I'm My Own Aunt

Now, in the spirit of this song, I'll tell you a little story. My parents adopted my nephew. Now, my nephew is my brother. Since my brother's aunt is also my aunt, that means... I'm my own aunt!

He Gets It From Me

So, my husband has mentioned to me, a few times, that I am slightly, ah, particular about the way things go where. So, the other day, I walked in on our youngest (4) doing this....
Yup, he was turning all the cans so that their labels face the same direction.

Not a Lady

Okay, so it has been pointed out to me that I am not a lady. Well, I have to admit that that has never been my highest goal in life. I have always been something of a tomboy. So, here's a little more info.

There seem to be two loose definitions for "lady".

The first is a woman of refinement. So, anyone looking at me can usually tell that I am not a woman of refinement on the outside. I pretty much prefer jeans and t-shirts. My house is not always orderly (okay, rarely) and I yell a lot. When I was a kid, I always wore skirts. Anyone who knew me then can tell you that I NEVER sat like a lady and they probably saw my panties at some point. When I was in the Navy, I was told that if people were promoted based on the amount of cursing they did, I'd be an admiral. I play hard with my kids and get up to my chin in dirt.

The second definition is a woman of the peerage in Britain. Well, while I am descended from royalty in France, I can quite definitely say that I am not descended from the peerage in Britain. So, that definition doesn't fit me, either.

So, saying that I am not a lady is not really an insult to me. I have too many other things to think of to worry about whether or not I'm a lady. I actually tend to think of myself as a "redneck woman".

Gretchen Wilson - ...

Thanksgiving

As we head into Thanksgiving, I wanted to say what some of the things that I am thankful for.

I am thankful for my husband, Gary, my sons, Gabriel, Xavier, and Dominic, and all the rest of my family.

I am thankful that my house is clean.

I am thankful that we will have such a wonderful dinner tomorrow and that there will be so many people here to share it with.

I am thankful for freedom and liberty.

I am thankful for prosperity.

I am thankful that I live in America.

I am thankful that all of my family is healthy an hearty.

I am thankful for apple pie and pumpkin pie.

I am thankful that my husband is willing to help clean the house.

I am thankful for the fact that my husband likes to cook!

I am thankful for the technology that allows my "diary" to be spread out to the world and you don't have to wait until it's published long after I'm dead to comment on it.

I am thankful for the fact that my husband arrived home on Saturday, safe and sound, to be able to spend Thanksgiving with us.

Okay, I'm sure there's more, but that's it for now. Have a great Thanksgiving!

Question

I have a question. It is not meant to be a facetious question; I really want to know.

Why is it that teachers in one room schools could teach to all those different levels, but our modern, highly trained teachers only teach to one grade level (although they may teach to 3 slightly different levels in that one grade level)?

When Gabriel and Xavier were in school, I kept saying to myself, I understand that she has so many kids that she can't teach to all of them and I'm being selfish if I want her to. But, then I thought about these one room school rooms....

So, if you have an answer, I'd really like to hear it!

Blue Collar Redneck Papa

A few nights before I left for the Navy, I had a friend say to me, "Don't marry a Navy guy. I don't know why anyone would want to marry a blue collar guy. They're uneducated and uninteresting." This was hilarious to me. See, my Papa was a blue collar kinda guy. He was so blue collar, it made his neck turn red. He was a fireman. My dad was my hero. He died from pneumonia cancer (family joke) on April 29th. Yup, he hung on so that he could die on my mom's birthday (so that we could NEVER forget him--as if we would, Papa!). This is a tribute to him.

Why am I writing a tribute to my dad? Well, mainly because Jenwa said that she couldn't see taking her husband's shoes off for him, and now I can't get the picture of my dad's feet out of my head. Okay, I know that is freaking some of you out. My husband says it's because I was rubbing Papa's feet for him after surgery because they were cold. Could be. Also, it's been 6 months now, and I've been in denial for pretty much the entire 6 months. I've got to get out of denial because I am going home for Christmas for the first time in 5 years and I know it's going to hit me like a ton of bricks. So, the tribute.

