Does anyone besides me find swimsuit shopping to be painful?
I'm pretty sure the last piece of swimwear I got was six years ago, shortly after Adelaide was born, and that was only because our condo complex had a pool, I was determined to get our money's worth from our condo fees, and my mom offered to buy it.
Since then, I've been making do with a hand-me-down one-piece that was my mom's; the only problem is, my mom is four inches taller than me and I'm pretty sure its all in her torso. The suit is one of halter styles that ties around the back of the neck, and I have to pull it so far up that it looks like my collar bone has boobs.
Swim suit shopping has never exactly been fun, even when I went by myself. I'd don the swimsuit, look in the mirror of the dressing room, and my brain would go straight into the offensive.
Pretty sure its not supposed to be so tight right here, I'd think.
Also sure its not supposed to be so baggy right there.
So... horizontal stripes are not my friends. Nor are violently pink hibiscus flowers plastered across my derriere.
That's it. I'm never going swimming again.
So I've put off buying a new swimsuit for several years. I've been mostly able to avoid pools over the last few years; when you have a six, three, and one year old, pools aren't as much summertime-swimmy-fun as they are yawning death traps. We're going to a water park this weekend, however, and plan on visiting a pool with friends next week.
Hence my trip to finally buy a swimsuit a few days ago.
I ignored Adelaide's attempts to press several brightly colored bikinis on me and tried to pick out whatever suit would neither make me look like a hooker nor a ninety year old woman, which was difficult because Atticus kept positioning bikini tops over his eyes and yelling, "Look at my goggles!"
I made a few hasty choices and shepherded our three angels into the dressing room with me.
Caedmon was confused as to what this small room was and what we were doing there, and so proceeded to spend the next five minutes yelling, "POTTY? POTTY? POTTY? POTTY?"
Atticus gave all our fellow changing room inhabitants a play-by-play of what was going on in our particular room: "MOM! Why are you taking your shirt off? Why are you taking your shoes off? Why are you taking your shorts off? ARE YOU GOING TO BE NAKED?" For the record, I kept my undergarments on, both because I didn't want swimsuit cooties and because I didn't want to scar our children.
Adelaide squealed and covered her eyes and giggled and said fun things like, "EW! This is so gross. Why do I have to see this? This is just gross."
I quickly made a selection, got dressed, checked out, and staggered out of the store.
And decided I miss the critical voices in my head.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Father's Day Questionnaire
It's Father's Day! What have all of you done to celebrate the fathers in your life?
Derek got to open a couple gifts, including multiple Father's Day cards made by Adelaide.
We also began what I hope will be a continuing Father's Day tradition. I, unfortunately, have a memory like a rusty sieve, and the chances of my remembering to do this every year are somewhat slim. I also, however, have a blog, and since I'm recording the idea here, perhaps I will remember to do it next year. All I have to do is remember to look back at the blog around this time next year. Which is not good. (See rusty sieve simile above.)
But just in case 2013 Kristy remembers to check back, here's the fun little Father's Day Questionnaire I posed to our two older children this year:
(Note: Atticus's answers in red.)
Derek got to open a couple gifts, including multiple Father's Day cards made by Adelaide.
We also began what I hope will be a continuing Father's Day tradition. I, unfortunately, have a memory like a rusty sieve, and the chances of my remembering to do this every year are somewhat slim. I also, however, have a blog, and since I'm recording the idea here, perhaps I will remember to do it next year. All I have to do is remember to look back at the blog around this time next year. Which is not good. (See rusty sieve simile above.)
But just in case 2013 Kristy remembers to check back, here's the fun little Father's Day Questionnaire I posed to our two older children this year:
(Note: Atticus's answers in red.)
All About My Daddy
By Atticus, Age 3
My Daddy's name is Derek.
He is 2 feet 3 inches tall. He's tall.
He weighs 3 pounds.
His hair color is gray.
His favorite tv show is scary things.
He likes to go to B-Bop's and Hickory Park to eat ice cream.
His favorite food is marshmallow stars.
His favorite drink is coffee.
For fun my Daddy likes to play blocks.
I love it when Daddy plays blocks with me.
My favorite thing about my Daddy is watching tv.
