Wholesome and Nourishing

"The more the child shapes his own course, the less do the parents find to do, beyond feeding him with food convenient, whether of love, or thought, or of bodily meat and drink. And here, we may notice, the parents need only supply; the child knows well enough how to appropriate. The parents' chief care is, that that which they supply shall be wholesome and nourishing, whether in the way of picture books, lessons, playmates, bread and milk, or mother's love."

~Charlotte Mason , Home Education

The photo above is of my self-directed learner, fifteen-year-old Bard, practicing her piano. She called me in one morning to show me how beautiful her hands looked on the keys with the eastern sun filtering through the windows. I only wish you could hear her playing Prelude in C to complete the picture!

Our venture into a more conscientous, yet still relaxed, classical education has been very satisfying. Yesterday the kids and I sat around the kitchen table discussing Latin and Greek roots which lead into a discussion of the Carl Linnaeus classification system. It was, believe it or not, an entertaining and engaging conversation.

Lest you think that a Charlotte Mason curriculum is overwhelming and strict, let me assure you that it's actually freeing and enjoyable. Fifteen minute study sessions for the younger ones provide for constant interest and the realization that an enjoyable lesson can continue at will, and a difficult lesson will soon be over. And there is still so much freedom to pursue natural interest, like our discussion about the classification system. No one felt burdened or prodded to learn; we were all learning together--and I'm most definitely a big proponent of that. What I increasingly find is that the children don't so much dislike the lesson their doing as they dislike being alone while doing them, being isolated from everyone else for the sake of learning something they have no motivation to learn in the first place. But you, as the mother, the director of their education, the autodidact that you are, show a sincere interest and a humility that says, "I don't really understand this either; let's figure it out together," and suddenly your child is no longer alone, but on a journey with the one she loves and trusts and wishes for none other to learn alongside.

And the bonus, of course, is being there to see her eyes light up when she finally understands!

Now, an informal poll: Did you learn root words in school? If so, do they still help you? Do children in schools learn them now?

The View from Here

Ms. Booshay at Quiet Life assigned bloggers to take a photo of something within a mile of our homes and post it to our blogs or send it to her to post on her blog. This photo is the view from here. It's actually--and don't hate me for this--the gorgeous countryside that I see every time I look out my kitchen window. Breathtaking, no? When we were designing our house and staking out the perimeters before the excavator dug in, we literally stood on the hillside and marked where the kitchen window would be and planned the rest of the house around it.

Can you see why?

Being Educated

The parent who sees his way––that is, the exact force of method––to educate his child, will make use of every circumstance of the child's life almost without intention on his own part, so easy and spontaneous is a method of education based upon Natural Law. Does the child eat or drink, does he come, or go, or play––all the time he is being educated, though he is as little aware of it as he is of the act of breathing.

~Charlotte Mason

Nothing is Trivial

"Nothing is trivial that concerns a child; his foolish-seeming words and ways are pregnant with meaning for the wise. It is in the infinitely little we must study in the infinitely great; and the vast possibilities, and the right direction of education, are indicated in the open book of the little child's thoughts."

Charlotte Mason

Monarch Lifecycle

For your viewing pleasure, a collage of the lifecycle of the monarch butterfly, as observed by The Cozy Cottage Academy. We took pictures of most phases, with the exception of the egg (too tiny) and the green chrysalis (don't know how I missed it, but I'll get one). Make sure to click on the photo to get a full-sized view, and you'll see how tiny the caterpillars are when they first hatch and you'll also see a second-by-second series of the buttefly emerging and expanding her wings.

Enjoy one of life's miracles!

