Here WEE Grow Again Charity Event

    Anyone with children living in Charlottesville, Virginia and the surrounding areas has become familiar with Here WEE Grow Again, a biannual children's consignment sale held at Aldersgate United Methodist Church.  The sale quickly became the "go-to" place for a plethora of gently used children's items. Consignors found a way to supplement their family income while shoppers discovered deals they otherwise could not afford, making the endeavor a true gift to the community.  What is slightly less well-known is that the sale has added in a charity event to further its giving outreach.

     This year's charity event will be held on March 4th from 3-7 PM. Shoppers are asked to donate $5 to one of three charities:  the Carson Raymond Foundation, children's programs of Hospice of the Piedmont, or Piedmont CASA. Charities are always selected based upon their contribution to children and families in the local area, and those selected are rotated at each sale.  This event is a fantastic way to purchase items for your children or grandchildren at affordable prices while supporting some great causes at the same time. 

     Here WEE Grow Again's Facebook page also has great information on the charity event and public sale, including photos of items currently available. Aldersgate United Methodist Church is located at 1500 E. Rio Rd (behind Fashion Square Mall.)

Why racism could be gone ...

    You may have already seen the Jimmy Kimmel episode where he sends someone on the streets to interview people on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. The interviewer asked people what they thought of the speech Dr. King made this year in comparison to his 1963 oration.  Amazingly, some of those folks answered as if they had heard a current speech from the eloquent Civil Rights leader.


     As a former history professor, this made me shake my head in dismay.  As a mother, it horrified me, and I rushed off to make sure my older two children at least knew something of Dr. King and his legacy.  My oldest immediately listed the "I Have a Dream Speech" and using words instead of violence to solve problems.  My eight-year-old responded with wanting to know of which country the man had been king.  Thinking I really had my work cut out for me, I started telling him that Dr. King taught us we should judge people on the "content of their character rather than the color of their skin," meaning we should look at others' actions rather than how they look.  As I prepared to explain further, my son looked at me and said, "You mean I am a color?"

    I'll admit it - my eyes filled with tears.  Here is Dr. King's dream come to reality ... my child had no idea he and others are a "color." As proud as I was of my son at that moment, I was also filled with an immense sadness, because I know other children are not given the same luxury of growing up without being constantly reminded of the color of their skin.  Are there still racists out there? Of course, but the ones truly constantly reinforcing the focus on skin color are individuals like Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson, as well as the progressives who encourage such behavior.  They constantly want to brandish the "r" word and bring up color at every chance.  Perhaps if they would take a chance to look at the real world, they would realize there are many eight-year-olds that just want to play with their friends, even if the other kid is purple with green polka dots.

     In just three generations, we've gone from my father, who started kindergarten in Birmingham, Alabama, and remembers the principal telling the football players to bar the doors because "we aren't letting any ni----s in here" to a child who never knew he was supposed to refer to people by the color of their skin.  If the progressives in this country would acknowledge this amazing feat, perhaps we could say racism is well on its way to being gone ...

The Struggle to Swim

     This was my six-year-old at the beginning of the summer, upset because his sisters were splashing him in the face when he wanted to sit in the wading pool. (As you can see in the background, the two-year-old could care less about how wet she became.)  It may sound silly, but this attitude stemmed from an incident that occurred three years prior and changed my water-loving little buddy.

     At three years old, H was much like his older sister, happily dunking his face, practicing blowing bubbles and kicking his legs in the adult pool.  Then the day came when a family member who was supposed to be watching him looked away long enough for him to sink to the bottom of the pool where I spotted him in time for a rescue.  After what seemed like minutes of listening to him cough up water, my sweet boy looked at me and said, "Momma, I sink!"  So began a two year process where I was the only adult he trusted to be with him in the water.

    Each summer, we enrolled our son in swimming lessons, but he took him until last summer just to be comfortable in the pool again.  I have struggled not to show my despair . . . I grew up on the water and could swim like a fish from a very young age.  My older daughter could swim by the age of four, and the baby is already dunking herself and happily comes up spluttering.  I lamented that my son would miss out on all the fun I experienced in the pool, river, and ocean.  More importantly, I worried about his ability to keep himself afloat long enough for someone to rescue him should the need arise.

     This July brought us to a different pool and a new swim instructor.  I was able to convince H to give her a try once I told him she was also a lifeguard. (To him, I suppose that meant there was no way she was going to let him sink and leave him there.)  For the first few days, I was just happy to see him trying.  He mostly used a kick board or a noodle, but he never quit, even when he swallowed water.  I decided I would be happy if he could just learn to doggie-paddle on his own at the end of two weeks.  So imagine my surprise, on day five, when I saw my son swim both freestyle and butterfly ALL ON HIS OWN!

Granted, it is only three to four strokes at a time before he takes a break, but I was not sure we would ever reach this point!  I think by the end of the summer, I'll have an actual swimmer on my hands.

     Of course, all of this had led me to think back to my own days of lessons. I was fortunate that our family belonged to a members-only pool, so while busy, it was never terribly crowded.  We had room to practice our skills (not to mention tricks) and the lifeguards would give us tips even when we were not in lessons.  Also, as I mentioned, growing up on the water meant this was a life-saving skill and not just a fun past-time.  Occasionally, a friend would invite me to go with them to the public pool, and I absolutely hated it.  Want to know why?  The crowds!  You had to have permission from a lifeguard before using the diving board because there were usually so many people in the pool you would hit someone when you dove.  There was rarely much "swimming" going on - the throngs were so thick standing in the pool there wasn't room for any strokes.  As an adult, I wonder how many of those people could swim.  I think most of them were there just to cool off, and it makes me even more grateful that my parents were so insistent that I not only be able to swim but to do it well.  

