Holes, Souls, Friends, and Destiny

There is, in each of us, a God shaped hole. This is what my church teaches. As we walk through life, we all carry an emptiness in our souls. It's a longing to feel whole and complete, and people will have this longing until they "ask Jesus into their hearts and become filled by the Holy Spirit." I do not disagree with this teaching, but, as a "believer" I find myself asking God why, regardless of my faith, I often feel empty and incomplete. What else is missing? Why do I not feel whole? There remains a yearning within me.

Being born into this world seems a lot like being picked up by some unknown person and deposited on an island somewhere, being told that I have a purpose for being here and handed a book on the island's history, agricultural practices, and customs of the inhabitants, and then being left for an undetermined amount of time without ever being told what it is that I'm supposed to accomplish. I know that I was selected specifically to be here, but haven't got the foggiest clue as to why.

I'm pretty sure a lot us of feel that way, Christian or not. Some of us find contentment in our chosen professions and some in marriage and family, which is a profession. Shall I be a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker?  Shall I unearth great treasures like Indiana Jones or be more like Captain Jack Sparrow, wandering aimlessly and seeking refuge in a cache of rum or the single bullet that will end that ongoing yearning for something more and the feeling of despair that accompanies the belief that there might not really be a purpose for being here at all. Maybe it's like living in The Truman Show, and we are nothing more than entertainment for an unknown audience.

No. I believe with everything I have that I am destined for greatness of some kind, maybe not globally great, but on some level, great. But what? Will I ever know? How will I find it?

As I meander my way through life searching for my own destiny and looking for signs that I am, not only on the right path, but going in the right direction along that path, occasionally, blessedly, God rewards me with a bit of encouragement and a sense of "yes".

I recently traveled to Chicagoland to attend a book signing event where my very good friend, Nicole Knepper was promoting her new book: Moms Who Drink And Swear: True Tales of Loving My Kids While Losing My Mind. Followers of Nicole and her Facebook group, Moms Who Drink And Swear, traveled far and wide to be a part of this event.

I had two goals in mind as I made my way toward Chicago. One was to support a woman who I have grown to love very much. The other was to take some time to just check myself out, a little vacation from reality. Life's been a struggle for me, lately. That feeling of yearning has been raging and causing a pounding ache in my soul. I needed to get away. I needed the fresh perspective that stepping back can sometimes give. I did not expect the thing that actually happened, but ironically, it is exactly the thing Nicole describes in the first chapter of her book.

Every person I knew who had also made this trip, was someone who I had met initially on Facebook and eventually in person. There were still plenty of people I hadn't met who only "knew" me via the wide web. I was amazed and thrilled by the people who said excited, "you're Bubblez?!?" as they looked me in the face for the first time. OK, maybe it was only two or three people, but I felt like a celebrity. I felt special and important. It felt good. It felt "yes."

As the hours passed, I found myself in situations where I could talk to just a few people at a time, and man, did I talk. My story started pouring out of me like a waterfall. Everything that I had been going through in my personal life and my deepest, most intimate thoughts spewed out of me to patient, listening ears, and rather than escaping reality, my reality was affirmed. These women smiled and nodded and validated me. They said, in essence, "yes, this is really your life and not your imagination, and yes, you are so much more than where you are and what you're going through."

Yes.

See, maybe we do have a God shaped hole, but we also have empty spaces where friends belong. As we plod through our lives, it is imperative that we collect up these people who affirm us and support us. I sincerely believe that none of us can be anything that we were truly meant to be unless we fill ourselves up with these important people. We need them like we need food. These are the people who help you find yourself. They guide you and nourish you and make sure you are on the right path. Without them, you will never find your destiny. 

Many relationships are a struggle. They seem to hold you back or tear you down rather than help you to move forward and upward. It's easy to get stuck, to even give up on yourself. The contrast between a relationship like that and the kind that nourish and make a soul grow is mind boggling. As people, I think one of our favorite phrases is, "they're good for each other." It's amazing what a person can do when you find someone who's good for you. So, I want to thank each of my "good for me" friends, both old and new, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you, friends, for helping me be who I am meant to be, and for helping me to find my purpose in this life.

"Everything that don't make sense about me, makes sense when I'm with you." -Hunter Hayes

Yeah, I Do Be Trippin'

I've been weird my entire life. I know because lots of people have told me. When I asked them why they thought that I was weird, they could only try to reassure me that it was "in a good way": not really helpful, always confusing.

A few years ago, I learned that I have Adult ADD. Ah, now that explains some things. My brain doesn't work like everyone else's. Newsflash! I think differently. I haven't quite worked out all of the subtle nuances yet, but I've had enough people either make inaccurate assumptions about what I was thinking (I swear I'm almost never thinking what you believe me to be)or just look at me strangely when I took a topic in a direction they'd have never thought to go, to know that I do indeed, think differently.

People often struggle with the idea of an AD(H)D diagnosis because doctors haven't quite figured out where the trip wire is located inside the brain, so some folks assume there isn't one, but there is. You can trust me on this. We hear a lot about the people who don't want to accept this disorder as being real in children. It's not a lot better for adults. I told someone once that I had ADD, and she said, "don't all moms?"