----------------------------------------------------------
Note: Adelaide's answers in pink.
All About My Daddy
By Adelaide, Age 6
My Daddy's name is Derek.
He is 6 feet 19 inches tall.
He weighs 60 pounds.
His hair color is grayish brown.
His favorite tv show is Channel 12.
He likes to go to Hickory Park.
His favorite food is bagels.
His favorite drink is iced tea.
For fun my Daddy likes to golf.
I love it when Daddy spends time with me.
My favorite thing about my Daddy is how much he loves me.
----------------------------------------------------------
Just to clear a few thing up: Derek is not 2 feet, 3 inches tall, but as Atticus said, he is pretty tall- 6 ft, 5 in. So I guess our son's answer to that one wasn't too outrageous. Derek does not, however, weigh 3 pounds; nor does he weigh 60 pounds- he weighs a little more than that. His hair color is kind of a dark blonde, and his favorite tv show would be live NFL games. He is not a coffee drinker, but he does like to golf.
I had a lot of fun doing this, and the idea is to re-question them each year and see how their answers change. I think I'm going to put these in a binder and try really hard not to lose it by this time next year.
Happy Father's Day!
Note: I got this idea from this website via Pinterest.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
The 'F' Word
Last night, after her bath, Adelaide and I spent some time together in her room talking. We talked about books and her future and lots of other fun things. At one point, she went into the bathroom to get something, and came back with a pair of leggings.
"Mom, I left these in the bathroom because when I tried to put them on, I couldn't get them up past my knees."
"Oh, they're too small? I'll wash them and get them ready to send on to Aria."
That's when she said it. The 'F' word. (Not that 'F' word. Jeez, people, she's six.)
"MOM! Did you just call me fat?"
Fat. Fat. FAT.
I was taken aback and aghast and bewildered. Where did she get that?
Like just about every other red-blooded American women, I've got my own peculiar set of body image issues, but I have been very, very careful not communicate so much as a hint of those to Adelaide. I have never asked, "Does this make me look fat?" I have never talked about the need to lose or gain weight, being unhappy with the way I look, nothing. I try to speak in terms of health, and on the few occasions when I have rejected a certain item of clothing, I put it in terms like, "It's not flattering on me," trying to be clear that every one is a different shape, and that's okay.
And yet here she is, a newly minted six year old, accusing me of calling her fat.
It's at about this time that I want to scrub her name off the public school's enrollment and set up our own little homeschooling venture. I want to take her to church and home again and never anywhere else. I want to hand-pick all her friends and never let her so much as speak to anyone who might have a negative impact on her life.
Sometimes I overreact a tiny bit.
I know of a couple little girls she goes to school with who are already all about clothes and looking a certain way. One of them is slated to be in her class this fall, and I have already her say some very specific and not exactly Kristy-approved things to our daughter and other girls. Let's just say she's not the sweetest little thing you've ever met. Let's actually say she's a horrid little creature and I don't want our daughter anywhere near her.
I didn't say any of this out loud, of course; I instead firmly told her that I did not care for that statement, and we talked about how people's bodies can change based on how much they eat, what they eat, and how much they exercise. I also reinforced the fact that our focus is not to be on someone's outside appearance- including our own.
Of course, she listened and participated in our discussion; she always does. The problem is that, in the past, I could generally rely on Adelaide's flightiness and in her pretty-much-lives-in-her-own-little-world-ness to insulate her against what are apparently hot topics in Kindergarten, like what clothes you should be wearing and whether or not someone is fat- you know, at the age of five. She is apparently more aware than I had thought, however, and some of that poison has been getting through.
After our discussion- including Adelaide's healthy, thoughtful responses- I calmed down quite a bit. She obviously doesn't see herself as "fat," and clearly isn't too focused on her appearance.
But I'm still keeping homeschooling in the back of my mind. And a petty (if satisfying) vendetta against a certain little girl.
"Mom, I left these in the bathroom because when I tried to put them on, I couldn't get them up past my knees."
"Oh, they're too small? I'll wash them and get them ready to send on to Aria."
That's when she said it. The 'F' word. (Not that 'F' word. Jeez, people, she's six.)