"Their Gravest Duty"

"Now, that work which is of most importance to society is the bringing up and instruction of the children––in the school, certainly, but far more in the home, because it is more than anything else the home influences brought to bear upon the child that determine the character and career of the future man or woman. It is a great thing to be a parent: there is no promotion, no dignity, to compare with it. The parents of but one child may be cherishing what shall prove a blessing to the world. But then, entrusted with such a charge, they are not free to say, 'I may do as I will with mine own.' The children are, in truth, to be regarded less as personal property than as public trusts, put into the hands of parents that they may make the very most of them for the good of society. And this responsibility is not equally divided between the parents: it is upon the mothers of the present that the future of the world depends, in even a greater degree than upon the fathers, because it is the mothers who have the sole direction of the children's early, most impressible years. This is why we hear so frequently of great men who have had good mothers––that is, mothers who brought up their children themselves, and did not make over their gravest duty to indifferent persons."

~Charlotte Mason, Home Education

Continuing Education

This year, we just jumped right in.

No trips to the store for the ceremonious "back-to-school" supplies; we've just been picking them up when we take our regular trips to the store for milk and Almond Joys. No huge order from Rainbow Resources, Timberdoodle or Alpha Omega, though there are a few things I'd still love to add to my collection. No sweating over curriculum--I actually continued using several things that have been working for us in the past and added a few things I saw when I went to the curriculum store for this year's Italic Handwriting books. No big "not going back to school" party and no big X number of days until returning to schoolwork countdown. Nothing.

We just...kind of...continued.

During the summer months, we do a lot of field trips, activities, family times, games, trips to the swimming pool, and we take every opportunity for learning that comes up. When the traditional "school year" starts, I get a little itch that tells me I'd like to be more organized, a bit more driven. In years past, that has meant setting a day for school, which was always the first Monday after Labor Day, taking a trip to Stuff*Mart to drool over the school supplies (do we really need to buy the Napoleon Dynamite Trapper Keeper?) and scrambling to find just the right math curriculum, just the right spelling program, and the absolute best art supplies.

But this year, I just got the itch to get started. On Tuesday, I had most of what I wanted to use to get back into our formal lessons, had made copies of some of the consumables I don't want consumed, checked stuff out of the library and printed stuff on the computer. So, with a swish of the chalk on the board, we were on our way. Just like that.

It's not a real big leap. We learn all year long anyway, so adding a few formal touches here and there really wasn't a huge change. I think the biggest changes are making a concrete list of goals for the day for each child which is posted on the chalkboard daily (we have done this before in different forms, but not through the summer) and cutting our formal lessons to fifteen minutes each as opposed to doing them until we're crying (which we actually did when we were using Ohio Virtual Academy). The fifteen minute guide is via Charlotte Mason. I bought each of the kids their own little kitchen timers (while I was at the store buying guinea pig food and kitty litter) so they can time themselves individually, and then we're incorporating Mason's suggestions of changing scenery often with a lot of outside time--jumping on the trampoline, sketching things from nature, reading poetry and just being outside together.

Fifteen-year-old Bard is following the Charlotte Mason Year 9 schedule and seems to really be thriving with it, pretty much directing her own education. I'm loosely following the Year 3 schedule with the boys, a differently-learning (aren't we all?) 14 year old and a very bright 10 year old. We started Latin, grammar, handwriting, copywork and reading/spelling and poetry--William Blake this trimester. I'm also assigning good quality books for the boys to read, like At The Back of the North Wind ("Is Diamond a boy or a horse? Well? WELL?"). They have a tendency to flounder between activities, so providing them with some quality literature and asking them to narrate to me is helpful for occupying their time and inspiring creativity.

With Sweetheart, who's six and a half, we're working on handwriting, lots and lots of play time and nature study, relaxed copywork, and Explode the Code because she really wants to learn to read. I don't push reading until I see the signs that they're ready to dive in. Bard read fluently at four, Houdin didn't care to read at all until twelve, Monet learned to read at 7, and now Sweetheart. As a result, they all enjoy reading as both a hobby and a learning tool.