Dear over worked mothers, you do not have ADD just because you spaced that Johny had a doctor's appointment this afternoon. ADD and ADHD (one is hyper but none of the tired and forgetful people ever try to claim the H) are so much richer and deeper and intense than mere forgetfulness or having trouble balancing too many obligations. It is a mental disorder, and I use the term disorder only because I'm certain that some of the little circuits and connectors inside the brain are literally out of order. Otherwise, I'd think of some other term to use that didn't sound so much like a major disability, because personally, I kinda like it. Most ADD people do once they get counselling or medication to help them manage.

I'm gonna give a shout out to my OCD and bi-polar peeps, right quick, because they are here beside me, riding in my boat. We are the butcher, baker, and candlestick maker of mental disorders. It's a very sanitary boat that happens to be lost. It alternates between being scary fun and just plain scary, and everybody wants to claim that a seat belongs to them. There are pirates and ninjas in our boat, too. I'm letting them come aboard because they belong with us in the common mind's fantasy land where action, adventure, excitement, and viable excuses replace the reality of fear, pain, addiction, and sometimes death.

Basically what I'm trying to say is, if you don't really have a mental disorder, please shut the hell up. You're making life harder for those of us who do by essentially negating the existence of what can potentially be a serious mental malfunction. M'kay? Thanks.

And yeah, it's not all bad, having AD(H)D. It does come with it's share of problems (a lot of us have trouble holding onto relationships and jobs), but there are some great perks, too. Most of us are wildly creative, and I for one, don't really mind being crazy if it means that I can blow your mind with mine.

I've learned a great deal about both the bad and the good since I got my diagnosis, yet, I still spend an awful lot of time trying to figure out why I do some of the unusual things I do. There are things about my character that can't be explained with AD(H)D. These "things" had bothered me for a long time. Then, yesterday, I had a revelation.

I was an undiagnosed special needs child.

It never  occurred  to me before and I don't really like the sound of it, but there's no way around that reality. I wonder how many other special needs people don't know they're short bus special. I bet a lot of us are looking around at the outside world thinking you guys are the ones who are messed up. *cough cough*

Anyway, I haven't had a lot of time to think it through, but I do know one thing. When a person spends the majority of their life being misunderstood; being told that they never do anything right, are unreliable, weird (even in a good way), or are told any other number of negative things that frustrated individuals might say when the child/person they are dealing with doesn't make any sense to them, well, a lifetime of that is gonna mess a body up. So, there ya go.

For those of you who know me personally, please be patient while I figure this crap out and decide what, if anything, I want to do about it. In the meantime, I will continue to amuse you with my charm and wit, like always. Besides, being patient with me isn't really something that's new to you, anyway, so it shouldn't be a problem. In fact, I bet you won't even notice. Hmm. Nevermind, then. Carry on.

Leaning Green And Still Pimpin'

I have had the hardest time pinning down a blog "theme" and figuring out my niche in the writing world. Like everything else that is a part of me, writing is something I am skilled at but it still manages to lack the kind of oomph that makes it something special. I was an art major in college. That went absolutely nowhere. After I grew up a little bit, I realized that I was afraid to be an artist, and that is why I failed. Skills, yes. Oomph, no. I'm not afraid to be a writer. With writing, I have a different problem. Subject matter. Theme. Consistency.

I am like many personalities in one person, except not in a clinically disconcerting way because my personalities all know each other and get along, although sometimes "church" personality does like to guilt trip "boozer" personality and they argue about whether or not Jesus minded that I... wait, what did I do last night?

The point is, I am a person of many varying interests, and how do you sum that up in one interesting little tagline? And are any of those interests very interesting, anyway? Sure, anything can be, I guess, but if your readers come to you looking for advice on how to prevent end rot on their tomatoes (add calcium to the soil in the form of crushed Tums), and what you give them is, oh... that's what I did last night... no wonder Church was mad, those readers are going to leave and possibly never come back.

So, I feel like I need to focus in on some kind of catagory, ya dig? I homeschool. I love educating, and I'm good at it, but I don't really want to write about it all the time. (Grammatically, it is incorrect to write "homeschool" as one word, by the way. I do it, anyway, because I'm a rebel, not because I'm dumb. Back off, ok.) I cook. I parent. I craft. I garden. I do none of this consistently and obsessively enough to make a blog out of it. No, not even parenting. *hangs head*

So, I made a decision. Like the majority of other no-name bloggers out there, I will simply write about life. If Jerry Seinfeld can make a show about nothing, I can do the same with a blog, right? Of course, that would require making up a bunch of stuff that isn't really true and seriously, like I've got the energy (booze) for that. Did I just negate myself? I think I did.

Whatever. All of this babbling is just my way of announcing,  unnecessarily, that I reserve the right to change my tagline regularly and without warning, as it suits me, with little or no regard to you. So, stick that in your juice box and suck it.

