Happened to click on a random link off someone's bloglist today and discovered . . . another Duke! Not only that, but he is a (a) Protestant Christian; (b) Conservative Republican; (c) Lives in the Cincinnati area; and (d) is endorsing the same candidate among the four or five running for a hotly contested Congressional seat as DOB is.
Have I stumbled across DOB's alter ego or something? The one that actually has time to comment on politics?
The only thing is, this guy has been married for five years, not almost-two. And the evidence is pretty strong that DOB couldn't have been maintaining another wife for that long. (Or if he was, she must be exceedingly patient and unsuspicious.) So it must just be an uncanny coincidence.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Here I Stand
Because my feet are on little plastic posts. The life of Luther in Lego. Includes throwing inkwell at devil.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
A follow-up
I have told DOB in the past that I do not recall ever personally being spanked. DOB mentioned this to my younger brother, Toolboy, when we were visiting my family last month.
Toolboy rolled his eyes. "Oh, I remember you being spanked. Mostly for beating up on me."
Hmmm. Notwithstanding Jeremy's analysis, I don't know that these spankings did much to convince me of the evils of violence. (Nor, as far as I can tell, did they do much to reinforce it.) What caused my violent side to gradually decline was discovering far greater talents of moral persuasion and argument. What put a stop to it altogether was when Toolboy grew eight inches taller than me and doubled my body weight.
I'm not sure what the moral of that is.
Toolboy rolled his eyes. "Oh, I remember you being spanked. Mostly for beating up on me."
Hmmm. Notwithstanding Jeremy's analysis, I don't know that these spankings did much to convince me of the evils of violence. (Nor, as far as I can tell, did they do much to reinforce it.) What caused my violent side to gradually decline was discovering far greater talents of moral persuasion and argument. What put a stop to it altogether was when Toolboy grew eight inches taller than me and doubled my body weight.
I'm not sure what the moral of that is.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Teaching about violence
The vast majority of arguments I have heard against spanking boil down to one thing: if you use force against children, they will learn to be violent.
But the last time I checked, false imprisonment and taking of property were considered violent acts just as much as battery was. So is medical treatment to which one does not personally consent. I suppose the subconscious thought is that children can hit their parents, but they can't forcibly restrain or vaccinate them. But surely if receiving violence will build a violent temperament, it does not matter whether the child has the immediate power to act in precisely the same way as the violence he observes.
Unless you are willing to forgo all forms of discipline, which are by nature coercive, as well as all medical treatment and perhaps even locks on the doors, until your child willingly consents to them, I don't see how you can raise a child without resorting to force in some degree. And if that is so, then it becomes clear that there is no particular reason to arbitrarily cut out one of many forms of force, but more difficultly a matter of figuring out which forms and degrees of force are appropriate under which circumstance for which child.
The whole violence-is-evil argument might make more sense if I really believed violence was always evil. But I don't. A soldier in a just war; a peace officer enforcing just laws; people acting in defense of self or others against unjustified violence--all of these are properly entitled to use force within certain limits. If what I want my children to learn, instead of that violence is evil, is that force is something to be very carefully used under very limited circumstances by people with the proper authority, then there is no reason why they should not see that modeled in my treatment of them.
But the last time I checked, false imprisonment and taking of property were considered violent acts just as much as battery was. So is medical treatment to which one does not personally consent. I suppose the subconscious thought is that children can hit their parents, but they can't forcibly restrain or vaccinate them. But surely if receiving violence will build a violent temperament, it does not matter whether the child has the immediate power to act in precisely the same way as the violence he observes.
Unless you are willing to forgo all forms of discipline, which are by nature coercive, as well as all medical treatment and perhaps even locks on the doors, until your child willingly consents to them, I don't see how you can raise a child without resorting to force in some degree. And if that is so, then it becomes clear that there is no particular reason to arbitrarily cut out one of many forms of force, but more difficultly a matter of figuring out which forms and degrees of force are appropriate under which circumstance for which child.
The whole violence-is-evil argument might make more sense if I really believed violence was always evil. But I don't. A soldier in a just war; a peace officer enforcing just laws; people acting in defense of self or others against unjustified violence--all of these are properly entitled to use force within certain limits. If what I want my children to learn, instead of that violence is evil, is that force is something to be very carefully used under very limited circumstances by people with the proper authority, then there is no reason why they should not see that modeled in my treatment of them.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Relationship Rockets
A couple of Christmases ago, most members of my family received Finger Blasters in their stockings. (None of us have yet outgrown the conviction that Christmas means toys.) Yesterday, DOB got some out to enhance a battle he and his brothers staged at the park early in the day before anyone else was around to get in the crossfire. He also decided to look up where to buy them.
I read the description this morning. A "small but mighty tool to initiate and develop relationships with others?" "Instantly get[s] past the barriers of resistance and ambivalence?"
Can't people just make toys anymore? Must everything be a tool for manipulating other people?
Excuse me while I go fire my Finger Blaster at the wall and refuse to use it to develop a relationship with anyone.
I read the description this morning. A "small but mighty tool to initiate and develop relationships with others?" "Instantly get[s] past the barriers of resistance and ambivalence?"
Can't people just make toys anymore? Must everything be a tool for manipulating other people?
Excuse me while I go fire my Finger Blaster at the wall and refuse to use it to develop a relationship with anyone.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Common Themes
I've been reading several very different educators with several very different theories of education lately: Classical, Montessori, Charlotte Mason, Unschooling.
But some themes are emerging in common with several or all of them.
Respect the child as a human being, capable of freedom with responsibility. Children treated as a doll to be controlled, as a pet to be served and bribed, or as a wild beast to be caged, tend, eventually, to respond in kind. (Children treated as angels, on the other hand, tend to show just how fallen of angels they are.) Children treated as human beings--taught how to care for themselves, expected to help serve others, given responsibility and allowed to deal with the consequences--quickly learn how to be fully human.
Children need meaningful tasks from the beginning. Children need to do things that genuinely matter, not tasks we make up to keep them busy. Real work is what builds the right kind of confidence and keeps the child engaged in his learning. The Montessori book, especially, had some great ideas about how to do this even with very young toddlers, which I may blog more about as I try to prepare things for D1's next stage of life.
Children need faith that the universe is a logical place and the chance to understand its logic. This starts in infancy, with giving them toys that operate in simple ways that the child can begin to understand, instead of reacting arbitrarily. (That does in most of the "brain development" toys out there.) It continues in school by being careful not to give explanations that do not, in fact, make sense, which is sometimes hard for adults to realize because we have so long adjusted to the school way of explaining things.
Don't get between the child and the learning. One of the most common ways this happens is with too much praise or criticism. A child worried about getting the answer the teacher wants is learning little or nothing about the subject at hand--whether that concern has been created by the birch rod of old or the constant positive reinforcement of today.
Not that all praise or criticism is bad. D1 really isn't capable of understanding why she mustn't touch the books under the coffee table, so there I have to use her desire to please me as a motivator. But she doesn't need me interfering with "No, don't put your hand there," "Yes, that will work," as she puzzles out the right handholds to pull herself up. She can figure that out for herself--with a few falls, but the last thing I want to do is make her afraid of falling.
When she is done concentrating on the task at hand and looks over with the triumphant grin of one who has accomplished a great thing, then I can smile with her and enjoy the moment. But she didn't pull herself up for my sake--she did it for her own.
Another way we get between children and learning is with too much explanation or analysis. More often they need to be given the chance to puzzle it out for themselves, or to figure out what they think of the poem, not hear our blather on it.
Don't assume that the right answer equals learning. Many clever students make a very succesful strategy of figuring out how to game the system without bothering to actually learn anything. DOB and I were discussing one author's theory that formal math (worksheets and such) should wait until age 10 and both admitted that we went through years of handing in well-filled out math sheets without really understanding what was going on. I didn't understand most of elementary math until I was a teenager and was teaching it to my younger brother, and I was an excellent math student who loved the subject.
The best insights come from observing your own. No matter what the book says, you can't figure out what effect something is having on a child without watching them. For a classroom teacher or daycare worker, this is simply impossible. They have too many kids to watch at once. Parents have more opportunity and motivation, but I'm afraid too few of them give themselves the time anymore. It's often so much easier just to accept gratefully whatever will quiet the baby down, keep the toddler busy, and help the grade schoolers' schoolwork, without giving any consideration to what kind of person it is helping to make them.
But some themes are emerging in common with several or all of them.
Respect the child as a human being, capable of freedom with responsibility. Children treated as a doll to be controlled, as a pet to be served and bribed, or as a wild beast to be caged, tend, eventually, to respond in kind. (Children treated as angels, on the other hand, tend to show just how fallen of angels they are.) Children treated as human beings--taught how to care for themselves, expected to help serve others, given responsibility and allowed to deal with the consequences--quickly learn how to be fully human.
Children need meaningful tasks from the beginning. Children need to do things that genuinely matter, not tasks we make up to keep them busy. Real work is what builds the right kind of confidence and keeps the child engaged in his learning. The Montessori book, especially, had some great ideas about how to do this even with very young toddlers, which I may blog more about as I try to prepare things for D1's next stage of life.
Children need faith that the universe is a logical place and the chance to understand its logic. This starts in infancy, with giving them toys that operate in simple ways that the child can begin to understand, instead of reacting arbitrarily. (That does in most of the "brain development" toys out there.) It continues in school by being careful not to give explanations that do not, in fact, make sense, which is sometimes hard for adults to realize because we have so long adjusted to the school way of explaining things.
Don't get between the child and the learning. One of the most common ways this happens is with too much praise or criticism. A child worried about getting the answer the teacher wants is learning little or nothing about the subject at hand--whether that concern has been created by the birch rod of old or the constant positive reinforcement of today.
Not that all praise or criticism is bad. D1 really isn't capable of understanding why she mustn't touch the books under the coffee table, so there I have to use her desire to please me as a motivator. But she doesn't need me interfering with "No, don't put your hand there," "Yes, that will work," as she puzzles out the right handholds to pull herself up. She can figure that out for herself--with a few falls, but the last thing I want to do is make her afraid of falling.
When she is done concentrating on the task at hand and looks over with the triumphant grin of one who has accomplished a great thing, then I can smile with her and enjoy the moment. But she didn't pull herself up for my sake--she did it for her own.
Another way we get between children and learning is with too much explanation or analysis. More often they need to be given the chance to puzzle it out for themselves, or to figure out what they think of the poem, not hear our blather on it.
Don't assume that the right answer equals learning. Many clever students make a very succesful strategy of figuring out how to game the system without bothering to actually learn anything. DOB and I were discussing one author's theory that formal math (worksheets and such) should wait until age 10 and both admitted that we went through years of handing in well-filled out math sheets without really understanding what was going on. I didn't understand most of elementary math until I was a teenager and was teaching it to my younger brother, and I was an excellent math student who loved the subject.
The best insights come from observing your own. No matter what the book says, you can't figure out what effect something is having on a child without watching them. For a classroom teacher or daycare worker, this is simply impossible. They have too many kids to watch at once. Parents have more opportunity and motivation, but I'm afraid too few of them give themselves the time anymore. It's often so much easier just to accept gratefully whatever will quiet the baby down, keep the toddler busy, and help the grade schoolers' schoolwork, without giving any consideration to what kind of person it is helping to make them.
Thank you, Martha
A friend passed on a couple of old Martha Stewart Baby magazines. "Great," I thought, "More reasons to feel guilty for not doing thing I already decided I wasn't going to do, plus a whole new influx of things I never thought of."
But there, tucked among the instructions for hand-appliqued baby announcements and lavender-scented burp cloths, was a Useful Idea. One that would save me money, and give me more time.
Specifically, the suggestion was to sew a double long pillowcase with ties on the end. Inside could go two normal pillows and voila!--the full body pillow so valued by expectant mothers, which could be converted back to regular pillows when not needed. So, with the investment of $6 in pillows, a couple of scraps of fabric, and an hour of time, I am now sleeping much better.
But DOB is getting a little jealous of Mr. Pillow.
But there, tucked among the instructions for hand-appliqued baby announcements and lavender-scented burp cloths, was a Useful Idea. One that would save me money, and give me more time.
Specifically, the suggestion was to sew a double long pillowcase with ties on the end. Inside could go two normal pillows and voila!--the full body pillow so valued by expectant mothers, which could be converted back to regular pillows when not needed. So, with the investment of $6 in pillows, a couple of scraps of fabric, and an hour of time, I am now sleeping much better.
But DOB is getting a little jealous of Mr. Pillow.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Five Things Before Five
I really enjoyed this article on "Ten Things to Do with Your Child Before Age Ten"--a nice balance between a vigorous preparation of a child for academic learning and an understanding of what young children are developmentally ready for.
But we're still a long way even from most of the things on this list. Copywork? D1 isn't even interested in coloring yet, though she does like grabbing markers. I must think of other things to do to satisfy my educational urges. So here goes my working list of "Five Things to Do Before Age Five."
1. Organize our house and life for easier learning and living.
I can organize things, but it requires a lot of thought and labor on my part--I'm not a person who puts like things together naturally. And the last, oh, five years of my life have not been conducive to the time and thought needed to organize things, while they have created ever mounting amounts of activities and stuff that needs organized. Maybe this doesn't seem like the ideal time to do it, but it will sure be easier to do it now than while trying to do formal education.
DOB teases me because I'll spend the day pondering things like the advisability of studying sentence diagramming--sometime in 2017--but it's a defensive mechanism for me. I have about three times the mental capacity for making plans as I do the physical capacity for implementing them. If all my plans are about here and now, I get depressed because I'm not accomplishing anything. But I do need to pull back a little bit from planning seventh grade and worry about what to do with the old computer equipment in the office closet and where the toys should go. And then maybe I can start putting some school supplies in there . . .
2. Build relationships and habits
All education is about relationships, both with the subject and with the teacher. If I don't have my children's love and respect, they're not going to learn all that much from me--and what they do learn will be much less pleasant and worthwhile.
Similarly, the more I can build in them habits of obedience, working hard, keeping things neat, and paying attention, the easier it will be for them to study anything--their whole lives. And all of those are things that D1 can already be beginning to learn.
The most important habits, though, are mine. And the most important relationships I have to work on are mine with God (or I will never teach them what is truly worthwhile) and with DOB. Everything else comes from those.
3. Find resources
This is where I tend to get carried away, but it still is worth working on now. I don't want to get carried away with buying things for years down the road that I might not need, but there are books and materials I can start stockpiling. Even better are finding the organizations and people that will be helpful. And of course there are those great deals that one can't pass up . . . as long as I can find somewhere to put them.
4. Read
Read to them: board books, picture books, chapter books, the Bible. Read to myself: books about education, books to educate myself (yeah, and maybe I should read some organizational books here, too). I'm amazed at how much D1 responds to books already. Her favorite, by far, is I am a Bunny, illustrated by Richard Scarry. I think she likes the beautiful illustrations of things she recognizes from outdoors (she loves going outside). When she sees me pull it off the shelf, she starts giggling.
5. Create a rich environment
I want my children's free time to be spent doing interesting and worthwhile things; things that will grow their mind and imaginations, things that will strengthen their bodies; things that will challenge their spirits. At this house, we don't even have a TV or anywhere to put it, so I have no choice but to find other things to keep them busy; and the sooner I think of things and find ways to keep them on hand, the easier my life will be in another year or two.
