Its nearly 2 am. What should I be doing? Wrapping presents. No. Strike that. I ***should*** be sleeping. Or, if not sleeping, at least something fun if I'm up at 2am. But no, I'm wrapping presents. And I swear they keep multiplying. I think, just two more, and I'm finished, and then there's three more over there that I forgot about. So, I'm taking a short sanity break.
I need a character concept. No flash of inspiration has hit me. Normally, I start with a concept and a history, then add a name...then go crying to Bear or the Jedi to do the stats for me. But I'm doing something different this time (no, not my own stats....lets not get crazy...) I'm going to start with a sketch, cause lack of inspiration and all. If the add image thing works, I'll share them. If not you have to be ambitious and follow the link. I'm not even doing the cool link the word thing. Two AM remember.
neat little face
I lied. I'm doing the linky word thing.
long blond hair
eyes, pony tail, a bit too modern though
personality, serving girl dress
all right, i'm going to bed. I'll finish the presents tomorrow.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Time and Chrysalises
So, I've been having a pity party for myself over the past few days (with snacks). I'm all done with the party. Time to put the pity aside, and move on. Here's what got me today. I opened my yahoo mail to read a few of the FlyLady emails I have sitting there. And here...(i edited out bits that weren't as relevent to me)...
Thoughts I want to highlight.
1) This isn't a dress rehearsal.
2) My daily tasks should be treasured and enjoyed, not rushed, regretted, or ignored.
3) Do it now. There might not be a later. We only ever have the time we've got now.
4) Take every opportunity to love (yourself and others).
5) Life, each day, is a gift. Meant to be lived, enjoyed, and shared.
Yes, there is gerbil food scattered on the floor. Yes, there is laundry in the basket, in the dryer, in the washer. Yes, the ribbons I took an hour or more making for dance only lasted 15 minutes in the girls' hands before they started to shred. Yes, it seems I have more things to do than I have days to do them in. Yes, I'm frustrated that the Sweetling has been LAAAAGGING when she is supposed to be *doing* whatever she's been told to accomplish.
But,
--We have a floor for the food to scatter on. A carpeted floor at that. We have a sweet little gerbil who is pretty fun to watch. The food got a bit spilled, because the Sweetling is being responsible and taking care of her pet all by herself. And Wednesdays are my day to vacuum anyway.
--The laundry is mostly done. We have lots of nice clothes to wear. We have an abundance of nice clothes. We have a washer and dryer to clean our clothes in. I don't have to go to a laundrymat or worse.
--The girls really liked the ribbons. They shredded because they were so much fun to *twirl*. A bit of clear nail polish on their ends should take care of the problem.
--The 'things' I have to do are all GOOD things. Happy things. Things I look forward to. Melting Pot with friends tomorrow night. Dance practice with girls tonight. Grocery shopping, and how blessed we are to be able to provide for our needs *and* our wants. A book fair. Baking Christmas cookies to take to the neighbors. Making fuzzy cottonball sheep and glitter stars with preschoolers. The Christmas dance program. The AHG Christmas party. These are all good, wonderful things meant to bring both myself and others joy.
--Sweetlings slow response is noticible, because usually she is prompt and eager to do what is expected of her. This is an opportunity for me to teach her (and me) some better time management skills.
I paused to fix lunch for Sweetling and me. But I'm not finished with these thoughts. I wondered, why does it take a FlyLady email of all things, to remind me that my circumstances shouldn't be painting my attitude, my attitude should be coloring my circumstances?
And I was reminded of something Eyes shared this morning in WOW. She said, its hard to follow an invisible God. There are times that we are hurting, and we really need Him to reach down and hold our hand. And in those times, God will reach out and hold our hand...through other people. He shows his love many times throught the people around us.
Jumping to a new, but related thought.
I brought Captivating in to the room with me. I wanted to share some quotes. But I'm worried the quotes out of context will be diminished. Pink is a nice enough color, a bit stereotyped or overused from time to time. Still, while pink alone might be nice, its hardly breathtaking or remarkable in any way. But the soft pink clouds that skirted the entire horizon this morning were lovely beyond words. The color itself isn't what was important, it was the color in context that made a memorable experience.
Let me then sum up what I wanted to share with my own analogy. Every year Sweetling and I go to the Krohn Butterfly Show (often with Smurf). In a back room, there are cases of chrysalises on display. Now, one enters the show through the main room...which is filled with flowers and beautiful butterflies. Many people don't even bother going back to see the 'butterfly nursery'. So the chrysalises don't get much attention. Still, the chrysalises are beautiful in their own way. They are delicate, fragile little gems suspened in the air. Through their translucent skin, the bejeweled wings of the developing butterflies are just visible. The chrysalises are truly gorgeous. If visitors entered and saw these first...and if the visitors didn't realize what was growing inside the chrysalises....there might be the tempation to think that this was, in fact, the point of the show. It is this fallacy that often engulfs us as women. We see the chrysalis of our lives, of others' lives, and it in itself might be a beautiful thing. BUT, we can become so busy trying to care for, and preserve the chrysalis...seeing only the outward appearnace of things, that we loose sight of the butterfly growing inside. If we are not careful, that butterfly can become trapped and starve and die. And then we are left doing nothing but caring for a hollow shell.
Dear FlyLady,
My mother informed me yesterday that my very dear aunt died at 5:30 in the morning from complications of her gastric bypass. Peggy always had a beautiful home and was immaculately groomed, but she was very much a perfectionist and was unforgiving of perceived flaws. On the morning before she had her surgery, did she enjoy her shower? Did she put on pretty clothes that made her feel beautiful? Did she eat delicious food that nourished her body? I sure hope so because she could never have known that that would be the last time she would do any of those things.
Going through my daily tasks, I often view such things as mundane chores and try to get through them quickly so I can go on to the next thing. But I could end up like Peggy, gasping for air, eating and eliminating through tubes and getting a sponge bath occasionally. She was admitted to the critical care unit a week after her surgery with septic shock and total organ failure, a direct result of her bypass. For the next four months she agonizingly clung to life, all her dignity stripped away and unable to do the smallest things for herself until she crashed and died in the bed she'd been unable to get out of for four months.
This personal tragedy has finally taught me the meaning of "living life to the fullest". I'd hear the cliche and want to live my life to the fullest, but never knew how. Did it mean being happy and loving all the time? Giving away all my things to poor people? Taking extreme risks such as bungee jumping to get away from the monotony of daily life? I was never sure.
Contemplating Peggy's loss and reading your emails, I finally got what living life to the fullest meant for me. I think it means taking every opportunity you get to love yourself and those around you. This is not a dress rehearsal; we always think we'll get around to doing such-and-such later, until bam! It's over and you lost your chance.
I've always felt like my life would start some day soon. By birthday number x I'd have lost all my excess weight, gotten financially secure, finally conquered my messiness, developed spiritually, become a nicer, more patient person, and mastered time management. No way is that ever going to happen. If I don't work, slowly but steadily, at the goals in my life and take every chance to love myself and others, they will slip one by one away and I will never get them back.
I think over and over again how I wish I had more time. But the truth is, we only ever have the time we've got now.
Thoughts I want to highlight.
1) This isn't a dress rehearsal.
2) My daily tasks should be treasured and enjoyed, not rushed, regretted, or ignored.
3) Do it now. There might not be a later. We only ever have the time we've got now.
4) Take every opportunity to love (yourself and others).
5) Life, each day, is a gift. Meant to be lived, enjoyed, and shared.
Yes, there is gerbil food scattered on the floor. Yes, there is laundry in the basket, in the dryer, in the washer. Yes, the ribbons I took an hour or more making for dance only lasted 15 minutes in the girls' hands before they started to shred. Yes, it seems I have more things to do than I have days to do them in. Yes, I'm frustrated that the Sweetling has been LAAAAGGING when she is supposed to be *doing* whatever she's been told to accomplish.
But,
--We have a floor for the food to scatter on. A carpeted floor at that. We have a sweet little gerbil who is pretty fun to watch. The food got a bit spilled, because the Sweetling is being responsible and taking care of her pet all by herself. And Wednesdays are my day to vacuum anyway.
--The laundry is mostly done. We have lots of nice clothes to wear. We have an abundance of nice clothes. We have a washer and dryer to clean our clothes in. I don't have to go to a laundrymat or worse.
--The girls really liked the ribbons. They shredded because they were so much fun to *twirl*. A bit of clear nail polish on their ends should take care of the problem.
--The 'things' I have to do are all GOOD things. Happy things. Things I look forward to. Melting Pot with friends tomorrow night. Dance practice with girls tonight. Grocery shopping, and how blessed we are to be able to provide for our needs *and* our wants. A book fair. Baking Christmas cookies to take to the neighbors. Making fuzzy cottonball sheep and glitter stars with preschoolers. The Christmas dance program. The AHG Christmas party. These are all good, wonderful things meant to bring both myself and others joy.
--Sweetlings slow response is noticible, because usually she is prompt and eager to do what is expected of her. This is an opportunity for me to teach her (and me) some better time management skills.
I paused to fix lunch for Sweetling and me. But I'm not finished with these thoughts. I wondered, why does it take a FlyLady email of all things, to remind me that my circumstances shouldn't be painting my attitude, my attitude should be coloring my circumstances?
And I was reminded of something Eyes shared this morning in WOW. She said, its hard to follow an invisible God. There are times that we are hurting, and we really need Him to reach down and hold our hand. And in those times, God will reach out and hold our hand...through other people. He shows his love many times throught the people around us.
Jumping to a new, but related thought.
I brought Captivating in to the room with me. I wanted to share some quotes. But I'm worried the quotes out of context will be diminished. Pink is a nice enough color, a bit stereotyped or overused from time to time. Still, while pink alone might be nice, its hardly breathtaking or remarkable in any way. But the soft pink clouds that skirted the entire horizon this morning were lovely beyond words. The color itself isn't what was important, it was the color in context that made a memorable experience.
Let me then sum up what I wanted to share with my own analogy. Every year Sweetling and I go to the Krohn Butterfly Show (often with Smurf). In a back room, there are cases of chrysalises on display. Now, one enters the show through the main room...which is filled with flowers and beautiful butterflies. Many people don't even bother going back to see the 'butterfly nursery'. So the chrysalises don't get much attention. Still, the chrysalises are beautiful in their own way. They are delicate, fragile little gems suspened in the air. Through their translucent skin, the bejeweled wings of the developing butterflies are just visible. The chrysalises are truly gorgeous. If visitors entered and saw these first...and if the visitors didn't realize what was growing inside the chrysalises....there might be the tempation to think that this was, in fact, the point of the show. It is this fallacy that often engulfs us as women. We see the chrysalis of our lives, of others' lives, and it in itself might be a beautiful thing. BUT, we can become so busy trying to care for, and preserve the chrysalis...seeing only the outward appearnace of things, that we loose sight of the butterfly growing inside. If we are not careful, that butterfly can become trapped and starve and die. And then we are left doing nothing but caring for a hollow shell.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
SHE's Shouldn't
yes. I'm posting this because they are about someone else....NOT me. I'm not saying they couldn't be about me....but they happen to not be. (A SHE, by the way, is a Sidetracked Home Executive.)
SHEs should never attempt to move fully decorated trees across the living room, thinking that they will look better in front of a different window. SHE might find herself under the tree, thinking this is a piece of cake, when an ominous crack, and the tree suddenly listing to one side alerts her to an upcoming disaster. It is virtually impossible to hold a 7 foot artificial tree upright from underneath once the center pole cracks.
SHE shouldn't . . .
