Adoption Issues

Is your home a place of redemption? Does it need to be? Has anyone suffered great loss in daily relationships?

I'd say my home requires me to create a space to heal the broken hearted. Have I? Not well enough. Here's my gauge- the level of peace and unity in my family.

I believe every household has a thermometer- the one who may not look like it on the outside, but is the most sensitive and vulnerable inside. The exterior may read "I don't care", but the actions scream "Someone do something!" My adopted son, Tater, lets us all know when family matters become askew. The second he senses a chasm between my husband and I, he runs to the crack and jumps until Buck and I get on the same page again. Sometimes it takes Buck and I months to work together, and the result of not working together is chaos.

I've come to realize adopted children have two questions they ask over and over again.
1. Will you still love me if...?
2. Whose got the power?

Observations
Apparently, I haven't answered those questions correctly yet for my adopted son, because he still continues to ask in so many manipulative ways.

While my birth children exhibit considerable character flaws, they do not have these same questions. They know in their heart of hearts they can trust me to have their best interest in mind.

I notice a lesser emotional connection with Tater. He doesn't take me at my word like the other children. His wounded heart cannot trust me, so most everyday, I'm tested and judged as wanting by him.

So how to build trust? That's where a home of redemption kicks in. Redemption is gentle. Redemption is kind. Redemption doesn't seek revenge, only healing. Redemption is confident. Redemption believes, even if a strategy is not working, one will be revealed which will meet the need. Redemption does not lose hope. Redemption is never angry and does not seek it's own way. Redemption does not struggle for power; it is power.

A Remedy
The area I have completely conquered this year is not ever getting physical. I believe aggression only breeds more aggression. If my son defiantly picks up the very object I've asked him not to touch, I don't make any movement to retrieve the object. In the heat of a difficult moment, if I ask him not to go outside, and he heads straight for the doorknob, I do not block his way. If he refuses to stop banging a ruler on the table, I do not make any effort to physically remove the ruler. Spanking is absolutely out of the question.

Abandoning any type of physical control has made a boatload of difference in Tater. A year ago, someone in our family would be "accidentally" hurt by him nearly every day. He'd run into a room like a whirling dervish, knock over his little sister, and wonder what just happened. Over the course of this year, that carelessness has been nearly extinguished. Just considering it now, it's miraculous, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how the change occured.

Deeper Remedy
Here's the part of redemption I have not yet completely conquered- remaining peaceful in difficult situations. I haven't mastered a neutral or kind tone in conflict. I've made progress, but when push comes to shove, sometimes I don't keep it together. My goal is to lay down my natural responses of anger and even irritation, and respond in an even keeled way. Sound impossible? It is eye opening to think of the times I'm in a snit with my husband or children, and how quickly I am able to answer the phone pleasantly. Why not keep it together with my family, those I love the most, in the best way possible?

Mostly because I'm human. Imperfect. Redemption has a plan for that as well, though it is tricky- forgiveness. When I'm short with someone, I need to ask forgiveness. If the person is not ready to give it, then I wait. Patiently. Redemption always hopes and believes it will work in the end. I'm not always on the side of redemption, because forgiveness requires something I'm not always willing to give- self examination and humility. Buzzing around town taking care of others or making sure I have plenty of "me" time only complicates things. It leaves no room for necessary deep listening for ways to grow in kindness and forgiveness in my home.

Instead of wrapping things up neatly here, I'll stop and post more another time. School is underway and this teacher needs to get back to work.

Buck laid down his life for me this weekend again. While I was out of town teaching again for the last two days, he took the children to soccer practice, three games, and a scout service project, and mowed the lawn to boot. What a man!

As a mother, I am not fond of this time of year. While I loved Halloween, witches, and ghosts as a child, my children do not.

Since Wise One was very small, he's been particularly sensitive to the store decorations for Halloween. At about five years old, I dragged the boy into a black and orange decked out Party City to buy some paper plates for a party, and five years later, he still remembers the experience with terror.

Pooh Bear, who was riding with Buck in another car, watched me dash into Walgreens two nights ago. Last night, she woke up crying hysterically saying, "I saw those ugly terrible faces in the drug store swallow you up."

Tater got creeped out around midnight, because he couldn't get the bloody costumes out of his mind that he saw in the newspaper sales flyer earlier in the day. He slept on the floor on my room.

I'm mad, because it isn't even October yet. We have more than an entire month left to go of avoiding stores and living through nightmares with my six year old. Even the creepy blow up smiling skeletons at Wal-mart do her in.

Honestly, I wish Halloween would be replaced with fall festivals of pumpkins, hayrides, and scarecrows. Anyone else feel the same?

A Place of Peace with Peace

I've mentioned my homeschooling struggle this year with my eigth grade son, Peace. After an entire month of desperation on both our parts, we've finally come to some workable solutions. I realized I'd been hanging so tightly onto my mother hat that my teacher hat got misplaced. The bottom line is that I was in survival mode with him, grasping at straws to keep him from failing. After seeking counsel from an amazing group of friends, I came to the conclusion that failing might be the only real option for my son. Once I let the idea of making him pass the eighth grade go and clearly outlined the requirements for him to pass, Peace and I stopped having any reasons to lock horns.

Why did it take so long for me to catch on to such a simple solution? Who wants to stand by and watch their child to fail a grade? I became like a nutball track coach pushing my slumbering athlete around the track, instead of allowing my athlete to run for himself. I held all the anxiety and worry for him, so Peace didn't want or need to pass. He saw me carrying his load, so he simply let go of any responsibility.

In the end, we wrote a contract in which I don't nag, and he is responsible for passing his school work by a certain time in the day. If he requires grace to meet his time deadline, he repays me for my extra teaching time with equal minutes of work around the house I couldn't manage while teaching.

The first day of our contract, Peace lost an essential assignment for the science course he takes at a private school. Normally, I would have given him the huffy "Why can't you keep your assignments in your notebook?" and "Where exactly is your brain?" lecture, and then I'd have steamed again when he missed his time deadline by carelessness of misplacing work. Instead, I required grace time of him when I joined his search. No lecture. No nagging. After school, Peace helped me with chores.

Though Peace still balks at anything resembling study, I ask simple questions such as, "Are you satisfied with D for a grade?" So far, he has not answered, "Yes." If he does, I'll record it and move on. Another eighth grade year before high school won't do anything but give him additional time to mature.

I'm having considerable trouble sleeping. Not because I'm troubled within, but for two precise furry reasons- Patches and Janet. Patches belongs to my son, Peace. Janet belongs to my son, Wise One. Neither feline sleeps with his rightful owner. Patches has become too old to jump in and out of Peace's loft, much to Peace's chagrin. Janet has never slept with Wise One, and I'm altogether not sure Janet is particularly fond of Wise One.

So, where have Patches and Janet chosen as their preferred sleeping quarters? My room, of course. Patches is quite fond of the computer paper box just under my side window. Janet snoozes on the home school math paper resting atop my printer. My favorite time of night is when Janet decides to walk across the desk and send objects, like the keyboard, crashing to the floor at 3:02 a.m. The two outlaws scrath and meow to enter and exit and ungodly hours of the night- the wind often closes my doors randomly.

The logical solution would be to put the fuzzy pair outside for the night and forget about it. However, this simply adds to their bag of wiley cat tricks. For several weeks now, our windows have been open, since I nearly dropped dead after opening our last electric bill. With the ceiling fans circling, windows open, and cool fall breezes coming through, it's downright pleasant inside my home. Take that, Loudon County Utilities Board! Anyhow, the obnoxious kitties now have full access to madly claw the screens and protest loudly their utter disatisfaction with the outdoor option.

Next time you see me in the grocery store, you'll be able to answer the question, "Why does True look so very tired, lately?" You'll know it's the nocturnal habits of neurotic cats forced upon me.

By the way, Buck slumbers right through it.

This evening my children and I were treated to glance inside a glossy window pane into the life of Rachel Carson's astounding life via PBS's Bill Moyer. I'd only read and thoroughly enjoyed a few of Rachel's quotes and have never read A Silent Spring . Perhaps I will get to know her better through her writing now that we've been introduced. I was not aware that she was a poetic writer, an invested scientist, and a radical preservationist in her time. She was the first to publicly question the satiating use of new pesticides in homes, farms, and wars during the 1950's, thus the title of her book. Carson achieved the attention of the nation including President Kennedy on the topics and was mercilessly criticized by a small but rich minority- the prosperous chemical companies who wanted her observations silenced at any cost.

Rachel Carson existed in wonder and respect of God's handiwork the way I'd like to live. Here's a marvelous quote into which I was drawn deeply:

"I believe natural beauty has a necessary place in the spiritual development of any individual or any society. I believe that whenever we destroy beauty, or whenever we substitute something man made and artificial for a natural feature on the earth, we have retarded some part of man's spiritual growth."

Last night, I got a glimpse of the quote "surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life" through an unlikely source- a parking attendant. Claire and I loaded up her mini van with daughters to head to High School Musical on Ice. Feel free to roll your eyes at our shallow choice of cultural activity. The teens involved in our trip did not heed our pleas of hurry, so we were running late when we arrived at the coliseum. Claire dropped us off and offered to park while the rest of us found WILL CALL to round up our tickets.

Claire was met at the parking gate by the attendant who kindly spoke, "I have a special place I was saving just for you. I always save two spots for latecomers and you'll be excited to see which is your space. It's the empty spot right in front of you. After the event is over, you'll have an easy exit as well. I hope you enjoy the show." I am stunned at the grace and care of a woman simply looking to bless, making room for those in a time crunch instead of harboring the typical "serves you right" judgment of poor planning. How refreshing. Grace. Mercy. Given to our carload of Soarin' and Flyin' girls.

