Our Latest Library Trip...

This was a good trip to the library, no real losers out of the bunch. There were, however, three picks that take the top prize:





Man on the Moon is very fun to read aloud. It has good humor for both adult and child, and if you are at all dramatic, you'll have fun with the various lines and phrases. And the images are a bonus! The artist has captured good emotion and characterization in Bob's face. Love it.

My four-year-old is beginning to like longer reads and is getting quite the active imagination, that is why Jack and the Beanstalk is a favorite of his. The pictures are very captivating.

Water is just refreshing. As you read it, you do feel like you are drinking a cool glass of water. Plus, the images are from many cultures and brought up many good questions from my sons, like, "Why don't those women have heads?" The women were from India and their heads were concealed by black scarfs.

The Debate---Part One: Philosophy

I often find myself feeding the conversation with questions. I ask. I listen. They never ask. They might listen. I leave, and I am even more resolved that I will not homeschool my kids, at least for starters. (I give myself permission as a parent to always change my mind when it seems that it will be best for my children, my family.)

The homeschool rage is more of a Christian cultural movement. You'll have to excuse me for any stereotypes embraced by this verbal process against this choice for my family. The other day at my 4-month-old's appointment the Dr. found out that I stay home, breast feed, and plan on doing so for a year. Oh, and I knew the word spelunking. I guess that is way he asked, "So, do you homeschool." I looked at him and said, "No!"

A friend reminded me that I was homeschooling my oldest. I don't count preschool as homeschool especially when he was 3 when the school year began.

I am constantly running in to homeschool blogs and support groups for mom's who choose to teach their children outside of traditional institutions. But, where is the network for those moms and dads who CHOOSE to send their kids to public school? Or even a private school? This is a choice. This is a conscious choice.

As a parent I do not want to keep my children in any sort of bubble. My home is my child's safe place and place of comfort. It is a place of dialogue. It is already happening. They are already learning that the world is not a place where everyone thinks, believes and acts the same as we do. We've already learned a few new words at other houses that we don't use in our home, and that is OK. They learned the new word. They tried it out. They received the consequence. Now they know. They don't use the word. They know it exists. They aren't afraid of it. They are choosing to be different.

An older adult friend was having a crises of faith and asked me, "When did you learn that the world wasn't a good place."

"I guess I always knew this." If you read the Bible you know this. Read the Old Testament: flood, Philistines, Prophets of Bael....the list goes on, even in to the New Testament with Herod and his massacre of baby boys.

I don't want my children to be devastated when they discover that we've been sheltering them from reality.

I want my children to be equipped to see various ways of living and to choose the best way to live their lives. The world teaches this well. There are natural consequences for poor choices. My sons openly talk to me about what they see. They ask why, a lot. I am their parent. They trust me. I see this trusting relationship evolving as they continue on their educational path.

Is my plan flawless? No. Could it backfire? Yes. But, God never called us to raise perfect children. He calls me to raise my children into the Light. He is a relational God who wants relationships with his creation. That is my call as a parent, to guide them into this loving relationship. This is what I'm doing.

I don't always like what they learn and see in the world, but this is where we live. This is our culture. This is how we live a missional life. Christ didn't call his disciples and then build a house for them all to live and learn in. He went, called, and sent out. He lived and interacted. He is our example.

I'm sure there are many flaws in my theory here. I'm sure there are readers who disagree strongly with me and fear for my children. But, fear only cripples action. After I had my first I was consumed by fear. I now had someone in my life that I loved; if anything bad happened to them I would be forever altered. I could choose to hold on even tighter, or I could return them to the care of God. Each night as I rock my new baby to sleep I look into his eyes and think, "He is yours God. Not mine. Remind me of this when bad things happen to him. May I release my need to control, but give me wisdom to guide and grow him into the Light."

This is my goal as a parent, not to get them ready to be adults, but to help them live now. We are to live now and be now, not just get ready to be 18 years old... when we are adults and can all of a sudden totally handle the bubble bursting. Our missional lives begin from birth.

This is the philosophy behind my choice. Next I'll discuss the reason I'm choosing institutional school for academic reasons. Remember, I was a passionate and excellent middle school teacher in the public schools before I became a parent, and I actually think I would be a good homeschooling mom, however, I think the institutional school is better....for a number of reasons.

