{Candor}

A rare, quiet moment crept its way into my evening. Inspired by the Olympic athletes who proved again and again the potential of humans, I determined that I, too, would choose that moment to somehow better myself.

I escaped to the living room, dug through the basket of books and papers next to the piano, and found some sheet music that I had worked on years ago under the tutelage of my mother. Yes, a little music to soothe the soul, strengthen the mind and exercise the fingers. Just the thing!

I carefully and slowly worked my way through Bach's Air, pleased with the way certain strains came back to my fingers almost automatically. I relaxed and found peace.

And then Miss Kate entered the room. She was not as inspired. "Ahhh!" she shrieked. "It's scary when you play the piano! It's not normal!"

The lamb then covered her ears.

My chord came to a screeching halt. And I instantly recalled why I seldom sit down to play in the first place.

{Sensible Giving}

When I was a young newlywed, I got really excited for Christmas. The lights, music, decorations, anticipation . . . it was wonderful. And then we had children. Which, of course, meant that we had no money. At first, with just one or two kids, it wasn't such a big deal. But by number four I was just that much more aware of how hard it was to provide meaningful gifts for everyone.

Suddenly, Christmas became a very stressful time of year. I'd sit at the sewing machine for the whole month of December and agonize over the mixed emotions I was experiencing. This was supposed to be a season of merry and bright and O come let us adore Him, not "How on earth are we going to do this?"

Come Christmas day, of course, the merry faces and sweet spirits made it all worthwhile, but I couldn't escape that feeling of dread. (And I certainly didn't want to sew one more doll dress or pair of pajamas. Ever.)

Christmas just wasn't supposed to feel like that.

As the years evolved, I started to pinpoint a few problem areas. There were priorities to shift, gifts to cut back on and extended family members to coordinate with. With changes here and there, we gradually grew to a place of blessed peace and renewed enthusiasm. Christmas was once again a season of joy.

Perhaps you find yourself in a similar situation. May I share a few discoveries that we've made along the way? Hopefully some of them will ease any stress you may have during the Christmas season.

1. Gifts of Three. As I mentioned in a previous post, we've chosen to give our children three gifts each. They usually receive "something to play with, something you need, and something special for you to read." This keeps us focused and intentional.

2. Plan ahead. I keep a notebook throughout the year where I jot down gift ideas. I have the "three gifts" idea in mind and it helps me stay on track.

3. Plan ahead on the stockings, too. It's easy to go overboard on stockings. Especially when they're not planned ahead of time and there's that panicky feeling of needing to stuff them now. I have four shoe boxes under my bed. (Don't tell the kids!) One box for each of their stockings. I've chosen a pre-determined number of simple items for their stockings, and as I find or make things throughout the month, I toss them into the box. (Visit this post over at Passionate Homemaking for inexpensive stocking stuffer ideas.)

4. Consider buying gifts that go with a set. One of the stressful elements of gift buying and receiving is the thought of, "Where are we going to keep that?" As much as possible, we find gifts that can be added to a collection that our kids already have. For example, when Aidan was in his Thomas the Tank Engine phase, he received new engines or track pieces. (This info was passed onto grandparents as well in order to minimize the amount of stuff that accumulated.)

5. Special stockings for Mom and Dad. There have been especially lean years where Jamie and I have decided not to purchase gifts for each other (or where we simply chose to buy one thing that was especially needed). Instead, we focused on meaningful stocking gifts for each other and took joy in giving the "tree gifts" to our children. Funny, but those years stand out as rather hallowed in my memory.

6. Coordinate with extended family. As the family grows, so does the gift list. There have been years where we've drawn names and done group gifts. For several years, my sister and sister-in-law and I agreed to purchase one gift (such as a puzzle or game) for our nieces and nephews instead of individual gifts for every single child. Now that they're a bit older, we pair the kids off. For example, Bethie exchanges gifts with her cousins Alainna (on my side of the family) and Olivia (on Jamie's side). We set a price limit, and the kids absolutely love buying for each other.

7. Consider revising adult gift giving. We used to exchange gifts with our own siblings (by drawing names or pairing off), but in the past few years we've revised this as well. We realized that we'd much rather spend time together than money, especially with my brother and sister-in-law living overseas. So when we do get together, we plan a special dinner date. It's become a yearly tradition that we really look forward to.

8. Go through the closets. Start putting together a few boxes of items to donate before Christmas. Adding new toys or clothes to your home can be messy and overwhelming.

9. Give gifts that siblings will enjoy. One of my favorite things is seeing my children play together. There are a number of toys and games that are interactive and promote this kind of play. When possible, we focus on gifts that will keep our kids playing together.

10. Embrace tradition. As I look back on past years and hear the kids talk of their fond memories, I realize that it's not the gifts that matter. (Cliche, yes. Also true.) They are mostly excited about family and traditions.

