You will pry summer out of my cold, dead fingernails.
I don't care that the back-to-school sales are over.
I don't care that everyone else is going back to school. Or already went back to school.
I don't care that the temperature is barely getting out of the sixties.
La la la
I can't hear you.
It's still summertime.
It's the best part of summertime, when the night start coming earlier and the kids can go out on the porch after dark and make wishes. When the tomatoes overload the vines and the first apples come in and peaches are so cheap it's embarrassing.
Soon the beaches will clear and the classrooms will fill and everybody else will be breaking in new shoes and twills but we will still be wearing ragged cut-offs and crocs and squeezing the last bit of juice out of the last few days.
I like fall, too, though it always makes me sad. It has its time. But there are still three full weeks of summer to go, and I intend to make the most of them.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
This Week in Short Spurts
Made zucchini fritters. They were tasty.
The big kids decided they wanted to earn money and swept and mopped the floor (not quite as well as I would have done) and folded the laundry (much better than I would have done. I have no idea where Duchess learned to fold like that). Then they lost interest in earning money for awhile. Every once in awhile I debate the merits of encouraging them to be greedier. (Yes, they do have regular chores they do without money.)
While the big kids were mopping the floor, the twins picked blackberries. And came in with their hands full of blackberries and no way to reach any dishes. Dash finally smeared them against his shirt.
Got one project in Tuesday night that was due Thursday at noon. Gone all day running errands Wednesday. Got another project Wednesday evening, also due Thursday at noon.
Was very tired on Friday.
The big kids went with Their Majesties and Bookworm to the county fair. They had a marvelous time and came back with quaint little calico stuffed animals (cat for Duchess, seahorse for Deux) and ping pong ball eyeballs.
Saw a teenager scaring seagulls off at the park. The children were horrified. Later in the week, walked with the twins past a spot where litter is often seen. Dash remarked, "What person puts garbage on the ground? Maybe someone who scares birds!" Perhaps I'm not raising them to be complete hooligans. Or perhaps I'm just raising them to be judgmental snobs. Actually I think all children are born that way.
Toolboy led a crew of other family members in erecting our monster, scary, huge playset that we disassembled and brought here a month or so ago. Now it is up and it is big and the ducklings are having a blast with it. It's still missing a few key things, like long enough chains for the swings and boards to replace the rotten ones on the deck, but as far as the ducklings are concerned, it's an optimal pirate ship/play house/rocket/whatever.
In learning to play role-playing games, killed a giant Venus flytrap and two manticores. This was an improvement from last week, when it took us all night to kill one giant porcupine.
Left my cell phone and house keys next to my purse instead of in it, which resulted in them bouncing off the car as we left the driveway. The phone was found by a jogger, who returned it, and the keys were still lying where they fell.
The big kids decided they wanted to earn money and swept and mopped the floor (not quite as well as I would have done) and folded the laundry (much better than I would have done. I have no idea where Duchess learned to fold like that). Then they lost interest in earning money for awhile. Every once in awhile I debate the merits of encouraging them to be greedier. (Yes, they do have regular chores they do without money.)
While the big kids were mopping the floor, the twins picked blackberries. And came in with their hands full of blackberries and no way to reach any dishes. Dash finally smeared them against his shirt.
Got one project in Tuesday night that was due Thursday at noon. Gone all day running errands Wednesday. Got another project Wednesday evening, also due Thursday at noon.
Was very tired on Friday.
The big kids went with Their Majesties and Bookworm to the county fair. They had a marvelous time and came back with quaint little calico stuffed animals (cat for Duchess, seahorse for Deux) and ping pong ball eyeballs.
Saw a teenager scaring seagulls off at the park. The children were horrified. Later in the week, walked with the twins past a spot where litter is often seen. Dash remarked, "What person puts garbage on the ground? Maybe someone who scares birds!" Perhaps I'm not raising them to be complete hooligans. Or perhaps I'm just raising them to be judgmental snobs. Actually I think all children are born that way.
Toolboy led a crew of other family members in erecting our monster, scary, huge playset that we disassembled and brought here a month or so ago. Now it is up and it is big and the ducklings are having a blast with it. It's still missing a few key things, like long enough chains for the swings and boards to replace the rotten ones on the deck, but as far as the ducklings are concerned, it's an optimal pirate ship/play house/rocket/whatever.
In learning to play role-playing games, killed a giant Venus flytrap and two manticores. This was an improvement from last week, when it took us all night to kill one giant porcupine.
Left my cell phone and house keys next to my purse instead of in it, which resulted in them bouncing off the car as we left the driveway. The phone was found by a jogger, who returned it, and the keys were still lying where they fell.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Knock, knock
Every family with children reaches this stage at some point.
Jokes.
Jokes, riddles, knock-knock books.
They have found where the library files them and they check them out in stacks. Deux is the prime proponent, but the others participate. They keep them in cars and read them off to each other as we drive, reciting them like a litany of humor:
I remember when my younger siblings found the Bennet Cerf Book of Riddles and read and repeated them as if they were a new discovery of mankind. And in my adolescent superiority I rolled my eyes. Those old things. I knew them all when I was eight.