If you've read my blog lately, you know that homeschooling my eighth grade son has put me through my paces, both as a mother and a teacher. I stepped into my room during school this morning and overheard Peace talking with Wise One discussing something on the Internet, "See this Transformer? It's power begins here and..." I interrupted shortly, squaring my shoulders and steadying myself firmly for yet another home school showdown, "Which website are you exactly on?" Flashes of the fifty-two stay-on-task-and-get-ready-for-high-school-so-you'll-have-the-chance-to-go-to-college-not-to-mention-being-a-good-example-for-your-siblings conversations with Peace sprang to my irked mind. Were those two children actually looking at Transformer robots crushing cars and ten story buildings instead of finishing their assignments?

I scurried around to catch a view of the computer screen. Nope. Peace was teaching Wise One about the transfer of power from the Tesla coil. For literature, he's been reading biographies of famous scientists. I giggled. Peace quickly figured out why and giggled as well, "You thought this was the Transformer movie website didn't you? Mooooommmm."

Just so you know, it's not always the peaceable kingdom around here. I am in the dicey position of being the mother of two first born boys. One I labored to birth in a little more than 24 hours. The other I labored through 2 years of foster care to adopt, and his birth certificate now displays Buck's and my signature. Both boys vie for top dog position- sometimes to an infuriating breaking point. In an unusual circumstance, the three of us are at home together without the rest of the family with all media hushed (except me blogging), all school work and other labors tucked safely away. I've had the opportunity to observe their specific interactions as I've worked on various projects throughout the day.

Peace and Tater first chose to play Monopoly. They lasted over an hour, until the bank ran out of money. Neither knows it, but I'm most likely responsible for the shortage of cash- I throw monopoly money and other sundries away when I find misplaced things lying about unattended. Next the two guys jumped on the trampoline together. Soon after, I heard them playing some kind of war game fearlessly protecting our beloved chickens from the menacing chicken hawks. With no animosity, they split up for some time- one reading a novel, the other listening to a book on tape and building legos.

I asked them at dinner to choose which brother would milk the goat knowing I could be stirring the firstborn pot. The third son, who was absent, happened to be scheduled to milk. To my surprise, no sparks flew between Tater and Peace over the decision, just Tater agreeing to do so. Once milking commenced, Tater popped inside to gently grab Peace for assistance. Tater's breathing became slightly short. The Tennessee weather conjured up some nip in the air suddenly, and Tater's throat sometimes closes up a wee bit. Peace took over without a hint of imposition.

If you didn't understand the discord of their relationship at times, bulls locking horns, you'd think these two were best of friends, close, thick as thieves upon observing their collective peaceful demeanors on this rare occasion. Frankly, I'm encouraged they've chosen the company of one another at various times throughout the day. Other days, I've wondered if they'll seek each other at all as adults. Time will tell.

What about my last post?

Try these on for size, and let me know what you think.

I never let my schooling get in the way of my education.
Mark Twain

or

Education is not the filling of a bucket, but the lighting of a fire.
W.B. Yeats

The 20 Qualities of an Educated Person
by John Taylor Gatto
(former New York City and New York State Teacher of the Year)

1. A broadly knowledgeable mind
2. Self confidence
3. A life purpose
4. A touch of class
5. Good leadership skills
6. The ability to work with a team
7. Patience
8. Good public speaking skills
9. Good writing skills
10. Resourcefulness
11. A desire for responsibility
12. Honesty
13. A public spirit
14. The ability to work well alone
15. An eye for details
16. The ability to focus at will
17. Perseverance
18. The ability to handle pressure
19. Curiosity
20. An attractive personal style

It's been a week since I've gone running, so today was exceptionally difficult. On the inclines I ran slower than fast walking people. It's quite a set back as I was training for an October race which benefits the school my son attends for science. For several weeks, I've been cutting my time, and I added several minutes back on today.

Life seems to be like that. Hitting a great pace, the best, and being disappointed with setbacks like.

I was thinking as I ran today about the tyranny of the unexamined life. How if emotions of the moment make my decisions, I'd give up even simple things like running. It's hard. I don't like how it feels. I'm slower than I've ever been. Why even try when one week of illness makes such a huge dent in progress?

I could go to that same worn out place with the difficulties with my children and husband as result of not being able to be "on game" for three days. Recovering my house, homeschool, and hearts still continues.

I used to be ruled by the tyranny of it all. For example, I'd give up exercising for half a year when something like this discouraged me. I'd seethe at the messes of my house and hold the disorder of my home against my husband and children. What I lacked was grace- grace for my family to come slightly undone when I couldn't do my part. I demanded my husband become God, read my mind and keep things up and running just the way I like them. No grace for the pieces of which were accomplished, just disdain for the overlooked.

Now, with self examination, I don't see things quite the same way. When I'm centered, I've learned to let go, and allow my family to be less than superhuman. I recognize my part in the house and family is vital and will suffer when I can't do it. An opportunity will come to set things right in due time, and it doesn't all have to happen now or today. The tyranny of the immediate is lifted. I like my family and myself much better under grace.

We went to the fair, soccer, and scouts today. I'll have the chance to prove myself tomorrow as we've dumped and run from sun up till past sundown. We'll wake up to the daily grind and the leftover chaos of this long day. Fortunately, every day begins with the new mercy of morning.

When Summer Comes

I have been given permission by Tater to publish this poem on my blog with a disclaimer that the readers be made aware this is not his best work. It's just something he threw together. Mothers, however, may or may not agree with the disclaimer.

When Summer Comes
by Tater
When summer comes, its' warmth creeps across the world
consuming every-thing and peeps into holes.
When summer comes, you can taste it in the air,
and when it gets here, the wind flies through your hair.
Summer

Betta, almost

I'm feeling much betta today, but not completely. Definately not perky, but that's not a normal state of my being ever. I wish I had the luxury of staying close to home instead of running children to soccer practice. Sigh. Crossing my fingers that the acidophiles I'm popping will kick in right on time.

What's a person to do with such a plate full of things to prepare?
Get sick, of course.
I've had a sore throat, fever, nausea, and other unmentionables for three days now. I've decided to pop tylenol and buck up today after two days alternating between sweating like my bedroom is the Sahara and freezing like it's the Artic. Gonna see how things shake out today before I commit to a doctor's visit on the off chance any of my problems have to do with a certain nawstee protozoa entering the digestive tracts of many East Tennesseans.

In the meantime, I think Pooh Bear broke her tail bone at a friend's house yesterday and Tater figured out how to make his new haircut into a mowhawk. Marvelous.

I'm covered up! If anyone is bored and looking for something useful to do, you can find some work here at the Vyne house. I'm typing science questions, preparing school work for next week, and considering a syllabus for my September training course, while my dear husband empties the attic of boxes for me to go through. In those boxes are a million projects waiting to be assembled for The Good Shepherd class I begin teaching with children in two weeks. My living room is stacked and messy which always unsettles me. Do you feel undone when your home is out of order too? The opportunity to teach again makes it all worthwhile.

Don't ask me about homeschooling today. My eighth grader is trying to slowly kill me with his careless work and constant off task behavior.
Seems like the horrid cycle of me nagging and him resisting has kicked in for the sixth consecutive home school year. I know the way out, but it takes time, resolve and patience. I've explained that I have no interest in dragging him through the eighth grade, because I've already done that for myself. It's up to him to pass or fail, and I've set clear boundaries of when I'll be available to teach (till 3:00 pm) and when I'm not (after). Otherwise, he'll dawdle through the day into the evening demanding I explain concepts or check work past 9 pm at night. No thank you- I'd rather keep my sanity.
Don't get me wrong. Peace possesses some excellent qualities. For example, he is easy to wake up. He jumps out of his bed to his farm chores without me ever asking. He's handy in mechanical ways, like fixing the eye of the garage door opener and making new things work. He's got a fairly decent sense of humor. However, if you find me admitted to an insane asylum, you'll have a good idea of how I got there. My eyes will be glazed over as I incessantly repeat, "Are you done with the work on your assignment sheet?" to all the nice people in white coats.

Gratitude

Friday and Saturday I was given the chance to work on a dream a long time in the making. My dear friend Elizabeth invited me to team teach my very first official Catechesis of the Good Shepherd course with herself and another dear friend, Laura. I still can't believe it, but I spent the weekend actually doing the very thing I've wished and prayed for ten years.

I have been in awe of the expertise surrounding me. Elizabeth is an amazing listener and can see straight to the heart of the matter instantly. There is nothing like being under the leadership of a person who is so in tune with preserving relationship and striving for excellence all at once. Laura is a fantastic teacher. Her preparation is impeccable, and she possesses an incredible peace. I surprised myself with my own confidence and mastery of material. I also felt some of my experimentation in presentation was a bit of a flop. It's something I intend to learn from and not pine over. Working with Elizabeth makes this possible as she offers overflowing grace and insight.

The participants in the course were a treasure. There were sixteen, I believe, and each one brought the great gifts of curiousity, questions, and even wisdom. I know each one by name, but I did not count. I think of myself in their position ten years ago- willing to invest deeply in eight weekends of something I wasn't altogether sure about. I look forward to working with each one.

on the home front
Buck, again, laid down his life to create space for me to study and be gone for two entire days. He handed Pooh Bear over to Helen for a night and conducted a sleep over of eleven rambunctious adolescents whom I love dearly. Though we went to Tic Toc for very expensive icecream on his real birthday, Tater asked to have an all boy party while I was gone. I heard tales of creating frothy bubbles on the trampoline to jump in(how incredibly dangerous does that sound?!), smores and sausage cabbage soup cooked over a fire (an hilarious choice of a birthday dinner if you ask me), water hose wars, goat tag games in which Gingerly, the new dairy goat, kept escaping the field, and general chaos. Yes, the house is still standing. After church, we will have a quiet day at home for recovery- except for Buck- who has to work.