I'd love to hear your reactions. I'm taking quite a risk, since I am feeling more and more like a minority in my opinion in this schooling debate.

I guess I was inspired to write this today after I had a conversation with a mom who sends her kids to public school and said, "I just sometimes feel like I'm making the less holy choice by not homeschooling. That is how moms who homeschool make me feel." That might not be the intention, but that is definitely the feeling many get.

Oh, and I will also be processing the positives of homeschool, highlighting those that I think are doing a good job of it and for the right reasons. So, come along on my journey. Maybe we can learn and grow from this.

It will be interesting. There are huge groups of "graduating" homeschoolers coming of age now. I wonder what impact that will have on our communities, if any.

Summer, a Good Time to Write?

I'm having a hard time making myself write. The sun is out! My garden is growing, meaning the weeds are growing. My 2nd is potty training. My baby is napping, for the moment. And my oldest is just fun. I want to be. Be as in experience and live it up! I want to enjoy Otter Pops with my boys. I want to tan these white legs. Ok, just get some freckles. I want to wear my sunglasses and read a good book.

I want to think about interesting plots and stories that I can write when the rains return to the Oregon landscape.

This is not a good season for a writer. I could write in the evenings, which is what I put on my lists every night. But instead, I take extra long tucking the boys in bed. I sneak into the kitchen and find a bite of paradise for my palate. I relax to So You Think You Can Dance. These are the things I find myself doing. And, I think I might do one of these right now!

Dutch Brothers, Oh So Cool

“Free” read the sign outside the drive-up coffee establishment. Free. This is a word that calls to my inner being. I couldn’t refuse its draw, even when I had a little boy strapped in his car seat already pushed way past his nap. I’m not even a coffee drinker, but how could I refuse the lure of Dutch Brothers and the possibility of coming away with a free drink? I couldn’t.

The line of cars was long and any sane mother who puts their children first would have kept driving, but my selfish flesh prevailed and into the line of the very cool I filed.

Cool you ask? Yes, cool. Why is it that everyone who works at Dutch Brothers is “super cool?” All the girls are under 18 and wear tight, low-rise pants exposing a perfectly tanned torso followed by a snug white t-shirt exposing their budding womanhood. They smack their gum in that certain cool way.

The males who claim barista knowledge inevitably don a baseball cap and shout really loud to you over their rockin’ tunes. They are hyper, and it is not from the coffee. They all seem to really care if you’re having a great day or not, and you have this feeling that this is a part-time job to supplement their career as a local youth pastor.

As I sat in this line with my child-bearing hips feeling wider and wider by the moment, I thought, “I am really not cool.”

The hip-hop music beat its way across the pavement from the large speakers rented for the grand opening event. Air was being pumped heavenward through parachute material tubes while low-rise clad women were waking up and down the line of cars handing out all manner of Dutch Bros. paraphernalia.

Everyone working oozed confidence as they swaggered up and down giving high fives to other “totally cool” persons. No high-five came my way.

By this time my son was expressing his frustration with large crocodile tears. I debated pulling out, but I was getting so close, only five cars away from the drive-up window; I had waited so long already.

Free. Free. Free. I kept repeating this mantra. I let Bren, my son, pull all the diaper wipes out of the container just to keep him happy. I even found a dental floss dispenser, and I let him pull to his heart’s content. I would break all my no-no’s just to keep him happy a few more seconds. I had to get my free drink.

By the time I ordered my decaf mocha the back seat was in full hysteria, and I knew I had made the wrong choice. I stared into the young abs that greeted me at the window and thought, “When did tulips and windmills become symbols for coolness? Did I miss something? What kind of marketing research did the Dutch Brothers do before they started their coffee business?”

I certainly would never have guessed that these pictures of Holland would be plastered over middle school binders and lockers. But then again, I don’t find dried baby snot on my shoulder to be any reason to change my shirt.

I took a sip. Was it even yummy? Bren thought so, and it was free, so it must have been. I drove my completely not-cool adult self back to my humble abode realizing my days of size three anything, flip flops, and tight screen tees were tucked far away in a neon pink foggy past of 1980’s pegged, acid washed jeans.