"MOM! Did you just call me fat?"
Fat. Fat. FAT.
I was taken aback and aghast and bewildered. Where did she get that?
Like just about every other red-blooded American women, I've got my own peculiar set of body image issues, but I have been very, very careful not communicate so much as a hint of those to Adelaide. I have never asked, "Does this make me look fat?" I have never talked about the need to lose or gain weight, being unhappy with the way I look, nothing. I try to speak in terms of health, and on the few occasions when I have rejected a certain item of clothing, I put it in terms like, "It's not flattering on me," trying to be clear that every one is a different shape, and that's okay.
And yet here she is, a newly minted six year old, accusing me of calling her fat.
It's at about this time that I want to scrub her name off the public school's enrollment and set up our own little homeschooling venture. I want to take her to church and home again and never anywhere else. I want to hand-pick all her friends and never let her so much as speak to anyone who might have a negative impact on her life.
Sometimes I overreact a tiny bit.
I know of a couple little girls she goes to school with who are already all about clothes and looking a certain way. One of them is slated to be in her class this fall, and I have already her say some very specific and not exactly Kristy-approved things to our daughter and other girls. Let's just say she's not the sweetest little thing you've ever met. Let's actually say she's a horrid little creature and I don't want our daughter anywhere near her.
I didn't say any of this out loud, of course; I instead firmly told her that I did not care for that statement, and we talked about how people's bodies can change based on how much they eat, what they eat, and how much they exercise. I also reinforced the fact that our focus is not to be on someone's outside appearance- including our own.
Of course, she listened and participated in our discussion; she always does. The problem is that, in the past, I could generally rely on Adelaide's flightiness and in her pretty-much-lives-in-her-own-little-world-ness to insulate her against what are apparently hot topics in Kindergarten, like what clothes you should be wearing and whether or not someone is fat- you know, at the age of five. She is apparently more aware than I had thought, however, and some of that poison has been getting through.
After our discussion- including Adelaide's healthy, thoughtful responses- I calmed down quite a bit. She obviously doesn't see herself as "fat," and clearly isn't too focused on her appearance.
But I'm still keeping homeschooling in the back of my mind. And a petty (if satisfying) vendetta against a certain little girl.
Monday, June 11, 2012
I'm Trying To Freaking Love You
We have now completed our first week in our whole "Fruits of the Spirit" theme our family has going on this summer. We had some great discussion and activities, along with some... unexpected social consequences.
The first fruit listed is "Love," fortunately a pretty straightforward concept for our little ones- I'm still not sure what I'm going to do about the rather vague notion of "Goodness." I'm sure God had us in mind when he was setting down an order for the fruits. Because, you know, it's all about us.
We started by defining love as best we could, and that first day we talked about expressing love within our home. At the supper table that evening, we went around the table, each family member telling one thing they loved about each person. Adelaide's were pretty well-thought-out; Atticus said, "I love Caedmon because he's sticky." I'm not always sure that I'm getting through to that boy.
Next, we talked about showing love to family and friends outside of our family. Each kid colored several pictures, and we mailed them off to various family members. The day after that, we talked about ways to love strangers and the world at large. We acted out skits that put the kiddos in different social settings; in one they were diners at a restaurant and I was the waitress, in another we were in a busy grocery store, in yet another we were on a playground with some difficult children.
They also colored various worksheets I printed for them depicting biblical scenes of loving your neighbor, and we brainstormed some ideas of things to do that would show love to people this summer.
Adelaide soaked it all up, Caedmon was just happy to be included, and Atticus participated better on some days than on others. I really didn't know how much he was taking away from all our lessons until this morning, as we were walking into the public library. There was a lady walking down the sidewalk toward us, also about to approach the front door. Atticus darted in front of all of us, opened the heavy front door for her to walk through, then turned around to look at her while holding the door open, beaming.
She sailed through without so much as looking at him.
This did not fit in with our teaching from last week, and he let me know.
"Hey! HEY! THAT LADY DIDN'T SAY 'THANK YOU'! THAT'S NOT VERY POLITE OR LOVING!"
She never did turn around, although several other patrons sure did.