...ever think making holiday wrapping paper by dipping the kids' little hands in red and green paint is a good idea
....decide that nice homemade presents of sugar and spice pecans warrants buying 35 pounds (no lie!) of pecans at the warehouse club or she will be looking at them for many years to come
....hide gifts in black plastic garbage bags in the garage or she will chasing the garbage truck through her neighborhood, which will not put her in the holiday spirit
SHEs shouldn't decide on December 1st that they have more than enough time to cross stitch 6 personalized ornaments that will also be the gift tags for the 'real' gifts.
SHE also shouldn't decide to make all her Christmas gifts because she is very 'artsy' and wants to give beautiful but personal gifts AND save money; so in October she spends a small fortune on all the supplies, and digs in; but 3 days before Christmas all the gifts are "almost done" so she panics and starts shopping at the mall and spends a bigger fortune to buy last minute gifts for everybody.
(This next one I included just for the husband's reaction. The Jedi understands. And yes, I have successfully turned my blog from a place to do a bit of writing, to just another spot to stick spam.)
SHE shouldn't stay up all night making pies on Christmas Eve-Eve. Her judgment might be a bit impaired when she decides it's ok to go ahead and put the homemade whipped cream on top of the pies before they have cooled all the way. After all, it's 3:30 in the morning already! What might happen is that she will get the beautiful garnish on the whipped cream just right and then pick up her pie to move it from the cooling rack. When she moves the pie, the whole beautiful layer of whipped cream and garnish could slide right off into the kitchen floor because the pie filling is still warm and the cream is melting! She will then let out a yell of "Oh No!" and her husband will come to the kitchen and see her dancing around a big sticky mess on the floor, holding a naked pie. He will most likely just shake his head and head for the mop, because he isn't surprised by these things any more.
Ok. I need to be done. Actually I need to delete. I won't though. Once I delete one blog, it will be a nasty downward spiral into the land of internal criticism which won't allow me to put up any blogging.
Its 10:50 and Sweetling is still not in bed. Why? Because I'm exhausted. No one but another mother would understand the correlation there. Where's the Jedi you ask? Discovering that the new universal remote for the TV can be connected to the computer for some purpose no one will understand. Ah, there. He came up and chased the Sweetling into bed where she belongs. Now I can go to bed too. At least, I could if it weren't covered with laundry.
I'm going to go down and deal with the laundry. Its all my clothes. I refuse to sweep them into a basket to wrinkle so badly I have to rewash them. Why does FlyLady work for everone but me? Is it because I'm sitting here blogging rather than hanging up clothes? I think that might have something to do with it....hmmm.....
SHEs should never attempt to move fully decorated trees across the living room, thinking that they will look better in front of a different window. SHE might find herself under the tree, thinking this is a piece of cake, when an ominous crack, and the tree suddenly listing to one side alerts her to an upcoming disaster. It is virtually impossible to hold a 7 foot artificial tree upright from underneath once the center pole cracks.
SHE shouldn't . . .
...ever think making holiday wrapping paper by dipping the kids' little hands in red and green paint is a good idea
....decide that nice homemade presents of sugar and spice pecans warrants buying 35 pounds (no lie!) of pecans at the warehouse club or she will be looking at them for many years to come
....hide gifts in black plastic garbage bags in the garage or she will chasing the garbage truck through her neighborhood, which will not put her in the holiday spirit
SHEs shouldn't decide on December 1st that they have more than enough time to cross stitch 6 personalized ornaments that will also be the gift tags for the 'real' gifts.
SHE also shouldn't decide to make all her Christmas gifts because she is very 'artsy' and wants to give beautiful but personal gifts AND save money; so in October she spends a small fortune on all the supplies, and digs in; but 3 days before Christmas all the gifts are "almost done" so she panics and starts shopping at the mall and spends a bigger fortune to buy last minute gifts for everybody.
(This next one I included just for the husband's reaction. The Jedi understands. And yes, I have successfully turned my blog from a place to do a bit of writing, to just another spot to stick spam.)
SHE shouldn't stay up all night making pies on Christmas Eve-Eve. Her judgment might be a bit impaired when she decides it's ok to go ahead and put the homemade whipped cream on top of the pies before they have cooled all the way. After all, it's 3:30 in the morning already! What might happen is that she will get the beautiful garnish on the whipped cream just right and then pick up her pie to move it from the cooling rack. When she moves the pie, the whole beautiful layer of whipped cream and garnish could slide right off into the kitchen floor because the pie filling is still warm and the cream is melting! She will then let out a yell of "Oh No!" and her husband will come to the kitchen and see her dancing around a big sticky mess on the floor, holding a naked pie. He will most likely just shake his head and head for the mop, because he isn't surprised by these things any more.
Ok. I need to be done. Actually I need to delete. I won't though. Once I delete one blog, it will be a nasty downward spiral into the land of internal criticism which won't allow me to put up any blogging.
Its 10:50 and Sweetling is still not in bed. Why? Because I'm exhausted. No one but another mother would understand the correlation there. Where's the Jedi you ask? Discovering that the new universal remote for the TV can be connected to the computer for some purpose no one will understand. Ah, there. He came up and chased the Sweetling into bed where she belongs. Now I can go to bed too. At least, I could if it weren't covered with laundry.
I'm going to go down and deal with the laundry. Its all my clothes. I refuse to sweep them into a basket to wrinkle so badly I have to rewash them. Why does FlyLady work for everone but me? Is it because I'm sitting here blogging rather than hanging up clothes? I think that might have something to do with it....hmmm.....
Monday, December 04, 2006
Shalom bayit
This sentence popped out at me as I was reading through my Flymail.
I want to keep it so that I can think about it again. Oh, and about mornings, I think I'll ask the Jedi to simply not turn off his alarm in the morning. It takes me longer to find my way back to consciousness. Music is a nice bridge for that. His "alarm" is simply a radio station that we both like. I fall asleep to soft music, I wake up to joyful music with lyrics. I'll be awake in a timely manner, and I'll be in a good mood. I'll be awake before the Jedi leaves for the day, and I'll have time to shower at my own pace, instead of feeling rushed and behind. Its a win, win situation.
One of the most important concepts for a Jewish wife/mother is her part in creating "shalom bayit", peace in the house.
I want to keep it so that I can think about it again. Oh, and about mornings, I think I'll ask the Jedi to simply not turn off his alarm in the morning. It takes me longer to find my way back to consciousness. Music is a nice bridge for that. His "alarm" is simply a radio station that we both like. I fall asleep to soft music, I wake up to joyful music with lyrics. I'll be awake in a timely manner, and I'll be in a good mood. I'll be awake before the Jedi leaves for the day, and I'll have time to shower at my own pace, instead of feeling rushed and behind. Its a win, win situation.
Mornings
No one likes mornings. This is just an established fact.
Let me rephrase that. No one likes mornings when their mornings are only about obligations. Get up and get to work. Get up and get to class. Get up and get the kids cared for. Get up and get going.
Mornings that are slow, lazy, full of extra snuggles under the blankets... followed by lounging around in jammies drinking hot chocolate and reading a good book...and then a leasurely shower in warm water. Those are different kinds of mornings.
No one likes the first kind. Everyone wants the second kind.
I need a way to make my first kind of morning more like my second kind. I want to start my day with something pleasant. Not laying in bed till the absolute last minute, then getting up to rush through a shower, feeling guilty for all the things I *should* have already gotten done.
I'm not sure this is totally the answer. But it might be a start. The first half is definitely some of what I'm struggling with. The quote is from Flylady. (Do I ever quote anything else here? No, because the other source I might quote requires typing the quote from my book into the blog. And that's like, gasp, work.)
Anyway, I want to wake up with the Jedi. I want to share some of my morning with him. But, I don't hear the Jedi's alarm. (and when I vaguely notice it, it doesn't enter my consciousness enough to wake me). And I definitely don't want to ask the Jedi to wake me up. I know how difficult I am to bring to consciousness, and that wouldn't be a fair request to burden him with.
So, where does that leave me? Sleeping in and feeling like a slob in the morning.
Let me rephrase that. No one likes mornings when their mornings are only about obligations. Get up and get to work. Get up and get to class. Get up and get the kids cared for. Get up and get going.
Mornings that are slow, lazy, full of extra snuggles under the blankets... followed by lounging around in jammies drinking hot chocolate and reading a good book...and then a leasurely shower in warm water. Those are different kinds of mornings.
No one likes the first kind. Everyone wants the second kind.
I need a way to make my first kind of morning more like my second kind. I want to start my day with something pleasant. Not laying in bed till the absolute last minute, then getting up to rush through a shower, feeling guilty for all the things I *should* have already gotten done.
When you roll out of bed, throw on whatever is handy, somewhat brush your hair, make an attempt at slapping on some lipstick and throwing on whatever shoes you see, is not the way to start your day off feeling as though you can conquer the world. When you lay out your clothes the night before, have an established morning routine for fixing your hair and make up and then pamper yourself by putting on a favorite piece of jewelry that doesn't get worn often, a spritz of perfume that you love, you will feel totally different when you walk out of the bathroom stepping into a new day.
I'm not sure this is totally the answer. But it might be a start. The first half is definitely some of what I'm struggling with. The quote is from Flylady. (Do I ever quote anything else here? No, because the other source I might quote requires typing the quote from my book into the blog. And that's like, gasp, work.)
Anyway, I want to wake up with the Jedi. I want to share some of my morning with him. But, I don't hear the Jedi's alarm. (and when I vaguely notice it, it doesn't enter my consciousness enough to wake me). And I definitely don't want to ask the Jedi to wake me up. I know how difficult I am to bring to consciousness, and that wouldn't be a fair request to burden him with.
So, where does that leave me? Sleeping in and feeling like a slob in the morning.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
The dishwasher is half empty
The dishwasher is half empty. The bathroom is clean. The living room is straightened. The kitchen floor is swept and mopped. The laundry needs transferred. The Sweetling is very sick and is currently sleeping. The school room needs tidied. The rec room needs decluttered. Phone calls need made. The next book in the series I'm reading is at the library, but I can't go get it. There are leaves and vines penciled on my kithen walls, but I haven't worked up the courage to paint them. I have no sugar to make hot chocolate. I don't really feel like napping. The Jedi made dinner last night so I could nap yesterday afternoon. There are two boxes of Buffy and Angel calling to me. I have many things I need to write about, and nothing to say about them.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Unschooling
Normally, the urge to switch totally to unschooling doesn't hit me till about February. Therefore, I take it as a very, very bad sign that its only the 3rd of November and both Sweetling and I have lost almost all interest in pursuing our usual curriculum.
So, why don't I just give up and switch? Or, better yet, why don't I just forget about the percentages of progress that we make through the curriculum, and just enjoy schooling again? After all, there was a reason I wanted this curriculum in the first place. Reasons, even.
First, Sweetling is a bright little girl, and the advanced curriculum does her justice.
Second, Mommy is a free-spirit, and having a curriculum helps Mommy stay focused instead of playing on the computer all day while Sweetling is neglected.
Really, the things that I don't like about the program, are the same things year after year. I don't like their composition books. It takes all the JOY out of writing. I don't like feeling 'behind' in the percentage completions. That takes all the joy out of schooling.
So, what I really need to do is focus on the parts that are working for us, and make sure we do those parts. Nevermind the parts that aren't working. Just scratch them and do something else instead.
Good. I'm glad we had this conversation.
edit to add:
Since I've started my brainstorming here, and I need a piece of scratch paper to make my new school list, I may as well continue on here. I'm scrapping the schedule. The schedule came into play because a) i needed it when schooling multiple people and b) Sweetling likes schedules. But our schedule is too rigid. Instead, we're switching to a more flexible schedule...