Ah, but they are new. The universe is reborn 490,000 times every day. And somewhere, every day, a child picks up a joke book for the first time and "gets" their first pun.
Jokes.
Waiter, what's this fly doing in my soup?
Learning to swim, sir.
Jokes, riddles, knock-knock books.
They have found where the library files them and they check them out in stacks. Deux is the prime proponent, but the others participate. They keep them in cars and read them off to each other as we drive, reciting them like a litany of humor:
Why did the elephant paint its toenails red?The twins are technically too young for this stage, but they participate in it just as eagerly as the big kids. Whether they actually get the jokes or not is impossible to tell. They have them all memorized, anyway.
So it could hide in the cherry tree.
Six copycats were in a car and one got out. How many were left in the car?
None, they were copycats!
I remember when my younger siblings found the Bennet Cerf Book of Riddles and read and repeated them as if they were a new discovery of mankind. And in my adolescent superiority I rolled my eyes. Those old things. I knew them all when I was eight.
Doctor, doctor, when will my measles get better?
I don't know, I don't like to make rash predictions.
Ah, but they are new. The universe is reborn 490,000 times every day. And somewhere, every day, a child picks up a joke book for the first time and "gets" their first pun.
What time is it when you go to the dentist?
Two thirty!
Saturday, August 04, 2012
What I do with my summer vacation
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Adaptation
My foot is still hurt. But it might be getting better. Maybe.
The chiropractor thinks it's a sprain under the transverse arch. All I have to do is keep it taped and rested and in a shoe with proper arch support.
Taped I have figured out (after a few very messy first tries.) Rested is harder. Doing the dishes and the laundry and the necessary potty runs is still just a little more than qualifies as rest. But not nearly enough activity to keep me feeling like a rational human being. I was not born to be a couch potato.
The kids are trying to help out, of course, and doing extra chores (liberally bribed with computer games). But I find there is a sequence to new chores.
Stage 1 (Novelty): Oh, yes! We can definitely do that! We are so competent! We will be running the whole house for you soon! Is there anything else we can do?
Stage 2 (Reaction): Gahhh! Not that again! We just had to do it yesterday! My leg hurts! And my arm! And several other body parts I only just found out I had!
Stage 3 (Routine): OK, fine, let me finish this chapter first. And maybe the one after that. But definitely before supper.
We have been at this long enough for Stage 2 to appear.
Granted, the foot might have gotten better if I had not compromised on several things over the weekend, specifically in cleaning the whole house for company on Sunday and in wearing shoes that were not tennis shoes to church. And then wearing other shoes that were not tennis shoes for family pictures.
So now I have vowed to ignore both cleanliness and fashion until the foot really is better.
DOB has been helping out by taking the kids grocery shopping. (Which means they do the grocery shopping while he follows along in the riding cart.) It's still an arduous undertaking, especially after work, and especially since there is no way to bring a car close to any door of our house. This week he had them load up the wagon repeatedly to unload the car. We eat a lot of groceries.
DOB has also resolved the lack-of-physical-activity problem by putting me on his YMCA membership and sending me off to swim. Swimming is not my sport of choice. I *can* swim, in the sense that if I fell out of a rowboat I could remain on the surface for some time, but I cannot swim in the sense in which people who swim at the Y regularly swim. My attempts at the crawl stroke resulted in a large lump on the head, collision with the far side of the lane (miraculously not the swimmer using that side), and a whole lot of lungfuls of wet hair (my hair mocks at restraint). My attempts at using the kickboard took about five minutes each direction. Apparently I have completely forgotten how to kick. Meanwhile the small children and elderly zipped past me on either side, leaving me feeling like a lobster among porpoises. I finally discovered that a (probably dreadful) breast stroke allowed me to see where I was going and progress at a reasonable speed.
But I did swim, and it did make me feel better. So I shall persist, for now, until I can walk again. I like walking. The scenery is better. The coordination is less. And I don't have to drive to get there.
The chiropractor thinks it's a sprain under the transverse arch. All I have to do is keep it taped and rested and in a shoe with proper arch support.
Taped I have figured out (after a few very messy first tries.) Rested is harder. Doing the dishes and the laundry and the necessary potty runs is still just a little more than qualifies as rest. But not nearly enough activity to keep me feeling like a rational human being. I was not born to be a couch potato.
The kids are trying to help out, of course, and doing extra chores (liberally bribed with computer games). But I find there is a sequence to new chores.
Stage 1 (Novelty): Oh, yes! We can definitely do that! We are so competent! We will be running the whole house for you soon! Is there anything else we can do?
Stage 2 (Reaction): Gahhh! Not that again! We just had to do it yesterday! My leg hurts! And my arm! And several other body parts I only just found out I had!
Stage 3 (Routine): OK, fine, let me finish this chapter first. And maybe the one after that. But definitely before supper.