This is my first year of dabbling in the Charlotte Mason curriculum. We've always been eclectic with a bent towards a kind of classical unschooling and a few formal lessons thrown in, but I recently decided to look more closely into Mason's methods for Sweetheart after recommending it to a friend who was asking about inexpensive curriculum options. I saw that they had courses up through Year 10, and now I see that they've just completed Year 11. After reading through the schedules and suggested reading lists, I realized that we have been very loosely following Mason's philosophies all along and that Bard, especially, would really appreciate Mason's education suggestions.

If you aren't familiar with Charlotte Mason or just have a basic knowledge, you can find out much more about approaching a classical-type education in a more relaxed way by checking out Ambleside Online, a free online curriculum created by parents who are using Charlotte Mason's learning methods. From the Ambleside site, you can access many books, including Charlotte Mason's original writings as well as many pieces of literature that are out-of-print and hard-to-find.

Over the next few days, I'll be sharing some of Mason's words that resounded with me as well as my thoughts about this approach and how it is working in our family.

I'd love to hear your thoughts as well.

Transfixed by transfiguration.

My life has been all-consumed by learning. We've been learning about hosting house concerts, meanings of Latin root words, curbing bad tempers, counting to three, making friends, getting fresh air and studying nature.

It is with that last, the "studying nature" category, that I have become transfixed.

Several weeks ago, a mother from our portrait drawing class, along with her three bright-eyed daughters, presented our family with a sprig of milkweed, the milk dripping from the stalk. On it, so tiny that the human eye (especially the approaching forty human eye) could barely see, was a tiny caterpillar, barely boasting its black, yellow and white stripes. "Keep it in a jar," the mother shared, "and provide it with fresh milkweed. You'll be amazed."

And I was. Daily, that little caterpillar grew, munching and pooping and munching some more until it was the size of my pinky finger. I've since read that caterpillars, from their hatching to their pre-pupation stage, increase their weight by 2,700 times!

Watching a monarch caterpillar pupate is a wondrous sight to behold. Mr. Caterpillar will give you some indication that he'll be performing his stunt by hanging upside down from his container in the shape of a "J." Within a day, his black antennae and tiny legs wither and he begins to move, ever so slightly but very rhythmically, as if squirming beneath his skin. And then, with an inaudible pop, the skin at the head breaks open and the hiding pupa can no longer be contained by the restrictive black, white and yellow skin that has already made room for the growing beast eight times previous.

I'll not tell you any more. You can see for yourself. The children and I gathered around to watch the miracle of a pupating monarch, and I was able to capture it on film. The photos go in order from top to bottom, which you're likely not used to on a blog, but I felt that was the right way to do it.

Next week, you'll be in for a very special treat. Can you imagine what I caught with my camera this fine morning?

1
The telltale "J." If you look closely, you can see the limp antennae.

2
Just before the skin begins to split, the caterpillar stretches out straight.

3
If you look closely on the bottom left, you can see the green of the pupa beginning to emerge.

4
More of the pupa will be progressively visible in the next few frames.

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16
Just after this photo, I took a short video of the pupa wriggling to stretch its cremaster to hook into the silk button on the underside of the container, and then it squirmed free of its old skin. For 8-14 days, the pupa will hang upside down, waiting for Divine programming to transform it into a beautiful Monarch butterfly.

Bob Bennett Houseconcert

Kidding. I was KIDDING!

It was a joke. Of course she's lovely. And thin. Did I mention thin? And I collect pottery. Lots of it. I have pieces from all over the world. I actually have stolen some from Chris's house. Repeatedly. She hasn't discovered it yet. And besides, she and I have virtual "best friends" pinky rings. And on Fridays, we call each other to see what the other will be wearing so we can match. So there. :-P

I'd say ecletic is more accurate...

I took this quiz a year ago, and the results are still the same today.


