Basic Pizza Dough

I'll post a few pizza dough recipes over the next week or so. I thought it would be pretty basic to start with...well, with a basic dough.

The following recipe came from The Pizza Book by Evelyne Slomon. I found this book in the library years ago when I was first learning to make pizza. I liked the many options she had for pizza dough. Apparently the book is now out of print, but there are used copies available on Amazon.

There are three doughs that I use from this book. Here is the first:

Basic Pizza Dough

1 cup warm water (110-115 degrees)
1 package active dry yeast
3-3 1/2 cups all purpose flour (I use Hi-Gluten flour. Gives it a bit more oomph)
1/2 teaspoon salt.

1. Pour the water into a medium-sized mixing bowl and sprinkle in the yeast. Stir gently with a fork until the yeast has dissolved and he liquid turns light beige in color. MY NOTE: I place all of the ingredients in my breadmaker according to the breadmaker directions and set it for "dough." I also use my KitchenAid mixer with a dough hook, putting the hot water in first, then the salt, then the flour, then the yeast on top. Then I continue with the rest of the direstions.

2. Add 1 cup of the flour and the sale. Mix thoroughly with a wooden spoon. Add a second cup of flour and mix well. After the second cup of flour has been mixed in, the dough should start coming away from the sides of the bowl and should begin to for a soft, sticky mass. It is now ready to be kneaded.

3. Measure out the third cup of flour. Sprinkle some over the work surface and flour your hands generously. Remove all of the dough from the bowl and begin to work the mass by kneading the additional flour in a bit at a time.

From here, I assume you know how to knead dough and when to know it's ready for a rise. If you don't, let me know and I'll point you to some directions.

I put my dough in a tupperware-type bowl and either put it in the fridge for a 24-hour rise, or let it rise until doubled. If you put it in the fridge for a slow rise, this is supposed to improve gluten and flavor. Take it out about four hours before you need it and put it in a room-temp location, not too warm.

After that, divide it in half for two small pizzas, or leave it for one large. There's a great instruction video for shaping pizza crust here and a good basic pizza dough recipe with instructions here (thanks, MamaGeph!). It's kind of a by-feel thing. Sometimes I use the rolling pin (a big no-no, huh Michael S. Class? ) and sometimes I use my hands. I just keep messing with it, letting it rest occasionally, until I get the size and shape I want.

Then I put it in or on a pan that's been oiled and dusted with semolina flour. Let it rise for about ten to fifteen minutes before putting the toppings on if you want a nice, thick crust.

Top with stuff, but not too much. This is a more delicate crust than the semolina crust I'll post later. If you want a deep dish pizza, wait for the semolina recipe; it holds up better and doesn't get soggy with lots of toppings.

I bake mine on the bottom rack at around 450 (depends on your oven's temp) for around 18-20 minutes, sometimes putting on the broiler for a few minutes to brown the top very slightly (gotta watch that broiler, though!). I hope to get a pizza stone (which I understand can be as simple as terra cotta tiles from the hardware which you can leave in your oven all the time, even when you're not using them. This tip comes from Alton Brown).

Thanks for all the pizza tips! I can't wait to try them. I wonder how long it will be before my family tires of pizza?

Take the 100 Acre Personality Quiz!

Sweetheart

A few posts ago, my fifteen-year-old daughter Bard suggested that I do specialized posts for each of my kids, and I thought that was a pretty good idea. I did one for The Baby (who is growing out of her name WAY too quickly), and now it's time to do one or Sweetheart.

Sweetheart comes by her blog name honestly; she truly is a sweetheart. Yeah, sure, every kid has their faults, and Sweetheart is no exception, but she means well, and even when she doesn't, she never intends to hurt a soul.

My darling second daughter was quite a surprise to me. I wasn't interested in having another baby for all the wrong reasons--weight, personal freedom, selfishness, fear of being a horrible parent, fear of what others would think about us having ANOTHER baby--so when I found out that I was pregnant with Sweetheart, I was devastated. While I'm always open to new life and am pro-life across the board, I felt that I was somehow being challenged, tested, or, maybe, even punished. I'd had a very difficult pregnancy with my third child, Monet, and the labor was emotionally exhausting. I wasn't ready to face any of those issues again, and I wasn't ready to hit the reset button on the baby game.

But there I was, pregnant and pouty, horribly afraid I'd have another boy (because I wasn't doing very well raising boys) and feeling fairly well isolated from--well, from just about everyone.

But when Sweetheart was born--oh, my. She wedged her sweet little self right into my heart, even from the first look at her tiny face, when I knew she was a girl before I had looked at the other end. It was those rosebud lips, I said. I knew she was a girl from those gorgeous rosebud lips!

Sweetheart loves to dance. As a toddler, she could regularly be seen dancing with her older brother, Houdin, twirling around with a binky in her mouth and a kitten in her arms. She constantly insisted on showing me her dance moves, and I would watch as she'd dip and sway and wiggle and hop.

But one morning, Sweetheart didn't feel like dancing. She was complaining of pain in her knee, so I rolled up her little leggings and looked. It was swollen to twice its normal size, and she couldn't bend or extend her leg without great pain. I immediately thought it was a bite of some kind, a spider or something, since we'd recently been spending most of our time living in a cabin in the woods. But after a couple of days, the swelling increased and the pain sharpened to the point that we were carrying her around whereever she needed to go.

So, off to the doctor we went, who referred us to a bone specialist, who agreed to draw fluid from her leg right there in his office instead of having her x-rayed and anesthetized. While Sweetheart wailed, this saint of a doc drew a huge vial of clear liquid from her knee and blood from her little two-year-old arms, and then she and I were left alone while he went off to finish his paperwork. Upon his return, he told me that he didn't think it was cancer, found no evidence of tumors, and as referring me to a specialist; he believed that Sweetheart had JRA, Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis.

On Sweetheart's third birthday, she was indeed diagnosed with JRA. I was so afraid, so confused, and feeling very pressured by the JRA specialist to do many things that I felt were invasive and possibly damaging: steroid injections, a battery of low-dose chemotherapy drugs, and a full course of immunizations (which he insisted upon before he would further treat her, knowing that I vaccinate only for tetanus; turned out he was the head of infectious diseases in his hospital). We opted for physical, dietary and natural treatments. And a lot of prayer.

During that time, our family was attending a Bible Study group where we regularly prayed for one another. We shared with this group our struggles with Sweetheart and her health, telling them how this disease, especially her particular type, could leave her with damaged vision, further joint issues, and even blindness. The part that bothered me the most, I said, was watching her walk, each step painful and burning, especially in the morning or when she had been too inactive. And I shared how difficult it was for me to hear the song "I Hope You Dance," which was very popular during that time. These people, whose names I would be hard-pressed to remember now, gathered around us in prayer, and while I have to admit that I'm not a person who has ever fully believed in miraculous healing, I believed with all my heart that Sweetheart could be healed, that she had been healed, that I could extend a hope for her to dance.