Back to School Inspiration

At the beginning of every academic year I like to remind myself and my students that true education is a form of repentance. It is a humble admission that we've not read all that we need to read, we don't know all that we need to know, and we've not yet become all that we are called to become. Education is that unique form of discipleship that brings us to the place of admitting our inadequacies. It is that remarkable rebuke of autonomy and independence so powerful and so evident that we actually shut up and pay heed for a change.

George Grant

The Seed

A bird brought me a seed.
I plant the seed.
It grows into a Sugar Plum Tree.
In the winter, it turns brown.
The next summer it comes back green and pink.
A bird brought me a seed.

By Pooh Bear

Theme in Pink
by Pooh Bear

Spiders eat butterflies on me.
The butterflies drink by necter.
I grow outside and sing, "All the World".
I am a pink flower.

on a lighter birthday note

My Beloved Buck,
I've been waiting for inspiration regarding your birthday here all day long. At this late hour, nothing has really come to me except the very simple. I love you. I will always love you. I am so grateful to the fine parents and the Great God who worked together to bring you life and love 43 years ago. I've known you more than half my life now and every year only gets better.

So, let me tell you about Gingerly, our newest Nubian. She's so beautiful. Light brown body, black stripe down her back, white frosted ears, a swipe of black down her face. Her dark chocolate eyes make one melt. She is a tad nervous, being the new kid on the goat farm block. She's getting sniffed, licked, rubbed, bothered, and sometimes butted by our little herd. She's deathly afraid of our ginormous Great Pry dog, Ripley. She cries a little like the whine of broken fan. I get the idea she'd prefer to be inside snuggling on my lap than in the field. Of course, she wouldn't fit on my lap, but that is beside the point- she is incredibly loving. She follows right behind to and from the field like a first grade line leader behind her beloved teacher.

Here's the nitty gritty...she has little short pencil teets, which makes her a tad bit hard to milk. It may have something to do with being out practice that she takes so long to milk, but I know her teet size is not helpful. However, the milk is downright tasty.

Gingerly came from the Hilton of goat farms, so she is not used to our Motel Six milk stand. Her former accomodations included a swanky ramp to a bin of food. Here she must jump straight up on the stand and put her head through treacherous looking hole. Tonight I have to coax (or forcibly push) her up there without Buck's help and I'm not looking forward to that.

Some people buy new furniture, nice clothes, grand cars.

The Vyne's are purchasing a snazzy new dairy goat.

She milks an entire gallon a day. In under 40 milkings, she's paid for herself with cow milk at a whooping $5.29 a gallon. Buck and Peace pick her up from Jubilee Farms right after his one class at classical private school. I asked my son to take other clothes and shoes than his spanking brand new uniform. Gosh, Peace looks handsome and scholatic in those khaki's and logoed polo.

I'm over a year out of practice with milking, because the whole family needed a break. We are going to sell half of our milk for pet consumption. Why just for pet consumption? Tennessee has made it illegal to sell (it's not illegal for us to drink it) unpastuerized milk for humans, so we hand it over to our friends stating the facts, and they do what they do with the healthiest whole milk in the world.

Peace has always taken the responsibility of milking a few days of the week. He manages to get the goat from the herd without letting the others out, bring her inside to the milk stand, milk, filter, refrigerate, wash buckets, clean up, and take the nanny back to the field all on his own. Tater and Wise One get stuck at the beginning part by letting all the other goats out. Buck and I have decided to make it worth their while to learn how to do it right with cash. Peace will get half the money if he has to help them in any way on their days.

More goat tales to follow in the future, I'm sure.

Working vs. Stay At Home Moms

Contrary to all things hip, I still catch an occasional Oprah. I don't bother with the majority shows, but when I hear an interesting topic, and I happen to have an hour, I watch or at least listening while I'm folding laundry. A few days ago she had women on her show representing both sides of the working verses stay-at-home moms. I think it was a repeat. Both sides of the issue made me think.

One woman took her child out of daycare and quit her job at the suggestion of a care provider to place a disposable camera in the diaper bag to catch the milestones which might arise while the mom was working. During the woman's story, I remembered the time my husband took our middle son across the street to a birthday party and announced that Tater took his first steps. I wasn't mad or hurt that I missed those first steps, because the milestone is to be celebrated no matter if I was watching or not. I'm not saying the woman on Oprah felt this way, but I would have been a complete train wreck if I hadn't let someone else give me a break from the daily grind sometimes. All this is to say, even as a stay at home mom, I missed milestones.

On the other hand, I have been sheltered from what another working mom called "Sophie's Choice". Everyday at the daycare door, her son would cling to her leg and cry out, "I'll be a good boy, Mommy. Please don't leave me here. I'll do whatever you say." How difficult! Hopefully, that mom took time listen to the voice inside in order evaluate her circumstances apart from that difficult moment to be sure she was making the right choice for her family. If so, her decision's noone's business including mine.

Another stay-at-home mom regretted not making more of herself. She felt like it was a poor example for her daughters to simply make dinner, clean house, and shuttle her girls back and forth to events. I say it's never too late, and that the mom can find her dream again and begin to live it if it was lost in the mothering shuffle. I think of how the author of one of my favorite all time books, Cold Sassy Tree, was in her 80's when she published.

I'd say the debate came down to something simple on Oprah's show. Working mothers feel judged by stay-at-home moms as not loving their children enough. I was unclear about any stay-at-home mom conclusions. Either way, the stakes of women being at odds with others due to different choices indicates insecurity at best, competition at worst. Noone wins at those types of games.

What exactly is in that basket anyway?

A snippet of Pooh Bear's homeschool day...
We read The Brother's Grimm Little Red Riding Hood together. Afterward, she skipped off to make popsicle stick puppets to reinact the story. Pooh prompted me to meet her in the bathroom (?!) for the fabulous show. She thought the tub provided a secret place for her to hide while the six year old narrator and her characters spoke the well rehearsed lines, "And Red Riding Hood took some beer and bread to her sick grandma."

"Beer? Did you say beer, girly?" I questioned.

"Oh, I think I meant wine. Does beer or wine make you feel better, Mom?"

I pose this serious question to readers of my blog. What say you?

I don't have a leg to stand on as I am the most lame drinker of all- half a glass of any alcoholic beverage makes the universe wildly spin for me.

Buck woke the children in the middle of the night, one by one, to watch the meteor showers last night. Each had a chance to share a falling star with their daddy. I have poor night vision, and though I laid alone for quite some time on the sidewalk, still warm from the sweltering noon temperatures yesterday, I couldn't see more than the beauty of a star speckled night sky.

Claire, a friend who shares a beautiful vision for parenting at which I'd like to become better, asked my son Tater to list the lessons he learned at Children's International Summer Village. He told her he would, but I was skeptical that he'd ever follow through on writing it down. I was wrong and pleasantly surprised. Tater gave me permission to copy the things he shared with Claire with you, my blogfriends.

Eleven Year Old Wisdom

1. To lead, you must first follow.
2. It is far better to give than to receive.
3. Peace is better than an argument.
4. When someone holds false testimony against you, listen with a peaceful heart. Then when he is finished, in a peaceful way, show him his fault, that you didn't do what he says you did.
5. Take responsibility no matter what!
6. Listen to Authority. Parents, leaders, God! Listen even if it means giving up all you have.
7. Go out of your way to help people.

This is all I can think of right now, Miss Claire. I have to go to dinner. I will tell you if I remember more.

Claire called to thank him, "There are many adults out there who haven't learned these lessons yet, so you are really ahead of the game, young man. I'm so proud of you."

An Eye Opener

Maybe it's time I stopped dying my hair red and go for the natural greys and white. After all, the three giggling young girls following Tater around at the pool asked him about me, "Is she your grandma?" Grandma? What? You must be kidding me!

The truth is that I am the same age as Tater's birth grandmother. I suppose these 13-year-old whipper snappers, shamelessly begging me for my boy's real name and phone number, have mothers who may have been teens when they were born.

I learned quickly how to deal with pesky hormonal young men as a teenager. However, I haven't been on the side of the coin where boy crazy teens are pursuing my son.

Buck and I hung out with all our children in the diving pool, so I overheard much of the conversation. The girls had no idea we were his parents at first, so they flirted quite openly until he let the cat out of the bag that we were, in fact, his folks. "No way! You don't look anything like those people. Either you are joking, or you are adopted!" one girl exclaimed.
Tater shot me a hilarious smile and said, "Yep, I'm adopted."
"Awww. How sad!" the girl immediately retorted.
Tater rolled his glimmering eyes at me and laughed again, "What exactly is sad about it? These are my parents." They shot him some direct, "Where is your real mother" questions.
"She took off when I was really little, but I'm not sad" he replied.

Years ago, he spent lots of time being sad for her, but no longer. Tater and I made a plan for the distant future when he's old enough to handle whatever we find when we find her.

What of this inexplicable phenomenon of Tater with an uninvited entourage of silly girls trailing behind? I whispered a 50 meter fly swim challenge in his ear, and they tagged along unsolicited. My serious defeat only reinforced my elderly status. All I can say is I'm glad the boy can't lap me, yet.

Any sage wisdom for a crotchety old mother entering uncharted waters of matters of the opposite sex?

Tagged!

I’ve just been “tagged” by Almost.