We have been at this long enough for Stage 2 to appear.
Granted, the foot might have gotten better if I had not compromised on several things over the weekend, specifically in cleaning the whole house for company on Sunday and in wearing shoes that were not tennis shoes to church. And then wearing other shoes that were not tennis shoes for family pictures.
So now I have vowed to ignore both cleanliness and fashion until the foot really is better.
DOB has been helping out by taking the kids grocery shopping. (Which means they do the grocery shopping while he follows along in the riding cart.) It's still an arduous undertaking, especially after work, and especially since there is no way to bring a car close to any door of our house. This week he had them load up the wagon repeatedly to unload the car. We eat a lot of groceries.
DOB has also resolved the lack-of-physical-activity problem by putting me on his YMCA membership and sending me off to swim. Swimming is not my sport of choice. I *can* swim, in the sense that if I fell out of a rowboat I could remain on the surface for some time, but I cannot swim in the sense in which people who swim at the Y regularly swim. My attempts at the crawl stroke resulted in a large lump on the head, collision with the far side of the lane (miraculously not the swimmer using that side), and a whole lot of lungfuls of wet hair (my hair mocks at restraint). My attempts at using the kickboard took about five minutes each direction. Apparently I have completely forgotten how to kick. Meanwhile the small children and elderly zipped past me on either side, leaving me feeling like a lobster among porpoises. I finally discovered that a (probably dreadful) breast stroke allowed me to see where I was going and progress at a reasonable speed.
But I did swim, and it did make me feel better. So I shall persist, for now, until I can walk again. I like walking. The scenery is better. The coordination is less. And I don't have to drive to get there.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Deux tells a story
Deux (arranging various small plastic figures): So the king told the soldiers that if they were afraid of the frogs, then the frogs would hurt them, but if they weren't afraid of the frogs, then the frogs wouldn't hurt them. But actually, if they were afraid of the frogs then the frogs wouldn't hurt them and if they weren't afraid of the frogs then the frogs would hurt them.
Me: So, ummm, what happened then?
Deux: Well, they believed what the king said that if they weren't afraid of the frogs they wouldn't hurt them so they weren't afraid of the frogs, but it was really the other way around where if they weren't afraid of the frogs the frogs would hurt them, so the frogs hurt them.
Me: So, ummm, what happened then?
Deux: Well, they believed what the king said that if they weren't afraid of the frogs they wouldn't hurt them so they weren't afraid of the frogs, but it was really the other way around where if they weren't afraid of the frogs the frogs would hurt them, so the frogs hurt them.
Not Busy
Two weeks ago last Saturday, I did something weird to my right foot. I'm still not sure what, exactly. Neither is the chiropractor. (And this is the chiropractor that can put Ron's feet back together so that his sprains heal in half the time.) Anyway, it hurts. It feels wrong, like something's where it shouldn't be and won't stay in where it belongs. And I keep re-aggravating it, probably because I strongly prefer to walk barefoot on any terrain smoother than glass shards.
Sunday morning, after walking about in the dark on gravel the night before (why? why not?), it was worse than ever. So I decided this was the week, with all the excitement over, that I would really take the chiropractor's advice seriously. Put padding on the sore spot. Put shoes on. Rest my foot.
I hate shoes. I don't wear shoes at home even in January. From April through October, I only wear sandals when I go out. Wearing socks and tennis shoes every day at home in July is unthinkable. My feet think they've been sent to jail.
And sitting all day. (Well, all the day that I'm not making sure we have food and clothes. The kids are trying to help, but they are still at the stage where they get stalled at a critical moment, like a hot pan on the stove or turning the dial on the washing machine.) I hate sitting. Sitting in a chair or on a couch for too long actually gives me motion sickness, especially if anybody touches the chair. I feel every little jiggle. Usually I combat this by getting up and walking around a lot.
And I still don't have any idea if it's going to work. It feels fine if I'm not walking on it. So how can I tell if it's getting better? I'll probably be crippled for life and the ducklings will have their lives stunted having to push their parents around in wheelchairs. I get motion sick from wheelchairs.
Whine, whine, whine.
Sunday morning, after walking about in the dark on gravel the night before (why? why not?), it was worse than ever. So I decided this was the week, with all the excitement over, that I would really take the chiropractor's advice seriously. Put padding on the sore spot. Put shoes on. Rest my foot.
I hate shoes. I don't wear shoes at home even in January. From April through October, I only wear sandals when I go out. Wearing socks and tennis shoes every day at home in July is unthinkable. My feet think they've been sent to jail.
And sitting all day. (Well, all the day that I'm not making sure we have food and clothes. The kids are trying to help, but they are still at the stage where they get stalled at a critical moment, like a hot pan on the stove or turning the dial on the washing machine.) I hate sitting. Sitting in a chair or on a couch for too long actually gives me motion sickness, especially if anybody touches the chair. I feel every little jiggle. Usually I combat this by getting up and walking around a lot.