I would have scolded him for yelling in the library, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. How many times have I done the exact same thing, and it was all I could do not to give a snide, "You're welcome!" when the other person didn't so much as acknowledge my presence, let alone express their thanks. Common courtesy, manners, and politeness were a big part of our lesson in loving people in our everyday lives last week, just because I feel like a kind word to a complete stranger can go a long way.
This week's lesson is "Peace." I'm still trying to figure out exactly how I'm going to convey this fruit to our kiddos, as well as how Atticus will use it to further ostracize our family in public.
I'm actually really looking forward to it.
The first fruit listed is "Love," fortunately a pretty straightforward concept for our little ones- I'm still not sure what I'm going to do about the rather vague notion of "Goodness." I'm sure God had us in mind when he was setting down an order for the fruits. Because, you know, it's all about us.
We started by defining love as best we could, and that first day we talked about expressing love within our home. At the supper table that evening, we went around the table, each family member telling one thing they loved about each person. Adelaide's were pretty well-thought-out; Atticus said, "I love Caedmon because he's sticky." I'm not always sure that I'm getting through to that boy.
Next, we talked about showing love to family and friends outside of our family. Each kid colored several pictures, and we mailed them off to various family members. The day after that, we talked about ways to love strangers and the world at large. We acted out skits that put the kiddos in different social settings; in one they were diners at a restaurant and I was the waitress, in another we were in a busy grocery store, in yet another we were on a playground with some difficult children.
They also colored various worksheets I printed for them depicting biblical scenes of loving your neighbor, and we brainstormed some ideas of things to do that would show love to people this summer.
Adelaide soaked it all up, Caedmon was just happy to be included, and Atticus participated better on some days than on others. I really didn't know how much he was taking away from all our lessons until this morning, as we were walking into the public library. There was a lady walking down the sidewalk toward us, also about to approach the front door. Atticus darted in front of all of us, opened the heavy front door for her to walk through, then turned around to look at her while holding the door open, beaming.
She sailed through without so much as looking at him.
This did not fit in with our teaching from last week, and he let me know.
"Hey! HEY! THAT LADY DIDN'T SAY 'THANK YOU'! THAT'S NOT VERY POLITE OR LOVING!"
She never did turn around, although several other patrons sure did.
I would have scolded him for yelling in the library, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. How many times have I done the exact same thing, and it was all I could do not to give a snide, "You're welcome!" when the other person didn't so much as acknowledge my presence, let alone express their thanks. Common courtesy, manners, and politeness were a big part of our lesson in loving people in our everyday lives last week, just because I feel like a kind word to a complete stranger can go a long way.
This week's lesson is "Peace." I'm still trying to figure out exactly how I'm going to convey this fruit to our kiddos, as well as how Atticus will use it to further ostracize our family in public.
I'm actually really looking forward to it.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde
It's interesting how when Adelaide and I spend lots of time together, it brings out the extremes in both of us.
Most of the time, I love to be with Adelaide. She's funny and smart and I'm always wondering what she's going to say. We tend to laugh a lot and generally have a great time together.
When we're not having a great time, we don't just have kind-of-okay time or mediocre time; we have I'm-so-frustrated-with-you-that-you-just-need-to-get-away-from-me time.
Sometimes Adelaide just wakes up in a bad mood. It's really not that often, but frequently enough to make me cringe at the thought of her teenage years. And okay, maybe I do, too, but I'm generally better at hiding it. She's not. She'll burst into tears if we're out of orange juice, crying, "But I need my Vitamin C!" She started sobbing the other day when I mistakenly placed her toast on her brother's plate, then told her to eat it anyway. I think her exact words- between tearful heaves- were, "But then I'll get his germs and I just know they'll KILL ME!"
There's a very slight possibility that I'm not helping matters. I try to stay calm and internalize any eye-rolling, but if she's having one of those days, I am done by lunchtime. About that time of day, I start making jokes. Because that's how I deal with things. I make a joke out of it.
Take yesterday. By 11 am I was really pushing liquids onto our daughter because I knew she had to be dehydrated from all the crying she'd been doing. Finally, after she ran from the room bawling, "That's how it works with roosters!" (it's a long story), I composed a little song. The title was, "I Have The Most Emotional Daughter In The World," and it was sung to the tune of "Can't Fight This Feeling" by REO Speedwagon. Two verses in, I was feeling much better.