The rules of tagging:

1. Post these rules before you give your facts.
2. List 8 random facts about yourself.
3. At the end of your post, choose (tag) 8 people and list their names (linking to them). Consider yourself tagged if you are interested.
4. Leave them a comment on their blog letting them know they’ve been tagged!

8 Random Facts About Me:

1. I do not like donuts. Never will. I am completely fine with all other things sweet and deep fried.
2. I'm an excellent student, but I perform dreadfully on standardized tests. I've come to the conclusion I'm weak in this area due to a serious lack of critical thinking skills.
3. I only cuss when I'm doing my own challenging home improvement projects like painting or hanging wallpaper. I know it's a poor character issue. I don't have too many opportunities to work on it as our house is in fairly good order just now.
4. It's been 13 years, since I've earned an income.
5. People don't believe me when I explain I'm painfully introverted, but I am.
6. I don't have an answering machine and don't do well with figuring out voicemail on my cellphone.
7. I secretly wish the author Barbara Kingsolver reads my blog, because she digs my writing.
8. I had plenty of cellulite long before I gave birth to my children.

Vyne Family Update

My 11-year-old Tater returned home from his Children's International Summer Village Thursday night. When asked about his favorite part of the trip, he answered in a dream-like trance, "Josefin." Yep, he has a crush on an 11-year-old girl from Sweden. Who wouldn't? In addition to several photos of Josefin, he has pictures of friends he made from India, Thailand, Canada, France, Romania, and more I can't think of just now. Tater also has photos from a sight-seeing around France. He continues to share story after story about his experience.

I began homeschool with my other three children on Tuesday, but I gave Tater permission to crash yesterday if he was too exhausted to study. Instead, he jumped right into his assignments and sorting through all the trinkets he brought home.

BTW, he loves his room makeover, but I can't post pictures with blogger again.

This week I took 6-year-old Pooh Bear to my humming dentist, who only serves polite non-squirming children, for a pulpectomy. Yikes! She'd had an abscessed tooth. Stuff like this makes me feel like a bad mommy.

Pooh Bear likes the part of school which involves cutting out orange construction paper pumpkins and having Cinderella read to her. The work of homeschooling, she could do without. She is the only first grade homeschooler on earth who has a terrible time with reading, so we are hitting auditory processing hard again this year. She did not have the benefit of Montessori preschool which her three brothers did, and it really shows. This also make me feel like a terrible mom.

Peace, my new teenager, has begun school with a positive attitude for the first time in a long time. He's not a delighted about academics. To make my life easier, I've given him assignments to read A Child's History of the World aloud to everyone and make up Friday test questions from the reading. Science is his strength, so Peace also must come up with science experiments for the gang once a week. Of course, he started by making a volcano with vinegar and baking soda.

Wise One, the 10-year-old motivated student, whole-heartedly embraces school. He sets his alarm, goes right to his farm chores, eats breakfasts, walks into the homeschool room, picks up his books, and begins working. Every mother of four needs one child like this to asuage the guilt of cavities and educational oversights.

Buck continues to work a mandatory 6 day work week. He and others are training new air traffic controllers at his facility, so in about three years- no joke, the new guys will be certified. Insert eye roll here in honor of our government's lack of preparation.

As for me, luscious red tomatoes flood my kitchen counter and dangle ripening on the vine. Besides eating as many as humanly possible, I've begun making and freezing red sauce with my super duper simple recipe. Yesterday while collecting oregano from my spice garden for the sauce, my legs became covered with an entire ant colony I'd interrupted. Fortunately, they didn't bite, and I was able to simply brush them off. I'm also pulling myself together for a course I begin teaching near the end of the month.

So, what are you up to?

Reorientation

What happens when the person you've committed to love for your lifetime simply walks away? Buck and I are blessed to have one another still, but we ache for our friends and family experiencing the devastation of divorce. Here is a poem which perfectly captures my hope for those precious people.

Reorientation


You fell majestically
(the sound lost
in the violence of
hail and wind )
and laid your head
in the yard’s
most convenient place.

For days you were Exhibit A
Goliath lying prone,
your root ball
a Guinness contender
according to those who would know.
The birds and squirrels,
always at home in you,
rejoiced in a new-formed
playground.

I lost a friend
whose presence had anchored my seasons
with shade and blossom,
leaf-mold wealth,
and branches etched
against a winter sky.

Too often now
I’ve had to deal with space
left by the loss of friend,
and I have learned
sunshine can reach
into unused corners
where plantings
never tried before
will flourish.

©Bettie Corey
May 28, 2003

Today is the last day of the 40 Day Fast which Kat pulled together.

Applause to Kat for a job well done.

I've learned about the passions of bloggers through their experiences and picks of non-profits to benefit the poor. In some ways, the fast has made me more certain that we are all broken and needy. In other ways, I looked outside the abundance of this country into the poverty and injustice across the world. Both experiences teach me.

Can you help?

Shaun Groves, a well known Christian singer and songwriter from Nashville asks. If you are called to do something in this situation, let him know in his blog comments.

Let the rejoicing begin. I've returned home. My home is in wonderful order thanks to my husband and children. I can mostly walk through my garage- it's been a long time since I haven't hopped over chairs, bikes, Goodwill piles, boxes to get to the van or car. I'm ever so grateful. And as an extra bonus, Buck decluttered the walk-in closet we share. I don't know how, but he cleared a perfect path to the back wall.

The conference I attended, Montessori Essentials, offered me hope for my homeschooling, family life, and personal call.

I'll throw out a few quotes and thoughts here from the panelists.

On bringing a child to a peaceful, settled place- "Joy makes noise."

On considering things from a child's view- not a perfect quote but the heart of a story, "I was assigned to observe children at the zoo early in my Montessori training. The very first day I observed, I learned an incredible lesson. I watched as both sets of grandparents and a child's two parents brought an eighteen month old child to the prairie dog exhibit. The adults were pointing out all the fun activities of the animals, all the while, the toddler was strapped in the stroller. All the tiny girl could see from where she sat was the brick wall directly in front of her. The adults never once noticed the line of sight for the child and traveled on to the next exhibit with her still strapped in her stroller. It's essential to consider things from the child's perspective."

Commentary on making mistakes, also not a perfect quote- "Have you ever seen the poster of a child poised at an easel with paint on his smock, hair, arms, shoes, walls, floor, and no paint whatsoever on the paper before him? The caption underneath reads 'A mess is a sign that someone has tried to do something.' I say
'If there is no error, there is no learning taking place.'"

On building independence in children- "Whatever we do for the child becomes an obstacle for him. Whatever he does for himself becomes a triumph."

All these are credited in my notes to a miraculous Montessori teacher named Edna Smith.

The following, I believe, is from the lovely and gifted Montessori teacher named Anna Hurdle.

"The goal of education is independence and concentration. The goal of the atrium (Christian spiritual formation) is relationship with the Good Shepherd."

These goals fly in the face of the trends I see in most education and religion. Education and religion push fast and furious cram downs of the 3 R's and naming values. What if we actually guided children in such a way as to become independent and increase in concentration skills? What if we moved away from religion, identifying values, into relationship with God? Would the world be a different place? A better place?

Tomorrow I'm slapping on my cowgirl boots and hat and riding into the Country Music Capital's sunset for a week of some meetins' and some trainin'. Grab your tissues 'cause I most likely won't be blogging till the first of August.

August will be quite full, and I might just find something to write about in the mix.
1. I'll be wrastlin' the children back to the scholastic grind right away.
2. Pooh Bear will have some hard dental work done.
3. Tater finally returns from camp the same day as Pooh Bear's dentist appointment.
4. My nineteenth wedding anniversary will occur.
5. Tater will turn a whooping 12 years old.
6. My husband will turn a young 44 years old.

Blessings on your next week. See ya when I return.

I wish it wasn't so, but this year, before homeschooling even begins, I'm dreading it. There are a variety of reasons, but bottom line is that I feel worn out. This will be my seventh year, so maybe it's human nature screaming, "Sabbatical!" at me. However, I don't have time for that. For me, at this time, homeschooling is a commitment more than anything. I don't get to take a year off cooking, laundry, marriage or parenting simply because I feel worn out. When any those things gets overwhelming, I seek God's help, and so I shall with home school. In the meantime, before inspiration, I drag.

This summer break, I've gotten my home in order- lotsa painting and decluttering. This makes me feel settled and peaceful, and it helps me feel together enough to collect my scholastic thoughts.

While preparing my teaching plans, I realized some of the essential language arts books are missing, so I must wait until the company I've ordered from gets me the correct texts. So far, I messed up my order once, and the company has sent the wrong items three times. Sigh. The weeks of back and forth with them do not help my lagging attitude.

I actually considered putting my children in school next year and quickly changed my mind when I heard a story from our neighborhood school. A friend told me her daughter spent her fourth grade year in class with at least two eleven year old girls are sexually active. I am of the strong opinion that a sexually active eleven year old is another word for sexually abused. Why, oh, why doesn't someone do something on behalf of these children? Who could know about this and not be considered an accomplice to child abuse? Why isn't the Department of Human Resources investigating, because the school wouldn't allow these things to happen?

Please, don't get the idea that I home school, because I'm afraid this would happen to my children. I don't think it would, because my children are appropriately puzzled by children who come from chaotic homes. I am not interested in the exposure and further innocence lost in a particular school not working diligently against child abuse. If you think differently and need to set me straight, bring it on.

My reasons for homeschooling at this point come from responsibility to four little people whom I love dearly even though I don't feel like doing so at present. Feelings pass, and I pray the results of my commitment win in the end.

A night full of talking that hurts,
my worst held back secrets. Everything
has to do with loving and not loving.
This night will pass.
Then we have work to do.

Rumi

Feels like I've been here for a few days. Only I'm mixing talking, reflection, and work together.