And I still don't have any idea if it's going to work. It feels fine if I'm not walking on it. So how can I tell if it's getting better? I'll probably be crippled for life and the ducklings will have their lives stunted having to push their parents around in wheelchairs. I get motion sick from wheelchairs.
Whine, whine, whine.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
The Power of Three
It is Birthday Season. And this week's birthday was Bookworm's, and she turned 27. Also her companion, Edgar Allen Hippo, turned 3. If you don't instantly notice that 27 is 3 cubed, then you are not a math nerd.
But if you do know a math nerd who is turning 27, or perhaps someone who is beginning (or ending) a job in cubicle-land, a cube meal might be the way to go. Preferably with three options in each category. (I did serve some non-cubical things, like olives. I should have served fudge, but I didn't think of it.)
Next year she's turning 28 and I'm still not sure how I'm going to make a perfect meal. But at least the following year I can just serve prime rib.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Four on the . . . Dash?
He can be very happy, or very upset--but whatever he is, it's very. He also love stories, especially Winnie-the-Pooh, but he identifies with Roo. We tried to pin him as Tigger, but he prefers Roo--which is, after all, a small, cuddly version of Tigger. He's listening to The Hobbit and waiting eagerly for the appearance of the dragon.
He's impatient for me to buy him a new pair of boots that don't leak.
Four on the Dot
Most of all she loves to draw, and draw, and draw. What's even more amazing, her drawings are fully recognizable, detailed, and properly proportioned. Mostly princesses, with the occasional unicorn. She's starting to want to add labels to her drawings, so she is always asking how to write letters and she perseveres even if the word is "CINDERELLA."
Her favorite stories, not too surprisingly, are Rapunzel, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty, although she has a deep sense of identity with Piglet and she also loves A. A. Milne's poetry, and will recite snatches.
Monday, July 09, 2012
Busy
We have survived drama camp. Duchess didn't survive, of course: she had a great time. But the whole getting-up-and-out-the-door every morning is like kryptonite to homeschool moms. (So, other homeschool moms, when you're feeling snooty about school moms wondering what they are going to do with their kids all summer, remember they've got SHOES on everyone's feet by 7:30 in the morning and they can't understand why you think that's hard.)
In other news, we had a brief but violent cold go around last week that had everybody moping about in misery on the third. (Even Duchess, who sat out the rehearsal, came home, and slept most of the rest of the day.) I was panicking about the Fourth, but everyone woke up energetic and cheerful, if a tad sniffly, and the weather (which had been cold and dreary all through June) was gorgeous and we had a fabulous day on Whidbey Island, the children spending pretty much the entire time in the lagoon. But they did not get pneumonia.
I caught the cold on the way home, though, and spent the evening lying in bed with chills trying to drown out the sound of fireworks--and of kids screaming at the fireworks, especially since they had found the best place to watch was my window. Most of the fever went away by morning, but I felt pretty dreary for the next few days.
Meanwhile my work-work has been piling up and I haven't even begun on the basement (except a few desperate moments with a bulldozer to clear enough path to walk) and, oh yes, another birthday today! Actually, two! And Summer Fun nights (our church's once-a-week alternative to VBS) start this week! And I think I'm kind of directing it!
So I'm blogging.
 |
| Duchess as a grubby little orphan. |
In other news, we had a brief but violent cold go around last week that had everybody moping about in misery on the third. (Even Duchess, who sat out the rehearsal, came home, and slept most of the rest of the day.) I was panicking about the Fourth, but everyone woke up energetic and cheerful, if a tad sniffly, and the weather (which had been cold and dreary all through June) was gorgeous and we had a fabulous day on Whidbey Island, the children spending pretty much the entire time in the lagoon. But they did not get pneumonia.
I caught the cold on the way home, though, and spent the evening lying in bed with chills trying to drown out the sound of fireworks--and of kids screaming at the fireworks, especially since they had found the best place to watch was my window. Most of the fever went away by morning, but I felt pretty dreary for the next few days.
Meanwhile my work-work has been piling up and I haven't even begun on the basement (except a few desperate moments with a bulldozer to clear enough path to walk) and, oh yes, another birthday today! Actually, two! And Summer Fun nights (our church's once-a-week alternative to VBS) start this week! And I think I'm kind of directing it!
So I'm blogging.
Sunday, July 01, 2012
I Give Up
 |
| Christmas play with impromptu costumes |
 |
| *A Winter's Tale* in Lego |
 |
| Lego robots. |
 |
| Why yes, that is an angel food cake pan. |
 |
| The Duchess's birthday cake. |
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Eight
For two, you are old enough for the summer drama programs! The Duchess will be performing in "Annie, Jr." at the local theater the weekend after next and she has been gone every morning, practicing singing and dancing. When she's home, she's usually busy marking up her libretto or belting out "Tomorrow."
