Wordless ... Thursday?

God's classroom

I prepared pretty well for this school year. Taking into account the fact that we'd be meeting someone brand new just as the year got really underway, I crafted my plans in such a way as to (try to) keep things simple. And it's working. Well, most of the time.


Since you don't exactly know what any particular child's temperament will be until you actually live life with them for a while, I conjured an image of the most high maintenance, time intensive infant my imagination could muster, coupled with what I already knew of Oli's very time consuming needs, with a side order of Mani's two year-old penchant for needing 110% of my attention 150% of the time. 


Assuming the worst, I figured, was only bound to lead to relief rather than frustration. Thus far, I haven't been disappointed.


It's turned out that Seven is the easiest newborn I've ever had. She may surprise me yet, of course. But so far, she contentedly sleeps an 8 hour stretch at night before waking up to nurse and then happily drifting back off for four more peaceful hours. She only naps in little one-hour snippets three times a day, but I'm not complaining. In addition to giving me plenty of nighttime rest, she's also got a sweet disposition. She's happy on anyone's lap, will grin for any and all takers, and gleefully passes time in the ergo, the bouncer, the sling, whatever. She's just ... delightful.


Mani has been less of a challenge than I'd feared during school hours, but only slightly so. Like Logan before him, Mani wants to feel involved. He will demand markers when the older kids are working on maps. He will clamor for a separate Bible story after our morning study. And, oh yes, he will remind me ever so vigorously that he likes puzzles. Lots of puzzles. And a movie, too, if you don't mind. All in all, though, this is what I expect of a toddler: a healthy appetite for being in the mix.


And then there's Oli. Unable to play on his own, he shadows Mani so closely that my younger boy has started flinching whenever he sees his big brother move toward his space. "Oli! I not playin' dat!" is the constant refrain. Oli copies Mani like a parrot. If Mani is sprawled on the floor with Rescue Heroes, lining them up and making them talk, Oli will shoulder in and grab a guy, then bounce it on the floor in imitation of what he thinks his little brother was doing. Mani has given up trying to engage Oli in his imaginative play, realizing that Oli just can't manage it. And so, Oli drifts, or pesters Mani until he shrieks, or sits on my lap trying to scribble with a pencil, or catapults himself angrily to the floor when he can't get a toy to work the way he'd like. I'll be honest: it's frustrating. It's loud. And it is constant.


And yet, I'd say this school year has been a success thus far. My planning has smoothed the way, yes ... but the real triumph has been in what we're learning in the day-to-day. I lowered the bar in terms of academic expectations, and left room for the unexpected, but opened the door for something else entirely: God's lesson plans. 


Last year, Jo read Plutarch's Lives, The Last Days of Socrates, and Herodotus' Histories. This year, she's learned how to play alphabet games with a toddler, doula for a newly post-partum mother, and manage her own schedule a bit more. She's still learning math, science, etc. But added to it are lessons in making healthy snacks, grinning at a newborn, and humbly asking younger brothers for help.


Atticus has had a crash course in patience--one area where he needed, desperately, to be stretched. Redirecting Oli, waiting his turn to do his math on the computer, and singing "Twinkle, Twinkle" ten times a day with Mani have greatly improved his ability to die to self. He's delighting in his special ability to make Seven laugh out loud. Logan has been able to develop his natural gift of nurturing by reading to Seven, cuddling with Oli, and learning to make simple lunches.


As for me, I'm trying a allow God to grow me, even as I run up and down the stairs, fold laundry, make meals, teach, and read board books. Some days, I'm not sure I've learned anything. Where was God among the diaper changes, the shouting toddlers, the surly adolescent who doesn't understand why sentences always start with capitals? Other days, I am overwhelmed with the strength He has given me, or the gifts He has poured into me that so perfectly seem to match up with the needs of my children, or the opportunities He has offered that allow me to draw closer to Him.


