lackadaisical \lack-uh-DAY-zih-kuhl\, adjective:
Lacking spirit or liveliness; showing lack of interest; languid; listless.
That's me and school this week. And last week. But the week before that was pretty good...
My brain is an absolute mish-mosh brought on by:
- the never-ending adoption
- my husband's new and improved longer work day
- continuing aggravation with my teeth and the entire field of dentistry
- Atticus, who has rediscovered tattling as an art form
- my own lack of fervor in regards to the period of history we are currently studying
- too many outside, evening "events"
- my own lack of self-discipline
- too many fictional characters taking up residence in my head
Thankfully, my children don't seem to have caught the "who cares?" bug. I rotate through this general malaise often enough that they have learned to get their math and other non-negotiables done, then to explore their own interests in a relatively quiet manner. Since their interests lean towards the school-ish side, I am pretty blessed in this area. I laugh and say it is my version of unschooling.
Next week, we are set to dig into the topic of flight, most notably the achievements of the Wright Brothers. I know that this will be an area where I can't possibly slough off my homeschooling duties. I can tell you already that Jo, Atticus and Logan will be absolutely consumed by this area of study, and I will be burning the midnight oil piecing together extra resources in this area.
So I'm going to take it easy tomorrow, too. One last day of unschool-y bliss. Chalk it up to a brain that is overly full.
From my personal homeschooling journal, dated December 17, 2003. Logan is 19 months, Atticus is 3 and a half, and Jo is 6:
I think today was a total loss. I can't tell. Half of the time, I really couldn't tell you what I'm doing. Gosh, I hope my kids never read this. Talk about fodder for their future therapy sessions: "My mom homeschooled me, but even she admitted that she had no idea what she was doing."
Six months ago, I had this whole thing figured out. Logan was napping at the perfect times, for the perfect length of time. Atticus was so happy just sitting at the table playing with Wikki Stixx while I worked on math with Jo. We were all loving the Sonlight books and I thought I had this whole thing in the bag. Six months ago, homeschooling was so easy. And now I can't help but think that my kids would be better off in public school and/or daycare while I go out and get a "real" job.
Jo should have so much more. I can't give it to her, because I am spending all of my time trying to figure out how to keep Logan from tearing the house apart bolt by bolt. First time obedience? What a joke! I can put him in time out, swat his bottom, whatever. Nothing gets through. There is no way that I can possibly teach Jo what she wants to know (question from her today, "What kind of fabric do you think the Egyptians used in their clothing?"). She can't possibly be learning anything.
And I'm not sure I can help Atticus. I really don't know some times if I can do this. [OT] says I am doing great. People at church say he is getting so much better, I have so much patience, blah, blah, blah. I don't feel like I am doing anything for him. How much farther ahead would he be if he was in the hands of a professional for eight hours a day? And can I seriously teach this kid how to read someday???
Hope in hindsight for those who are walking just a step behind me:
- Yes, homeschooling goes in waves. Sometimes it is very hard, and sometimes it is deceptively easy. My advice? Ride the waves. Another one will come along soon enough.
- Never think that you are alone in doubting yourself, your curriculum choices, your ability to teach, your sanity. Ask the homeschoolers around you. If they are honest, they will admit to moments like the one I just posted.
- Don't be afraid to change tactics mid-stream, because guess what? Your children will think nothing of treating you in kind. :-) Babies stop napping. Toddlers suddenly change habits. School-age children run the gamut of interests. Stay in step with the changes in your family, and you will be a happier homeschooling momma.
- Homeschooling is a "real" job.
- Babies grow up. Toddlers grow up. Be patient. To everything, there is a season. Logan did eventually surrender his title as "Master of Disaster." He also quit biting, praise God! Nowadays, he's a sensitive, well-adjusted five and a half year-old who adds far more to our educational journey than he ever took away.
- Your older kids don't suffer half as much as we fear they will. Jo may not have learned about linen on that particular day, but I bet she learned something about grace.
- Even the most difficult children are not, as my cousin reminds me, "junk." God simply doesn't make any! :-) Atticus, amazingly, was a very capable reader just four months after I wrote that desperate diatribe about how he needed professional help. Today, his reading level actually outpaces Jo's--and that's saying a lot. I say this in no way to brag (their gifting doesn't come from me, it comes straight from their loving Heavenly Father, so I have nothing to brag about) but to offer hope. In case you've missed the overarching theme, here it is:
Romans 15: 4
For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through endurance and the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.
