The Whole of a Child's Existence to Be Used as his Education

"It is worth while to point out the differing characters of a system and a method, because parents let themselves be run away with often enough by some plausible 'system,' the object of which is to produce development in one direction––of the muscles, of the memory, of the reasoning faculty––were a complete all-round education. This easy satisfaction arises from the sluggishness of human nature, to which any definite scheme is more agreeable than the constant watchfulness, the unforeseen action, called for when the whole of a child's existence is to be used as the means of his education."

Charlotte Mason, Home Education

My Favorite Chair

I can't begin to tell you how very inviting my favorite chair looks to me right now. It's not an expensive chair by any means. I hauled it away from an estate sale after noticing the "FREE! TAKE ME!" sign that was pinned to it.

Of course, I've fantasized about other chairs, even shopped around for a few--maybe a nice leather one that's super pricey because the saleswoman can pour Coke on it and it won't eat away the finish. Or maybe a deep, fluffy oversized chair where two or three of us can sit at one time without fear of dislodging one of the arms. But my free chair is quite comfortable, reclines very nicely, and it's just the right funky color of split-pea-soup yellow that I happen to like. Plus it's all I can afford.

Today was one of those killer homeschool days where I'd rather have curled up in the fetal position in my free pea-soup chair; I hit the ground running at 6:00 AM, and even though my throbbing feet are currently standing still, my mind and my worries and my two-year-old are not.

I really enjoy learning with my children. I'm not lying when I say this. I live for those moments when they say, "Oh! I know what this is about! Remember when we watched A Man for All Seasons? Wasn't it King Henry who wanted to divorce his wife? Wasn't he the one that chopped his wives' heads off?" or "Adding nines is so easy, Mom, if you know the secret," or "MOM! I PEED IN THE POTTY! COME AND SEE! IT'S JUST LIKE ONCE A POTTY POTTY!"

But there are days--like today--when even my best-laid, color coded, color-copied in triplicate plans seem to be nothing but dust on a chalkboard.

Today presented me with:

a sick son, to the tune of, "Mom? What is this green stuff I just coughed up? And why is my right hip tingling?";
a sick husband who I actually asked, "Just tell me; are you honestly sick? I mean really and truly sick?";
about a finity of tomatoes just waiting to be made into pico de gallo;
about a finity of toys waiting to be removed from the floor, the bathtub, the porch and the ceiling;
an empty crock pot waiting for beautiful soup;
a broken crockpot that will never see beautiful soup again;
and another empty crockpot ready to receive about half as much beautiful soup as I'd planned to make.

Today, talented woman that I am, I juggled:

Two Amish Taxi jobs;
an algebra class for my daughter and the panic that ensued on the way there (hers, not mine);
a trip to the Stuff*Mart for the stuff I needed to complete the pico de gallo that was, unbeknownst to me, being eaten incomplete;
a library program before which Monet ripped his pants in a very unfortunate and quite conspicous location while climbing out of the van which is notorious for eating pants;
a trip to the Stuff*Mart to buy a new pair of pants for said embarrassed son;
a quick trip home to see the disaster area that is my kitchen and the imcomplete salsa that decorated the kitchen table;
another trip to Stuff*Mart for the milk I forgot during the first two trips;
and a play audition that ran much later than I had anticipated.

At various points during the day, I lost my temper. I cried. I felt totally and completely abandoned. Those antidepressants were looking mighty tempting, lemme tell you.

But those moments...those precious validating, uplifting, encouraging, miraculous, throw-away-the-prescription-for-antidepressants moments keep me going. Like:

When I take my children for assessments and the assessor is impressed with our organization, our curriculum and the quality of our work;
When I decide to try the copier one more time in hopes that I won't get horrible black streaks across my page, and it actually works;
When my daughter auditions for a play for which she didn't think she had a chance and the director tells her how well she read her lines and asks her what role she'd like to play;
When the kids all tell me that the beef-vegetable soup is awesome--even the baby and the picky eater;
When we sit together after dinner and read A Child's History of the World, even though it's 10:30 P.M.and we're absolutely pooped, just because there was something interesting we wanted to discuss--just because we wanted to do it;
When my son finishes reading a chapter of Heroes, a book about Roman Mythology, and wonders aloud, "How do we know Christianity's legit?" and a frank discussion about religion takes place in the kitchen;
When a friend happens to call just as the other son asks, "What killed the dinosaurs?" and the friend actually has a well thought-out response for him;
When my daughter, who insists she can't read, reads the word "jam," and I ask, "How did you know what that said?" and, before she can catch herself, she answers, "I read it," and when she realizes what she just said, she grins from ear to ear;
When my fourteen-year-old son says, "I thought I'd hate Greek and Latin, but it's actually a lot of fun;"
Or when he tells his private-schooled, homeschool-skeptical friend, "My mom asks us to tell her what we know, doesn't test us to find out what we don't know," in response to his question about mid-terms;
Or, better yet, when he tells me about how his friend who is a girl was giving her mom lip service while he was talking to her on the phone and I said, "If you were a gentleman who was truly concerned with your friend's well-being, you'd have told her to go help her mother and you'd call her back later," and he says, "That's what I did."
When a veteran public school teacher tells me that she's never seen an inadequate homeschooling family, but she's seen plenty of inadequate public school students, including an eighteen-year-old who can't read cursive and a sixteen-year-old who spells worse than a first-grader;
When the girls from the homeschool support group approach my daughter whom they've never met, address her by name and invite her to play Capture the Flag, like civilized human beings, NOT social misfits;
When my daughter puts her arms around me and says, "Thank you for taking us to science class tonight, Mom. It was a lot of fun."

Those things should always be before me. I should always focus on them. I know I won't, because I'm a fallible human being with a vitamin B deficiency, but I should.

I do recognize, however, that while that comfy chair looks really good to run to in solitude, it's so much more comfy when I'm relaxing in it while listening to my daughter play "It's a Pirate's Life for Me" on the piano, watching a son draw the corn snake we found in the front yard, hearing another son read about Perseus, having another daughter proudly show me her thumbprint art, and a baby singing her ABCs followed by every Christmas song ever written, even though it's only September or looking up at me from the breast and saying, "Thank you for nursing."

Now that's a chair. That's a chair worth sitting in. That, my homelearning friends, is the kind of comfy that simply can't be bought.

To the Moon and Part-way Back

: "When I was a child, I memorized that the average (mean) distance to the moon was 238,857 mi. Now it's 238,856 which is probably more accurate. The moon's orbit is elliptical, and the distance varies quite a bit (it varies from 225,745 mi. to 251,967 mi.)."

After thinking about the distance around the earth, my darling husband wondered about the distance to the moon. I, being the sharp cookie that I am, knew where he was going with this one.

Alas, our Jeep has driven to the moon and part-way back!

What is the circumference of the earth?

What is the circumference of the earth?: "The circumference of the earth at the equator is 24,901.55 miles (40,075.16 kilometers)."

My husband had me look up this little factoid. I didn't know why he wanted to know the circumference of the earth until he said, "Wow. Then I've driven my Jeep around the world ten times."

BIL, SIL and the adorable new niece!

The Baby with an armload of chicks.

Papa and The Baby on the porch

The Piano Room: Houdin and The Baby playing a duet. :-)

Drawing from Life: Sweetheart sketching a Monarch caterpillar.

The Build-a-Bear Event

Production of the Latent Good

"If a human being were a machine, education could do more for him than to set him in action in prescribed ways, and the work of the educator would be simply to adopt a good working system or set of systems.
But the educator has to deal with a self-acting, self-developing being, and his business is to guide, and assist in, the production of the latent good in that being, the dissipation of the latent evil, the preparation of the child to take his place in the world at his best, with every capacity for good that is in him developed into a power. "

~Charlotte Mason, Home Education

Still Life of a Homeschooler

I hate insurance

Doesn't it seem ironic that you go to the doctor so you can find out what's wrong with you and feel better, and you walk out even more confused and feel so much worse?

I was prepared. I really was. I'd looked up the doctor's office on the insurance website (I hate insurance) and saw that my favorite doc's office was covered. I was certain of this because each doc in the practice was listed separately along with a notation of whether they were taking new patients.

So I made my call and went through all the repetitive questions they ask when you call the doc's office, including whether this would be self-pay or insurance (I hate insurance). I told them I was insured, and that was the end of that.

I cleared my day; luckily for me, that just meant arranging to have all of my five children occupied and asking my father to be home between 2:00 and 4:00 to do damage control, which is a joke because there's more damage done while he's here than if I'd have left the kids alone with a wild orangutan and a gallon of Hershey's syrup. Still, I think it's wise to have someone here to at least represent an adult, since Bard was off for the weekend with her friend at a campout.

I've only gone to see my favorite doc a few times, and it's always been for my kids. He became my favorite doc when his son and Monet were on the same baseball team. Through talking to his wife, I discovered that she'd used extended breastfeeding with her twins. He became my very favorite doc when he rushed over to check The Baby after she'd been hit by a foul ball and didn't charge us. He didn't even turn it in to our insurance company (I hate insurance).