In this place of chaos and busy and plain old messy life, I am keenly aware that I am living, daily, in God's classroom. I could have never have scheduled a season this perfectly designed to craft my children and myself into the people He wants us to be. I'm so glad that I didn't lock the door on His gentle teachings by insisting on adhering to a timeline of structured learning. 

Being there

Seven at play

I've composed probably a hundred posts in my head in the past few months--posts that, obviously, ever made the leap from thought to written word.


There was the post describing the roller coaster ride of Jo's emotions when her prized rabbit broke its back and had to be put down by a vet we didn't even know on a rainy, pre-Holiday night. The post about how I still, nearly four months later, can't believe that Seven is here. The post cataloging my ups and downs in dealing with Oli's delays and health issues. The post where I reveal how inexcusably behind I am in just about every area of the life I once managed to have outside the four walls of my own home. The post where I acknowledge how head-over-heels my husband is for baby girls, in particular. The post where I ponder how it is that Logan could memorize Scripture at a rate that has shocked even his AWANA leaders ... and yet still be unable to recall any directions that require more than two steps. The post where I list Atticus' interests and ask whose son this strange, techno-geek boy could possibly be. The post where I explain why 2 is not my favorite age. The post where I sing the praises of a well-stocked pantry. The post where I admit that I can't grasp how quickly Seven has outgrown her cradle at my bedside, her clothes, the space she used to fit on her Daddy's knees. The post where I lay out precisely how it felt to hear Bee's voice on the other end of a phone line for the first time.


I never wrote any of those thoughts down. Instead, I found myself simply living out the moment, savoring it ... and moving on.


As I write today, Jo is beside me at the kitchen table, reading a book called, "What's Darwin Got to Do With It?" Oliver is nearly naked-- despite the damp chill in the air--and playing contentedly with Seven's little wooden rolling toy. Mani is on hour two of his afternoon nap. Logan and Atticus are in the playroom logging in time assembling the robotic arm Atticus got for Christmas. Bee is asleep in Kathmandu. And Seven is on my lap, watching me type one-handed.


This morning I have had my new washing machine installed, drank too much tea, kissed my husband good-bye, put Seven down for two naps in her big girl crib (second day in a row of the crib), gotten Oli off to preschool, taught math, history, language arts, overseen lunch preparation, welcomed Oli home, nursed 6 or so times, snuck a caramel from my secret stash.


Soon I will go on with my day, swinging from one busy, loud, messy moment to the next.


It is all, blissfully, good. It is painful good, the kind of good that washes over you in the mundane. The first giggles of my newest daughter, the shrieks of joy as Mani completes a puzzle "by myselps," the casual squeeze on the shoulder Jo gives Atticus as she walks past him at the sink, the clamor that is Oli as he bangs two trucks together over and over, the Cheshire Cat grin Logan has on his face as he brings me yet another Lego creation. Another meal to be served, another load of diapers to wash, another trip to pick Mr. Blandings' shirts from the cleaners. 


The moments are happening. This is life. I am in it. Even if I'm not finding the time to sit and string words into sentences, the moments are real. So thank you for being patient with me, dear Readers. And enjoy the moments that you have been gifted to live inside of, as well. 

TOS Review: Corps of Re-Discovery

I’ve shared my recent need for fun, accessible crafts that don’t require much prep work on my behalf. Frankly, without those kits and other doo-dads on hand, we’d be having a pretty dry spell in terms of what Logan likes to call “makin’ stuff.” For his sake, especially, I like to pepper in a reasonable amount of DO when it comes to our learning. Like many children, he’s a hands-on, tactile learner who digests information best when, well ... makin’ stuff.

I’ve uncovered a few gems in my search for companies that provide homeschoolers with high quality, pre-made craft kits that have equal parts fun and education in the equation. One that flew under the radar for me until I received their product for review, however, was The Corps of Re-Discovery. Now that I’m aware of their company and what they offer, they’ve earned a spot in my bookmarks for future purchases.