Salvador Dali Melting clocks are not a problem in
your reality. You are an unschooler. You will
tolerate a textbook, but only as a last resort.
Mud is your friend. You prefer hands-on
everything. If your school had an anthem, it
would be Dont Worry, Be Happy. Visit my blog:
http://www.GuiltFreeHomeschooling.blogspot.com


What Type of Homeschooler Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

The Socialization Study

For years, I have been saying that a study needs to be done to debunk the myths that many homeschooling opponents have about "The Socialization Issue." To me, the solution is simple. Put a few dozen kids in a room from different educational backgrounds and see if the homeschooling opponents can tell them apart. This comment came as a response to my suggestion of just such a study after Mr. Dave Arnold shared his criticism of homeschooling via the NEA website and Natalie's blog. On the website Family Times - The Why of Homeschooling, there's a snippet of information about a study done where they placed a bunch of kids in a room and videotaped them; the videos were viewed by trained counselors. The results?

"In 1992, Larry Shyers of the University of Florida defended a doctoral dissertation in which he challenged the notion that youngsters at home 'lag' in social development. In his study, 8- to 10-year-old children were videotaped at play. Their behavior was observed by trained counselors who did not know which children attended conventional schools and which were homeschooled. The study found no significant difference between the two groups of children in self-concept or assertiveness, which was measured by social development tests. But the videotapes showed that youngsters taught at home by their parents had fewer behavior problems."

I think it's time for a bigger and better and, more importantly, WIDELY PUBLISHED study.

Anyone?

Swimmer's Ear and a Sensitive Mind

It's amazing to me how one little thing that happens in my day--indeed, a miniscule thing that occurs in my life--can set my sensitive mind into overactive mode.

My dear daughter Bard, who is fifteen and a half today, awoke yesterday morning with an ache in her ear. Since she's been swimming quite a bit lately, I began to research the ever-wonderful web for information on swimmer's ear. After reading a few sites, I determined that, no, it was definitely not swimmer's ear. Tomorrow, I said, I'll run to the health food store and pick up some garlic willow oil and we'll get rid of this painful ear infection.

"I don't like putting things in my ear," she protested.

"That's not true," I countered.

"Yes, it certainly is," she responded.

"Well, it wasn't true when you were three and you shoved that plastic pull string from the little toy phone directly into your eardrum, causing me a severe panic attack. I'm pretty sure you damaged your eardrum with that thing. You had a thing about putting things in your orafices. That was just shortly after the sponge up the nose incident."

"I didn't like doing that," Bard retorted.

"I disagree. I think you sincerely liked the idea of sticking something into your ear which is why you did it. I think you adored the idea right up until the moment of impact with your little eardrum."

She did what she normally does when I make sense. She rolled her eyes.

This morning, dear Bard awoke with more intense pain in her ear, a pain that was radiating down her jaw. And then there was the pesky problem of not being able to hear with that ear.

I called the doctor and after only five minutes of waiting for a receptionist, I was able to make an appointment. And, miracles never ceasing, I was able to score an appointment with my doc of preference for this very day. Sah-WEET!

There are days when the doctor's office gods look down on me and smile. I wish, for the sake of comedy, that I could say today was not one of them. But then again, that's a banal joke, so I'll not take that line any further.

Today, the doctor's office gods looked down on me, waved a happy little, "It's nice to see you!" wave and grinned from ear to ear. Not Bard's ear, though. That would hurt.

When I say that I found favor in the eyes of the doctor's office gods, I mean that I walked right up to the registration desk with my insurance card in hand, on time, and didn't have to sign a single thing. No paperwork, no arrival time list, nothing. And as Bard and I seated ourselves, I found a magazine that was worth reading, Kids Discover issue on bees. And as I opened the magazine, I was amazed to find that I was not able to get beyond the first page because Bard's name was called. Our nurse was friendly, commented about the fact that today was Bard's 15 1/2 day and would she be getting her temps? (Yes, that was next, I replied) and Bard was thrilled to find that she is taller than she thought she was. We were taken to our room, where Bard's complaints were actually heard, and then we were left to enjoy the rest of our magazine, which I had the forethought to carry along with me into the examination room.

