Of Bugs and Boys

  I took the kids to the nature park yesterday and we wandered around on the little trails that meander through some woods and over streams and ponds. The kids were pretty excited about the wildlife they saw—which consisted mostly of song birds and bugs.

Blythe had a sad incident with a roly poly---he found one on the trail and after showing it to Evelyn, announced “Roly polies live in the dirt. I am going to help him find a new home.” 

He spent a couple of minutes searching and found a nice patch of dirt at the edge of the trail. Gently, and with great ceremony, he placed the bug in the dirt. It started rolling back towards the path so Blythe pressed it with a finger in an effort to sink it into the dirt. I got distracted by the baby about then and only looked up when Blythe let out a bloodcurdling shriek. I thought maybe he’d been stung by something. I tried to get Blythe to use words rather than wail, and we came to a compromise.

He wailed in plain English, “I crushed the roly poly!”

He followed this unfortunate declaration by falling to his knees with anguished sobs. It was melodramatic, but he was in earnest. He flung his hands heavenward and cried, “I didn’t MEAN to squish him! I was only trying to help him find a comfy home in the dirt!” (the last word was drawn out to the point of unintelligibility.)

It was all I could do to NOT LAUGH at the kid. He was so sad. He carried on for quite awhile, even after Calvin had picked up the semi-squished roly poly and declared it “nope, not dead.” (It was in a bad way, however, and I put it out of it’s misery as soon as Blythe was facing the trail again.)

Blythe continued to lament until we were about halfway through our walk.  At that point, Gloria found another roly poly and there was a tussle over who got to hold it. Eventually, Blythe convinced Gloria to let him carry it. He found another patch of dirt, and (with extra gentleness but less pomp than the last time) deposited the bug. After watching to make sure it stayed put, he exulted. “Mom! I didn’t squish THIS roly poly!”

And thus, Blythe was absolved from involuntary bug-slaughter.

Dress Code: Clothing Optional

I don’t know why, but all my kids have gone through what we affectionately call “The Nudie Phase.” From about age two to age five, none of my children would wear clothes. And unless we were going grocery shopping or to church, I was pretty much okay with that…

But then, I ended up with a kid who wanted to be naked even in the winter. Of course, I would insist that he wear clothes to go outside, but then I would find him like this:



At least he was willing to wear gloves...

This is Why We Do What We Do: Sibling Bonding Edition

One of the joys of homeschooling is watching my kids interacting and watching them grow closer together as siblings and friends.  Ellen, age 11, LOVES to cart around Baby Evelyn, and is a huge help to me when I’m working with the other kids. And Evelyn LOVES being with Ellen. One day, while I was working on spelling with the younger kids, I noticed the house was very quiet.  Too quiet.  I got up to investigate and discovered the girls, snuggled up together on my bed, completely zonked out.

The Ultimate Field Trip: PE in Winter Edition

Once or twice a year, our dear friends from DC come to Utah to visit family.  We try to meet up with them for at least a day.  This time, we met up to go skiing at Snow Basin:

Okay, so we’re not skiing here, we’re picnicking. In 28 degree weather.  It was actually pretty cozy, thanks to the heaters we dragged over to our table and turned on full blast.  We weren’t allowed to bring our wheelbarrow full of food into the lodge, so we had to eat outside.


Now we’re skiing. Snow Basin actually has an awesome Learn It to Earn It program, wherein you pay for three or four ski lessons and once you’ve completed them, you get a season pass. The lessons were pretty reasonably priced for cheapskates like us—I think Blythe’s lesson cost the most at 65 bucks, even though he was the youngest—or perhaps BECAUSE he was the youngest.

  He had to be brought out to the slopes as follows:

I think his teacher stuck him here so she could keep tabs on him until he had his skis on. He kept running off before the lesson—he was told to go use the bathroom and didn’t want to, but then he decided he DID want to and barricaded himself inside the men’s bathroom.  The other kids and Julio were already on the slopes, so guess who had to go in after him?  (It’s a good thing I don’t spook easily.)