Or yesterday at around 4:30 pm. She was getting all worked up about something and dramatically said, "Don't you know that I have two eyes that see?" (another long story), and I lightly replied, "And here I thought you'd been using echolocation to get around all these years."
The problem is, she seems to take these jokes personally, saying I'm making fun of her. I really don't know where she'd get that idea.
I'm not sure what else to do, though. The only three other options that come to mind are 1) Get angry, 2) Soothe her, or 3) Ignore her. I'm really not okay with 1, because I'm the adult here and need to be the one showing some self-control; I feel like option 2 would only increase the undesirable behavior, and I'm really not good at giving fake sympathy, and make no mistake: it would be fake; and option 3 just doesn't feel right.
So, any suggestions from the peanut gallery? Because if this continues, the next 12 years or so are going to be very emotional. But hilarious.
Most of the time, I love to be with Adelaide. She's funny and smart and I'm always wondering what she's going to say. We tend to laugh a lot and generally have a great time together.
When we're not having a great time, we don't just have kind-of-okay time or mediocre time; we have I'm-so-frustrated-with-you-that-you-just-need-to-get-away-from-me time.
Sometimes Adelaide just wakes up in a bad mood. It's really not that often, but frequently enough to make me cringe at the thought of her teenage years. And okay, maybe I do, too, but I'm generally better at hiding it. She's not. She'll burst into tears if we're out of orange juice, crying, "But I need my Vitamin C!" She started sobbing the other day when I mistakenly placed her toast on her brother's plate, then told her to eat it anyway. I think her exact words- between tearful heaves- were, "But then I'll get his germs and I just know they'll KILL ME!"
There's a very slight possibility that I'm not helping matters. I try to stay calm and internalize any eye-rolling, but if she's having one of those days, I am done by lunchtime. About that time of day, I start making jokes. Because that's how I deal with things. I make a joke out of it.
Take yesterday. By 11 am I was really pushing liquids onto our daughter because I knew she had to be dehydrated from all the crying she'd been doing. Finally, after she ran from the room bawling, "That's how it works with roosters!" (it's a long story), I composed a little song. The title was, "I Have The Most Emotional Daughter In The World," and it was sung to the tune of "Can't Fight This Feeling" by REO Speedwagon. Two verses in, I was feeling much better.
Or yesterday at around 4:30 pm. She was getting all worked up about something and dramatically said, "Don't you know that I have two eyes that see?" (another long story), and I lightly replied, "And here I thought you'd been using echolocation to get around all these years."
The problem is, she seems to take these jokes personally, saying I'm making fun of her. I really don't know where she'd get that idea.
I'm not sure what else to do, though. The only three other options that come to mind are 1) Get angry, 2) Soothe her, or 3) Ignore her. I'm really not okay with 1, because I'm the adult here and need to be the one showing some self-control; I feel like option 2 would only increase the undesirable behavior, and I'm really not good at giving fake sympathy, and make no mistake: it would be fake; and option 3 just doesn't feel right.
So, any suggestions from the peanut gallery? Because if this continues, the next 12 years or so are going to be very emotional. But hilarious.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Off!
As I've mentioned before, I like to go for walks most evenings. Sometimes a friend or two will tag along, but most of the time I'm walking alone.
One of my favorite places to walk is the nearby Heart of Iowa Trail. I can jump on just a couple blocks from our house, and usually follow it for a couple miles before turning around and heading back home. It's mostly shaded and almost completely solitary. I rarely see more than one or two people while walking.
Last night, at about eight o'clock, I was on the trail, nearing the end of my walk. I had just crested a small hill and was about to cross a street that intersects the part of the trail that goes through town. And that's when I saw it: fog.
It feels like lately I've been reading all kind of things about the need for spontaneity and living in the moment and carpe diem, and while I usually chalk all that up to a bunch of hippie crap, I decided maybe I should try to do small amounts of that kind of thing. See, I'm really not at all spontaneous, and I tend to majorly stress out when plans are changed at the last minute. Basically I'm the funnest person you've ever met. Also, I use words like 'funnest.'