8:30 start with devotions and snack.
~9:00Pick any subject to proceed to. Continue with chosing and learning till 11.
11:00 Take a 15 minute break, then
11:15 Spanish.
11:30-12:15 Choose a subject
12:15 Handwriting
12:30-1:30 Have lunch and recess.
1:30-3:00 Back to studies.
3:00-3:30 Break
3:30-4:00 Assignment Book
4:00 Cyberchase
4:30 Finish any other assignments if needed.
And yes, thats a much looser schedule than what we had been trying to do. (Of course, on Wednesdays, we don't kick into school till 11:30 or later, cause of WOW.)
Now, should I say math should be done each day? or just say that we should be getting 5 math lessons done each week?
Weekly list (just to see what it would look like):
5 math (5 hr)
5 lit (5 hr)
2 vocab (40 min)
2 GUM (40 min)
2 Writing -we'll develop our own 'units' and activities (2 hr)
5 Spelling (?1 hr 40 min)
3 History (2 hr)
2 Art (1 -1/2 hr)
3 Science (3 hr)
3 Music (1 -1/2 hr)
I rather like that. I'm throwing in some estimations for time to see how that looks. That'd be a total of (calculators need to have an add hour function).... I think that's about 23 hours. That's a full week of school. I think we're at least going to try the new format.
So, why don't I just give up and switch? Or, better yet, why don't I just forget about the percentages of progress that we make through the curriculum, and just enjoy schooling again? After all, there was a reason I wanted this curriculum in the first place. Reasons, even.
First, Sweetling is a bright little girl, and the advanced curriculum does her justice.
Second, Mommy is a free-spirit, and having a curriculum helps Mommy stay focused instead of playing on the computer all day while Sweetling is neglected.
Really, the things that I don't like about the program, are the same things year after year. I don't like their composition books. It takes all the JOY out of writing. I don't like feeling 'behind' in the percentage completions. That takes all the joy out of schooling.
So, what I really need to do is focus on the parts that are working for us, and make sure we do those parts. Nevermind the parts that aren't working. Just scratch them and do something else instead.
Good. I'm glad we had this conversation.
edit to add:
Since I've started my brainstorming here, and I need a piece of scratch paper to make my new school list, I may as well continue on here. I'm scrapping the schedule. The schedule came into play because a) i needed it when schooling multiple people and b) Sweetling likes schedules. But our schedule is too rigid. Instead, we're switching to a more flexible schedule...
8:30 start with devotions and snack.
~9:00Pick any subject to proceed to. Continue with chosing and learning till 11.
11:00 Take a 15 minute break, then
11:15 Spanish.
11:30-12:15 Choose a subject
12:15 Handwriting
12:30-1:30 Have lunch and recess.
1:30-3:00 Back to studies.
3:00-3:30 Break
3:30-4:00 Assignment Book
4:00 Cyberchase
4:30 Finish any other assignments if needed.
And yes, thats a much looser schedule than what we had been trying to do. (Of course, on Wednesdays, we don't kick into school till 11:30 or later, cause of WOW.)
Now, should I say math should be done each day? or just say that we should be getting 5 math lessons done each week?
Weekly list (just to see what it would look like):
5 math (5 hr)
5 lit (5 hr)
2 vocab (40 min)
2 GUM (40 min)
2 Writing -we'll develop our own 'units' and activities (2 hr)
5 Spelling (?1 hr 40 min)
3 History (2 hr)
2 Art (1 -1/2 hr)
3 Science (3 hr)
3 Music (1 -1/2 hr)
I rather like that. I'm throwing in some estimations for time to see how that looks. That'd be a total of (calculators need to have an add hour function).... I think that's about 23 hours. That's a full week of school. I think we're at least going to try the new format.
Add Image, Again
HA!!!!!!!!
Apparantly, there's this blue button labeled "done". If you close the window before clicking the blue button, the image doesn't add. Go figure.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Add Image
There's an amazing button called 'add image' right her in my 'create post' window for my blog.
I'm happy about this, cause this means I can share my art that smurf sent me. She says she won, but who has art anyway, hmmmm? I set it to my wallpaper. I can't decide if its cheerful or disturbing.
I'd share it with you, but apparantly even the cool 'add image' button isn't enough to overcome my total lack of computer skills. The darn thing keeps timing out trying to upload my image.
I'm posting this anyway, cause Bear is snickering at me.
Apparantly, huge images don't upload well. You can do this cool thing called resizing. So sayeth the Smurf.
I'm happy about this, cause this means I can share my art that smurf sent me. She says she won, but who has art anyway, hmmmm? I set it to my wallpaper. I can't decide if its cheerful or disturbing.
I'd share it with you, but apparantly even the cool 'add image' button isn't enough to overcome my total lack of computer skills. The darn thing keeps timing out trying to upload my image.
I'm posting this anyway, cause Bear is snickering at me.
Apparantly, huge images don't upload well. You can do this cool thing called resizing. So sayeth the Smurf.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Catharsis
Which isn't the word exact, but is close enough for now. Revelation? No, not that either. Liberation. Maybe that.
Been reading and discussing Captivating with my W.O.W group. Have loved the book. Wonderful perspective. Refreshing, revealing, well written. Has made an impact on me.
Got to the first chapter that didn't speak to me. I was just reading it, cause I was supposed to. Skimming it. Not absorbing it, rereading, highlighting, journaling--like I have for every other chapter. This one, I treated like a mandatory reading exercise.
It, I told myself, didn't pertain to me. No relevance. Nothing new.
And then I asked my self a question, and i filled two pages in my journal. And my thoughts became to private to write in my journal, so I wrote them on four little pieces of scrap pad paper. Wrote them. Scribbled them. Scrawled them. Let things out through the angry movements of the pen that I hadn't dared before. No tears. No sounds. Just the scratches of the pen. Capitals. Illegible. Let it out. Get it out. Throw it out. Throw it up.
And then again. More sheets of paper. Not prose this time. Line by line. Not poetry either. Too sad. Too ugly. Not poetry. Line by line. Repetition. And its there. Black and white. Words on paper. The truth. ALL of the truth.
Why do I write this here?
Because I can't get done with it.
Because I need to share it.
Not what I wrote. I might burn that. I might seal it in an envelope and throw it away. I might shred it.
But I had to share that I wrote it.
I don't want to forget it.
I don't want to throw it away either.
But I don't want anyone to read it.
Not yet.
Maybe later.
Maybe never.
I haven't decided yet.
For now, its enough that I wrote it. And I saw it. And I faced it.
And that is what is needed.
Been reading and discussing Captivating with my W.O.W group. Have loved the book. Wonderful perspective. Refreshing, revealing, well written. Has made an impact on me.
Got to the first chapter that didn't speak to me. I was just reading it, cause I was supposed to. Skimming it. Not absorbing it, rereading, highlighting, journaling--like I have for every other chapter. This one, I treated like a mandatory reading exercise.
It, I told myself, didn't pertain to me. No relevance. Nothing new.
And then I asked my self a question, and i filled two pages in my journal. And my thoughts became to private to write in my journal, so I wrote them on four little pieces of scrap pad paper. Wrote them. Scribbled them. Scrawled them. Let things out through the angry movements of the pen that I hadn't dared before. No tears. No sounds. Just the scratches of the pen. Capitals. Illegible. Let it out. Get it out. Throw it out. Throw it up.
And then again. More sheets of paper. Not prose this time. Line by line. Not poetry either. Too sad. Too ugly. Not poetry. Line by line. Repetition. And its there. Black and white. Words on paper. The truth. ALL of the truth.
Why do I write this here?
Because I can't get done with it.
Because I need to share it.
Not what I wrote. I might burn that. I might seal it in an envelope and throw it away. I might shred it.
But I had to share that I wrote it.
I don't want to forget it.
I don't want to throw it away either.
But I don't want anyone to read it.
Not yet.
Maybe later.
Maybe never.
I haven't decided yet.
For now, its enough that I wrote it. And I saw it. And I faced it.
And that is what is needed.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Memes and Jack-o-Laterns
First off, we all know I'm a nerd. I might be a girly nerd, but I'm still a nerd. Therefore, I cannot help but point out that memes as I have encountered them in my limited blog existence have deviated significantly from the original theory put forward when the term was coined. Not that this is a bad thing. Language is fluid and evolves. But I am a nerd, therefore the distinction must be pointed out.
While I'm briefly on the subject of evolution, let me rant about cleaning out pumpkin guts to create a jack-o-latern. Now, lets assume that the *purpose* of the pumpkin is simply to hold and nurture the seeds. Have any of you (the wide audience of two or three that might actually read this) ever planted a pumpkin seed? Those bad boys must be planted many feet apart because the resulting pumpkin vine needs so much space. If the seeds are planted right on top of each other, the vines choke each other out. A few might actually live past the tiny stage, but they will not have sufficient rain or nutrients to produce flowers and fruits, because they will be in too close a competition with the neighboring vine. So, the whole, pumpkin rots and fertilizes the thirty seeds inside of it doesn't work for the propigation of the species. And no, being a nerd doesn't mean I can spell. Now, it could be that the pumpkin tries to spread its seed by being ingested and then 'planted' in an animal's excrement. That does occasionally happen with some seeds. Pumpkin seeds seem rather flimsy to survive the digestional track...but this is just an opinion, not based on scientific fact. Certainly the stubborn tenacity of the nasty goopey string to form permament, nearly inseverable bond would point to the latter approach to propigation. It was, of course, this devilishly impossible bond which started me contemplating the nature and function of the pumpkin.
Personally, I'm thinking pumpkins are proof of creation. Oh yes, yes. What plant puts forth the energy to make a pumpkin for really no good plant reason? hmmm? no, they are signs of a benevolent God who said, let there be pie. And the strings? Part of the curse when humankind fell from the Garden of Eden. Thorns, briars, and strings in the pumpkin that refuse to yield to knife, spoons, hands, threats, tears. Gourds fall into this same category. Are those things even edible? I think they exist to be dried and made into dippers and containers (and in late days, birdhouses and decorative items). Again, no evolutionary function.
By the way, stringy pumpkin guts do yeild to the Jedi.
Said pumpkin is now sitting on the table with a little candle shining out of the carved face of Ruff Ruffman. (drawn by Sweetling, carved by Mommy).
Sweetling sent 14 and 1/2 inches of hair to Locks of Love. I'd post a picture, but I'm a nerd, not a geek, and there's a big difference.
But memes.
I got a song today, so now I have to offer a "meme" to the first five people who respond (who then in turn have to put a "meme" on their blog...or do something nice for five people if they don't have a blog. Since, like I said, my readership is oh so small, I'm not anticipating anyone getting closed out. Except maybe the Smurf, who painted over Mammaw and Pappaw's painting and yet who refuses to send me a lousy five minute sketch when she was running a Meme on her blog. She's such a smurfing smurf that way.
So, I think I'm going to offer an acrostic poem made out of the name of the first five respondents. Let the mad dash begin.
Oh, and turkeys? Created for Thanksgiving of course.