Today's new tagline is: Leaning Green And Still Pimpin' because that pretty much sums up what's been going on in my life as of late. I dyed my hair and started wearing warpaint when I leave the house, and, most of my thoughts seem to be consumed by the idea of becoming environmentally self sufficient. They only seem unrelated. Ok, they are.

Not bad, eh? Except for the bit of liner that looks like an eye-booger.

I've been thinking a lot about gardening and farming and how to avoid going to the grocery store because I hate taking the time to do it and because the grocer takes all of my money leaving me with nothing to spend at the bar.. erm, put in the offering plate. I've also been really focussed on eliminating our garbage bill by digging my own landfill in the back yard. No, that's not true. We recycle so much that we only crank out about two 13 gallon garbage bags a week. I'm thinking we need to get on the burning and composting thing, and then we'll be golden.

I guess that's all I've got for today. I'm keeping the line for a while although my next blog might be a tutorial on how to sew a bathrobe.

In the words of Red Green, "Keep your stick on the ice." It should be cold enough.

Late Winter To-Do: The Birthday Party

There really aren't very many activities on the late winter to-do list. I'm planning to tap maple trees this spring, so I've been acquiring supplies for that, now. Otherwise, January has been spent preparing for Moo's birthday. Not one of my favorite things. I've never been much of a birthday person, and I'm especially not fond of supplying entertainment for a bunch of snot nosed kids. But, I'm doing it because I want to make the boy happy.

The theme is "fire" because "fire's cool." Thank you. It's going to be held on a Saturday evening over the dinner hour and just past dusk so that we can have fireworks. Yes. As a matter of fact, I do rock. We'll also have a bonfire in the back yard for roasting hot dogs and s'mores if the kids don't mind doing it in the cold temperature. I figure, I can always light the grill if needed. And for dessert (with 2 esses because you always want more), flaming Baked Alaska! Boom!

Here's where things get tricky. $$$

I really want to have a pinata. I'll make one that looks like a fireball out of a balloon, paper mache, and tissue, but what of the fillers? Moo will be 10 so junkie plastic rings and the like are out. I have a nice list of ideas, but the stuff really adds up quickly, so I'll have to handle that prudently. I also wanted to have a scavenger hunt, but for real, I don't know that I can afford both.

Whose stupid idea was it that birthday guests get presents, anyway?

Otherwise, I'm planning some kind of Pin-The-Tail On The Donkey game. Not sure how to make that fire related without freaking out the kiddos. Same goes for Musical Chairs... well, I guess fire related music, huh? Oh snap! We should play Hot Potato.

Ok, well, I'll let you know how it goes... maybe. Hopefully, I'll remember to take pictures.

I'm Sorry About The Barrel Up Your Ass

I've been really quiet, lately. I don't know why. I just haven't had anything to say. There was a point in time when I always had something to say, but it seems that over the past couple of years, I've been slowly becoming quieter.

I was all stressed out after the kids had a vacation day from school on Monday, so I decided I'd go visit one of my friends to do some clucking. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: The kids have been driving me crazy. Boots was up my ass all damned day. "Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mom, hey Mom"

Her: Yeah, I get that. Mine used to be the same way.

Me:
 

I bet that soon, I won't speak at all.

So, we watched the last part of Hangover II since it was already playing, and then I said goodbye and came home. On the way out, her fella reminded me to take some cats home.

I'm starting to develop this routine. Sheldon comes home just in time for supper or a little after. We deal with the table chaos. Whoever said that families who eat together have better relationships because of it, made a mistake. After reminding the kids a gazillion times to sit in their chairs and not talk with their mouths full, to not interrupt or talk over each other, to keep their hands to themselves, not sing, whistle, or scream, to clear their dishes and put them in the dishwasher, and reminding Teenie that she is not yet an adult and therefore does not require our consultation on decision making and furthermore, has no authority to correct or discipline her siblings.... where was I? Oh, yeah. Once, the chaos of dinner and bedtime are over, I usually spend roughly half an hour brain dumping on Sheldon and then I go sit by myself somewhere until I'm ready for bed.

Tonight's brain dump will probably include my idea to build a sauna back by the river and heat it with a barrel stove. I will tell him about the website I came across which has great directions on how to do that, and how we could even incorporate the sauna into another building, barn, or workshop that would use the same heat source if we left the sauna door open which would make it like getting a twofer. I will also tell him about how I want to build a barrel stove outside with a cooktop and a smoker so that I can use it to boil down maple sap and smoke meats. How freaking awesome would that be? I've got the plans all worked out. Of course we're going to need more barrels, but I checked Ebay and Craigslist, and there is a lady in the next state over who has several for sale, so if he wants to, we could make a day of it and go get some.

Shel will express his concerns with my plans and then say something about how it would be fun to drive out of state for a day and then make all of these cool things. At this point, I will realize that it's never going to happen, because nothing like this ever does, and will wander off to finish chores and then go run a hot bath or curl up in the recliner with my Twitter account.

That recliner, by the way, is in the former "armpit" of the house which now, having been painted and decorated to be sort of masculine and den-like for Shel, is one of our most attractive rooms. I will sit there, and Shel will go back to his Kindle in the front living room, where I left him. I'm going to paint that room pink. Then maybe we'll trade. I don't know.