That weekend, the swelling in her knee went down, and her physical therapy teacher tranferred to a different location, leaving us with the decision to either use a different therapist or continue our therapy at home. We decided to choose the home option. We bought her a tricycle and gave her regular warm baths, followed by a routine of "bend and stretch" exercises that everyone in the family helped her perform.

And before the week was out, her little legs were carrying her around again, twirling and dancing and leaping, albeit still slightly painfully.

She rarely has a problem now. Occasionally, she'll awaken with a stiff knee, but only in that one joint, and never so that it's debilatating.

And she still carries kittens around in her arms, and she still has beautiful rosebud lips and, thank God and all that is Good and Right, she still spins around with her older brother, insisting that I watch all of her dance moves.

I'm so very blessed, and I'm thankful that God is so patient with ignorant, selfish, impatient me. I can't imagine my life without Sweetheart. I can't believe I ever existed without her. My life is so much richer watching her marvel over butterflies and caterpillars, cutting flowers from our butterfly garden, cuddling the kittens, singing while she tidies up, dressing in as many outfits as she can in one day, having tea parties, pretending she's a princess, singing and dancing with The Baby, and, as of two weeks ago, learning to play piano. She loves the color pink, wants to grow her hair really long, insists on wearing dresses every day, adores jewelry, would own all of the Barbies in the world (if her mother would buy them), gathers leaves and writes her name on them with permanent marker, loves to draw and paint and work with clay, and works very hard on her lessons every day. She's learning to read and write and rarely complains about getting her jobs done. Her big brother Monet is her best pal, and she carries her special bear with her just about everywhere she goes. She loves to pick tomatoes from the garden and spoils the bunnies by feeding them carrots every day.

To think I didn't want another baby. Harumph. What was I thinking?

But I know better now.

Everyone should have a Sweetheart in their life.

Scenes of Bounty

It seems to me that there's an interesting phenomenon about blogging and, indeed, journaling in general. It's akin to the infernal grocery list; we tend to leave out the things that are the most obvious. How many times have you made your grocery list, checked it twice, walked dazedly around the pretty, brightly lit grocery store, beautiful music lulling you into peaceful aquistition of consumable goods, and just as you find yourself smiling broadly at the cashier as she tells you to have a nice day, you remember. You remember that one thing that was crucial for your comfort of life, the thing that sent you shopping in the first place. The thing that you thought was so obvious, you didn't even bother to write it on your list. And, somehow, standing there at the checkout, you determine that it's easier to just come back later than to push your cart aside, walk to the back of the store and pick up that one last completely necessary thing.

I find that I'm kinda like that with my blogging and journaling, too. Surely, I'll remember the hilarious quip Monet threw out, and I'll definitely recall the details of my mother-in-law and her aunt's visit to our house, and I'm sure nothing could make me forget all the things we learned and did and created and said and bought and planted and harvested and fought over and cried over, so, at the end of the day, when I'm sitting in front of the brightly lit screen, beautiful words lulling me into clicking on another link and another and another, my mind draws a blank. I don't write about that visit, or that cute little quip. It seems easier just to do it later, like tomorrow. But, unlike the package of toilet paper that I really should have taken the time to walk to the back of the store to lug home, there really isn't any reminder of those great moments that I miss, no great motivator that makes me sit down and write.

So, in times of bounty, I seem to slack off on my writing and journaling, when I really just need to discipline myself to get it done. I'm always so thankful when I do.

For the past couple of weeks, the bounty has been great. We've been busy with excellent classes, in spite of a very nasty cough that has been holding on for weeks. Last night, we attended the Bohemian Art Club, an informal gathering of friends in different homes where all ages share with each other the creative things they've been doing. I read a piece I wrote about saving Japanese bantams from hypothermia. I'd read it earlier in the day when Bard and I had attended a wonderful writers' retreat at the home of a local poetess.

The visit from my mother-in-law and her aunt, who is my children's great, great aunt, was a wonderful opportunity to extend hospitality. We all pitched in to clean the house and create a charming guest room out of Sweetheart's bedroom. Thanks to the inspiration from A Circle of Quiet, I had some good food in the freezer and was able to make a couple of chicken pot pies for dinner and serve pumpkin roll for breakfast. Sweetheart had a wonderful time cutting fresh flowers from our butterfly garden to make bouquets for the guest room. You can see both the guest room and the bouquets in the collage above, as well as pictures from our trip to the local apple orchard where I buy our yummy apple cider that I freeze for the winter.

We attended Chili Hill for the third year. Chili Hill is held at the home of some good friends of ours who, every year in October, mix up a huge batch of chili in a big cast-iron kettle, and cook it over an open fire, serving it to friends and family from all over the place. This year, we got there in time to enjoy lots of delicious foods (provided by guests--I took Killer Brownies this year) and a nice, long hayride. While I was there, I bought three rabbits from Chili Hill host, Sara--two mini-lops and a brown mini-rex--to go with the rabbits we already have. I use their manure on my gardens, since it's not a hot manure and can be placed directly into the garden. I hope to breed them so that we can have some baby bunnies for a little while and to make a few extra dollars, which I hope to put into a fund to purchase a pair of dogs to breed and family-raise the puppies to fund the kids' future choir trips. We haven't decided on a specific breed yet, so I'm open to suggestions.

See, it's slipping away already. I know there are more things I should write about. I pulled out my Morning Pages journal yesterday and hope to start writing in it again on a daily basis. I can't remember why I stopped, but I did, and it's been too long.

Time slips away so quickly, and next thing you know, you're checking out...and, as my favorite musician, David Wilcox says, "I mean, you're checking out," and you forget what you came in for in the first place, leaving without the most important thing, the thing you knew you needed but didn't bother to write down.

I NEED to bother to write it down. I don't want to forget this bounty. 

When the Moon Hits Your Eye...

I've been on a pizza kick.

A few years ago, I got on the same kick. I do these things, find something I want to do and immerse myself until I feel I've mastered it to my satisfaction. At some point, and I don't remember the inspiration, I decided that I wanted to make my own pizza, and I wanted it to be just like Pizza Hut's pizza. I researched at the library and on the internet for a copy-cat crust recipe, but never did find one. In my search, however, I came up with a few keepers. My magnum opus was a deep-dish pizza that my husband's co-workers still discuss to this day.

And then something happened. I can't remember what, but the storm blew over as quickly as it came. Likely, something more fresh and challenging crossed my path, like cheesecake, or knitting, or braided rugs (none of which I've mastered to my satisfaction, but all of which I've gotten about knee-deep and am still slogging through). And I set pizza aside.