If you don't have many traditions, why not start a few this year? Throw your kids in the van, turn on the Christmas music, pass out the candy canes and drive around looking at Christmas lights. Or snuggle up on the couch with popcorn and White Christmas. Visit a retirement home and share music and homemade ornaments. Light the candles and read A Christmas Carol or invite your children to act out the nativity. The possibilities are endless. And these are the things your kids will remember.

I glance at the calendar and see that it's already December 6th. There's still quite a bit to do, but I don't feel anxious or stressed or worried. I feel excited and eager and hopeful. Just like a kid.

{Study Aids}

Some people listen to lively music while studying and enjoy the banter of nearby students. Others require a cozy, hushed room with a hot beverage in hand. (Can you guess which one is Jamie and which one is me?)

Miss Kate is emerging as an opinionated young first grader, and apparently has a few study requirements of her own. Hey, whatever works, right?

So how about you? Do you focus best with a little white noise or do you prefer silence?

{Moments}

Last night as I lay in bed, the rain pounding its liquid rhythm on the roof, I thought about how long it had been since a little one had tip-toed into our room during the still, dark hours. They're growing. They don't need me in quite the same way anymore. I suppose that means I'm growing, too. Growing into a different phase of motherhood, growing into a new understanding of what my children will need from me down the road.

I drifted off, thinking these things, knowing that Drew, Bethie and Aidan were far beyond the midnight snuggle. But not my Miss Kate. I wondered how much longer she would find comfort in seeking the shelter of our bed, and ached just a bit over the future that would grow her beyond such a desire.

As if on cue, early this morning I saw our bedroom door crack open. A wee figure appeared in the doorway, hesitant and hopeful. My heart soared and I thanked God, even in my groggy state. I pulled back the covers and welcomed the little one, savoring the rosy pink cheeks and fuzzy, pillow-rubbed braids. We drifted back together, this little lady and I, grateful for the shelter we had in each other.

We awoke to the steady rain and, with bleary eyes, smiled at each other. I told her how glad I was that she had come in, and held her in my arms just a bit longer. Because after four kids I'm very aware that those "lasts" slip by too often without our realizing it. The last time we help them tie a shoe, the last time we give them a bath, the last time they shuffle into our rooms for a midnight snuggle.

This week of Thanksgiving, I want to especially treasure those small moments. Those which may very well be "lasts" and those, too, which are firsts. Her first wiggly tooth, her first solo "concert" prepared just for the family. I don't want to miss a single moment, a single blessing.

I pray that you, too, would open your eyes this week to the small things. That you would delight in simplicity and find true peace and comfort in the rhythm of gratitude. Happy Thanksgiving, dear ones!

Mary Cassatt, Breakfast in Bed

A Beautiful Mess

I'm getting tired of my hair. It desperately needs to be cut, but when do mamas have time for such things? So I toss it into a ponytail. Again. And we race out the door to get the kids to their swim lessons.

When they're finally splashing and stroking and bobbing, I plop into a chair and enjoy the thirty minutes of just sitting. I pull out a book and slowly digest a chapter, looking up often enough to give dozens of thumbs-ups and a-okays and air claps. With a very wide grin. Because that's what mamas do.

The thirty minutes go by too quickly, and I tuck the book back into my purse. As I prep towels for little bodies, I hear a voice behind me and turn to see an aging gentleman shuffling my way. He points and comments, "I was sitting behind you. You have such beautiful hair!"

Stunned, I thank him. Beautiful? It's too long. I haven't done anything but toss it carelessly back to get it out of the way. I'm relieved that I finally made an appointment for Friday to tame the unruly mess.

And he calls it beautiful.

It causes me to ask the obvious of myself. How often do I fail to see the beauty and instead call it a frustrating mess?

When Aidan asks to serve the cream of wheat and it glops all over the counter, I cringe at the mess. But isn't it really a beautiful moment? This child wanting to be independent and helpful?

When Miss Kate marches into the room all ready for the day in striped socks, a plaid skirt, a floral top and feather boa, do I see chaos? (Yes!)

But it's beautiful. She's being creative and colorful and vibrant. It's who she is. And that healthy expression of self is beautiful.

When Drew practices away at the drums with music blaring and siblings vocalizing, there's plenty of discord and the beats don't always land right where they should.

But it's beautiful. He's learning to do something he's passionate about and inviting his brother and sisters along for the ride. The mess is answered prayer, really. It's a purpose and a passion and a pursuit. Which is exactly what a thirteen-year-old needs.

Bethie scribbles away at a script and there are princes and princesses and gypsies and dungeons. (Yes, she's been reading Little Women.) The costumes collect, her mind is distracted and she would much rather memorize her lines than focus on her math. It doesn't fit with my schedule for the morning. It's not on the checklist.

But it's beautiful. Her mind is coming alive with characters and settings and she can't wait to perform it for Thanksgiving and, well, she reminds me a lot of myself.