Papa was a big part of my life. He worked 24 on/48 off. On his "off" time, he spent his time on other businesses. During my lifetime, he worked on pianos, rebuilding them, tuning them, etc. He had a lawn mowing business. He owned rental property. So, even though he was off, he was working. While I was young, he had the piano business. I loved to work with him. It was certainly smelly work and the fumes probably fried some of my brain cells, but it meant I got to be with my dad.

Papa taught me to be a patriot. He taught me to love my country and to love fishing. Yes, I know, you're saying, "What does fishing have to do with being a patriot?" Well, when you're fishing, you have a lot of time to think. Papa's form of patriotism included a lot of thinking.

Papa was a bit of a practical joker. His stories about the fire station were notorious. He was also a lecturer. His favorite time to lecture was at about 2300--11 PM for you civilian types. This was right about the time that my mommy body decided that it just had to go to sleep. We would be sitting on the couch. Papa would have spent the last 3 hours off doing his thing while we sat around talking. You're getting ready to stand up, say good night and head off, when in comes Papa. You know you can't say goodnight, because it will hurt his feelings. He'll think you're leaving because you don't want to learn about why the economy is floundering, or about Britain's economic inverted yield curve. So, you sit and listen and try to respond, and hope that some of this is sinking in so that you'll be able to discuss it in 6 months when it comes up in conversation with him again.

Papa introduced me to Rush Limbaugh. There are so many times that I miss my dad, but the times I miss him the most are during Rush's show. We would listen and then call each other up and discuss the show. This was great for me and bittersweet because this didn't start until shortly before we found out my dad had cancer.

When Papa retired from the fire department, he took that as a sign to learn a new form of fishing. Actually, I think that he started this kind of fishing before he retired, but I can't remember for sure. This new kind of fishing that my dad started doing was called noodling. Now, for those of you who don't know what noodlin' is, I'm gonna school yun's. Noodling is redneck extreme fishing. How it works is this: You go out into the water. You find a hole. You poke around in there with a stick. Then you stick your hand in the hole. That catfish that is in the hole is gonna get mad and bite you, then you pull out your hand, catfish and all.

My dad LOVED noodlin'. He even managed to get my husband to go noodlin'. It's a bit hard to say no when your Marine brother-in-law is sitting there looking at you with a "man, you're a sissy" look on his face. Unfortunately, Papa died before he could take my new brother-in-law. That's okay, we'll make sure he gets inducted into the family properly!

My dad loved my husband. He used to introduce Gary as his son-in-law and me as his son-in-law's wife. He told me that Gary was the best decision I ever made. I happen to agree!

Papa was always available to help someone. You need him to crawl under your house to fix your plumbing? Just wait a minute. You need him to climb on top of your roof to fix your roof? He'll be right there. You need him to come get the mouse out from under your dresser? What time is it again? Yeah, he'll be there in a few minutes. You say there's a frog in your bedroom? He'll be over as soon as he can.

Anyway, suffice it to say, I miss him. I got so used to talking to him on the phone the last 6 months of his life that it is hard to do without. If he had suddenly died last summer, I wouldn't have missed him near as much. It is kind of funny. We spent a lot of time on the phone since he retired. I used to talk to my mom all the time. Then, after he retired, it was like he raced her to the phone and I rarely even knew she was home when I called. But, I am thankful that he loved me and wanted to talk to me. I love him and miss him.

Give me Liberty or Give me Death

Okay, so the Patrick Henry quote has a special place in my life. Quite frankly, right on my right thigh. Yup, I had it tattooed there when I was 18. Also, it happens to be what my dad always said any man would have to say to him to get to marry me (my middle name is Liberty--my maiden name was very close to Bourbon, so that was my nickname in the Navy. I've always said I was every sailor's dream, Liberty, alcohol and a woman all tied up in one!).