Started by a homeschooling family who wanted to engage both hands and minds, this company focuses on the time period that their name brings to mind--early America. Most exciting to me is the fact that their online store is stocked with lots of boy-friendly crafts that really get their feet wet with the hows and whys of frontiersmen. A flint and steel set.  Make-your-own coonskin cap. Leather vests. Powder horns. Tell me a little man who wouldn’t love to fashion some of those things along with his readings on Daniel Boone!

My product sample was of the tamer, more domestic type: a quilting kit. Since Jo’s been bit hard by the quilting bug as of late, I passed it on to her and waited to see what she came up with. She demurred when I asked to take photos, saying that it isn’t photo-ready yet (she’s a perfectionist when it comes to her handmade items), but here’s her almost-expert opinion:

She was pleased with the variety of fabric squares, the quality of the fabric itself, and the number of pre-cut squares provided. Since she didn’t have to do any cutting, she was able to skip right to the fun part: arranging and rearranging all those squares!

The batting was high quality and, again, pre-cut to the proper size. Nice touch.

The provided instructions would make it easy for anyone--even a quilting newbie--to fashion a lovely little quilt.

The kit is currently on sale for $11.99. I’d highly recommend it to accompany your early American studies. And check out their website. The variety of kits available will most likely surprise you. This family has worked hard to expand beyond the basics and into the unique!
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.

TOS Review: Master Ruler

Some products are just so darn brilliant that you know they were divinely inspired.

Master Ruler is, on the surface, a complicated thing. It’s a ruler, see. But it has all of these transparent films attached via a hinge at the top. As a parent, you look at it a little cock-eyed for a minute, trying to figure out exactly how you use it. But put it in the hands of a child, and then you’ll see how simple--and beautiful--this priceless little tool actually is.

“Cool!” was 8 year-old Logan’s immediate reaction. Apparently, he had wanted to have a visual representation of an eighth of an inch for quite a while, unbeknownst to me. “I couldn’t figure it out because of all of the lines on the other ruler,” he told me.

Master Ruler made it easy, however. Simply locate the tabbed film labeled “1/8” and uncover it. Voila’! Now all you can see are inches cleanly divided into eighths.

Tell me that’s not a little slice of heaven. No more counting those tiny little notches. No more trying to point to that teeny line. No, that one. No. The one under my fingernail. YES! That one!

Master Ruler was designed by a teacher for classroom use, so it’s a durable, substantial product that can handle years of use and abuse from your kiddos. The starter set ($41.25) comes with a Standard Master Ruler, a Metric Master Ruler, a Teacher’s Model Master Ruler and the Master Ruler Workbook, which is reproducible. Items also sell individually; the Standard Master Ruler retails for just $9.95. I’d pay double that, personally. Through the company Master Innovations, the designer has also taken the overlay concept into clocks, fractions, and angles.

Brilliant, huh? 


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.

TOS Review: A Young Scholar's Guide to Composers

Our study of music has always been a bit scattershot around here. If there’s one area where my approach can be unflinchingly deemed “eclectic,” this is it. At one point, we fell headlong into traditional American folk songs. Later, there was the month-long dive into all things Tchaikovsky. We’ve used a cd story series to learn more about classical composers, and followed the rabbit trails of musical instruments into the modern day age of how electric guitars work. At the heart of all of this is our constant listen, listen, listen approach. There’s something being played every day--be it Scripture set to music, a concerto, or our local samba station.

All of this has been fun, but without much rhyme or reason. And most days I feel really good about that. After all, each of my kids--from teens to tots-- loves to listen to music. Jo is trying her hand at playing classical guitar, with good results thus far. Logan can name an astonishing array of classical pieces from snatches of music caught in line at the grocery store. Atticus likes the way music and words fit together. And both Oli and Mani will dance their little socks off to whatever happens to come out of our speakers.

