my mother unceremoniously grabbed fistfuls of my belongings (a Smiths shirt, a pair of boots, my pillow, whatever was at hand) and shoved them into two black trash bags she had ripped from a roll under our kitchen sink. Then, screaming and raving like a manic djinn, she stabbed the heel of her hand into my back and forced me out of her house, into the street.


I was 17--a senior in high school.


My sin was not playing along during one of the episodes of mania that kept-- no, keeps-- my mother from living a normal, healthy life and having normal, healthy relationships. See, my mother follows the tides of rise and fall that are usually indicative of mental imbalance. And while she (and most of her family) refuses to acknowledge her inability to function, I can tell you that as one of those who lived with her day in and day out for 17 years that she is not well. No, not well at all.


Today, we have a strained, cautious relationship in which I don't ask pointed questions and refuse to rise to certain bait thrown out from time to time. My role is to listen from my post nearly 3,000 miles away as she catalogs how woefully inept everyone in her life is and how unfair their expectations of her are. Then I swerve the conversation 'round to how my kids are faring, and she gets off the phone. This is the extent of our interaction.


It's not exactly fulfilling, but it isn't damaging, either.


Twenty years ago, however, it was damaging. It was ravaging. It was being awakened at 3 a.m. to be summoned to her bedroom, where she would smoke cigarette after cigarette until the air was hazy and I could barely see her wild eyes as she told me over and over how despicable a man my father was. It was taking my baby brother to see a doctor because my mother's fanatical fear of steroids made her unwilling to treat the poison ivy that had covered the lower half of her son's body. It was calling her boss--again-- to say that she was sick and couldn't come into work for the fifth day in a row, then missing school so that I could keep an eye on her so that she didn't make good on her promise of killing herself.


I wonder from time to time what I looked like, how I appeared, to the people who knew me 20 years ago. I lied to cover up the crazy that went on in my home. I did stupid things to be liked by people and feel like part of the crowd. I clung to friends who weren't good for me. I was irrational and angry and all the things that look like surliness on the outside but are often little more than a crying, scared heart begging for love on the inside.


I had no idea what God had in store for my life the night that I walked in the rain to the nearest gas station dragging my belongings behind me. As I bummed money for a pay phone from a guy pumping fuel, I had no idea that some day I'd meet the Jesus who was keeping me safe that night, or worship the God who softened the heart of a friend's parents to allow me to live with them until I went to college. I had no idea that He'd bring my future husband into my life just 8 months later, or that one day I would be called Momma by children whose backgrounds range from my own genes to horrific abuse to shared abandonment. 


I didn't know any of this. All I knew was that I was homeless, hurt, and without hope.


Today I'm battling through all of this again, wondering why my heart is so raw even when my hands are so full. I have no doubt that God has a lesson for me here, that He's working some miracle in my heart even as I strain to keep my head above the current of old fears that threatens to drown me. In desperation today, I reached out to friends who have been His voice in my ear, reminding me of His love and His ability to hold my hand as I grow. So I'm plunging in, not squishing ... waiting to see what the lesson is.


I don't know where this emotional tide is going, but I trust in this: the same God who saw me through the events of that awful night and led me through the weeks and months that followed is still with me, twenty years on.

Review: Lotus Bumz diaper

Normally, to review a diaper, I use it heavily for several weeks, then write down my thoughts and share them. If something changes over time--say the PUL goes kaput or the aplix loses its stick-- I go back and make an addendum to the original review. Experience has taught me that in the first month or so, a diaper will show its true colors as it relates to quality and performance. Rare is the dipe that does the duty for two months and then just completely fails. 


I'll say up front, though, that I put the Lotus Bumz cloth diaper through a far more rigorous routine than is normal for me in review testing. 


I wasn't exactly meticulous when it came to washing the cover and insert separately, for one. (Normally, I don't wash both together.) My washer died during the test period, and I had to make do at a local laundromat. It was just too spendy to sort different loads, so everything got piled in at once into some massive industrial machine. Back home, the inserts went into the dryer but yes, I was careful to hang dry the cover. But because of the laundry situation, the Lotus Bumz wipe (and every other one I owned) sat dirty in the pail far longer than the general recommendation of two days. Vinegar and baking soda were definitely called for when my washer was back in service.