While I'm briefly on the subject of evolution, let me rant about cleaning out pumpkin guts to create a jack-o-latern. Now, lets assume that the *purpose* of the pumpkin is simply to hold and nurture the seeds. Have any of you (the wide audience of two or three that might actually read this) ever planted a pumpkin seed? Those bad boys must be planted many feet apart because the resulting pumpkin vine needs so much space. If the seeds are planted right on top of each other, the vines choke each other out. A few might actually live past the tiny stage, but they will not have sufficient rain or nutrients to produce flowers and fruits, because they will be in too close a competition with the neighboring vine. So, the whole, pumpkin rots and fertilizes the thirty seeds inside of it doesn't work for the propigation of the species. And no, being a nerd doesn't mean I can spell. Now, it could be that the pumpkin tries to spread its seed by being ingested and then 'planted' in an animal's excrement. That does occasionally happen with some seeds. Pumpkin seeds seem rather flimsy to survive the digestional track...but this is just an opinion, not based on scientific fact. Certainly the stubborn tenacity of the nasty goopey string to form permament, nearly inseverable bond would point to the latter approach to propigation. It was, of course, this devilishly impossible bond which started me contemplating the nature and function of the pumpkin.
Personally, I'm thinking pumpkins are proof of creation. Oh yes, yes. What plant puts forth the energy to make a pumpkin for really no good plant reason? hmmm? no, they are signs of a benevolent God who said, let there be pie. And the strings? Part of the curse when humankind fell from the Garden of Eden. Thorns, briars, and strings in the pumpkin that refuse to yield to knife, spoons, hands, threats, tears. Gourds fall into this same category. Are those things even edible? I think they exist to be dried and made into dippers and containers (and in late days, birdhouses and decorative items). Again, no evolutionary function.
By the way, stringy pumpkin guts do yeild to the Jedi.
Said pumpkin is now sitting on the table with a little candle shining out of the carved face of Ruff Ruffman. (drawn by Sweetling, carved by Mommy).
Sweetling sent 14 and 1/2 inches of hair to Locks of Love. I'd post a picture, but I'm a nerd, not a geek, and there's a big difference.
But memes.
I got a song today, so now I have to offer a "meme" to the first five people who respond (who then in turn have to put a "meme" on their blog...or do something nice for five people if they don't have a blog. Since, like I said, my readership is oh so small, I'm not anticipating anyone getting closed out. Except maybe the Smurf, who painted over Mammaw and Pappaw's painting and yet who refuses to send me a lousy five minute sketch when she was running a Meme on her blog. She's such a smurfing smurf that way.
So, I think I'm going to offer an acrostic poem made out of the name of the first five respondents. Let the mad dash begin.
Oh, and turkeys? Created for Thanksgiving of course.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Favorites
I updated my user profile today. Updated meaning, I created my user profile today.
Xuans don't like boxes. Xuans don't do boxes well. Xuans dont like confining directions either. Computers are all about boxes and very limited directions. Xuans and computers don't get along well sometimes.
Blogspot won't let me write what *I* want to write in the boxes designed for favorite movies, music, and books. Blogspot wants a list. I don't want to make a list of names. Its not about the *names* of the movies, music, and books. Its about the meaning, the emotions, the relationships. Its about what they evoke in me.
Blogspot isn't interested in what they evoke.
But I have defeated Blogspot by placing them here instead.
Favorite Movies:
I love movies that make me laugh. I love movies that I can watch with my husband. I love movies that I can watch with my daughter. I like movies that I can watch with my friends.
Favorite Music:
Yes! Music! Music that sings and that I can sing with. Music that soars and I can float with. Music that flows and I can dance with.
Favorite Books:
Always books. Books that record the stories of others. Books that record the triumph of others. Books that record the love found by others.
Xuans don't like boxes. Xuans don't do boxes well. Xuans dont like confining directions either. Computers are all about boxes and very limited directions. Xuans and computers don't get along well sometimes.
Blogspot won't let me write what *I* want to write in the boxes designed for favorite movies, music, and books. Blogspot wants a list. I don't want to make a list of names. Its not about the *names* of the movies, music, and books. Its about the meaning, the emotions, the relationships. Its about what they evoke in me.
Blogspot isn't interested in what they evoke.
But I have defeated Blogspot by placing them here instead.
Favorite Movies:
I love movies that make me laugh. I love movies that I can watch with my husband. I love movies that I can watch with my daughter. I like movies that I can watch with my friends.
Favorite Music:
Yes! Music! Music that sings and that I can sing with. Music that soars and I can float with. Music that flows and I can dance with.
Favorite Books:
Always books. Books that record the stories of others. Books that record the triumph of others. Books that record the love found by others.
Hot Chocotate
This has been my day today. Its 12:17. Its one of those, what happened to my morning sort of days. Right now, I glanced at the craft closet, where Sweetling is standing unwrapping red modeling clay. Where is the modeling clay going? What is the modeling clay doing? I don't know. All I know is that it involves aardvarks at a spaghetti restaurant.
Behind me, on the floor of the school room, is said spaghetti restaurant. Four paper aardvarks have been drawn with crayon then cut out and taped onto popsicle sticks to make puppets. An elaborate platter made of paper, decorated, taped to a small plastic container, rests in the middle of the aardvarks. White yarn spaghetti is piled high on the plate, red construction paper forms the sauce, and popsicle stick breadsticks are artfully arranged in the plastic container. Each aardvark has a bathroom dixie cup placed next to them, the contents of which are red magnetix building toys, red modeling clay (so that's where that went), red construction paper scraps, with the last cup left empty but with its interior colored red with a marker. The aardvarks order was carefully recorded by Sweetling on her PDA.
The order is thus, and is graciously typed into my blog by Sweetling herself:
1. Spaghetti
2.Breadsticks
3. Tomatoe juice
Speckle the Leopard has just entered the restaurant and has ordered spaghetti with extra meatballs. Sweetling has run off in search of said meatballs. A dessert course is to follow.
Also today, I've had two cups of hot chocolate. Its been a hot chocolate kind of morning.
Our intentions this morning were to sit down and complete our regular school lessons. We finished our Bible lesson and Sweetling was working on math when Fluffy broke in half. Fluffy is, of course, a packaging peanut. Sweetling has many Fisher Price people that were saved from the Jedi's toys back in the 70's. Three of the FisherPrice people, named Kelly, Brian, and Uncle John, join us during our math time whenever our lessons are primarily word problems. Kelly and Brian somehow aquired Fluffy as a pet this past week.
However, tragedy struck this morning, and all regular lessons were suspended. Emergency operations immediately swung into place, as a rescue mission for Fluffy was commenced. Tacky glue was retrieved from the closet and a pin used to declog its opening. The peanut halves were glued back together and Fluffy was set on the microwave to dry. Skeptical of the success of this proceedure, Mommy suggested that perhaps a new Fluffy could be made. A hunt was on for the materials. A fat fat fuzzy white craft wire was found, twisted, and clipped into the appropriate shape. A miniture pink pom pom and two tiny googly eyes were glued on for a nose. This Fluffy too was placed on top of the microwave to dry. In the meantime Sweetling made Fluffy a chew toy out of a magenta craft wire.
How we went from bionic Fluffy to the spaghetti restaurant I'm not sure....I believe that the word problems for the lesson were all set in a restaurant. But here we are. 12:38 now.
I tell myself the sign of a great teacher is to be able to recognize the value of many different activities in the overall development of a child.
And really, I think nothing that could come out of a book could be equal to the creativity and imagination of the morning.
Therefore, I'm going to go make myself a third cup of hot chocolate. Speckle is enjoying a tissue paper spaghetti plate, topped with a uninflated red ballooon and a half a plastic easter egg meatball.
When do we, as adults, loose this wonderful creativity and ability to make our dreams come true out of *anything*?
I think I might just go paint some ivy and leaves along the walls of my kitchen.
Behind me, on the floor of the school room, is said spaghetti restaurant. Four paper aardvarks have been drawn with crayon then cut out and taped onto popsicle sticks to make puppets. An elaborate platter made of paper, decorated, taped to a small plastic container, rests in the middle of the aardvarks. White yarn spaghetti is piled high on the plate, red construction paper forms the sauce, and popsicle stick breadsticks are artfully arranged in the plastic container. Each aardvark has a bathroom dixie cup placed next to them, the contents of which are red magnetix building toys, red modeling clay (so that's where that went), red construction paper scraps, with the last cup left empty but with its interior colored red with a marker. The aardvarks order was carefully recorded by Sweetling on her PDA.
The order is thus, and is graciously typed into my blog by Sweetling herself:
1. Spaghetti
2.Breadsticks
3. Tomatoe juice
Speckle the Leopard has just entered the restaurant and has ordered spaghetti with extra meatballs. Sweetling has run off in search of said meatballs. A dessert course is to follow.
Also today, I've had two cups of hot chocolate. Its been a hot chocolate kind of morning.
Our intentions this morning were to sit down and complete our regular school lessons. We finished our Bible lesson and Sweetling was working on math when Fluffy broke in half. Fluffy is, of course, a packaging peanut. Sweetling has many Fisher Price people that were saved from the Jedi's toys back in the 70's. Three of the FisherPrice people, named Kelly, Brian, and Uncle John, join us during our math time whenever our lessons are primarily word problems. Kelly and Brian somehow aquired Fluffy as a pet this past week.
However, tragedy struck this morning, and all regular lessons were suspended. Emergency operations immediately swung into place, as a rescue mission for Fluffy was commenced. Tacky glue was retrieved from the closet and a pin used to declog its opening. The peanut halves were glued back together and Fluffy was set on the microwave to dry. Skeptical of the success of this proceedure, Mommy suggested that perhaps a new Fluffy could be made. A hunt was on for the materials. A fat fat fuzzy white craft wire was found, twisted, and clipped into the appropriate shape. A miniture pink pom pom and two tiny googly eyes were glued on for a nose. This Fluffy too was placed on top of the microwave to dry. In the meantime Sweetling made Fluffy a chew toy out of a magenta craft wire.
How we went from bionic Fluffy to the spaghetti restaurant I'm not sure....I believe that the word problems for the lesson were all set in a restaurant. But here we are. 12:38 now.
I tell myself the sign of a great teacher is to be able to recognize the value of many different activities in the overall development of a child.
And really, I think nothing that could come out of a book could be equal to the creativity and imagination of the morning.
Therefore, I'm going to go make myself a third cup of hot chocolate. Speckle is enjoying a tissue paper spaghetti plate, topped with a uninflated red ballooon and a half a plastic easter egg meatball.
When do we, as adults, loose this wonderful creativity and ability to make our dreams come true out of *anything*?
I think I might just go paint some ivy and leaves along the walls of my kitchen.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Random means random, right? That's one of those lovely wisdom statements like "No means no" that women say to small children. The first time a statement such as this leaves your lips, a small piece of your soul curls up and dies in shame. But the thing about death is, that little piece of your soul is no longer around to protest the NEXT time the motherly words of wisdom precedeth from you.
This is your blog. This is your blog on cold meds. Stop typing. Just walk away from the keyboard, and everything will be okay.
(Mary Stewart, The Stormy Kestrel. Which I read despite the fact that it had no selkies in it. I want a story with selkies now. I was about half the way through the book, when I realized, nothing really interesting is going to happen in this story. But I finished reading the book anyway. The language of the book was very fine. Selkies would have made it a wonderful story.)
And so I'm writing. Not a story about selkies. Though that is where at least some of my thoughts are now. What gift would a young woman ask for from her selkie lover? Would a small bag of gold change her life? Where would a young woman go from there, do from there? What happens to the young woman after the selkie has returned, left his bag of gold, taken his child, and returned to the sea? Does she take her gold and head away from her small sea village to another town? What does she do there? Does she stay in her village? Grow an herb garden? Become a midwife, always aiding in others births but never having her own family? Or does the village turn its face away from the nine months of her unexplained pregnancy, the year of the small babe at her breasts, the sudden absence of the child? Do they accept her story of a selkie, and accept her back into their fellowship as if nothing had happened? Where does the woman go? What becomse of her? Does she wander down to the sea sometimes, watching the seals afar in the waves, wondering?