Saturday was a doosey for me. In the morning, I approached unresolved conflict which left me utterly reeling and wrung out to dry like a dingy old wash rag. In the afternoon, I got a some truly sad news. I worked a little through both issues prayerfully to find my feet in preparation for an evening soiree- a lovely party for a dear friend. I witnessed a beautiful thing- a husband honoring the life of his incredible wife. Also, someone I'd never met before, but we shared some things in common, revealed a painful struggle she'd recently experienced.

Even though I'm 41 years old, I am still astonished by brokenness and beauty offered to me side by side as the blue plate special for the day. I'm hoping today's menu consists entirely of comfort food like warm macaroni and cheese, salted fresh tomatoes, and chocolate pie.

What happens when chocolate chip muffins are broiled instead of baked?

Mushy on the inside.
Burned on the outside.

What a terrible waste of perfectly good chocolate chips, Buck!

Disclaimer: My husband is a much better cook than I am. Today was a complete fluke.

Shhh. It's a secret. While our son Tater is away at camp, we are giving his room an extreme makeover. He and Wise One used to room together, and we brought a somewhat dorky and incomplete boyish cowboy theme from our former residence four years ago. Wise One recently moved into his own space, and now we can think "Tater" designing thoughts exclusively for this room.
He's a guitar lovin', soccer playin' tween who favors fashionable black Underarmor. He'd love nothing more than a cell phone, game cube, his own apartment, and car right now- except for the fact that he's only eleven. No more superhero or animal themes for this guy. As the primary decorator, I decided to paint the walls silver, hang black silk curtains, purchase a grey and black camouflage bed in a bag, hang his guitars and banjo like pictures on the wall, and top it all off with a black bean bag chair. Mind you, I've never seen a room quite like this, but I think the design should last until:
a) he's off to college.
or
b) is capable of changing it all himself with his own money and time.

One of my friends thinks I'm a bit nuts not to include him in on the plans, but I believe he'll go nuts like the people on the Home Extreme Makeover show. Yes, I expect screams, bear hugs, stomps, and tears of joy. And I'll go all Ty Pennington with "We knew with the tremendous pressures of being a sixth grader in family as crazy as the Vyne's, you needed to be a place to express yourself." Only I'm not adding on an indoor soccer field to his room or buying Led Zepplin's original "Stairway" guitar like Ty would.

I crinkled my forehead in concern for a sobbing Pooh Bear. Her huge blue eyes streamed the kind of tears I associate with real indigo bruises and scarlet bleeding scrapes of everyday life.
Me: "What's wrong, baby?"
Pooh: "Mom! It's the cat?" ooh, ohh, oooh
Me: "Did Patches scratch you, honey? Let me see."
Pooh: "No! It's not a scratch. He did something TERRIBLE." sniff, sigh
Me: "What in the world did he do?"
Pooh: "He ate my black eyed peas all gone."
Me: "Huh? He never eats from the counter. How did he get to your bowl?"
Pooh: "I put them on the floor(?!), because I didn't think cats ate black eyed peas."
Me: (somehow managing to suppress laughter) "Neither did I. Sometimes we leave bowls on the counter or in the sink."
Pooh: "Yes, but I didn't know where else to put them when I finished. Now I don't have anymore dinner."
Me: "Wise One may let you eat the rest of his. Right, Wise."
Wise: "Sure, go ahead. I'm full."
Pooh: "Thanks! We just never have black eyed peas, and I love them so much."

I want to personally thank Svetlana for introducing this smashing new food into the Vyne family diet the last overnight Pooh Bear spent with Svet's daughter, Anna. I'm ever so grateful it's the food and not the music.

Yesterday and today the Vyne's children swam in the Smoky Mountain Invitational. Translation- True and Buck sat endless hours in a smoldering tent dripping sweat in between a handful of 30 second races. The highlight of my day happened when someone poured ice cold water down the back of my clothes at my request.

All of us roll home from these events ready to drop. Last night, I unwound from the long day by watching The Painted Veil with one of my favorite actors, Edward Norton. I've tried to catch all of his films since I first caught up with him in American History X. The Painted Veil get a thumbs up and an almost 9 on the terribly scientific Vyne 1-10 scale. The themes hit my favorite subjects- the truest kind of love and forgiveness framed in humanitarianism.

Tonight PBS should serve to relax me with Masterpiece Theater or Mystery!.

I'm better today.
The airport was a bit chaotic, but the families enjoyed our last few hours before the children flew into the sunset. I'd hadn't met many of the siblings nor talked to a few of the parents, but we had ample opportunity as we waited. Tater and the other boy, Moses, stuck like glue the instant they saw one another. I told his parents we needed to be prepared to be family friends for life.
A teen aged brother of another camper, Mindy, sported a t-shirt on which I commented. The first words I ever spoke to this guy were, "Hey, you! Give me back my t-shirt. It obviously belongs to me." Across the front was written "God's favourite". However, he insisted the shirt certainly was his. His mother explained he'd gotten the shirt on a mission to Mozambique. Mindy is the youngest of seven- one sister, five brothers.
Mother of camper Sophia mentioned to a few of us to watch her on the reality hair dressing show Split Ends on July 28 at 6:00 pm. I've never met anyone who has actually done anything like that.
Just before boarding the plane I asked Tater to give me a hug to last me a month. He looked up at me and laughed out loud, "Hey, everyone. My mom is crying.", but he didn't let go for a very long time. When he finally did loosen his grip and walk down the breezeway, I called out,"Don't fall in love!" His laughter rang out again.
This morning the phone buzzed at 6:40 am, "I'm here, Mom and Dad. I can't talk long, but every one's luggage besides mine and our leader's was lost. I didn't sleep a wink yet, and I'm about to get lunch. Can you believe I'm not even tired?" No surprise there, right?
I remember praying that I would grow a true mother's heart for this child when we adopted him 9 years ago. There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind that I have that now. I'd describe my love for him as fierce. Though I'm not worried any longer, I notice the dull ache of longing and missing an important part of myself. It occurred to me that this is preparation for a time not so far in the future when my boys start finding their wings and flying the nest to magnificent destinies.

I am anxious. I wish I wasn't. I know I shouldn't be, but I am. Tater leaves for France this afternoon. He's the kind of person who can't sleep if anything at all is going on, and the flight is so very long and the other delegate children he finds very interesting. There'll be fun people everywhere everyday at camp. I worry he'll tell people he drinks coffee at home all the time, (he has had a few tastes in his lifetime) and he'll burn his engines past exhaustion on a caffeine high. The more tired he becomes the more unreasonable. Yesterday, he tested all of our family with some blatant disrespect before our guests arrived for our big July 4th wing ding. He missed some serious friend time as a result, and I hope his leaders are able to keep him in the road if necessary. I woke up several times in the night thinking about the Euros and host family gifts I hadn't purchased yet. I'm not a good procrastinator for this very reason. Thankfully Buck and Tater are taking care of these things this morning.
His first host family sent a lovely email this morning with pictures and lots of details to give us all comfort and ease. What a kind gesture.
But how do I say goodbye for an entire month? I'm holding back tears just thinking about it. In so many ways, he's made for this, but I'm a train wreck letting go. He's a very lovey guy, and I'll miss his tight hugs and his incredibly energetic being. I will not miss his arguing nature, but I actually worry if I'll subconsciously resent the return of it after so much time without.
Enough whining. I need to skip off here, read some encouraging words like "Do not worry about your life. What you will eat or drink...Consider the lilies of the field. They do not toil or spin...", and go for a nice long run. Perhaps these things will take the edge off.

Little Emperor Syndrome?

I've heard this Little Emperor Syndrome phrase via a friend who just adopted from China, and I knew immediately what she was talking about. However, the negative connotations don't sit perfectly with me.

Children in China are raised differently than here in the U.S. It is a different culture after all. Parents give their babies, toddlers, and young children few boundaries. It appears that the little ones run the family and not the other way 'round. Americans, especially those with baby schedules and strict family routines, might view the Chinese to be spoiling their children. I wonder if I'd change my parenting knowing I had ONE chance to enjoy babyhood? Chinese moms know this child is their one and only hope for the future and have been accused of treating young ones like little emperors.

When I observed mothers in China with their children, I saw something a touch more than attachment parenting. I saw deep love and respect for the children. Everyone's children. I also saw some unattractive tantrums and coddling. I noticed the same deep love and respect in the caregivers at the orphanage. From a southern woman's point of view, the children weren't MADE to mind. It was more Montessorish in the way children were mostly redirected instead of chastised. My son, Peace, believed some of the grumbling little ones needed something different than simple redirecting, "Why doesn't that mother take that whiny child home? Or put him in time out?" He pointed out small children being indulged along the way. I'm not sure if it crossed his mind that perhaps he too has been blessed beyond abundance.

I asked my hostess if I had worry of Peace being kidnapped for ransom while in China. Her reply? "All children are the hope and future of China, and so they are beloved. If your son became lost in Xian, he'd be treated like a prince and returned to you in about a minute. Both of your 'stick out' like a sore thumb and everyone talks about you when you pass by. Peace is probably safer here than most any street in the U.S."

She was right about the "sore thumb" thing in Xian. It's the largest city in the West part of China, and it's not frequented by Westerners. In Beijing, Peace and I weren't the only white faces, but here I didn't run across any Westerners by accident. When Peace and I would pause on a walk through the city, we unintentionally drew a crowd. They'd gather around us and speak to us in Chinese. I only knew how to ask the onlookers not to take pictures, because it would not benefit our hosts. I secretly kinda felt like a rock star, but Peace was bothered by all the attention. Though I tried, it was difficult to keep a low profile. Curly red and thick blonde hair were a dead give away in a sea of straight black.