Yes, I think that will be enough to keep me occupied--even if I ever do have any extra energy left after the dishes and laundry are done.
But we're still a long way even from most of the things on this list. Copywork? D1 isn't even interested in coloring yet, though she does like grabbing markers. I must think of other things to do to satisfy my educational urges. So here goes my working list of "Five Things to Do Before Age Five."
1. Organize our house and life for easier learning and living.
I can organize things, but it requires a lot of thought and labor on my part--I'm not a person who puts like things together naturally. And the last, oh, five years of my life have not been conducive to the time and thought needed to organize things, while they have created ever mounting amounts of activities and stuff that needs organized. Maybe this doesn't seem like the ideal time to do it, but it will sure be easier to do it now than while trying to do formal education.
DOB teases me because I'll spend the day pondering things like the advisability of studying sentence diagramming--sometime in 2017--but it's a defensive mechanism for me. I have about three times the mental capacity for making plans as I do the physical capacity for implementing them. If all my plans are about here and now, I get depressed because I'm not accomplishing anything. But I do need to pull back a little bit from planning seventh grade and worry about what to do with the old computer equipment in the office closet and where the toys should go. And then maybe I can start putting some school supplies in there . . .
2. Build relationships and habits
All education is about relationships, both with the subject and with the teacher. If I don't have my children's love and respect, they're not going to learn all that much from me--and what they do learn will be much less pleasant and worthwhile.
Similarly, the more I can build in them habits of obedience, working hard, keeping things neat, and paying attention, the easier it will be for them to study anything--their whole lives. And all of those are things that D1 can already be beginning to learn.
The most important habits, though, are mine. And the most important relationships I have to work on are mine with God (or I will never teach them what is truly worthwhile) and with DOB. Everything else comes from those.
3. Find resources
This is where I tend to get carried away, but it still is worth working on now. I don't want to get carried away with buying things for years down the road that I might not need, but there are books and materials I can start stockpiling. Even better are finding the organizations and people that will be helpful. And of course there are those great deals that one can't pass up . . . as long as I can find somewhere to put them.
4. Read
Read to them: board books, picture books, chapter books, the Bible. Read to myself: books about education, books to educate myself (yeah, and maybe I should read some organizational books here, too). I'm amazed at how much D1 responds to books already. Her favorite, by far, is I am a Bunny, illustrated by Richard Scarry. I think she likes the beautiful illustrations of things she recognizes from outdoors (she loves going outside). When she sees me pull it off the shelf, she starts giggling.
5. Create a rich environment
I want my children's free time to be spent doing interesting and worthwhile things; things that will grow their mind and imaginations, things that will strengthen their bodies; things that will challenge their spirits. At this house, we don't even have a TV or anywhere to put it, so I have no choice but to find other things to keep them busy; and the sooner I think of things and find ways to keep them on hand, the easier my life will be in another year or two.
Yes, I think that will be enough to keep me occupied--even if I ever do have any extra energy left after the dishes and laundry are done.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Around the corner
Last night, D1:
- Found the pile of things-that-need-to-be-sorted-through from when DOB's briefcase had gotten overloaded, which had partly slid onto the dining room floor, and dug through it.
- Fell down twice, with moderate degrees of emotional trauma, due to trying to walk without holding on to things.
- Did I know-not-what to the open bag of oatmeal that I don't have room to store elsewhere, because I didn't have the energy to get up and see what she was doing.
- Learned how to round the corner on the coffee table (a difficult task, because our coffee table has funny horns off the end, as if its great-grandmother was a pagoda) and walk down the edge, thus
- Was able to dig through all the miscellaneous stuff that needs to be put away on the coffee table, including several days' worth of semi-sorted mail, and throw it down on the floor for even easier access.
- Tried to grab an inadequately-sized end table for support, nearly sending a full glass of water down onto a pile of books and magazines.
I looked at DOB and asked, "Where did she come from?" What happened to the little doll we used to have? When did she get replaced with this marauder?
Yes, the house needs to be cleaned. Desperately. When you take first-trimester mess and add free-stuff-that-doesn't-have-a-home-yet mess and two-trips-in-two-weeks mess, it's a daunting prospect. When you all have colds, it begins to look impossible. And D1's ability to get into messes is growing faster than my ability to clean them up.
It's only been two days since we got home. Patience, patience.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
A Confession
I've been enjoying reading people's reasons for homeschooling. I could agree with them all, too: to take responsibility for our own children, especially in spiritual things. To develop a good relationship with them. To protect them from exposure to the wrong things. To give them an excellent education.
But those aren't the real reason. Or at least, not the one at the forefront of my mind.
The truth is, my real reason is a very selfish one. I love to teach. I really, really, really, love to teach. I love designing curriculum. I love reviewing curriculum. I love researching and preparing. I love explaining things. I love learning things and I love watching other people learn things. I love watching the lights go on as a six-year-old reads a whole book all by himself, or as a sixteen-year-old comes up with a whole thought all by himself.
When other little girls, I understand, were wont to plan the colors and bridesmaids for their as-yet unscheduled weddings, I was pondering which education philosophy would be best for my as-yet nonexistent children. (I never really did enjoy wedding planning, even when I was engaged. I still love reading about education philosophy.)
When my mother went to curriculum fairs, I went along and helped select most of the books for myself and my younger siblings. I taught my youngest brother to read, using probably the most labor-intensive reading program out there, The Writing Road to Reading. (I wouldn't do anything nearly that complex nowadays. Sorry to put you through all that, Joe.) I tutored math. I taught Sunday School.
In later years, I wrote a civics curriculum, became a guest speaker for schools and homeschooling groups, had my own booth at those enticing curriculum fairs and school conventions, and even taught a class at a private high school for a year. And whatever the age or setting or topic, I loved teaching.
For some reason, despite all this, I never gave very long or serious thought to studying education formally and becoming a licensed teacher. Partly it was my inherent dislike for systemization--I knew I'd never get along well if I had to follow orders. Partly it was intellectual snobbery--education courses are for people who can't handle actual substance.
Mostly, though, it was that what I wanted wasn't just to process thousands of children through the same grade. I knew how little time one teacher has in the whole course of someone's education. It frustrated me. Why just have one year's worth of impact on lots of children, while who-knows-whom was teaching my own children who-knows-what, when I could provide my own children with the best of everything from birth to adulthood?
And how could I bear to miss out on watching my own children through the adventure of learning?
So, there you have it. There are nobler people out there who don't care much for teaching and do it anyway because they know it's what their children need. If I felt that way (and no doubt there are days when I will), I would of course teach my children anyway, just like I write down checks I write even though I loathe the task (well, at least I try). Some things you just have to do for yourself.
But mostly, I don't think I'll be that noble. Mostly, this is going to be a whole lot of fun.
But those aren't the real reason. Or at least, not the one at the forefront of my mind.
The truth is, my real reason is a very selfish one. I love to teach. I really, really, really, love to teach. I love designing curriculum. I love reviewing curriculum. I love researching and preparing. I love explaining things. I love learning things and I love watching other people learn things. I love watching the lights go on as a six-year-old reads a whole book all by himself, or as a sixteen-year-old comes up with a whole thought all by himself.
When other little girls, I understand, were wont to plan the colors and bridesmaids for their as-yet unscheduled weddings, I was pondering which education philosophy would be best for my as-yet nonexistent children. (I never really did enjoy wedding planning, even when I was engaged. I still love reading about education philosophy.)
When my mother went to curriculum fairs, I went along and helped select most of the books for myself and my younger siblings. I taught my youngest brother to read, using probably the most labor-intensive reading program out there, The Writing Road to Reading. (I wouldn't do anything nearly that complex nowadays. Sorry to put you through all that, Joe.) I tutored math. I taught Sunday School.
In later years, I wrote a civics curriculum, became a guest speaker for schools and homeschooling groups, had my own booth at those enticing curriculum fairs and school conventions, and even taught a class at a private high school for a year. And whatever the age or setting or topic, I loved teaching.
For some reason, despite all this, I never gave very long or serious thought to studying education formally and becoming a licensed teacher. Partly it was my inherent dislike for systemization--I knew I'd never get along well if I had to follow orders. Partly it was intellectual snobbery--education courses are for people who can't handle actual substance.
Mostly, though, it was that what I wanted wasn't just to process thousands of children through the same grade. I knew how little time one teacher has in the whole course of someone's education. It frustrated me. Why just have one year's worth of impact on lots of children, while who-knows-whom was teaching my own children who-knows-what, when I could provide my own children with the best of everything from birth to adulthood?
And how could I bear to miss out on watching my own children through the adventure of learning?
So, there you have it. There are nobler people out there who don't care much for teaching and do it anyway because they know it's what their children need. If I felt that way (and no doubt there are days when I will), I would of course teach my children anyway, just like I write down checks I write even though I loathe the task (well, at least I try). Some things you just have to do for yourself.
But mostly, I don't think I'll be that noble. Mostly, this is going to be a whole lot of fun.
Going Bananas
Bananas were, naturally, one of the first foods I tried to convince D1 to eat, nearly six months ago now. She didn't like them. Not mashed in her oatmeal, not in little bits on her tray (which she couldn't pick up yet), not stuffed straight in her mouth. So, with a sigh, I abandoned bananas and stuck to applesauce.
The week before last, when we picked up DOB at the airport after being parted for three days, D1 was naturally excited. And when DOB started peeling and eating a banana, nothing would do but that she should try some, too. She then discovered that she could actually take bites and eat it all by herself. The deed was done. Bananas are now her favorite food.
When she started to get hungry during a brief lull in the action at the YR convention last weekend, I had one along. Keeping an 11-month-old occupied during a day-long business meeting is a lot harder than keeping a 2-month-old quiet. Well before lunch time all three of us were thoroughly smeared with banana (fortunately DOB was not wearing a tie, but his sportcoat will have to be cleaned). I gave up on most of the afternoon activities and took her upstairs for a nap.
Now the only thing on earth she doesn't like is canned spinach, which I bought on accident. I don't blame her. God never meant for spinach to be canned. But I haven't gotten my nerve up to just throw it out yet.
The week before last, when we picked up DOB at the airport after being parted for three days, D1 was naturally excited. And when DOB started peeling and eating a banana, nothing would do but that she should try some, too. She then discovered that she could actually take bites and eat it all by herself. The deed was done. Bananas are now her favorite food.
When she started to get hungry during a brief lull in the action at the YR convention last weekend, I had one along. Keeping an 11-month-old occupied during a day-long business meeting is a lot harder than keeping a 2-month-old quiet. Well before lunch time all three of us were thoroughly smeared with banana (fortunately DOB was not wearing a tie, but his sportcoat will have to be cleaned). I gave up on most of the afternoon activities and took her upstairs for a nap.
Now the only thing on earth she doesn't like is canned spinach, which I bought on accident. I don't blame her. God never meant for spinach to be canned. But I haven't gotten my nerve up to just throw it out yet.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Homeschooling: The Next Generation
SpunkyHomeschool is having a discussion on whether homeschooling parents expect/hope for their grandchildren to be homeschooled. One commenter notes that most of her children's homeschooled friends do not expect to homeschool their own children. She wonders how general this trend is. And now, so do I.
I know there's several of you who were homeschooled yourself and who plan to homeschool your own kids. So I have several questions. First, why? Is it more experience based or conviction based? Is it for the same reasons your parents homeschooled or totally different reasons?
Second, Do you find yourself unusual among your homeschooled friends? Do they plan to homeschool? And if they don't, what do you think the difference is?
And how do you feel about your grandkids being homeschooled?
Of course, if you want to comment on how you'd never subject your children to the horror of homeschooling you went through, that'd be interesting to hear, too. Just keep it civil, to those present and absent.
I know there's several of you who were homeschooled yourself and who plan to homeschool your own kids. So I have several questions. First, why? Is it more experience based or conviction based? Is it for the same reasons your parents homeschooled or totally different reasons?
Second, Do you find yourself unusual among your homeschooled friends? Do they plan to homeschool? And if they don't, what do you think the difference is?
And how do you feel about your grandkids being homeschooled?
Of course, if you want to comment on how you'd never subject your children to the horror of homeschooling you went through, that'd be interesting to hear, too. Just keep it civil, to those present and absent.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Making Learning Fun?
I saw a slogan on an elementary school last week: "We Make Learning Fun!" It grated on me, and not just because it made me feel that I was about to be bombarded with singing cartoon characters.
It was rather the subliminal attitude towards learning it expressed: that learning is naturally a tedious process, but by dint of great creativity on the part of teacher and school, it can be sugarcoated enough to conceal itself as amusement.
Watching D1 tackle the most difficult of life's learning tasks, communication and self-propulsion, I can't say that "fun" is the word that often comes to mind. Certainly I do nothing whatever to make learning to walk and talk "fun." The job is full of frustration, repetition, challenge, pain, concentration, and moments of ecstasy when she at last does something she has been struggling to do for weeks. "Fun" is far too thin of a word for what she is experiencing.
Nor do I need to do anything to press her on to walk and talk. I rejoice with her when she succeeds at something new, but she knows already in herself that she has done something worthwhile. I don't need to hand out rewards to motivate her, or invent games to camouflage what I want her to do. She is learning to walk and talk for two reasons: her own body and mind compel her to try, and she sees people she loves and admires doing these things and wants to imitate them.
Come to think of it, there is quite a bit I could do to destroy the natural interest she takes in this learning. I could try to compel her to practice at times when she is not ready. I could try to hold her back from learning one or propel her forward in another according to what the books say the average child her age should be doing. I could keep her away from adults doing real things so that she had no idea what her end goal was or why she was doing it. I could keep her cooped up so that she never had the chance to stretch her muscles when she felt like it, and bombarded with sounds so she never had the chance to privately practice her own. These would certainly make learning very un-fun. Indeed, if she were not inherently so compelled to learn these things, they might destroy her desire to learn altogether.
What I can do and need to do is simply to provide space, time, example, and every once in a great while the tiniest bit of encouragement or instruction (most of the time these are either confusing or irrelevant). When I do that, there is no need to make learning fun. Learning is a compelling adventure that she is eager to embark on for herself.
It was rather the subliminal attitude towards learning it expressed: that learning is naturally a tedious process, but by dint of great creativity on the part of teacher and school, it can be sugarcoated enough to conceal itself as amusement.
Watching D1 tackle the most difficult of life's learning tasks, communication and self-propulsion, I can't say that "fun" is the word that often comes to mind. Certainly I do nothing whatever to make learning to walk and talk "fun." The job is full of frustration, repetition, challenge, pain, concentration, and moments of ecstasy when she at last does something she has been struggling to do for weeks. "Fun" is far too thin of a word for what she is experiencing.
Nor do I need to do anything to press her on to walk and talk. I rejoice with her when she succeeds at something new, but she knows already in herself that she has done something worthwhile. I don't need to hand out rewards to motivate her, or invent games to camouflage what I want her to do. She is learning to walk and talk for two reasons: her own body and mind compel her to try, and she sees people she loves and admires doing these things and wants to imitate them.
