That Vox was crossposting password-protected posts. It was also frustrating to go in and delete repeats if I edited a post so I'm going to disable the crossposting plug-in for now and wait for the technology to move ahead a bit. :)
Originally published at this woman's work. You can comment here or there.
Originally published at this woman's work. You can comment here or there.
This is my homeschool journey. (Brett's homeschool journey was easier because it was more or less like this, "I'm kinda into this whole homeschool thing but since the bulk of the responsibility will be on the at-home parent, I'll leave the decision to you.")
- Noah is born. I am entranced. I can't imagine leaving him for a millisecond let alone sending him far, far away to a whole different building! I am determined to homeschool -- also being heavily influenced by Mothering magazine and my own miserable school years.
- Noah becomes a toddler and I am as adamant about homeschooling as only a mother with absolutely no experience parenting an actual schoolage child can be. Truthfully, I have no idea what I'm talking about. I lecture bored audiences at length about the death of the American school system. I am insufferable.
- Noah becomes preschool-aged and goes to actual preschool. His natural introvert tendencies (not shy, just introverted) become more and more clear. He loves preschool but is absolutely wrung out by being around so many kids for a whopping 2.5 hours a day three days a week. Meanwhile, I begin trying to conceive another child, visions of crunchy maternity in my head. I will homeschool. I will nurse this next child for decades. I will bake bread.
- Second baby doesn't show up. I start thinking about getting my masters degree. Or a job. Or running away to Vegas. I start thinking about kindergarten. I began to feel oppressed by my adamant homeschool friends. I quit reading Mothering.
- Kindergarten readiness meeting makes clear Noah is not kindergarten ready. His teachers feel that it's not the academics -- it's the stress of classroom socializing. I begin to feel trapped. I feel doomed to spend the rest of my life around women with slings and no fertility issues. I start to explore my options.
- Options: Send Noah to full-day kindergarten at the magnet school of choice even though I'm sure it means certain disaster; look at private schools we can't afford and become deeply depressed; settle for our then-neighborhood school, which was absolutely unmitigated crap; try homeschooling for a year and then reassess. We go for the latter.
- Turns out we love homeschooling once we realize (and embrace) Noah's need to unschool. Go back to my "down with public school" roots and begin to pontificate again. Hang joyfully with other homeschoolers. Feel I have found the secret to happy parenting. Pity everyone else.
- One by one the most adamant homeschoolers I know drop into school. Their children do not seem to be destroyed by evil school system and standardized tests. Noah still blossoming. Begin to modify stance -- homeschooling rocks for us and school rocks for other people. All is good. Dawn begins to lighten up. (About homeschooling -- continues her rigidity in other areas of her life much to her mother's dismay.)
We plan on trying a virtual school next year. We use a math curriculum now (Math-U-See, which out of the three we've tried -- Miquon and Singapore being the other two -- seems to work best for Noah) but otherwise, he is on his own. From what I can tell looking at his friends' skills/abilities, he's on track. (I did test him for reading and he tests way ahead of his grade level.) We're thinking about the virtual school for a couple of reasons: One, that we think he'd like it because he really likes having "homework" in math and Hebrew; two, if he does want to go to school in high school, we'd like him to have an idea of what that means. (If he gets out there. He has absolutely no interest in ever going to school EVER.)
There's a huge homeschooling community in Columbus and Noah takes several regular classes and then some extras here and there. Most of his friends aren't homeschooled so most of his pure socialization happens outside the homeschool community. He does a weekly book discussion group, which he loves. And a gym class and a self-defense class (on hiatus right now). He does occasional camps and things but he doesn't like being out and about much -- takes after his mother that way.
Will Madison homeschool? I hope so. If you read in the archives, you can see me write passionately about why I hope this but I also know that I haven't met school-age Madison yet and I don't know what will work for her. Part of me thinks she will be an awesome homeschooler because she's so passionate and excited. But she's also much more social than Noah is and she may really want to go to school. (I think we'd be able to meet her social needs at home but I don't know if we'll be able to meet her social wants.)
And that's my quick and dirty homeschool entry.
Originally published at this woman's work. You can comment here or there.
More Madison birthday news will surely filter in as the day goes on but now I must go make waffles!
Originally published at this woman's work. You can comment here or there.
It exhausts me just to watch her.