The down side of seeing this particular doc is that I have to go to his far-away-from-me office because his close-to-me office is too full and they wouldn't possibly be able to take another paying customer there, so I drive to the next town, which cuts down my waiting time, but now that gas prices are so high, the drive costs more than my co-pay (I hate insurance).

But I made the drive, because, frankly, I'm tired of being afraid that I'm going to die in my sleep of a heart attack or that I have some watermelon-sized tumor in my head that prevents me from completing sentences and speaking plain English to my children, who currently look at me as if I'm a wild orangutan when I tell them to take out the trash or pick up their underwear.

I proudly handed the receptionist my insurance card (I hate insurance). She obviously had no idea what an amazing feat it was for me to actually know where it was and be able to present it in one piece. I don't exaggerate at all when I tell you that I have dropped very important documents only to find them later between the black lab's teeth or floating in the toilet. So I was slightly taken aback when she handed me the card without copying it and shook her head.

"We don't take this insurance."

Have you ever wanted to murder someone?

"What does that mean?" Do you see why I'm worried about that watermelon-sized brain tumor?

"We don't take this insurance," she repeated. She didn't even say it more slowly.

I must have looked a bit dumbfounded, though I can't for the life of me imagine why.

"I checked the insurance company's website. Your office is listed there. Actually, each of your doctors is listed there. I'm sure you take this insurance. Can you check again?"

"We don't take that insurance," she repeated. But at least this time she was kind enough to add, "Other people have made that mistake, too."

"No. Nonononono. This is a mistake," I assured her. "Do you have web access? I'll show you where I saw it. I can show you the exact page that lists every single doctor in this office." She shook her head reluctantly.

"Do you have a fax machine? I'll have my husband fax you the page." She looked kind of afraid. I knew I was on the right track.

"Will you step outside with me into the dark alley behind the office?" She agreed to call the insurance liason (I hate insurance).

I sat in the tiny empty waiting room on one of the ten chairs and waited. I hadn't brought a book and there were no magazines with Johnny Depp on the cover, so I just sat there. In a desperate attempt to be proactive, I did call my husband and asked him to fax that page to this insurance-forsaken office.

Turns out that the problem wasn't that my insurance company didn't cover my favorite doctor. The problem was the my insurance company didn't cover the doctor I would be seeing that day--the only doctor in the office, the "new guy." A quick call to my hubby and a determination that I needed this appointment, and I was off to the unpleasantries of getting weighed and sitting in the examining room.

My blood pressure's not low, which is what I suspected, and it's not high. It's completely normal. This is both good news and bad news. It's good news because I don't have to worry about my blood pressure at this stage of my life. It's bad news because now I have no idea what's wrong with me. The doc says it's tension, wants to put me on antidepressants. I'm not thrilled with the potential side-effects, so I haven't yet picked up my prescription. Anyway, I think he's wrong.

So now it's more tests--blood tests, EKGs, CAT scans and all that fun stuff.

But here's the miraculous thing; after waiting in the waiting room for another fifteen minutes so they could get one of the other out-of-office docs to write a prescription for bloodwork, I approached the receptionist to pay my bill. Had my heart had reason to fail, then would have been the time.

It was stamped, "NO CHARGE."

How's that for stress-relief?

So, thank you for all of the prayers and notes of concern. I'm fine, though very curious what could be causing me such discomfort. Time, and a few involuntary blood donations, will tell.

By the way, I just want to mention one little thing. I hate insurance.

Request for prayer

Well, I'm finally doing what I should have done a long time ago.

For about a year, I've been dealing with tightness in the chest, severe headaches, light-headedness when I stand up from a sitting position, irregular heartbeat and slight nausea. I'm sick of it. I had a headache for two days that no medicine would eliminate, so I'm going to the doctor at 2:30. It's the first time I've been to a doc in about ten years.

Prayers for me, please.

A wonderful weekend

I had a wonderful visit with my parents-in-law and sister-in-law this weekend, who brought my BEAUTIFUL six-month-old niece to visit! What a lovely, smiley, pleasant little darling. I know you think I'm only saying that because she's my niece, but you just wait until I can get her picture up here on this blog. You'll most assuredly agree.