I’ve dabbled with the idea of making a more deliberate effort towards music history, especially as Jo gets older and shows an interest in that area. But nothing seemed to stand out, especially when held up to my family’s needs. Anything I used needed to be useful for teaching a variety of ages, have a hands-on component, allow me the flexibility of selecting entire works (not focusing in two-minute samples of longer pieces), and have a storytelling element to it. It didn’t feel like a tall order, but until recently, nothing fit the bill.

Finally, I found A Young Scholar’s Guide to Composers from Bright Ideas Press. It’s all that I wanted, and more ... and for only $29.95! An entire year’s study? For less than $30? That’s a winner in my book!

A Young Scholar’s Guide to Composers is just that: a biographical journey through 26 well-known composers throughout musical history. Starting from the basic premise that music is from the Lord, each composer studied is studied in context of his time and faith. Musical eras are explained with the kind of depth that may intrigue older kids while flying right over the head of the youngers (this is what happened at my house), but the story sketches of individual composers are approachable and humanizing. Little details-- like nicknames, personal habits, etc.--bring these larger-than-life musical giants down to earth.

A huge index of listening suggestions and resource links make this guide customizable for both the musical novice and the maestro. It also allows busy moms just hoping to check off a box to pick one piece and focus on that, while giving the homeschooler hoping to get more the chance to pull in other books and pieces and truly create a mini-unit study out of each composer.

The hands-on element comes alive via an interesting note card concept. I opted to take a slightly different tack with these cards (I’ll admit it: if it doesn’t go in my kids’ binders, it’s likely to get lost) by making them a sort of notebook page. I also photocopied the included timeline, making one for each child and placing it in his or her binder alongside the maps that link the composers to their homes. A Young Scholar’s Guide to Composers gives a sample three-day-a-week lesson plan in the introduction, and I was able to easily use that approach with my adapted materials. On the first day, we read the biography and filled in the notecard, which asks students to listen for names of pieces, recall birthdates, etc. Then we follow this up with listening to a specific piece. On the second day, we listen again, this time coloring the line showing the composer’s life in relation to others we’ve studied on the timeline and finding his home country on our maps. The third day is simply listening and talking about the pieces we’ve heard. All of this takes as little as twenty minutes, or as long as an hour ... depending on how interested the kids are!

We have not only enjoyed this study, but found it enriching our homeschool in all the ways I had hoped that a true music history education would. Studying the music of a period leads to so much more. Social, cultural, religious, and political more of the times come alive when placed alongside the works of the creative minds of the day. Bright Ideas Press has done an excellent job in crafting a book that opens this door to homeschoolers painlessly!


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.

Stretch marks

It was a small, innocuous jar of salve that I'd probably reached past a hundred times. A gift from a well-meaning friend, it had never been opened, sitting instead amid the various lotions and creams that line my bathroom shelf. I had all but forgotten that it was there, but apparently, it had caught my daughter's eye.

"What is this, mom?" she asked, reaching for the jar and turning it so that I could see the label. It took me a moment to register the brand, and by then, Jo was reading the claims listed on the back. She wrinkled her nose dubiously.

"It says it can greatly reduce unsightly stretch marks. It says that some women even return to their pre-pregnancy selves."

I could see the wheels of her mind processing this information. True--in the ten weeks since Seven's birth, I've returned to my pre-pregnancy size. I'm back in my trusty jeans. I no longer have the gloriously outsized belly that housed my growing baby, or the puffy feet that kept me from wearing my favorite flip-flops all summer. I'm "me" again, at least to look at.

But Jo is old enough to realize that while I am back to being the "me" that she has known all of her life, there was a "me" beforehand. A "me" that had never been called Momma. A "me" whose stomach was flat and unscathed. A "me" who no cream can restore.

"That was a gift," I offered. She twisted the lid off, hoping to catch a sniff of the bottled optimism contained in the jar. A plastic seal prevented her from doing more than tapping her fingernail on an opaque pink film. 