She stomps around flat-footed -- thud thud thud. Then tiptoes with all but her big toe curled under. She wants to sit outside and read like Noah. But it has to be a big kid book -- all words, no pictures -- like Noah. It's a major production to get up under the blanket, her chairs set up the way Noah has set up his chairs, one for her bottom and one for her feet. She pulls the blanket up around her, checking with sly eyes to see if she matches. Then when it's all ready, she's done and crying as she gets caught up, trying to climb out.
She screeches. We say, "Madison, you sound like a dying crow. Please talk instead of screaming!"
"Next time," she promises but of course she forgets. It's a pitch that goes right through my head like a train whistle. The hair on my arms goes up and I feel a panic -- must stop the screeching! -- and it's never an emergency. It's that her muffin top unpeeled with the paper or her shoe is coming off or she can't reach her book.
Her brain works faster than ours do. Noah said, "G's brother was outside today." She nodded, "And I'm like a Cody." It took me a minute to remember that G's brother's name is Zack.
Her favorite shirt is a tie-dye t-shirt way too big for her that she inherited from Paige's son. Her favorite underwear is none. ("Do you have underwear on Madison?" Yes, she'll nod but flip up her skirt and she's flying free.) Her favorite way to wear her hair is "poofy" (pulled out of her eyes but no braids, baubles or bows). Her favorite song is Grand Coulee Dam (the kids love these mp3s, by the way). Her favorite book is The Daddy Mountain. Her favorite toy is Diosius (the doll, sometimes called Miranda). Her favorite things to eat are pears and toast.
She loves to play with her dolls. She puts them to bed and feeds them breakfast. She tucks them up to read a book and brushes their hair. At the zoo, she pushed her doll in the stroller all the way around, fussing over her when we stopped at displays. (We called the doll stroller our "Madison calming device" like the speed bumps they put in the road. It kept her from darting off because she is very conscientious about taking care of her babies.)
She digs in the trash when we're not looking. She took a bite of the raspberry soap Barb sent while I was sitting next to the bathtub reading a book. ("Just read your paper, Daddy," she say, sliding across the tub with a cup of water she plans to ease out to drip on the floor.) She closes her door and all goes quiet and then there's certain disaster. (On the phone one day with AmFam there was an incident with poop being served in her toy kitchen.) She finds every loophole, defies all our child-proofing efforts. She wants to behave but curiosity gets the best of her. She sniffs candles then bites them. She swipes boxes of noodles then dumps them. She scribbles on tabletops then cries when she sees what she's done. She smashes blueberries into the couch then warns Brett, "Don't be mad, Daddy!" The dregs of my coffee aren't safe from her. She'll find a chair and drag it over if I leave the room. My ears are always pricked for doors closing, cupboards opening and faucets turned on.
Noah is her hero and her arch nemesis. She dug into the clean laundry and put all his underwear in her underwear drawer not just because she wants to be him but also because she knew it would make him crazy. She's mastered the art of teasing and will run to his room to announce that she's having toast AND it's on his favorite plate.
Her love for Noah extends to a love for all great big grown-up boys. One of the last times Paige's son visited she sidled up to him and said, "You taste like apple pie!" This was hot on the heels of her announcing to another friend's big brother, "I'm gonna eat you up like porridge!" At the park, she looks longingly at the big kids then heaves a sigh to play with the preschoolers closer to her own size.
She loves to talk on the phone to Jessica, to Grandma, to Gramps. If Jessica asks to talk to me she'll say, "Oh Mommy can't talk; she's working." And run off with the phone before I can get my hands on it.
She loves the men in the family. "There go my boys," she said affectionately, watching Gramps and Noah walking away across the yard.
She is sunny and cheerful. Quick to anger, quick to laugh. She's generous with hugs and giggles. Her mind sparks all the time -- to new thoughts, new jokes, new ideas. When she's angry with us, she flaps her hands in fury. She's bossy but forgiving. She climbs playground equipment like a child closer to four and is already figuring out how to pump on the swing.
Happy Birthday by Madison (click to hear her)
Originally published at this woman's work. You can comment here or there.
It exhausts me just to watch her.
She stomps around flat-footed -- thud thud thud. Then tiptoes with all but her big toe curled under. She wants to sit outside and read like Noah. But it has to be a big kid book -- all words, no pictures -- like Noah. It's a major production to get up under the blanket, her chairs set up the way Noah has set up his chairs, one for her bottom and one for her feet. She pulls the blanket up around her, checking with sly eyes to see if she matches. Then when it's all ready, she's done and crying as she gets caught up, trying to climb out.