Well, now that I have a wonderfully appointed kitchen suitable for cooking and baking, with adequate counter space and three sinks, and now that I've been Freecycled a breadmaker that saves my arthritic hands from cramping up after two and a third minutes of kneading, I'm on that pizza kick again.

Every weekend, I make several balls of dough, harvest several sprigs of basil and a few tomatoes, and pull out the plethora of toppings that sound fitting for the evening. So far, the pizzas have been a huge hit. I've made semolina crust, regular crust, and, tonight, I'm venturing into new territory, pepper-lard crust, made with naturally rendered pork lard (mmmm...doesn't that sound healthy?). Lucky for me I live in a community that still bakes. There's no shortage of flour choices: semolina, hi-gluten, pastry, unbleached/nonbromated, white whole wheat, bread flour, cake flour, buckwheat flour--you name it, I can probably find it within ten minutes of my house.

So, if you unique pizza recipe you'd like to share that works for you, I'm interested. You have my attention.

And if this pepper-lard dough works out, I'll publish the results along with a recipe, if you want.

In the meantime, tell me:

what's your favorite pizza place?

What do you like on your pizza?

What's the worst pizza you've ever eaten?

What's the best memory you have that's triggered by pizza?

And now, I'm off to throw some dough.

A Child's Geography

A Child's Geography

From the website: "An original work in the lively style of Hillyer, these online installments of "A Child's Geography" will take you and your fledgling geographers on adventures through our Father's world that you will never forget! With Charlotte Mason-type narration prompts throughout the text, and notebooking suggestions at end of each "journey", you and your children will soon be singing exuberant praises to Him for the glorious creation of our home--Earth!"

I found this site while visiting one of my favorite blogs, A Quiet Life and I thought I'd share it with you.

This year, we've been using Ambleside Online as our primary curriculum after years of trying different things and mostly unschooling or learning based on interest. I've really enjoyed Ambleside and plan to continue using it for the remainder of our homeschooling journey. I know it works because Houdin, who is prone to resist structure and assignments, shared with me that he doesn't mind that I assign so much reading to him; in fact, he says, he enjoys it and thinks he will much smarter at the end of the C.M. year. I agree.

One of our favorite books, the one that the boys pick up first when choosing the day's first independent reading book, is A Child's History of the World by Virgil Hillyer, Calvert's first headmaster. The book is written much in the style of A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh books, conversational and personal. Ten-year-old Monet today declared A Child's History his favorite book.

I'm excited to find A Child's Geography because the author, Ann Voskamp, approaches geography in much the same way Hillyer approaches history, with a conversational and personal tone. Her writing voice is filled with excitement and fosters a natural interest in the subject.

Voskamp currently offers the e-book for $10.00 with all profits going to WorldVision. For a sneak peak, Voskamp provides a link to a 35-page sample of the e-book that you can download and peruse for free.

Hooray for go-getters like Ann Voskamp and Michael Class, people who are dedicated to providing today's children with excellent, high-quality reading materials.

Being Arbitrary

"On the way from Chicago to Edmonton, I boarded the plane with my slightly oversized roller-board suitcase, and asked the man at the ramp whether I should gate-check it, or if it would fit in the overhead compartment. He told me to give it a try in the overhead bin, and if it didn’t fit then I could bring it back to him.

So, I wheeled it inside, and began to lift it above my head, when the passenger behind me barked “Nope”. I looked at him and said “I’m
sorry?” and he said, “It won’t fit.” I said, “Oh, I think it might.” “No, it won’t.” “Well, just let me try at least” and he said, “I’ve never seen a bag like that fit up there.” “You mean like that one?” I said, pointing at a similar bag already in the compartment just behind him. As he looked back to see what I was talking about, I easily slid my suitcase into the overhead bin above my seat, and as it clicked shut, I said, “yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Exasperated, he sputtered, “I was just trying to help!” And I said, “No you weren’t! How is saying “no” trying to help? I asked you to let me try and you said “No!”” He told me that I shouldn’t be so snotty and sat down."

Steve, from the Barenaked Ladies blog

One of the things that we constantly attempt to remind ourselves in this home is the importance of thinking a thing through before speaking it. As a parent, it's sometimes--okay, it's often-- tempting to pull a Nancy and just say "no." The thing is, no isn't always the easiest answer. And it's definitely not always the right answer.

How many times have I said no just because I'm tired, grumpy, or, I'll admit, too lazy to say yes? Saying yes might take commitment on my part. It might actually mean that I have to get up off my butt and do something. Or it might mean I have to think a bit.

Saying "no" might end up being more work. Kids know when you're being arbitrary, there's no doubt about it, and they do their best to poke holes in your reasoning. Thinking it through first is a definite plus. As a parent, you're much less likely to waffle on your original decision if you know why you're answering the way you are.

I'm not saying that "yes" is always the right answer, either. There are times when we must recognize that we're too overwhelmed to add even one more thing to our plates, that our schedules are about to explode and that the calendar looks like a page from Leonardo Da Vinci's journal, frantically written, filled to the margins and practically impossible to read. We say, "yes, you can go to your friend's house," before we think about the cost or the inconvenience of the obligation because we feel guilty for not reading a bedtime story last night, or because we just heard a glowing review of Johnny's mother and we feel we're slipping on the parent poll. We say "yes" to the homeschool organization president because...well, because she intimidates the heck out of us and we're afraid we'll be blacklisted from future field trips, even though saying "yes" puts a very big burden on us--and on our families.

So the word in our house is, "Don't be arbitrary."

Arbitrary. Resulting from whim or caprice instead of from a rule or reason. Random , haphazard , absolute , overbearing.

How many things do we miss because we're being arbitrary? How many things do we do that don't involve our hearts? We arbitrarily say, "no" when the kids ask if they can make cookies for tea. We arbitrarily say, "yes," when the pastor's wife calls and asks us to provide the cookies for Wednesday night's ladies' fellowship. We arbitrarily say "no" when our kids ask if they can roll out the cookie dough or use the cookie cutters or have a piece of dough of their own. Our answers come randomly, haphazardly, absolutely, completely capricious and totally on a whim.

Today, I hope to live with purpose, not to be arbitrary.

Read an extra chapter.

Tell the president of the blah-blah group no.

Turn off the computer.

Make a homemade pizza.

Order the rubber chicken.

Let the dust settle.

Be open to possibilities.

Say yes when I mean yes.

Say no when I mean no.

Now, if you'll excuse me, my son has a rube goldberg invention he wants to make involving paper towel tubes, a Van DeGraff generator and a radio.

I have to think about this one.

"And don't say anything you don't mean. This counsel is embedded deep in our traditions. You only make things worse when you lay down a smoke screen of pious talk, saying, "I'll pray for you,' and never doing it, or saying, "God be with you,' and not meaning it. You don't make your words true by embellishing them with religious lace. In making your speech sound more religious, it becomes less true. Just say "yes' and "no.' When you manipulate words to get your own way, you go wrong."