It's been amazing to me to watch how she handles this. It's the first time for me, letting my kid go out and do something with total strangers. And she just does it. Asks questions when she needs to. Lets me know what she needs. She's taking on the world (or at least this little slice of it) by herself, with confidence and poise, and it's great to watch.
At home, she still loves to draw, read, organize elaborate fantasy games, and help me organize and plan.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
It Came
Remember that summer we were waiting for? It came today.
The sky was blue with watercolor clouds. The temperature got all the way up to 74.
And we finished school, and did the end-of-school dance. I'm still pretty impressed with myself that we made it through a whole year of school on schedule and as planned and still enjoying it. It may almost make up for having let the basement turn into a house of horrors during the same time.
Then we went to downtown Bremerton and played at the Fountain Park with friends. And we went to see the Naval Museum. And in a fit of generosity I let the kids split a hot dog from a vendor, and in a fit of generosity he gave them a second one to split.
Next up: Birthday Season!
The sky was blue with watercolor clouds. The temperature got all the way up to 74.
And we finished school, and did the end-of-school dance. I'm still pretty impressed with myself that we made it through a whole year of school on schedule and as planned and still enjoying it. It may almost make up for having let the basement turn into a house of horrors during the same time.
Then we went to downtown Bremerton and played at the Fountain Park with friends. And we went to see the Naval Museum. And in a fit of generosity I let the kids split a hot dog from a vendor, and in a fit of generosity he gave them a second one to split.
Next up: Birthday Season!
Monday, June 18, 2012
Unbuilding
Sometime last winter, we bid on a second-hand playset at an auction. We lost the bid. Then the people who won the bid found out it was somewhat different than they expected, and we got asked if we wanted it after all.
We did. So we made arrangements, and Toolboy and B5 drove up to help transport it. Toolboy had just purchased and installed a playset in his own yard, so he thought his truck was well up to the task. "We might just be able to tip it over into the truck and drive home with it."
Then we arrived, and saw the structure in question. It was not one of those cheery little sets one sees advertised at the hardware store. It had been built from scratch, of four by fours, and the main platform was nearly as large as the ducklings' bedroom. Tipping it into the truck was out of the question. So was leaving quickly.
The builder and the now-too-old beneficiary were busy dismantling it, and when Toolboy arrived with more tools he and B5 started working too. The ducklings found a small pond to get soaking wet in, and DOB and I finally reluctantly started to wield tools even though we usually try to leave such tasks to people who are moderately competent. However, this looked beyond even our powers to break. I was a little concerned as most of us were busy dismantling the bottom supports while Toolboy was still taking apart the top--and Toolboy is no lightweight--but it all came down in the proper sequence.
At the end we did have to tip it over to finish dismantling it. Just tipping the frame took five people.
Anyway, it all came apart and it is now sitting in a heap in the way back. When we have the nerve to put it back together, it should be ample play space for all the ducklings. In fact, we may just move them out there.
We did. So we made arrangements, and Toolboy and B5 drove up to help transport it. Toolboy had just purchased and installed a playset in his own yard, so he thought his truck was well up to the task. "We might just be able to tip it over into the truck and drive home with it."
Then we arrived, and saw the structure in question. It was not one of those cheery little sets one sees advertised at the hardware store. It had been built from scratch, of four by fours, and the main platform was nearly as large as the ducklings' bedroom. Tipping it into the truck was out of the question. So was leaving quickly.
The builder and the now-too-old beneficiary were busy dismantling it, and when Toolboy arrived with more tools he and B5 started working too. The ducklings found a small pond to get soaking wet in, and DOB and I finally reluctantly started to wield tools even though we usually try to leave such tasks to people who are moderately competent. However, this looked beyond even our powers to break. I was a little concerned as most of us were busy dismantling the bottom supports while Toolboy was still taking apart the top--and Toolboy is no lightweight--but it all came down in the proper sequence.
At the end we did have to tip it over to finish dismantling it. Just tipping the frame took five people.
Anyway, it all came apart and it is now sitting in a heap in the way back. When we have the nerve to put it back together, it should be ample play space for all the ducklings. In fact, we may just move them out there.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
More Snarky Things I Don't Say on Homeschool Forums
OP: Why do my friends and relatives make these snarky remarks about how I'm "super mom"? Just because I keep a clean house, feed my family healthy food, get up early, enjoy homeschooling and have a great marriage. I still struggle just as much as anyone.
SQOC: Well, I don't know about your friends, but now I hate you, too.
***************
OP: I've been using (XYZ religious curriculum) but I want something that is more Bible-based. Like would have all of history and science taken from the Bible.
SQOC: Has it occurred to you that the Bible was written before the last 2000 years of history and scientific discoveries? How, exactly, do you think this is going to work?
***************
OP: I've been reading (Old Book) but I'd really like something that comes from a more Biblical worldview.
SQOC: You do realize that when you say "Biblical Worldview" you mean "precise alignment with the theological trends of a small group of modern North American Christians," right?
SQOC: Well, I don't know about your friends, but now I hate you, too.