"Why do people buy this stuff?" she asked. 

How to explain to a 13 year-old what drives women to purchase creams and potions designed to erase the cares and creases of life? How to help her understand the feeling of letting one season of life slip away even as another begins? How to distill 35 years of learning into one, simple primer on modern femininity?

Seeing my thoughtfulness, she asked her question a different way. A way that was far easier to answer:

"Why does it call stretch marks 'unsightly'?"

It was an honest question. In our family, scars, birthmarks and the like are signs of individuality and self. Mr. Blandings was born with a cleft lip and palate whose scars have defined his face for a lifetime. Jo has a small, moon-shaped notch just below her left eyebrow. Seven entered the world with a lovely strawberry birthmark coloring her left eyelid. None of these are things we seek to cover, to scour away, or to deny. They are part of who we are. In our family, we celebrate these things. Even more so the nicks and dings of life: the jagged, ripply line that runs the length of Logan's foot to remind him of a run-in with a massive splinter of wood, the white whorl of skin in the corner of Mani's mouth where his feeding tube was held in place as an infant. These are battle scars. Signs of bravery. The indelible markings of a life lived.

Perhaps, to some, they are unsightly. To those with eyes to see, they are simply stories writ large in our very flesh. No, not the inked versions that man has devised for himself; no one in our family has chosen to tattoo themselves. We haven't needed to--plenty of details of our inner selves appear on the fabric of our skin.

And so it is with the stretch marks I carry from my four successful pregnancies. After birthing the ten+ pounds that was Jo, my abdomen was streaked with red threads. I was marked forever. Two more babies in less than four years resulted in more, deeper skids that faded to silver over time. Seven added only two or three marks of her own to the tapestry--crimson lines amid the shiny, mature ones. Then, of course, there are the invisible stretch marks--the ones I earned during my elephant-like paper pregnancies with Oli and Mani.

"Some people don't like them," I shrugged. "They'd rather not have the reminder right there all the time. They view them as an imperfection."

Jo considered this.

"But ... it's part of being able to give birth, right? Don't most people get them?"

"It's part of the package for most people, yes."

"Then why wouldn't you just accept it? Why would you want to erase it? It's kind of an honor, right?"

I told her that while I see it that way, not everyone does. Some people, I have learned, don't want motherhood to change them. They want their bodies, their lives, their relationships, their everything to remain static. They resist the change of the status quo, clinging instead to the idea that they can be mothers--that they can experience the most life-changing event they will ever walk through--but be unmarked.

I know some of these women personally. They are the mothers who don't just refuse to accept a new wardrobe of exclusively sweats and ponytails (which I don't recommend), but would rather turn down a sticky hug in favor of chic, dry clean only fabrics on a daily basis. The gals who fret over every pound gained during pregnancy, who mourn their lost waistline, who aren't satisfied until they are sure they can go out in public and not be mistaken for a mom. They are the women who choose daycare at 6 weeks not to keep their family afloat financially, but to preserve their weekly budget for manicures, lattes, and shoes. The ones who can't give up the things they've "always" done in favor of the new things they might be blessed to experience.

It's a hard transition, motherhood. The sacrifices, the inconveniences, the living for someone else. This is sticky, hard, sometimes ugly stuff. And it will change you. If you let it, that is.

Motherhood--if you let it in you--will mark you in ways no cream or magic potion can touch. It will expand--and crush-- your heart far past the boundaries of what you thought possible. It will lead you to willingly let go of many things you once held sacred. It will leave you drained one day, and full to bursting the next. It will redefine you. It will make you redefine yourself.

Stretch marks are just the physical manifestation of the metamorphosis that is motherhood. Some people fight to hide them, just as they rail against true motherhood itself. Some find stretch marks ugly or even unsightly, even as they miss the simple blessing of denying oneself. But I think they are beautiful. After all, what other tangible sign do we have of this life-altering transformation?