For now, I'll concentrate on the happiness of my newest little fish . . . 

Homeschooling in Virginia

If you are a homeschool family living in Virginia and need some inspiration, look no further than the annual convention held by the Home Educators Association of Virginia, better known as HEAV.

This was our second year attending the convention, which is held the first full weekend of June each year at the Greater Richmond Convention Center.  While first-time visitors may feel a bit overwhelmed, we have found that nothing boosts both the children's and the teachers/parents' spirits more than this event.

You can hear a wide array of of informational and inspirational speakers who give talks ranging from the topics of preschool to high school, marriage to money saving ideas.  The Exhibit Hall is packed with vendors who happily answer questions as well as booths that provide hands-on activities for the children.  There is also a fabulous Used Curriculum Sale, enabling families to save quite a bit on their school costs.

The HEAV Convention is a three day event, with Thursday having seminars dedicated to first-time homeschoolers.  The cost is extremely reasonable, and a discount is available to HEAV members.  Parents of preschoolers may attend for free, and there is no charge for grandparents to attend with families.  HEAV also provides (for an extra charge) an area with bounce houses, games, and Christian activities that children may attend while parents attend seminars and shop.

I found myself especially excited to attend this year because all the grandparents agreed to go on Saturday (only my mother-in-law went last year.)  Our immediate family made the trip from Charlottesville to Richmond on Friday with the main goal of perusing the Used Curriculum Sale.  We did look around the Exhibit Hall, but we wanted to save most things for when the grandparents could see them, too.  What is that they say about the "best laid plans?"

We were up bright and early the next morning, preparing to trek back to Richmond, when the two-year-old starting throwing up.  I cleaned her up, and my mother-in-law offered to stay at home with her, but the little one was adamant about not being left behind.  I found myself in quite the quandary as a mother.  Should I leave her at home, screaming and miserable, or take her with us, just miserable?

I quickly put multiple changes of clothes into a bag for everyone (because who knew who would be holding the toddler if she got sick again), and off we went.  The good news is that the two older children, the two grandmothers, and one grandfather had a fabulous time.  My mother, who has a successful career in science, enjoyed investigating all of the wonderful options Apologia has to offer.  She wanted to purchase both the Botany and Zoology I packages, but I finally convinced her that would make science overwhelming and no longer fun.  (Incidentally, we decided on Botany and it is amazing!)  My mother-in-law enjoyed treating the kids to games, puppets, and just-for-fun reading books.  As for my father . . . I think he enjoyed the hands-on things such as the farm exhibit, robots, and lassoing as much as the kids.

My husband and I, on the other hand, definitely did not get to experience all that we wanted.  We were so worried about our youngest.  She would only let one of the two of us hold her, so we spent the convention taking turns carrying her as she slept off and on.  I did get to visit a few of my favorite vendors, such as Rainbow Resource and Memoria Press.  The only other booths I insisted on making time to see were those manned by  young homeschool business owners.

I absolutely love this idea that HEAV introduced two years ago.  Homeschool children that have their own business (not merely working for their parents) are able to get their own booths for a seriously reduced rate.  This year we saw items such as clothing, drawstring bags, jewelry, and marshmallow guns.  Our favorite by far, though, for the second year running, is 

Doll Clothes of Yore.

This young woman creates beautiful doll clothes from different time periods.  Her stitching is exquisite and the materials are amazing.  What I love most is that she gives historical context to each of her creations, enabling your child to have a gift that sparks their imagination while teaching them at the same time.  You can find these beauties at either the link above or on her facebook page called Doll Clothes of Yore.

I am happy to say that our daughter apparently had a twenty-four hour virus and no one else became ill.  Even with the stress, I am so glad we once again attended the convention.  I love seeing my children's eyes light up when they witness how large the homeschool community is in our state.  As my father commented several times - where else can you go with that large of a crowd of families where almost all the children are behaving, and the few who are not have parents attending to them rather than ignoring them or cursing?  It truly is a phenomenal group of which to be part, and I can not wait for our visit next June!

Celebrating Independence

These days, it seems to be more important than ever to teach our children the true meaning of Independence Day.

As an academic in the field of United States history, I quickly learned that the trend in the majority of our nation's universities was to belittle our Founding Fathers.  Professors often teach students that they should be ashamed of being Americans, and the best use of young people's time would be apologizing for any mistakes, both real and imagined, that their ancestors may have committed.  This policy made me uncomfortable as a graduate student.  As a parent and an American, I abhor it.

I made a solemn promise to myself, my children, and my God that I would teach my offspring the truth about this wonderful country.  That does not mean that we gloss over the ugly parts; rather, we will discuss how hardships such as slavery could not be overcome without the path the Founding Fathers established for us.

My promise is to have at least three young people in this world who truly understand what is meant by "pledging our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."  I hope I can be strong enough to do the same.

Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson, has been a source of inspiration to me since I was a little girl.  I loved visiting there and hearing about my favorite president and Founding Father.  I loved it so much, in fact, that I became an interpreter there while working on both my master's and doctoral degrees.