But, wonder of wonders, the doctor's office gods showered their love upon me, and we were only able to read through about half of the magazine before Dr. B arrived in the room, all smiles and pleasant conversation, and diagnosed dear Bard with swimmer's ear faster than you can say, "Hi! I'm doctor B!"

"Sometimes you can clear it up without a prescription," he said, "but not this one. She has it pretty bad." Indeed, poor Bard was miserable, and I could see that the pain was increasing with every minute. "But in the future, you can use distilled white vinegar at the first sign of soreness."

"We've always used garlic oil for ear infections," I told him confidently. My children don't get ear infections often, but when they do, I've never seen an ear infection that alternating treatments of garlic oil and hydrogen peroxide won't clear up.

"Garlic oil really only works because you warm it up," he said. "Any sweet oil will make the ear feel better if you warm it up. The problem is that if there is any damage to the eardrum, you really don't want to put any oils or other substances in the ear. It could cause serious problems."

No garlic oil? Did he just say no garlic oil?

"And there are other things that people use that simply won't work for swimmer's ear or ear infections..."

While he was talking, I only half heard him because I was so focused on the fact that I'd been wrong about garlic oil all these years. How could it be? I'd used it with success! Repeatedly! They sell it in the health food stores! I've read it in my naturopathic books! I'd recommended it to others! I'd always had such wonderful success with garlic willow oil and...

"...and hydrogen peroxide. That just doesn't work, either. It's good to use to clean out the ear, but it won't kill the bacteria that causes infections..."

What? What did I just hear? Did he just say that peroxide, that wonderful cure-all that I store in my pantry by the gallons, doesn't work to fight ear infections? Peroxide works on EVERYTHING! It's a dadblammed miracle worker! Once, when we had a pony with proud flesh, I was able to conquer the infection with very strong doses of peroxide and herbal salves.

"Excuse me," I said. "Did you say that peroxide doesn't...doesn't work?"

"No, it doesn't," replied Dr. B. "It might clean out the ear, but it won't kill the bacteria. If you want to treat an ear problem before it gets out of hand, use plain white distilled vinegar, and..."

Vinegar. Okay, I learned something there. And under normal circumstances, I'd be thrilled that my doc was offering information about home remedies. But here I was, The Mother, sitting in front of my fifteen and a half year old child, realizing that I actually did not know everything there was to know about raising children. Shock! Dismay! Mental chaos ensued!

Because while Dr. B was talking about how most ear infections are viral anyway, and they'll run their course whether they're treated or not and will simply get better on their own (his reasoning for why the garlic oil worked), and while he was saying that there's no way of knowing whether an ear infection is bacterial or viral and they, unfortunately, prescribe antibiotics for all ear infections, I was still thinking about garlic oil and hydrogen peroxide.

And how I'd been wrong.

What else am I wrong about? I wondered. What else have I skipped along blissfully believing, placing my loved ones in harm's way?

What about my educational choices? And my lifestyle choices? And my disciplinary choices? What about my religious beliefs and my worldview? What about all those times I thought I'd won an argument? What about all the other paradigms, assumptions and philosophies I'd adopted?

The doctor's office gods were still smiling as I paid my twenty dollar co-pay and picked up Bard's prescription. There were people still in the waiting room who had been there when we'd arrived. I wondered what they'd done to anger the doctor's office gods. Maybe they pulled a page out of one of the waiting room magazines or tapped on the side of the aquarium or signed the registration sheet stating they'd arrived five minutes earlier than they actually had just to try to fool the doctor's office gods into believing they hadn't been three minutes late. Or something.

But that sensitive mind of mine just couldn't get out of active mode. And now, I'm left wondering; first garlic oil and hydrogen peroxide, next...what? Hershey's Kisses aren't really a nutritious part of a complete breakfast? Black really isn't my color? My husband doesn't really believe that my butt's not too big?

Maybe the doctor's office gods weren't really smiling down on me after all.