There are, of course, other reasons that this quote has such a special place in my life. The other reasons are much more important, and for that matter, the real ones.

I am extremely patriotic. I truly believe that this is the greatest country on earth. I will defend my liberty, my husband's liberty, my children's liberty, and yes, even those anti-war protesters' liberty with my life. I joined the Navy for the express purpose of serving this great country of ours. I only wish that I could do so now. Of course, I believe that my present calling takes precedence. Which is why I am not currently in the military. It is hard, though, to watch my husband and all our friends march off to war and leave me behind. I desperately want to be out there in the fight.

But, I've figured out how to be "in the fight" without being "in" the fight. I'm supporting our military and those families left behind. I am currently doing this in as many ways as I can. Here are the particular organizations I support. If you have a charitable organization that FULLY supports the troops, feel free to post it in the comments. These organizations have a special place in my heart and I'll explain each one.

The Special Operations Warrior Foundation I would think the reasons behind this one would be obvious. My husband is special operations. Most of the military that I presently know are special operations, so their cause takes a special place in my heart.

The Wounded Warrior Project Again, pretty obvious. Another way to support The Wounded Warrior Project is to shop at Ranger Up, my new favorite t-shirt supplier.

Fisher House Similar to Ronald McDonald houses for wounded soldiers' families.


I also like Vets for Freedom, and for the moms of military out there, Band of Mothers.

Why Men Can't Understand Women

Okay, Gary (dear husband) asked me to do this post next. Can I assume that he doesn't think he understands women? More likely, he doesn't understand ME! He's getting there, though and after reading this post, you'll understand why.

I believe that men don't understand women because women don't understand themselves. As I become more comfortable being a woman, I am understanding myself more. I understand my motivations, my beliefs and my needs. As I understand myself, I become less torn by things. No longer am I going with the brainwashing that I got as a child (by influences other than my parents) but what I actually am. For 9 years (most of our married life), I struggled with who I was and what I wanted to be.

See, who I actually am is a beautiful (inside), caring, and loving wife and mother. I care about everyone. I have always stood up for the underdog. I AM a tomboy. I want to be a feminine bit of fluff--sometimes. I prefer to hang out with the guys. I just feel more comfortable with them. I've never understood the cattiness of the women that I met. Now that I am comfortable in my own skin, I am finding ways to connect to other women who are also comfortable in their skin.

There are many women who want to be treated one way part of the time and another at other times. However, there is rarely a clearly defined way for men to tell when they want to be treated which. So, if a woman were to say, "Okay, while I am dressed for work, treat me just like you would if I were a man. Then, when I change into my home clothes, treat me like your wife." men would have more options. Also, many women don't actually want to be treated equally. One of my biggest gripes when I was in the Navy was women who didn't want men swearing around them. There were many women who joined the Navy (that I knew) and then wanted to be accommodated by the very men that they wanted to have "equal" rights to serve with.

So, here's my answer to why men can't understand women. There are two reasons. The first is that the feminist movement has tried to take the girl out of the woman. The second is that the women biologically are fighting against this. However, they have been brainwashed to think they need to be something that they're not. Therefore, they sort of have a split personality. Who, I ask you, can understand someone when they never know which side of the split they're going to be dealing with?

Finally, as some follow up material, please take a moment to read the following list. I especially like the "you have no right to question him". Gary and I have been having a lot of fun with this. I try to have on heels and a dress when he comes home (which, by the way, thrills my boys. They gush about how beautiful I look), and he tries to sit around and drink his beer. LOL


The Good Wife's Guide
Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have be thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.

Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dust cloth over the tables.

During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum.

Encourage the children to be quiet.

Be happy to see him.

Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

Don't greet him with complaints and problems.

Don't complain if he's late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.

Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness.
You have no right to question him.

A good wife always knows her place.

Is this torture?

So, last night, I was listening to my children play in their imaginary world. Mostly, I ignore this, because it is pretty much all they do.