I saddens me that the Foundation that runs Monticello has fallen victim to the prevalent progressive disease of denigrating the men who helped to form this great nation.  Their willingness to flagellate Mr. Jefferson rather than celebrate his accomplishments only serves to make me more dedicated to passing on the truth of the creation of our magnificent country.  Call me a nationalist or a patriotic zealot . . . it makes no difference.  I know that God had His Hand in the formation of this country, and we owe both Him and the men who listened to Him more than a debt of gratitude.  We owe it to them to not let the truth be lost.

Passing it on

If you followed my post about our wonderful experience in the strawberry patch, you will remember that the plan was to turn much of the fruit into jam.  

I have such wonderful memories of spending time with both of my grandmothers in their kitchens canning and making jellies, jams, and pickles.  Whenever I see someone give one of those homemade jars as a gift at the holidays, I know they are receiving a container full of time, attention, and most of all, love and caring.

I had all those thoughts in my mind as I prepared the jars and got everything ready to mash berries.  (Full disclosure: I put the jars and rings in the dishwasher and let it run while I got everything else ready.  Not only does this help keep the jars hot, it also beats the heck out of hand-washing all that stuff.)  Imagine my happiness when my son appeared and asked in his sweet voice, "May I help you, Momma?" Here's where my homeschool parent mentality kicked in.  Knowing fully well that he would make a mess, I answered, "Sure, baby, that would be great."

As he began to mash, I told him stories about the times I spent doing much the same thing with his great-grandmothers, one of whom he had the privilege to know and love before her passing.  After a few minutes, my son said, "And now you're passing this on to me, right, Momma?"  His innocent observation brought tears to my eyes because even at his young age, he understood the importance of giving knowledge to the next generation . . . and something besides my grandmothers' genes will continue to live in him.

I will fully admit I didn't do things exactly the same as Granny and Nene always did (hence the aforementioned jars in the dishwasher.)  They both always used Sure-Jell, but I was torn as I stood in the grocery aisle and saw how much cheaper the store-brand was.  So, I bought both, and decided to see if the generic could live up to the original.

I am happy to say that the jam made with the Kroger brand set just as well as the batch with which I used Sure-Jell.  After all, my grandmothers also taught me that a penny saved is a penny earned!

My other admission to "cheating" is that I used the inversion method rather than hot water canning for both batches.  If you are new to making jellies and jams, you may not be aware of the difference.  My grandmothers, as well as my mother, all had large pots for boiling water baths to get their jars to seal. I just don't have the cabinet space for something I rarely use.  My "new-fangled" way is to use the inversion method (which, ironically, is not all that new.

The idea is that if your jar is hot and your jelly/jam mixture is as well, you can funnel it into your jars, screw on the lids, and invert your jars for about five minutes.  The heat on the glue of the lid, in addition to the air pressing down on the jelly mixture, will help your jar to seal.  After about an hour of the jars sitting upright, you should start to hear some satisfying "pops" as the seal takes.

I used this method for two batches, and every single jar sealed, a 100% success rate!

You know what I will enjoy the most about this year's jam?  The memories that went into it, as well as the special time I spent with my son.  It doesn't get much better than that.

Strawberry Delight

We had such a delightful family outing to the strawberry patch at Chiles Peach Orchard, located in beautiful Crozet, Virginia.

Of course, when you are a family of five, each person has a different goal in mind when approaching an activity such as strawberry-picking.  While I wanted everyone to have a good time, I also wanted to leave with enough berries to make jam.  Our oldest went in search of the largest strawberry she could find, and the middle child wandered from row to row, searching out the largest section of all-ripe berries.  Our youngest spent her time climbing in and out of the wagon, eating way more berries than she picked . . . in fact, I'm fairly sure the employees should have weighed her instead of her bucket!  My husband spent his time making sure none of the kids tipped their buckets over while I happily picked away.

The strawberries were so plentiful that it didn't take long to get the amount I needed and then some.  I quickly realized, though, the best fruit I was gathering had nothing to do with strawberries.  We were all together, outside on an amazing day, and everyone was enjoying themselves.  If the children are in a bad mood, I can usually do something silly to jolt them out of it, but my husband is a different story.  He works so hard (two, sometimes three jobs), and he tends to let his worry keep him from having fun on our excursions.  On this particular day, he was actually enjoying himself, and his good mood helped to boost the rest of us.  The fruit I truly received that day was a family full of connection, love, and happiness.

It is especially wonderful, once our strawberry jam is made, that I can feel that sense of peace and happiness every time I take a bite of that spring deliciousness. 

Warm Weather means Science!

     Well, at least around here, it does.

     For this homeschooling family, warm weather means the opportunity to get outside and do all of those messy science experiments you haven't wanted to tackle inside the house.  This past week, we decided to break out the science kit and have some bubble fun.

     My son received this science kit from little labs, and while we haven't done all the experiments, we like what we've seen so far.  I am always on the search for science activities that use items normally found in the household.  No one wants to buy a bunch of equipment that will only get used once or twice!

     As we mixed up the bubble solution, we discussed why and how bubbles are able to keep their shape.  Then we headed outside to start blowing.  The kit came with both a straw and a wand, but with three kids, we needed extra supplies.  My oldest went off in search of items that would hold the solution long enough to blow a bubble.  That is what I truly love about homeschooling.  As the "teacher," I provide the basic information and then let their imaginations take over.