Two recliners and a TV (far right). Perfect guy space. 

The only other thing that I've given much though to so far today, are apologies, and I'm not going to bring this up to Sheldon because he might think it's a dig, and I don't wanna start that. But, here's the deal. I read this today. To give you the gist, one blogger posted something that some people found offensive and then he decided to apologize. His friend, another blogger, responded to the apology letter and commended her friend for being big enough to respect the feelings of his readers and offer the apology.

So, here's what gets me. Why is it such a big deal to offer an apology? I mean, why do people find it so hard? I'm one of the cockiest, most conceited bastards alive, and I can admit when I'm wrong and easily apologize, so why do other people have such a hard time? It truly floors me. I don't have a single theory as to why this is. All I do know, is that I did learn how to do it (from imitating my Dad, who hated having us girls mad at him), but I really think that's only half the problem because most people I encounter aren't even willing to admit that an apology might be necessary. So, any insight you have on this, I'd love to hear. Help a sista out.

There. Two weeks since my last blog, and that's all I've got. 

'Til next time, peace out.

(There is an error in this post. I saw it on my phone, and now I can't find it. I accidentally typed the wrong word, somewhere. If you notice, please point it out to me. Thank you.)

On Desire And Getting Blown

Sometimes being a mom really blows. I'm not talking about sleep deprivation or being run ragged or any other mom stereotype you can think of. I'm talking about the total loss of sex appeal. After spending a day working her tail off with no appreciation whatsoever, the last thing a lady feels is sexy. You have no idea how much I crave feeling sexy.

It's dangerous, this desire to be desirable. We waste time on Facebook or buried inside romance novels, our heads swimming in oceans of make believe lustiness. I wouldn't say that most moms are really out looking for trouble, although I'm pretty sure a lot of them would say avoiding it is a delicate dance.

See, we don't want to rock the boat too hard. We want to feel appreciated and we want to feel beautiful. Our confidence is wrapped up in these things. They are integral to a woman's psyche. She works harder, functions better, has more drive, more energy, more verve if she feels sexy, but, obviously, anyway I hope it's obvious, we love our families and the warm and comfortable life fabric we've woven around it. We don't want to mess it up. So, most of us spend time daydreaming and toying with a real but distant romantic fantasy land. 

It's agonizing, not being recognized as a woman. And by woman, I mean WOMAN, like with curves and stuff. It can make the best of us frumpy and bitter.

Oh I hear you over there blah blah blahing about how it's her husband's job to blah blah yawn. Look here, Mr. or Ms. Delusional, you're not going to tell me I'm wrong about these women, are you? How many copies did that damned 50 Shades book sell, anyway? Why? Because Mr. Husband is either busy with his own thing, has run out of ideas for keeping his missus interested, is bored with her, or has become boring to her simply by being old news. So, whatever it is, you're blabbering on about, just stop. I'm not interested in how things are supposed to be. I'm interested, at the moment, in how they are. 

I took an opportunity on New Year's Eve to get all dolled up and go out to hit the scene. I looked hot. I'd been secretly planning it for weeks. It would be a great exodus away from Momdom and into the world of womanhood. I wore sequins and glitter. I looked amazing. I felt amazing. I smelled, amazing.

Sheldon came along with me, but once I was about 3 drinks in, I ditched him in pursuit of more amusing company.  Social butterfly that I am, he's pretty used to that. I saw a couple of girlfriends, but they weren't winning my attention, either. I was on a conquest. I was searching for something in the eyes and smiles of drunken men. Recognition. Spark. Sexiness. I needed to find my sex appeal. I needed to feel alluring.

Shel frowned at the men who laughed at my witty charm and left shots in front of my bar stool, but I didn't care. I wasn't hurting anything by being sexy. In fact, it was grand. It was healthy. It was so good for me to be fluttering about outside of my miserable mom cocoon. Those feelings carried me all the way through New Year's Day and into the coming year. It propelled me into a re-dedication to health and beauty. I evaluated my dietary habits and thought of ways to firm up my buns before summer comes.

It was a great start to a new year, exactly what the doctor ordered.. until about 4:30pm on January 2nd, when the momness started to kick in, again. I am so sick of being over-looked. I do not want to get pulled back under the laundry pile for my fire to be snuffed out. I want to keep that feeling of being sexy and alive, a vibrant, shining flame of a woman.

What to do? What to do? Yep, being a mom really blows, sometimes.

Ground Control To Major Mom

I recently redecorated the "armpit" of our house to be a nice, presentable, and useful room. Among other things, it now contains the family command center. I love saying that we have a command center. It sounds like we're living in an episode of Star Trek or something. Or maybe it's just somehow related to my need for power and the quest for world domination. Not sure.

Anyway, I took pics. =D

 

This is inside the back door, which gets used the most. Matching and tidy make me happy. Between the four kids, these coat hooks are usually full. I forgot to get a picture, but there are shoe trays on the floor under the coats.