Anyway, I heard Xavier (6) say, "I'm controlling his mind to make him tell the truth."

Now, I've had torture on my mind a lot because of the whole water boarding thing. So, I'm thinking to myself. Would this constitute torture? After all, he is controlling this guy. His mind! To make him tell the truth! And isn't truth subjective? (according to some people) And really, why can't he lie if he wants to? It's his right!

So, for what it's worth, here's my opinion.

Mind control is not torture, although it might be unethical.
Waterboarding is not torture.
Playing loud music to keep people awake is not torture.
Putting women's underwear on men's heads is not torture.

No, I wouldn't like to be waterboarded.
No, I don't like losing sleep.
No, I don't want to wear women's underwear on my head.

BUT I don't consider them torture.
Beating someone is torture.
Starving someone is torture.
Freezing someone is torture.
Raping someone is torture.

And, if that hasn't offended enough people, come back tomorrow for the next dose.

Bad Mommy

I have a confession to make. I don't like to read out loud. In fact, I loathe it. So, for the most part, I don't do it. I do read to Xavier out of whatever book we're reading during school. However, as soon as he is able to read at the level of the books that we're reading, I'm cutting that off! Dominic just has to take what he can get. That means that he's "reading" The Odyssey with us. Now, occasionally, if Dominic is lucky, I read to him during "preschool". That means that he usually gets 4 books a week.

But, I have never been a big reader to my kids. We don't have a bed time ritual that includes a story. Gabriel did, but it was Gary that did it with him. While we lived with Gary's parents, Gary's dad read to Xavier. So, mostly it's Dominic who's missed out.

A few months ago, I had a friend say, "You're lying to me. I know you read to your kids. You have to, that's the only way they'll be readers." Okay, first of all, this friend reads to her kids constantly and none of her kids are readers. But, then again, neither are the parents, so why would the kids be? Secondly, my 10 year old reads constantly. I ground him from reading. He is reading The Iliad in its unabridged version. (Recently someone asked me if he was reading it in Greek... Well, no, he doesn't know Greek yet. We're working on Latin.) He is almost done with it. Quite frankly, if the kid read any better, I don't know what I would do with him. Most adult fiction books contain material that he is not emotionally ready for yet. Most young adult fiction books contain it for that matter. So, we do the classics.

Xavier (the 6yo) does not read as well as Gabriel, yet. However, since his reading is growing by leaps and bounds, I expect him to catch up quite quickly. Gabriel did the same thing. He refused to read until Kindergarten, then went from not reading to a 3rd grade reading level in 6 months. Xavier is getting there.

Then, there is Dominic, who is 4, and quite frankly learning to read on his own.

Apparently, the biggest "concern" is surrounding your child with language. Well, I can tell you that I talk constantly, so no problem, there. My children all talk constantly. Again, no problem there. The other thing is to have books and "model" enjoying reading. Um, we have a dedicated library in our house. If I didn't have other things to do, I would read all day. We have recently run out of shelf space for our books, so I'm just kind of stacking them by subject. (I'm slightly picky about book order--okay, fine, I'm downright obsessive about it.) So, I've got those covered.

So, I've decided I'm not such a bad mom after all. The kids are learning to read, they enjoy doing it, they've all got huge vocabularies, they're all "advanced" in reading (even Xavier, whom I consider "behind" was told last year by the PS teacher during the 2 weeks that he went to school there, that he was ready to go to second grade. Ummm, he was in kindergarten. And they were NOT prepared to just stick him in second grade).... So, I'm just going to blow off this one and get on with my life.

Ammendment: after writing this, I went and read Dominic a bedtime story, because, well, we all want to be read to, sometime!

Thank you

Remember Me

Warning: crying buckets can ensue! Worth it, though. Thank you. We love you.

Remember Me

Oh, gosh! I'm sorry. Warning: buckets of crying can ensue from watching this video. Worth it, though!

Thank you. We love you.