So when the urge to speed up and run through that fog seized me, I obeyed the whim. After all, what's more fun and frolicsome than running through a low-lying cloud?
I had just reached the deepest, most dense part of the mist, and was actually really enjoying myself, when I opened my mouth to laugh. And realized that the fog tasted nasty.
Then my eyes started to burn.
Then my notoriously unreliable nose registered a chemical smell.
It was about that point that a I saw a truck pull around the corner, a big machine of some sort in its bed, spewing a blanket of the noxious cloud over our little town.
I had been romping through a cloud of mosquito repellant. No wonder my lungs felt tight.
The good news is, I didn't get a single mosquito bite last night!
One of my favorite places to walk is the nearby Heart of Iowa Trail. I can jump on just a couple blocks from our house, and usually follow it for a couple miles before turning around and heading back home. It's mostly shaded and almost completely solitary. I rarely see more than one or two people while walking.
Last night, at about eight o'clock, I was on the trail, nearing the end of my walk. I had just crested a small hill and was about to cross a street that intersects the part of the trail that goes through town. And that's when I saw it: fog.
It feels like lately I've been reading all kind of things about the need for spontaneity and living in the moment and carpe diem, and while I usually chalk all that up to a bunch of hippie crap, I decided maybe I should try to do small amounts of that kind of thing. See, I'm really not at all spontaneous, and I tend to majorly stress out when plans are changed at the last minute. Basically I'm the funnest person you've ever met. Also, I use words like 'funnest.'
So when the urge to speed up and run through that fog seized me, I obeyed the whim. After all, what's more fun and frolicsome than running through a low-lying cloud?
I had just reached the deepest, most dense part of the mist, and was actually really enjoying myself, when I opened my mouth to laugh. And realized that the fog tasted nasty.
Then my eyes started to burn.
Then my notoriously unreliable nose registered a chemical smell.
It was about that point that a I saw a truck pull around the corner, a big machine of some sort in its bed, spewing a blanket of the noxious cloud over our little town.
I had been romping through a cloud of mosquito repellant. No wonder my lungs felt tight.
The good news is, I didn't get a single mosquito bite last night!
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Let's Hope This Works
The kids and I have enjoyed exactly three days of summer vacation so far. They've been good days, mostly spent outside, but I can already tell I'm going to need to impose a little structure on the chilluns, lest we all morph into lazy bums by August. Really tan lazy bums.
I've got a few ideas, but sometimes I'm not exactly the best at follow-through, so I'm going to share a couple of them here in the hopes that either: A) You all will help keep me accountable or B) I'll be spurred on by the simple shame of having told everyone I was going to do awesome stuff with my kids and then not actually doing it. Whatever works.
I recently read a fantastic book (which I will be posting a review of on the Books page here in the next couple days) about a mother of five who decided that she was tired of catering to her spoiled children and spent a full year teaching them to work: cleaning the house, cooking family meals, running household errands, etc. My first response was a little, ahem, extreme, but after all the ideas I'd gleaned from the book had been marinating in the cerebrospinal fluid around my brain (okay, sorry, that was kind of gross) for awhile, I started getting some pretty good ideas for our kids for this summer. The first one I'm going to try implementing is going to involve the Fruits of the Spirit, as defined in Galatians 5:22-23: "But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. Against such things there is no law."
You see, lately I've been noticing a small change in Adelaide. More scowling, speaking to her brothers, Derek, and I in disrespectful tones, ingratitude. She hasn't been doing any of these things a whole lot, and it tends to be when she's already tired or cranky, but it's been enough to make me sit up and notice. Of course we've been talking to her about it, disciplining when necessary, but I'm kind of tired of feeling like we're the ones on defense, and this definitely feels like behavior I want to nip in the bud. Adelaide has always been our easy child; obviously not perfect, but generally obedient and good-natured.
Enter my little plan. In the book, the mother adds a new cleaning task or way to serve the family each month; this summer, the kids and I will be discussing a different "fruit" each week. We'll start Monday, and this first week we'll be discussing Love. We'll talk about what love is, how we can show it to others- both within our household and without- etc. I have a fun little fruit-themed craft planned that we will add to each week as we add on different fruits.