I spray painted a couple of tin soup cans and attached them to the wall with 3M Strips to hold pens and pencils since we never seem to be able to find any when we need them.

I bought this groovy calendar at Target. You fill it in yourself. There are enough spaces on the side for 5 people plus a spot to write down what you'll be having for dinner that day, if you're like, super super organized. This is the page for next month, so it's a little empty still. I also bought a black poster frame, removed the plexiglass, painted the cardboard backing black, and mounted the calendar onto the cardboard to make the whole thing pretty.

This is a bulletin board which I also painted black, complete with

chore chart! Another Target find, this chore chart comes with a dry erase marker and has stick'em on the back so you can hang it anywhere. I decided to just pin it up for now. There's enough room to list chores for 4 people, every day of the week. I divide my house into sections, tackle a different section every day, and have each kid take a chore or two for each of those sections. They can usually finish their chores in under 20 minutes. Some other time, I'll tell you how I actually get the kids to do them.  The first column of the chart is for chores which need to be accomplished daily. We're a forgetful bunch, so I write in even the simple stuff like remembering to eat breakfast.

Last, we've got this nifty baby. It's just a paper folder turned sideways with hinges made from duct tape. I painted the outside to spruce it up and hung it on the wall with 3M Strips. This is where I keep school calendars and other important papers that I know I'll be referring to periodically for information. I used paper clips to attach Boot's lunch menu to the front so we can see at a glance whether to buy or pack from home each day.

So, there you have it. My very own command center. Now, get to work!

There's A Wolf Outside

I've had a lot of thoughts since the Newtown tragedy. As "Mommy Buddy" from the Plant Autism wrote, "Friday December 14th 2012 was the parent equivalent of 9/11." 

You know what I was doing while the shit was hitting the fan? I was giving gentle reassuring smiles to a class full of first graders.

My daughter, Boots, is 6 years old (3 days short of sharing a birthday with Newtown victim, Jack Pinto; his mom was probably going into labor as we were leaving the hospital.) Boots developed this cute little habit of wearing big fluffy sweatshirts and sweaters and when she'd get cold, she would pull her knees up to her chest, pull her arms out of the sleeves, and sit curled up all warm and cozy with everything but her head tucked inside of her shirt. She was doing that at her desk on Friday, when suddenly she lost her balance and slipped right off her tiny first grade chair, exacting a full face plant onto the hard tile floor. 

Her teacher said she was very brave, as she pulled herself turtle-like back out of her hoodie and picked herself up. It hurt, but not so much, Boots thought. Then, she looked around. All the children were gasping and had alarmed looks on their faces. They started talking about blood, and that's when Boots looked down at her hands that she had been wiping her eyes and nose with and saw that her fingers and the cuffs and her shirt were covered in blood. It was pouring out of her nose and mouth.  I'm sure she started to cry.

The teacher quickly came to my daughter's aid, paged a helper to watch the class, and escorted Boots to the nurse's office where they removed the bloodied hoodie, cleaned her face, gave her ice, and called me to come and get her. My mother happened to be at my house when the call came, so we both climbed into her car and drove to the school. When we got there, Boots was lying on a cot waiting for me. Her coat and backpack were next to her along with the hoodie which someone had put in a bag. I filled in the sign-out form, collected my daughter and her things, and stepped into the hallway just as about 20 tiny first graders, in their nice 'straight as a first grade line can get' line were passing. It happened to be Boot's class and each child looked at her and then me with sad eyes and a furrowed brow which begged, "is she going to be ok?" One little girl put two fingers to her lips, the universal first grade sign for "I love you." A little boy stepped quickly out of line to give Boots a hug, and had to be ushered back by the teacher before any of her other students got the same idea and six-year-old chaos ensued in the hallway. 

When their eyes met mine, I smiled reassuring smiles. She'll be ok. It's ok. Everything is going to be ok. No need to worry, children. No need to fear. It's all ok. Everything's fine. Everyone's safe. Everyone's well. I'll take her home and patch her up, good as new.

We went outside and climbed into Mom's car. Boots sat in the back with her icepack anticipating the Happy Meal that Nana had promised in order to cheer her up. The radio was turned down to an inaudible volume, and Mom and I chatted as we pulled through the McDonald's drive-through. We ordered ice creams to go along with our burgers and Bootsie's Happy-in-a-Box. I looked behind me and checked on her periodically as we made our way back to the house. Her nose was swollen, and obviously painful. I was worried and wanted to get her home, give her some Tylenol, and tuck her into the armchair with a cozy blanket and an episode of My Little Pony. 

When we got to the house, I grabbed the Happy Meal box and Boot's backpack, helped my baby girl into the house, and said goodbye to my mom, completely forgetting the blood soaked hoodie lying in a bag on the floor of Mom's car. I got Boots comfortable in front of the TV, which at our house, rarely shows anything that isn't Netflix or football, and settled myself into a nearby chair to check Facebook.

And, there it was. News updates about Newtown were popping up about every other status. Details were still vague, numbers not yet reported, a grade school... young children... and as statuses were updated with more and more news, tears began streaming from my eyes. My stomach turned. I felt sick. Muscles tightened. No, no, no. 