Seven Things

You were wrong, Michael. I do read you. ;-)

7 Songs I am digging at the moment:

- Sara Smile by Hall & Oates
- Skinnamarinky-dinky-dink.
- Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
- Jingle Bells
- Frosty the Snowman.
- Santa Claus is coming to Town
- Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
*These are all songs that are being sung in our house almost daily. The Christmas songs are thanks to The Baby.


7 things I plan to do before I die:

- Have grandchildren
- Travel to Europe
- Graduate all of my children and see them doing what they love.
- Spend some time being a "real" writer.
- Go downhill skiing again without being afraid.
- Build a log cabin.
- Convince my husband of his true worth.


7 things I can do:

- Knit
- Bake decent bread
- Touch my nose with my tongue
- Recite all of the states in alphabetical order
- Multitask
- Have real conversations with my kids
- Run a household

7 things I cannot do:

- Play guitar
- Lift heavy objects (thank God for strong husbands and sons)
- Please everyone
- Sing like Celine
- Sleep (right now, anyway)
- Pay all my bills
- Hug my parents

7 things that attract me to another person:

- A sense of humor
- Honesty
- Compassion
- A very nice smile
- An honest, sincere love of God
- Wisdom
- Understanding

7 things I say most often:

- "If you want a calm, peaceful mother, you need to be a calm, peaceful child."
- "Your face!"
- "What on earth...?"
- "Are your lessons done?"
- "No," or "Not right now."
- "It'll be ready when it's ready."
- "I love you."


7 Celebrity crushes:

I don't really have any celebrity crushes and can't name more than ten celebrities without serious thought.


I'm not going to tag anyone. I just had to prove Michael wrong. ;-)

Gimmee, gimmee, gimmee

I have needs, too, y'know.

Michael over at Blogin' Idiot did this fun little thing, so I thought I'd do it, too. Since we're rather sick at our house, my actual thinking is down to a minimum, so all I can do is mourn the "real" posts I should be writing. Alas.

Still, this one was funny, and amazingly accurate.

What you do is, start a new Google search and enter "(your name) needs" minus the parentheses, but WITH the quotation marks. Then write down either the first five results or the five funniest, whatever you want. I searched with my real name, but I'm using my pen name in this entry.

1. T.D. needs a big fat raise.
2. T.D. needs to define herself.
3. T.D. needs to stop lying to herself about her feelings and make up her mind.
4. T.D. needs to give us the recipe for that cake.
5. T.D. needs to go home.
6. T.D. needs prayers.
7. T.D. needs to be changed.
8. T.D. needs support, too!
9. T.D. needs to stop thinking she's the one with the problem.
10. T.D. needs to work on saying she's sorry.

You're a Dialogue/Character Writer!


What kind of writer are you?
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Fives (and then some)

I'm finally getting around to answering this tag. Sorry it took me so long, Billi-Jean!

First the rules:

Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place; add your blog's name in the #5 spot; link to each of the other blogs for the desired cross pollination effect.

1. Writing from the hip: http://writingfromthehip.blogspot.com
2. Blue Stocking: http://bluestocking.typepad.com
3. Simply Coll: http://colleenscorner.com/blog
4. My Boutiful Life: http://billi-jean.com/thebounty.html
5. Today's Lessons: http:todayslessons.blogspot.com

Next: select four new friends to add to the pollen count. (No one is obligated to participate and anyone can play if they want to).

1. Hindsfeet: http://hindsfeet.blogspot.com
2. Impromptu Mom: http://happyhousewife.blogspot.com
3. Pensive Wanderer: http://stationsoflife.blogspot.com
4. Peaceful Lady: http://www.xanga.com/PeacefulLady
(and I'm adding a fifth and sixth, just for fun)
5. Prism: http://thethoughttrain.blogspot.com
6: Bard: http://barmyblogger.blogspot.com

What were you doing 10 years ago?
1995
I was 26.
I had three children: four-year-old Houdin and five-year-old Bard, plus four-month-old Monet. We had one dog, Indiana, and we were living in a very small house wishing for a big house in the country. I had just had my first homebirth with Monet and was thinking about attending births, which I began doing around that time, or maybe shortly after. I think I was working with a homebirth task force, too.

What were you doing 5 years ago?
2000
I was 31. We'd added Sweetheart to the family, my second homebirth, and she was about eighteen months old.
We were doing a lot of biking, hiking, camping and traveling.
I was thankful that Y2K didn't bring an antrax attack and that we were still all alive and all together. After spending some time at a friend's cabin in January and February, I had been dreaming and planning for my own cabin and my own home.
By May of that year, we had found a piece of property that we loved and made an offer on it.
By August of that year, we had purchased the property that we now live on and were living part-time in a small cabin, loving the simple life that it provided.

What were you doing one year ago?
2004
One year ago, we were making some finishing touches on the house we'd begun building and had finished, mostly, in July. I was also trying to get our homeschool lives organized, evaluating my kids, dreaming about a yard and gardens, planning and executing a family gathering, Freecycling, thinking about the upcoming elections, meeting Jane Goodall, attending the chili cook on Chili Hill, having a big disagreement with a good friend, attending an art class organized by Pensive Wanderer, watching a lunar eclipse, and blogging as often as I could.

What were you doing yesterday?
Being sick, running the kids around to Speech and Debate, Biology and Philosophy classes. I shopped a bit at the bulk food store--bought semolina flour for pizza crusts, made bread, cleaned the kitchen (including scrubbing the stove, which really needed done). I also cleaned a lot in anticipation of my brother-in-law and sister-in-law's visit, which was thwarted because of our coughs. So we ordered pizza and watched Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

5 snacks you enjoy
- popcorn
- breyers vanilla ice cream with hershey's syrup and roasted almonds
- roasted, unsalted almonds with coke or dr. pepper
- homemade french fries
- Grandma Shearer's Select potato chips or Gold'n Krisp chips with Yoder's Sour Cream French Onion Dip
- (one more) White Trash.

5 songs you know all the words to
- One Tin Soldier - I know this one, too, Billi-Jean!!
- You Are My Sunshine
- Boy Like Me, Man Like You, but Rich Mullins
- Star Spangled Banner
- WAYYYY too many pop songs, but not as many as I thought I knew, which I realized while doing karaoke.

5 things you would do if you had a million dollars
- pay off debt
- buy more land
- lots to charity/friends
- bunch in savings
- travel

5 things you like doing
- cooking
- reading
- visiting
- gardening
- blogging
- learning
- researching

5 bad habits
- Being nitpicky/over-critical.
- Not exercising
- Being impatient
- Biting nails
- Losing my temper over little things

5 things you would never wear again
- bikini. Wore one once, and it scared me to death. Now I would never wear one, but for completely different reasons.
- stirrup pants.
- legwarmers
- blue eyeshadow (never did, never will)
- "Jams." Remember those?