Puddles drip around wiggly pruned feet. I wrap the children in their towels. They can't stand still and they ask if I saw them jump in the six feet and if I saw the way they kicked and dove and splashed. And I know they weren't perfect and that they have a long way to go. But I say, "Yes! You were great!" Because they were great. They were beautiful.

We head toward the showers. The man shuffles away. And I, too, feel beautiful.

Why November Fifth is Special

Did you know that pumpkins can be carved after October 31st? It's a fact. We proved it just this afternoon.

I shall begin by admitting that I tend to be a bit of a procrastinator. This year, October was rather busy (you know, all that sitting I had to do), so the whole pumpkin thing kept getting pushed back and back until it somehow accidentally became November. Oops.

My dear children know that their mother is a procrastinator. So it didn't seem at all strange when, on the first day of November, I agreed to the idea of picking up some pumpkins. They were thrilled. (The children, not the pumpkins.)

You can imagine their disappointment, however, when we arrived at the local farm fifteen minutes after they had closed. Bummer and rats.

So I was relieved to drive by the farm early this morning and see that there were still several bins of pumpkins left over.

I passed this precious bit of information on to my obliging husband, and by late afternoon our children found themselves merrily digging through muddy pumpkins at a mostly deserted pumpkin patch.

That sounds rather pathetic. But believe me, they were pleased as Punch.

When we got home, they scooped and carved as though it was perfectly normal to scoop and carve on November 5th.

They roasted the seeds as though it was perfectly normal to roast seeds on November 5th. In fact, I'm snacking on seeds right now, as though it's perfectly normal to snack on seeds on November 5th.

And guess what? Kid pumpkins look just as cute on the mantle whether it's October 31st or November 5th.

I think that's one of the great things about being a mom. Because moms can make any day special. Even November 5th.

{Day 27} :: Kids to the Rescue

I think I might be coming down with a cold. This is unfortunate. Mothers aren't supposed to get sick. I've even heard that by the time you have four children, your immune system is remarkably strong. I hope so.

I have observed, however, one good thing about slowing down as the sniffles begin: the children rise to the occasion.


So tonight when I hinted that it might be nice if someone could read Avery her bedtime story, Aidan eagerly approached the bookcase. We snuggled on Miss Kate's trundle as he read a Richard Scarry book aloud, and the little one assumed the role of nurturer. She linked her arm through mine, sighed contentedly, and rested her head on my shoulder. Bliss.

When it was time to tuck everyone in, Bethie took on The Prayer. She sweetly began with thanking the Lord for the events of the day, then proceeded to remember as much as she could from the Scripture that I pray over them at night: "I pray that You would grow in us the fruit of Your Spirit . . . and that we would be lights for You . . . that . . . we . . . will dwell in the house of the Lord forever . . . ."

Ahhh, yes. This is just the medicine a mama needs. To know that they're listening, remembering and taking it to heart. To see that they are beginning to understand the power and comfort of God's Word, and to delight in the way that they tend to one another . . . and to their mama.

You know, maybe having a cold isn't so bad, after all.

Read about the thirty-one day challenge over here.

Day 9: Dangerous

Generally, one is expected to remain somewhat composed during a church service. Especially when the pastor is speaking and all is hushed.

This becomes difficult, however, when sitting among a number of children. Now, my wee peeps are finally starting to get the hang of sitting through a service. It's a bit wiggly at first, but if they all have a Bible to thumb through and a paper to doodle on -- I mean take notes on -- then they're in pretty good shape.

I still find myself holding my breath during the sermon, though. What if one of them completely loses it? Jumps up and squirms, "I need to go potty!" Or grabs my head (messing with the do) and demands in a very loud whisper, "I need a Bible!"

Or, say, perhaps . . . begins to undress?

This is definitely cause for alarm. But some eight-year-old boys get really excited when wearing new undergarments. That new pack of seven tanks from Target? SO awesome. So awesome, in fact, that the boy just has to take a peek. During the sermon.

I look over just in time to see that five buttons from the dress shirt have mysteriously come undone. Because that tank underneath is just. that. awesome.

My eyes get as wide as possible, that I might silently yet urgently communicate the need to button. up. that. shirt. right. NOW. (Because mother loves you.)

Sometimes sitting with kids can be dangerous.


Read about the 31-day challenge over here.

Day 7: Please Don't Make Me Go Around the World

It's always a bit of a challenge for me to make math exciting around here. I grew up with a morbid fear of the subject.

Remember that game we were forced to play in elementary school? I think it was called "Around the World." The chosen student had to "travel" around their peers' desks, challenging each classmate to see who could correctly call out the answer to the flash card displayed up front.

I hated that game.



It's only because of my parents' gentle persistence and my dear tutor's excellent and patient instruction that I emerged from middle and high school math unscathed. My brain just doesn't do numbers.

The thing that's interesting is that I actually like teaching math. Well, at least elementary level math. Of course, I do have the answer key. Perhaps that has something to do with it. Because it's awful scary to think about doing fractions on my own. (I have my sister to thank for helping me survive those nasty things.)