Persevere. Endure. Have faith. Seek encouragement. Lean into the One who has led you on the path of educating your own.
I don't make resolutions just because the calendar says I now have 365 days to get it right. Something about the entire concept of waiting until January 1 has always made me cynical rather than optimistic; I guess I'm a "year is half-empty" rather than a "year is half-full" kind of gal.
In the past few weeks, though, I've been feeling a tug to set aside 2008 as the year that I re-establish my once blossoming writing career. Because I shrink from the notion of New Year's Resolutions, I am calling this a goal. And yes, I am hung up on semantics, thankyouverymuch.
'Twas a time, dear reader, when this homeschooling momma embraced not only the creative portion of being a writer, but the business end as well. I set aside time weekly to query and submit, and I even attended conferences so that I could hobnob with those who might just help me up the food chain of the publishing world. I had a few moderate successes in this area--things long since forgotten in an industry that moves at the speed of email. The most enduring piece from this era of my life is an essay that was published in an anthology entitled Lessons from Our Children approximately 8 years ago. I call this episode "enduring" because Jo treasures our sole remaining copy of the book primarily because it has her name in it.
Since then, I have published perhaps two dozen of nonfiction articles in rather small markets, two short stories and a couple of essays. Nothing that will set the world on fire, I assure you. Nothing, even, that gets me on Amazon.com.
Usually, I am o.k. with this. I wake up in the morning, I look in the mirror and I wonder what I will make for breakfast, what chapter we'll be reading in our current read-aloud and whether or not I need to go to the library to pick up our holds. In other words, I am wearing my homeschooling mother hat, and it fits just fine.
Other mornings, I roll out of bed and wonder how my characters would handle the day I have planned ahead of me. I think their thoughts, listen to their voices and put them through the paces of a real life to see exactly how their skin fits. This is my writer hat. Oddly enough, it seems to fit right on top of that homeschooling mother hat--even though, for years, I was certain that the two were mutually exclusive.
Now that I've figured out that I can be both a mother and a writer, I have been slowly working towards blending the two elements that are ME into a recipe everyone under my roof can live by. I've managed the daily writing time with few exceptions for quite some time. Now, it's time to move forward. What's the use in writing all this stuff if I am only making occasional free-throws in an attempt to get it published? Talking with friend E. (also a writer) has given me new hope; I can do this. I can do this.
I hereby decree 2008 as the year MG makes an effort to re-enter the world of publishing. Hold me to it, guys.
I got our new social worker on the line. You know, the new social worker at the old licensing agency that is now our new placement agency if and when they place us with a child in which case we will no longer be affiliated with the old agency where our old social worker is employed?
((gasp, wheeze))
Still with me? :-)
Anyhow, I spoke to the new social worker. Turns out that she was actually one of the original gazillion social workers that paraded through our home this time last year as we scrambled to get our ducks in a row so that we could begin what we knew would be the world's record for the Shortest Wait for Adoptive Placement by a Foster/Adopt Agency. Funny we should come back around to her, here in the midst of our bid for the title of Longest Wait for Adoptive Placement by a Foster/Adopt Agency. God is quirky like that. Anyhow, the upside is that she remembers us well (was that because were memorable in a good way or a bad way, one must wonder) and therefore doesn't feel the need to come out and get acquainted with us. A simple phone call and refresher on our homestudy was enough to put us on her radar for placement.
We should be hearing from her soon, she assured me.
As if she knows that for certain. And no, that wasn't a cynical laugh you heard. That was a knowing laugh--less Sarah and more Hannah, I'd like to think. God's got this whole thing timed out to the minute, and He's not letting on as to what the end results looks like or when it'll come to pass.
So while I appreciate the confidence of this social worker, I'm not stocking up on sippy cups just yet. She may have a flood of siblings ages 3 and under suddenly in need of homes, but that doesn't mean that they're ours. She may think that we're easy as pie to place, that there's no reason we've been waiting this long.
But, oh, there is a reason. It's God. And His timing.
The sands are slipping through the hourglass, but He's the only one who has counted each and every grain that will lead us closer to our family's newest addition. So while I am glad to have her looking, and while I am buoyed by her enthusiasm, I am still clinging to this Truth: He is in control.