Honoring MY Vets

So, with it being very close to Veteran's' Day, I thought I'd go ahead and honor my own personal Vets. I have lots, but the two that I'm going to honor, today, are my grandfather, Grandpappy, and my husband, Gary.

First, I'll talk about Grandpappy, also known as Fred. Grandpappy just missed going to World War II. He was all trained up and ready to ship out. The day he was shipping out, his appendix burst. For the rest of his life, Grandpappy regaled us with stories about how much he missed being able to be with the rest of his unit. By the time he was healthy enough to rejoin them, the war had ended. Now, he never regretted the end of the war, just that he was unable to serve in it.

When I married my husband, Gary, my grandfather was thrilled. He used to sit with Gary for hours and talk "shop". My grandfather was part of the 101st Airborne and he talked about jumping and all kinds of things. I can picture them sitting on the front porch, talking. He flew a flag out in his yard, high up on a pole, with a light shining on it, always.

It was bittersweet when my other vet, Gary, finally went through Airborne school. See, Grandpappy had died 2 years before, just 1 day after the birth of my youngest son. Gary and I know that Grandpappy would have loved swapping stories about Airborne school. Gary looked up Grandpappy's class picture while he was there. Now, on to my husband.

Gary is my very favorite veteran. Well, of course he is! Gary is my hero. He is doing what he loves, serving his country. He also happens to love his job, which is all the better for him. When we met, Gary was just an ordinary weatherman. I used to joke that his first love was weather and I came in a low second. Now, I know that I am his first love, with the boys running a close second. But, I'll tell you what, serving in the military runs a very close third.

It is hard, sometimes, to give him up for the military. But, you see, I know that it is not for the military that I am giving him up. I am giving him up for our country. I am giving him up for the freedoms that I hold so dear. I am giving him up for the safety of our children.

I know that it is hard for him to leave his family to go off and play work. It is hard to miss birthdays, anniversaries, holidays... I admire him for always doing his duty. Quite honestly, I am having a hard time expressing how much I admire, respect, and love him for what he does and who he is.

All I can say is this: My husband is a MAN and I hope, with all my heart, soul and mind, that our sons grow up to be just like him.

I love you, Gary. Thank you for serving.

God Really Does NOT Want me to go Grocery Shopping!

So, every time I talk to my husband on the phone (he's off at some froo-froo school), he tells me, "You're going to have to go grocery shopping, sometime!" Well, it wasn't today!

Last night, I planned to go grocery shopping first thing this morning. Did that happen? No. Why not? Because Gabriel (10) was sick. He had vertigo. Every time he tried to walk, he weaved back and forth, running into walls, chairs, etc. So.... We stayed home and ate the last of the bread, bagels, and had pancakes for supper (without syrup--of course 3 of us don't use syrup, anyway).

So, here's hoping God will let us go grocery shopping tomorrow. Maybe all the meat is infected with salmonella or something. He's keeping us out of there for a reason. I know it's not just to test my scrounging abilities. Or, maybe it is.

Gabriel is feeling better and went to bed at his normal time, which, of course, means that he's not that sick!

God Told me not to go Grocery Shopping OR Voting can save you a trip to the emergency room!

Today, I spent 2 hours making menus. Why did it take so long? Well, my friends, because I personalized the menus for each of my 3 sons. My sons like different vegetables and fruits. Also, my middle son does not like as large a variety of foods as do the other two. So, in an effort to really get my kids (and myself) in the habit of eating well, I decided to make detailed menus for each child.

So, my plan was to go vote, then go grocery shopping. As I was making out my grocery list, I got up to check my pantry and hit my head on the hinge on my desk.

I "split" my head open in my hair, where I could not see it. After much bending and having the 10yo look at it, I called my mom to ask her if she would take a look at the picture of it if I took a picture with the digital camera and emailed it to her. Huh? Why couldn't I just look at the picture myself? Well, obviously my brains were a bit scrambled!

