The Supervising Teacher Day

Today our supervising teacher visited.

This is a day when you would like your house to resemble a slightly mussed, delightfully cozy Waldorf style classroom-morphed-into living room, with an art project thoughtfully in motion in the dining room and your coffee table strewn with Lego pieces being constructed into intricate structures (not guns) (or diving boards).

Every home school mother of the 70's and 80's can tell you about The Supervising Teacher Visits.  Bless their hearts, I do believe those moms thought if the house was not immaculate and the grades weren't 4.0, their darlings would be snatched from their arms.

But laws and teaching and education styles have changed a lot since then and the paranoia has essentially evaporated.  I have been told by veteran moms to make my meetings be in public, or at a restaurant.  Maybe foolishly, I resist this distrustful, wary stance; we are grateful and fortunate to work with a fantastic, supportive community school district and I have nothing to hide and nothing to fear.

However, The Supervising Teacher Visit still has capital letters attached to it in my head.

I kid you not, I queued "Classical Music for Studying" and pushed play.

I lay Eli down for his nap upstairs and pick up the fantastical  Lego grocery store (complete with aisles) that the kids built a couple weeks ago to display proudly on the coffee table set in the living room.  I hear voices in the entryway and hesitated.  I surmise that The Supervising Teacher may be early.  I do not have any eyeliner on. I set the Lego grocery paradise on the top step and reluctantly head downstairs to face my hour of critiquing without a lick of makeup on.  This is not starting well.

She is gracious and does have eyeliner.  The kids show her their projects and school work and chat amiably.  Cambria plays the piano and mentions that her aunt is a piano teacher. The Supervising Teacher asks if Cambria takes lessons from her aunt. 

I say,  "No, she's very, very good, but I wanted her to be able to be an aunt and not a teacher for their time together."

The Teacher looks at me: "And how does that work for you?  Mom and Teacher?"

Bahahaha terribly!  I laugh.  (I do not say that it works terribly.)  I do say that it is definitely the biggest challenge to homeschooling, having all the mom waiting when the teaching is done.

"And you don't have to get after them to get their school done?" she probes.

"No," I hear myself lie smoothly. I'm a terrible liar.  "I mean, not much.  Sometimes. I mean, only a little bit."

Somehow, for reasons unknown to me, my inbox is continually full of questions about teaching at home, curriculum, early childhood education, working with the public school system.  Last week I even got some lesson plans via text to look over. I find all of this hilarious.  I mean, who are we trying to kid, I am NOT an authority on homeschooling and certainly have never tried to portray an image of having it all together.  Ironically, the day I got the lesson plan text (and I did tell my inquiring friend this), Cambria was hitting a subtraction wall. 

I texted Deeann: (as I do on all days that are bad)
What abt me makes people ask me homeschool advice???? !!!!!
Abt to go crazy and it's only Monday!
Me (suspenseful voice) to Cambria (weeping): "If 3 + 7 = 10 then 4 + 7 eeeeequallllsssss. . . ."
Eli: ". . . .an elephant!!"

I mean, seriously, I am not lying, teaching Cambria math is one of the most brutally agonizing, frustrating things I've ever done.  It's like this: (I did not show The Supervising Teacher this video)


[For real, during Christmas at my inlaws, everyone was watching some popular war/action/blood/suspense movie (I hate war/action/blood/suspense movies) and I fell asleep next to Daniel on the couch.  I woke up, thinking I was teaching math, because everyone had finished the movie and was watching this video. It was so like my real life with Cambria that I thought maybe I was dreaming it.]

Well, 4+7 does not = an elephant, and Cambria and I dug out a bunch of cool math handbooks and stopped everything and focused on the subtraction principles. Truly, this is what I love about teaching my own kids. When they don't get it you can see, and stop, and slow down and explain and reteach. She's smart and though math may never going to be her forte, she tries hard and it's the biggest thrill when you can finally see the lightbulb turn on.  

I sit cross legged on the love seat and watch my kids show their work, their grades, their short stories and triumphs; Cambria's paintings and Jacob's business cards and ledger for his lawn care proceeds and my heart bursts wide open with pride in them.  They're bright and articulate and smart and they are doing just fine.  We will figure the math out.

It is a ton of hard work, this teaching/mamma thing.  It doesn't matter which educational option you choose for your kids, it's going to be work, and discipline, because education is preparing kids for real life. 

Is any part of parenting a walk in the park?

No, we just try to make it look like that on Supervising Teacher Day.

what they didn't say: on teaching at home

It'll be fun, they said.

You'll get to be with them all day long, they said.