On top of that, Seven is now (ahem) using her diapers far more, shall we say, vigorously. This is a fully active, table-fed 22 pound 15 month-old who also still nurses a couple of times a day. Trust me ... a diaper is put through the paces by this lady. 


And finally, the Lotus Bumz diaper was tested for almost double my normal time. Why? Well, when I mentioned the diaper to several experienced cd'ing mommas, nearly every one of them was somewhat dismissive. Turns out, the patterns and fabrics in the Lotus Bumz line are repeated in other brands. One momma noted that she had searched online and found several of these products, all seemingly from the same pattern, and that she was hesitant to order any of them because of their lower price point and the similarities, which seem to indicate that they're being sewn up in one factory, slapped with an individual seller's label, and sent on their way.


"I think they're all [insert name of popular cd brand here] knock-offs," was her rant, "but without the quality control."


Now, I'm just a reviewer. I can't speak to the where and why of a diaper, or to the motivations of a seller, or anything so deep. I'm asked to report to folks whether or not a diaper does what a diaper was meant to do, and to do my best to make sure that what I write is an accurate representation of our personal experience.


Taking into account the skepticism surrounding the quality of upstart diaper brands, I decided to run Lotus Bumz through the wringer and see how it held up. 


Turned out, it was up to the job.

I was given a one-size pocket diaper with a silky exterior. Prints like this retail for $16.97 on the Lotus Bumz website, with solids a dollar cheaper. The snaps all proved solid, and the interior was buttery soft. Actually, it's a neat fleecy material completely unlike any other diapers I have. I can see this perhaps getting a little pilly after a few dryer runs, so I'd be extra careful to keep this one on the "hang dry only" routine. The neat aspect of this fleece, however, is the way that it lets go of solid. I've literally never swished this diaper. Everything just seems to roll out. Your mileage may vary with newborn poops, but for older kiddos ... how refreshing!

The fit of this diaper was perfect on Seven's long, skinny little frame. 

At 22 pounds, she's still at the second setting. This is a diaper with a nice bit of give in the places where you want to see it, ensuring the long wearing-life that makes OSs such a bargain. Also, it's a fairly trim fit. My sample came with one, OS insert. Just stuffed that way, it was only just enough to keep the butt of Seven's leggings from seeming saggy. The pocket easily accommodates more stuffing, though, so you can adjust absorbency (or just fill those sized-up jeans you bought for your cloth diapered little one!).

Like any snaps, be prepared for a bit of finagling at change time. Seven is no dream to change these days, so I actually "hire" a helper to keep her occupied while I snap her up. Lotus Bumz snaps are slightly counter-intuitive to me in their placement, but I never claimed to be a professor of ergonomics. Mr. Blandings has no problem with them, and will often pick this diaper out of the stack, saying it's an "easy one." Daddy approved! 


Performance wise, I can honestly say that this diaper performed almost exactly the way the brand my friend claimed it knocked off does on a day to day basis. The only leaks we encountered were when the diaper was single-stuffed and time (and rice milk consumption) had gotten away from me. Even then, the leakage was of the garden variety dampness around the back of the legs--just enough to make tights or leggings slightly wet. When supplemented with an additional soaker, Lotus Bumz OS happily held through nap time.  (I didn't try this diaper for an overnight, because I simply don't like pockets for that duty.)


From my hardcore trial period, I can say that the Lotus Bumz OS isn't of shoddy quality. Far from it. Even when not treated with kid gloves and treated like, well-- a diaper--it held up. The cost is right in the mid-range of many brands, and the patterns and prints are adorable. This isn't a compromise product. You know-- "Well, I can't afford that, so I'll buy this." It's a great diaper. Buy with confidence!

Disclaimer: I was given a free copy of this product for review purposes. Refer to my general disclaimer for more information on my policies regarding reviews.