The nicest thing about getting older is having another birthday to add to the string of birthdays that have already come. Birthdays prompt reflection for me, and I can say honestly that so far, each one is better than the last. When I think back on all the years that have already happened, there isn't a single one I'd want to repeat instead of living the one that's in front of me. There have been easier years, sure...but there have also been harder ones. I can't help but be excited about what might lie around the next corner, and I want to keep moving forward so I can find out!
Thanks to each of you for sharing my journey this past year. I've been blessed to make some great new friends and to have some new writing opportunities through this little blog. I think this next year will bring even more good things...new challenges, new opportunities, and new blessings to be survived and cherished.
Because it's my birthday, I want to give one of you a gift. I'm having my very first giveaway! The gift will be a batch of my not-exactly-famous-but-still-pretty-darn-good oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and this beautiful little print from my dear friend Linda at burlap + blue. She generously sent me the print to be given away when I celebrated my blog's first anniversary back in January, but I haven't managed to do it until now.
(No one said this has been an easy year, but I'm thinking late is better than never.)
I think this print sums things up perfectly. Today, I am thankful. Tomorrow's another day, and I'll be thankful then, too, no matter what it looks like. Things aren't always easy, but there's always a reason to celebrate. Finding the things worth celebrating can sometimes feel like a tough journey, but the trip is always, always worth it.
To enter to win the print and the cookies, just leave a comment here - make sure I have your name and a way to get in touch with you if you win. We'll do a random drawing and reveal the winner next Tuesday. Feel free to invite your friends to play...the more, the merrier!
Woefully behind. That's how I am this week...missing birthdays of friends and family, remembering Father's Day for my husband but not for my stepdad or my children's godfather (which caused me to remember that we didn't do anything for Mother's Day for their godmother, either).
What I am on top of is my notes in the Verdi Requiem. I have
learned those parts cold, and I am ready to sing tomorrow night. My only
real worry at this point is that I'll be overcome by emotion, get
choked up amidst all the "salve me"s and be unable to sing adequately. Here's hoping the lump in my throat doesn't get so big that I can't produce a sound.
After
a week of carpooling to rehearsal an hour each way every single night, I
feel quite bonded with my driving companions and will miss chatting
with them when the weekend is done. It's amazing the range of subjects
we have covered: geriatric drivers (and what we will do when we become them), how to know if
radishes are ready, what kind of stain is best for a thin veneer table
top that didn't take the first stain, things we have heard on NPR
(specifically Ira Glass's
interview of a blind man about being lost in a hotel room), the entire
plot of Gianni Schicchi, the small-town politics of the "from heres" versus the "come heres," the Blue Man Group. Good
times.
Speaking of the Blue Man Group...which just reminds me of Tobias
Fünke...George and I finished the new season of Arrested Development
this week on Netflix. Did you watch? What did you think?
While I've been busy rehearsing, SuperSam and George have been watching BBC documentaries on dinosaurs every single night. George has been leaving Sam these amazing hand-drawn dinosaur-themed messages every morning, always related to what they watched the night before. This was my favorite one:
"Don't let him choose what's for dinner." Why? Because he apparently eats HORSES. My son thought it was hilarious and made jokes about it all day. "Hey, Mama, I think we should let the Gastornis decide what's for breakfast. Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"...and full-scale rolling on the floor laughter followed.
I'm sure there is a place in his brain where he's just filing all of this information away for future use.
Speaking of SuperSam's brain, I promised you a report on our trip to the state homeschool convention. (If you missed the whole homeschooling epiphany, here it is.) I had definite concerns going into this trip. I wasn't sure the people at the convention were my crowd (especially since I'm not yet sure what that is...Charlotte Mason? Unschoolers? Classical? Some combination of all of it?)
My worries that I wouldn't fit in were exaggerated. As my friend (who was also attending the conference) pointed out, homeschooling is way more diverse than it was 20 years ago. There were all kinds of people there. The main way in which I didn't fit in was that I didn't have one of those rolly cart thingys.
Actual rolly cart thingy seen outside the convention center
Seriously, y'all, everybody has one of those. They sell them at almost every booth where they sell curriculum and owl pellets for dissection and laser kits and solar system models and maps and build-your-own-rabbit-hutch-kits and math worksheets and handwriting practice sheets. It made my head spin. The exhibit hall filled with vendors was completely and entirely overwhelming...so overwhelming that I decided on the spot that I wasn't going to buy anything at all. I did end up getting a laminated placemat with a world map on one side and a US map on the other side, and SuperSam bought a kit to build a model of the solar system. We came up a few cents short of the $15 minimum to use our debit card (and I stubbornly refuse to learn that I should carry cash), so I also paid 60 cents for a small plastic kitten that I promptly lost.