The kid turned out to be a pretty quick learner and was taking the little bumps and obstacle course on the bunny hill on his own in no time.  He even learned how to bring himself to a stop, without running into other people.  He perfected the fall-on-your-side method of stopping.
The other kids enjoyed their lessons—they seemed to like crash landing as much as the actual skiing.




We had a great day—the kids and our friends on the slopes, me and the baby taking pictures from the lodge.  By the time the resort closed, it was time for a nap….

and a bath back at the hotel.


We had so much fun on this trip—even had time to grab dinner at a Mexican joint with another friend before heading home for Idaho (but I failed to take pictures of that event. Darn it! Oh well, next time!)

Assumptions and Awesomeness, or, It’s Not You, it’s Me….ALLLLLLLL ME!

WARNING: Late night rant. Proceed at your own risk.
What is up with people feeling the need to volunteer why they could NEVER homeschool their children when they learn that I homeschool mine? Almost without fail, upon learning I’m a homeschooler, people IMMEDIATELY launch into all the reasons why they CAN’T or WON’T homeschool. Rarely am I ever asked why I chose to homeschool or what prompted me to make the decision to teach my tribe at home.  A typical introductory conversation goes like this:
Person: So, where do your kids go to school?
Me: We homeschool.
Person: Oh, Lord. I could NEVER homeschool. Ijustdon’thavethepatienceIneedneedabreakfrommykidsI’mnothatorganizedIcouldn’tstandthemessIcan’tdealwithmykidsoverjustthesummermuchlesslongerthanthatWebuttheadsoverhomeworkwhywouldIwantodothat24/7I’mnotthatselfdisciplineddidImentionIdon’thavethepatienceforsomethinglikethat?
Me, mentally: Holy crap, you didn’t even take a breath!

Then, after being assaulted by this litany, I’m always left feeling I have to say something to reassure the person that they are perfectly normal and I’m a nut job or to try to convince them that:
I very often want to scream
I want to flee to Vegas
I desperately crave some alone time
I made the kids use the neighbor’s toilet because someone clogged ours with a stuffed animal and a plastic bag
I’m not a disciple of Martha Stewart
I’d much rather sleep or read a good book than make sure the kids are practicing their times tables. 
But what I want to do is ask:
Why do you feel the need to hurry and tell me why you’re incapable of homeschooling?
Do you think I’m judging you?
Do you think I’m going to try to convert you?
What exactly do you think homeschooling involves?
When people launch unasked or unprovoked into their reasons for why they won’t/can’t homeschool, they are being defensive—which means they feel threatened…but why do they feel threatened?  I’m actually a fervent supporter of good public schools and of making good education available free of charge to the masses.  I don’t think homeschooling and public schooling should be an either/or issue.  I think homeschooling should just be one of the many viable educational options.  But no one really knows that because I can’t get a word in edgewise to even reassure them that IT’S OKAY NOT TO HOMESCHOOL!
So ease up, folks.  You don’t have to defend yourself to me. Live and let live. And BREATHE.  Please BREATHE. 
But, just soze ya know, I’m tired of trying to be relatable and convince you that I’m just like you. If you’re determined to believe that I am such a saint, so be it. Put me on that pedestal.  I’ve decided I’m pretty damn awesome after all.

And Where Have YOU Been?!?