Because I know how creepy math can be, I try to incorporate a little fun and variety into our lessons. Aidan and I usually toss around a Hugg-a-Planet while wildly chanting his "count-bys." Sometimes I whip out the overhead projector for a little tangram excitement. Avery, of course, responds well when a pile of chocolate chips is placed near her math page. I am not above bribery.

On Fridays I usually try to replace a regular math lesson with a math game or activity. It in no way resembles "Around the World." You know how I feel about that wretched game. But we have discovered a few activities that are especially fun, such as pattern blocks, Pattern Play and Qwirkle.

This morning I enjoyed joining Miss Kate at the table for a little Equilibrio fun. We followed the patterns to balance the bright orange blocks and screamed when they came crashing down. It was thrilling.



As we played, Bethie made a file folder game featuring pyramids and times tables. When it was finished, Aidan and I practiced our sixes together. He timed me (with a glint in his eye) and I . . . let him take his time. (You'll be relieved to know that I can successfully multiply numbers one through twelve by six. Just don't ask me to do it around the world.)

I'm starting to like math now, more than ever before. I'm actually improving, too. Because you know what they say. The best way to learn something is to try and teach it.

Maybe I should try teaching calculus next . . . .

On second thought, I'll go ahead and let their dad take that one. Honey?

My profuse apologies if I've offended any math teachers out there. Wink. Wink.

Day 6: Birds of a Feather

So I have this thing for birds. My father is to blame. When Drew was just a little thing, he would crawl onto his Papa's lap and thumb through the bird guide over and over and over. We flew to the window whenever a bird came to the feeder, eagerly flipping through the guide in order to identify it.

Aside from the part where Drew crawls up onto Papa's lap, not much has changed. We still love to watch birds, especially from the deck at my parents'.

One certain viewing stands out in my mind. I was chatting with a friend while our children took turns with their piano lessons. Of course I had one eye on my friend, the other on the bird feeder. I'm skilled that way. I used every opportunity possible to interject little comments like, "Oooh! Look at the hummingbird" or "Look at the way that nuthatch is perched on the feeder!" Being the sweet friend that she is, she graciously nodded and adored my birds.

She was not prepared, however, for the moment when I leaped from my seat and suddenly shouted, "Bethie! Go get Papa!" We raced to the window and beheld a beautiful Pileated Woodpecker.

I shall now pause for a moment to let that impressive bit of information sink in.



Pileated Woodpeckers are not commonly seen in my parents' back yard. In fact, I've only seen two. (Or maybe I've really just seen the same one twice. Who knows.) And they're quite large, to boot. So it was definitely a jump-up-and-shout kind of moment. (I believe I startled my friend just a bit, and it will be some time before she stops teasing me about my enthusiasm. But it was still a grand moment.)

Why on earth am I talking about all this?

It's really just a rather large tangent. A lengthy way to introduce you to the reason I was so delighted to sit with my children this afternoon at the Fort Vancouver Regional Library. The reason, of course, is birds. A falconer presented information on various birds of prey, and then introduced us to Rio (an American kestrel) and Sky (a red-tailed hawk).


Photo taken by the one and only Miss Kate

The hawk was especially wonderful because this is the bird that I frequently scream about in the car on the way to my parents' home. "Look! There's a red-tail on that post!" (Children obediently look. Children dutifully oooh and ahhhh.) I'm afraid I felt rather smug over the fact that it was my child who identified the red-tailed hawk in front of the group this afternoon. Ahem.

The best part is that Aidan and Avery are now downstairs pulling together as many birds as possible from their stuffed animal collection. My laundry basket has been overturned to serve as a cage, and I caught a glimpse of a garden glove on Aidan's hand as he rushed by me just now. We must not be scratched by talons, you know.

So it looks like I might be in for another bird show. I better head down and take a seat.

Day 3: Martian Mom

Do you remember Miss Stacy from Anne of Green Gables? She's the delightful teacher who breathes new life into the Avonlea school after they've suffered a long, boring stint with Mr. Phillips as their instructor.

The contrast between them is obvious. He taught by standing at the front of the school room, droning on and on while peering over his spectacles. She, in turn, took the students out and engaged them in meaningful activities. I especially like the scene where she's leading her class in outdoor calisthenics. Not only is she leading, she's participating.

I have my Mr. Phillips days. I have far too many Mr. Phillips days. I suppose I have my Miss Stacy days, too. But I want to have more. I want to join my children rather than be a stand-up-front-and-drone kind of mom.

Today this meant that I helped paint a Martian volcano.



Usually I let the kids run with their art projects after giving them some initial instruction. I use the time to attack a pile of dishes or toss a loaf of bread in the oven. The kids are old enough to be independent and don't really require my help.

But they like to have my help. And I've noticed that whenever I join them with a paintbrush or blob of clay in hand, the enthusiasm escalates.