He saw at the water's edge two boats, left there by the fishermen, who were washing their nets. (Luke 5:2)
Washing their nets. This is the image that stuck with me from Sunday. Washing their nets. Mentioned in the sermon, a minor point in the opening. The nets could represent their talents, their skills. They need cleaned, nurtured, strengthened, repaired. Too often we all think, or at least I think, I should just be able to *do*. I don't want to take the time to maintain, to practice, to work hard at the routine aspects of life. I want to be able to just do. Our hearts too are woven into our nets. Each time we cast them out, it is our heart strings that hold them together. The cinch string that circles them and makes them effective our own self, our emotions, our hopes, our dreams, our desires. If the nets had none of us in them, they would only be a tangle of line set a drift in the sea. Useless and formless and purposeless. It is what they hold of our inner selves that makes them functional. Allows them to be filled with purpose. Is that not what we throw our nets out to catch? Purpose? Fulfillment? Meaning in our lives.
But with this meaning, we snag other things as well. Things we did not intend to catch. At the end of the day, we empty our nets of the desired, and find that trapped amongst the strings is...well, we turn our faces away from that part, crinckle our noses, ignore its reek. For some of what gets caught in our nets, I think, is less than pleasant. The grime, the goop, the rotted seaweed, and half decayed bits of worse things as well. And no one wants to touch it to clean the nets. Easier to let our nets sit in their smelly piles, and ignore them, cease to use them. No one wants to kneel on the pebbled shore on a sunny day washing their nets in the surf. Less still do we want to do so on a cold, wet, windy day.
So their the nets sit. And we go hungry. And when we become desperate enough, we pull the nets back out, and are appalled at the condition they are in. We remember the time we stood at the prow of the boat, casting a crisp, new net into a sparkling sea. We remember the graceful arc the net made as it spun out over the water. We remember the sweet spash it made slipping into the waves. We remember how we felt when we cast the net, the day was good, the fishing was abundant, and we were successful.
But we are hungry now. We take the net back out. Smelly and tattered though it is. We toss it, though it does not spin and it plops rather than splashes. And what it catches, if it catches anything, is meager and not enought to fill us. And we think we have lost our touch as fishers. We think the problem is in us. Perhaps we even think that we have misremembered the earlier days. Was it all in our imaginations? Or have we just lost our gifts? Which is the less painful explaination to believe?
And we crumple our nets up and leave them. And we learn to go hungry.
Or maybe we take the ugly path of washing the nets. Repairing them. Mending them. Smelly, finger aching process though it is. Because we do remember what it was like to fish. And the fishing was good. And all the nets need are a little attention.
This is your blog. This is your blog on cold meds. Stop typing. Just walk away from the keyboard, and everything will be okay.
From experience, I knew what to do. Write. Write anything. Bad sentences, meaningless sentences, anything to get the mind fixed again to that sheet of paper and oblivious of the 'real' world. Write until the words begin to make sense, the cogs mesh, the wheels start to turn, the creaking movement quickens and becomes a smooth, oiled run, and then, with luck, exhaustion will be forgotten, and the real writing will begin. but look up once from that paper, get up from the table to make coffe ors tir the fire, even just raise your head to look at the view outside the window, and you may as well give up until tomorrow. Or for ever.
(Mary Stewart, The Stormy Kestrel. Which I read despite the fact that it had no selkies in it. I want a story with selkies now. I was about half the way through the book, when I realized, nothing really interesting is going to happen in this story. But I finished reading the book anyway. The language of the book was very fine. Selkies would have made it a wonderful story.)
And so I'm writing. Not a story about selkies. Though that is where at least some of my thoughts are now. What gift would a young woman ask for from her selkie lover? Would a small bag of gold change her life? Where would a young woman go from there, do from there? What happens to the young woman after the selkie has returned, left his bag of gold, taken his child, and returned to the sea? Does she take her gold and head away from her small sea village to another town? What does she do there? Does she stay in her village? Grow an herb garden? Become a midwife, always aiding in others births but never having her own family? Or does the village turn its face away from the nine months of her unexplained pregnancy, the year of the small babe at her breasts, the sudden absence of the child? Do they accept her story of a selkie, and accept her back into their fellowship as if nothing had happened? Where does the woman go? What becomse of her? Does she wander down to the sea sometimes, watching the seals afar in the waves, wondering?
He saw at the water's edge two boats, left there by the fishermen, who were washing their nets. (Luke 5:2)
Washing their nets. This is the image that stuck with me from Sunday. Washing their nets. Mentioned in the sermon, a minor point in the opening. The nets could represent their talents, their skills. They need cleaned, nurtured, strengthened, repaired. Too often we all think, or at least I think, I should just be able to *do*. I don't want to take the time to maintain, to practice, to work hard at the routine aspects of life. I want to be able to just do. Our hearts too are woven into our nets. Each time we cast them out, it is our heart strings that hold them together. The cinch string that circles them and makes them effective our own self, our emotions, our hopes, our dreams, our desires. If the nets had none of us in them, they would only be a tangle of line set a drift in the sea. Useless and formless and purposeless. It is what they hold of our inner selves that makes them functional. Allows them to be filled with purpose. Is that not what we throw our nets out to catch? Purpose? Fulfillment? Meaning in our lives.
But with this meaning, we snag other things as well. Things we did not intend to catch. At the end of the day, we empty our nets of the desired, and find that trapped amongst the strings is...well, we turn our faces away from that part, crinckle our noses, ignore its reek. For some of what gets caught in our nets, I think, is less than pleasant. The grime, the goop, the rotted seaweed, and half decayed bits of worse things as well. And no one wants to touch it to clean the nets. Easier to let our nets sit in their smelly piles, and ignore them, cease to use them. No one wants to kneel on the pebbled shore on a sunny day washing their nets in the surf. Less still do we want to do so on a cold, wet, windy day.
So their the nets sit. And we go hungry. And when we become desperate enough, we pull the nets back out, and are appalled at the condition they are in. We remember the time we stood at the prow of the boat, casting a crisp, new net into a sparkling sea. We remember the graceful arc the net made as it spun out over the water. We remember the sweet spash it made slipping into the waves. We remember how we felt when we cast the net, the day was good, the fishing was abundant, and we were successful.
But we are hungry now. We take the net back out. Smelly and tattered though it is. We toss it, though it does not spin and it plops rather than splashes. And what it catches, if it catches anything, is meager and not enought to fill us. And we think we have lost our touch as fishers. We think the problem is in us. Perhaps we even think that we have misremembered the earlier days. Was it all in our imaginations? Or have we just lost our gifts? Which is the less painful explaination to believe?
And we crumple our nets up and leave them. And we learn to go hungry.
Or maybe we take the ugly path of washing the nets. Repairing them. Mending them. Smelly, finger aching process though it is. Because we do remember what it was like to fish. And the fishing was good. And all the nets need are a little attention.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Who decided?
Just a couple of lines (again FlyLady) that got me thinking:
I don't really have anything that I want to add to this, so I think I'll just let it be at this for now.
what I want to know is who the heck determined the "RIGHT" way for everyone? Who decided for all of us that here is a RIGHT way and a WRONG way? Why do we feel compelled
to follow the RIGHT way and feel like we have failed when we don't? Lastly, who decided for me that I do things WRONG?
I don't really have anything that I want to add to this, so I think I'll just let it be at this for now.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Sunshine on My Shoulders
I'm so happy the school room is back upstairs. The desk is now right beside the window. The sunlight streams in and I get to bask in it all day. Yum. I think sunlight just might be better than chocolate.
(I was worried that the sunlight would stream in during the morning, and totally wash out the monitor, since "right beside the window" really means the desk is along the wall perpendicular to the window, leaving my chair directly in front of the window. But, the Jedi got me the coolest ever large flat screen monitor, and the sun can shine directly on it...and its still clearly visisble.)
There's no room for the white board in the new school room, so we have crayola window markers and we do our 'chalkboard' schoolwork right on the happy window.
I want to hang school art on the walls, but I don't want the walls to start looking cluttered and crammed with misc stuff. (Speaking of which, the basement walls just look yucky right now.) I need to work out a system. Or come up with a creative idea. I don't really want to make bullentin boards. What do I want to do with the walls? One wall of fame. The best of the best. With each piece matted. One seasonal wall? Or wall by subject? Hmmm.....
I'm a sucker for nice layouts.
I'm also a sucker for wanting to save every last living piece of paper art ever. The worksheets don't hold any sentimental value for me. But draw even so much as a smiley face for Mommy, and i can't throw it out.
Speaking of throwing it out, the downstairs is still strewn with assorted STUFF. Stuff that has no home. Stuff that likely can depart. Stuff. More stuff. Lots of stuff. Looks like no-man's land in some Great Stuff War. Oh the stuff.
I need a better home, better organization for my scrapbook stuff. I need to get off my perfectionist horse so I can actually complete scrapbook pages without thinking each of them needs to be an original work of art worthy of Smithosian inclusion.
I need to get back to ENJOYING scrapbooking. What a concept THAT is.
The downstairs table isn't becoming a scrapping table after all. Its going to become a gaming table. I'm not even dissappointed about this. I've missed gaming with the Jedi.
Words of encouragement for the stuff war:
Dear Friends,
My Born Organized Granny always said, Everything has a place and
everything in it's place. Do you have a place for everything?
Do your piles begin to grow because you can not make a decision on
where to put STUFF. I want you to evaluate your piles and decide where
to put everything. Even if you have to put post-it notes on the inside
of the drawers and doors.
Find a place for everything. If you don't have room, then it is time
to EVICT the junk to make room for the good stuff.
I know it is hard for SHEs to make decision on where to place an item.
Look at the item and think about where you use it most often. Then go
put it there. If there is no room in the Inn, then throw away something
that you no longer need or want.
I am not telling you to do this all at once. Just one pile at a time.
One item at a time. As you run across something that does not have a
home; find it one. Your stuff will be much happier when it has a home.
It has been homeless for a long time. You will know where things
belong. Then you can PUT THEM AWAY WHEN YOU ARE FINISHED WITH THEM!
These are two of our biggest problems. Finding a home for things and
putting them away when we have finished using them.
You will find that when you just begin to do these things, your home
will start looking good all the time.
(I was worried that the sunlight would stream in during the morning, and totally wash out the monitor, since "right beside the window" really means the desk is along the wall perpendicular to the window, leaving my chair directly in front of the window. But, the Jedi got me the coolest ever large flat screen monitor, and the sun can shine directly on it...and its still clearly visisble.)
There's no room for the white board in the new school room, so we have crayola window markers and we do our 'chalkboard' schoolwork right on the happy window.
I want to hang school art on the walls, but I don't want the walls to start looking cluttered and crammed with misc stuff. (Speaking of which, the basement walls just look yucky right now.) I need to work out a system. Or come up with a creative idea. I don't really want to make bullentin boards. What do I want to do with the walls? One wall of fame. The best of the best. With each piece matted. One seasonal wall? Or wall by subject? Hmmm.....
I'm a sucker for nice layouts.
I'm also a sucker for wanting to save every last living piece of paper art ever. The worksheets don't hold any sentimental value for me. But draw even so much as a smiley face for Mommy, and i can't throw it out.
Speaking of throwing it out, the downstairs is still strewn with assorted STUFF. Stuff that has no home. Stuff that likely can depart. Stuff. More stuff. Lots of stuff. Looks like no-man's land in some Great Stuff War. Oh the stuff.