Maybe they were laughing AT me.

I hope that doesn't make them angry that I said that.

Up On Aden's Hill

Aden's Hill
by Thicket Dweller

There's a peace too big to photograph
There's a sky too blue to paint
There's a life that's greener than the fields along
That dusty lane.

There's a laugher that comes ringing
Even through the winter's chill
There's a thrill that comes from flying
'Cross the snow that once lay still
Up on Aden's hill.
Up on Aden's hill.

You can see across the pastures
Beyond the houses plain and white
You can see beyond the future
When the stars burst forth at night
You can see the red-tailed hawk fly
soaring, shrieking high and shrill
You can see as far as eyes allow or 'till you
Get your fill
Up on Aden's hill
Up on Aden's hill.

There are places that are higher
There are grasses just as green
But the view from here is the clearest
I have ever seen.

It's a love that can move mountains
And can chase away my fears
It's a passion that can calm my rage and
Wipe away my tears.
It's a love that gives me eagle's wings
And makes the hateful voices still
It's a love that I can see in everything from Aden's hill
From up on Aden's hill...

This is a poem I wrote after a visit from a friend; we had taken a walk to the top of a neighbor's hill and the view, seeing it as though through my friend's eyes, was new and beautiful and completely breathtaking. This is one of my favorite poems that I've written. I hope you enjoy it, too

The big kids grab their loot.

It's PINATA TIME!

Sweetheart looking mighty sweet.

The lovely, talented, intelligent and entertaining Miss Bard.

Sweetheart looking slightly demented.

Bo playing lovely music (funky effect courtesy of moi).

My handsome and talented husband, Bo.

Daddy and The Baby.

Monet the ham.

More water gun fight (Bard, Houdin and Cat)

Water gun fight (Bard and Houdin)

Water balloon fight.

The Beautiful Baby

Eta Sigma Alpha National Home School Honor Society

Eta Sigma Alpha National Home School Honor Society's mission is to "recognize and encourage scholarship among home school students. To achieve this purpose, Eta Sigma Alpha National Home School Honor Society shall provide opportunities for the development of leadership and service. Eta Sigma Alpha shall encourage the development of an intellectual climate that will stimulate the exchange of ideas and ideals, foster scholarship, and promote academic excellence. Eta Sigma Alpha shall also advocate homeschooling as a viable and successful educational methodology and act as a liasion for homeschooling to the general public, colleges/universities, and the media."

See their website for more details and to locate a chapter in your state.

A funny for your day

While walking down the street one day a US senator is tragically hit by a truck and dies. His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.

"Welcome to heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in," says the man.

"Well, I'd like to, but I have orders from higher up. What we'll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."

"Really, I've made up my mind. I want to be in heaven," says the senator.

"I'm sorry but we have our rules."

And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.

Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at expense of the people. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and champagne. Also present is the devil, which really is a very friendly guy who has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that before he realizes it, it is time to go. Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises...

The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him.

"Now it's time to visit heaven."

So, 24 hours pass with the head of state joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.

"Well, then, you've spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity."

The senator reflects for a minute, then the senator answers: "Well, I would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell."

So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.

Now the doors of the elevator open and he's in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage.

He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above.

The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulder. "I don't understand," stammers the senator. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable.

What happened?"

The devil looks at him, smiles and says, "Yesterday we were campaigning. Today you voted."

Monarch Photos!

The monarch butterflies emerged from their chrysalis. We didn't see them actually come out of the chrysalis, but I caught a few shots soon aftewards. They emerged on Thursday, and today their mating. In a few days, the female will lay her eggs on the milkweed we have in our butterfly habitat and then those will become caterpillars. Then the whole thing will start again!

Enjoy the photos. I definitely enjoyed taking them!

The monarchs emerge! They came out of their chrysalis between 6:30 and 8:30 a.m.

This is the female. You can tell because the third stripe from the bottom of her thorax is straight with no thick spots.