The weekend was filled with music, shopping, more music, eating, lots of pictures, staring at the stars, good conversation, learning to do Su Doku, playing with a new language (Kung nung-o wung wung hung-a tung-i mung-e a nung, Sunga Runga?) and more music. I loved listening to the boys play their pianos and Lil Sis sharing what she learned during the short time she took lessons. She really should continue!

On Sunday afternoon, we feasted on an excellent chicken barbecue with Memphis Style sauce along with sour cream biscuits, Tasha Tudor's macaroni and cheese, fresh tomatoes and corn.

And then we went shopping.

My mother-in-law began a tradition of taking each of her grandchildren to choose their own Build-A-Bear. Each of my older childen have one that they made while with their grandmother and each bear contains a coin bearing the year of their grandparent's birth. The "bears" (or turtles or cats) are very special to my kids and they have slowly added to their clothing collections. This weekend was The Baby's turn to choose her own Build-a-Bear. She chose a white kitty with pink ears and great big eyes and has thanked me for her "favorite kitty cat" about a million times.

But my favorite part of the weekend was listening to my husband sing. Have I mentioned that he has a voice that turns my knees to jelly and makes my heart go pitter-pat? This weekend's obsession was getting him to sing Sara Smile, a song he'd done on a friend's karaoke system, making our jaws drop to the floor with his perfect inflections and excellent pitch. He can even hit all those Daryl Hall high notes! (Daryl Hall [photo left], I just learned by visiting their website, has Lyme Disease which cancelled their o-HI-o shows. You can read about it on their blog.)

I'm so blessed to have a husband who is so very talented and a family who is willing to cross the miles to visit us.

Now, it's back to lessons. :-)

Expend Healthily That Energy

"To enable them to swim with the stream is the least of the benefits this early training should confer on the children; a love of Nature, implanted so early that it will seem to them hereafter to have been born inthem, will enrich their lives with pure interests, absorbing pursuits, health and good humour. 'I have seen,' says the same writer, 'the young man of firece passion and uncontrollable daring expend healthily that energy which threatened daily to plunge him into recklessness, if not into sin, upon hunting out and collecting, through rock and bog, snow and tempest, every bird and egg of the neighboring forest...I have seen the London beauty, amid all the excitement and tempation of luxury and flattery, with her heart pure, and her mind occupied in a boudoir full of shells and fossils, flowers and seaweeds, keeping herself unspotted from the world, by considering the lillies of the field, how they grow.'"

~Charlotte Mason, Home Education

I have a son with that fierce passion and uncontrollable daring. Through the summer, we dubbed him "King of the Log Roll," as he found his niche at the water hole atop the spinning cylinder in the middle of the lake. That's him in the photo above--the one in the orange shorts.

Sometimes, when I see him go after something so strongly, my fears almost simultaneously increase and dissipate. Increase, because I fear that this passion will find its way toward something unhealthy, something that threatens daily to plunge him into recklessness--yes, even sin. There is so much around us in our culture that pulls at boys, fights for their hearts and attempts to strip them of their joy and tenderness, preys on their curiosity and desire.

And then, pressing its way to the forefront comes hope to overcome my fears, reminding me that I am the director of my son's education, that I am here to guide him towards healthy pursuits. I can see when the monsters of destructiveness rise up to swallow him and I can steer him away. The pressure is great to yield to endless hours of zombie-like video game comas and mind-numbing television programming. Programming! I don't know about you, but I'm not interested in allowing someone to program my child!

So I make it a point to offer that which is wholesome. It's not easy. It's rarely ever easy. But I believe it's a race worth running, and there are moments when the reward is in sight.

As I type this, fourteen-year-old Houdin is playing the piano with fierce passion, inventing for himself new sounds and chord combinations, new rhythms and feelings. When he is plugged into things like this--a piano that comes alive at the command of his mind and fingers, and a spinning cylinder that is tamed beneath his moving feet, I see him thrive. On the keys of the piano, he explores and discovers; on the log roll, he runs backwards, juggles, laughs and absorbs the sun until his back is as brown as a biscuit. His moodiness disappears. He is filled with purpose. He feels accomplishment. There is no electronic replacement for that.

I think it's so important to give our boys opportunities to succeed, feats that they can accomplish that help them feel good about themselves. Let him work with wood and power tools, give him a unicycle or a pogo stick, provide him with the opportunity to apprentice with a craftsman, allow him to explore the workings of an ant hill or the power of a living stream. Give him real books, exciting books with beautiful words, whether you read to him or give him a quiet, sunny corner where he can read independently.

And then, stand back, and watch him light up, expending healthily that energy that will not be allowed to plunge him into recklessness.

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?

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

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

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

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

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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!