5 favorite toys
- computer/blogger/google
- breadmaker, kitchen aid mixer, cuisinart food processor
- camera/picasa
- printer/copier
- husband

Firsts and Lasts

Firsts Meme, idea courtesy of TulipGirl.

First Memory
I remember standing at a screen door crying for someone who was driving away in a car. I also remember seeing the circus peanuts up in a high cupboard, and then climbing up to get them. I don't remember the burns I sustained from the stove that was on beneath the cupboard with the circus peanuts, but I do remember the children's hospital walls, which were painted, ironically, with the Peanuts Gang characters. I also remember my dad holding me on the counter after he accidentally got my ankle caught in the spoke of his bicycle while riding me on the handlebars.

First Kiss
February 1982, my would-be hubby.

First Concert
Journey, with Bryan Adams and Sammy Hagar when I was in eighth grade. My parents took my friend and I, and they waited outside the arena until the show was over.

First Love
My parents.

First thing you think in the morning
"What time is it? And is anyone hurt?" Don't know where this comes from, but I always have a feeling of dread when I awake, like something tragic happened while I was asleep. ::shrug::

First book you remember loving
The Black Stallion and the sequels.

First pet
Can't recall for sure. We had two dogs when I was a child, but they weren't really my pets and they weren't really family dogs. I had a hamster, a hermit crab and a cat, and then later a dog.

First place you think of when you hear the word vacation
Macinac Island, Michigan, where I met Christopher Reeve.

First best friend
Dawn Sanderson, followed closely by Ronda King.

Last time you dressed up
It's been a while. Can't even remember.

Last thing you ate
A brownie with Breyers vanilla ice cream, Hershey syrup and roasted almonds.

Last CD bought
No idea. We subscribe to Rhapsody, so I rarely buy CDs.

Last time you cried
I don't remember.

Last time you told someone you loved them
Lots of times today. Kids, husband.

Last really fun thing you did
Canoeing a couple of weeks ago. Contra-dancing with hubby and kids. Karaoke with Houdin's friend-who-is-a-girl and her family last weekend.

Last thing you watched on TV
The Cosby Show on DVD tonight.

Last Halloween Costume
I was an Indian. Hubby was a pirate. Last year.

Last concert attended
Kids' choir concert, most likely. Before that, probably David Wilcox. Can't recall for sure.

Memories of Post-Nasal Drip

I remember sixth grade. Lord almighty, that was a horrible year. It was that awkward transition between girlhood and womanhood, when girls become catty and boys are just starting to notice which girls are worth looking at.

But the worst part, I think, was that my mom was the playground aid, and she was in pretty tight with my sixth grade teacher who ignorantly believed that my mother was a saint, which also meant that she believed all of the horrible stories my mother told her about me. Even though half of them were probably true, it didn't make it any easier being her student. She was the teacher who constantly told me how lucky I was to have a mom like mine (though she wasn't there when my mom threatened suicide or when she beat me senseless), that my mom was an amazing woman (though she wasn't there when my mother overdosed and I had to spend the night in the emergency room scared to death that she would die and that it was my fault), and that, if I knew what was good for me, I'd thank God for my mom (because I'm sure she was there when my mom told everyone in the smoky teacher's lounge what a horrible spoiled brat I was, when what she really meant was that she hated my dad and felt stuck in a no-win situation. I was the scapegoat).

Mrs. Dietz was the teacher who yanked me into the hallway after Mark Williams broke my scissors. She told me that I needed to step back and look at my life, that my problems were my fault and that the more quickly I realized that, the more quickly things would become easier for me. And then she issued me the only swat I ever got in school, but not until she summoned Miss Jones, the sterotypically masculine gym teacher, to do the dirty work, and then she went down the hall and closed each of the other classroom doors.

SA-WACK!

It was absolutely humiliating.

I'm thinking about that swat and about Mrs. Dietz today because of this terrible cough I'm battling.

For some inexplicable reason (coulda been my mother's chain-smoking, but who knows?), I used to get a hacking cough every school year--the kind of cough caused by sinus drainage, the kind that always became far worse at night. This, I remember, was one time when my mother was very mothering; she would mix a batch of lemon juice and honey and have me drink it down. It always worked, and I believe in it to this day. That's one of the strange things about having a mom who was diagnosed with manic depression; the memories about her are both fond and fierce, and I remember the good and the bad with equal vividness.

But while Mrs. Dietz wasn't around to witness my mother's Mr. Hyde side, neither was my mother in my classroom to administer her magic potion when my tickle got the worst of me. She sent me to school, doubtless because she didn't want to call off work, and I sat in my classroom asking to get a drink every few minutes, embarrassed by this cough that had taken over my body. My mom, I'm sure, was outside aiding other kids on the playground.

I don't remember what I had done wrong in class that day, but I do remember that I got into trouble with Mrs. Dietz somehow. Looking back on it now, I really wonder what this woman had against me, what horrible stories my mother told her, and how many of them were even true. In most of my classes prior to and after my sixth grade year, I was most often the teacher's pet. I made good grades (until seventh grade, then it all seemed pointless. I got back on track during my Junior year), paid attention, and I really didn't cause trouble, other than by the occasional fit of chattiness (who, me?).

But in Mrs. Dietz's class, all I had to do was clear my throat, and she was on me like chalk on a chalkboard.

So, apparently I cleared my throat on the day this killer sinus-drainage cough attacked, and I was stuck in the corner desk, ordered to put my head down and was told that I was not allowed to leave my seat for any reason, and I was not to raise my head.

Humiliation.

I sat at the desk with my head down, knowing that all eyes were upon me--the eyes of my best friend Dawn, and of the cool girls, Michelle and Tina, and of Mark Williams, who I loved and hated at the same time. And I tried, desperately I tried, to control that tickling cough that had taken me hostage.

Of course it didn't work. The harder I tried to keep from coughing, to fight that tickle, the more violently the cough came once it finally triumphed. And the fact that I had to sit there with my head down was sheer torture. The position allowed my nasal drip to travel down my nose, exit my nostrils, and slide to the tip of my nose until-drip, drip, drip--it was gathering in a pool on my desktop. I was scared to death to ask for a tissue, and I was embarrassed to tears to wipe the snot away with my arm; even if I had, the sheer volume of snot would never have been controlled by a little backhand wipe. And so I sat there, terrified that Mrs. Dietz would send me back to my seat, the string of mucus conspicuously connecting the tip of my nose to that disgusting puddle on my desk, and wishing desperately that some mercy would befall me.

Like most of my childhood traumatic memories, this one doesn't provide an ending for me. I don't remember how I got out of that situation, so it was either so uneventful that it doesn't register or it was so painful that I've blocked it from memory.

I just remember that terrible tickle and that incessant drip...drip...drip.