Anyway, I took 10 pictures and in every single one, either there was blood, or after wiping it off, the flash bounced off the wound so that I couldn't see it!

After much discussion with my sons, we decided that, since the wound was not bleeding profusely, really just seeping, we would go vote, then if it was still bleeding, I would go to the ER. If it wasn't, we'd go grocery shopping.

After voting, we walked outside and my son took a look at it. It was still bleeding, but really, only a bit. So, I turned around, walked back into the voting poll area, and spoke to the first person I saw.

I asked him if he would take a look at my head. He told me, "You've got a nice little gash, there. It doesn't need stitches, but you should go home and watch for concussion. Did you pass out? Watch for nausea.....etc." All the stuff I've been told after getting stitches for dear Dominic. (He hits his head quite often) Obviously, I asked the right guy.

So, there are 2 lessons to be learned here. 1: Obviously, God didn't want me to go grocery shopping, today. 2: Voting can save you a trip to the emergency room.

We had pizza for supper.

Ways You Can Help a Deployed Soldier's Family

So, I know there are a lot of you out there who want to help a deployed soldier. While sending the soldiers letters, goody boxes, coffee, etc. are all wonderful ways to help and show you support, and I certainly don't want you to stop, I've though of another way you can help. You can help those soldiers' families. You see, one of the main concerns for a deployed soldier is his family. So, if we can help reduce some of that strain for him as well as for the family, we can say thank you to the soldier and his family.

a note:While I know that there are women/mothers/wives deployed, I am coming from the viewpoint of the wife, so that is the context I will use. Of course these suggestions can be used for men as well.

For people who live close by you: First, understand that no matter where you live, there is probably a family with a deployed soldier living near you. You may have to do some detective work to find them, but it can be done.

So, for the things you can do:
1.Tell them what a great wife and mother they are.
2. Tell them that you appreciate their sacrifice for their country.
3. When you go to the grocery store, can and ask if they need you to pick anything up for them. Then, let them pay you for their groceries.
4. Do their grocery shopping for them.
5. Babysit.
6. Babysit overnight.
7. Have you son/daughter's youth group organize a Mom's Night Out for the local deployment spouses. Do it for free as a community service project.
8. Take them a full meal. You know, a salad, spaghetti, corn, bread sticks, and banana pudding. (Or you can drop the banana pudding off at my house!) Mom can provide water for the drinks!
9. Ask them if there is anything that needs to be done around the house.
10. Mow their lawn.
11. Rake their leaves.
12. Shovel their snow.
13. Call to chat.
14. Have them come over for a cup of tea.
15. Understand that some of them may be in denial that their husbands are in a war zone and not want to talk about the war.
16. Respect the fact that they may not want their children hearing about all the soldiers dieing.
17. Give them a hug. When you're far from "home", you may not get a lot of adult human contact when your husband is gone.
18. Do their dishes.
19. Order them pizza.
20. Give them a big stack of paper plates, cups, etc.


For those far away from your loved ones while their spouse is deployed:

1. Call them regularly.
2. Write.
3. Send flowers.
4. Visit.
5. If you can, have the kids visit you, alone.
6. Send them gift cards to their favorite places to eat.
7. Set up a grocery delivery service for them.

I'm sure there were more that I thought of as I was drifting off to sleep last night, but then, well, I slept.

If anyone else has suggestions, please, post them.

My 10 year old male chauvinist/Nagging women

So, I've always known that my oldest son was a chauvinist. When he was 3, he told me that I had to, "Get off my pirate ship because girls can't be sailors." (Have I mentioned that I was in the Navy prior to his birth?)

I know that he believes that women can do anything that men can do, now, because he has told me to, "Just stop waiting for Dad to come home and do it, Mom!"

However, recently, he told me, in reply to being invited to learn how to sew, that "Sewing is for women." When I came back with examples of men who sew, he replied, "They have to throw away their dignity to do that."