     Then the fun truly began.  Tired of blowing bubbles, my son wanted to invent something that would do it for him, so he filled his rocket launcher up with solution.  We learned that may not blow huge bubbles, but it did make a pretty cool bubbly, foamy volcano effect!

     Whether or not you homeschool, experiments like these are a great way to activate and captivate your child's brain.  My three spent hours coming up with various ways to make bubbles until they finally ran out of solution.  Being physically involved in the academic experience, no matter what the subject, is one of many blessings homeschooling has brought to our family.
      

James Madison's Montpelier on Homeschool Day

Montpelier, the home of our fourth president and Father of the Constitution, James Madison, held its first annual homeschool day on April 1, 2013.

That day also happened to be my oldest child's tenth birthday, but she is a history fanatic, much like her mother.  I packed all three children up and off we headed to Orange, Va.  I know, I know, you are questioning my sanity for heading out alone to an historic home with a ten, six, and two year old.  If you are going to undertake a trip like this without another adult, a homeschool day provides your best chance of success.  As long as your children are polite and well-behaved (which they should be the majority of the time any way), no one will mind your two year old spouting out half-discernible words during the tour.  Most of the other people have already lived through it themselves or will soon.

My wish was to be there for the first tour (after all, we had a full birthday schedule ahead of us), but anyone with children will know about the best laid plans.  We still did fairly well, arriving with time to tour the gallery before watching a short film and still making the third tour of the day.  My oldest insisted on reading every label in the gallery and learned quite a bit.  My six-year-old just wanted to look at the military drum and the lock of Madison's hair.  We all discussed the walking cane that belonged to Thomas Jefferson, was bequeathed to Madison, then returned in Madison's will to Jefferson's oldest grandson, Thomas Jefferson Randolph.

The film was of an appropriate length to keep the older children's attention without running too long.  It was informative without having the brow-beating political correctness that accompanies so many of these selections.  There were quite a few adult chuckles in the room when the serious discussion of the importance of our nation's Constitution concluded with a photo of a president we all know would like to rip that document to shreds.

Our tour of the mansion was interesting and pleasant.  My two-year-old babbled a few times, but she answered the guide with "thank yous" and "okays" as we left each room, which made our whole group laugh.  Our guide was very knowledgeable and talked about various aspects of Madison's life as well as different family members.  The DuPonts were also given their due credit for keeping the house from falling into complete ruin. My only suggestion would be to allow the children time to ask questions.  I understand this was Montpelier's first homeschooling day, so let me tell them a fact about homeschoolers - they love to ask questions!

Once we spilled out upon the back lawn, staff had prepared all kinds of fun activities for the kids to try.  There were colonial games, from the physically active hoop to the mentally challenging chess.  Children could sit and read various books under the shade of a large, old tree.  Many little ones enjoyed climbing the framing of the slave dwellings while their parents read the descriptions of slave life to them.

After the children tired of those options, we went to stroll through the DuPont formal gardens.  Let me be honest:  I had to talk the kids into this, because they were ready to hit the gift shop.  They were reticent about the prospect . . . until we entered the gardens.  By this point, my youngest was in the stroller because my back couldn't handle carrying her any longer after holding her for the entire house tour.  When I saw the garden was terraced, I thought we would have to forgo exploring because of the stroller.  Imagine my surprise when the older two were disappointed!  So, little one sat in her stroller, happily eating Goldfish crackers while her siblings found "hidden" paths.  I think the biggest source of excitement was the fact they got to be out from under momma's watchful eye for a few minutes.  The setting was perfect:  I could hear their laughter while they experienced that thrilling feeling of being on their own for a little while.

After our fun in the garden, we did manage a brief visit to the gift shop before leaving the grounds of Montpelier.  All-in-all, I considered the trip to be both an academic and entertainment success.  The children enjoyed the experience and were able to tell their father things they learned about Mr. Madison, his family, and our country.  We will definitely be returning . . . in fact, we had such a wonderful time we plan on visiting again before the next Homeschool Day!

All mothers as "Working Mothers" and other thoughts from the magazine . . .

     I received the April/May 2013 issue of Working Mother magazine in the mail today.  I am not quite sure why I started getting this in the first place, as I know I do not fit the publication's definition of their title.  Oh, sure, I homeschool my three children, keep the household going, and sell handmade things on etsy, but this magazine caters to those mothers who hold employment outside the home.  I often just toss the magazine into the pile the kids may cut up for artwork.  Today, I decided to read it, and boy, did I learn quite a bit.

     First, I do not want to argue about who has a harder job: stay at home mothers, working moms, or single parents.  If you are a mother, you work, period.  I have friends who meet all different "motherhood" criteria, and each one of them works every single day, in one capacity or another.  The reason I actually bothered to read this issue was because I thought it might have some insightful tips on how to juggle all of my various hats - even though I'm not a "Working Mother."

     The first page to which I flipped had an article that caught my eye because the title was "Kids, Birds, and Bees."  I had the whole puberty conversation with my older daughter (then nine years old, now ten) just a few months ago.  Thanks to her maturity and the assistance of American Girl's The Caring and Keeping of You, the conversation was a success.  She asked several appropriate questions and has initiated some talks since then. So, when I saw the piece in Working Mother, I thought it was perfect timing, especially with the first subheading reading "Time it right."