Back to the Little Emperors. At some age, babyhood abruptly ends and expectations and limits hit hard. Towing the line becomes essential. Children go to school from 6 am to 6 pm, because education is the key to a better job. Remember, education costs and parents would want the most for their money. Since school is a luxury, teachers actually get to teach instead of solve discipline problems all day long like some teachers in the U.S. Against a billion other people, job competition is steep! The older children and adult population as a whole seem incredibly humble and well mannered. I suppose unbelievable penalites for crimes might have something to do with the need to whip children into shape at some point. But that is another human rights conversation.

My fast ended this morning with a home made muffin. I kept thinking of those who will not have a choice to end their hunger today. My growling tummy kept reminding me to pray for this incredible country and Compassion International. We might have to do this 40 day thing again sometime.

Why so cruel?

I didn't fully understand the Chinese plight I wrote about yesterday until I visited the country myself. Like the commenter's, I felt only the cruelty behind the rules before I set foot on Chinese soil. I can't say I fully understand it now, but I have better grasp on the treatment of children in China.

Poverty forces individuals and nations into a dark corner. The kind of abject poverty China experiences I have never known. A billion people scrambling for the same limited resources cannot look pretty, and might be likened to a lesson in Darwin's "natural selection of the species". The toughest, the strongest, the most resourceful win.

Overpopulation existed only in books for me, but visiting I witnessed the result. Don't just think New York City at rush hour- I've been and it's not really a parallel. Picture yourself as you come out of the most crowded concert, a college or major league ball game, any packed stadium of some kind. Imagine the snail's pace of your progress to get to your car and join the endless traffic jam following. This is what it's like in Xian everyday most of the day, and Xian is only one of hundreds of overpopulated Chinese cities. The sidewalks were so crowded that I clung to the back of my son's shirt nearly all the time. No time or room for cloister phobics. Now imagine what happens to grass when millions step on it all day everyday. It dies and only dust remains.

I stepped off the plane into Beijing and later in Xian and noticed a nice layer of brownish black dust covering everything in sight. It was spring and the trees were supposed to be vibrant green, but the dust slightly diminished their colors. I noticed grass and other things green I take for granted in Tennessee were scarce, and the little I found was also covered by the grainy film.

There are literally thousands of Chinese hired to sweep, spray and scrub the streets and walls of Xian dusk to dawn. In terms of litter, Xian was very well kept.

What else is in this dust besides dirt? Pollution. Imagine coal being the source of heat and fuel to support the masses. Imagine the amount of pollutants in a less than regulated country from millions of factories built to sustain the Chinese people's daily needs and churn out additional trinkets to sell to Americans at peddle through the almighty Wal-Mart to boot. My hostess showed me the black water in her clothes washer coming from my garments worn about the city. The fourth washing the water was only grey. Imagine the health problems which result from breathing this stuff in. Thank God the Chinese diet and exercise routines are much healthier than ours in America, or they'd be goners. Workers lined up every morning outside their places of employment to exercise together. Wouldn't that be an excellent addition to the McDonald's employee's workday in America?

As I mentioned in my post yesterday, that the elderly literally must depend on their children for retirement. It's been this way for thousands of years. Yes, thousands while America can only boast of 200 years of history. Think of the meaning of "set in your ways" and "teaching old dogs new tricks" when it comes to living a certain way for a thousand years. American social security and 501K plans are relatively new inventions. The Chinese are looking into it, but like Americans in poverty, the majority of Chinese do not have the money they need to survive today much less save for old age. Imagine having a billion population and searching for government rules to control it. The "one child rule" made worlds more sense to me in the midst of sweltering crowds. Why do parents strive for their one child to be a healthy and whole boy? It's survival. Males have historically and internationally been the ones to provide. You think eating dog food and living in American public housing sounds like a bad plan for elderly care? Imagine starvation and begging on the streets of China as the alternative. Yes, I saw heartwrenching begging on the streets of China. It's almost too painful to write about. Particularly the curved old woman who pulled on my arm and fell to her knees before me.

Suppose you were a penniless young woman, and your child was born with a double cleft palate. Your aunt says, "If you let someone from America adopt your child, the family will have that fixed, and your child's face will be beautiful. You cannot even provide for yourself. Let a rich American give your child a great new life. Try for a healthy child to help you in your old age." On a desperate hand, it makes sense.

Consider the ease of abortion weighed against the cost of government penalties for a second child. Also, there is no free public education in China. Everyone, no matter how poor, must pay for any schooling. Another reason to think of aborting. One of my favorite quotes on abortion comes from Mother Teresa- "It is a poverty when a woman chooses to take the life of another for sake of convenience." How could a nation possibly make abortion convenient? Americans have no room for finger pointing on the matter.

Why in the world do these billion people accept godless communism? Why not seek another form of government with different rules? A short trip into Chinese history will make that apparent. The ancient corrupt dynasties plowed their treacherous paths well into this century leaving a nation starving and uneducated. Communism provided answers for hunger and educational advancement. Surprisingly, today the word in China is entrepreneurship. It's an eek toward democracy and a different way of thinking.

I don't want to leave anyone with the impression that the Chinese people are cruel. I was taken in by the warmth, good humor, friendliness, and kindness of each person I met on my journey there. I was invited open armed into homes and businesses. The Chinese won my heart in the respect my son and I were freely given.

Does this post bring any clarity to my cause- fasting for Compassion International with an emphasis on the children of China?

40 Day Fast

Fasting for me is usually a very private matter. Normally, I fast secretly with a specific focus on a prayer intention. Not today and tomorrow, however. I will be tooting my horn and fasting from now until July 3 for Compassion International, because all day long I believed in my heart of hearts it was June 30, instead of July 1, the day I am on for this important 40 Day Fast.

I ask you not to think about it and forget soon after, but go now and sponsor a child at their website. Any charity watchdog organization knows these people are all about releasing children from poverty for real. Our family sponsors three boys and a girl just like my own little brood. It's a little like adoption without all the work.

I'll focus the rest of my post on a particular day I gained perspective and longed to see a nation released from poverty. My son and I took a trip to China a few years ago. One day we spent holding babies, blowing bubbles, spooning food, comforting toddlers, and looking through books with older disabled children in an orphanage there. It was privately paid for by Americans with half given to the Chinese. The grounds, the buildings, the rooms ,full of toys and fun, were pristine. The children were clean, well loved, and well cared for. My son and I were only permitted inside the upstairs part of the orphanage still run through American funding though we were guided to lunch through the Chinese section. The construction of open windows allowed us to view the children downstairs as well. It was a stark contrast to the upstairs in that nothing was painted brightly, there was nothing in the rooms at all except a table and chairs, and there were not nearly as many staff members tending children. Still the experience in no way screamed "tragic" like the depictions of horrific conditions of Russian orphanages my husband has visited.

But here's the tragedy- the "why" behind Chinese children entering an orphanage in the first place. The Chinese "one child per family" rule creates a system of doom for smallest most vulnerable. Children with any problems at all are sometimes dumped, because they have some imperfection. For example, a child might happen to have the misfortune of being a girl. Boys grow up to be parent's means to "social security", and a girl certainly could not be expected to provide for parents in old age. So Chinese orphanages house many more females than males, and generally only healthy girls are to be adopted from their country. Special need boy adoptions are the exception, not the rule. Children with a cleft palate or another medically treatable disease become orphans, because parents simply could never afford to pay for surgeries. Also, physical imperfections lead to second or third class citizenship just like they do here in the U.S., so parents look for a healthy and whole boy to secure their future and abandon the lesser. The worst poverty of all is the children who are aborted, because parents cannot afford the government fines imposed for second children.

My son, Peace, looks a little pale in these pictures. Though he'd been full of life and exuberance on our adventurous mission, the orphange drained the color straight from his face. I had to pry a bit to find out why. Peace was completely embarrassed to tell me he'd never been around children with so many handicaps- eyes missing, helmets for seizures, holes where there weren't supposed to be in faces, missing arms or fingers. He hated passing by the children in the Chinese section of the orphanage believing those children were terribly neglected. He felt particularly uneasy while we fed the babies with cleft palates a greenish yellow goo, and thick globs would push back through the holes in their lips. He'd never seen anything so startling before, and I hadn't thought to explain things to him. Once I shared my insights and that most everything could be medically fixed or least made better when the children were adopted, he became much more comfortable. These children were the children with great promise for a future. I failed to mention to Peace the unborn aborted babies, and abandoned babies not found until too late or not at all.

All China's children are the ones I fast for tonight and tommorrow.

One of the children we sponsor from Compassion International is a Chinese boy who lives in much more dire circumstances than we encountered at the orphanage.

Should I?

I was wondering if I should:
1. squeeze into a blue denim jumper(I'd have to borrow one) and crisp white t-shirt
2. shove my massive amounts of hair under a head scarf
3. lace up my pristine white tennis shoes with starched white socks underneath
4. bring along a ruler
5. put on my schoolish school marm glasses
6. squeal my tires on my way into the parking lot of the little country church just down the road in Loudon, TN
7. slap the ruler sharply on the secretary's desk
8. demand she march out with me immediately into the parking lot to correct the misspelled word on the church sign

In Loveing Memory of...

9. then explain how I irritable I become when someone has forgotten to drop the "e" when adding an "ing"?

Pooh Bear discovered and demonstrated for me today that she doesn't have to move her lips at all to say, "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty." (try it) She's such a crack up.