I was rolling on the floor laughing. At the same time, I was wondering where he comes up with these things. While his father is a "man's man", he helps around the house, cooks, sews (his own patches), takes care of the kids regularly, and is basically an all around good guy, while at the same time being completely full of testosterone.

Today, while I was trying to catch up on Gabriel's reading (I like to read the books he is reading so that we can discuss them), I was reading the Iliad. He is about 300 pages ahead of me, so I've got some catching up to do. However, this passage sent me back onto the floor laughing as I realized what my son has been reading.

Filled with anger Zeus who marshals the storm clouds answered her at last:
"Disaster. You will drive me into war with Hera. She will provoke
me, she with her shrill abuse. Even now in the face of all the immortal
gods she harries me perpetually.........

......And suddenly Hera taunted the Father, son of Cronus: "So, who of the gods this time, my treacherous one, was hatching plans with you? Always your pleasure, whenever my back is turned, to settle things in your grand clandestine way. You never deign, do you, freely and frankly, to share your plots with me--never, not a word!"

The father of men and gods replied sharply,
"Hera--stop hoping to fathom all my thoughts. You will find them a trial,
though you are my wife. Whatever is right for you to hear, no one, trust
me, will know of it before you, neither god nor man. Whatever I choose to
plan apart from all the gods--no more of your everlasting questions, probe and
pry no more."......

...."Maddening one...you and your eternal suspicions--I can never escape you. Ah but tell me, Hera, just what can you do about all
this? Nothing. Only estrange yourself from me a little more--and all the worse for you. If what you say is true, that must be my pleasure. Now go sit down. Be quiet now. Obey my orders, for fear the gods, however many Olympus holds, are powerless to protect you when I come to throttle you with my irresistible hands." The Iliad: Homer

So, you see? Since the beginning of time, women have nagged. And, since the beginning of time, men have wanted to throttle their wives. Gabriel comes by it naturally!

Snobs

My children are snobs. What kind of snobs? L.L.Bean snobs.

How this came about: My in-laws live near L.L.Bean. So, throughout the years, whenever we visit, we almost always make a trip to L.L.Bean. This is a big deal. We talk about it all the way to Maine and once we're there, work hard to figure out what day we'll go. Then, the day arrives. We leave home to go on this much anticipated trip.
We drive to Freeport, ME to visit the store. We go to the factory store, first. Usually, this involves looking at the men's/women's things mostly because they don't have a large selection of kids' stuff. But, the kids get to sit on all the furniture, look at all the camping gear, check out all the bikes, you get the drift--high fun for them.
Then, we all walk up to the main store. The main store is a lot of fun. At least for a while, they had a climbing wall. They have a fish pond inside the store. There is all kinds of camping gear. We usually go through the tents, look at the kayaks, look at backpacks, look at the shoes--where they have a "mountain", to try out hiking boots on, that the boys love to "climb"--then, we hit the kids' clothes.
If it's winter (chances are it is, this is Maine, people!), we have hot apple cider or hot chocolate, pick up a cookie and some coffee, read a book, sit on a lot of furniture (again)... Then, we stop for dinner at the Broad Arrow Tavern in the Haraseeket Inn for the BEST lobster stew out there!

Needless to say, this is a big deal for us. Then, the year we lived in Maine, I worked at L.L.Bean. Can I just say that L.L.Bean treats it's employees right? They give an amazing discount, plus great benefits to seasonal employees. Now, my mother-in-law is in her second year as a seasonal employee for L.L.Bean.

My in-laws have always been big fans of L.L.Bean. My mother-in-law likes to shop. As a result, my children have frequently had L.L.Bean clothing. Since this clothing has, for the most part, lasted through three children, two of whom are quite rough on clothes, without showing much wear and tear, I've been impressed. After all, it is cheaper to buy one pair of $20 pants that last through 3 children than to buy a pair of $10 pants for each child that might make it through one child (probably NOT Xavier the middle child).