     Well, according to Tammy Tucker, DO, I am almost two years too late!  This physician wrote to speak with your child " - usually around age 8 . . . Set aside time to chat, so you're not competing with an episode of Good Luck, Charlie" (17).  The first problem I see with this statement . . . an eight-year-old should not be watching this show!  We previewed this Disney production before letting our kids watch it, and thank goodness we did.  It is full of sexual references and innuendo.  Of course, that helps me understand the good doctor a bit better - if this is what you are choosing to allow your children to watch, maybe you better go ahead and have the sex talk before your child ends up with a Charlie of her own.

     That brings me to my second point.  I know plenty of critics will say that children are becoming sexually active at a young age, so they need "the talk" sooner. I would respectfully interject that if we paid more attention to what our kids are watching, reading, and playing on the Xbox, then we would not be explaining intercourse to our babies before they are emotionally ready to handle the topic.  What about the things they hear from their peers, you say?  Be more selective concerning with whom your children play.  I know it requires a lot more work on your part - you need to know the other parents, step out into the yard occasionally and listen to what the children are saying, and have conversation with your kids about their playtime - but that is the commitment you are supposed to make when you are a parent, no matter what road led to you becoming one.  Also, even if you have talked about puberty and sex with your child, remind them that not all children have that conversation with their parents at the same time.  In other words, when you go out to play, have fun.  You do not need to quiz little Johnny or Susie on the birds and the bees.  My oldest, having two younger siblings,  knew how a baby came out (although not how it was made) much earlier than most of her friends, yet she did not go shouting all the details on the playground, precisely because she had been taught about appropriate conversation.

     As for the rest of the magazine, it was mostly word choice and language usage that jumped out at me.  I came away feeling as if this publication's unstated purpose is to create a division between different classifications of "mothers" and to ignore fathers as equal helpmates.  For instance, on an article about military families, the subtitle reads, "The men who serve in our armed forces make enormous sacrifices - and so do their working-mom spouses back home" (49.)  I do not want anyone to misunderstand me, so let me make this clear:  ALL military families make enormous sacrifices to keep the rest of us safe.  THANK YOU for all that you do.  Military spouses (husband, wife, working-outside-home, stay-at-home, working-inside-home, homeschooling, etc) deal with situations and emotions that most of us can never understand.  No matter what their occupation, a military spouse in a two-parent household may be fearing for their significant other while keeping up a brave front for their children.  Single parents who are deployed have to worry if their child/ren is/are happy and feel loved staying with relatives or friends.  I know that the military spouses do an excellent job of providing support for one another.  I would like to suggest that the rest of us be just as supportive to our military families, no matter what the "employment" status.  Thank a veteran, active service member, and their family the next time you see them.  Trust me, it will make your heart happy.

     The one other statement in this issue I felt I must mention concerned solutions to problems often presented by "working" mothers to Carol Evans, President of Working Mother Media.  Problem number one talked about being overwhelmed by the amount of work that needs to be done when the mother arrives home from her outside employment.  (Let me just say that I, too, become overwhelmed, and I am home most days, doing what, for me, is my greatest work.)  Ms. Evans response to the question was "Train your husband to take responsibility for housework by giving up control" (100).  Now, I agree with the idea behind this statement - women need to not be so obsessive about how the housework gets done, as long as it is finished.  However, "train?" Seriously?  My husband is not Fido, although Lassie would be helpful some days.  I learned long ago that if I ask my husband to do something, he is usually quite willing.  It never was a case of him not wanting to help; rather, it was as if all the messes were invisible to him.  If I tried to train him to do things my way, we would have divorced years ago.

     Now that you have suffered through all my opinions, please let me say this.  I truly believe in live and let live.  Many of the ideas espoused in Working Mother do not work for our family or the way in which we want our children to be raised.  If the magazine works for you and helps you to be a better parent, then by all means, read it.  Meanwhile, if it still arrives in our mailbox, it will be going into the cut-for-art-projects pile.
     

Bumps on the Road

     Any parent who seriously contemplates homeschooling and then decides to take the leap is well aware that there will be critics.  I read stacks and stacks of books on the subject, compiled the information, and shared it with my husband before we decided to teach our three children at home.  All of that information prepared me for an adjustment period (especially for my oldest child), a messy house, and strangers in the grocery store questioning why my children were not in school.  I fully expected resistance from the county, teachers we knew, or acquaintances.  What I was not prepared for was a confrontation by close family members six months into our first school year at home.

     Oh, I knew one of them was reticent when we made our decision known.  I tried to help by recommending books on the topic, inviting her to convention, and sharing the children's work once we started.  So far, she has not examined a single book and did not attend convention.  Another family member at least shows an interest in the kid's education and looks through their work with them.  As for the third . . . I am not really sure were they are even getting their wild ideas about our house and home.

     At first, I was truly hurt. I have poured so much of my heart and soul into this endeavor, and I did not make the decision lightly.  I know that I am doing what is right for my children at this time.  Does that mean we will homeschool forever?  I do not know.  We are taking this one year at a time, based upon what is best for our children and our family.

     As I thought about my own family's reaction, I came to a very important conclusion.  It is okay for them not to agree with or even like what we are doing.  I have even come to the realization that I can handle them sharing their negativity with me.  They are most certainly entitled to their opinion.  At the end of the day, what really matters is my faith in God and that I pray for strength every day to be a good mother and help my children along a moral path.  In those things, I believe I am succeeding.