The Baby observes a new butterfly.

A picture is worth a thousand words!

Holding a fluttering butterfly.

This is the male. Can you see the thick spot on the third line from the bottom? About halfway through the line?

One tickled toddler!

The Baby holding the male monarch. The third line from the bottom of the wing has a thick spot on it which the female doesn't have.

You can see both thick spots clearly here, close to the thorax.

Male and female on a purple coneflower.

This is the female. No thick spot.

Male and female monarchs on a purple coneflower.

Here is the female with her wings spread. See how different she looks from the male?

Sweetheart with the male.

Sweetheart with the male again.

The Unborn

A friend sent me this poem after reading my post Someone Out There. It brought such tears to my eyes. It describes precisely how I feel...

The Unborn

By Sharon Olds

Sometimes I can almost see, around our heads,

like gnats around a streetlight in summer,

the children we could have,

the glimmer of them.



Sometimes I feel them waiting, dozing

in some antechamber – servants, half-

listening for the bell.



Sometimes I see them lying like love letters

in the Dead Letter Office.



And sometimes, like tonight, by some black

second sight I can feel just one of them

standing on the edge of a cliff by the sea

in the dark, stretching its arms out

desperately to me.

Someone Out There

We had to run to Wal*Mart tonight. It's a pretty common occurrence. It's really just about the only gig in town, and if you need something on a Sunday night, you've got a choice between Wal*Mart and the convenience store that charges $7.75 for a Reese's Cup that's been sitting on the shelf so long it has collected enough dust to make new topsoil in my front yard. So, it's usually Wal*Mart, unless I need cheap topsoil.

I know people who despise Wal*Mart. I can understand why, but I need it too much to truly despise it. I try to do the majority of my shopping at Sam's Club, buy my boxed single items at Wal*Mart, my meat from one of the local groceries, my nuts and grains from a bulk foods store, and my produce from either the local IGA or the farm stand down the road. He probably gets most of his stuff from the same supplier as Wal*Mart. But I give him my business anyway. Besides, I love his cinnamon rolls and his fry pies.

But one thing that I enjoy about Wal*Mart is the fact that, if you go often enough, you can see just about everyone from the community. This week, I stood in the parking lot and talked to the woman who took our family photo last fall, the one with the dogs and the pumpkins you see in this shot. She's a wonderful woman, and we seem to get into deep conversations right away. As we were ending our conversation, I told her that it was good to see her, and I repeated a line my children have heard often; "Some of my deepest, most meaningful conversations are held in the Wal*Mart parking lot!"

Tonight, while I was in the checkout line, I turned to see a woman behind me that I know socially. We're not friends, but we know each other on a first-name basis. She's unmarried, probably in her early thirties, beautiful and very vivacious. She owns her own shop in the historic part of town, a kind of shabby chic meets primtive place where she sells an eclectic mix of furniture and accessories, both vintage and new. She also dedicates a lot of time to trying to bolster downtown's well-being. It's a tough battle, especially since downtown just got its first tatoo parlor and will soon have its first casino in a shop that was supposed to be an art gallery. Her shop, I often tell people who come to town to visit, is the shop I'd love to have, dream of having, but now I don't need to have it because she has it for me. I can enjoy it and promote it, but I don't have the headache of owning it.

But, the thing is, for all of her vivaciousness, when I notice her and she doesn't know anyone sees her, she looks tired and...almost...I don't know--sad, I guess. Maybe I'm projecting something onto her that isn't there, but it's the impression I get.

We struck up a bit of a conversation in the check-out line at Wal*Mart, and she asked me if we were moved into our house. Oh, yeah, I said. And I told her about the thirteen foot high swingset we constructed today. She put on a show of being impressed, but I don't know if she really was or was just being polite. And then she asked me what else was new. "Have any more kids?" she asked, as if it were something that just kinda happens every few weeks and I forget to tell people about it. As if it's something she just kind of expects from someone"like me."