She screeches. We say, "Madison, you sound like a dying crow. Please talk instead of screaming!"
"Next time," she promises but of course she forgets. It's a pitch that goes right through my head like a train whistle. The hair on my arms goes up and I feel a panic -- must stop the screeching! -- and it's never an emergency. It's that her muffin top unpeeled with the paper or her shoe is coming off or she can't reach her book.
Her brain works faster than ours do. Noah said, "G's brother was outside today." She nodded, "And I'm like a Cody." It took me a minute to remember that G's brother's name is Zack.
Her favorite shirt is a tie-dye t-shirt way too big for her that she inherited from Paige's son. Her favorite underwear is none. ("Do you have underwear on Madison?" Yes, she'll nod but flip up her skirt and she's flying free.) Her favorite way to wear her hair is "poofy" (pulled out of her eyes but no braids, baubles or bows). Her favorite song is Grand Coulee Dam (the kids love these mp3s, by the way). Her favorite book is The Daddy Mountain. Her favorite toy is Diosius (the doll, sometimes called Miranda). Her favorite things to eat are pears and toast.
She loves to play with her dolls. She puts them to bed and feeds them breakfast. She tucks them up to read a book and brushes their hair. At the zoo, she pushed her doll in the stroller all the way around, fussing over her when we stopped at displays. (We called the doll stroller our "Madison calming device" like the speed bumps they put in the road. It kept her from darting off because she is very conscientious about taking care of her babies.)
She digs in the trash when we're not looking. She took a bite of the raspberry soap Barb sent while I was sitting next to the bathtub reading a book. ("Just read your paper, Daddy," she say, sliding across the tub with a cup of water she plans to ease out to drip on the floor.) She closes her door and all goes quiet and then there's certain disaster. (On the phone one day with AmFam there was an incident with poop being served in her toy kitchen.) She finds every loophole, defies all our child-proofing efforts. She wants to behave but curiosity gets the best of her. She sniffs candles then bites them. She swipes boxes of noodles then dumps them. She scribbles on tabletops then cries when she sees what she's done. She smashes blueberries into the couch then warns Brett, "Don't be mad, Daddy!" The dregs of my coffee aren't safe from her. She'll find a chair and drag it over if I leave the room. My ears are always pricked for doors closing, cupboards opening and faucets turned on.
Noah is her hero and her arch nemesis. She dug into the clean laundry and put all his underwear in her underwear drawer not just because she wants to be him but also because she knew it would make him crazy. She's mastered the art of teasing and will run to his room to announce that she's having toast AND it's on his favorite plate.
Her love for Noah extends to a love for all great big grown-up boys. One of the last times Paige's son visited she sidled up to him and said, "You taste like apple pie!" This was hot on the heels of her announcing to another friend's big brother, "I'm gonna eat you up like porridge!" At the park, she looks longingly at the big kids then heaves a sigh to play with the preschoolers closer to her own size.
She loves to talk on the phone to Jessica, to Grandma, to Gramps. If Jessica asks to talk to me she'll say, "Oh Mommy can't talk; she's working." And run off with the phone before I can get my hands on it.
She loves the men in the family. "There go my boys," she said affectionately, watching Gramps and Noah walking away across the yard.
She is sunny and cheerful. Quick to anger, quick to laugh. She's generous with hugs and giggles. Her mind sparks all the time -- to new thoughts, new jokes, new ideas. When she's angry with us, she flaps her hands in fury. She's bossy but forgiving. She climbs playground equipment like a child closer to four and is already figuring out how to pump on the swing.
Happy Birthday by Madison (click to hear her)
Originally published at this woman's work. You can comment here or there.
Damn. I'm such an adrenaline junkie.
Once upon a time my old therapist said, "Why do you dig up people you don't like? Why do you call people who drive you crazy? Why do you invite drama into your life?" And I thought about it and realized that a rush -- even a bad rush -- is addictive. It's why I used to spend too much time fretting about email list flamewars back in the day. And it's why I used to rewrite all of my college papers the night before. I'd spend the whole semester researching a topic and then two days before the paper was due, I'd say to hell with it and start a new one from scratch. I've learned to stop doing that but I still love tight deadlines. I write best under pressure.