Come to think of it, there is quite a bit I could do to destroy the natural interest she takes in this learning. I could try to compel her to practice at times when she is not ready. I could try to hold her back from learning one or propel her forward in another according to what the books say the average child her age should be doing. I could keep her away from adults doing real things so that she had no idea what her end goal was or why she was doing it. I could keep her cooped up so that she never had the chance to stretch her muscles when she felt like it, and bombarded with sounds so she never had the chance to privately practice her own. These would certainly make learning very un-fun. Indeed, if she were not inherently so compelled to learn these things, they might destroy her desire to learn altogether.
What I can do and need to do is simply to provide space, time, example, and every once in a great while the tiniest bit of encouragement or instruction (most of the time these are either confusing or irrelevant). When I do that, there is no need to make learning fun. Learning is a compelling adventure that she is eager to embark on for herself.
The Journey Outward
The good news is, D1 is a great little traveler. She loves airports, she loves flight attendants, and she doesn't seem to have much trouble with ear pressure.
The bad news is, I still am not. Especially not on descent in a small plane. So on our first flight I got sick, and then as often happens these days, got a nosebleed. With nothing in reach but the now-used airsick bag. And no flight attendants available because we were landing. Meanwhile D1 was finally starting to announce that she had had enough sitting in the car seat, thank you very much, but she finally got interested in her book again and remained relatively calm.
After we landed the flight attendants and even pilot were very kind and helped us get off the plane, set up the jury-rigged stroller/car seat combo (my friend who loaned me the stroller didn't have the car seat that was meant to attach to it, so I had to strap mine on with bungee cords), and head out. Trying to explain the problem, I commented, "I get these nosebleeds a lot when I'm pregnant, I don't know why."
Just as I was saying that, though, one of the attendants exclaimed, "You're pregnant?" (Guess it's still not too obvious.) So it sounded to them as if I was saying I didn't know why I was pregnant. I think I more than paid them for their helpfulness in amusement.
By the time I had fed D1 (now I know to always do this on the plane, not between flights) and transversed the many miles of Minneapolis airport, initially going the wrong way at every turn, I was far too late to pre-board the next flight. So I struggled to disassemble the stroller in the crowded jetway. A gentleman kindly offered to haul some of my stuff, and we got on board and settled. Then we got unsettled when the stewardess came by and pointed out D1's seat needed to be against the window, where an older businessman was sitting. He was nice enough about it.
By this time I was starving and had had no time to buy anything while crossing the airport. I settled in and anticipated the rubber chicken and limp vegetables, or at least a bland sandwich, that had been provided the last time I flew. And then the announcement came on and I discovered that, as a security measure, all food substances that originate in carbon-based life forms are now banned from commercial flights. The only thing available was a box of junk food for $3. Well, it would have to do.
I looked for my purse. It wasn't there. Checked under the seat, under the diaper bag, under my coat. Wasn't there. Checked again. I began having visions of the confusion in the jetway--I remembered setting it down on the diaper bag, but not picking it up again. I tried to imagine how I would survive the flight without food, or how I would ever return home without my ID. I explained the situation to the gentleman next to me, who kindly offered to buy me a snack box, and also suggested we ask the flight attendant to call back to the jetway and see if they could find it. We did this, the flight attendant asked the pilot to call back, and then, for reasons I cannot now recall, I reached down between me and D1's car seat. There was my purse.
The rest of the flight went just fine, and we arrived in good order.
The bad news is, I still am not. Especially not on descent in a small plane. So on our first flight I got sick, and then as often happens these days, got a nosebleed. With nothing in reach but the now-used airsick bag. And no flight attendants available because we were landing. Meanwhile D1 was finally starting to announce that she had had enough sitting in the car seat, thank you very much, but she finally got interested in her book again and remained relatively calm.
After we landed the flight attendants and even pilot were very kind and helped us get off the plane, set up the jury-rigged stroller/car seat combo (my friend who loaned me the stroller didn't have the car seat that was meant to attach to it, so I had to strap mine on with bungee cords), and head out. Trying to explain the problem, I commented, "I get these nosebleeds a lot when I'm pregnant, I don't know why."
Just as I was saying that, though, one of the attendants exclaimed, "You're pregnant?" (Guess it's still not too obvious.) So it sounded to them as if I was saying I didn't know why I was pregnant. I think I more than paid them for their helpfulness in amusement.
By the time I had fed D1 (now I know to always do this on the plane, not between flights) and transversed the many miles of Minneapolis airport, initially going the wrong way at every turn, I was far too late to pre-board the next flight. So I struggled to disassemble the stroller in the crowded jetway. A gentleman kindly offered to haul some of my stuff, and we got on board and settled. Then we got unsettled when the stewardess came by and pointed out D1's seat needed to be against the window, where an older businessman was sitting. He was nice enough about it.
By this time I was starving and had had no time to buy anything while crossing the airport. I settled in and anticipated the rubber chicken and limp vegetables, or at least a bland sandwich, that had been provided the last time I flew. And then the announcement came on and I discovered that, as a security measure, all food substances that originate in carbon-based life forms are now banned from commercial flights. The only thing available was a box of junk food for $3. Well, it would have to do.
I looked for my purse. It wasn't there. Checked under the seat, under the diaper bag, under my coat. Wasn't there. Checked again. I began having visions of the confusion in the jetway--I remembered setting it down on the diaper bag, but not picking it up again. I tried to imagine how I would survive the flight without food, or how I would ever return home without my ID. I explained the situation to the gentleman next to me, who kindly offered to buy me a snack box, and also suggested we ask the flight attendant to call back to the jetway and see if they could find it. We did this, the flight attendant asked the pilot to call back, and then, for reasons I cannot now recall, I reached down between me and D1's car seat. There was my purse.
The rest of the flight went just fine, and we arrived in good order.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
We Return
We are all back home. The trip went well. Everything went more or less according to plan. We enjoyed it very much.
And if I ever, ever, try to squeeze that much into one week again, please lock me up until I come to my senses.
More tales later when I have had about three more naps.
And if I ever, ever, try to squeeze that much into one week again, please lock me up until I come to my senses.
More tales later when I have had about three more naps.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Meeting Bacchus with Aslan
What specific dangers do we fear in reading the classics? Falling prey to false ideas, pride, and an over-reliance on the intellect come to mind. There is also the possibility of reading things that might tempt us to other sins, like lust.
I've been re-reading the Narnia books, and I came across an exchange that neatly sums up our primary defense. In Prince Caspian, Lucy and Susan, with Aslan, have just been part of an innocent but wild revel of pagan mythological characters. After they realize what they have been seeing, Susan says,
"I wouldn't have felt safe with Bacchus and all his wild girls if we'd met them without Aslan."
"I should think not," said Lucy.
Our main defense against all sin is always the presence and grace of God through Christ; the paths out he provides for these temptations are the same as for all the others: His Word, prayer, accountability to others. If anything starts to come between us and God, then it's time to back off for the present and draw closer to God.
There is also a time and a place for everything. Probably the worst possible time and place for encountering the wide world of ideas is as a young single person away at college. At that age, one has no deep responsibilities to any other human being. One is, simultaneously, tasting the fun of physical independence. The allure of taking on intellectual independence is unbearably strong, when combined with the lack of any sense that anyone else might be hurt by one's new ideas. Any idea that one's parents did not believe in is invested with glamor. You want to believe new things just because you can.
So, just as I plan to teach my children that they are not the center of the universe before they turn two, and instruct them on how to combat lust before they reach puberty, I hope to give them the tools to analyze and question new ideas before they come to the age when the new ideas are so tempting. I'm sure I can't prevent them entirely from stumbling in that area, any more than I can in the others, but I think I can make the right path easier.
A six-year-old will swallow nearly anything they're told; I would be very careful about what I gave them (but of course there are great ancient tales suitable for them). An eighteen-year-old will swallow almost anything that butters up his ego. I think the best age to begin a serious study of classics true and false is about twelve. That age is naturally skeptical and eager to question everything. If properly raised, they're still willing to listen to mom and dad's thoughts and learn together. Then when they reach independence and encounter the ideas in new and different guises, they have that preparation well under their belt.
I would make sure as they encounter new ideas, they also consider the lives of the people who propounded them and the effects those ideas had. Nice as something may sound, how did it work when real people tried to live that way? Intellectual study is also best balanced with physical labor and service to others, to keep one humble and help one see the other sides of life.
Different children call for different educations. A child who is gifted with their hands and not particularly analytical probably needs no more than a second-hand introduction to refuting the false ideas current in the culture: secular humanism, materialism, relativism; plus an exposure to as many literary classics as is enjoyable for them. A child with technical abilities headed for more professional work needs a more detailed preparation; even if they get certification without spending much time in college they will work with people who did. A child gifted to work in the realm of ideas will need much practice encountering ideas, analyzing them, finding truth, spitting out error, and explaining the difference. A child like that will be more susceptible to temptations to intellectualism, but they will also have greater powers of discernment. All strengths come with weaknesses.
For the most part, I am not enamored with the idea of going away to college as a standard rite of passage. Human beings are very influenced by their physical surroundings. When those change, we are more apt to doubt the things we associate with those surroundings. Getting a higher education closer to home helps one keep an anchor in the real world, and remember that one's beliefs will influence others. (Getting married and having children has much the same effect--you start thinking through the consequences very carefully when you realize someone else is going to be following you.)
The main thing, though, is to always keep in mind why we are doing this. Never read a book just to be a well-educated person, to finish a list, to outdo your peers, or to exhibit that you are able to "handle" more dangerous things than someone else. Only read a book if you can do it with the goal of becoming a more godly person, better able to minister to those around you, better prepared for the calling God has for you.
I've been re-reading the Narnia books, and I came across an exchange that neatly sums up our primary defense. In Prince Caspian, Lucy and Susan, with Aslan, have just been part of an innocent but wild revel of pagan mythological characters. After they realize what they have been seeing, Susan says,
"I wouldn't have felt safe with Bacchus and all his wild girls if we'd met them without Aslan."
"I should think not," said Lucy.
Our main defense against all sin is always the presence and grace of God through Christ; the paths out he provides for these temptations are the same as for all the others: His Word, prayer, accountability to others. If anything starts to come between us and God, then it's time to back off for the present and draw closer to God.
There is also a time and a place for everything. Probably the worst possible time and place for encountering the wide world of ideas is as a young single person away at college. At that age, one has no deep responsibilities to any other human being. One is, simultaneously, tasting the fun of physical independence. The allure of taking on intellectual independence is unbearably strong, when combined with the lack of any sense that anyone else might be hurt by one's new ideas. Any idea that one's parents did not believe in is invested with glamor. You want to believe new things just because you can.
So, just as I plan to teach my children that they are not the center of the universe before they turn two, and instruct them on how to combat lust before they reach puberty, I hope to give them the tools to analyze and question new ideas before they come to the age when the new ideas are so tempting. I'm sure I can't prevent them entirely from stumbling in that area, any more than I can in the others, but I think I can make the right path easier.
A six-year-old will swallow nearly anything they're told; I would be very careful about what I gave them (but of course there are great ancient tales suitable for them). An eighteen-year-old will swallow almost anything that butters up his ego. I think the best age to begin a serious study of classics true and false is about twelve. That age is naturally skeptical and eager to question everything. If properly raised, they're still willing to listen to mom and dad's thoughts and learn together. Then when they reach independence and encounter the ideas in new and different guises, they have that preparation well under their belt.
I would make sure as they encounter new ideas, they also consider the lives of the people who propounded them and the effects those ideas had. Nice as something may sound, how did it work when real people tried to live that way? Intellectual study is also best balanced with physical labor and service to others, to keep one humble and help one see the other sides of life.
Different children call for different educations. A child who is gifted with their hands and not particularly analytical probably needs no more than a second-hand introduction to refuting the false ideas current in the culture: secular humanism, materialism, relativism; plus an exposure to as many literary classics as is enjoyable for them. A child with technical abilities headed for more professional work needs a more detailed preparation; even if they get certification without spending much time in college they will work with people who did. A child gifted to work in the realm of ideas will need much practice encountering ideas, analyzing them, finding truth, spitting out error, and explaining the difference. A child like that will be more susceptible to temptations to intellectualism, but they will also have greater powers of discernment. All strengths come with weaknesses.
For the most part, I am not enamored with the idea of going away to college as a standard rite of passage. Human beings are very influenced by their physical surroundings. When those change, we are more apt to doubt the things we associate with those surroundings. Getting a higher education closer to home helps one keep an anchor in the real world, and remember that one's beliefs will influence others. (Getting married and having children has much the same effect--you start thinking through the consequences very carefully when you realize someone else is going to be following you.)
The main thing, though, is to always keep in mind why we are doing this. Never read a book just to be a well-educated person, to finish a list, to outdo your peers, or to exhibit that you are able to "handle" more dangerous things than someone else. Only read a book if you can do it with the goal of becoming a more godly person, better able to minister to those around you, better prepared for the calling God has for you.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Waiting in line
Have you noticed that everybody wants to schedule things to coincide with your birthday? Convenient as this may be for the government and professionals, who wants to spend the day scheduling eye exams, dental exams, and renewing their vehicle and driver's license? What kind of a birthday is that?
On the other hand, Lenscrafter's 30 days of guaranteed absolute happiness would probably have compensated us for having to spend two hours waiting in their store on our first day out by ourselves in a year, but apparently they only offer it if you buy glasses, not for those merely getting free repairs. Too bad, I could use a happiness guarantee over the next few days. I have a feeling that traveling alone with a 10-month-old is not generally a time of uninterrupted bliss.
We've figured out how to save money on ice cream. The secret is a chain we just encountered called Cold Stone. They take the ice cream and mix it with several harmonious ingredients (I had chocolate with brownies, chocolate chips, and chocolate syrup). It was so rich that now, for only $5 apiece, neither of us wants to taste ice cream again for months.
I will try to get my follow-up to the previous post done before I leave tomorrow, but first must finish packing.
On the other hand, Lenscrafter's 30 days of guaranteed absolute happiness would probably have compensated us for having to spend two hours waiting in their store on our first day out by ourselves in a year, but apparently they only offer it if you buy glasses, not for those merely getting free repairs. Too bad, I could use a happiness guarantee over the next few days. I have a feeling that traveling alone with a 10-month-old is not generally a time of uninterrupted bliss.
We've figured out how to save money on ice cream. The secret is a chain we just encountered called Cold Stone. They take the ice cream and mix it with several harmonious ingredients (I had chocolate with brownies, chocolate chips, and chocolate syrup). It was so rich that now, for only $5 apiece, neither of us wants to taste ice cream again for months.
I will try to get my follow-up to the previous post done before I leave tomorrow, but first must finish packing.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Reading the classics?
There’s an excellent discussion over at Ben’s mom’s blog on whether, why and how Christians should read classic works of literature and philosophy. This is an area on which Christian homeschoolers cover the gamut, from those who don’t want their children to ever read anything containing adultery, murder, imaginary stories, witches, talking animals (oops, there goes the Old Testament), ghosts, pagan philosophers or mythology (oops, there goes the New Testament); to those who think children should be reading all the classic writers in the original language, as the basic curriculum for life.
To try to keep the posts to “reasonable” length, I’ll split this into two parts: First, why we think judicious reading of the classics, including some false philosophers, is a vital part of a Christian education; second, our theories on how to minimize the dangers that are, indeed, involved.