I need a better home, better organization for my scrapbook stuff. I need to get off my perfectionist horse so I can actually complete scrapbook pages without thinking each of them needs to be an original work of art worthy of Smithosian inclusion.
I need to get back to ENJOYING scrapbooking. What a concept THAT is.
The downstairs table isn't becoming a scrapping table after all. Its going to become a gaming table. I'm not even dissappointed about this. I've missed gaming with the Jedi.
Words of encouragement for the stuff war:
Dear Friends,
My Born Organized Granny always said, Everything has a place and
everything in it's place. Do you have a place for everything?
Do your piles begin to grow because you can not make a decision on
where to put STUFF. I want you to evaluate your piles and decide where
to put everything. Even if you have to put post-it notes on the inside
of the drawers and doors.
Find a place for everything. If you don't have room, then it is time
to EVICT the junk to make room for the good stuff.
I know it is hard for SHEs to make decision on where to place an item.
Look at the item and think about where you use it most often. Then go
put it there. If there is no room in the Inn, then throw away something
that you no longer need or want.
I am not telling you to do this all at once. Just one pile at a time.
One item at a time. As you run across something that does not have a
home; find it one. Your stuff will be much happier when it has a home.
It has been homeless for a long time. You will know where things
belong. Then you can PUT THEM AWAY WHEN YOU ARE FINISHED WITH THEM!
These are two of our biggest problems. Finding a home for things and
putting them away when we have finished using them.
You will find that when you just begin to do these things, your home
will start looking good all the time.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Pond Research and the True Purpose of Phone Books
It was 2:30. Sweetling and I were doing school. More accurately, Sweetling was reading the "explore" section of her science lesson...which presented facts and information and whatnot. Sort of like reading a section in a text book. (I transferred a load of laundry.) Sweetling got to the activity section of the lesson. Now the lesson was "Freshwater Ecosystems". And the activity section was called "Pond Research". I thought....COOL, pond research. And in my mind I was envisioning a scavenger hunt of collecting and wading and trying to glimpse the frogs before they jumped into the water and you hear their telltale splash.
But no, apparantly pond research was fill out this boring paper about the reading section. I said aloud, "That's boring. It would be cooler to actually go to a pond."
Sweetling said, "Then why don't we?"
"Get your shoes on," was my immediate reply. Nevermind that the temperature outside is in the low sixties, that its drizzling, that I'm wearing clothes for a court appearance that was supposed to happen earlier that day. (A friend is going through a divorce and a child custody battle and asked me if I could be a character witness for her. They were actually able to settle on an agreement and it didn't have to come to a battle in front of a judge. So, I made a nice round trip to downtown today...which was absolutely better than the alternative and I am NOT complaining. My friend wound up getting everything she was asking for, so it was a good day.)
Sweetling and I head out to the van, me in my little dressy flats, and head to the Nature Preserve. We saw tadpoles, discussed what might live in the various nesting boxes set up around the ponds perimeter, visited the gift shop, and, the highlight of any fall outing, collected lots of leaves.
Leaves which are now pressed between paper towels in the residential section of my white pages. I mean, really, who uses the residential section of the white pages? Even with an unusual last name, there are way, way to many listings to be useful. Whose number do we ever look up there? Schools, churches, sports teams, and other organizations usually put out their own directory for parents, 'cause everyone knows that the residential section of the white pages are useless for actually finding a phone number.
Which is why my white pages are now full of fall leaves.
But no, apparantly pond research was fill out this boring paper about the reading section. I said aloud, "That's boring. It would be cooler to actually go to a pond."
Sweetling said, "Then why don't we?"
"Get your shoes on," was my immediate reply. Nevermind that the temperature outside is in the low sixties, that its drizzling, that I'm wearing clothes for a court appearance that was supposed to happen earlier that day. (A friend is going through a divorce and a child custody battle and asked me if I could be a character witness for her. They were actually able to settle on an agreement and it didn't have to come to a battle in front of a judge. So, I made a nice round trip to downtown today...which was absolutely better than the alternative and I am NOT complaining. My friend wound up getting everything she was asking for, so it was a good day.)
Sweetling and I head out to the van, me in my little dressy flats, and head to the Nature Preserve. We saw tadpoles, discussed what might live in the various nesting boxes set up around the ponds perimeter, visited the gift shop, and, the highlight of any fall outing, collected lots of leaves.
Leaves which are now pressed between paper towels in the residential section of my white pages. I mean, really, who uses the residential section of the white pages? Even with an unusual last name, there are way, way to many listings to be useful. Whose number do we ever look up there? Schools, churches, sports teams, and other organizations usually put out their own directory for parents, 'cause everyone knows that the residential section of the white pages are useless for actually finding a phone number.
Which is why my white pages are now full of fall leaves.
Friday, September 29, 2006
I value..
I value me for my creativity. I value me for my 'free-spirit'. I value me for being a good mother, and a good teacher. I value me for my ability to notice and appreciate the little things that fill the days of the world with beauty and joy.
That was what I wanted to say today.
I also came across this story. It had me in tears. I'm posting it, because I can't bear to just delete it. (I could put it in an email and send it to GoldenTear...hmmmm). (why is control-v "paste'?)
Dear FlyLady,
Yes, "Love Like There is No Tomorrow" DID hit home in a very painful,
heart-wrenching way. My 8 year old sweet angel daughter passed away
very suddenly on May 23, 2006. I thought she had a stomach bug during
the night. I sat up with her all night and first thing in the morning,
I made arrangements to bring her to her grandfather' s while I went to
work for half a day.
I know for a fact that her last memory of me was me screaming and
yelling for her to find her shoes (wherever they were in the mess) and
get them on. Fifteen minutes later, I was giving her CPR and mouth to
mouth, trying to save her while waiting for the paramedics.
I have spent literally years screaming at my 4 children to "clean"
their messes, when I couldn't even seem to get my own messes cleaned
up. My house was so cluttered that the police officer who answered
the call took pictures and turned me into child welfare. Within 24
hours, social workers were interviewing my other children and family
members to determine if my home was "SAFE" for my 12 yr old DD to stay
with me.
The time from the day my daughter passed to the day after her funeral
was hell in more ways than one. Not only did I have to deal with
losing my heart and soul so unexpectedly, but we (my older sons
and family members) also had to get my home in order so my other
daughter would be allowed to come home. Instead of us grieving
together, we were separated (she stayed with her father, who enjoyed
every bit of this "twist"of events).
Well, I have been babystepping and "falling off the wagon" for
a few years now and this has been the ultimate wakeup call. My sweet,
beautiful baby girl died in the mess that I was too overwhelmed to do
anything about - yet I yelled and expected her and her siblings to be
able to "clean" their own messes. What a hypocrite I realized I've been.
Incidentally, my daughter died of a strangulated small intestine,
which I have been told is almost always fatal and rather rare. Clean
house or not, I would have lost her anyway; but in uncluttered
surroundings, I would not have yelled (out of helplessness, because I
knew she couldn't find the shoes, I knew I was late for work and I
didn't even know where to look for the shoes). My baby used her last
breaths to get up the stairs to do what she was told to do.
I want you to know, however, how much I love my baby. We had regular
tea parties together and spent countless hours reading, praying and
just being together. She loved like no child I have ever known.
She made up song and dance routines and entertained the family
regularly. I always justified the clutter with "we'll have fun now and
I'll take care of the clutter tomorrow." My sweet angel told me just
a few weeks before she died that she wasn't afraid to die, because she
knew that she would meet Jesus and she loved Him. She had also told
her older sister that Jesus held her in His arms while she slept so
she wouldn't have bad dreams. I know she is in His arms now and will
never have a bad dream again. I am the one living the nightmare of
what clutter created - my sweet angel hearing my angry words, instead
of me LOVING her like the tomorrow that will never come.
Thank you for listening. I am trying each day to go on and to clear
the clutter. I pray no one ever hasmto go thru the pain and
humiliation that we have endured in the past 2 months. My 12 yr old
DD is home with me and my "case" has been deemed "unfounded" because
they determined that I am a loving mother who got sidetracked with
depression and too much "stuff."
If I hadn't read about you several years ago in a magazine, I'm sure
things would have been much more difficult. God be with you.
Peace,
Cathi in NY
That was what I wanted to say today.
I also came across this story. It had me in tears. I'm posting it, because I can't bear to just delete it. (I could put it in an email and send it to GoldenTear...hmmmm). (why is control-v "paste'?)
Dear FlyLady,
Yes, "Love Like There is No Tomorrow" DID hit home in a very painful,
heart-wrenching way. My 8 year old sweet angel daughter passed away
very suddenly on May 23, 2006. I thought she had a stomach bug during
the night. I sat up with her all night and first thing in the morning,
I made arrangements to bring her to her grandfather' s while I went to
work for half a day.
I know for a fact that her last memory of me was me screaming and
yelling for her to find her shoes (wherever they were in the mess) and
get them on. Fifteen minutes later, I was giving her CPR and mouth to
mouth, trying to save her while waiting for the paramedics.
I have spent literally years screaming at my 4 children to "clean"
their messes, when I couldn't even seem to get my own messes cleaned
up. My house was so cluttered that the police officer who answered
the call took pictures and turned me into child welfare. Within 24
hours, social workers were interviewing my other children and family
members to determine if my home was "SAFE" for my 12 yr old DD to stay
with me.
The time from the day my daughter passed to the day after her funeral
was hell in more ways than one. Not only did I have to deal with
losing my heart and soul so unexpectedly, but we (my older sons
and family members) also had to get my home in order so my other
daughter would be allowed to come home. Instead of us grieving
together, we were separated (she stayed with her father, who enjoyed
every bit of this "twist"of events).
Well, I have been babystepping and "falling off the wagon" for
a few years now and this has been the ultimate wakeup call. My sweet,
beautiful baby girl died in the mess that I was too overwhelmed to do
anything about - yet I yelled and expected her and her siblings to be
able to "clean" their own messes. What a hypocrite I realized I've been.
Incidentally, my daughter died of a strangulated small intestine,
which I have been told is almost always fatal and rather rare. Clean
house or not, I would have lost her anyway; but in uncluttered
surroundings, I would not have yelled (out of helplessness, because I
knew she couldn't find the shoes, I knew I was late for work and I
didn't even know where to look for the shoes). My baby used her last
breaths to get up the stairs to do what she was told to do.
I want you to know, however, how much I love my baby. We had regular
tea parties together and spent countless hours reading, praying and
just being together. She loved like no child I have ever known.
She made up song and dance routines and entertained the family
regularly. I always justified the clutter with "we'll have fun now and
I'll take care of the clutter tomorrow." My sweet angel told me just
a few weeks before she died that she wasn't afraid to die, because she
knew that she would meet Jesus and she loved Him. She had also told
her older sister that Jesus held her in His arms while she slept so
she wouldn't have bad dreams. I know she is in His arms now and will
never have a bad dream again. I am the one living the nightmare of
what clutter created - my sweet angel hearing my angry words, instead
of me LOVING her like the tomorrow that will never come.
Thank you for listening. I am trying each day to go on and to clear
the clutter. I pray no one ever hasmto go thru the pain and
humiliation that we have endured in the past 2 months. My 12 yr old
DD is home with me and my "case" has been deemed "unfounded" because
they determined that I am a loving mother who got sidetracked with
depression and too much "stuff."
If I hadn't read about you several years ago in a magazine, I'm sure
things would have been much more difficult. God be with you.