(This was first published in 2006 when I was a mere mother of one. But a recent trip to Dutch Brothers brought it all back. The gal who made my mocha was wearing less material on her body than my 4-month-year-old. It just totally cracks me up that Dutch Bros. has this image no matter what drive-up you seem to use.)

What We Are Reading

Every two weeks we make our exciting venture to the library; remember we are basically a 30 drive from every excursion of note. The boys always pick out two new puppets, while I hurriedly get a bag load of kids books to read. I grab with little time to really analyze. I chose books for my sons based on the title and front cover.

There are usually a hand full of major winners and one or two bombs.

So, here are the top picks from this last trip to the library:

My 2-year-old's favorites:






My 4-year-old's favorites:





The one I hated and hid after one read:

If It is Wet and It is Not Yours Don't Touch It

Once a year all educators are supposed to watch a bodily fluids training video. We all sit and stare at the same video we watched the year before and the year before that. We know we will get to watch this film for at least 27 years, each year of our public service, until our retirement. I might miss the film after 27 years of viewing and get my own personal copy, probably not.

But, the film can be summed up in with one clever line, "If it is wet and it is not yours, don't touch it." We are given red bags with gloves and bandages. If the students ever came to me bleeding I just pointed to the bag and let them deal with it; I taught middle school. Now, if they threw up, I always called the janitor. I believe fiercely in the quote above.

However, as a mom, "If it is wet and it is not yours, you will touch it."

Tuesday my oldest woke up and vomited. This happened three times. Then when I thought things were calming down, he came racing out to the garden with blood dripping down his face and into his mouth. His younger brother had thrown a toy car at his face. I proceeded to clean him off and follow his bloody trail back into the house. There were red traces on all the door handles and in each room he had raced through to get to me in the garden. I touched it all. No gloves. No kit to tote around. The whole time I smiled remembering that I shouldn't be touching this wet stuff that was not mine.

Snot is something that I touch on a daily basis. Having three kids under the age of four means that snotty noses are a constant. Usually the boys run up to me and then rub their little noses on my upper arms. My oldest has stopped this and now runs to the bathroom to get a tissues, but with allergy season upon us he sometimes sneezes and snot explodes out of his raw little nose and dangles between him and the carpet below.

Over Christmas my husband slept with our oldest when our oldest was severely sick. I think my husband was vomited on at least two times that night. He never got sick. I was totally impressed and knew this was one of the many reasons I married the guy.

Tuesday was a rough day. I got little done. I guess what I got done was taking care of my sick child, but this is hard for the Martha in me. I have lists. I have goals. I want to look back at my day and see that all I created was and is good.

Wednesday came. All was well. The boys were both good. Our oldest was back. They played and were inseparable. I accomplished much.

Today was supposed to be another day of great accomplishment. I need to clean my house, my sister is coming this weekend to work on her scrapbooking. We are heading over to Sun River. I have packing to do and meal planning. Oh, and then there is this little hallway painting project I wanted to finish up, but I think I'm going to have to release all of that.

This morning my middle son barfed right into a toy tub.

The Garden of Contentment

This past week of sun and sky has made me feel completely blessed to be where I am. These are some pictures to help capture my contentment. Going from living in town, with the roar of 99W to this, oh, how good it is. We went from never seeing a sunset, to now seeing one every night. We went from seas of traffic to seas of white clover. It is good to get back to space and view.

However, I was content living in the "city" too. I was not at first. Both my husband and I felt very trapped by all the cement. I remember looking at parking lots and thinking about all the yummy soil that was buried alive under there, that had life to give, but now couldn't. Other things also contributed to my feeling of unrest. I prayed for a spirit of contentment, and it came. I loved my life near the hustle of Portland, but it is so good to be back where my soul was raised and I first heard God. In so many of these settings I spent time just listening and talking to God.

The other day I saw my oldest stretched out in the grass, with his arms under is head. It looked like something from a Huck Finn novel. I smiled. He was experiencing God through God's creation.

Reminds me that God created a garden for his first people, not a city with cars and exhaust. It is good to return to the garden, good for me and my family.