"Nope. No more kids," I said. "Just the ones you already knew about." I felt vulnerable. Out of place somehow.

"Is five it? You do have five, right? Are you done?"

She didn't say it with any malice or expectations. Just a question. Yet I didn't know what to say. I mean, here I was buying brownie mix at 9:30 at night, standing in the Wal*mart line with my daughter who was wearing winter boots with a yellow sundress spotted with Wendy's chili, and a son who was begging for a rubber chicken.

But this woman--she's suave. She's hip. She's so...independent. So free-spirited. I didn't want her to think I was weird, in the off chance that it wasn't too late. I looked at my kids. I looked back at her.

You know how about a million thoughts and memories can go through your mind in the few seconds it takes to form a sentence and speak it? That's what was happening to me. I thought about my little girl, Sweetheart, the chili-spotted daughter standing at my side. I remembered that I had decided after having Monet that I was done. Three was enough for me. I had gained too much weight, had too little time to myself and not enough house to fit everyone into. Motherhood was doggone hard work. No more pregnancies, I insisted. And then, when I discovered that I was pregnant with Sweetheart, I cried. I honestly and truly did NOT want to be pregnant.

But then Sweetheart was born, and I wanted to keep her a baby forever. She was my miracle with rosebud lips, and I spent days and days in awe of her, wondering how I could ever have rejected the possibility of this beautiful child. What had been wrong with me?

Still, when I found out three years later that I was pregnant with The Baby, I literally prayed that there was some mistake, that I wouldn't be pregnant. I didn't tell anyone but Bo for months because I felt too ashamed to admit I'd been so irresponsible. I know that's horrible, and I'm very sorry that I have to tell you that, but it's an indicator of the kind of pressure I was under at the time, the desperation that I felt in my situation of having four kids, living on one income in a tiny cabin with my pain-in-the-butt father, and having a new baby on the way. Bo was a tower of strength. I was a quivering mass of hormones.

But I look at The Baby daily and wonder how I could ever imagine life without her. She adds such joy. She has this incredible smile and a wonderful sense of humor. She's so smart and so intense and so adorably cute.

And now I wonder what the Lord has in store for me. Does he have another Sweetheart ready for my life? Does he have another Baby to bless us with? Is there another person in our future, another miracle with rosebud lips? Another cuddlebug, dancer, magician, artist or musician?

These are the thoughts and memories that went through my head as I stood in the line at Wal*Mart next to my two children, blinking dazedly as this young, independent, hip woman awaited my answer with polite interest. How could I sum up all of those thoughts and memories? Was it even necessary? Did she even want an answer?

"I don't know," I said. "I just wonder sometimes if...if there's someone else, you know..," I gestured around the air, "...out there for us, for our family. Ya know what I mean?"

Whether she did or she didn't, I'm sure I'll never know. She simply smiled and nodded, and then piped up with what seemed mock surprise that it was time for me to pay for my brownie mix and ice cream.

"It was nice seeing you," she said. And I couldn't help feeling like I had just been tested or judged or something. I hope I passed.

Now I'm sitting here evaluating my answer, wondering if I said the "right thing," and beating myself up for living my life in an attempt to please other people. What will people like The Hip Independent Woman think if I have more kids? Will they think I'm nuts? Does it keep them from being my friend? Why do I care? Am I a good enough mother to deserve these miracles? Do I "want" more? Does that matter? Can I handle another, and another, and another?

I don't know. I honestly don't.

But when I look into Sweetheart's amazing brown eyes as she cuddles up to me, tells me I'm the best mom in the world, plants a big fat kiss on my cheek with her perfect rosebud lips, I can't believe that I could possibly say no to another blessing like her. Or, more accurately, another blessing so very unlike her, another individual human being with thoughts and feelings and gifts and talents. A unique person.

I just feel like there's someone else, you know, "out there" for us. Ya know what I mean?