My family is currently dealing with that tickle and drip. My husband, the only one in the household currently unafflicted, says that our house sounds like one long echoing cough all night long. I've doled out the lemon juice and honey, the herbal cough syrup, the homeopathics and the eucalyptus chest rub. I've even gotten so desperate as to break out the Nyquil...AND give more than the recommended dosage when the recommended dosage didn't cut it.

We missed a long-anticipated visit from my brother-in-law and his wife and new baby daughter because of this cough, and we forfeited both of our homeschool support group meetings, piano lessons (would have been Sweetheart's first lesson), music appreciation class and bucket-making class. We also skipped a trip to the local festival's wooly-worm race and the old time fiddlin' today. We may have to forgo tomorrow's long-anticipated barn dance and Sunday's Harvest Dance, the first our "big town" has ever had.

But at least my kids don't have to sit in a tyrant's classroom while their noses drip onto a germ-infested wooden desk in the corner of the room. That's one of the great things about being a stay-at-home mom--I get to stay at home, especially when I'm needed. Plus, we cut out schooling for the week--that's one of the great things about homeschooling--and my kids still did some of their lessons, even though I told them they didn't have to. We've been cuddling up on the couch, watching Cosby Show DVDs and living on fresh bread, Ramen noodles and Nyquil.
It stinks to be sick, but at least we're all in this together, in the relative comfort of our own home.

A word of advice: start the elderberry/echinacea NOW. This thing's nasty as all get-out.

I'm off to dole out the Nyquil. I might have to go to the fruit cellar and open a new case.

Current Reading List

A Circle of Quiet asked for current reading lists. I tried to post this before but was thwarted by the evil BloggerBot.

Here are the books on our current reading list; this is a list of all the books being read by everyone. I didn't note who was reading what because several are being read by many of us:

1-2-3 magic /
by Phelan, Thomas W., 1943-

The amazing Mr. Franklin, or, The boy who read everything /
by Ashby, Ruth

American tall tales.
by Stoutenburg, Adrien

Applying algebra /
by McCabe, John L. P.

At the back of the North Wind;
by MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

B. Franklin, printer /
by Adler, David A.

Bard of Avon : the story of William Shakespeare /
by Stanley, Diane.

Beethoven : 1770-1827 /
by Koolbergen, Jeroen

Benjamin Franklin : a photo-biography /
by Riley, John, 1955-

Benjamin Franklin : a photo-illustrated biography /
by Usel, T. M.

Benjamin Franklin : writer, inventor, statesman /
by Nettleton, Pamela Hill

Benjamin Franklin, founding father and inventor /
by Foster, Leila Merrell

A child's history of the world,
by Hillyer, V. M. (Virgil Mores), 1875-1931.

Ferdinand Magellan /
by Hurwicz, Claude

Fizz, bubble & flash! : element explorations and atom adventures for hands-on science fun! /
by Brandolini, Anita J., 1956-

Formation of character /
by Mason, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Maria), 1842-1923

Galileo : astronomer and physicist /
by Doak, Robin S. (Robin Santos), 1963-

Galileo : on the shoulders of giants /
by Moriarty, Michael, 1941-

Galileo for kids : his life and ideas /
by Panchyk, Richard

Galileo Galilei : father of modern science /
by Hilliam, Rachel.

Galileo Galilei and the science of motion /
by Boerst, William J.

Handbook of nature-study.
by Comstock, Anna Botsford, 1854-1930.

The heroes.
by Kingsley, Charles, 1819-1875

Home education /
by Mason, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Maria), 1842-1923

How to read a book,
by Adler, Mortimer Jerome, 1902-

The Italian Renaissance.
by Marshall Cavendish Corporation

Leonardo da Vinci /
by Witteman, Barbara

Leonardo, beautiful dreamer /
by Byrd, Robert

Ludwig van Beethoven : musical pioneer /
by Greene, Carol.

Men of iron /
by Pyle, Howard, 1853-1911

Minn of the Mississippi,
by Holling, Holling Clancy.

The ordinary parent's guide to teaching reading /
by Wise, Jessie

Ourselves /
by Mason, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Maria), 1842-1923

Parents and children /
by Mason, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Maria), 1842-1923

A philosophy of education /
by Mason, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Maria), 1842-1923

Phonics pathways : clear steps to easy reading and perfect spelling /
by Hiskes, Dolores G.

The Pilgrim's Progress /
by Bunyan, John, 1628-1688.

The princess and the goblin /
by MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

Sailing alone around the world
by Slocum, Joshua, b. 1844.

School education /
by Mason, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Maria), 1842-1923

Science lab in a supermarket /
by Friedhoffer, Robert

The story of inventions /
by McHugh, Michael J.

The story of mankind /
by Van Loon, Hendrik Willem, 1882-1944.

Swallows and Amazons;
by Ransome, Arthur, 1884-1967

Tales from Shakespeare /
by Lamb, Charles, 1775-1834

Time lines : world history year by year since 1492 /

The timetables of history/
by Grun, Bernard

The voyage of Magellan.
by Humble, Richard.

The water-babies /
by Kingsley, Charles, 1819-1875

The well-educated mind : a guide to the classical education you never had /
by Bauer, S. Wise

The well-trained mind : a guide to classical education at home /
by Wise, Jessie

Donating New and Used Curriculum to Katrina Homeschooling Families

From the Website:

"Hurricane Katrina And The Homeschool Community

In the aftermath of hurricane Katrina, many of you are rushing to send help to our friends in Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. The recovery and cleanup will be a very long process and there are things that will be needed in the future, but not immediately. This is why I am writing to you today.

Project Noah is a homeschooling ministry that helps homeschooling families in crisis. We only provide curriculum and school supplies to the families that come to us with crisis needs – whether it is because their home has burned, or been flooded, or the primary wage earner has been without work for an extended period of time, or other similar crisis, we try to help. We have been serving the homeschooling community for almost 5 years now and will continue as long as there are families in need.

Although some of you that receive this letter do not homeschool, you can still help. There will be a great need for school supplies, even the workbooks that you see at Sam’s Club and Wal-Mart will help.

The majority of homeschooling families in these states operate through their local churches. The churches, as well as the families, have lost much, including school books and school supplies. Having worked in the arena of these types of crisis for a number of years, I can tell you that these things are not on their minds right now. BUT…when they begin to think about these things, Project Noah wants to be able to have those things ready for them. All the things that we use throughout the course of our homeschooling year, books, calculators, rulers, notebooks, pens, pencils, erasers, teaching tapes, textbooks –these things will be needed, even lunchboxes, crayons, markers, and on and on and on.

If you would like to help us help these families in this unique nitch of need, we would be honored."