Those eight women I saw that I thought from a distance were Michelle Duggar were not actually
Michelle Duggar (whom I never saw). She was the keynote speaker (well, half of the keynote, since JimBob was speaking, too), but since we were attending for free as a family with a rising kindergartner, we didn't have tickets. I'm kind of sorry I missed her.
The biggest thing I learned from the conference was that I can do hard things. Taking three small children on my own, overnight, to a conference and several stores and The Hotel Pool (an epic story for another day) reminded me that I am stronger and more resourceful than I think. My friend and I parked our vans near each other and helped each other keep watch, but we were essentially each flying solo...and we did it well.
Emboldened by my relatively successful trip, I even stopped for the bathroom at a McDonald's on the way home and spontaneously took all three children in for ice cream while we were there. It was fine. I managed everyone by myself.
Things you do that don't kill you really do make
you stronger.
While we were in the parking lot at Trader Joe's with my friend's children (she had run inside to pick up a few things), SuperSam suddenly declared that he had to go to the bathroom so badly that he couldn't possibly hold it. Having stubbornly ignored my sister's helpful suggestion a few weeks ago that I start carrying a potty in the back of the van for these instances, I was stuck. There was no way I could take my four-year-old, my two 20 month olds, my friend's three-year-old and her 20 month old into the store to use the bathroom (especially not with SuperSam about to wet himself).
I stood him outside the van, blocked him with my body on one side and the van door on the other, and told him to go in the parking lot. I am horribly embarrassed to say this, but I didn't know what else to do. I prayed the whole time we wouldn't see anyone we knew (a legitimate fear, since the last time I was at this particular Trader Joe's I randomly saw my college roommate and her husband and their kids).
We didn't see anyone we knew.
On the downside, SuperSam saw his own puddle, got all excited that he was wearing Crocs (his "splashing" shoes) and...well, you can guess what he did. I wiped the shoes and his feet down with baby wipes before he got back into the van (because I have also stubbornly ignored my sister's helpful suggestion that I carry Clorox wipes in the car for these instances).
Sigh. There might be a theme emerging with all this stubborn ignoring.
Do you know the Pata-Pata? It's a song from South Africa recorded by Miriam Makeba that was introduced in the US in the 1960s. George had it on a CD a few years back and it became a family favorite with Baby SuperSam. A few days ago, SuperSam decided we needed to learn how to do the dance that goes with the song. We googled it and found this:
It can't be authentic, but it's easy enough that even I can basically do it without crashing into any walls. My children love it and have asked to do it every day. It's an incredibly freeing thing to dance with them. They don't know that I "can't dance." They just move to the music and laugh and smile, and so do I. I didn't even need to have half a glass of wine first (my normal minimum for actually dancing). Maybe I'm loosening up?
Finally, I haven't told you that George and I are on a running streak. If you follow me on Twitter (dere_abbey) or Instagram (dere_abbey), you might already have known. I've run at least a mile for 19 days in a row now. The streak is part of an effort by Runners' World to keep runners from slumping between spring and fall training seasons. It started May 27 (Memorial Day) and runs through July 4 (Independence Day)...39 days altogether. I'm taking it easy to avoid injury, since my big (way more important) goal is to run the Richmond Marathon in November. We'll celebrate the end of the streak with a 2 mile race at Jockey's Ridge on July 4, which I'll be running with my other sister (not the one of potty-carrying wisdom but the one who lives in Nome!). I can't wait to see her.
This is quite long for a Quick Takes. Sorry about that. I had a lot of catching up to do.
By now, all of you know that we have our hands full.
Although two hands hardly ever seem like enough, when it comes time to bathe our twins, the hand shortage is clearer than ever. Wrangling two wiggly, slippery, wet, and often screaming little toddlers is no small feat.
Special Note: I do not attempt twin bathtime without a partner, and I am a trained professional. Please do not try this at home, no matter how much fun you think it looks...unless you're a twin parent, of course, in which case you have no choice. Carry on, friends...may the force be with you.