Peace,
Cathi in NY
Thursday, September 28, 2006
The spider is rebuilding
Or, at least she was rebuilding yesterday evening. We had a bit of rain overnight, and I haven't gone outside to see how her web faired through the storm. I looked through my kitchen window, but couldn't see her web from that angle, invisible as the strands are.
This bit is from another Flylady email. The questions, therefore, are not mine... but it resonated with me. Several years ago, I went through some counseling for depression (a combination of S.A.D and a major new direction in my life). One of the questions asked of me, and one that I've really never fully answered for myself is... Where do you get your sense of value? I have a nice 'textbook' answer I could give for that, but not an answer from my heart and soul.
Here were Flyladies questions. I might get around to writing a bit about them later. (Or at least, writing about the relevant ones).
1. Do I value myself on my job?
2. Do I value myself because of my husband's job?
3. Do I place value on myself because of my children's jobs?
4. Do I value myself on how I look?
5. Do I value myself on how I act?
6. Do I value myself on my clothes?
7. Do I value myself on my portfolio?
8. Do I value myself on how much I saved when I shopped?
9. Do I value myself on how much I can spend?
10. Do I value myself on how much I earn?
11. Do I value myself on how much more I earn than my spouse?
12. Do I value myself on my church work?
13. Do I value myself on other volunteer jobs?
14. Do I value myself on how my house looks?
15. Do I value myself on what kind of car I drive?
16. Do I value myself on what kind of house I live in?
17. Do I value myself on where I live?
18. Do I value myself on how I purchased my furniture?
19. Do I value myself on good grades in school?
20. Do I value myself by my friends?
21. Do I value myself on my hair?
22. Do I value myself on my nails?
23. Do I value myself on how well I do one thing, Motherhood?
24. Do I value myself on how well I do a sport?
25. Do I value myself on how much weight I have lost?
26. Do I value myself on how punctual I am?
27. Do I value myself on how I manage my time?
This bit is from another Flylady email. The questions, therefore, are not mine... but it resonated with me. Several years ago, I went through some counseling for depression (a combination of S.A.D and a major new direction in my life). One of the questions asked of me, and one that I've really never fully answered for myself is... Where do you get your sense of value? I have a nice 'textbook' answer I could give for that, but not an answer from my heart and soul.
Here were Flyladies questions. I might get around to writing a bit about them later. (Or at least, writing about the relevant ones).
1. Do I value myself on my job?
2. Do I value myself because of my husband's job?
3. Do I place value on myself because of my children's jobs?
4. Do I value myself on how I look?
5. Do I value myself on how I act?
6. Do I value myself on my clothes?
7. Do I value myself on my portfolio?
8. Do I value myself on how much I saved when I shopped?
9. Do I value myself on how much I can spend?
10. Do I value myself on how much I earn?
11. Do I value myself on how much more I earn than my spouse?
12. Do I value myself on my church work?
13. Do I value myself on other volunteer jobs?
14. Do I value myself on how my house looks?
15. Do I value myself on what kind of car I drive?
16. Do I value myself on what kind of house I live in?
17. Do I value myself on where I live?
18. Do I value myself on how I purchased my furniture?
19. Do I value myself on good grades in school?
20. Do I value myself by my friends?
21. Do I value myself on my hair?
22. Do I value myself on my nails?
23. Do I value myself on how well I do one thing, Motherhood?
24. Do I value myself on how well I do a sport?
25. Do I value myself on how much weight I have lost?
26. Do I value myself on how punctual I am?
27. Do I value myself on how I manage my time?
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
The wind made quite a stir.
There are many wonderful reasons we homeschool. There are many practical reasons we homeschool. But right now, I just want to rejoice in the fact that my primary job on this sunny fall day is to sit in a lawnswing on Sweetling's swingset with her and read, discusss, and create poetry together.
The wind made quite a stir
Kicking yellow brown leaves before it
Skipping through the tree tops
Flinging fall down on us.
In other news, an industrious spider had fashioned the most amazing web in our front yard. The web starts from the tip of the evergreen branch about four and half feet above the ground. It ran another five to six feet diagonally to attach to the tops of the daisy plants. It dropped to the grass in the middle as its third anchor point. And it filled the space with lace.
We noticed it on Sunday morning as we were leaving for church, pulling out of the driveway and the light caught on its strands. The other night, the Jedi mowed the lawn, and he very carefully did not mow the section between the evergreen and the daisies. The web has stood until today.
Today, Sweetling and I returned home from W.O.W. (Women on Wednesday...its my discussion and prayer group. Check out the book we're reading.) There was a single yellow leaf trapped in the web. Sweetling and I discussed why the spider would not be interested in the leaf as food (not even if it mistaked it for a katydid), and went inside. Later this afternoon, I noticed, and called Sweetling out to see, the spider had cut down her web, all but the first long diagonal from the tree to the daisies. I rather wish I had been able to watch her do that.
Sweetling and I discussed whether the spider might rebuild or move on. I hope she rebuilds.
The wind made quite a stir
Kicking yellow brown leaves before it
Skipping through the tree tops
Flinging fall down on us.
In other news, an industrious spider had fashioned the most amazing web in our front yard. The web starts from the tip of the evergreen branch about four and half feet above the ground. It ran another five to six feet diagonally to attach to the tops of the daisy plants. It dropped to the grass in the middle as its third anchor point. And it filled the space with lace.
We noticed it on Sunday morning as we were leaving for church, pulling out of the driveway and the light caught on its strands. The other night, the Jedi mowed the lawn, and he very carefully did not mow the section between the evergreen and the daisies. The web has stood until today.
Today, Sweetling and I returned home from W.O.W. (Women on Wednesday...its my discussion and prayer group. Check out the book we're reading.) There was a single yellow leaf trapped in the web. Sweetling and I discussed why the spider would not be interested in the leaf as food (not even if it mistaked it for a katydid), and went inside. Later this afternoon, I noticed, and called Sweetling out to see, the spider had cut down her web, all but the first long diagonal from the tree to the daisies. I rather wish I had been able to watch her do that.
Sweetling and I discussed whether the spider might rebuild or move on. I hope she rebuilds.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Psalms
HoneyBee didn't get the job she had been applying for. She took the news rather well. Certainly better than I'm taking the news. I'm just crushed. I was thinking about her a lot yesterday, about how much she's had to overcome, and about the wounds those circumstances had left behind. She needs much better options than what she has opened to her right now.
My Bible reading today was "Psalms of a People in Exile". It matched my mood.
We are brought down to the dust;
our bodies cling to the ground.
Rise up and help us;
redeem us because of your unfailing love.
Have regard for your covenant,
because haunts of vilence fill the dark places of the land.
Do not let the oppressed retreat in disgrace;
ma the poor and needy praise your name.
Restore us, O God;
make your face shine upon us,
that we may be saved.
HoneyBee says she's going to go put in applications for a second job. She can't make ends meet on the income she has right now. I don't even want to know what her shortfall is each month. Money just needs to fall from the sky sometimes. This is one of those times. Not a lot of money. Just enough.
Two hours left in my afternoon. Sweetling is working from her assignment notebook right now. Then we need to do music. Then, I think I need to take a garbage bag, and a give away bag, and start getting rid of the many many objects that are not going back into the kitchen.
The kitchen is repainted now. I really, really, really love the colors :) If I knew how to post a link to the colors, I would. Maybe later i'll do some searches on it. The Jedi hates the colors, but is willing to put up with them because they make me happy. The Jedi likes calm, quiet, soothing colors. I like vibrant, bright, happy colors. The kitchen is definately vibrant, bright, and happy. The Jedi has labeled the colors as "Romper Room".
The Jedi also spent most of the evening, and late into the night laying on his back, half in, mostly out, under the kitchen sink replacing a faucet. After that he replaced electrical outlets and their plates to coordinate with the new colors he hates. I should maybe spend some of my afternoon making a batch of snickerdoodles in the new kitchen that I love.
My Bible reading today was "Psalms of a People in Exile". It matched my mood.
We are brought down to the dust;
our bodies cling to the ground.
Rise up and help us;
redeem us because of your unfailing love.
Have regard for your covenant,
because haunts of vilence fill the dark places of the land.
Do not let the oppressed retreat in disgrace;
ma the poor and needy praise your name.
Restore us, O God;
make your face shine upon us,
that we may be saved.
HoneyBee says she's going to go put in applications for a second job. She can't make ends meet on the income she has right now. I don't even want to know what her shortfall is each month. Money just needs to fall from the sky sometimes. This is one of those times. Not a lot of money. Just enough.
Two hours left in my afternoon. Sweetling is working from her assignment notebook right now. Then we need to do music. Then, I think I need to take a garbage bag, and a give away bag, and start getting rid of the many many objects that are not going back into the kitchen.
The kitchen is repainted now. I really, really, really love the colors :) If I knew how to post a link to the colors, I would. Maybe later i'll do some searches on it. The Jedi hates the colors, but is willing to put up with them because they make me happy. The Jedi likes calm, quiet, soothing colors. I like vibrant, bright, happy colors. The kitchen is definately vibrant, bright, and happy. The Jedi has labeled the colors as "Romper Room".
The Jedi also spent most of the evening, and late into the night laying on his back, half in, mostly out, under the kitchen sink replacing a faucet. After that he replaced electrical outlets and their plates to coordinate with the new colors he hates. I should maybe spend some of my afternoon making a batch of snickerdoodles in the new kitchen that I love.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
More quotes from FLYLADY
I had been copying and pasting a few flylady quotes into their own wp file...which I'll never read, but that at least gave me permission to DELETE the email.
Now I think I'll copy and paste them here...where they might be read.
And the self-critical voice says, "Why do you 'waste' so much time reading about what you should be doing, when you should be busy doing so many things?" This is why.
Now I think I'll copy and paste them here...where they might be read.
What actually prompted me to write you today was the fact that I gotAnd of course, this one is relevent because I stay in bed till the last possible moment in the mornings. I like her little mantra.
up this morning with my alarm. I've been apathetic in the morning,
and it takes away a lot of time from my day. I'm a SAHM, and I have
been sleeping in until a child wakes up. Each morning I set my alarm
for a time about 45 minutes before they usually wake, but when the
time came, I didn't want the comfort of the warm bed to end, so I
would turn off the alarm. I even told myself that I didn't want my
day to be any longer, which is a pretty sad thought, now that I think
about it. I've done this off and on for months, not even bothering
with the alarm some weeks.
Last night I told myself that I would try again, because you wouldn't
want me to give up. I told myself over and over as I drifted off to
sleep "no warmth of bed could compare to peace of mind". I was
thinking about the peace of mind I would get by doing some of my work
finished before the kids woke up. When the alarm went off this
morning I heard those words in my mind, and got up.
And the self-critical voice says, "Why do you 'waste' so much time reading about what you should be doing, when you should be busy doing so many things?" This is why.
A BLOG is for....
Bear says the blog is for me, and I should write what I want to write in it. I haven't decided yet if he is right. The truth is, the things that I write that are JUST for me, I write by hand in a notebook or journal. No one else gets to see them. I think that by nature of putting my thoughts on the web, making them public for friends and family... they are no longer the thoughts that are just for me. They are the thoughts that I want to share.
But I liked Bear's comment, because it got me thinking.