Eighteen kindergarteners.... no, 20.... six and seven year olds.... first graders. Six and seven year olds are first graders. First grade children, not mine, thank God, but first grade children exactly like those I'd just seen with concern in their eyes and two finger lip "I love you"s. Dead. Was blood the last thing they saw? "A parent's worst nightmare" is a vast understatement. 

I couldn't hide my sadness so I told my children what had happened. Boots surprised me when she said, "I'd have run to the fire station. Some of the kids ran to the fire station." 

"How did you know about this, Boo?"

"I heard it on the radio while you and Nana were talking." 

---

---

Wow. 

I didn't realize she could hear the radio in the backseat. She knew about it before I did. 

Wow. 

I spent Friday evening curled up on the couch watching Christmas movies, checking Facebook on my phone, and throwing away mountains of wet Kleenex. The kids curled up with me. Boots sat in my lap. We snuggled and giggled at the movies while I continued to check the news and secretly dry tears and wipe my nose. 

The next day, my mom posted this to Facebook:

Took Bubbz to pick Boots up from school yesterday. She fell on her face and got a bloody nose. Left a bag in the car. I brought it in. It was the jacket she was wearing when she fell. The cuffs were blood soaked and the front blood spattered. I'm sticking it in cold water washing the blood out and listening to the news in the background thinking "oh my God, oh my God." Hearing all that tragedy while washing that tiny blood soaked jacket.... Just about done me in.

So close, so close, so close, and only barely far enough away. Even though the distance is 743 miles, it was out the back door instead of inside the house. So close. Too close.

Homeschooling Part 4: Getting Started

Straight out of the gate, I want you to take care of a couple of practical matters. Number one is to find out what your state's laws are regarding homeschooling. It is very important that you know and abide by these laws. Some states require that you submit forms to your local superintendent's office which will state your intention to homeschool, the names and ages of your children, immunization records, birth certificates, a copy of your high school and/or college diploma (if you have one), a copy of your school calendar and curriculum (which may be governed), and regular grade reports. They may also require supervised standardized testing, regular professional in home visits, and mentoring. Other states, like Indiana, have a total hands off policy and require absolutely nothing from you as an educator. Check with your local superintendent's office as well as the State Department of Education. Some districts offer resources that can help enhance the homeschooled child's learning experience.

Occasionally, local school districts have rules that exceed state mandates, which is illegal, by the way. You may find yourself jumping into a court battle if you're not careful. Sometimes, it's just easier to comply with their unnecessary rules, but not always. The Home School Legal Defense Association has been fighting for the rights of home educators for years. You may find it in your interest to align yourself with them. Many (or possibly all) states also have similar organizations who work to encourage homeschool friendly legislation on the state level and often offer valuable educational tips and resources to use inside the home. Examples of these groups include the Indiana Association of Home Educators and the Minnesota Association of Christian Home Educators. Indiana and Minnesota are the two states in which I, personally, have experienced home educating, and where Indiana interferes less in the home, Minnesota offers more in the way of help.

The first thing that I did when I was ready to learn more about homeschooling was to hit the local library. There are wonderful people who have written whole books on how to educate your children at home. One that I found helpful was called, So You're Thinking About Homeschooling and was written by Lisa Whelchel, who is most famous for having played Blaire in the TV series The Facts Of Life.

In her book, Blaire, I mean Lisa, walks you through 15 different homeschooling lifestyles, each one following a different educational model. You've probably heard of the Montessori method of education which is commonly used in pre-schools and many private grade schools. Unschooling is a learning style that has caught the attention of the media, lately, and one that seems to be growing in popularity, even though the method faces some opposition. There's also the Robinson method, which focuses on self-teaching and a simple, low cost curriculum, or the Greek based Classical method, or the Charlotte Mason literature based method, or... you get the idea: there's more than one way to skin a cat.

Because homeschooling is a lifestyle, you are free to embrace your own educational philosophy. If you thought juggling a stack of textbooks was the only way to learn, you thought wrong, although, there is always that option, too. As you can see from all of the links listed above, a little digging around the internet can provide you with just about any bit of information you are going to need when it comes to choosing your educational model and finding the appropriate supplies, but I still find books helpful in getting started because of the way the information is presented. Besides, at this point, you barely even know what to ask Google to look for. 

Unfortunately, (and no I don't get anything from her for the endorsement) Lisa's book is the only book from my time at the library that I can remember the title of. I do, however, remember some of the other things I read in between the covers of those books, one such thing being the importance of understanding learning styles. Your learning style has to do with how your brain takes in and interprets information. All people are either visual, auditory, or kinetic (that means physical) learners, and you will find it valuable to know both your own style, because that will be your natural bend when teaching, as well as the learning styles of your children. 

The Department of Education offers a free online assessment for you to determine your own learning style. You can use Scholastic's free assessment to help you determine the learning style of your child. If your child is old enough, you may want to rephrase the questions so that he or she can answer for themselves. For example, changing "when your child is at the library do they" to "when we go to the library, do you." I found that having my kids answer those questions gave me a broader perspective on how they think. Also, you can watch them for cues (closing their eyes or fidgeting) while they are thinking of the answers.