***************
OP: I've been using (XYZ religious curriculum) but I want something that is more Bible-based. Like would have all of history and science taken from the Bible.
SQOC: Has it occurred to you that the Bible was written before the last 2000 years of history and scientific discoveries? How, exactly, do you think this is going to work?
***************
OP: I've been reading (Old Book) but I'd really like something that comes from a more Biblical worldview.
SQOC: You do realize that when you say "Biblical Worldview" you mean "precise alignment with the theological trends of a small group of modern North American Christians," right?
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Settling Down and Settling
Courtship Parts 1, 2, and 3.
Some almost-final thoughts:
I'm not saying, of course, that courtship ruins marriages. I know many people who courted and who are now happily married. However, that does not prove that courtship is good or "works," either. I once met a wonderful Christian couple who had been selected at random and married at gunpoint by the Khmer Rouge. I know many couples who have good, happy marriages that started in ways I don't approve of at all. The failure or success of a marriage is entirely due to the people in the marriage, their choices, character, and yes, compatibility, and not on the circumstances that brought them together.
The trouble comes with convincing people to follow courtship under the assumption that it is more godly to let your parents choose for you than it is to choose for yourself. If you want your parents to choose or approve your spouse, fine. But the Bible does not say they have to.
I wonder if a lot of the turmoil is not over the problems we have with choices. Excessive choice is the blessing and bane of modern existence, from buying toothpaste to choosing a spouse. We have so many choices it is hard to settle on one, and hard to be happy with the choice we made. This may be where a lot of the notorious "fear of commitment" comes from.
But you can't solve this problem by arbitrarily removing choices for other people. That leaves people less free, but they still know the other choices are out there. Sooner or later they will grow resentful of their loss of freedom. I'm not sure there is a solution to the choice problem, but a little more awareness might help. We are going to need to start teaching ourselves and each other choice management. The knowledge that the sheer number of choices is going to make it difficult, and that at some point more comparisons are only going to make you more unhappy. Find something that you are happy with, and then turn your mental energy (this is a natural human strength) into justifying your choice.
In this regard, I don't believe in the "Right One" mythos, whether it's expressed in spiritual or secular terms. I don't think there is one magic right soul mate to whom we belong and we should wait until we are sure we have found this mystical being. Add that idea to the vast theoretical field of potential marriage partners and no wonder no one can settle down.
I do believe there is such a thing as true love and a deep and lasting connection with another person. If you've found it, hold on to it. There probably are better people out there. But when you truly love another person, you don't want someone better. You want this one, flaws and all.
Some almost-final thoughts:
I'm not saying, of course, that courtship ruins marriages. I know many people who courted and who are now happily married. However, that does not prove that courtship is good or "works," either. I once met a wonderful Christian couple who had been selected at random and married at gunpoint by the Khmer Rouge. I know many couples who have good, happy marriages that started in ways I don't approve of at all. The failure or success of a marriage is entirely due to the people in the marriage, their choices, character, and yes, compatibility, and not on the circumstances that brought them together.
The trouble comes with convincing people to follow courtship under the assumption that it is more godly to let your parents choose for you than it is to choose for yourself. If you want your parents to choose or approve your spouse, fine. But the Bible does not say they have to.
I wonder if a lot of the turmoil is not over the problems we have with choices. Excessive choice is the blessing and bane of modern existence, from buying toothpaste to choosing a spouse. We have so many choices it is hard to settle on one, and hard to be happy with the choice we made. This may be where a lot of the notorious "fear of commitment" comes from.
But you can't solve this problem by arbitrarily removing choices for other people. That leaves people less free, but they still know the other choices are out there. Sooner or later they will grow resentful of their loss of freedom. I'm not sure there is a solution to the choice problem, but a little more awareness might help. We are going to need to start teaching ourselves and each other choice management. The knowledge that the sheer number of choices is going to make it difficult, and that at some point more comparisons are only going to make you more unhappy. Find something that you are happy with, and then turn your mental energy (this is a natural human strength) into justifying your choice.
In this regard, I don't believe in the "Right One" mythos, whether it's expressed in spiritual or secular terms. I don't think there is one magic right soul mate to whom we belong and we should wait until we are sure we have found this mystical being. Add that idea to the vast theoretical field of potential marriage partners and no wonder no one can settle down.
I do believe there is such a thing as true love and a deep and lasting connection with another person. If you've found it, hold on to it. There probably are better people out there. But when you truly love another person, you don't want someone better. You want this one, flaws and all.
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
Waiting for Summer
This is the time of year where all over the country people are starting to moan about the heat and turn up the A/C and make lemonade.
Here in the northwest we consult the calendar and put on our shorts and drag out the barbecue, and then we step outside and put on a poncho over the shorts and hold an umbrella over the barbecue and take the food back inside and turn the heat back on.
But summer's coming. Maybe this year, maybe next year. We live in hope.
It's coming and the sun will shine like God's own mercy and the thermometer will climb all the way up to 78 and the sky will be bluer and the grass will be greener than imagination-enhanced memory and we'll laugh at all you people crisping and melting elsewhere.