     I am sharing this with you because I know there are others out their facing similar battles.  It may not be over homeschooling.  People seem way to eager to judge our homes, our children, and our choices without really understanding how our lives are being led.  The lesson I have learned is to not immediately react; rather, examine your heart, and if you truly believe your decision is helping your children, then stick to your chosen path.

Nautical Experiment

One of the things I love the most about homeschooling is how often the children use their imaginations. On a Saturday (a non-school day, mind you) the kids asked if they could try to build boats that would really float.  

We all thought the pencil one would work.

Instead, my son's creation - aluminum foil and ROCKS of all things - was the winner!

Just goes to show . . . you can always learn something from an experiment :)

New Year's Day, southern style

Happy 2013 to ya'll!!

    We just finished our very southern traditional New Year's Day meal, and it was so delicious, I just had to share some stories with ya'll.

     My family has always had a meal of pork, greens, and black-eyed peas on the first of January.  After all, those are the ingredients that are supposed to bring you good fortune and prosperity throughout the year. My mother always prepared the food according to the way my father's grandmother had . . . baked pork loin or tenderloin (sometimes marinated), steamed curly kale, and black-eyed peas that had been soaked, cooked, and then slightly mashed.  The crowning glory was my great-grandmother's bread-and-butter pickles, supposedly chopped up and added to the peas, but I always preferred mine on the side.

     I did not fully appreciate this meal as a child.  Oh, I liked all the items, just not necessarily in the same meal.  If the slightest bit of grit still resided in the kale, I would not take another bite.  Also, I never fully understood the need to mash the peas - were they not suitable as is?

     Now that I run my own household, I have made a few changes.  I always use a marinated pork tenderloin - the only change is whether I bake it or my husband cooks it on the grill.  I started out insisting on kale, but since my children will actually eat wilted spinach, I have switched.  I simply sautee some garlic and oil, add the spinach and kosher salt until wilted.  DELICIOUS!  Some years I soak the peas and then cook, others I cheat and buy canned (yes, I know, my female ancestors are rolling over in their graves.)  What I never do is mash the peas, but please do not tell my mother.  The only thing I truly miss is those pickles.  My grandmother is gone, and while my mother still makes them some years, I have yet to have a kitchen large enough to undertake that process.  (For those of you not from the south, it takes over a week to make those delectable green slivers.)

    We've all eaten our share to guarantee us good luck in the new year.  I wish you and yours many blessings and days of happiness in 2013!

  

The Great Christmas Debate . . .

. . . you know, the one about when to take down the decorations.  If you think Republicans and Democrats are having a hard time solving the fiscal cliff crisis, just try this one on for size!

     My mother had steadfast rules for decorating when I was growing up.  We were not allowed to be the tree up until two weeks for Christmas (always live, NEVER artificial) and everything was to come back down New Year's Day.  I hated waiting so long to begin decking the halls, but I really abhorred packing it all away.  As the oldest child, it often seemed that I was left to handle it all by myself, except for getting the boxes back in the attic.  That was Daddy's job, and he enjoyed his part even less than I did mine.  I made up my mind that when I became a "grup," I would tinsel and light by my own rules.

     We usually put our tree up (yes, a live one) the first week of Christmas.  It takes so much work that I want to have at least a full month to enjoy it.  Of course, there all those lucky years when Thanksgiving falls early and you get an extra week!  Since I know people who start with all the red and green on Turkey Day, I do not catch much flack for being too early.  The debate comes in on when to take all that finery down.

     Some people insist on starting the day after Christmas.  They definitely don't have a large southern family that is still busy celebrating until the 29th.  There are also those who follow my mother's tradition of pulling it all down on New Year's Day, but I'm still young enough that I want to enjoy the night before and not burden myself too much on the first day of January.  Lastly, I heard a local so-called civility expert claim that all decorations should be gone by January 6th "because your neighbors will be tired of them."

     I beg to differ.  No, I'm not one of those people who wants to see your Christmas lights at Easter.  I am, however, both southern and Episcopalian.  I'm not sure if it is one, or both, of these characteristics that makes me keep my house Yuletide ready until the second week in January . . . but any good Christian knows about Three Kings Day.  If the wise men did not arrive in Bethlehem until January 6th, then my house is going to be shining with tiny lights and bedecked with evergreens to welcome them in.  I do not think my neighbors are bothered by this, but if they are, my deepest apologies (and just look the other way for a few days.)

     Whenever you decide to pack it all away, my hope for you is this:  neither broken glass nor needles stuck in your vacuum, and wonderful memories to tide you over until the time to do it all again.

     

A Dying Art . . .

     I have always loved writing letters.  It may be because I tend to be old-fashioned or because I'm academically trained as an historian.  Perhaps it was my grandmother's insistence that I be reared with a deep appreciation from whence I came.  Regardless of the reason, I try to pen several letters a month, and I insist on signing and addressing some seventy-odd Christmas cards every year.  No photo cards or pre-printed labels in this house!

     When my grandparents were removed from their house this past summer, my letter writing became more diligent.  I was unsure how to reach them, but my grandmother especially loved receiving mail from me.  I started writing to both of them more frequently, and after my grandmother passed away, I have kept up my efforts to communicate with my grandfather.