So this afternoon I decided to join my smock-covered children at the table as they mixed brown and red paints, coming up with a perfect rust color for their science project, Olympus Mons.

I sidled up to the table, grabbed a paintbrush, plopped myself down and began to dab away at the salt-dough craters. The kids lit up. "Are you gonna help, Mom?" They smiled their approval, and together we painted that rusty terrain.

It was so much better than doing the dishes.

Read more about the thirty-one day challenge.

Meet Maizy

I am not a dog person. So, several years ago when my children started to hint that they'd really, really, really like to get a dog, it seemed safe to say, "When everybody's potty trained, I'll think about it."

Half of my children were in diapers at the time, and you know how it is. When you're in the middle of something tedious (especially diapers), it seems like you're destined to be there forever. So in my mind, we'd pretty much never get a dog. I was safe. (I obviously didn't carry out the logic far enough to explore the ramifications of my children never being potty trained.)



Fast forward a few years. The youngest was about to turn six. They'd all been wondering for quite some time, "So, um, where's that dog?" I continued to come up with excuses. Finally, they decided to take things into their own hands. They started saving up. I started to get scared. They were potty trained. And serious.

What's a mother to do? She prays. Yes, even about a dog.

I asked the Lord to provide just the right dog for our family. I even took one of those pet-finder quizzes to determine which breed would be ideal for our family. The quiz came up with a corgi as a 100 % match. Wonderful with children, very easy to train, affectionate, etc. Oh -- and the Queen breeds them. Not a bad recommendation.



I had been on Craigslist daily, hoping to find some cute, cheap little doggie that didn't bark, chew, shed, drool, whine, smell, disobey, or do anything else that would make me feel even slightly uncomfortable. Because, you know, I'm not a dog person. I hadn't once seen a corgi come up. I felt safe again. It would take the kids forever to save up $600 to buy a corgi from the local breeder. They only had $65 so far. I could rest easy.



The day before Miss Kate turned six, I decided to hop on Craigslist again. Just in case something turned up. Well my friends, something turned up. A corgi had just been listed. She was only eight months old and needed to be re-homed right away. Because the need was somewhat urgent, the owner was only asking . . . fifty dollars. As if that wasn't enough, she lived only fifteen minutes from our home.

These details seemed far from coincidental. I picked up the phone.



Three hours later, we had a dog. I was in a state of shock. I felt that our home had been invaded by a hairy creature, and I had no idea what on earth to do with it. What if it cried at night? It was terrifying. To top it off, we were headed to the beach the next day for Miss Kate's birthday. But I couldn't ignore answered prayer. It seemed like a rather obvious fit. So Miss Kate turned six, and Miss Maizy strolled alongside her in the sand, loving every minute of it.



You know what? This hairy creature is the sweetest, most affectionate thing ever. Sure, she has her moments. But the kids have done a great job caring for their dog, and she's working her way into my heart, too. It's hard to resist melting when that little left ear flops over just so and the tail wags eagerly, and the little cocked head begs, "Love me?"



Lately, I've even caught myself calling her sweetie and puppers and other terms of endearment used only by deranged dog lovers.

Oh, dear. Maybe I'm turning into a dog person, after all.

The Spice of Life: Choosing Variety in Curriculum

I find comfort in routine. The unexpected tends to really throw me off, so I avoid it at all cost. This means that I usually order the same burger at Red Robin (hello, guacamole and bacon deliciousness), the same Blizzard at Dairy Queen (Oreo with vanilla, thank you very much) and the same drink at Starbucks (tall mocha, half a shot, please don’t laugh).

This means that I always know what I’m getting, and I know I won’t be disappointed.

Join me over at The Homeschool Classroom to continue reading . . .

Pajama Run!

My heart raced just a tad as we tried to calmly put the children to bed. We pretended like everything was quite normal, with teeth brushing, story choosing and pajama donning all taking place at their usual time.

We gently shut the bedroom doors and waited a minute. Jamie and I stood in the hallway, gave each other the okay, and then shouted, "Pajama run!" The children (minus Drew, who was at a friend's house) looked like it was an emergency of some sort. "Everyone out!" Jamie ordered. They hesitated, and then climbed slowly out of bed.

It will be helpful to point out here that Little Miss Avery Kate does NOT appreciate the unexpected. Shocking, I know. She likes to know exactly what is going to happen at any given time. So the foreign shout, "Pajama run!" did not intrigue her in the least. She glared. She scowled.

Bethie and Aidan glanced at each other and figured that whatever it was, it couldn't be too bad. Avery wasn't so sure. "What's a pajama run?" she demanded, eyebrows still firmly meeting in the middle as we made our way downstairs.

Jamie played along for a bit and explained, "Well, it's where we all go outside . . . and run around in our pajamas."

Miss Kate was not impressed. "This is stupid."

When we piled them into the van, they began to suspect that something fun was afoot. "Are we going to JJ Jump?" Miss Kate turned hopeful.