We are, first off, firm believers in sheltering children. We will probably be so strict with what our little ones see and hear that most of our friends will shake their heads. But that’s not the sum total of our plans for them. Someday we want these little tomato plants to leave the greenhouse and grow and prosper in the world outside. And that means in addition to judicious sheltering, they’ll need judicious exposure to the world to prepare them for the day when they must face it on their own.
This area is thick with favorite analogies, and all of them are limited to some degree. The problem with the plant analogy is that it acts as if the danger to our children comes from outside them; as if sin and false philosophies are just out there in the world and if we can only shut them out our children will be safe.
That’s not where the problem is. The problem with all of us is in our own hearts. False philosophies would pose no danger to our children if they weren't born eager to listen to the serpent whispering that they could be like God. We could protect them from hearing everything false; they could still just as easily come up with any false philosophy on their own. Sheltering is not enough, we must give them weapons and practice battles to fight the enemy within.
All this sounds as if all this literature is evil. Of course it isn’t. There is much good in it, too: great examples of character and consequences, beautiful writing, and memorable depictions of truth. Yes, even in the writings of the pagans—for God never leaves himself without witness.
This is where another analogy crops up: the water and poison analogy (or, for graphic depiction at the dinner table, the brownies with doggie doo analogy). You wouldn’t drink a glass of water with just a little poison added, would you? So you shouldn’t tolerate a little bit of badness in the book for the sake of some good it also has.
But of course you do drink water with just a little bit of poison in it all the time. Most water contains traces of poisonous substances. So does food. Even the most essential nutrients will kill you if you get them in the wrong proportions. Everything in this world is dangerous.
So it is with ideas. There are no safe books. No, not even the Bible, for our twisted minds are quite capable of twisting it, too. Our minds and spirits must always stay on the alert. Probably the most dangerous thing we can do is to get in the habit of letting our guard down around certain sources we think are safe.
There are thus several excellent reasons for studying classics: to learn from the wisest men of history; to see how even the wisest men can succumb to folly. To learn to appreciate good; to learn to reject evil. To learn the language and ideas that the people we must minister to will speak; to learn how to respond to their false ideas so that we can introduce them to the Truth.
But it is a dangerous business. So next time: my very preliminary ideas on some precautions to take.
To try to keep the posts to “reasonable” length, I’ll split this into two parts: First, why we think judicious reading of the classics, including some false philosophers, is a vital part of a Christian education; second, our theories on how to minimize the dangers that are, indeed, involved.
We are, first off, firm believers in sheltering children. We will probably be so strict with what our little ones see and hear that most of our friends will shake their heads. But that’s not the sum total of our plans for them. Someday we want these little tomato plants to leave the greenhouse and grow and prosper in the world outside. And that means in addition to judicious sheltering, they’ll need judicious exposure to the world to prepare them for the day when they must face it on their own.
This area is thick with favorite analogies, and all of them are limited to some degree. The problem with the plant analogy is that it acts as if the danger to our children comes from outside them; as if sin and false philosophies are just out there in the world and if we can only shut them out our children will be safe.
That’s not where the problem is. The problem with all of us is in our own hearts. False philosophies would pose no danger to our children if they weren't born eager to listen to the serpent whispering that they could be like God. We could protect them from hearing everything false; they could still just as easily come up with any false philosophy on their own. Sheltering is not enough, we must give them weapons and practice battles to fight the enemy within.
All this sounds as if all this literature is evil. Of course it isn’t. There is much good in it, too: great examples of character and consequences, beautiful writing, and memorable depictions of truth. Yes, even in the writings of the pagans—for God never leaves himself without witness.
This is where another analogy crops up: the water and poison analogy (or, for graphic depiction at the dinner table, the brownies with doggie doo analogy). You wouldn’t drink a glass of water with just a little poison added, would you? So you shouldn’t tolerate a little bit of badness in the book for the sake of some good it also has.
But of course you do drink water with just a little bit of poison in it all the time. Most water contains traces of poisonous substances. So does food. Even the most essential nutrients will kill you if you get them in the wrong proportions. Everything in this world is dangerous.
So it is with ideas. There are no safe books. No, not even the Bible, for our twisted minds are quite capable of twisting it, too. Our minds and spirits must always stay on the alert. Probably the most dangerous thing we can do is to get in the habit of letting our guard down around certain sources we think are safe.
There are thus several excellent reasons for studying classics: to learn from the wisest men of history; to see how even the wisest men can succumb to folly. To learn to appreciate good; to learn to reject evil. To learn the language and ideas that the people we must minister to will speak; to learn how to respond to their false ideas so that we can introduce them to the Truth.
But it is a dangerous business. So next time: my very preliminary ideas on some precautions to take.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Miscellany
- We have decided that D1 is officially talking. She says "Hi" and "num-num" unprompted but appropriately. (We weren't sure "num-num" counted as a word, but according to DOB's mom, who is a speech therapist and ought to know, it does.) In the running for her third word: "gentle" "all done."
- She's still not officially crawling, but she's spending a lot of time up on all fours, sometimes moving forward by then doing a nose-dive. She sat herself up last week but has not repeated the performance.
- I am sending John Dewey back to the library unread. I got halfway through and realized he had yet to say anything, or at least to say anything that wasn't either an obvious platitude or so carefully qualified that it would be impossible to determine what it was. I don't know how he had such a great influence, but I doubt it was through this book. Anyway, I've got other things to do right now.
- On Sunday at church the pastor asked if D1 would let him hold her. Being sleepy, she acted reluctant. "You'll have to catch her when she's had her nap," said DOB. Smarting a bit from D1's obvious preference for her babysitter, I said, "Or you'd have to be Aunt Kristen." The trouble was, in the post-service cacophony, it sounded like I said, "Or you'd have to be a Christian."
- As promised: A "site" is a location, including one online. "Sight" is the quality of vision, or by relation, a visually arresting event or landscape. "I love your sight," an effusion I have seen in comments, should only be uttered by optometrists. "I love this sight" is arguable but few websites are stunning enough to deserve it. "Cite" is the verb form of "citation," it means to make a specific reference to an authority. In summary: Your site is such a wonderful sight; I'd like to cite it.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Warm
The furnace is finally fixed. We had a false alarm on Wednesday evening--they got it to run for a few hours but were still short the last essential part (which also was necessary to keep rivers of dirty water from running across the garage) and it soon quit again. But yesterday it was all done. Amazingly enough, the weather has not suddenly shot up to the 70's. So we may get to enjoy having it working for a few days yet. Now, on to the air conditioning repair. . . .
I really shouldn't be blogging. In a week and a half I am flying back out to Washington with D1 and my rubber chicken to record a class on government I used to teach two years ago. (D1 won't help with the class, but the rubber chicken will.) So I desperately need to be rehearsing. Then after a few days of that, DOB is flying out to join us. So I desperately need to be planning food for him to survive three days on his own. Then we will be attending two weddings, His Majesty's, and Carrie's. So I desperately need to be finding us some decent clothes to wear and figure out how to pack them (while leaving enough room for the dishes my sister wants to send back with us). Then we will be flying home, recuperating for a few days, and then heading off to the state YR convention. So I desperately need to be getting our club's chartering info together, or I won't even be able to vote at it.
This overuse of the word "desperately" does not reflect my lack of creativity. Rather it is a protest against the almost constant misspelling of the word I see all over the internet. I've seen it wrong so many times I had to look it up myself, and the Grammar Commando should not have to do that. Please, folks: "despErately." (Next week on the Commando Blogwatch: the essential and rather obvious difference between site, sight, and cite.)
I really shouldn't be blogging. In a week and a half I am flying back out to Washington with D1 and my rubber chicken to record a class on government I used to teach two years ago. (D1 won't help with the class, but the rubber chicken will.) So I desperately need to be rehearsing. Then after a few days of that, DOB is flying out to join us. So I desperately need to be planning food for him to survive three days on his own. Then we will be attending two weddings, His Majesty's, and Carrie's. So I desperately need to be finding us some decent clothes to wear and figure out how to pack them (while leaving enough room for the dishes my sister wants to send back with us). Then we will be flying home, recuperating for a few days, and then heading off to the state YR convention. So I desperately need to be getting our club's chartering info together, or I won't even be able to vote at it.
This overuse of the word "desperately" does not reflect my lack of creativity. Rather it is a protest against the almost constant misspelling of the word I see all over the internet. I've seen it wrong so many times I had to look it up myself, and the Grammar Commando should not have to do that. Please, folks: "despErately." (Next week on the Commando Blogwatch: the essential and rather obvious difference between site, sight, and cite.)
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
The Price is Wrong
I like to take comfort in the thought of how much what I do is worth. For instance, washing, starching and ironing DOB's shirt, at say, $4 a shirt and about 5 minutes of labor: $80/hour. Not bad.
So I couldn't believe when I read in this story that apparently the going rate for a surrogate pregnancy is only $15,000. That's all? I don't think I'd even give birth for that amount. All moral considerations aside, if I were charging for just being pregnant--with no fun on either end--I would charge at least three or four times that amount.
Mothers out there, what would you charge? (And hey, I bet the dads would have some ground to talk here, too.)
So I couldn't believe when I read in this story that apparently the going rate for a surrogate pregnancy is only $15,000. That's all? I don't think I'd even give birth for that amount. All moral considerations aside, if I were charging for just being pregnant--with no fun on either end--I would charge at least three or four times that amount.
Mothers out there, what would you charge? (And hey, I bet the dads would have some ground to talk here, too.)
Just a Few Days
The furnace man is supposed to come with a new pump today. After a few days of warmer weather, we're up to the high fifties in here. We've been mooching supper and evening warmth off DOB's family this week. But mornings are cold.
This weekend, in a braver mood than usual, I assured DOB that I would be fine--"It's just for a few days," I said.
"That's right," he said, and then, "And I mean that about everything."
Everything: exhaustion, unpaid bills, sickness, broken relationships, persecution, even death itself. They're all just for a few days.
And when they're over and we see what they were building, we'll feel mighty silly for having complained.
"For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal." II Corinthians 4:17-18
This weekend, in a braver mood than usual, I assured DOB that I would be fine--"It's just for a few days," I said.
"That's right," he said, and then, "And I mean that about everything."
Everything: exhaustion, unpaid bills, sickness, broken relationships, persecution, even death itself. They're all just for a few days.
And when they're over and we see what they were building, we'll feel mighty silly for having complained.
"For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal." II Corinthians 4:17-18
Monday, April 25, 2005
Snow on Lilacs
I didn't get a picture, but that's what we had yesterday morning. Which wouldn't be so bad (notwithstanding my continuing concern over my poor little seedlings), except that after six hours of labor on Saturday, the furnace repair guys announced that the problem was with the pump, which won't come in until Tuesday.
So it's been hovering in the low fifties around here. We are all going around dressed like ragamuffins, and D1 is learning that people who won't grow full heads of hair must learn to leave their hats on. The temperature doesn't bother me that much, being as I have more, uh, insulation than anyone else around here, plus all that handy increased blood flow of pregnancy, but it freezes up DOB's joints and makes it hard for him even to move. D1 doesn't seem disturbed by it, but we are disturbed when her hands are cold, and I'm afraid she's going to forget everything she knew about crawling by the time we let her back on the floor.
Last night we determined the only way to keep her warm was to keep her in bed with us. Now, I have read much on the joys of co-sleeping, and I always thought it sounded nice. I like my baby close by, and I was sad when we had to move her out of the basket by our bed. But I have come to the conclusion that people who enjoy it must (a) have a bigger bed than we do; (b) be sounder sleepers than I am--and have sounder-sleeping babies. Because with D1 in the bed, I spend most of the night noticing new aches and pains developing because I can't roll over because it would wake up D1. Not to mention that she woke up and fussed--for no reason we could discern, she certainly didn't want to eat--every half-hour or so during the night. Maybe she thought it was too crowded in there, too.
Today it's supposed to be sixty degrees. Hopefully at least some of that will make it inside here.
So it's been hovering in the low fifties around here. We are all going around dressed like ragamuffins, and D1 is learning that people who won't grow full heads of hair must learn to leave their hats on. The temperature doesn't bother me that much, being as I have more, uh, insulation than anyone else around here, plus all that handy increased blood flow of pregnancy, but it freezes up DOB's joints and makes it hard for him even to move. D1 doesn't seem disturbed by it, but we are disturbed when her hands are cold, and I'm afraid she's going to forget everything she knew about crawling by the time we let her back on the floor.
Last night we determined the only way to keep her warm was to keep her in bed with us. Now, I have read much on the joys of co-sleeping, and I always thought it sounded nice. I like my baby close by, and I was sad when we had to move her out of the basket by our bed. But I have come to the conclusion that people who enjoy it must (a) have a bigger bed than we do; (b) be sounder sleepers than I am--and have sounder-sleeping babies. Because with D1 in the bed, I spend most of the night noticing new aches and pains developing because I can't roll over because it would wake up D1. Not to mention that she woke up and fussed--for no reason we could discern, she certainly didn't want to eat--every half-hour or so during the night. Maybe she thought it was too crowded in there, too.
Today it's supposed to be sixty degrees. Hopefully at least some of that will make it inside here.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
A Word of Thanks
For the invention of indoor plumbing, toilets, bathtubs, washing machines, and dryers.
D1 had two of those kind of diapers last night.
How did the human race survive for so many years before all that was invented?
D1 had two of those kind of diapers last night.
How did the human race survive for so many years before all that was invented?
The Person She's Becoming
It's fascinating to watch the first glimmers of D1's unique personality and talents show themselves. Maybe 10 months is a bit premature to be guessing at her future life course, but I think there are a few things I can guess at. She is most definitely a people person, to a degree neither DOB or I will ever fully understand. She loves people. If she can't be with someone she knows, a stranger will do just fine. Even pictures of people are great.
She'll probably be easy to discipline most of the time, but she will have her feelings hurt very easily, especially by my tendency to get absorbed in something and ignore those around me. She'll want to follow me around and chatter about everything. She'll have dozens of friends, of all ages and conditions.
Sports will probably not interest her, at least not for the sake of motion or competition; as a social activity, sure. She will love stories. She also loves sounds, and will probably always enjoy music.
Anyway, that's all speculation. I'll come back in six or seven years and tell you if I was right.
On a completely unrelated note, it's SNOWING today. ARRGGGHHH! I hope it doesn't hurt my little seeds.
She'll probably be easy to discipline most of the time, but she will have her feelings hurt very easily, especially by my tendency to get absorbed in something and ignore those around me. She'll want to follow me around and chatter about everything. She'll have dozens of friends, of all ages and conditions.
Sports will probably not interest her, at least not for the sake of motion or competition; as a social activity, sure. She will love stories. She also loves sounds, and will probably always enjoy music.
Anyway, that's all speculation. I'll come back in six or seven years and tell you if I was right.
On a completely unrelated note, it's SNOWING today. ARRGGGHHH! I hope it doesn't hurt my little seeds.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
What is Education?
In the interests of balance, I’ve been reading John Holt and John Dewey lately. (Why so many guys named John in education theory?) John Holt is not as radical as I had been led to believe, and I actually am getting quite a few ideas about how to place concepts before children so that they can figure them out, as well as grateful for the reminder that no lesson is learned until it becomes the child’s own.
John Dewey is, in brief, a bore. He could really benefit from the exercise of writing out his ideas in words of one syllable. His theories in education smell remarkably of abstract theorizing taking over any real-world experience.