Okay, so I haven't written anything since I started my travelogue.  To be honest, I've been too "close" to the experience to want to relive it right away---and I stayed away from blogging anything because I felt like I had to FINISH the travelogue.  And I will finish it.  Just not today...and probably not tomorrow, either.  But, I"m back, committed to writing regularly ("regularly" being defined as "whenever I feel like it.")  And here are the two biggest reasons I'm back: 
www.lytlemomma.blogspot.com and www.rageagainsttheminivan.com. These two blogs are completely different and yet both of them speak to me and inspire me. 
The first of the pair is written by Stacey Lytle, a fellow homeschooling mom and personal friend.  She's also a small business owner, an event planner, a motivational speaker, and aspiring author. She's been one of my mentors since I started this homeschooling gig and I've learned significant lessons from her, like how to look on the positive side of any situation, how important it is to be inclusive and loving, how to be a cheerleader for my kids and everyone else, how to ask the right questions, how to plan social events, how to laugh at myself, how to muster enthusiasm and interest when I'd rather be sleeping or crying or running screaming from the room.  Stacey is positive, insightful, spiritually-minded, loving, and a lot of fun--all the things I wish I was. I get a kick out of reading her blog because it's so HER...she makes me feel like I can accomplish ANYTHING. She writes about her own homeschooling and life experiences and her spiritual journey. Oh, and if you thought it couldn't get any better, every now and then she tucks recipes into her posts.  Ain't nothin' better than Momma's Waffles. (Just ask my kids.)
The second blog is technically a website, with a blog thrown in...or something.  I don't really know how it all breaks down in tech-lingo.  Anyway, the writer of Rage Against the Mini-van is Kristen Howerton, who is not a homeschool mom and not a personal friend (but I wish she was.)  Kristen is the mother of four kids. She's also a Marriage and Family Therapist and freelance writer. She writes about all kinds of things, from the quotidian aspects of parenthood, to issues of race, politics, religion, social justice, adoption, and pop culture.  She also has a guest post series called "What I Want You to Know" wherein folks can write about what they want the world to know about their particular life experiences.  Kristen is fascinating, thought provoking, and funny--in a wry, tell-it-as-it-is kind of way.
These women feed my heart and mind and make me want to write all kinds of stuff---tomorrow.  Right now I need to catch some zzz's while the baby is sleeping.  I"m hoping for a solid four hours tonight.  Wish me luck.

The Ultimate Field Trip-- Washington DC Version, Part Two: How NOT to Get Through Airport Security

We begin our trip not at the airport as shown here, but the day before, wherein I frantically packed our gear and cleaned out our garage so we could stow the cars there while we were gone for two weeks.  I did the same thing I do every time we are about to embark on a long vacation; I pulled an all-nighter getting everything ready.  So I started our vacation feeling like a zombie and with a serious lack of patience.
Those who know us, know we travel light—carry-on only—but with five kids and two adults, this translated to 11 carry-ons, two car seats, a stroller, and a partridge in a pear tree.