"Are we going to get a dog????" Aidan was thinking big.

We helped them narrow their guesses until they finally figured it out. We were headed to Dairy Queen. At ten o'clock! They giggled and squirmed in their seats, and were delighted when they each received their very own ice cream treats. Miss Kate chose a chocolate cone. With sprinkles. I think it was at this point that she finally saw the merits of a pajama run.

We headed back home, licking and dripping and smiling. It was a good surprise. And I'm sure we'll do it again sometime soon. But, shhhhh! Don't tell the kids!

The "Pajama Run" idea comes from a post over here . . . .

What Are You Thinking About?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about creating charts, establishing routines, and eliminating clutter.

I've also been thinking about scarves.

This weekend I stumbled across a few blog articles that, for some reason or another, lodged in my brain and stayed there. The topics didn't leave me with the passive, "Oh, that's interesting," but rather the active, "That's what I'm gonna do!" Funny how that happens sometimes.

Here's what caught my eye.

First, this absolutely awesome online job chart system. It's very cool. My kids love it. I love it. (Okay, we've only had three days to test it, but so far so good.) The parent inputs daily chores to be completed along with the points that can be earned and the rewards that are available (such as a trip to the library, an at home manicure, computer time, etc.). The kids, in turn, keep track of the work they've done and the points they've earned. Then they cash in for their rewards. Did I mention that my kids love it?

The next thing that arrested my attention was the phrase, "Do I wake up TO my child or FOR my child?" This was penned (or typed, as it were) by Kat, guest writer over here. I just love the concept of welcoming your child into the day rather than viewing him as a morning intruder. It's altered the way I approach my morning.

And then the all important, life altering statement found over here at Small Notebook: "If there is one common fashion style in Italy, it’s that everyone is wearing a scarf."

I'm Italian. Italians wear scarves. Ergo, I must wear scarves. I promptly emailed my sister-who-sews-daily and said: "Give me those blog links that will teach me how to make darling scarves! Now! I must wear scarves!" (Or something like that.) She promptly sent me to this site and this site. I'm a big fan of re-purposing fabric and clothing, so I eagerly dove into my stash and set aside a few odds and ends to fashion into scarves. Because I must wear them. (Please feel free to pull me aside some Sunday morning if I seem to have gone overboard with this one. I wouldn't want to overdo the scarf. If, indeed it's at all possible to overdo the scarf.)

So I know these links all seem rather disjointed, but my reaction to them suggests that I'm ready to shout "Spring has sprung!" I'm ready to finally crawl out of that winter hole and blink at the warm, bright sun. It's the time of year when I revisit the way we structure our home life, I organize here and there and I anticipate the creation of something new. It might be a new routine or habit. Perhaps it's a new outlook or attitude. And quite possibly it's also a new scarf.

How are you welcoming spring?

The Incredible Zipping Sisters

We are two of the most indecisive people in the world.

"Do you think it's safe?"

"I don't know. Do you think it's safe?"

"I don't know. Maybe I should try it first."

It was at this point that I really, really wished I had my camera. My sister passed her toddler into my arms and headed toward the zip line.

"Watch your sciatica!" I gently suggested.

She grabbed the bar, grinned weakly and stepped forward. Boy did she zip. Through the woods, careening like a madwoman, my dear, sweet little sister. We cheered, whooped and hollered.

Upon her safe return, the questions began anew.

"Do you think it's safe for the kids?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should make Drew try it out . . . ."

He looked dubious. I challenged him, "If you can go whitewater rafting, you can go down a zip line." He took the bait. He zipped. He grinned, and said, "Who's next?!"

The questions resumed.

"Should there be an age limit?"

"Should they be at least eight years old?

"I sure wish the guys were here. They'd know."

"Let's say you have to be eight."

"Okay."

So down zipped the ten, nine and eight-year-old cousins with their mothers frantically reminding them to hold on for their dear lives (like they would even consider letting go . . . .). The five and six-year-olds were content to stay on firm ground. All that zipping was a bit too wild for them. (Or maybe it was the mothers that scared them: "Hold on! Remember you have gymnastics next week! You may not break one single bone in your body!" Maybe that was it.)

And then she looked at me with a gleam in her eye. "You wanna go?"

"Oh . . . . I think I'm too old. Am I too old? And I'm really out of shape. Am I out of shape?" (In case you have forgotten, we are two of the most indecisive people in the world.)

She threw my own words back at me: "If you can go whitewater rafting, you can go down a zip line."

Avery hightailed it to the house. She had no desire whatsoever to see her mother behave like a hooligan. Mothers who spend their days sipping tea while reading books just weren't supposed to act this way.

But I took the same bait that my son took. Down the zip line I went, holding on for dear life. I was sure I'd sprain an ankle or fall in a crumpled heap at the end, but I made it. No twisted ankles, no crumpled heaps. Just more cheering, whooping and hollering.