The tension of "where will Brett be working in a week" is also grating on me. Worse for him though. He's prone to psychosomatic illness when he's stressed (he'll deny it's his brain doing it) and he was up all night coughing. I'm alternately sympathetic and exasperated with him about it. Like this, "Oh poor Brett! Do you want some tea?" to "My god! Lighten up! Let go, let god and quit wheezing!"
PinkPoppies asked (probably hypothetically) why I said I don't deserve my nice husband and it's because he's nicer than I am. He's Dan Connor to my Roseanne. He's sympathetic and supportive and I'm whiny and temperamental. If I had an imaginary illness (and I do get headaches/earaches from grinding my teeth when stressed) he's kind and gets me hot water bottles. He has yet to roll his eyes and tell me to get over it. Also Brett does not gossip and I'm rather prone to it. He does more cleaning than I even pretend to do. He's apt to thank me for doing things he could take for granted and I'm apt to complain because he folded the socks incorrectly. He's Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and I'm All About Eve (but not as classy, witty or alcoholic).
Originally published at this woman's work. You can comment here or there.
Poor Brett. This is so so hard on him. He likes things to be predictable and big change just destroys him.
I just kinda want to write about him today because I'm thinking so hard on him. And with our anniversary coming up, I'm thinking about how this is the week I met him 17 years ago and what that was like.
I was coming back from dating a string of incompatible men and I'd make the conscious decision to date outside of my comfort-zone. That meant I was going to give the clean-cut boys a chance and see if there was something to dating guys without aspirations of artistic greatness (i.e., no more starving artists or wannabe rock stars).
There was one boy at the deli -- Brad, I think? I don't know. He was cute and blonde and shy and I asked him out then took him out dancing where he was overwhelmed by my friends. I never heard from him. But before I had time to feel bad about that, I'd met Brett.
If you would have told me 17 years ago that this was the man I was going to marry, I would have thought you were crazy. For one, he was too nice. (Who wants nice in a partner! Not me! I wanted the adventure of caustic, cruel and cavalier!) He was too good looking. (I gravitated to character-actor types, not leading men.) He wasn't an artist. (Although most all the artists I dated put my art squarely after their own.) And he loved me. (Where was the challenge in that???)
Marrying him was the smartest thing I ever did. I don't deserve him but he loves me anyway. He makes me feel like I'm the best thing since sliced bread even though he knows the worst of me. He nurtures our children with endless supplies of patience and good humor. He takes care of us at the expense of himself (but won't admit that he ever puts himself last.) He inspires me with his integrity, kindness and unselfishness. I'm grateful everyday that I get to be his wife; he's the first best thing that ever happened to me. And I so so so hope that the next job he gets is one that he deserves. I so hope that he gets the chance to have a job that doesn't grind him down. I don't know which of the two jobs would be a better fit for him but I hope that he gets the one that is.
Originally published at this woman's work. You can comment here or there.
- Cloudscome designated me a Thinking Blogger. Now since I'm at the tail-end of this meme, I'll need some thoughtful time to send my five tags out into the world. Be patient, fellow bloggers who think!
- Yesterday we went to the zoo. Noah takes great delight in acting as guide to his little sister. Watching him lecture her on eagles, timber wolves and reptiles is a treat. Seeing Madison literally vibrating with delight ("I'm so happy!" she crowed) while perched on the merry-go-round is a joy.
- My husband who doesn't handle change well, who hates transitions and yet is holding is own during this job change-over. I'm proud of him.
- Work! I have some! My budget is relieved!
- And of course spring and sun and cool weather just right for sleeping. Also bulbs, Peanut-y dogs who chase squirrels, mud puddles for splashing, rolling down car windows and hanging laundry out on the line.
Now I have to go volunteer at Noah's choir session at synagogue and try not to embarrass him while I'm serving lunch. (He's getting sensitive that way.) This morning driving in we listened to Billy Collins read The Lanyard and I thought, my it's nice to have a child who's old enough to laugh with me while we're listening.
Originally published at this woman's work. You can comment here or there.
And I'm still not writing about adoption. (I keep starting posts and not finishing them.) I'm not up to it right now but maybe after her birth day is come and gone I'll feel up to it again. Then again, maybe not.
Mu sister loaned me this book, The Burning of Bridget Cleary, about a woman who was killed by her husband in 1895 in Ireland. The book uses the story to examine the huge cultural changes happening in Ireland at that time and it's really good. One of the things I learned is that infertile women were sometimes said to be "away with the fairies." And I thought, damn, that would make a great title to an infertility blog, wouldn't it?
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