Once upon a time, they were just tiny babies. Here's how bathtime worked then- Mama helds (nursed) one baby while Daddy and SuperSam sponge bathed the other one. After the clean one was wrapped in a towel, she came back to Mama for comfort (nursing) while the other Sister had her bath. When the second bath was finished, Mama put the babies to bed (more nursing).
Basically, as in all the early Twin Activities of Daily Living, Mama nursed at least one baby at all times.
Simple enough, right?
SuperSam and Daddy give screaming Nora her first at-home sponge bath.
Tiny Lucy chills in her giant diaper and monogrammed towel- so stylish.
When they were a bit bigger, we put the baby tub in the kitchen sink
and laid out all the towels and supplies on the counter. I put one baby
in the exersaucer and washed the other one. Then, I switched them. It
wasn't too bad unless they both got upset at once.
Lucy
Nora and her Dad, a seasoned bathtime professional
When they could both sit up well, we bathed the Sisters side by side in the kitchen sink. This is how similarly-sized cousins and siblings were always bathed in my extended family, and it works so well...it really saves your back from having to chase multiple wiggly bodies around the tub (particularly when they are both trying to stand up at once).
Before long, they outgrew the kitchen sink, too, and it was time to move to the big girl tub.
We tried them first with SuperSam for company.
A moment after this was taken, all three of them were screaming. Seriously.
Then we tried just the two Sisters. It worked...twice.
Nothing like having a Sister to shampoo your hair and wash your back...
On the third attempt, one Sister started freaking out at the mere suggestion of a bath. This trend has continued every single time since then. (Oddly enough, we couldn't ever figure out why they were upset, and it seems to rotate between them.) The bath hatred has settled with Lucy, who absolutely positively does not want to be washed for any reason. Blood-curdling screams of terror come out of her mouth if we so much as open the shower curtain and start to move the toys around.
Upon being put into the water that third time, she shrieked and tried to climb the sides of the tub, endangering herself and her previously-calm sister, who began crying and trying to climb out, as well. With both girls flopping around and trying to stand, leaning over the tub to manage them no longer felt safe. George was doing his best, but he couldn't really reach Lucy.
Desperate to ease her anxiety, I instinctively climbed into the tub (with all my clothes still on!) to help her and to manage the situation before someone got hurt.
This reminds me of a completely unrelated story in which my swimming instructor dove into the pool with all her clothes on to "save" me when I was veering off toward the deep end while doing elementary backstroke for my swimming test. I had tried unsuccessfully to convince my mother that I should skip the test, having missed the second of two weeks of class due to the chicken pox (which I had on my tenth birthday, mind you). My mom insisted that I go, reassuring all the other parents and the swimming instructor that I wasn't contagious, "just scabby." (Attentive readers may notice an unfortunate rhyme with my first name.) The swim instructor allowed me to take the test. As I began swimming what was supposed to be one width of the pool on my back, she hollered that I was going the wrong way. When I didn't respond (since my ears were under water!), she dove in, chased me down, and grabbed me, totally ruining her white leather Reebok hightops and scaring me half to death. I swallowed so much water, spluttering and coughing, that I was probably closer to drowning at the moment of rescue than just before, when I was calmly swimming, blissfully unaware of the imminent peril of the lane rope and the 10 foot end. I never really got into swimming after that.
Fortunately for me, it's no longer the 1980s, and I was barefoot when I got into the tub to save my panic-stricken daughter.
The novelty of having Mama in the tub seemed to help calm both girls down, and we played tea party together for a few minutes to distract them while I washed them both and rinsed their hair. It went so well (no one even got water up her nose!) that I have continued getting in with them both every time for the last few weeks. We will eventually run out of room, but for now, it's fun to play with them and help them wash each other's hair.
I'm grateful that we are years away from needing to convince them to take showers, which will undoubtedly be traumatizing in some new way. Until then, this is what's working.
Got any interesting bathtime stories? Any horror stories about swimming instructors in dated footwear? How do you manage bathing multiple little ones at the same time? Or do you run them through, assembly-line style?
Hello! We made it back alive from the homeschooling convention, and I do promise to fill you in on how it went.