We finally tied up that zip line. Our noses were pink and our cheeks bright with the cold. My sister and I laughed as we made our way through the neighbor's woods back to her house. Who would have thought that we'd spend a day of spring break zipping through the woods? We merrily squelched through the damp mosses and lichens, my sister balancing Clara on her hip as we ducked and giggled through branches, shouting at the kids to please stay out of the freezing cold creek and to not break their necks falling out of that tree house.

My sister and I, we've always been very close. But somehow, zipping through the woods like that, doing something just a tad crazy and letting our kids witness the hilarity -- it brought us even closer. I still wish I had had a camera with me, but I don't think I'll ever be able to erase the mental image of my zipping sister. It was a glorious sight to behold.

I'm not sure if I'll ever go down that zip line again. Don't get me wrong. It was fun to try something new, and it was good to step out of my comfort zone. Even Drew commented on how proud he was to see his mother zip by. But do you remember my hesitations about my age and my not-so-stellar athletic condition? Well, these things seem to have contributed to this interesting sensation I have in my back right about now. A sensation of having been pulled, stretched and unnaturally lengthened. The rack comes to mind. I guess a little heat and ice will do the trick, right? And maybe the stretching did some good, after all. I've always wanted to be as tall as my sister. Now we can really be twins -- just like we always wanted.

Pajamas, Pennies and Slingshots

Aidan twisted and contorted, trying to put on his footed sleeper pajamas. What he failed to realize was that his right leg was in the left pant. He thought it was rather amusing and suggested, "You should write about this in your blog, Mom." And that's all I have to say about that.

What I really wanted to tell you, in case you were wondering, is that a penny, when tucked into a slingshot by a little boy, might get spun 'round and 'round and 'round. The spinning might take place in the living room. And that penny might accidentally be released. If that happens, the glass in a nearby picture frame just might shatter. The very same glass that's been shattered twice before.



It just might happen.

So a word to the wise: watch your pennies, watch your slingshots, and above all else, watch your little boys.

Oh -- and always make sure that your right leg is in your right pant. It's just better that way.

Brown Paper Packages

My curriculum is steadily trickling in. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise that everything has taken so long to get here. We've been able to ease into the school year, slowly adding subjects here and there. I think if I would have gotten all of my materials at once, I would have attempted meeting all subjects head on. On the first day. My poor children. To think!


One of my favorite spots in the school room

But God knew what we needed, and I'm thankful for that. He always does. I'm still waiting for a few boxes. It's rather exciting, really. Every day when we hear the UPS truck enter our neighborhood, four little heads pop up expectantly from their school work. (Make that five -- I'm just as eager.) Maybe it's Drew's spelling book! Maybe it's Aidan's nature reader! Maybe it's Bethie's art paper! Maybe it's . . . all of Avery's curriculum!


Shhhh . . . . Drew is very focused on his art project.

The first time a box arrived I was kind of mean. We were definitely in school mode. The Man in Brown rang the doorbell. We jumped out of our seats. "It's from Rainbow Resource!" Drew announced. Curriculum. My heart raced. And then I became mean mom. "How exciting! Yes, we'll open it . . . as soon as we've finished our work."


I'm not sure why Aidan has a dart on his forehead. And he's usually fully clothed during class.


Bethie looks rather dejected here. Don't worry. This is just her "In the moment" look.

Now, I was just as eager as they were to tear into that box. But I knew that there's nothing like a little incentive to get kids to stay on task. Boy, did those kids stay on task. They finished their school work in record time. I stretched that enthusiasm as far as possible. Once they'd scrubbed the toilets and squeegeed the windows, I gave them the okay. (Not really. I just made them tidy the living room. And the family room. And the school room.) They tore into that box like nobody's business. It was fun.


Avery's haircut. Not that you can tell from this shot, but it's been cut.

As the boxes continued to arrive, I milked my little system. It occurred to me that I could steadily order curriculum for the next fifteen years and thereby guarantee a spotless house.


Books! Books! Books!

Today the doorbell rang again. It was another big box. My babes were up to their necks in grammar and math. Drew lugged in the treasure and confirmed, "Rainbow Resource!" Yelping ensued. All eyes looked to mama. I paused and glanced around the room. Taking in the mess, my first instinct was to devise a plan. But then I relaxed. Plans aren't always necessary. And I heard myself shout, "Let's open it!"

We did. It was fun.

Oh, Aidan.

Aidan finds a new use for my tea cozy.

I have dozens of notebooks lying around. A few of them are dedicated solely to my children's quirky phrases and "isms." Lately, Aidan has been on a roll. I wish I could follow him all day with a video camera. He's a funny kid. His comments start out heading in one direction. Then he takes a seemingly sudden detour and finishes his thought with a totally unexpected line. His deadpan remarks kill us. I thought I'd let him kill you today, too.