It is interesting to consider what each thinks education is, or ought to be. To John Holt, it’s the child making sense of the world for himself. To John Dewey, it’s the adult community socializing the child to fit into itself.
Which made me think of what the Biblical concept of education is. In brief, I suppose it is the introduction of the child to God and His works. And I thought of the passage in Deuteronomy (6:6-7), so often quoted by homeschoolers, about teaching your children as you walk by the way, etc. But what struck me was the part that comes first: These words shall be in your heart. Then you teach them to your children.
It doesn’t matter how great the curriculum or how proper the methods. On anything that really matters, I can’t pass on anything that’s not first in my heart.
Miscellany
According to the ultrasound last Friday, I'm due October 15. I still have my doubts, though, based on when I started and stopped feeling awful. Maybe D2 just has a big head, like DOB. I didn't find the ultrasound experience that thrilling. I already knew the baby had a head and a spine and a bottom, and that was about all one could make out. I'm happy to stick to my general no-ultrasound-unless-necessary policy and wait to see what they look like when they're ready to be visible.
Our phone line is working again--because we finally had time to call and ask them to fix it. The air conditioning and heat are still waiting on a similar occurence. We are very grateful the appliances and cars have been working just fine recently, as they're much more inconvenient to have broken.
D1 has finally started to develop some interest in getting to somewhere where she is not. The allure of far lands has always been to her significantly less than the allure of waving her arms in the air, trying out new noises, and watching the world go by. But now that she thinks there might be something interesting in the next room, I expect actual crawling to ensue shortly.
Our phone line is working again--because we finally had time to call and ask them to fix it. The air conditioning and heat are still waiting on a similar occurence. We are very grateful the appliances and cars have been working just fine recently, as they're much more inconvenient to have broken.
D1 has finally started to develop some interest in getting to somewhere where she is not. The allure of far lands has always been to her significantly less than the allure of waving her arms in the air, trying out new noises, and watching the world go by. But now that she thinks there might be something interesting in the next room, I expect actual crawling to ensue shortly.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
The Flowers that Bloom in the Spring, Tra La
Yesterday DOB's sister and I planted many seeds. I hope I have better luck this year than last year, when everything either died before it came up or immediately after I transplanted it. (Except the basil, which was good.) This year I decided to skip the transplanting stage and throw it directly into the dirt. We planted several herbs, a packet of mixed lettuce, and a bunch of mixed wildflowers which I suspect will look completely out of place in our neighborhood (if they survive).
This was about D1's third encounter with playing on the lawn, and she finally decided that she really liked it. We are still working on not eating leaves and dirt clods.
This was about D1's third encounter with playing on the lawn, and she finally decided that she really liked it. We are still working on not eating leaves and dirt clods.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Another complaint
Why are maternity clothes--especially conservative business attire--inevitably white, black, blue and maybe pink? I hate white, black, blue and pink. I also look terrible in them. Where's a nice moss green or even a subdued chocolate brown?
Possibly somewhat rude
* There's a church in our town that has mastered PR. They always have the biggest ad in every special edition of the paper. They're always one of the biggest sponsors at every community event. The senior pastor prays at every public political meeting. (At least the Republican ones. I haven't been to the Democrat ones.) And if there's not as much time to talk about the gospel once you've told everyone how wonderful they are--well, it doesn't seem to bother quite a lot of people.
This Sunday we drove by their spacious and well-filled parking lot and noticed they had hung up banners from all of the light poles, advertising their tenth anniversary. "It looks like a department store," I remarked to DOB, "I wonder if they're offering salvation half-off this month."
* Babies are considered the common property of mankind. Therefore, by some, stomachs containing babies are considered common property. I do not hold to this view. Yesterday in church a woman asked me out of the blue, "Do you have a sensitive stomach? Does it hurt you to have it patted?"
"No," I said, "But I have a strong sense of personal space and I don't like having it patted."
I'm not sure I've convinced her, though. Good grief, I'm not even really showing yet. (Though I have started wearing maternity clothes because I have them around this time and they are more comfortable.)
* Why does prayer bring out verbal tics more than any other form of speech? Even I must confess I sometimes fall prey to the "just" syndrome: you know, where you ask God to "just" do that, and then "just" do the other thing, as if to convince him that the tasks requested were not really that big of a deal. A very illogical thing, since one can only "just" do one thing at a time, so if you pray for God to "just" do something, all other petitions should cease until that one was finished.
But in other people, it's far more annoying, of course. There are the "Lord" punctuaters, who insert "Lord" every four words, as if God's attention were wandering and we needed to keep reminding Him that, hey, we're talking to Him here. And there are the duplicators, who repeat every phrase they utter at least twice, whether to make the prayers last twice as long or because they're afraid God will forget what was asked if it's not well hammered in, I'm not sure.
It's a good thing God is more gracious in hearing prayers than I would be.
This Sunday we drove by their spacious and well-filled parking lot and noticed they had hung up banners from all of the light poles, advertising their tenth anniversary. "It looks like a department store," I remarked to DOB, "I wonder if they're offering salvation half-off this month."
* Babies are considered the common property of mankind. Therefore, by some, stomachs containing babies are considered common property. I do not hold to this view. Yesterday in church a woman asked me out of the blue, "Do you have a sensitive stomach? Does it hurt you to have it patted?"
"No," I said, "But I have a strong sense of personal space and I don't like having it patted."
I'm not sure I've convinced her, though. Good grief, I'm not even really showing yet. (Though I have started wearing maternity clothes because I have them around this time and they are more comfortable.)
* Why does prayer bring out verbal tics more than any other form of speech? Even I must confess I sometimes fall prey to the "just" syndrome: you know, where you ask God to "just" do that, and then "just" do the other thing, as if to convince him that the tasks requested were not really that big of a deal. A very illogical thing, since one can only "just" do one thing at a time, so if you pray for God to "just" do something, all other petitions should cease until that one was finished.
But in other people, it's far more annoying, of course. There are the "Lord" punctuaters, who insert "Lord" every four words, as if God's attention were wandering and we needed to keep reminding Him that, hey, we're talking to Him here. And there are the duplicators, who repeat every phrase they utter at least twice, whether to make the prayers last twice as long or because they're afraid God will forget what was asked if it's not well hammered in, I'm not sure.
It's a good thing God is more gracious in hearing prayers than I would be.
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Understanding Children
All this reading on education is putting me in mind of the book that has probably driven my philosophy on education more than any other. (Except, I hope, the Bible, but that's too hard to fully trace.) It is often not the depth or length of a book, but when and how it strikes you that makes a difference. And when I first read this great treatise on education, I was probably not more than eight years old.
The book was called Understood Betsy, and it was a very old paperback children's story (even older than I realized then). It told of a little girl who was raised by a very sympathetic aunt who was determined that Betsy feel understood, and so used every psychological trick she could learn of to sympathize with her and help her at every difficult turn. Betsy also went to a very modern school with all the latest in educational theories, and between the two, being rather sensitive by nature, she was of course the most timid, self-absorbed child on the planet and has never thought a thought of her own in her life.
Then the aunt must nurse a sick relation and Betsy, to her horror, is shipped off to the wilds of Vermont. There she lives with some distant farming cousins, who make children do chores, of all things, and she must go to a one-room school, and otherwise suffers various privations. And suddenly she begins to wake up and discover that she is a person. She helps in the dairy and discovers that pounds and ounces exist outside of textbooks. At school, she finds herself studying each subject according to her skill in that subject, not her age, and even tutoring the younger children. Sent off to encounter new experiences on her own, she puzzles through things and finds that she can think of things for herself.
I'm not sure what effect all that is meant to have on the child reading the story, since few modern children need to be prepared for the consequences of being shipped off to rural relatives, but it had as much insight into what children really need to learn or to have good self-esteem--not empty praise or psychoanalyzing, but genuinely important things to do--as some of the best books I've read since on education. And it's a good story; all around, a great book to give to a little girl who will someday be choosing how her children are educated.
The book was called Understood Betsy, and it was a very old paperback children's story (even older than I realized then). It told of a little girl who was raised by a very sympathetic aunt who was determined that Betsy feel understood, and so used every psychological trick she could learn of to sympathize with her and help her at every difficult turn. Betsy also went to a very modern school with all the latest in educational theories, and between the two, being rather sensitive by nature, she was of course the most timid, self-absorbed child on the planet and has never thought a thought of her own in her life.
Then the aunt must nurse a sick relation and Betsy, to her horror, is shipped off to the wilds of Vermont. There she lives with some distant farming cousins, who make children do chores, of all things, and she must go to a one-room school, and otherwise suffers various privations. And suddenly she begins to wake up and discover that she is a person. She helps in the dairy and discovers that pounds and ounces exist outside of textbooks. At school, she finds herself studying each subject according to her skill in that subject, not her age, and even tutoring the younger children. Sent off to encounter new experiences on her own, she puzzles through things and finds that she can think of things for herself.
I'm not sure what effect all that is meant to have on the child reading the story, since few modern children need to be prepared for the consequences of being shipped off to rural relatives, but it had as much insight into what children really need to learn or to have good self-esteem--not empty praise or psychoanalyzing, but genuinely important things to do--as some of the best books I've read since on education. And it's a good story; all around, a great book to give to a little girl who will someday be choosing how her children are educated.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Miscellany
D1 has taught herself how to clap. She likes to do it whenever she finds herself on her back, especially during diaper changes. I must admit, it's nice to have an appreciative audience for a usually thankless task. She also applauded when I put on my Gilbert & Sullivan CD. Clearly, a child of discriminating tastes.
My tulips are up and blooming and individually beautiful, though collectively more sparse than I would like. If I get very inspired, I may take a picture. I had B5 take out some of the ugly evergreens in front of the flowerbed last weekend and hope eventually to convert it from the three-identical-pruned-shrub look to more of a cottage garden. But it will take quite some time.
Tuesday night I became convinced I would live out the rest of my days nauseous and exhausted, in a disastrously messy house, cold, broke, and starving. As I should have realized, this meant the first trimester (at least symptom-wise) was about to end. I'm feeling much better now. I even did the dinner dishes two nights in a row, which I'm sure hasn't happened since February.
I have been looking at some cool homeschooling websites: The Well-Trained Mind, and Guilt-Free Homeschooling. Also one that apparently looks at homeschooling from an Objectivist (i.e. Ayn Rand) perspective.
My tulips are up and blooming and individually beautiful, though collectively more sparse than I would like. If I get very inspired, I may take a picture. I had B5 take out some of the ugly evergreens in front of the flowerbed last weekend and hope eventually to convert it from the three-identical-pruned-shrub look to more of a cottage garden. But it will take quite some time.
Tuesday night I became convinced I would live out the rest of my days nauseous and exhausted, in a disastrously messy house, cold, broke, and starving. As I should have realized, this meant the first trimester (at least symptom-wise) was about to end. I'm feeling much better now. I even did the dinner dishes two nights in a row, which I'm sure hasn't happened since February.
I have been looking at some cool homeschooling websites: The Well-Trained Mind, and Guilt-Free Homeschooling. Also one that apparently looks at homeschooling from an Objectivist (i.e. Ayn Rand) perspective.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Community and Networks
This weekend I've been reading and pondering John Taylor Gatto's Dumbing us Down (which, in short, is a public school teacher explaining why the public school system is inherently evil and anti-human, no matter what reforms may go through it).
One concept of his that fascinated me is the difference between a network and a community. In a community, all different ages and stages of people interact as whole human beings. In a network, people band together for a specific purpose and you are valuable in the network only to the extent that you comply with the purpose. Communities value people as individuals; networks value them as contributors. Workplaces, clubs, schools, and sadly, most churches, are networks. Indeed, most people nowadays have little or nothing in their lives but networks. Not that networks are intrinsically bad, but they leave people empty and without genuinely meaningful human interactions.
Now that I think about it, I think the primary reason we chose the church we did was its sense of being at least closer to the idea of a community. It was probably what was behind DOB's secret final test for a church: if they would offer to help us move. Not from a goal of getting moving help (though that was very handy), but to see if the church actually cared about its people as people, not just as names to fill in those empty slots on the Sunday School teachers' roster.
I think a big part of the lonely, helpless feeling I had when we first got married was tied to this lack of community. I was blessed to grow up somewhere where there still were elements of community, where people actually found out and did something if someone was sick or needed help. It wasn't that we knew no one or had no friends here, but we knew no one who was genuinely part of our lives.
I also spent the weekend re-reading some of L. M. Montgomery's books. And it strikes me that a big part of her enduring popularity is her skill at portraying not just people and place, but the presence of a community. You don't just know a few people of Avonlea; you know the character and flavor of Avonlea as a town. And it is a real community; people will gossip about each other, people will have feuds with each other. But people matter to each other as whole people. You may not like Mrs. Lynde, but she is still part of your life.
One concept of his that fascinated me is the difference between a network and a community. In a community, all different ages and stages of people interact as whole human beings. In a network, people band together for a specific purpose and you are valuable in the network only to the extent that you comply with the purpose. Communities value people as individuals; networks value them as contributors. Workplaces, clubs, schools, and sadly, most churches, are networks. Indeed, most people nowadays have little or nothing in their lives but networks. Not that networks are intrinsically bad, but they leave people empty and without genuinely meaningful human interactions.
Now that I think about it, I think the primary reason we chose the church we did was its sense of being at least closer to the idea of a community. It was probably what was behind DOB's secret final test for a church: if they would offer to help us move. Not from a goal of getting moving help (though that was very handy), but to see if the church actually cared about its people as people, not just as names to fill in those empty slots on the Sunday School teachers' roster.
I think a big part of the lonely, helpless feeling I had when we first got married was tied to this lack of community. I was blessed to grow up somewhere where there still were elements of community, where people actually found out and did something if someone was sick or needed help. It wasn't that we knew no one or had no friends here, but we knew no one who was genuinely part of our lives.
I also spent the weekend re-reading some of L. M. Montgomery's books. And it strikes me that a big part of her enduring popularity is her skill at portraying not just people and place, but the presence of a community. You don't just know a few people of Avonlea; you know the character and flavor of Avonlea as a town. And it is a real community; people will gossip about each other, people will have feuds with each other. But people matter to each other as whole people. You may not like Mrs. Lynde, but she is still part of your life.
Creepy Crawlies
This was DOB's weekend to encounter nasty bugs. First he was wrapping up his work at the office on Saturday afternoon--where he was valiantly laboring even though the air conditioning doesn't operate on the weekends--when he suddenly saw termites galore crawling all over the floor and furniture. He promptly decided that he could finish everything else later, and put the extra shirt he had shed in the heat and left lying in the path of the termites into a plastic bag for me to deal with later. It stayed in his trunk until Sunday night, when . . .
He was sitting at the computer working and felt something crawling on his chest. He looked down and it was a tick. From Abbey's room I heard his very urgent whispers and came running. Now, I'd never seen a tick before in my life (I don't think they have them where I grew up) and was at a loss what to do. Fortunately it was still crawling around, so we were able to remove it and flush it without any trouble. All the rest of his clothes promptly went into the washing machine with the termite shirt and they have all been washed now, so we can hope that all such loathsome devices are vanished.