This is a lot of stuff, but I was determined to make getting through security at the airport as easy and painless as possible. I made sure the kids left their box cutters, automatic weapons, and crayons at home. We looked up the “restricted items” list on the TSA website and I made sure the kids weren’t even wearing belts or carrying pocket change. We coached the kids to remove their coats and shoes and put them on the conveyor belt and how to walk through the security portal.  We advised them not to tell jokes or mention guns, knives, or bombs as we were going through.  Fortunately, when we got to the airport, it was so early in the morning the kids weren’t up to potentially damning wisecracks.  I figured we had this security thing down.
My plan was to have Julio go through security first so he could corral the kids as they went through and I’d bring up the rear. This was a very efficient plan.  Unfortunately, the security personnel do not define efficiency the same way I do.  First, after the kids had taken their shoes off and were waiting patiently for their turn to walk through the metal detector, they got yelled at for removing their shoes.  Yes, yelled at.  They were told to put their shoes back on and then my husband and I were yelled at for having had the kids remove their shoes in the first place.
The kids were flustered and stressed, scrambling to do what they were told.  The security dudes then barked at the kids to get moving through the metal detector.  Blythe, our four year old, was so confused by what they wanted him to do and where they wanted him to go, he had a complete meltdown. I couldn’t even get to him because they made the kids go through first before Julio (my husband) and me. (Why do they always do it that way?)  Blythe was scared and the other kids were bewildered and didn’t know what to do, so then the security guards barked at them to get out of the way and move over to somewhere else, but they weren’t shown WHERE.
Next, it was Julio’s turn to go through, and, as always, he set off the metal detector even after having removed his shoes, belt, and pocket change.  He was pulled aside to be wanded and possibly patted down.  I have no idea because at that point, it was my turn and I had a security guard snarling at ME.
I was told I had to take the (sleeping) baby out of her car seat and put it on the X ray conveyor.  I was also told I had to fold up the stroller and put it on as well.  I asked why I couldn’t just take the stroller through the metal detector, and was given a withering look and again commanded to fold the stroller and put it on the conveyor. 
The security people are either really stupid or really sadistic, because it was next to impossible for me to do this while holding the baby in my arms. I struggled with it, trying not to drop the baby, and trying to stay upright enough that Blythe could still see me from the other side of the metal detectors and machinery. The guards just stood there barking orders at me, and the people behind me in line were instructed to stay where they were, as if they’d be aiding and abetting a criminal if they helped me. I don’t understand why I couldn’t just take the stupid stroller through the metal detector!  I tried to warn them that it was too big to go through the machine and would get stuck, but did they listen?  It got stuck.  They tried to back the conveyor up to get it unstuck.  It took them probably five minutes to wrestle the stroller through the machine.
THEN, they wouldn’t let me carry the baby through the metal detector portal—I had to pass her through to Julio. I wonder, what would they have had me do with her if there was no one on the other side to pass her over to? Put her on the conveyor belt and have her go through the X-ray? I was so mad I was ready to scream. No wonder they won’t allow guns and knives in carry on luggage. I was ready to use both!
We finally got through, and it took us a good fifteen minutes to gather all our things and put our shoes and belts back on, re-pack our bags (toiletries, lap top, cell phones) and put the stroller and the baby carrier back together. Blythe was still crying and the baby joined him.  Ellen, our eleven year old, was freaking out about missing the plane (we had plenty of time, so that wasn’t an issue, but she was stressed out even so.) In an effort to grab all our bags off the conveyor after inspection, I stepped over some invisible barrier and was ordered by two or three guards to “back away from the restricted area.” One guard came at me like he was going to physically remove me.
I lost it. I had already gotten the bags, so I just yelled at them “Okay, okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” in a tone that made it abundantly clear I was NOT sorry. I will not repeat to you the words I uttered after that. You’d make me go soap my mouth. Honestly, I tried to keep in mind that the security guards are people just trying to do their job and it was early in the morning, but sheesh.
One guard at the far end of the security check area, a portly, aging black man, had been watching the whole thing and it was clear he was a decent man, but apparently couldn’t move more than five feet in any direction from the stool he was stationed on. As we were finally putting our stuff together and trying to soothe Blythe, the man called to him to catch his attention and then told him to look down at the floor. I saw the man flip a coin to the ground, just outside of his patrol range. He told Blythe there was some treasure for him. We walked over and Blythe picked up the shiny new nickel. He clutched that nickel for dear life. I thanked the man and he smiled a knowing smile. I could imagine him rolling his eyes at the mean guards and saying “Jackasses.” Blythe was a little happier after that, but not much.
On the plane, the boys sat on one side of the row and the girls on the other. I thought they all behaved beautifully, but the woman who sat in front of Blythe chewed Julio out when we landed.  Apparently, despite Julio’s best efforts to keep the boys from disturbing the other passengers, Blythe once pushed his feet into the back of the seat in front of him. When we landed in Chicago, the woman popped up, turned around and demanded “Are you going to Virginia?” Julio replied we were going to Washington DC. Then she said “If we’re on the next flight together I am NOT sitting in front of YOU. I refuse.” I hadn’t even noticed the woman talking until she raised her voice. She huffed out of her seat and off the plane. I’m glad Julio was the one sitting on that side, because with the mood I was in, I might have punched her in the face.
I really need to learn to go to sleep before traveling.