Back from Nashville all edjumicated on Aquina's catagorization of the 4 Cardinal Virtues, Jesus' Miracles in light of the OT prophets, now, and Parousia. I'm also reacquainted with the struggles of (some of) the prophets. Sound like fun to you? It may not be your cup o' tea, but it's most definately mine. And the company at these gatherings is fabulous- like coming home. I also met someone for the first time who posts brilliantly on an email loop I own.

On the long drive home, Helen met me halfway in Cookeville for a little shopping, dinner at Crawdaddy's (yum!), and coffee at Poets. What do we have to talk about after 27 years of friendship? Nothing and everything. At Poet's, I noticed the ten year old serving us(okay maybe he was 16 but not a minute older) wore a Bonaroo bracelet. Because Helen had mentioned a high school friend of ours attended Bonaroo this year (do many old people like me seek that sort of event?), I asked the young server if he met any old men at the concert to get Helen's goat. Surprisingly, he mentioned holding a conversation for an hour with a 40 year old man. Odd, but funny. Helen and I asked about the Police, and the server quaintly replied, "They didn't have enough volume, but I liked them. I guess they aren't necessarily a rockin' band or anything though." If I hadn't already felt old, I did after that comment. Wasn't I just in a new white Scirroco beside high school buddies Brian, Jeff, and Helen with the new release of Roxanne cranked at such volume levels which can only explain my hearing loss today? Brian would hardly drive, because drumming the steering wheel held more significance than staying in the road. Memories evoked by this conversation at Poets only further my heartfelt hysteria of what my own children will be doing in the next 2 years or so.

I can't breathe. My boy, Tater, leaves for France in nine days, and we've got boat loads to do. He's got reports due. We need to take a collection of daily life photos. He's got to make CD's of his favorite music. I have to buy him new sneakers and maybe another few pairs of shorts. The only shirt of the twenty he owns and likes to wear is his Underarmor which he left at a friend's house 45 minutes away yesterday. Arggh.

All the four children and their leader are coming here for a camp out Thursday while I'm away. I just hope Buck wipes the counters, keeps the floors swept, and the bathroom free from that hint of everpresent boy pee.

Friday I volunteer for registration at the SMHEA homeschool fair and catch up on my bread making supplies there. I may hit a workshop or two, since there are many about high school, which I'll begin teaching next year. I won't think about that today. I'll think about that tomorrow or next year even. Overwhelmin'.

We usually have everyone over for the 4th of July, and I don't know if I can pull it off with him leaving the very next day. Two friends have offered to have it at their homes for us, but Buck stands firm on tradition of celebrating here so far.

I'm pulling myself together for a course I'm auditing in Nashville on Thursday and another for another course I'm taking in July which has scores of assigned reading. Found a possibility of childcare for that time. God bless that family!

Tonight is a swim meet, and I don't look forward to having parents rib me for DQing their children...again.

I also have two other conflicts I need to work out haunting my mind when I'm not buzzing around.


So, with all this to do, I got my nails done. Shallow but satisfying.

Whew. That was a close call.

Home improvements do not become me. The dark side of my impatience emerges at first sight of power tools directed toward my home. Buck and I have been married eighteen years, and it's still not easy for us to survive building projects.

I think Buck and I will stay married after all, though he hasn't completed the floors yet. We've made the daunting discovery that trim and doorway transitions are tedious and persnickity business, and Buck has nine doorways with which to contend.
Since he has to finally head back to work after a vacation to put in floors for me, it make take weeks to come by as much time as he needs to complete the task. I may have be forced to seek Yoda to help train me in the Jedi ways of patience in the mean time.

Tomorrow three children go to music camp in the mornings creating time for me to do some things I keep putting off for better days. My homeschool room needs some major attention in the areas of decluttering, organization, and carpet cleaning. However, I keep thinking of fun things I want to do instead like getting my nails done and having hot chocolate at Starbucks instead.

Last week when Miriam and I met to discuss a book at Starbucks, the young man behind the counter insisted I try the black and white chocolate with a squirt of cinnamon dolche after addressing me as "dude". "Dude, you don't just want hot chocolate. You want..." I was shocked into simply nodding my head "yes", because I have never been called a dude before. The irreverant cashier was right- his combination hot chocolate rocked.

About the book we're discussing, Blue Like Jazz. I'm four chapters in, and though I won't stop reading, I'm not digging the writing so far. It's jumpy and a tinge too negative for my pick of inspirational books. I'll blog more about it as I progress, since so many bloggers seem to love it.

What am I up to? Obviously not blogging. I'm avoiding the place formerly known as my home. Hopefully in just one or two more days, I will not think of this space as chaos. My husband is putting down new floors in the kitchen and living room, so all of the furniture is crammed into children's rooms. Noone can walk anywhere, especially without shoes. I am ever so grateful for no ER trips as a result of stepping on nails thus far. My fridge has been squished in the laundry room, and my stove unplugged since Sunday. My kitchen sink or dishwasher have no water connected. Buck washed our few dishes in the laundry sink last night. No easy task as elbow room doesn't exist between a fridge, washer/dryer, and a kithcen hutch.

I am thankful to have such wonderful floors coming, but I am a grump when my nest is such a mess. I've been taking the kids on day trips to the park and to friends houses for hours upon hours of play to avoid power tools, sawdust, and overall disorder at home. Today is swim practice, book study with Miriam, and the evening will be consumed with a swim meet.

Buck needs help with the wiring of the diswasher and island, and finishing the tricky parts at the zillion doorways. I'm hoping and praying our expert builder will have enough time to get to these things with Buck tonight after his long tiring work day. Isn't it a blessing that we have a friend like that?

News from the pretend farm:
My children report a dozen new baby chicks under the wing of a leghorn mother hen. Peace says he watched them "fly" seven feet from the hayloft to the ground. I don't see those tiny birds survived the leap being so very fragile. Amazing creatures.

This momma hen talked softly to me just outside in the garden this morning as I harvested plenty of purple and yellow bush beans. I had no earthly idea she had twelve babies underneath her until my children mentioned it later. I also picked yellow and zuchinni squash and dill. The goats loved crunching the drying sugar snap pea vines I tossed to them.

Hope your day is blessed and may all your projects make progress today.

The Forty Day Fast begins June 22.

Forty days. Forty Bloggers. We are each taking a day to fast to consider world causes and blogging about our experience. Would you like to join us?

You know you are in too deep with developing next year's science curriculum when a chapter in a Magnet book titled "Rubbing and Attracting" makes you laugh so hard you pee your pants (and you almost get kicked out of the library).

I really was minding my own business, but my son, Peace's room is right next to mine. Both our doors had been open on this lazy Saturday afternoon while I worked on my computer, and I heard the snap and rattle of building lego ships coming from his door. In the background, I noticed Peace was listening to opera on the radio. I figured it was because he left his radio on after "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" or "Says You". I was wrong. It's just because he likes opera. Once I gave it some thought, I realized I've heard him listening to it other days as well. Just as my mind began to ponder the exact origin of his opera listening, something happened which helped me clarify "the why" behind my thirteen year old son's selection of music. As the soprano on the recording sang the same note with short loud bursts in long succession of "ahh, ahh, ahh, ahhhh" my son matched the note and followed with his own voice. Only his sound pronunciation for each "ahh" came out "bwak, bwak, bwak, bwaaaak". Peace likes opera, because it sounds like chickens singing. Peace really likes chickens, and I've written this before- he's a chicken whisperer. Now it all makes complete sense.
Peace ran to my room to find out why I was laughing out loud, because he had no idea I'd been listening to his cheerful opera chicken session.

Garden update

Perhaps you heard the story on NPR yesterday about the drought in Tennessee. At our home, I'd say we've had 30 minutes total of good solid rain in the last month. No full summer showers days to cool the sweltering heat. A few drops of rain here and there once a week contains the only pitter patter of raindrops clunking on my tin roof. Even the big storms all around haven't hit our farm.

So, how does my garden even grow? We water with city water via sprinkler daily, and it's lookin' fine. I feel slightly guilty as there is a severe lawn watering limit in this county. We certainly do not water our lawn, and it looks nearly dead. A garden is not a lawn, but our area is feeling the drought squeeze, and I don't want to take more than my share.

From the garden, we've harvested some gorgeous zuchinni already, and gourmet bush beans are not far behind. Today I decided to give them a few more days, but it won't be long. Corn is tassling. There are blossoms on the cucumbers. Tomatoes are small and green. Nastursiums are in full bloom. Basil is ready for harvest, but I'm waiting to harvest with the tomatoes. Nothing like a tomato, basil, grilled cheese on sourdough. The clematis destroyed by the late frost has two huge blooms. I came across the fatality of my sole egg plant (noone eats it but me) this morning. Something has munched it to death. I replanted a watermelon to a better spot as it wasn't getting enough sunshine. Peppers and cantaloupe are progressing. Many sunflowers, black eyed Susan's, and zinnias are nearly ready to display their true magnificent colors. My circle garden of flowers outside my window does not prosper this year, because I do not water often enough. I started some purple coneflower in a pot which are ready to plant in my flower beds.

Wish me luck with my garden, but pray for rain in Tennessee. It's been a rough start for real farmers with the late frost and now thirsty land.

A post for Jana on science homeschooling

Dear Jana,
Before sixth grade, science is fun for me to teach. We live it, we breathe it here on our farm. It's bumping it up a notch to college preparation which I find so difficult.

I am afraid my personal lack of science enthusiasm will taint my boys.

I believe a teacher should enjoy their subject and feel at ease teaching it. Neither describes me regarding higher sciences. I'd much rather learn about Einstein's wife than his Theory of Relativity. My son with a bent toward science, needs to learn Relativity.