DOB was surprised that I was panicked by the tick, when I always retain my cool in the face of household spiders. But as I pointed out, spiders are relatively indifferent to human beings, while ticks regard them as their natural prey. If I must freak out, I prefer to freak out for rational reasons.
He was sitting at the computer working and felt something crawling on his chest. He looked down and it was a tick. From Abbey's room I heard his very urgent whispers and came running. Now, I'd never seen a tick before in my life (I don't think they have them where I grew up) and was at a loss what to do. Fortunately it was still crawling around, so we were able to remove it and flush it without any trouble. All the rest of his clothes promptly went into the washing machine with the termite shirt and they have all been washed now, so we can hope that all such loathsome devices are vanished.
DOB was surprised that I was panicked by the tick, when I always retain my cool in the face of household spiders. But as I pointed out, spiders are relatively indifferent to human beings, while ticks regard them as their natural prey. If I must freak out, I prefer to freak out for rational reasons.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Inevitable baby postings
D1 has, at long last, a tooth! A real, live, fully-exposed tooth, as verified by Grandma's test of clicking a metal spoon on it. (Note: if said spoon formerly was used to dish applesauce, getting it back out of D1's mouth is a real challenge.) This is a great relief to me, as I was beginning to envision myself straining her food until she reached the age of six.
D1 has also made great strides in crawling, and although she is more into army-crawling on her belly, finally prefers it to rolling as a means of transportation. I think she finds it easier to get where she originally intended to go. Her primary goal in life now is to dive off the edge of the bed or couch. Actually, the couch she can get off fairly safely if she just remembers to go feet first.
Last night we took her to the park for the first time. She found the people entertaining to watch, the slide was tolerable, and the swing was the greatest of all delights--the faster and higher, the better. Now we must figure out how to set up a swing for her at home. Unfortunately either our tree limbs are too high or our swing ropes are too short, but we have not been able to find a satisfactory place to hang it.
D1 has also made great strides in crawling, and although she is more into army-crawling on her belly, finally prefers it to rolling as a means of transportation. I think she finds it easier to get where she originally intended to go. Her primary goal in life now is to dive off the edge of the bed or couch. Actually, the couch she can get off fairly safely if she just remembers to go feet first.
Last night we took her to the park for the first time. She found the people entertaining to watch, the slide was tolerable, and the swing was the greatest of all delights--the faster and higher, the better. Now we must figure out how to set up a swing for her at home. Unfortunately either our tree limbs are too high or our swing ropes are too short, but we have not been able to find a satisfactory place to hang it.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Service Distractions
I saw a discussion yesterday on the merits of including vs. excluding children from services. One commenter defended his church's practice of excluding children under six from the services by saying, "It can be disruptive to the study, in the same way cell phones can be disruptive. "
Doesn't that sum up much of the modern Christian attitude towards children? Noisy, expensive luxury items that will distract you from the really important things in life unless you can shuttle them off somewhere for awhile. Instead of fellow human beings who need to hear God's Word (God's Word, not just the latest drivel in Christian education) and members of the body of Christ who need to fellowship with us.
Not that I think children attending the service should be mandatory, if there are resources to provide an alternative for parents who need it--but I can't imagine attending a church that absolutely forbade children from being in the service.
Doesn't that sum up much of the modern Christian attitude towards children? Noisy, expensive luxury items that will distract you from the really important things in life unless you can shuttle them off somewhere for awhile. Instead of fellow human beings who need to hear God's Word (God's Word, not just the latest drivel in Christian education) and members of the body of Christ who need to fellowship with us.
Not that I think children attending the service should be mandatory, if there are resources to provide an alternative for parents who need it--but I can't imagine attending a church that absolutely forbade children from being in the service.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Transportation Methods
Feeding D1 is an activity that, though I hate to admit it, is becoming tedious. Spending nearly two hours of my day aiming a spoon at a moving target gets old. Besides, don't I want her to grow in independence?
So when I spotted a gizmo called a "dipper," I decided to give it a try. It consists of a fat, squeezeable handle and a little flat paddle with grooves in it. The idea is that the grooves will hold the food on no matter which way the baby turns the dipper. You are supposed to demonstrate it a few times for the baby and then let them try it out for themselves.
Dipper procedure, according to QOC:
1. Dip dipper in food.
2. Put dipper in D1's mouth.
3. Repeat.
D1 was quite eager to take her turn. Anything new to grab and chew on is always welcome. However, despite repeated demonstrations, she clings to her own notion that a more complicated ritual is demanded.
Dipper procedure, according to D1:
1. Dip dipper in food.
2. Bang dipper on side of bowl.
3. Bang dipper on tray. Rub around a bit.
4. Hang dipper over side of high chair and shake vigorously.
5. Run dipper through hair.
6. Put dipper in mouth.
Needless to say, by this time the grooves have given up on holding the food altogether and are doing their best merely to cling to the dipper.
It is fun, for sure. But dipper use remains reserved to times when I am feeling even more patient than usual. So progress is slow.
So when I spotted a gizmo called a "dipper," I decided to give it a try. It consists of a fat, squeezeable handle and a little flat paddle with grooves in it. The idea is that the grooves will hold the food on no matter which way the baby turns the dipper. You are supposed to demonstrate it a few times for the baby and then let them try it out for themselves.
Dipper procedure, according to QOC:
1. Dip dipper in food.
2. Put dipper in D1's mouth.
3. Repeat.
D1 was quite eager to take her turn. Anything new to grab and chew on is always welcome. However, despite repeated demonstrations, she clings to her own notion that a more complicated ritual is demanded.
Dipper procedure, according to D1:
1. Dip dipper in food.
2. Bang dipper on side of bowl.
3. Bang dipper on tray. Rub around a bit.
4. Hang dipper over side of high chair and shake vigorously.
5. Run dipper through hair.
6. Put dipper in mouth.
Needless to say, by this time the grooves have given up on holding the food altogether and are doing their best merely to cling to the dipper.
It is fun, for sure. But dipper use remains reserved to times when I am feeling even more patient than usual. So progress is slow.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Heroes of Life
I have nothing to say on Terri Schiavo specifically that hasn’t already been said dozens of other places. (Even DOB has broken his silence for the subject.)
But this one death is only a symptom. The much bigger problem that faces us today and every day after is how to change our culture so that human beings are valued merely for being human, and not for their level of rational consciousness. The question that faces me is, “What can I do to promote a culture of life?”
The simplest answer is I can keep doing what I am doing. My everyday tasks of changing diapers, fixing meals, and singing lullabies proclaim minute by minute (if I so choose, by my attitude towards them) that caring for another human being is a worthwhile purpose. Not just something one does because one hasn’t the education or smarts to get a better job.
For all the hysteria over the trauma of stay-at-home motherhood, though, my job is relatively easy. It’s a job that looks up. I am taking people from a state of dependence to a state of independence. I have hope that someday my tasks will be lighter, my work rewarded by seeing strong, intelligent young people march out to face the world on their own. The growth in my children’s independence may be bittersweet, but it is still something I can anticipate unashamedly.
A far more difficult task is the one my sister has undertaken twice in the past three years: caring for someone terminally ill. To watch someone move from strength and independence to weakness and helplessness; to know one’s tasks will steadily increase and the rewards steadily decline; to anticipate that the only release is the very thing one is dreading; and yet to undertake it all willingly—that is truly heroic. That also is a far stronger proclamation of the value of life—of every moment of life—as incredibly valuable.
Then there is parenting that does not look up. Ever since I worked as a teenager for NATHHAN, an organization for parents homeschooling special-needs children, I’ve had a special admiration for parents who care for children who won’t ever grow up. Once the severely disabled were institutionalized; now, they are more often simply killed. Parents who lovingly accept and rejoice in every day with every one of their children—regardless of how they measure up on the scale of “normal”—give hope that the attitude against life is not wholly irreversible.
NATHHAN has a new affiliate, CHASK, for parents who specifically want to care for special-needs children whose own parents cannot raise them. I am in awe of the love and faith of these parents; and yet I know they are real, ordinary people. (I worked in the home of Tom and Sherry Bushnell, the founders, who now have four adopted special needs kids as well as so many of their own that I’ve since lost count.) They just take seriously what they believe about the value of life. These are people who are not just anti-abortion, or anti-euthanasia. They truly deserve the title, “pro-life.”
But this one death is only a symptom. The much bigger problem that faces us today and every day after is how to change our culture so that human beings are valued merely for being human, and not for their level of rational consciousness. The question that faces me is, “What can I do to promote a culture of life?”
The simplest answer is I can keep doing what I am doing. My everyday tasks of changing diapers, fixing meals, and singing lullabies proclaim minute by minute (if I so choose, by my attitude towards them) that caring for another human being is a worthwhile purpose. Not just something one does because one hasn’t the education or smarts to get a better job.
For all the hysteria over the trauma of stay-at-home motherhood, though, my job is relatively easy. It’s a job that looks up. I am taking people from a state of dependence to a state of independence. I have hope that someday my tasks will be lighter, my work rewarded by seeing strong, intelligent young people march out to face the world on their own. The growth in my children’s independence may be bittersweet, but it is still something I can anticipate unashamedly.
A far more difficult task is the one my sister has undertaken twice in the past three years: caring for someone terminally ill. To watch someone move from strength and independence to weakness and helplessness; to know one’s tasks will steadily increase and the rewards steadily decline; to anticipate that the only release is the very thing one is dreading; and yet to undertake it all willingly—that is truly heroic. That also is a far stronger proclamation of the value of life—of every moment of life—as incredibly valuable.
Then there is parenting that does not look up. Ever since I worked as a teenager for NATHHAN, an organization for parents homeschooling special-needs children, I’ve had a special admiration for parents who care for children who won’t ever grow up. Once the severely disabled were institutionalized; now, they are more often simply killed. Parents who lovingly accept and rejoice in every day with every one of their children—regardless of how they measure up on the scale of “normal”—give hope that the attitude against life is not wholly irreversible.
NATHHAN has a new affiliate, CHASK, for parents who specifically want to care for special-needs children whose own parents cannot raise them. I am in awe of the love and faith of these parents; and yet I know they are real, ordinary people. (I worked in the home of Tom and Sherry Bushnell, the founders, who now have four adopted special needs kids as well as so many of their own that I’ve since lost count.) They just take seriously what they believe about the value of life. These are people who are not just anti-abortion, or anti-euthanasia. They truly deserve the title, “pro-life.”
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Lessons Learned Over the Weekend
- If a full beard is an essential part of a costume, it's best to have an understudy beard available, even if your actor possesses a magnificent beard of his own.
- People who have their heart set on wearing a particular outfit on a particular day should not get pregnant two months beforehand.
- Before making suggestive comments backstage about a fellow cast member, make sure your lapel mike is turned off.
- When asked, "Do you prefer crunchy or soft chocolate chip cookies?" clarify in your answer that chocolate chip cookies in any form will be gratefully received.
- Children who get inadequate water during the day may not sleep very well at night owing to severe digestive distress.
- It's a good thing children have two parents, because my brain can't get past crying=hunger at 1 a.m.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Book Learning
D1 enjoys a twaddle-free board book.
Over the past week I've been reading and re-reading A Charlotte Mason Companion. I am really, really excited about this approach to education, despite the Victorian woodcut illustrations and frequent use of words like "gentle," neither of which is really my cup of tea. I confess I have yet to get my hands on a copy of Charlotte Mason's original works, but maybe I can get my sisters to make me a long-term loan from their resource library.
Educating my children has to reflect what I believe to be true about them as people. And they are people, just like me, only quite a bit shorter still. They are made in God's image, made to be curious, inventive, creative, analytical. But they are also fallen, born sinners. Thus, I want an educational approach that treats them as image-bearers of God, empowering them to be the primary actors in their education; and yet that acknowledges their fallen nature, realizing they still need guidance and training.
I used to say (I've been analyzing homeschooling theories since I was ten) my two favorite homeschooling methods were Classical and Unschooling, and I didn't see how I could reconcile the two. But the Charlotte Mason method seems to offer what I see as the best of both: the child is deliberately introduced to the greatest ideas of all time, and trained in good habits of application; yet at the same time, the child is teaching himself, lessons don't dominate the day, and success is measured by the child's enjoyment and personal relationship with the subjects, not 85% correct on a test.
Best of all, the core concepts of the Charlotte Mason approach are simply the things we would do every day anyway. Yes, even at nine months:
Living books: Children should be given only excellent books in every subject and at every age. There's no "twaddle" allowed at this house—talking down to children, or dumbing things down for them. My test is simple: if I won't enjoy reading a book over and over, we don't get it. D1 has just started to enjoy turning the pages of books even more than chewing on them, and shows a special fondness for listening to poetry. At least Mother Goose and Dr. Seuss. She wasn't that interested in Chesterton, but I'll have to try again.
Narration: This takes the place of nearly all worksheets and tests—the child simply tells back what they have learned. The point is for them to interact personally with the book or experience. D1 is not, of course, able to narrate yet, but we model it for her: "Shall we tell Papa what we did today? Aunt Kristen came and we helped fold the laundry."
Nature study: The child develops good habits as well as good health by spending ample time outside, and sometimes recording what he observes. D1 and I have taken a walk every decent day since she was a couple of weeks old. When we see a bird or a squirrel or new flowers in someone's yard, we stop to take a look at them and talk about them. Later this summer I will probably get myself a notebook to record things that catch her eye.
Building habits: I want my children to learn for the joy of learning, but I also know they need to develop good habits to get them over the rough parts, especially once they begin training for a career. More on this in a later post.
Everybody has different needs, of course, and I'm sure we will change things over time as we start turning theory into practice. But this seems like a perfect fit for us. DOB and I, over the weekend, even drew up a basic outline of how we want to arrange our studies, using a four-year study of history (DOB's favorite subject) as the basic structure, and organizing our other studies around that. It's going to be hard to wait the next four and a half years until we can get started.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Speaking up
DOB brought home a pile of very nice maternity clothes from the wife of one of the other agents, who has decided she is done with maternity clothes. I am quite pleased with them, but was distressed to learn that she had already taken the vast majority of them to Goodwill two weeks before.
"See, that's what you get for not announcing sooner," she told DOB.
Actually, I would have offered them around to anybody I thought might expect to have more children at any point in the future, but then most people don't expect others to be ready to jump at deals so proactively. I was buying maternity clothes at garage sales last summer, including a very warm-looking green corduroy jacket I suspect I'll be living in come October. It never hurts to be prepared.
Except in lost closet space.
"See, that's what you get for not announcing sooner," she told DOB.
Actually, I would have offered them around to anybody I thought might expect to have more children at any point in the future, but then most people don't expect others to be ready to jump at deals so proactively. I was buying maternity clothes at garage sales last summer, including a very warm-looking green corduroy jacket I suspect I'll be living in come October. It never hurts to be prepared.
Except in lost closet space.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Second Time Around
Everything is for first-time moms. The pregnancy magazines, the pamphlets, even the nurse's lectures. When I met with the nurse yesterday, she just shrugged, handed over the same packet I got last year and said, "I guess you still remember all this."
Apparently there is not an adequate market for such issues as: How do you change stinky diapers when you are already queasy? How do you rearrange the nursery to fit two babies? (And how do you keep them from waking each other up?) What do you do if all the maternity clothes you bought last time won't work because they're not suitable for nursing? And why are you outgrowing everything twice as soon?