     A few months later, a friend of mine was lamenting on Facebook about how no one takes the time to actually write to anyone these days.  I completely agree.  An actual written letter is very different from an email or Facebook post.  People tend to think how their comments will affect others (for good or for bad) when they take a pen to paper.  I also miss real letters from an historical point of view.  How many people take the time to print out their emails, posts, or tweets?  What will future generations have left of us to study?

     I made the decision to start a personal campaign.  I did not want this to be a New Year's resolution, because then it seemed doomed to fail.  Instead, I started during one of the busiest times of year:  December.  I decided, starting December 1st, to write one letter, every day, for a year.

     So far things are going well.  Some of my letters are long, some are just short thank-you notes, others are birthday wishes.  I plan on sharing some of these with you as my journey progresses.  If I do not get around to doing so until 2013 . . . Merry Christmas to you all!

The Goodbye Not Said

     Today has been filled with weepy moments, and I decided it was finally time to allow some emotion to escape.  You see, my grandmother passed away in August, but due to certain family members who do not even know how to remotely act like good Christians, I have been unable to properly mourn her passing.  I could not afford to have a weak moment as I needed all my strength to deal with their ugliness.  So I built a wall around my grief and soldiered on.

    Over the past few weeks, I have felt small cracks in that wall, but I have tried my best to dam them up.  Apparently today was the day all repairs failed.  First, I unpacked my Christmas stocking which my grandmother (mostly) made - her first and last attempt at knitting.  Then I made the mistake of watching a recorded episode of General Hospital . . . the one in which Edward Quartermaine passes away.  Seeing certain family members being kept from his bedside was the last blow my wall could stand.

     After allowing myself a short crying jag, I decided it would perhaps be cathartic to write what I would have said to my grandmother if I had been given the chance.  So here you are, Nene:

     I would have reminded you of the things of which we spoke the last time I was allowed to see you:  how much I love you, that I will make sure my children remember both you and my grandfather, and that I will keep the family Bible updated and safe.  There are other things I want to say, such as how much it means to me that I was raised on Lee Farm and that you took the time to share the history of the land and our family with me.  Thank you for all the trips to the movies and for making sure that my sister, my two daughters, and I all received our first dolls from you.  Thank you for the beach memories and for extending that opportunity to my three children.  Thank you for allowing me to acknowledge your faults and shortcomings and find a way to love you regardless.

     Most importantly, I want to promise that I will try to be better than our previous generations.  I will try my best not to hold grudges and to forgive family that has treated me badly.  In turn, I will strive every day not to hurt them, regardless of their actions.  I promise to love my cousins unconditionally.  Finally, I promise that your namesake, my sweet little Bess, will be taught to embrace the best of you.

     Thank you for loving me, and I will never stop missing you.

                                                     Love Always,
                                                         Ginny

The Decision

                                             


     It is finally official . . . we are a homeschooling family!


     This definitely was not a decision that came out of thin air.       In 2006, our oldest child had a horrible kindergarten experience with a teacher who was inept academically and scarring emotionally.  I began my homeschooling research then, as well as visiting area schools.


     I was intrigued by the possibility of teaching my own child (I already had experience as an instructor of college undergraduates.)  Homeschooling was a definite consideration until we fell in love after a visit to a local private Christian school.


     That school was all we could have hoped for (and more) for the first two years.  As Grace began third grade, some concerns arose, but we did not immediately feel the need for change.  As the year progressed, it became clear that the school was not meeting our needs, and we once again started the research process.


    As soon as I revisited the idea of homeschooling, I found answers to my troubling questions.  Teaching Grace myself would of course mean that I could fill in the academic gaps, but other areas were much more important.  I saw the opportunity to help restore her flagging self-esteem, and I prayed for the return of my happy-go-lucky, willing-to-try-anything little girl.


     The affirmation came when we told our daughter our plans for the next school year.  Her smile was so big and wide  that I am surprised her face did not ache!  She has embraced the change with so much enthusiasm, and within a few short weeks, the sweet child I knew has reappeared.


     I am not naive.  I know there will be bumps in the road.  After all, I will be teaching a fourth grader and a kindergartner with a busy eighteen-month-old at home.  There will be days they will drive me to drink.  And there will be days when they take all their frustration out on their mother/teacher.  I am willing to hold on to all those times in between, when I get to witness their faces light up with excitement over a new discovery.  In the end, their happiness, both through academic success and emotional encouragement, is what led our family to this adventure.

The after-Christmas let-down

    

     We've all suffered through it at some time or another . . . that unhappy feeling that follows all the excitement, parties, and joy of the Christmas season.  As a child, I remember dreading New Year's Day when we all labored under my mother's steadfast rule that all decorations were to come down January 1st, no matter how late you stayed up or how much "fun" the adults had the night before.  It was usually a day filled with chores and grumpiness, made even worse if it was your last day of freedom before returning to school.

     Now that I get to make up my own decorating rules, I start bedecking the house immediately following Thanksgiving and refuse to remove the tree or nativity until at least after Three Kings' Day.  That has helped to somewhat remove my angst and winter-blues after weeks filled with family, friends, and never-ending desserts.  This year, however, has been different.  Our tree just came down last night.  Yep, that's right, January 22nd.