Once you know what you are planning to do and how you are planning to do it, you will need to obtain supplies. There are a few ways to handle this. You can do an internet search for whatever educational model you are using while adding the word "curriculum" to your search, and choose a package based on those results. If you are looking for complete textbook packages, you can find a list of "whole" curriculum publishers, here. You can also do an internet search for home education catalogs, supplies, or materials, and then look within those search results for materials by subject (math, phonics, geography, etc). A great idea is to contact your state's homeschooling organization to see if there is a conference or book fair that you can attend. Conferences usually take place in the spring, and I highly recommend them, both for the great seminars and for the knowledgeable retailers who will be invited to set up shop in a ballroom, somewhere. Once you know what you're doing, look for used book sales within school districts or neighborhoods and on Ebay.

After our first year or two of homeschooling, I started ordering books and supplies from Amazon.com, OrientalTradingCompany.com, and my favorite (for fun stuff like games and toys as well as books and science kits) RainbowResource.com. I also shopped at Barnes and Noble and small, local teacher supply stores.

So, you've figured out your method, you've got all your stuff, and you are ready to go. How do you get your kids to cooperate?

If you have the space (and if it agrees with your model), I highly recommend turning one room of your house into a school room. You will find that, over time, you accumulate a lot of materials, and it's nice if you can keep them organized in one place. A room full of bookcases, filing cabinets, dresser drawers (for art supplies), and wall space for maps and white boards can be a dream come true. Chances are, though, that you honestly are not going to have that space available. (Or you might until another baby comes along.) Maybe start thinking about what you could turn into a supply closet. Life will be easier if you are organized and know where all of your "stuff" is.

Next, outline your daily and weekly schedules. Let your kids know what you expect from them by telling them how you hope the day will go. OR just grab them first thing in the morning and get started! How rigid you want to be really depends on the atmosphere of your home, but it is helpful for you, at least, if you know what direction you want your activities to flow. You may find that you need to make adjustments to your schedule as time progresses. My kids went through a phase where they wanted to sleep in really late, read or play for most of the day, and put off school work until early evening, which I absolutely could not do. My brain tends to shut down around 4:00. I like to offer my kids the freedom to determine their own schedules (they each have daily assignments which must be completed), but I had to make a rule that if school work wasn't finished by 4 PM and they wanted my help, it would have to be caught up, which meant doing double, later.

It is helpful if you get rid of outside distractions that can make both you and the kids want to neglect the task at hand. In my house, that mostly means anything that comes with a viewing screen -TV, computer, Kindle, iphone. Our rule is, "no screens 'til the work is done," and it applies to all of us -with the exception of Mom's "Facebook and coffee hour" first thing in the morning and any time we use screens for viewing educational material or for writing.

From here, it's up to you. Find or form a support group (local or online) where you can bounce ideas around, gain encouragement, and keep your batteries charged. Make sure you get regular amounts of "me" time, and have fun. You're going to love this.

I'm so proud of you!

                                --Bubblez

                                   BloggerBubbz@gmail.com

Homeschooling Part 1: Our Story
Homeschooling Part 2: Is Homeschooling WRONG for you?
Homeschooling Part 3: So, What's so great about it?

More online resources you may find helpful:

Why Homeschool?
HomeEducator.com

Education Models
Home School Curriculum Advisor

Learning Styles
A2Z Home'sCool
School Family
My Homeschoolingweb.com

Other
25 Bad Ass Ways To Say No
Support Groups
More Tips Than You Can Use

Politics Is/Are Life Changing

My Dad drives a train. That's not a metaphor. He actually sits in the back of a giant choo-choo and makes it go.

My daughter calls her lady bits her choochoo. That is NOT what I am talking about, here. I'm talking about a train.

Sometimes, he drives the train past my house and waves. Fortunately, my property line sits just a few feet from a set of railroad tracks. It would be very awkward, otherwise.

Perpendicular to those tracks, and still along the edge of my property, is a road. When the train crosses the road, or when it's about to, or both, Dad has to blow the whistle on the train.

That's not a metaphor, either. He has to blow the horn. Not his own horn, the train's horn. Dad doesn't own the train. He just drives it.

My point is, there's a law. It's the warning signal law. Wait. The point is not that there is a law. The point is that this law affects my life, and laws don't become laws without someone having made a political decision. Therefore, political decisions affect my life.

All. The. Time.

I only mention it because Jonathan asked me to talk about a time when a political decision had affected my life. It would be a lot more interesting if I were to tell of a time when one hadn't.

So, here's something for you. How many teenage girls have abortions in America each year? Oh.. Google! Where art thou?

The answer is... 234,000. (Holy shit, that's a lot of babies. Yes, they are. Don't even fucking argue with me.) Girl's between the ages of 15-17 account for 78,000 of them.

That's according to the Guttmacher Institute, 2005, kinda outdated, but whatever, because I was just curious, and those numbers really don't have too much to do with my story.