Why do I want a Blog? Mostly, because I enjoy other people's Blog's. And you know, most things I enjoy, I want to try for myself. But the difficulty in this approach is...the thing I enjoy most about other people's Blogs is the humor. (specially Maven's). Yet the appeal of being a Maven wanna-be isn't a sustaining appeal. Not a motivating one certainly. (Plus, sometimes being defeated at the grocery store was depressing enough when it happened. Likewise, wondering around the house with a crockpot full of potato soup looking for an outlet ...yes potato soup... because every single flat surface is covered either in plastic or clutter that was relocated from the kitchen might have some entertainment value, but again, doesn't make a high enough priority to motivate me to blog. Or isn't motivation enough for me to prioritize blogging. Take your pick.)
And I knew right away what I didn't want my blog to be. I didn't want it to become a diary of the wonderful things Sweetling did that day. Not that Sweetling doesn't do wonderful things, she does. But I wanted my Blog to be more about me.
So what do I want my blog to be?
I still don't know exactly, but...
I was talking with HoneyBee last night. She wants to work on improving her writing so she can write better papers, in less time, and with less frustration, for school. My advice to her was...the first step she needed to take was to give herself permission to write. Her own internal criticism is so loud and so strong and so everpresent, it drowns out her 'voice' and is the foremost obsticle to getting any of her thoughts on paper. Just overcoming that voice, or ignoring it long enough, to scratch out a few words is such an intense battle it leaves her exhausted and frustrated and unable to actually focus on what she's writing. All of her energy and reserves goes into try to fight her way past the negative voices and she has little left to put into her writing.
Sometimes too, I told her, we get so caught up in the process of what we WANT something to be, so caught up in its ideal...that we don't give ourselves permission to enjoy what is. We never give ourselves permission to simply do something for the sake of doing it, because we are stymied by thinking if we can't do it the "right" way...we shouldn't do it at all. Or we should keep "planning" it and working at it till its perfect. It will never be perfect, so it will never be "completed" and we wind up feeling defeated and depressed over something that could have been uplifting and energizing.
In short, I decided to take a dose of my own medicine. To quit worrying about what my ideal blog might look like, to stop fretting over what I wanted it to be....and just give myself permission to write.
I'm leaving with a short, sad vigniette. This is written in a FlyLady email by a woman who was helping her sister clean and declutter her home. I identified with the sister in the cluttered home.
I'm finding a body for it.
But I liked Bear's comment, because it got me thinking.
Why do I want a Blog? Mostly, because I enjoy other people's Blog's. And you know, most things I enjoy, I want to try for myself. But the difficulty in this approach is...the thing I enjoy most about other people's Blogs is the humor. (specially Maven's). Yet the appeal of being a Maven wanna-be isn't a sustaining appeal. Not a motivating one certainly. (Plus, sometimes being defeated at the grocery store was depressing enough when it happened. Likewise, wondering around the house with a crockpot full of potato soup looking for an outlet ...yes potato soup... because every single flat surface is covered either in plastic or clutter that was relocated from the kitchen might have some entertainment value, but again, doesn't make a high enough priority to motivate me to blog. Or isn't motivation enough for me to prioritize blogging. Take your pick.)
And I knew right away what I didn't want my blog to be. I didn't want it to become a diary of the wonderful things Sweetling did that day. Not that Sweetling doesn't do wonderful things, she does. But I wanted my Blog to be more about me.
So what do I want my blog to be?
I still don't know exactly, but...
I was talking with HoneyBee last night. She wants to work on improving her writing so she can write better papers, in less time, and with less frustration, for school. My advice to her was...the first step she needed to take was to give herself permission to write. Her own internal criticism is so loud and so strong and so everpresent, it drowns out her 'voice' and is the foremost obsticle to getting any of her thoughts on paper. Just overcoming that voice, or ignoring it long enough, to scratch out a few words is such an intense battle it leaves her exhausted and frustrated and unable to actually focus on what she's writing. All of her energy and reserves goes into try to fight her way past the negative voices and she has little left to put into her writing.
Sometimes too, I told her, we get so caught up in the process of what we WANT something to be, so caught up in its ideal...that we don't give ourselves permission to enjoy what is. We never give ourselves permission to simply do something for the sake of doing it, because we are stymied by thinking if we can't do it the "right" way...we shouldn't do it at all. Or we should keep "planning" it and working at it till its perfect. It will never be perfect, so it will never be "completed" and we wind up feeling defeated and depressed over something that could have been uplifting and energizing.
In short, I decided to take a dose of my own medicine. To quit worrying about what my ideal blog might look like, to stop fretting over what I wanted it to be....and just give myself permission to write.
I'm leaving with a short, sad vigniette. This is written in a FlyLady email by a woman who was helping her sister clean and declutter her home. I identified with the sister in the cluttered home.
I went up a few weeks ago to help her organize and watch my dearSo, maybe I'm Blogging today, because having started a blog...I couldn't seem to move past just one entry. That single entry stared at me like the broken dolls head. I either needed to toss it, or find a body for it.
nephews. I tried to help her fling out things and I think she was able
to dispose of a bit, but one of the things she refused to part with
was a plastic doll's head from her childhood. The image of her
clutching that doll's head is so impressed on my mind. I ache for her,
and it helped me understand for the first time this monster you call
Clutter. He has her clinging to a broken piece of the past, while all
around her runs her future. But Clutter keeps throwing all her stuff
in her face. "Why haven't you found this doll a new body yet? I
thought you loved her and your dead mom who gave her to you. You are
such a failure."
Isn't it a pity that we can't go in and kill Clutter for the people we
love? But he wouldn't really be dead, would he? He'd still be in their
minds. That's where I fight him most, in my cluttered thoughts.
I'm finding a body for it.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Locks of Love
I was planning my first entry (yes, I do plan...well... really planning might be too strong a word. How about this...) I was thinking about my first entry and I thought I might want to write about the people in my life, and the fun blog nicknames I could give them. Because, you know, I needed a vote and discussion before I could pick my name, but I'll assign other people names, and change them, at the drop of the hat. (With the exception of one person, who shall forever be referred to as Duckie. Because I have a fun sense of humor like that.)
But, this is not to be the case.
Instead this entry is all about Sweetling and her hair. Her hair is spun honey. Smooth and straight and silken. And it fell to her hips and I love it. Daddy thought yesterday that perhaps it needed trimmed, because she had a tendency to sit on it. Mommy thought otherwise. Sweetling, surprise, surprise, agreed with Daddy. So tonight Mommy trimmed her hair. I asked her how long she wanted it to be, and she held her hand up and marked a spot a little past the mid-point of her back. I took a deep breath, and said ok. I suggested that I cut it, and then she go look in the mirror and see if it was short enough. If it wasn't, I'd trim off a little more. We did that.
While Sweetling went to the bathroom, I carefully picked up each little strand of hair that had been clipped off. I cupped them in my hand. I can't throw them out, of course. They are far too precious. I saw an interesting object at the Museum Center a few years ago. They had an eccelectic display of interesting old items. One of these was a hair wreath. Apparantly women used to collect the hair clippings after trimming their families hair. Then these clippings would be slowly woven into a wreath, complete with little flower buds formed from twists of hair. I immediately identified with this process and wondered where I could find how-to directions for this lost art. The Jedi, however, found the hair wreath creepy and didn't seem very open to having one in our kitchen. So, no hair wreath from Sweetling's hair. Instead, I took the clippings outside and laid them on the patio. If it were spring or early summer, the birds would come and used the clippings for nesting materials. (Its not spring, but I'm ignoring that.)
As I'm practicing cognitive dissonance in regards to the fate of the clippings, Sweetling went to the bathroom mirror and considered her hair. She then held her hand up to her shoulder and suggested we cut it to there. "No! No!" I exclaimed, before I could stop myself. "We can't do that!"
"Why not?" asked Sweetling calmly.
Another deep breath. "If you'd like your hair cut that short, that's fine, we can get it done." (All right, this isn't as mature as it sounds, secretly I'm hoping she'll change her mind or forget. That of course, is never ever going to happen because I could just as easily call Sweetling "Encyclopedia" or "Steel Trap Mind" becuase the girl never forgets anything.) But I patiently explained, "If you want it cut that short, we'll have to get it cut at a hair dressers. Mommy isn't that good at cutting hair. I can trim your hair, but I can't cut it that short and have it look good. We'll take you to someone who can cut it so it looks cute. But..." and, when I first suggested this, it was a stall for time so she wouldn't insist on going to a salon tomorrow.... "lets let it grow back out first. When it gets to the point when you are sitting on it again, and if you still want it cut short, we'll go to a hair dressers, and donate what we cut off to locks of love."
Sweetling smiled, delighted with this idea.
As she got her bath, I went downstairs and pulled up locks of love on the internet. I'm good at cognitive dissonance, but I also know my Sweetling. The website is awesome. The program is awesome. But the photo gallery is what got to me.
If Sweetling wants to get her hair cut short, I'd be totally cool with it if we donated her hair to locks of love.
But, this is not to be the case.
Instead this entry is all about Sweetling and her hair. Her hair is spun honey. Smooth and straight and silken. And it fell to her hips and I love it. Daddy thought yesterday that perhaps it needed trimmed, because she had a tendency to sit on it. Mommy thought otherwise. Sweetling, surprise, surprise, agreed with Daddy. So tonight Mommy trimmed her hair. I asked her how long she wanted it to be, and she held her hand up and marked a spot a little past the mid-point of her back. I took a deep breath, and said ok. I suggested that I cut it, and then she go look in the mirror and see if it was short enough. If it wasn't, I'd trim off a little more. We did that.
While Sweetling went to the bathroom, I carefully picked up each little strand of hair that had been clipped off. I cupped them in my hand. I can't throw them out, of course. They are far too precious. I saw an interesting object at the Museum Center a few years ago. They had an eccelectic display of interesting old items. One of these was a hair wreath. Apparantly women used to collect the hair clippings after trimming their families hair. Then these clippings would be slowly woven into a wreath, complete with little flower buds formed from twists of hair. I immediately identified with this process and wondered where I could find how-to directions for this lost art. The Jedi, however, found the hair wreath creepy and didn't seem very open to having one in our kitchen. So, no hair wreath from Sweetling's hair. Instead, I took the clippings outside and laid them on the patio. If it were spring or early summer, the birds would come and used the clippings for nesting materials. (Its not spring, but I'm ignoring that.)
As I'm practicing cognitive dissonance in regards to the fate of the clippings, Sweetling went to the bathroom mirror and considered her hair. She then held her hand up to her shoulder and suggested we cut it to there. "No! No!" I exclaimed, before I could stop myself. "We can't do that!"
"Why not?" asked Sweetling calmly.
Another deep breath. "If you'd like your hair cut that short, that's fine, we can get it done." (All right, this isn't as mature as it sounds, secretly I'm hoping she'll change her mind or forget. That of course, is never ever going to happen because I could just as easily call Sweetling "Encyclopedia" or "Steel Trap Mind" becuase the girl never forgets anything.) But I patiently explained, "If you want it cut that short, we'll have to get it cut at a hair dressers. Mommy isn't that good at cutting hair. I can trim your hair, but I can't cut it that short and have it look good. We'll take you to someone who can cut it so it looks cute. But..." and, when I first suggested this, it was a stall for time so she wouldn't insist on going to a salon tomorrow.... "lets let it grow back out first. When it gets to the point when you are sitting on it again, and if you still want it cut short, we'll go to a hair dressers, and donate what we cut off to locks of love."
Sweetling smiled, delighted with this idea.
As she got her bath, I went downstairs and pulled up locks of love on the internet. I'm good at cognitive dissonance, but I also know my Sweetling. The website is awesome. The program is awesome. But the photo gallery is what got to me.
If Sweetling wants to get her hair cut short, I'd be totally cool with it if we donated her hair to locks of love.
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