For now, I am completely (and happily) buried in the Verdi Requiem. I have the opportunity to sing this massive choral work as part of the Shenandoah Valley Bach Festival this week. We are in rehearsals every night to prepare for a concert on Saturday evening at Eastern Mennonite University. If you're local (or even if you aren't!), you should really come to this concert. After only two nights of rehearsal, I am certain that it's going to be an amazing experience. The Dies Irae will make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
Being part of this choir and intensely rehearsing the Requiem feels a little like the good old days (remember, fellow music nerds?) in All-District band...live and breathe the music for a few days and then put on a concert. I always loved that experience, playing with other musicians who took things seriously and were all so good at their parts. Singing with this choir is similar, but now that I'm a grownup, it's a true respite for my spirit. For 2 1/2 hours every night (and on the drive to rehearsal, where my carpool buddies and I have been singing along to recordings of the score), I am submerging myself in notes, rhythms, and Latin texts that come together to create one of the greatest prayers ever created. I feel like someone has finally turned on the lights...my soul is breathing deeply for what feels like the first time in months while I'm singing (or thinking about singing) this work. Singing is mind-expanding. It's ribcage-expanding. It's good for me, and I'm having so much fun.
(Didn't St. Augustine say, "He who sings well, prays twice?" Oh, apparently not. Anyway, it's still a good saying...unless you can't sing, I guess, in which case it might feel discouraging...any non-singers care to comment?)
To master my parts in the slightly tricky fugue sections, I've been doing my runs on the treadmill with the score propped on the rack in front of the screen and the Requiem blaring through my headphones. Although it never occurred to me before that "salva me" and "libera me" would make good running mantras, they are really working for me. Phrases from the Requiem (especially the heavenly Agnus Dei) are running through my head all day like a soundtrack, making the ordinary stuff like folding laundry seem almost meditative. (It's made a nice change from the 1950s music we've been listening to so much lately, which always gets stuck in my head on repeat.)
I didn't know this work well at all before this week. By the end of the week I'm going to know it inside and out, and the process of learning it is making me feel new.
I intend to raise scrappy girls...girls that are strong, persistent, brave and willing to try hard things. Girls that can keep up with their brother in every way and know how to use power tools (with adult supervision, of course). Girls that stick up for themselves and each other and who know how to use their words to say what they mean. Girls who have faith in themselves and confidence in their own worth. Independent, smart, stubborn girls...the kind of girls that turn into independent, smart, stubborn women...the kind of women who change the world and get stuff done.
From the looks of things, we are well on our way. My toddler twins are relentless: climbing every shelf, unrolling every roll of toilet paper, opening every cabinet, deshelving every book, emptying every laundry basket. They feel things strongly and love things fiercely. They are not messing around with life- they're taking it head on (by ripping it out of each other's hands, if necessary!).
I'm proud of them.
I'm also totally exahausted and slightly fearful of what lies ahead in their tween-age years.
Does this look like a scene from a toddler stage version of a Willa Cather novel?
For more Theme Thursday, check out the great stuff at Clan Donaldson.
If project-based homeschooling were salvation, this would be the story of the moment I "got saved."
I went to school to be a teacher. I've spent my career working with other people's children and supporting and mentoring teachers and educators who work with children. I never intended to homeschool my own children. I know all the arguments against it. I've made many of them myself.
Then came SuperSam, whose unique blend of traits makes him a totally amazing person, an extremely challenging person, and a person who is just not made for Kindergarten at our local public school this fall.
His fifth birthday falls just a few days before the cutoff date for Kindergarten, anyway. A typical little boy in many ways, he is wiggly, squirmy, loud, and impulsive. He would have a hard time sitting still, walking quietly in line, and raising his hand. He's also shorter than a lot of his peers, and he still struggles to pronounce his "L," "R" and "W" sounds (making him seem younger than he is). He still needs a nap every afternoon, partly because his epilepsy medicine makes him drowsy. If he were someone else's kid, I would definitely advise them to wait a year before starting him in school. For a little boy with a late birthday, it's almost a no-brainer...not many kids in his position are ever hurt by having an extra year at home to mature a little bit.
The complication is that his brain, like a little sponge, is ravenously curious and is consuming information at an incredible rate. He asks endless spirals of questions that keep him up at night. He wakes up in the morning (at 5:30, usually!) already brainstorming what he's going to research. He is reading on a fifth grade level. He gets personally offended if he thinks he is being asked (even indirectly) to review or repeat content that he feels he has mastered...yet he can spend hours poring over the same book from the library, memorizing facts about the Horsehead Nebula or Corythosaurus. He hates to be interrupted when he's in the middle of a project that excites him, but trying to get him to focus long enough to put on his shoes sometimes takes twenty minutes of nagging (especially if he's reading or thinking about something else). He does weird, wild, and occasionally unsafe things that I can't always anticipate because he wants "to see what would happen."