Looking over the library's collection of books, I can choose the ones which will work best rather than dry textbooks. I'm looking for the best "living books" as Charlotte Mason would say. Yes, I have read her and have actually made giant shifts in our home school because of her influence. For example, I purge our bookshelves of twaddle on a regular basis. Who gives us Disney books anyway?? I'd rather eat dirt than read a book about a cartoon. Also, Mason and Maria Montessori inspired me to move to our farm in order to live nature study. Our woods, garden, chickens, goats give us a direct connection to the natural world.

Back to science. At some point, "living books" become unavailable on Quantum Physics. In which case, I'll pick the best of the library's bunch before the school year begins.

I have to hold a book in my hand to evaluate it. It takes too much time to sort through books on the fly during the school year, so we're doing so ahead of time.

You should have seen my response to my son's seventh grade Bob Jones Physical Science text this year from his once a week co-op. At best, it bored me to tears. At worst, it's contents and perspectives irked me at times. My son, Peace, actually liked the durn course, but he had another teacher who loved the subject matter.

As for Sonlight, I've used it in the lower grades and enjoyed it very much. The activities and books were engaging and delightful. I love keeping the books around for my children to pick up and read now that we aren't using it anymore. Every book has been a winner in our family except one. In the end, I haven't find Sonlight academically rigorous enough for us, so we've switched to something which suits us better. I am not saying Sonlight is not academic enough for other families, because others may have better implementation than myself or need less practice in some skills than my boys.

So, Jana, do you homeschool middle or high school yet? If so, what works for you?

Aslan is on the move...

If you are local, don't miss The Word Player's production of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I wasn't so sure how such an imaginative book could be adapted to a play, and I was not disappointed. The children and I went to the dress rehearsal last night, and each of us loved it. Though it's community theater, the script, the choreography of dance and fighting, the actors, costumes, make up, and props were all well done. The experience was delightful.

Fantastic Niece's High School Graduation Party- enjoyed
Sweetest Two Year Old Nephew's Birthday- terrific
Visit with Buck's dear family- wonderful
Free hotel room provided by Buck's brother- generous
Visit to my sister and family- marvelous
Talented Niece's play- well done, girl!
Unexpected visit with an old friend- serendipitous
Missed visit with dear friend due to a death in the family- sad
Whirlwind 2-day trip to Cincinnati and home- amazing
Animals and garden tended by Hauna- grateful
Swim meet in which I disqualified two of my own children- melancholy
Science course planning for homeschooling- tedious


Sleeping in my own bed next to my husband with a few days off- priceless

"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day." -- E.B. White

I'm posting this quote to motivate myself. I woke up with much different things on my mind than improving and enjoying the world. I'm full of worry and lacking inspiration. Not the kind of worry produced by scary circumstances, but the overwhelmed kind. I'll be okay by Wednesday, but the next few days I have lots on my plate to take care of while Buck isn't fully functioning.

Everyday Post

I have new carpet under my feet at this moment. The installers came this morning and transformed my bedroom from maroon nightmare into a peaceful space with neutral brown rectangled flooring. I've decided the paint color Buck and I slathered on the walls is exactly the color of a Blue Spruce tree. My eyes no longer ache from the clash of mismatched color.
Fabric for curtains still floats on a slow boat from China. Really. Once the container ship docks and send it's cargo to Short Sheet, making drapes will be the last piece of my room decorating frenzy- unless I come across reasonably priced and pretty computer desk or matching oval mirrors. Oh, I'd like a fuzzy matching blue throw for the end of my bed too.
Buck got some kind of deal on his face that makes him look positively miserable. Nevermind and no time for that, because he's had no choice but to move chests, tables, computers, desks, and a king sized bed. Hopefully, he can get some rest and relaxation at his work tomorrow. Oh, yeah, that probably won't be true either.
In another week or two, if Buck still wants to be married to me, we'll move on to flooring for the living room and kitchen.

Tonight is our first swim meet of the season. I have that same "stroke and turn judge angst" I got last year. Would it bother you at all to disqualify children who haven't figured out how to swim the butterfly legally yet?

Homeschool ramble

Today I join Claire in a mammoth homeschool project. She purchased an excellent series of lectures for high school science, and now she's taking notes on all the DVD's and forming questions. I may help some with this process. However, today, I will be Claire's data entry person. She's using my library card, her husband's, and her children's to consolidate Knox County Public Library's children's science collection. I will be finding and typing in several hundred book titles and having them sent to our branch. Next week, Claire and I will spend hours with those books, choosing which ones will best supplement concepts in the videos.

Why in the world should we go to all this trouble? Wouldn't sending our children to middle or high school do the trick? It might, but here are some reasons I'll homeschool next year.

1. My oldest son went to an excellent elementary school for kindergarten and first grade. His teachers, who were incredibly gifted and created love of learning in their classrooms, asked me to "practice" reading and math with Peace at home. Though he went to a great school for hours a day, honestly, I ended up being the one to teach him essential phonics and math facts for a few hours after school. After two years, I picked up on the trend, and so did he. Peace asked in the spring of his first grade year, "Mom I'm inside all day, and then I have to come home and study. When do I get to be outside? It's so pretty out there. Can't we homeschool?"
I realized quickly that when it came to the big and important skills, I would have to tutor my average son all through school. Teachers simply don't have time to keep up with all educational components of every single child. So why not let the nature boy study outside at home?

2. Secondly, the public school system in my county generally graduates student like mine (not incredibly academically self-motivated boys) to junior college if they go to college at all. I can motivate and tailor for college prep much more effectively as teacher than as tutor.

3. Private school is too expensive, especially for four children and one family income. I already struggle with relational parenting under normal everyday stress, so what would adding the responsibility of a job do to my family?

4. There are boxed curriculums out there, but so far, I've found them all boring. Why not make learning interesting? We'll do boring only if we can't figure out something better.

5. High school DVD courses are very expensive. We're talking between $500-$1,000 per course per year.

6. Who loves and cares about the success of my children more than Buck and I?


So, Claire and I will pour ourselves into weeks of science work to create something worthy and simple to implement for the coming school year. Wish us luck.

Posted on Lectio Diva this morning.

The Best Thing I've Read All Day

After catching up on some reading for my Shepherd's Call work- a couple of sentences from History's Golden Thread, packed full of ten dollar words like "eschatology", "typology", and "progressive incarnation", I needed a little breather.

So, I began a book of lighter content titled Say Goodbye to Whining, Complaining, and Bad Attitudes in You and Your Kids by Turansky and Miller. The first few pages I found rather trite, but I gave it a few more pages to impress me. Impress me it did.

Here's a quote I may chew on for days from a father of eight named Mr. Porter:

"Families are made up of imperfect people," he began. "From infants to adults, each person has a tendency to make selfish choices. We've learned, though, that for every form of selfishness in a family there's an honor based solution. Honor thinks of what would please someone else and gives more than expected. It's putting someone else's needs above your own. Honor values others in tangible ways. Children can learn honor and so can parents. Sure, confrontation is till necessary, and discipline still takes work. But we've found that when we focus on developing honor, we see amazing results."

In all the struggles I've had in thirteen years of parenting, the best advice steadfastly comes back in positive form. Nagging doesn't honor. Getting louder and more angry doesn't honor. Force doesn't honor.

Honor is as clean and clear as a freshly bleached white cotton sheet blowing in a gentle breeze from a laundry line on a hot summer day- honoring relationships keep a constant bottom line of considering others at least equal or better than oneself and acting upon that belief. I'll be the person I'm made as this becomes my reality.

Apron strings

I disparaged Pooh Bear's homemade apron in yesterday's post. Buck believed Goodwill might produce a child-sized well-sewn apron, so she and I looked around inside Goodwill while Buck dropped off some of our clutter for other people to buy to decorate or clutter their house. I must admit my lack of faith that Goodwill would have a selection of aprons for Pooh Bear to choose, because I've looked before and have never found a single apron for her or myself. I really would like one to wear while cooking, but I will refuse unless it's:
1. pretty
2. two dollars or less
I want nothing to do with a bright orange apron with HOME DEPOT written across my breasts or an inane saying like, "Chefs Make Better Lovers." Oh, brother. The colors musn't clash with my kitchen or offend my sense of beauty. Nor do I want something so expensive, it would rattle me to get tomato sauce smeared upon it.

The Goodwill muse did not choose bless me with glam cooking garb yesterday, but she did fly near to Pooh Bear. I couldn't miss a gigantic, floppy-eared, country bunny, the exact size of Pooh Bear. I noticed the animal sported a lacey calico dress overlayed with nothing less than white fru fru apron. I promptly tested to see if the apron could be removed from the stuffed bunny, and viola! It was easily untied and parted from the bunny's ensemble. I called Pooh Bear over for her to try it on. A perfect fit. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and euphoria, "Do you think we could buy this, Mommy?" We tied the apron back on the bunny and both of us skipped with glee to the front of the store hand in hand. Okay, Pooh Bear skipped, and I walked fast. I approached the register,"I want to buy the bunny, take it's apron off, and give the bunny back to Goodwill if that's okay with you." The sales lady scrunched up her face and inquired, "I'll let you just by the apron, but why?" I asked the clerk if she liked the Wizard of Oz as much as Pooh Bear, and waved my hand down to Pooh Bear's outfit. "Oh, I see the ruby slippers. You're doing the Dorothy thing. That'll be two dollars."

Pooh Bear got quite a few compliments at Wal-mart and the carpet store. One lady went out of her way to ask Pooh Bear, "Where can one find a Dorothy outfit like yours? I wish I had one." When Pooh Bear smiled like the Cheshire Cat and shrugged her shoulders at the lady, I answered, "Hand-me-downs, Goodwill, a fuzzy dog from a stuffed animal collection, and an old Easter basket should work for you too."