In January of 1973 (note the date), the Federal Government "legalized" abortion. Guttmacher up there says there were 744,600 abortions that year. The Center For Disease Control says there were only 615,831. Again, whatever. I'm finally gonna make a point.

I wasn't one of them. I was born in March of 1973. My mom had just turned 17.

Now, I don't know what the rules were on late term abortions and blah blah blah. Here's what I know. Law or no law, ruling or no ruling, I'm alive because my mom didn't give a shit about any of that. I'd have been born no matter what, because that's the kind of groovy chic my mama is. Tada! Major political decision, no effect.

However, now that I'm sitting here writing about it (and wondering how many defensive feministas are going to jump my ass), it occurs to me that I am affected, not on a physical level, but on an emotional one.

My inner anarchist is really struggling with this. Thanks a lot, Jonathan. I'm going to go curl up in a ball on the couch, now. Maybe watch Thomas The Tank Engine with my daughter. That always helps. We like trains.

I Am SuperMom

I am SuperMom.

I am. No, really. See that phone booth over there? Umm.. Ok. Me neither. But, look. I have a cape.

Alright. Fine then. But, I'm as close to SuperMom as you're gonna get.

I do tons of adorable Pinterest crafts both with and without my children several times a week, er.. Year. (Several is like, three, right?) I make huge delicious and sneakily nutritious meals that I plan ahead and clip coupons for, only slightly less often than the crafts. My house is spotless. (I can't even keep a straight face for that one.)

Wait! Wait! Don't leave. I know I can convince you, somehow.

Let's see. Oh! I did make this.

Not bad, eh? Eventually, I'll get around to writing the tutorial for that one. (And taking the picture.)

Also, my kids are in lots of different activities, during spring soccer. And, umm, my extremely responsible teenager willingly babysits her younger siblings (for a small fee) while I go to the bar. I mean do charity work. (No, I don't.)

I love my kids with the ferocity of a hundred billion suns. I will cut a bitch for looking at them funny. I will argue with teachers and doctors and relatives and neighbors and anyone else who does not seem to be working in the best interest of my child. I will be uncomfortable in the middle of the night because one of the kids had a bad dream. I will worry my own self sick over a fever. I give them ice cream just to see them smile. Fire safety month scares the hell out of me because it makes me think, "but what if." Punishments really do hurt me more than they hurt them. Sometimes, I tell them to keep the change. I smile and act excited every time I'm handed another freaking dandelion. I sit through choir concerts. I try to give them what they want for Christmas. I always make sure we have toilet paper and/or Kleenex.

Once, I even wore a cape.

I am SuperMom.

You Suck And I'm Telling Santa

These are some Christmas activities which I have traditionally enjoyed: shopping, gift wrapping, story reading, daily devotions, baking and candy making, music, decorating, kid crafts, advent calendars, letter writing, card mailing, family photos, and tree hunting. Interestingly enough, attending advent services at church has never been a high point for me. I prefer Lent. Also, no matter how cute my kiddos were or are, I have always hated their Christmas pageants, concerts, and programs.

We've never done this, but, isn't that Elf on the Shelf cute? We. We've never done it. Come to think of it, WE have never done most of those things. It's pretty much always just been I who has done all that.

When I was a kid, sometimes I'd say things like "we need to clean." My Dad's response to that was, "who's 'we'? You got a mouse in your pocket?" That meant that I needed to clean and he had no intention of helping, right?

Well, as the old poem says, "and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." Yes, that's right. No one else had to stir because good ole Mom was doing everything while the rest of the lot lazied around enjoying her efforts.

Christmas used to be awesome before it became a job. I really have enjoyed all of those activities at some point in the past. The problem arose when an expectation grew that it was my responsibility to pull those things off year after year. Alone. Cheerfully. Willingly.

If I don't, I'm a Scrooge. Only Scrooges decide that they just don't feel like making fudge. Only Scrooges believe you can have a very nice Christmas without a tree. Honestly, only Scrooges dislike watching 20 first graders sing while loudly shaking homemade, pipe cleaner, jingle bells. I get the stink eye for that one every year.

Here is the message I have for my family. You ruined my Christmas. You ruined it when you made me feel like I HAD to do things for you and took away the joy I used to feel when I GOT to do those things just because I wanted to. You ruined it when you made me feel like I was an asshole just because I wasn't in the mood to watch It's A Wonderful Life. You ruined it when you whined that there wasn't any rock candy, but refused to help me make it. You all suck, and I'm telling Santa.

This year, I will only do what I want to do when I want to do it. The only thing that I am requiring of myself is to set up the nativity scene and to, at least once, tell my kids the story of when Christ was born.

I have already bought some presents, but I think I might just stop, now. We'll see whether I get a hankering to whip up a batch of fudge. Chances are, that at some point this season, I will feel a desire to do something special for someone else's family. Please pull your tops out of your bottoms and recognize that this is how Christmas is supposed to be.

I love you, family, but I am not your own personal Christmas house elf. Feel free to talk to Santa about me, too. I don't need his presents, anyway. I have God's.