It will be worth the wait.
Here in the northwest we consult the calendar and put on our shorts and drag out the barbecue, and then we step outside and put on a poncho over the shorts and hold an umbrella over the barbecue and take the food back inside and turn the heat back on.
But summer's coming. Maybe this year, maybe next year. We live in hope.
It's coming and the sun will shine like God's own mercy and the thermometer will climb all the way up to 78 and the sky will be bluer and the grass will be greener than imagination-enhanced memory and we'll laugh at all you people crisping and melting elsewhere.
It will be worth the wait.
Saturday, June 02, 2012
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Courtship, Part 1, Part 2, Part 4.
And now for Parental Authority.
To which I want to begin by saying that I have nothing particular against the way our parents handled our courtship. They did their best to step back. They didn't meddle. They didn't pursue their own agenda. There are many courtship horror stories out there of parents who got highly aggrandized notions of their own importance, but ours is not one of them.
The problem I have is not with our parents in particular, but with the notion of parental authority in courtship in general.
I do believe in *children* obeying their parents. I believe in honoring parents all your life.
I don't believe this gives parents the right to make decisions for their adult children.
The irony was, my parents did an outstanding job at raising us to be adults. To go out and make wise decisions for ourselves. To ask their advice and weigh it but not need our hands held. Except that we all believed courtship was the right way to go.
I was twenty-three years old. I had a professional degree and was licensed to practice law in two states. I could drive a car, run for office, buy, sell, travel . . . anything. Anything except make the most important decision of my life. That one had to be taken out of my hands. According to courtship, the only way for me to please God and have a good marriage was to turn that choice over to my parents. And so, after functioning as an adult for years, I returned to childhood at the most critical juncture.
Courtship advocates will claim that there is no overstepping of authority because the girl always has the right to say "no." But the right to say "no" is meaningless if you don't also have the right to say "yes." They will also point to the many women who have blundered badly in choosing a partner. However, courtship has been around for long enough now to establish it is not a fail-safe means of guaranteeing the lifelong good character of a spouse, either. And I strongly suspect that teaching girls that they can't trust their own insights is not going to help weed out the bad guys.
Anyway, no harm, no foul, right? My parents did approve DOB (eventually) and we were able to go ahead and get married and all that. But, either enforced or just expected, the courtship rules loomed over us. With a nice, laid-out procedure to follow, with parents to please and expectations to meet, there was no need for us to talk about how *we* wanted to do things.
I don't know which of these rules were good and which were bad. I doubt it would have made a lick of difference if we had kissed each other before the wedding. But I'm sure it would have made a difference in our marriage if we had thought we had some responsibility to decide that for ourselves. It took us years of marriage to actually start talking about and making life decisions together, and looking back now, I think courtship contributed to that unhealthy pattern. It taught me to be passive. It taught me that my opinion did not matter. Que sera, sera.
Further, the point of getting married is supposed to be leaving your old families and starting a new one. But by its nature, courtship is intensely family-centered. Leaving a close-knit family and being flexible enough to try new things and establish a new family is hard under any circumstances. Under courtship, it's practically impossible. Loyalty to the old families is paramount; the new relationship is secondary. (This is why "compatibility" looms huge in courtship. If both families don't already agree on practically everything, there's not even a chance of a successful courtship.)
I am all in favor of people listening to the counsel of their elders, particularly their parents. If your parents really can't stand the person you want to marry, you should probably think long and hard about why. But that is very different from telling parents they have the duty to approve or disapprove, and telling young people they have no final say over their own lives.
And now for Parental Authority.
To which I want to begin by saying that I have nothing particular against the way our parents handled our courtship. They did their best to step back. They didn't meddle. They didn't pursue their own agenda. There are many courtship horror stories out there of parents who got highly aggrandized notions of their own importance, but ours is not one of them.
The problem I have is not with our parents in particular, but with the notion of parental authority in courtship in general.
I do believe in *children* obeying their parents. I believe in honoring parents all your life.
I don't believe this gives parents the right to make decisions for their adult children.
The irony was, my parents did an outstanding job at raising us to be adults. To go out and make wise decisions for ourselves. To ask their advice and weigh it but not need our hands held. Except that we all believed courtship was the right way to go.
I was twenty-three years old. I had a professional degree and was licensed to practice law in two states. I could drive a car, run for office, buy, sell, travel . . . anything. Anything except make the most important decision of my life. That one had to be taken out of my hands. According to courtship, the only way for me to please God and have a good marriage was to turn that choice over to my parents. And so, after functioning as an adult for years, I returned to childhood at the most critical juncture.
Courtship advocates will claim that there is no overstepping of authority because the girl always has the right to say "no." But the right to say "no" is meaningless if you don't also have the right to say "yes." They will also point to the many women who have blundered badly in choosing a partner. However, courtship has been around for long enough now to establish it is not a fail-safe means of guaranteeing the lifelong good character of a spouse, either. And I strongly suspect that teaching girls that they can't trust their own insights is not going to help weed out the bad guys.