* One afternoon, Aidan came down wearing my heels. My eyebrows shot up and he explained, "I wanted to see what it will be like when I'm nine." He figured that's about how much taller he'd be in two years. As he wobbled off he assured me, "I'll be more balanced, though."

* Again he approached me one day, out of the blue. He got really close to my face and asked, "How are my freckles comin' along?" (He's really hoping to be blessed with sprinkles like his sister, Bethie, and cousin, Ethan.)

* A little while ago we were pulling out of the parking lot at Ross. I saw a very distressed man wringing his hands and wandering aimlessly. I wanted to help, but felt somewhat uncomfortable since I was alone with the children. When I noticed that he was talking on a cell phone and also interacting with a person parked nearby, I figured he could at least summon help if need be. My help probably wasn't necessary. I explained all of this to the children, wanting them to understand the importance of exercising both compassion and safety. I continued by saying that I might have felt more comfortable helping a woman. I was proud of my gallant Aidan who said he would help a woman, too. His reason, however, left me speechless. "I would only help a woman because a man is smarter than a woman and would know what to do."

Just you wait, 'Enry 'Iggins. Just you wait.

{The Dinner Helper -- It Works!}

Every once in a while I stumble upon an idea that helps me maintain that home rhythm that we moms so desperately try to cultivate. My most recent breakthrough is "The Dinner Helper."

First, though, some background. For several years I've used the "helper" system after learning about it from my friend, Darlene. Each child is assigned a day until all the days are taken. (Drew takes Monday and Thursday, Bethie has Tuesday and Friday, while Aidan has Wednesday and Saturday. Little Miss Avery Kate still resides loftily over the Sunday slot. No one has commented yet on the unfairness of this.)

On the child's "day," he is given all of the miscellaneous responsibilities that come up, such as setting the table for dinner or taking out the trash. Not only does this child have the day's responsibilities, however. They are also blessed with the simple privileges that brighten a kid's day, such as choosing the radio station in the car, running an errand with Dad or eating from . . . The Orange Plate. (Hey -- The Orange Plate is a coveted item in our home!).

So anyway, we've used this system successfully for a number of years and tailored it as the kids have gotten older. One of the helper duties we've always used is dinner detail. I was finding, however, that the "helping" wasn't necessarily always . . . helpful. Dinnertime is somewhat frenzied anyway -- pulling together last minute ingredients, fielding questions from the other room, feeling tired and hungry, etc. So I felt even more frazzled when I had to list off all of the things I needed my helper to do. I can multitask, but I'm not Wonder Woman. (I used to think I was, though. You see, my sister and I had these awesome Underoos . . . .)

Instead of freaking out, desperate Normal Woman devised a new plan. I call it, The Dinner Helper Checklist.

This really works, folks! I have posted a chart on the fridge with a very detailed list of Dinner Helper tasks. My helper walks up to the chart, reads what they need to do and they do it. While they're setting the table, I can focus on the soup or the muffins or the salad. I don't need to think or shout out orders. Our responsibilities merge so nicely that dinner gets to the table in a much more pleasant and efficient manner.

Here's a peek at our list:

1. Clear off the table.
2. Fill 6 glasses with fresh water.
3. Make sure each chair has a napkin.*
4. Place 6 forks/spoons at each seat.
5. Ask Mom about condiments.**
6. Help Mom bring plates to the table.
7. Ring the dinner bell!

*I use cloth napkins that the kids can tie around the chair rails.
**This includes all the extras, like salad dressing, sour cream, Parmesan cheese, etc.

I've noticed that giving specific details really helps. (I'm not sure why they have a hard time remembering that there are six of us, but Jamie and I actually get water now that I've posted the number.) I'm thinking I'll also post a diagram of a place setting so they remember where everything goes.


Emily Post's Basic Place Setting

The older ones often help with actual dinner prep, too, which is a lifesaver. Everyone's favorite part, of course, is number seven: ringing the bell.

After dinner, my helper looks at the second list. (All family members are supposed to clear their own place settings, but I've included that as number one in case someone forgets or gets sidetracked. Someone like, oh, say, Little Miss Avery Kate. Or . . . Mom. Yes, it happens.)

1. Clear away plates and utensils.
2. Clear away and rinse glasses.***
3. Put lids on condiments, condiments in fridge.
4. Tie napkins on chairs.
5. Wipe table with dishcloth.
6. Sweep the floor.
7. Push in chairs.

***We keep the kids' glasses in a row on the counter during the day to cut back on extra dishes. They use various jars, all different heights, so they know that the tallest is Drew's and the shortest is Avery's. After meals I ask them to rinse their glasses and put them back on the counter. I pop them into the dishwasher after everyone's in bed.

I've found that not only does this system help my children contribute to the family and develop responsibility, but it also keeps me on track. If they're on number six and ready to bring food to the table, my goal is to have the plates dished up and ready to pass off by that point. It also gives me a sense of shared accomplishment and camaraderie with my child. We can look together at our work and say, "Hey! We did it!"