Shape their little minds, they said.

It'll be so rewarding, they said.



I field so many questions from my friends about homeschooling, mostly because we married and had kids really young and I have about five more years of parenting under my proverbial belt than most of my peers. 

How does it work? (It works as hard as you work)

What do you use? (every brain cell I possess)

When should I start? (you started teaching your child the day you birthed him)

Do you distrust public education? (um, no, I envy that option many days and admire people who pour their lives out, underpaid and overworked)

It is a privilege to teach our children and we love this opportunity.  For our family, the rewards and benefits far outweigh  the work load, the burden, the difficulties.  But shame on me if I sugar coat the reality of hanging out the school shingle on the front door of your little house.

It's a good thing I counted the cost before I started because if I were counting on the glowing promises of what they said I would have quit teaching on Jacob's third day of kindergarten.

Homeschooling proponents raise visions of cozy library corners, energizing, engaging science experiments over the kitchen counter, throwing some laundry in while your kids do math tests (ah! multitasking at its finest!), the freedom to instill character and values.  They tout flexibility and movement and room to breathe and time for the individual attention so necessary for a child to achieve success. 

With reviews like that, who wouldn't be interested?

And people are interested.  Dissatisfied with a mass production approach to education, many are intrigued by the success and seeming ease of choosing a curriculum and following an educational path at home.  With Monday-Friday, 9-5 workforce demographics rapidly changing as employers grow more flexible and employees work unconventional hours (and from home), homeschooling can seem like an apple ripe for the picking.

Count the cost before you pick the apple. 

It's not a light decision to take your children's education into your trembling hands. 

Teach them character?  That's a nice idea:  the main teacher of that will be you.  With your life.  You just signed up to be the major influence on their value system.  How's your value system?

Are you grumpy?

They will be crabby.

Are you unmotivated?

They'll be lazy.

Do you dislike and avoid art?

They'll never know what it is to create beauty with their own hands.

Who you are will be mirrored in your students.

What you love is what you'll emphasize.

When you teach those little people, their eyes see who you are on Saturday and Sunday, too, and after 3 pm, and before you start teaching in the morning.  They see all of you. 

That kind of transparency can be good. It can be bad.  It can be ugly and beautiful all in the space of an hour. 


So here's a little list of what they don't say.

They don't say:

You'll wake up every morning with the burden of your children's education resting in your hands.

You'll have to spend as much time sorting out disputes and arguments and attitudes as you do teaching.

You'll find any shred of flexibility you had stretched far beyond what you thought your limits were.

You won't be able to finish a sentence because your toddler will have a catastrophe or your washing machine starts overflowing: though you're teaching, you aren't in school.

When you hang up your teaching hat, exhausted, your mom hat is right there waiting and sometimes you feel utterly spent and too tired to put it on.

They don't tell you:

You'll be teaching about respiration and lungs and airways and the diaphragm and then you'll be interrupted with a howl because the two year old pulled the unsuspecting six year old's hair.  You'll hypothetically discipline the two year old, who will then proceed to throw his crayola marker, bright pink inky side down, into the cream colored carpet.  Then you'll deal with that and turn back to the diaphragm. But by then you'll feel like your own airway might be blocked.

You have to be okay with your home littered with crayons, paper shreds, art supplies, pencils, piles of books, in a constant treadmill of shelving and unshelving your little ones' education. 

They don't tell you how inadequate you'll feel, how little actual support you'll get, how lonely you can be as a woman: it's sometimes difficult to explain why you're working a full time job that generates zero dollars.

They don't tell you about the sheer work volume, how self motivated you need to be: you are the boss of you.  You decide your hours, you're as free as a breeze with one massive caveat:  your children's educational success or failure is your employee evaluation and that's a stunning burden to carry.  No one tells you how heavy that burden is.

Why would they?

The truth, the agony, the loneliness, the monotony- why would anyone want to sign up for that? No one would.

And as with many choices in life, the rewards outweigh the pain.

So we choose to remember sweaty hands grasping first pencils and warm little bodies snuggled up against us on the couch, lisping first words and then sentences and then books, the math reward lunches, the lack of homework in the evenings since we've already accomplished it, the joy of watching the lightbulb moments of our own children, the stretching of our own minds as we teach theirs.

But if you're considering reaping the rewards, it's important to count the cost.

It is not easy.

It is 3% fun and 97% labor.

It is surely the hardest and most demanding task of my life.

I am absolutely giving it my all.

Wherever you are, be all there.

Jim Elliot

 

 

. . .and while He gives me breath, I will tell only the truth.