Wooden Bucket Class

canoeing

Stream of Consciousness Whilst I Await Library Renewal

I have a huge list of books checked out from the library.
I don't want to return them; they now feel like they're my own.
I'm attempting to renew most of them via our online library service.
The service is having a hard time processing my request; I think I've overwhelmed it.
I wonder how many times I can renew these books before I absolutely have to return them.
I wonder how many people are waiting for these same books, which will make renewal impossible.
What will I do then?
How long will I have to wait before I get A Child's History of the World back into my clutches?
One month is not long enough to have a book.
I wonder how much it would cost to purchase all these books with which I've become attached.
I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to afford it.
Bard's biology textbook costs $72.00, and I had to pay for that, because they don't have it at the library.
Wouldn't it be nice if there were a home-ed budget?
Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could walk into a bookstore, like the library does, and spend a set amount on books each year?
I have such a long list of what I want.
I'd love to reward the kids for every thing they do with a new book.
When Bard was young, I'd reward her for reading a book by buying her a new book.
I once bought her Little Women and told her that if she read the whole thing, she could buy any book she wanted.
The renewal page on the library site just timed out; I guess it can't handle my renewal requests.
I'll try again.
I started a wishlist on Amazon. I've done this before.
I always hope I'll find the books used at a yard sale or a library sale.
Problem is, I rarely go to yard sales or library sales.
The library has accepted my renewal requests, so, for one more month, I have:

1-2-3 magic by Phelan, Thomas W.
The amazing Mr. Franklin, or, The boy who read everything by Ashby, Ruth
American tall tales by Stoutenburg, Adrien
Applying algebra by McCabe, John L. P
At the back of the North Wind by MacDonald, George
B. Franklin, printer by Adler, David A
Bard of Avon : the story of William Shakespeare by Stanley, Diane
Beethoven : 1770-1827 by Koolbergen, Jeroen
Benjamin Franklin : a photo-biography by Riley, John
Benjamin Franklin : a photo-illustrated biography by Usel, T.

Apparently, blogger thought I was taking too long, too. After entering the other gazillion books, it told me I had to log in first and ate the rest of my post.

Sigh.

Anthony and the Magic Picture Frame

Anthony and the Magic Picture Frame is a unique history book written by a father and his twelve-year-old son, Anthony, who travels through time and meets amazing people from history.

"I walked on the moon with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin. I played baseball with Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth. I flew from New York to Paris with Charles Lindbergh. I was with the brave soldiers who stormed the beaches of Normandy on D-Day. I cried with survivors of the Holocaust. I watched battle-weary marines raise the American flag on Iwo Jima. I heard the first words to come out of Thomas Edison’s talking machine. I saw the glow of Edison’s first electric lamp. I met FDR. I saw Doctor Jonas Salk conquer polio, and I counted the dimes that made it possible. I crouched in the trenches during World War I. I stood in a breadline during the Great Depression. I crossed the Atlantic Ocean on a steamship one hundred years ago, when my great-grandfather first came to America; I walked with him through the doors to America on Ellis Island. I was with my great-grandfather the day he became an American.

I did it all by stepping through the Picture Frame on my bedroom wall.

My name is Anthony and I am twelve years old. This is my story."

Have you read this book? Seen it? Recommend it? I'd like to hear your input!

The Baby

"It's raining outside! It's going to be Christmas! And there's going to be presents. For me! And for you! And Dad! And Pop! And for everybody! It's going to be ALL Christmas ALL day!"

Bard recently mentioned that I should do a post focusing on each child in the family, telling about them and their abilities and interests. The two-year-old Baby's words this morning gave me the perfect jumping-off point for a post about her.

Have you ever seen the movie Prancer? The movie about the girl and her quest to save one of Santa's reindeer? You know how the little girl sings Christmas songs all year long?

That's The Baby.

Last year during the Christmas season, while we were shopping for gifts, she formed her first full sentences by singing Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Shortly afterwards, she added Frosty the Snowman, Jingle Bells and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. She sings them quite regularly.

Actually, she just loves to sing. She sings her ABC's, Twinkle Twinkle, Itsy Bitsy Spider and She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain, though she wants me to skip the first couple of verses and get right to the part about chopping off the rooster's head and wearing pink pajamas. This summer, I got her accustomed to playing in the water at the lake by singing Comin' 'Round the Mountain, replacing the verses with things like, "She'll be swimmin' round in circles when she comes," and "she'll be kicking her feet when she comes." We swirled and danced and kicked around the lake, singing, blowing bubbles in the water, jumping up and down, and it soon became her favorite game.

The Baby's a smart one. She knows her ABC's and her numbers to twenty (except for that little bit about fourteen, fifteen and sixteen, which all sound pretty much the same coming from her little mouth), knows most of her colors, and can recite "One, Two, Buckle My Shoe" all the way to "my platter's empty!" but she prefers to stop at "9, 10" because she favors the "begin again" ending to the "big fat hen" middle.

Her first word was "duck," taught to her by her big sister Bard. The Baby had a little yellow duck on the bottom of her ruby slippers and learned to identify it with Bard's excellent coaching. Her second word was "boogie," which came with much force, the "b" getting stuck behind her lips until it would finally burst forward, the "oogie" rushing quickly behind, with the "ie" rising up an octave. That word came courtesy of Houdin.

Before she was verbal, she would get so excited about her surroundings that she would rotate her hands and feet in unison, round and round and round and round, attracting the attention of little old ladies everywhere we went.

Her favorite pasttimes are:

• nursing
• watching Franklin the Turtle on video
• drawing armless, bodiless people with a pink marker
• catching and holding baby chicks
• swinging on the swing
• picking flowers from the garden
• running down the hill skipping "like Carrie" (from Little House on the Prairie)
• eating broccoli, yogurt, carrots and cottage cheese
• playing with her siblings
• pointing out butterflies
• sleeping with mama and daddy
• carrying around her Kiki Cat she built with her grandma at Build-a-Bear
• and is currently learning to use the potty (her idea, after watching Once Upon a Potty about four hundred times, much to her siblings' dismay).

Oh, and singing Christmas songs, of course.

Now she requires my attention. Kiki Cat is missing, and life just can't go on until she's found.

It's pronounced "MEEM"

Chris from The Big Yellow House posted this little history assignment.

1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five people to do the same.

The fifth line of my 23rd post reads:

"Years of prayer often felt worthless."

This line comes from my post about our dream for a home where we could extend a hand of hospitality to others, the vision that fed that dream, and the symbolism of the acorn in my life.

Like Chris, I'm not going to tag anyone. If you want to post the fifth line from your 23rd post, I'd love to read what it says, so leave me a comment if you do it.