Anyway, no harm, no foul, right? My parents did approve DOB (eventually) and we were able to go ahead and get married and all that. But, either enforced or just expected, the courtship rules loomed over us. With a nice, laid-out procedure to follow, with parents to please and expectations to meet, there was no need for us to talk about how *we* wanted to do things.
I don't know which of these rules were good and which were bad. I doubt it would have made a lick of difference if we had kissed each other before the wedding. But I'm sure it would have made a difference in our marriage if we had thought we had some responsibility to decide that for ourselves. It took us years of marriage to actually start talking about and making life decisions together, and looking back now, I think courtship contributed to that unhealthy pattern. It taught me to be passive. It taught me that my opinion did not matter. Que sera, sera.
Further, the point of getting married is supposed to be leaving your old families and starting a new one. But by its nature, courtship is intensely family-centered. Leaving a close-knit family and being flexible enough to try new things and establish a new family is hard under any circumstances. Under courtship, it's practically impossible. Loyalty to the old families is paramount; the new relationship is secondary. (This is why "compatibility" looms huge in courtship. If both families don't already agree on practically everything, there's not even a chance of a successful courtship.)
I am all in favor of people listening to the counsel of their elders, particularly their parents. If your parents really can't stand the person you want to marry, you should probably think long and hard about why. But that is very different from telling parents they have the duty to approve or disapprove, and telling young people they have no final say over their own lives.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Many and Varied Things
We had a long-anticipated visit from the cousins on Sunday, and then we followed it up with a Memorial Day spent wandering about together as a family--first to the wetlands nature trails (which proved, as we had hoped, less pollinated than other parks so that DOB did not spend the entire time dripping), then the "castle park" and winding up at the mall for Orange Julius and the mall playground. Then we went home and everybody played outside until supper time. And after all that, everyone was tired enough that it was almost calm when we read the first chapter of The Hobbit to great acclaim.
************************
Our internet connection has been spotty for a few weeks, and at some point we realized that the phone line was down, too. We called the company, but were concerned that it might be the phone (which we got for $2 at Goodwill because we don't use the landline, it's just for emergencies and babysitters). It wasn't. Apparently some previous owner had cut the phone line and decided to splice it himself. It's a wonder it had worked for so long.
************************
I've started making strength training a priority, more for my own sanity than anything else. The trouble is, the only time I'm likely to do it is first thing in the morning. That is also the time when everything is crazy anyways. However, the kids are now mostly able to survive for a short while and I just do the next step in cooking breakfast in between each exercise. On mornings when DOB goes to the gym I do the strength training at home and on mornings when he leaves a little later I go for a walk/jog. I am feeling dedicated enough that I even got workout clothes so I could stop running about town in his old pajamas.
Anyway, after over a month of trying, I can finally do this exercise:
My workout gear is not that fancy. And I am never going to be that thin again. But I am amazed that I can do it at all.
*****************************
Dash has an invisible parrot on a stick.
Dot is planning a "Mermaid and Tarantula Show."
*****************************
Yesterday we swung by the grocery store to pick up a gallon of milk. And I saw bananas on the way in. But still, I didn't need a cart for that, did I? Then I got to the back of the store, beside the milk, and saw that, after months of absence, they had the $1 ground turkey back in stock. I wanted to get eight packages. My hands were full. It would take too long to get a cart and come back. So I piled them up on top of my purse and held them in place with my chin. It was cold. Very, very cold.
************************
Our internet connection has been spotty for a few weeks, and at some point we realized that the phone line was down, too. We called the company, but were concerned that it might be the phone (which we got for $2 at Goodwill because we don't use the landline, it's just for emergencies and babysitters). It wasn't. Apparently some previous owner had cut the phone line and decided to splice it himself. It's a wonder it had worked for so long.
************************
I've started making strength training a priority, more for my own sanity than anything else. The trouble is, the only time I'm likely to do it is first thing in the morning. That is also the time when everything is crazy anyways. However, the kids are now mostly able to survive for a short while and I just do the next step in cooking breakfast in between each exercise. On mornings when DOB goes to the gym I do the strength training at home and on mornings when he leaves a little later I go for a walk/jog. I am feeling dedicated enough that I even got workout clothes so I could stop running about town in his old pajamas.
Anyway, after over a month of trying, I can finally do this exercise:
*****************************
Dash has an invisible parrot on a stick.
Dot is planning a "Mermaid and Tarantula Show."
*****************************
Yesterday we swung by the grocery store to pick up a gallon of milk. And I saw bananas on the way in. But still, I didn't need a cart for that, did I? Then I got to the back of the store, beside the milk, and saw that, after months of absence, they had the $1 ground turkey back in stock. I wanted to get eight packages. My hands were full. It would take too long to get a cart and come back. So I piled them up on top of my purse and held them in place with my chin. It was cold. Very, very cold.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)