The morning sickness (which usually strikes me worst in the evenings) is much, much better this time. Which leaves lots of room for improvement. There are still days in which I would cheerfully exchange going through unmedicated childbirth twice per child--complete with three days of pre-labor and two and a half hours of pushing--for going through the first trimester once. (DOB has suggested I could accomplish the same effect by having twins, but I'm not sure.) At least when giving birth I can stop worrying about other things and concentrate on the task at hand. I think the first trimester has a similar hormonal effect to labor, in that one wants to withdraw from the world, but unfortunately withdrawing from the world for two and a half months isn't really an option. Especially when one is a stay-at-home mom and can't call in sick.
On the flip side, I think D1 is actually helping me feel better. Having a pattern of things that have to be done every day keeps me from getting too stuck in a rut of inactivity. Having definite limited naptimes helps me focus on stopping everything else and getting a nap. And having someone cooing and laughing (for whatever mysterious reasons of her own) keeps things from getting too dreary around here.
Apparently there is not an adequate market for such issues as: How do you change stinky diapers when you are already queasy? How do you rearrange the nursery to fit two babies? (And how do you keep them from waking each other up?) What do you do if all the maternity clothes you bought last time won't work because they're not suitable for nursing? And why are you outgrowing everything twice as soon?
The morning sickness (which usually strikes me worst in the evenings) is much, much better this time. Which leaves lots of room for improvement. There are still days in which I would cheerfully exchange going through unmedicated childbirth twice per child--complete with three days of pre-labor and two and a half hours of pushing--for going through the first trimester once. (DOB has suggested I could accomplish the same effect by having twins, but I'm not sure.) At least when giving birth I can stop worrying about other things and concentrate on the task at hand. I think the first trimester has a similar hormonal effect to labor, in that one wants to withdraw from the world, but unfortunately withdrawing from the world for two and a half months isn't really an option. Especially when one is a stay-at-home mom and can't call in sick.
On the flip side, I think D1 is actually helping me feel better. Having a pattern of things that have to be done every day keeps me from getting too stuck in a rut of inactivity. Having definite limited naptimes helps me focus on stopping everything else and getting a nap. And having someone cooing and laughing (for whatever mysterious reasons of her own) keeps things from getting too dreary around here.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Staff Changes
Guest Post by D1
Everybody has a job to do around here. Mama does the Mama jobs: singing songs, reading books, and feeding us. Papa does the Papa jobs: inventing new games, helping Mama, and hiding in the garage all day to make money. I do the baby jobs: picking up lint off the floor, ripping off tags, and decorating with toys.
I thought I was doing a pretty good job, too. So I was a little confused when Mama and Papa told me they were going to get a new baby this fall. I know there's a lot of floor to keep clean, but I still thought I could handle it. Why did they need someone else?
Then they explained that in a few more months I wouldn't be a baby anymore. Once I figure out how to stand up and walk on my own, I'll be a toddler and have new toddler jobs to do. So they'll need a new baby to do the baby stuff. They also say that when the new baby is a little bit older, it will be lots of fun to play with, even when Mama and Papa are tired.
It sounds like it should be OK. I'll let you know how I like it. Anyway, it's still a very long time until the new baby comes--not until November, probably, Mama says, and that's farther away than I can think. Meanwhile Mama's been kind of tired lately, so Aunt Kristen comes to help a lot, and I always like to see Aunt Kristen.
Everybody has a job to do around here. Mama does the Mama jobs: singing songs, reading books, and feeding us. Papa does the Papa jobs: inventing new games, helping Mama, and hiding in the garage all day to make money. I do the baby jobs: picking up lint off the floor, ripping off tags, and decorating with toys.
I thought I was doing a pretty good job, too. So I was a little confused when Mama and Papa told me they were going to get a new baby this fall. I know there's a lot of floor to keep clean, but I still thought I could handle it. Why did they need someone else?
Then they explained that in a few more months I wouldn't be a baby anymore. Once I figure out how to stand up and walk on my own, I'll be a toddler and have new toddler jobs to do. So they'll need a new baby to do the baby stuff. They also say that when the new baby is a little bit older, it will be lots of fun to play with, even when Mama and Papa are tired.
It sounds like it should be OK. I'll let you know how I like it. Anyway, it's still a very long time until the new baby comes--not until November, probably, Mama says, and that's farther away than I can think. Meanwhile Mama's been kind of tired lately, so Aunt Kristen comes to help a lot, and I always like to see Aunt Kristen.
Friday, March 18, 2005
The Joys of Spam
That would be the internet variety, not the canned meat, which I don't think I've ever tasted, although I did once work with a Hawaiian fellow who was always threatening to bring some in and microwave it, which would have spawned odor-wars with my lutefisk-eating Swedish-speaking Finn co-worker. (Despite my Norwegian heritage, I never ate lutefisk either. Grandma had me cook it for her, but she wouldn't share.) Fortunately for all of us, we were able to defuse the situation before it got too intense.
Email spam, on the other hand, I'm quite familiar with. And it's been getting more entertaining lately. For awhile we were getting a phishing scam that would send out a notice of need for our information from a different bank each week. Presumably when it finally got all the way down the list to our local bank, we would forget that we'd already been requested information from dozens of other banks we'd never been affiliated with and rush in to hand over all our private data. But they never did get that far down the list.
Even more interesting is the "from" addresses on a recent round of spam. Usually these are random strings of letters, or names. But apparently they have run out of names to use. So they've started stringing together arbitrary words as if they were names. Like this:
Pivoting J. Megaton
Travailed P. Chaperoning
Elocution V. Rodolfo
Hillier O. Incompatibles
There's a certain charm to the names. It makes one think of a sci-fi novel where a group has adopted English wholesale, without a clue what any of the words mean.
I'm almost tempted to save the spam just for the fun of collecting the names.
Email spam, on the other hand, I'm quite familiar with. And it's been getting more entertaining lately. For awhile we were getting a phishing scam that would send out a notice of need for our information from a different bank each week. Presumably when it finally got all the way down the list to our local bank, we would forget that we'd already been requested information from dozens of other banks we'd never been affiliated with and rush in to hand over all our private data. But they never did get that far down the list.
Even more interesting is the "from" addresses on a recent round of spam. Usually these are random strings of letters, or names. But apparently they have run out of names to use. So they've started stringing together arbitrary words as if they were names. Like this:
Pivoting J. Megaton
Travailed P. Chaperoning
Elocution V. Rodolfo
Hillier O. Incompatibles
There's a certain charm to the names. It makes one think of a sci-fi novel where a group has adopted English wholesale, without a clue what any of the words mean.
I'm almost tempted to save the spam just for the fun of collecting the names.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Grades
Name: D1
Grade: 9 months
Pre-Reading: B Comments: Recognizes books have uses other than eating, but still prefers eating them.
Language: B Comments: Babbles well, seems to ascribe meaning to some babbles. Recognizes simple words.
Gross Motor: D Comments: Sits unsupported, rolls around well and tries to lift onto all fours, but still very much in the pre-crawling stage. May need remediation.
Fine Motor: B+ Comments: Can grab any piece of lint off the floor, no matter how small. Plays the piano with individual fingers.
Social: A+ Comments: Waves when prompted and sometimes spontaneously; recognizes people after a week's absence.
Oh wait, I guess it's kind of silly, not to say heartless, to ascribe value to a child's development based on arbitrary averages. Wonder why that changes suddenly when they turn six?
Grade: 9 months
Pre-Reading: B Comments: Recognizes books have uses other than eating, but still prefers eating them.
Language: B Comments: Babbles well, seems to ascribe meaning to some babbles. Recognizes simple words.
Gross Motor: D Comments: Sits unsupported, rolls around well and tries to lift onto all fours, but still very much in the pre-crawling stage. May need remediation.
Fine Motor: B+ Comments: Can grab any piece of lint off the floor, no matter how small. Plays the piano with individual fingers.
Social: A+ Comments: Waves when prompted and sometimes spontaneously; recognizes people after a week's absence.
Oh wait, I guess it's kind of silly, not to say heartless, to ascribe value to a child's development based on arbitrary averages. Wonder why that changes suddenly when they turn six?
For true political junkies
March Madness for GOP presidential candidates. Help top-seeded John McCain go down in smoke! (Bob Taft could use a few more votes against him, too.)
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Eating, again
After a week and a half of D1 waking up once or twice in the middle of the night and nursing for dear life, concurrent with me getting increasingly psychotic from sleep-deprivation, we have finally solved the mystery: she needed more solids.
You wouldn't think this would be that hard to figure out. But D1's eating habits are strange. For the first twenty bites or so, she is quite eager to take the food. Once the edge is off her appetite, she is more interested in looking around the room, trying to manipulate her sippy cup, or laying in wait for the spoon. (I won't put the spoon up to her mouth while her hands are up, so she has to be quick about it to grab it.) She'll still take bites if offered, but she seems to be doing it more for the sake of getting along than because she's actually hungry.
On the other hand, I understand many babies are in the habit of expressing themselves vehemently when they don't want any more food. I've never seen her do this. She's always happy to have more food around, whether she's that interested in eating it or not. So to guess when she is done, you try to gauge the speed at which she opens her mouth for another bite when one is waved in the vicinity.
The other problem is, she eats so much you feel sure that she must have had enough by now (Not to mention that you've already devoted 45 minutes to feeding here and would rather like to get on with something else in life.) Last night for supper she ate (mashed up) a baked potato, 1/4 cup of chicken, 1/3 cup of green beans, and a few spoonfuls each of sweet potato and applesauce. I haven' t fed preschoolers in awhile, but it seems like most people would be glad to get that much food in a three-year-old.
And yet she's still quite skinny. She may have topped 17 pounds in the past week, but I'm sure she's no heavier. I don't know where it all goes.
But I have come to the conclusion that it is better to spend all her waking hours feeding her, if necessary, than to spend all my sleeping hours doing so.
Update, post 9-month checkup: actually, she still doesn't even weigh 16 pounds. I am very, very thankful for a sensible doctor who thinks it's fine for a healthy, active baby with a good appetite to be on the skinny side. And yes, I should have foreseen all this when I first made up my mind to marry a guy who doesn't cast a shadow when he turns sideways.
You wouldn't think this would be that hard to figure out. But D1's eating habits are strange. For the first twenty bites or so, she is quite eager to take the food. Once the edge is off her appetite, she is more interested in looking around the room, trying to manipulate her sippy cup, or laying in wait for the spoon. (I won't put the spoon up to her mouth while her hands are up, so she has to be quick about it to grab it.) She'll still take bites if offered, but she seems to be doing it more for the sake of getting along than because she's actually hungry.
On the other hand, I understand many babies are in the habit of expressing themselves vehemently when they don't want any more food. I've never seen her do this. She's always happy to have more food around, whether she's that interested in eating it or not. So to guess when she is done, you try to gauge the speed at which she opens her mouth for another bite when one is waved in the vicinity.
The other problem is, she eats so much you feel sure that she must have had enough by now (Not to mention that you've already devoted 45 minutes to feeding here and would rather like to get on with something else in life.) Last night for supper she ate (mashed up) a baked potato, 1/4 cup of chicken, 1/3 cup of green beans, and a few spoonfuls each of sweet potato and applesauce. I haven' t fed preschoolers in awhile, but it seems like most people would be glad to get that much food in a three-year-old.
And yet she's still quite skinny. She may have topped 17 pounds in the past week, but I'm sure she's no heavier. I don't know where it all goes.
But I have come to the conclusion that it is better to spend all her waking hours feeding her, if necessary, than to spend all my sleeping hours doing so.
Update, post 9-month checkup: actually, she still doesn't even weigh 16 pounds. I am very, very thankful for a sensible doctor who thinks it's fine for a healthy, active baby with a good appetite to be on the skinny side. And yes, I should have foreseen all this when I first made up my mind to marry a guy who doesn't cast a shadow when he turns sideways.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
DOB did go to the library
So I have been enjoying:
The Power of Babel, by John McWhorter. Great fun to see how languages have sprung up, melded, changed, and vanished over time. After tackling several different languages and never getting very far, I've finally discovered I'm much more interested in linquistics as a whole than in any languages in particular. The German dialect Asterix cartoons were cool, but I'm afraid the 70's sitcom analogies were lost on me.
Intellectuals, by Paul Johnson. A book calculated to make one very glad not to be an intellectual and ten times more glad not to be married to one of them. The basic premise is examining the lives of those who claimed the inherent goodness and wisdom to take the world apart and start it over from scratch (Rousseau, Shelley, Tolstoy, etc.)--did they, in fact, display such goodness and wisdom in their private lives? The answer, unsurprisingly, is no--given in sometimes rather too salacious detail.
One can't help but pity the fellows, too. It must be dreadfully stuffy to live in a universe so small it can all fit inside your own head--a universe too small to have room for God.
I feel a need for some Chesterton and the beauty of small things after reading about all their muddled thinking and world-conquering. Probably The Ballad of the White Horse:
When all philosophies shall fail
This word alone shall fit;
That a sage feels too small for life,
And a fool too large for it.
Lest you think me utterly given up to overly profound thoughts, I have also thorougly enjoyed The Princess Tales, Ella Enchanted, and A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Bad Beginning.
The Power of Babel, by John McWhorter. Great fun to see how languages have sprung up, melded, changed, and vanished over time. After tackling several different languages and never getting very far, I've finally discovered I'm much more interested in linquistics as a whole than in any languages in particular. The German dialect Asterix cartoons were cool, but I'm afraid the 70's sitcom analogies were lost on me.
Intellectuals, by Paul Johnson. A book calculated to make one very glad not to be an intellectual and ten times more glad not to be married to one of them. The basic premise is examining the lives of those who claimed the inherent goodness and wisdom to take the world apart and start it over from scratch (Rousseau, Shelley, Tolstoy, etc.)--did they, in fact, display such goodness and wisdom in their private lives? The answer, unsurprisingly, is no--given in sometimes rather too salacious detail.
One can't help but pity the fellows, too. It must be dreadfully stuffy to live in a universe so small it can all fit inside your own head--a universe too small to have room for God.
I feel a need for some Chesterton and the beauty of small things after reading about all their muddled thinking and world-conquering. Probably The Ballad of the White Horse:
When all philosophies shall fail
This word alone shall fit;
That a sage feels too small for life,
And a fool too large for it.
Lest you think me utterly given up to overly profound thoughts, I have also thorougly enjoyed The Princess Tales, Ella Enchanted, and A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Bad Beginning.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
I've been looking for a quiz like this for a long time...
Abraham Lincoln You have a Bible and a library
card what more could you possibly need? You
prefer the Charlotte Mason Method of reading
living books for everything: historical
fiction, biographies, real histories, nature
guides, etc. No soon-to-be-outdated textbooks
for you.
What Type of Homeschooler Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Now, if DOB will just remember to stop at the library on his way home. ;-) Thanks to Amey.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
The Problem of Tags
Guest Blog by D1
Lately I've noticed that lots of things come with these little white pieces of paper attached, called "tags." They're on everything: washcloths, blankets, playpens, toys. They're ugly.
So I've decided to work on removing them. I think Mama agrees with me, because usually when she notices I've found another tag, she goes ahead and takes it off for me. She can do it faster because she uses scissors. I have to chew on them.