Next Year's Garden

As the leaves begin to change, I find myself already thinking about next Spring's gardens. Last year at this time, we were focused on finishing our house. This Summer, we focused mostly on the outside. I started my little kitchen garden outside my kitchen door, which is the little door you can barely see on the left side of the porch. In it, I planted jalapenos, cherry tomatoes, Early Girl tomatoes, Big Boy tomatoes, several different herbs (cilantro, bush basil, marjoram, chives-chives-chives, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme--seriously!), a pot of nasturtiums and lots of marigolds. Along the side and front of the porch, the kids and I planted different herbs, some perennials, swiss chard, lots of tomatillos and lots of basil. In the front of the house, we planted a whole host of perennials, including Hollyhocks, Balloon Flowers, several different types of sage, butterfly flowers, hyssops and horehound, chamomile and echinacea, and a bunch of things I can't remember right now. Next year, I hope to revive my deep beds, filling them with onions, peas, lettuces, cilantro, broccoli, peppers, and whatever else I fancy. And I will move the tomatoes to a larger space ( I never allow enough room for tomatoes), create a Rabbitat with lettuce and nasturtium gardens for our bunnies, and plant a sunflower house like we did a few years ago.

I think I'll re-do the porch beds, moving the herbs and keeping the perennials, lining the beds with allysium and petunias. I think I'll like that neater look better.

And I plan to move the tea garden into our native wildflower area as soon as the flowers fall off.

Bard has bugged me for several years to create a "snacking and sipping garden" like the one proposed in Roots, Shoots, Buckets and Boots, so we'll carve out a spot for that. And I definitely want to plant a vine garden, filled with cucumbers, watermelons, canteloupes and pumpkins.

Are you thinking about next year's garden already?

What's That You Say?

Sweetheart: "What does 'no comprendo' mean?"
Monet: "'I have no idea what you're saying.'"
Sweetheart: "What does 'no comprendo' mean?"
Monet: "'I have no idea what you're saying.'"
Sweetheart: "WHAT does 'NO COMPRENDO' mean?!?"
Monet: "'I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE SAYING'!"
Sweetheart: "WILL SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT 'NO COMPRENDO' MEANS?!?"
All of us in unison: "'I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE SAYING'!"
Sweetheart: "Oooohhhh! I get it!"

Humility

Bard: "You should do special posts about each of us."
Me: "About what?"
Bard: "I don't know. Just telling how great we are."
Several seconds go by.
Bard: "Actually, you should just do one about me."

It's a MIRACLE!

I have to post this, because it's a photo of a rare moment. My kitchen is CLEAN and I have proof because my new friend Irene took a photo of my spotless space today during music appreciation class. So, when you come visit me, I just want to give you some idea what NOT to expect. :-)

Thanks, Irene!

Goodbye, Summer

Well, Fall has arrived and the days of summer are gone. Our local pool has been drained, removing any hope whatever that we'll veer into that parking lot on a whim when the kids yell from the back seat, "LET'S GO SWIMMING!"

It's time, instead, to get out the scarecrow's clothes, hang up the harvest wreaths, start eyeing the pumpkings, wondering how long they'll last if we carve them now and whether it really matters because, hey, wouldn't it be fun to carve them again?

It's time to run through the yard and try to catch a leaf before it hits the ground, touching something that has never before been touched by human hands.

It's time to get out the sweaters and put away the shorts, forget about the watermelon and start mulling the cider, put sunbathing behind us and start stoking the bonfires.

Autumn is my favorite time of the year. Summer may be over, but I'm still looking forward to our first camping trip, a few good bike rides, at least a couple of hikes and a shot at bobbing for apples.

What are your favorite things about Autumn?

The Baby

Houdin and his friend Adrienne.

Ketchup

Ketchup: Free Verse

I am so relieved to give my tired feet a rest.
I wonder if the ketchup I'm making will be edible;
I hear echoes of my aunt telling my dad, "I couldn't wait for Ma's ketchup to run out. I hated that stuff."
I see my grandmothers garden in my mind's eye, her hoeing in the midst of it, and
I want to raise a garden just like hers, filled with red currants, delicious tomatoes, and tender carrots.
I am on my own in this; my grandmother has gone on to a different kind of harvest.

I pretend I'm self-sufficient, but I know that's a joke.
I feel inadequate; the Amish and Mennonite women in my neighborhood, like my grandmother, put up peaches, can corn, toil over tomatoes. They hang out their handmade clothes every Monday, gather to clean each other's houses, have a support system about which it exhausts me even to dream.
I touch the Victoria Strainer borrowed from a friend, plunge the tomatoes into its mouth and turn the crank, listening to the noises that come from it that sound like a scene from Willy Wonka. I think about the seasons of harvest that have passed through its sieve.
I worry about this ketchup, whether it will be edible, whether I, too, will have a child who says, "I can't wait until Mom's ketchup is gone. I hate that stuff."
I cry for the mother that I once had, over the times I, too, said, "I hate this stuff."
I am ashamed. I am a motherless daughter now.

I understand what my children do not, and they understand what I do not.
I say that it's important to treasure every moment, yet I know that I spend too much time worrying, crying and complaining.
I dream of the day when my kitchen will stay clean, when my floor will stay swept, when the toys will not trip me in the night.
I try to push the dream away, to appreciate where I am, right now.
I hope that my ketchup will be edible, that my grandmother's harvest is plentiful, that my children's toys will trip me in the night, that I will learn to be content.
I am a mother, a daughter, a granddaughter, and I am learning what that means.

*This is a poem written using a template that was posted on Hind's Feet's blog. Why don't you try it, too, and send me a note in my comments when you're done?

I am
I wonder
I hear
I see
I want
I am

I pretend
I feel
I touch
I worry
I cry
I am

I understand
I say
I dream
I try
I hope
I am

Monarch Butterfly Egg

When I shared my collage of our Monarch butterfly rearing experience, I lamented the fact that I didn't have a photo of an egg because of their tininess. Doug Smith sent me a link to this photo of a Monarch butterfly egg that he took with the macro feature of his digital camera. Amazing!

Check out Doug's site, Simply Charlotte Mason. Thanks, Doug!

It's Worth It

A friend recently wrote this piece about the importance of letter-writing. I know that sometimes our kids despair over any kind of writing, and we soft-hearted mothers, who feel like we're torturing our darling children, despair along with them. But don't give up. It will be worth it, I promise you, and they'll someday thank you for the gift you gave them.

"My mom, even when I was 7, taught me to write letters when things were both worthy of praise, and when they weren't right. I earned my first paycheck at age 8 picking berries outside of Portland. $3.23 for about 2 weeks work and I was elated. I sent away for a toy from a cereal box (we were serial cereal box readers) and it came broken. My mom sat down with me and had me write in my own handwriting to the company to send it back. The company must have liked it, because they sent me the whole SET of these toys. I can't remember a thing about those toys, but it's a story I love to tell my kids, as they never met their stunningly brilliant grandmother."

~Cynthia Fisher Rose

Daily Grammar

Do you or your child have a question about grammar that you just can't seem to remember how to answer? Check here for answers and miniature lesson plans!

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.