I keep reading about how the best way to keep weeds out of your lawn is to have thick, healthy grass growing. I'm hoping that by really focusing on these fruits with Adelaide and her brothers, we'll plant enough good, healthy beliefs and behavior to help weed out some of those less desirable attitudes that have been cropping up. I do plan on doing a little update post at the end of each week so you can see how it's going, and also to keep the accountability/shame part of it in effect.
That's my biggest plan so far. We have a book of science experiments for kids (thanks, Stacie and Grant!) that I'd like to work through this summer, and I'm going to try and be purposeful about assigning Adelaide some simple math problems each week. Oh, and books. Lots and lots of books. And probably some story-writing. And I'm already starting to feel overwhelmed.
Now, for those of you who have stuck with me clear to end of this long post, here is your reward:
Last night, as I was trying to stuff Caedmon into his pajamas that may be just a teensy bit too small, Atticus was talking about the relative merits of certain parts of his anatomy- this fascination appears to start young in the male of our species. At one point, he paused, looking quizzically at one of his toys, and asked me, "Mom, why does Linda have a pee-pee on her head?"
Then I almost died.
Because Linda is a unicorn.
I've got a few ideas, but sometimes I'm not exactly the best at follow-through, so I'm going to share a couple of them here in the hopes that either: A) You all will help keep me accountable or B) I'll be spurred on by the simple shame of having told everyone I was going to do awesome stuff with my kids and then not actually doing it. Whatever works.
I recently read a fantastic book (which I will be posting a review of on the Books page here in the next couple days) about a mother of five who decided that she was tired of catering to her spoiled children and spent a full year teaching them to work: cleaning the house, cooking family meals, running household errands, etc. My first response was a little, ahem, extreme, but after all the ideas I'd gleaned from the book had been marinating in the cerebrospinal fluid around my brain (okay, sorry, that was kind of gross) for awhile, I started getting some pretty good ideas for our kids for this summer. The first one I'm going to try implementing is going to involve the Fruits of the Spirit, as defined in Galatians 5:22-23: "But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. Against such things there is no law."
You see, lately I've been noticing a small change in Adelaide. More scowling, speaking to her brothers, Derek, and I in disrespectful tones, ingratitude. She hasn't been doing any of these things a whole lot, and it tends to be when she's already tired or cranky, but it's been enough to make me sit up and notice. Of course we've been talking to her about it, disciplining when necessary, but I'm kind of tired of feeling like we're the ones on defense, and this definitely feels like behavior I want to nip in the bud. Adelaide has always been our easy child; obviously not perfect, but generally obedient and good-natured.
Enter my little plan. In the book, the mother adds a new cleaning task or way to serve the family each month; this summer, the kids and I will be discussing a different "fruit" each week. We'll start Monday, and this first week we'll be discussing Love. We'll talk about what love is, how we can show it to others- both within our household and without- etc. I have a fun little fruit-themed craft planned that we will add to each week as we add on different fruits.
I keep reading about how the best way to keep weeds out of your lawn is to have thick, healthy grass growing. I'm hoping that by really focusing on these fruits with Adelaide and her brothers, we'll plant enough good, healthy beliefs and behavior to help weed out some of those less desirable attitudes that have been cropping up. I do plan on doing a little update post at the end of each week so you can see how it's going, and also to keep the accountability/shame part of it in effect.
That's my biggest plan so far. We have a book of science experiments for kids (thanks, Stacie and Grant!) that I'd like to work through this summer, and I'm going to try and be purposeful about assigning Adelaide some simple math problems each week. Oh, and books. Lots and lots of books. And probably some story-writing. And I'm already starting to feel overwhelmed.
Now, for those of you who have stuck with me clear to end of this long post, here is your reward:
Last night, as I was trying to stuff Caedmon into his pajamas that may be just a teensy bit too small, Atticus was talking about the relative merits of certain parts of his anatomy- this fascination appears to start young in the male of our species. At one point, he paused, looking quizzically at one of his toys, and asked me, "Mom, why does Linda have a pee-pee on her head?"
Then I almost died.
Because Linda is a unicorn.
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