So, now, my 2 youngest children are L.L.Bean snobs. They like for all their clothes to have the L.L.Bean label on them. Dominic frequently asks me, "Is this L.L.Bean?" Ahhh, it starts so innocently...

Santa

Warning: Spoiler coming up!

Okay, so, my oldest son made it through his 9th Christmas still believing in Santa. No longer. Oh well, that was an amazingly long time.

However, I have a feeling that Santa's going to get his cover blown this year for the younger kids. Why? Well, we are spending Christmas at my mom's house. My nephew is 7 and does not believe in Santa. How many 7 year olds do you know that are going to sit idly by and let your child go through the Santa ritual without saying (even accidentally) that Santa isn't real?

So, I am faced with the knowledge that my now 6 year old and 4 year old sons will no longer believe in Santa after this year. I am hopeful that this is not the case. They love Santa and we have so much fun with him! Oh, well... There's still the tooth fairy.

Public Education Part 6: Spelling

It seems to me that one of the main problems I have with the public education system is that there is so much mamby-pambying going on. Many schools are doing away with rigorous, systematic instruction in all disciplines. I've already discussed this in my phonics post. Now, I will address it in spelling.

There is a new way of spelling. Apparently, that spelling is whatever the child wants it to be. So, in reality, there are lots of new spellings for everything. Many children struggle with spelling. I personally believe it is because of the absence of phonics instruction most of the time. There are, of course, other problems that cause horrible spelling.

One, is Invented Spelling. This article by Dr. Patrick Groff details some of the theories behind inventive spelling, so I won't go into it in detail. However, I will give some high points, or maybe they're low points.

1. Teachers do not "teach" children how to spell.

Dr. Patrick Groff says, "One of the suppositions of WL is that children learn to spell better by inventing eccentric spellings of words, than by being taught how to spell words correctly in a direct and systematic way. It is found, that if urged to do so, beginning spellers ordinarily will create spellings in the progressive stages: (1) letters are used randomly—candy is spelled SCZ; (2) some of the correct consonant letters are produced—bottom is spelled BT; (3) a vowel letter also is produced—bottom is spelled BODM; and (4) the total word is spelled phonetically—dress is spelled DRES."

The main problem with this? The kids aren't being taught phonics, so how do they know that dress is spelled DRES?

2. It also is charged that direct and systematic spelling instruction will interfere negatively with children’s volume of writing, and their abilities to compose creatively. Invented spelling is touted as a far more humane and pressure-free way to develop children’s correct spelling, and to stimulate their written compositions. Dr. Groff

What child is free to compose when they have to struggle to figure out how to get the words onto paper?

I believe that creativity is not taught, it is intrinsic. However, it is not an intrinsic ability to write about something if one has no knowledge of it. So, for example, those children who come from homes where there is a rich vocabulary used have a distinct advantage in being creative over those who haven't had that exposure. The same holds true for poetry. For a child to be able to "let loose" and be creative with poetry, they need to have been exposed to poetry. Preferably, good poetry. Good poetry will help with that vocabulary and help them learn to "hear" the lyrical quality inherent in poetry.

Finally, my main problem with invented spelling is this. It is much harder to unlearn a habit than to form it in the first place. So, if while writing, you write OF as OV for a few months before your "learning" gets around to introducing you to the fact that OF is indeed spelled OF, then it will be more difficult for you to change that than if you had learned it correctly in the first place. Also, many people say, if I see it written, I can tell that it is spelled wrong. These children are looking at misspelled words over and over and over. Writing them over and over and over. Writing a word sends a signal to your brain. Your brain is more likely to remember how it is spelled. If you write it wrong over and over, and as you're writing it, see it wrong over and over, it will be very hard to change that spelling in your mind.

Now, let me go click spellcheck to see if I misspelled anything!

Philosophy of a 10 year old

So, Tuesday, we were driving home from the airport. I commented that I was "starving". My son replied, "Well, being starving is better than being dead." He went on to say, "Being really depressed is better than being dead, too!"

Out of the mouths of "babes".