Other times, Mama doesn't notice until I've already pulled the tag off by myself. Then she thanks me and throws it in the trash. I did that to my playpen mat tag. It was a big one, a lot of fun to remove.
A really hard one to remove is the one on the back of my exersaucer. I have to twist way around in my seat to reach it. Plus, Mama doesn't let me play in the exersaucer for very long. But when I get a chance, I like to chew on it. I have it about halfway chewed off now.
Last night I noticed Mama has a tag on the blanket on her bed. So I started to work on it. Mama didn't like this. She seems to think I should concentrate on eating when I'm in her bed. But I don't know how I'm supposed to do that when she keeps so many interesting things--like tags and Papa--in there. Too distracting.
Anyway, I hope if you have any tags at your house, you are working to get rid of them.
Lately I've noticed that lots of things come with these little white pieces of paper attached, called "tags." They're on everything: washcloths, blankets, playpens, toys. They're ugly.
So I've decided to work on removing them. I think Mama agrees with me, because usually when she notices I've found another tag, she goes ahead and takes it off for me. She can do it faster because she uses scissors. I have to chew on them.
Other times, Mama doesn't notice until I've already pulled the tag off by myself. Then she thanks me and throws it in the trash. I did that to my playpen mat tag. It was a big one, a lot of fun to remove.
A really hard one to remove is the one on the back of my exersaucer. I have to twist way around in my seat to reach it. Plus, Mama doesn't let me play in the exersaucer for very long. But when I get a chance, I like to chew on it. I have it about halfway chewed off now.
Last night I noticed Mama has a tag on the blanket on her bed. So I started to work on it. Mama didn't like this. She seems to think I should concentrate on eating when I'm in her bed. But I don't know how I'm supposed to do that when she keeps so many interesting things--like tags and Papa--in there. Too distracting.
Anyway, I hope if you have any tags at your house, you are working to get rid of them.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Babies and Politics
We took D1 to a political meeting on Saturday. It was supposed to be about 90 minutes--instead, it stretched to four hours. D1 was, fortunately, quite calm about the whole thing, sitting and listening with big eyes as she gnawed on her toys, happy to find there were several people handy who were more willing to play catch-the-falling-toy than Mama and Papa usually are.
Nonetheless, the experience reinforced our decision to back off from politics for awhile, so that we are not quite so obligated to make it to meetings, or quite so obligated to be present and attentive for the entire meeting. At one critical moment of heated debate, I as secretary was taking notes, DOB was chairing the meeting because the two chief officers both wanted to participate in the debate, and I noticed D1 getting the look of concentration in her eyes that every mother sees with dread. There was nothing for it but to let her wait.
We were visited by people running for national club office, seeking our endorsement. One of the ladies had a nine-year-old daughter; the other one had a six-month-old son. They both assured us they had been able to find a good work-life balance. I voted to endorse the lady with the six-month-old; she seemed well-qualified to do the work. And I'm sure if she doesn't get it, she'll have plenty of other political activity to keep her up into the small hours of the morning, after she gets home late from her demanding administration job. But I couldn't help feeling a little sad for a very small boy whose mommy tries to get home in time to tuck him into bed.
We also chatted with a friend who got married recently. Since he asked us the "When are you going to have another one?" question, he was fair game for DOB to ask, "Do you guys have plans for any time soon?" He didn't. There were too many other things he wanted to do right now, and he didn't want to give up all that yet. Maybe someday, but not yet.
It seems like a wise approach. Although if we looked at readiness, we're still not ready to have kids. We probably never will be.
But we took home with us a little person who thinks we're the two greatest people in the whole world.
Nonetheless, the experience reinforced our decision to back off from politics for awhile, so that we are not quite so obligated to make it to meetings, or quite so obligated to be present and attentive for the entire meeting. At one critical moment of heated debate, I as secretary was taking notes, DOB was chairing the meeting because the two chief officers both wanted to participate in the debate, and I noticed D1 getting the look of concentration in her eyes that every mother sees with dread. There was nothing for it but to let her wait.
We were visited by people running for national club office, seeking our endorsement. One of the ladies had a nine-year-old daughter; the other one had a six-month-old son. They both assured us they had been able to find a good work-life balance. I voted to endorse the lady with the six-month-old; she seemed well-qualified to do the work. And I'm sure if she doesn't get it, she'll have plenty of other political activity to keep her up into the small hours of the morning, after she gets home late from her demanding administration job. But I couldn't help feeling a little sad for a very small boy whose mommy tries to get home in time to tuck him into bed.
We also chatted with a friend who got married recently. Since he asked us the "When are you going to have another one?" question, he was fair game for DOB to ask, "Do you guys have plans for any time soon?" He didn't. There were too many other things he wanted to do right now, and he didn't want to give up all that yet. Maybe someday, but not yet.
It seems like a wise approach. Although if we looked at readiness, we're still not ready to have kids. We probably never will be.
But we took home with us a little person who thinks we're the two greatest people in the whole world.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Catching what's going around
Ten things I've done that you probably haven't:
- Had a tour guide yell at me for playing with the revolving doors at St. Paul's Cathedral (and I didn't even do it!).
- Babysat triplets (except I bet Juliana has).
- Clung to the top of a mountain, terrified of falling off. (I'm just guessing that usually people who are afraid of heights are smart enough not to climb the mountain in the first place.)
- Spoken to groups of wealthy, well-educated adults assisted by a rubber chicken.
- Worn as a wedding dress a dress I had previously worn in another wedding.
- Convinced my siblings to put pencils in their hair, stand together in the bathroom, and shout "Wallaby, wallaby, wallaby."
- Composed sonnets about business law.
- Replaced salt for sugar in a sweet bread recipe.
- Searched through the woods in the dark for the front end of a cow whose back end was sticking out into the pasture. (Toolboy doesn't count, since he did it with me.)
- Decorated a bedroom in orange and green.
Let me know if you've done any of these things, and post your own list!
My cup runneth over
DOB had a friend who came over at some unearthly hour of the night Wednesday (I was falling asleep by then) to look at the furnace. He determined it had Congressional disease: Lots of hot air, but not doing anything. He managed to do a quick fix that got the house warm again, but said it really needs the whole system checked out and tuned up, a process that will no doubt be tiresome and expensive.
Anyway, sometime after this, the system had a minor explosion of some sort while DOB was watching, and the little overflow that used to drip a drop of water every few minutes has started to do a steady drain. The very nasty cup from someone's freshman orientation, which has served to catch the water from time immemorial, is now utterly inadequate to the task. Instead, we have propped a five-gallon bucket on top of the mop bucket with some cardboard holding it to the right angle. It filled most of the way up overnight.
In other news, the distiller is throwing fits again and refuses to run without dumping water all over the floor. This has made the water situation rather difficult, but DOB's family is bringing water when they can.
So between all that and the usual diaper duty, I guess I'll devote my day to trying to keep dry.
Anyway, sometime after this, the system had a minor explosion of some sort while DOB was watching, and the little overflow that used to drip a drop of water every few minutes has started to do a steady drain. The very nasty cup from someone's freshman orientation, which has served to catch the water from time immemorial, is now utterly inadequate to the task. Instead, we have propped a five-gallon bucket on top of the mop bucket with some cardboard holding it to the right angle. It filled most of the way up overnight.
In other news, the distiller is throwing fits again and refuses to run without dumping water all over the floor. This has made the water situation rather difficult, but DOB's family is bringing water when they can.
So between all that and the usual diaper duty, I guess I'll devote my day to trying to keep dry.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
If you want to waste way too much time
Go visit the NameVoyager, an interactive graph of the top 1000 baby names in America for the past century. A fascinatinating place to look at social trends and gauge your family's relative trendiness in choosing names. (My parents tended to be just a bit behind the curve; DOB's were all over the chart). And if you really like names, be sure to check out the blog, too (link at the bottom of the page), with trend forecasts and tales of weird names. The author's book also looks worthy of checking out, as she categorizes names by what connotation they have and what circles they are trendy in, not just origin and history.
An interesting experiment: type in the first names of twentieth-century presidents. Up until the seventies, there's a spike in that name during that president's term. (Except John, which really couldn't get more popular.) But since the seventies, people don't seem to name their children for politicians anymore.
And on the unusual name combinations (what were their parents thinking?), some real people I have met or read about:
Roxanne Trees
Candy Bouquet
Harry Carey
An interesting experiment: type in the first names of twentieth-century presidents. Up until the seventies, there's a spike in that name during that president's term. (Except John, which really couldn't get more popular.) But since the seventies, people don't seem to name their children for politicians anymore.
And on the unusual name combinations (what were their parents thinking?), some real people I have met or read about:
Roxanne Trees
Candy Bouquet
Harry Carey
Legalists and Anti-legalists
There are people who have broken free from bondage to rules and regulations into a genuine walk with God. This is cause for great rejoicing. And the cautions they have about legalism are usually worth listening to, tied in as they are to the reality of Christ living in us.
There are other people, though, who proclaim their freedom from legalism, yet something still seems amiss. They drone on and on about the evils of this rule and that rule. They are full of critiques (and no charity) for this group and that other group. They're happy--zealous--to exhibit their freedom to do X, Y, and Z. And if you (for whatever reason) happen not to do X, Y, and Z, well, you must be one of those judgmental legalists, too.
I've always had trouble putting my finger on exactly what was wrong. What they said about legalism might be true, and no one could doubt their antipathy for it, but why did their words and actions still seem so . . . legalistic?
I think I finally hit on it. The error of legalism is thinking that by our own actions and observance of rules we can gain justification, sanctification, or the fruit of the Spirit. Observing rules does not make us any closer to God. But neither does breaking rules make us any closer to God. The error of what I might call "anti-legalism" is thinking (subconsciously, I think) that freedom in Christ is found by going out and breaking whatever particular set of rules you were brought up to observe. But the focus is still on the rules, not on Christ.
Isn't that what Paul kept trying to warn us about? "Neither circumcision availeth anything, nor uncircumcision availeth anything, but a new creature." If you're still obsessing about the rules, whether you're for or agin them, you're still missing the boat.
Lark News has a report that shows where this type of thinking leads. ;-)
There are other people, though, who proclaim their freedom from legalism, yet something still seems amiss. They drone on and on about the evils of this rule and that rule. They are full of critiques (and no charity) for this group and that other group. They're happy--zealous--to exhibit their freedom to do X, Y, and Z. And if you (for whatever reason) happen not to do X, Y, and Z, well, you must be one of those judgmental legalists, too.
I've always had trouble putting my finger on exactly what was wrong. What they said about legalism might be true, and no one could doubt their antipathy for it, but why did their words and actions still seem so . . . legalistic?
I think I finally hit on it. The error of legalism is thinking that by our own actions and observance of rules we can gain justification, sanctification, or the fruit of the Spirit. Observing rules does not make us any closer to God. But neither does breaking rules make us any closer to God. The error of what I might call "anti-legalism" is thinking (subconsciously, I think) that freedom in Christ is found by going out and breaking whatever particular set of rules you were brought up to observe. But the focus is still on the rules, not on Christ.
Isn't that what Paul kept trying to warn us about? "Neither circumcision availeth anything, nor uncircumcision availeth anything, but a new creature." If you're still obsessing about the rules, whether you're for or agin them, you're still missing the boat.
Lark News has a report that shows where this type of thinking leads. ;-)
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
A Telling Conversation
QOC: I thought we were getting busy.
DOB: (Standing still, gazing off into space) I am busy. Don't you ever need to think about what you are about to do?
QOC: (Looking puzzled, shakes head)
DOB: Never mind, that was a stupid question.
DOB: (Standing still, gazing off into space) I am busy. Don't you ever need to think about what you are about to do?
QOC: (Looking puzzled, shakes head)
DOB: Never mind, that was a stupid question.
Dean Socrates
As he's developing his theories of how to educate his ideal philosopher-kings, Socrates has realized he has a problem. If you take people who have been taught certain things are just and right all their lives, and then lead them to question those things (as part of the process of leading them to a truer understanding of ultimate truth and justice), they are liable to give up attempts at finding truth altogether and just go out and party.
Hence, the college/university and all the problems that have been associated with it for, oh, the last several hundred years. Take people at the stage of life when their passions run the highest and their judgment runs the lowest, remove them from the influence of their family and community, and cause them to question everything they have been taught. What would you expect to happen?
Most institutions of higher learning have taken one of two approaches: crack down with strict rules and Gestapo-like enforcement; or ignore it and hope nobody dies. Actually, there's generally at least some of both, and neither of them really works.
Socrates decides to do something else altogether. He just won't let anyone study philosophy until they are thirty, have worked for awhile, and are a bit more sane.
The idea certainly has its merits, but, alas, we don't live in a communal paradise and there is no one to watch the kids and pay the bills while more mature people ponder the Great Ideas. There is some hope, though, that with improvements in communication and distance learning, we can integrate higher education with real life in a more productive way.
In the meantime, should I put Plato aside for the next four years?
Hence, the college/university and all the problems that have been associated with it for, oh, the last several hundred years. Take people at the stage of life when their passions run the highest and their judgment runs the lowest, remove them from the influence of their family and community, and cause them to question everything they have been taught. What would you expect to happen?
Most institutions of higher learning have taken one of two approaches: crack down with strict rules and Gestapo-like enforcement; or ignore it and hope nobody dies. Actually, there's generally at least some of both, and neither of them really works.
Socrates decides to do something else altogether. He just won't let anyone study philosophy until they are thirty, have worked for awhile, and are a bit more sane.
The idea certainly has its merits, but, alas, we don't live in a communal paradise and there is no one to watch the kids and pay the bills while more mature people ponder the Great Ideas. There is some hope, though, that with improvements in communication and distance learning, we can integrate higher education with real life in a more productive way.
In the meantime, should I put Plato aside for the next four years?
I killed off all the Romans
What obsolete skill are you?
You are 'Latin'. Even among obsolete skills, the
tongue of the ancient Romans is a real
anachronism. With its profusion of different
cases and conjugations, Latin is more than a
language; it is a whole different way of
thinking about things.
You are very classy, meaning that you value the
classics. You value old things, good things
which have stood the test of time. You value
things which have been proven worthy and
valuable, even if no one else these days sees
them that way. Your life is touched by a
certain 'pietas', or piety; perhaps you are
even a Stoic. Nonetheless, you have a certain
fascination with the grotesque and the profane.
Also, the modern world rejects you like a bad
transplant. Your problem is that Latin has
been obsolete for a long time.
Res ipsa loquitur, and all that. De gustibus non disputandum. Thanks to Devona.
You are 'Latin'. Even among obsolete skills, the
tongue of the ancient Romans is a real
anachronism. With its profusion of different
cases and conjugations, Latin is more than a
language; it is a whole different way of
thinking about things.
You are very classy, meaning that you value the
classics. You value old things, good things
which have stood the test of time. You value
things which have been proven worthy and
valuable, even if no one else these days sees
them that way. Your life is touched by a
certain 'pietas', or piety; perhaps you are
even a Stoic. Nonetheless, you have a certain
fascination with the grotesque and the profane.
Also, the modern world rejects you like a bad
transplant. Your problem is that Latin has
been obsolete for a long time.
Res ipsa loquitur, and all that. De gustibus non disputandum. Thanks to Devona.
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