He's an incredible kid...and yet he might be a Kindergarten teacher's worst nightmare in a classroom full of other kids his age.
After considering our options, we decided to take advantage of this "free" year and try homeschooling. I looked over the Virginia Standards of Learning for Kindergarten and found that SuperSam already knows most of what he would learn in Kindergarten (academically, anyway). I've always loved the idea of emergent curriculum learning and following children's interests, so when I found Lori Pickert's book, Project Based Homeschooling, I was intrigued.
(Here's a handy Amazon affiliate link, in case you need that book!)
I'm not buying any curriculum for this year. Mentally, I have committed to this path- homeschool Sam for Kindergarten, follow his questions and interests (and work in other things if we need to), and reevaluate next year. It was the best decision in our situation. It was what we needed to do.
Tonight, though, I had a conversion experience. Tonight, I went beyond "mentally committed because this seems like the best choice." Tonight, I became totally heart-committed and gut-committed to this idea of letting his interests spark and catch fire and burn through acres of material...because tonight, I saw the pure joy in his face at being able to soak up as much information as he could hold with the promise that he would be able to keep coming back for more the next day, the one after that, the one after that, as long as he wanted.
Based on this one day, here's what project-based homeschooling could look like at our house (from SuperSam's perspective):
Go to the doctor for a checkup. Upon leaving, tell the receptionist that you'd really prefer a dinosaur sticker to the cartoon character she is offering you. Receive a handful of dinosaur stickers from her (because she is charmed by your assertive request and thinks it is cute that you said you'd "pwee-fuh a dinosaw stickuw, especiawwy a pawwasawallofuss if you have one"). Immediately flip through the stack of stickers and discover one that you don't know (called Herrerasaurus). Clap your hands in delight and drop all the stickers on the floor. Put Herrerasaurus on your shirt and struggle with the pronunciation by reading it upside down all the way home. (There are just so many "R's" in that word.)
Upon arriving home, demand to use the iPad to look up Herrerasaurus. Work through naptime and into dinnertime reading about this creature. Pull out the globe to find out where South America (specifically Argentina) is so you can draw a map of it. Draw a map of Argentina in your notebook and put a picture of Herrerasaurus next to it...then add two other dinosaur species that you know came from Argentina. Move all your stuff from the living room floor to the laundry room because your little sisters are "distracting" you. Jot down as many facts about the species as you can find in the margins of the picture. Pull your dad away from his dinner to show him your maps and facts. Begin making plans to make a big map of Argentina with all its dinosaurs on it, "way bigger" than your notebook...then decide you will make a similar map of China, then Africa, then the WHOLE WORLD with dinosaurs all over it occupying the modern-day countries where their fossils have been found. Reluctantly agree to go to bed (late), then stay up way past bedtime reading a dinosaur reference book by the glow of a tiny nightlight at the head of your bed. Come running out of your room screaming and waving the book when you find an entry on Herrerasaurus hidden in the middle of its pages. As you are being tucked back in, tell your awestruck mother that your brain "is going to explode with happiness about Herrerasaurus because it is just...so...exciting."
It was passionate. It was instinctive. It was his idea, his momentum, his knowledge, his research. And yet now, without adult prompting or coaching, he has learned where Argentina is, how big Herrerasaurus was, in what period it lived, what it ate, what its bones looked like, and that it had a small role in the movie Jurassic Park. (A little pop culture knowledge is almost always useful, right?)
I know it might not be like this all the time, but it can be like this at least some of the time. I can do this...I can make this possible for him by creating an environment in which he has what he needs to do this for himself. For the first time, I feel certain that this is the right decision for him and for our family right now. He's more than capable- I've always known that.
Image: Alan Cleaver via Creative Commons on flickr
Ever had one of those days when you try as hard as you can and come up with nothing? When you put forth your very best effort and still feel like you're falling flat? When there are piles of dishes and stacks of laundry and missing keys and spilled cereal and everyone wants something from you at once?
I think a lot of us have those days from time to time...sometimes more than one in a row! I'm excited to be sharing at (in)courage today about exactly this feeling that trying my hardest isn't getting me anywhere.
If you've had one of those days recently (and especially if you're having one today), please come visit me at (in)courage. I don't have all the answers, but I can assure you that you aren't alone.