I discovered two days ago that despite growing up with stick-straight hair, despite having invested plenty of hours in styling chairs enduring perms and other such tortures in my earlier days ... I now have curly hair.
Yeah, you could have knocked me over with a feather, too. Come to find out my hormone-ravaged, infertile self has begun to manifest symptoms of said hormone ravaging in my hair, of all places.
I discovered this while at a salon, having my bi-annual "I want to be s@xy!" trim. The stylist who gave me my new, shorter 'do was nice enough to blow my hair out on Monday. She also added a little of hair serum this, and a touch of hair putty that before grabbing a wicked-looking flattening iron and smacking my suddenly sproing-y locks into submission. Since I walked in with relatively straight, long, stringy-ish hair (thanks to it's length, weight and the nice blow-drying I'd given it an hour before hand), I was fine with walking out with hair that was lovely, flat, bobbed and sleek.
What I wasn't prepared for was the morning after. Unsuspecting (despite having seen the corkscrews that had covered my head after the trim), I climbed into the shower, shampooed and stepped out. It was only after giving my head a vigorous toweling that I looked in the mirror and well ... I'll be honest ... I freaked.
Completely unsure as to what I should do with this head full of twists and loops, I grabbed the can of mousse that I use on my kids for AWANA Crazy Hair Night each year and rubbed some in to my wet hair. Then I grabbed my trusty blow dryer and went to work.
Now, if you have had curly hair all of your life, you can go ahead and laugh and I will not hate you. If you have straight hair and know what happens, well ... just you remember: pride goeth before a fall. I guess I deserve the good mocking I'm going to get here, but---
The fact is, I had no idea what was about to happen. Within minutes, though, I saw my mistake. That funky, string-y look I'd been annoyed with for the past two years with my long hair was back, but in a shorter, frizzier version. And with more attitude.
I tried to straighten the end result with a cheap flattening iron I'd picked up at Target for $8. It was clearly not up to the task at hand. In desperation, I re-washed my hair, lightly toweled it and tucked the ends behind my ears. I walked around like this all day, occasionally spotting myself in a mirror and wondering who this curly-headed freak thought she was, wearing my new pink Old Navy shirt. The nerve on that girl!
I admit to obsessing over the whole thing yesterday. I called my mom--a lifelong hairdresser--and asked her opinion as to why it happened (confirmed via internet, see above) and how to handle it. I called my husband, whose hair is kinky curly. I called a good friend who has super-curly hair, as well as my cousin, whose curls I secretly coveted throughout childhood. Everyone had the same advice: embrace the curls. And for goodness sake, quit blow drying them!
This morning, acting on a tip from friend T., I skipped my morning shampoo and instead rubbed some de-frizzer into the ends of my hair before zapping them with the flat iron. While the effect is nowhere near as polished as the look my stylist whipped up on Monday, it's not bad. Time-wise, it evens out, I guess: I spent about ten minutes on my hair, which is about the length of a nice shower. That's doable.
I'm still trying to get used to the whole idea, though. To have spent your entire life knowing one thing about yourself, then suddenly having it changed, well ... it's an odd sensation. I guess it has me wondering what else I have missed.
Dh and I find ourselves suddenly in a very awkward position in our church. It's a place that I am completely unprepared to be. I feel like I have no authority to stand on, but I know that's just because I am used to man's idea of authority. I grew up thinking that authority was only held by those elected to power, by people who have titles or specialized degrees, by the older and wiser, or by those whose experiences are so long-standing, thorough or extraordinary as to bestow upon them the term "expert." Dh and I have a suitcase full of that kind of authority ... but it's all useless when applied to theology. In the end, truth is truth. And the truth will triumph, if we stand tall and proclaim it.
So why do I feel so alone?
The subtitle to Sally E. Stuart's infamous tome says it all: "The Essential Reference Tool for the Christian Writer." There's truth in advertising here; Christian Writers' Market Guide 2008 is all that and more.
This year's edition is cram-packed with even more contacts under even more headings in an even more manageable format. Not one to spend your free time leafing through a 628 page reference when you'd rather be writing? Try the included CD Rom, which includes 1,200 + markets.
Stuart's book lets writer's write, rather than focusing their precious time on culling contact info for submissions. It's an indispensable aid for those of us who hope to bring their written words to the world.