     I think I've had a more difficult time this year because Christmas was just so wonderful.  It was our third child's first, which always makes it special.  When the tree first went up, she kept pointing at it and laughing, as if to say, "Look what the crazy adults have down now.  They think a real tree belongs in the house!"  Of course, a baby's delight in ripping tissue paper into minuscule pieces is always infectious.  While that wonderment is enough of a reason to make the holidays special, this time it was more than that.

     During Christmas break, our usual joyous, adventurous, smiling, good-natured eldest child returned.  Oh, she had never left home, not in body at least.  But during the first four months of her third grade year, our daughter, who had always been called "Sunshine" by her teachers, turned into a crying, insecure mess, constantly believing she was not good enough or melting down because she was no longer sure what was expected of her.  My husband  and I have watched our outgoing, self-assured child become a stranger, at least concerning all things school-related.

     No, we did not sit idly by and let this happen.  We've had numerous meetings with teachers and administrators trying to find out what is going on.  We were shocked, quite frankly, because our sweet little Christian school was so phenomenal for both first and second grade.  In fact, I sang the school's praises to any and all who would listen.  I looked with shock upon people who could afford the school and yet did not even consider sending their children to such a fine institution.  My favorite saying was, "Every time I thought nothing better could happen at school, something even more amazing came along."  Enter a new administration.

     There are always going to be bumps in the road when changes take place in school leadership, and I prepared myself for that.  What I did not expect was a change in the ethos, or culture of the school.  Our happiest academic place on earth changed into an institution where any parents or teachers who disagreed or questioned change were belittled and demoralized until they gave up the fight.  The bright side?  All this unhappiness led me to reexamine myself as a parent.  I've become more patient and found ways to turn just about anything into a fun learning opportunity.  Above all, I am determined that my child will not lose her love of learning.

   And that, my friends, brings my story back full circle to the Christmas tree.  It may just be a symbol, but it represents how happy my child can be, of joyous moments discussing the birth of Christ while unknowingly learning multiplication as we increased our cookie recipe.  That Frasier fir reminds me of her excitement at finishing another Harry Potter book and starting on #5.  Most of all, it gives me hope of how great our daughter's education can be if we, as parents, maintain a central role.

   As for the fate of the tree . . . it is out of the house, but now I'm letting the neighborhood children decorate it with homemade bird feeders.  That way, I think I can hold onto the happiness at least through February.

Lest We Forget

     Like just about every other American, I've been thinking about where I was ten years ago, how I felt, what my reaction was, and how my life changed that day.  When I focus on those questions, September 11th, 2001 seems like just yesterday.  The details are still that clear to me, as I am sure they are to you.

     My husband and I had been married for three months.  I was commuting two hours away to work on my PhD at a school that was closer to my parents' house than our home.  Because of that, I usually spent two nights a week with Momma and Daddy to save on gas.  That morning I was in Suffolk with my mother and cousin, who was eight and with us for the day so Momma could help her with home school math.  I was watching the news because I did not have class until the afternoon.  I remember the exact chair in which I was sitting, how the sun was streaming through the window, the drink in my hand, with Diane Sawyer and Charlie Gibson on the television.  I remember my shock when I actually saw the plane fly into the second tower as they were talking about the first.

     I immediately tried to get through to my husband, but it took a little while. Once I finally reached him, I remember saying two things.  "I think there may be more," and "I hope this isn't enough to make those towers fall."  While we were on the phone, I learned that the Pentagon had been hit.  I sat, glued to the TV, trying to learn anything and everything, as I watched first one, then the other tower crumble to the ground.  My eyes welled up with tears, and it wasn't until some time later that I realized those tears were running down my face.  I tried to imagine if this was how my grandparents felt on Pearl Harbor Day, but this time it was different - we had immediate access to news and all the images.  Not more horrific or less devastating, just different.

     The school I attended was located near Langley, and I spent several hours trying to find out about class, wondering about the safety of traveling near a military base.  After the fourth phone call, I gave up and decided to stay home.  I didn't really want to leave my family behind any way.  That was a driving feeling that day . . . hold onto your loved ones as tightly as possible, because they could be gone in an unthinkable moment.

     In the days that followed, I constantly either watched TV or listened to talk radio.  That was a change in my life.  While I also paid just enough attention to know what was going on in the world, now I felt compelled to understand everything.  I no longer listened to music in the car but rather inundated myself with news and current events.

     Other things changed, too.  Everywhere you went, the terrorist attacks were all anyone spoke of.  In the first few days, there was a question of a draft, and I told my husband that if he had to go to war, I wanted to be pregnant before he left.  I couldn't imagine not having a part of him to hold onto.

     Fast forward to April 2003, and I was in labor with our first child.  Dave tried to put General Hospital on the TV in the labor and delivery room, and I quickly told him I wanted it on FOX.  Operation Iraqi Freedom was underway, and I didn't want to miss a moment of it.  About a week later, as I sat at home nursing my newborn daughter, I watched as Iraqis pulled Saddam's statue to the ground.  It may have been small, but that was a victory in my eyes.

    The world I have brought my children into is drastically different from the one in which I grew up.  The days following September 11th showed that one thing had not changed, however.  When the chips are down, Americans support one another.  We prayed, donated blood, and helped our neighbors.  That's the America I want my children to know.  I have cried more today than I did ten years ago, possibly because I was still in shock back then.  Through those tears, I've told my children about the sacrifice of nearly 3000 people, and that they can honor those fallen by living their lives through good works.

May God bless you, and God bless America.