Job 27: 3-4

 

Jesus said,

No procrastination.

No backward looks.

You can't put God's kingdom off till tomorrow.

Seize the day.

Luke 9:62 The Message

if i were to title memoirs. . .

that title would change from day to day.


On Monday:

It's Okay For Mommy to go Potty By Herself: and other things I'm surprised to hear myself say aloud

On Tuesday:

Missing My Daughter's Piano Lessons (thoughts on inadequacy)

Today:

If You Don't Want Messes, Don't Have Children


And definitely don't try discipleship.


Did you know that trying to disciple someone into a mini-me is a really destructive idea?  I am learning this always the hard way with my children, with others.  I am flawed, I am frail; Christ is not.   It's people we're talking about, souls, and it's just not that clean and neat.  I want results, He wants surrender.  I want tidy, clean, neat.  He isn't afraid to break the clay and start over again.

Before and After.

Then and Now.

Mess to Success.

This is a fine and preferred approach when conquering inanimate objects:  The dishes, my fourteen hundred laundry piles, a disaster zone, a 30k income property.  It is about me and my work ethic, what I want in return for my time, return on investment and ultimately making my life easier.

Result oriented, pressure driven, watch me and copy me spiritual discipling breaks down when working with people in the real world. 

If we don't see quick results, then there's assumed failure, leading to blame: is it my failure or yours?

If we pressure behavior change without caring about motives, we will see a wide spectrum of response: people pleasing (which will last while you are visible to please or while your mentee wants to please you), frustration (because behavior modification never solved the root of any problem), or sheer refusal to cooperate. 

And copy and paste me discipleship is one of the most disillusioning styles because we all are human, prone to wander and quick to stumble; it's only a matter of time before a protege sees the flaws of an instructor.


When I'm reaching for the heart and not results, my questions and expectations change.

How can I serve you now? 

How can we equip you to use your gifts?

What are your gifts?

What is your fear right now?

What does God want you to do?

Yes, I have time for you. . .

What's keeping you from following now?

And don't follow me, don't copy me. Oh no,  me with the quick tongue and regretted words and passionate debater, me with the endless string of failures and frustrating inadequacies. 

Follow Him, perfect, wise, sacrificial example of perfect love, humble, servant, compassionate, healer, friend, justice personified.   It's hard to fail copying that stuff.


Thoughts I'm loving on discipleship and loving people:

"Keep your eyes on Jesus, Who both began and finished this race we're in.  Study how He did it.

Because He never lost sight of where He was headed. . ."

Hebrews 12:2 the Message

 

 

"It is a terrible thing to see and have no vision."

Helen Keller

 

[wildly paraphrasing Tim Keller from his message "A Tale of Two Cities"]

good art is creating a culture that encourages life

 

One of the stunning lessons of the Bible is God's free use of fragile human beings

to accomplish His purpose.

Brennan Manning, The Signature of Jesus

 

The church  must pursue reconciliation as well. . . .[but] we are not the reconciler; Jesus is.

Steve Corbett & Brian Fikkert, When Helping Hurts

 

"You can measure the character of a man by the size of the things that make him angry."

Dr. Lynn Anderson, They Smell Like Sheep

 

[on positive reinforcement]

Make it meaningful.

Be specific.

Make it timely: catch 'em in the act.

Keep it free of criticism.

Mark Murphy, Hundred Percenters

science experiments were invented to torture mothers:

The words at the top of the Science book page read:

Something to do at home:

 

 

Funny.  We're already doing everything at home.  Thanks, Science Book.

 

Then there's just a short list of everyday items that somehow require a gargantuan amount of time to hunt down:

 

1. 2 clear plastic soda bottles with caps (we don't drink pop. . . like ever. . .) [Jacob lights up at the idea of consuming 4 liters of sugar liquefied in the name of education]

 

2. small potted plants just alike  *special trip to buy*

 

3. two flat dishes

 

4. baking soda

 

5. vinegar

 

6. a funnel (do we have a funnel? *search the house from top to bottom, even the sandbox outside in the snow: no funnel.  Spy plastic vanilla bottle.  Pour excess vanilla into jar, cut vanilla bottle in half: voila, a funnel)

 

7. a glass

 

8. tape *another elusive household item, found up in Cambria's room*

 

9. notebook

 

I know this is all about explaining carbon dioxide but to me this list sounds like a mad treasure hunt that I don't have time for.

 

It's like saying:

 

Go find a

 

sock

umbrella

raisin

marshmallow

bar of Ivory soap (unwrapped)

paper bag (with handles)

piece of elastic

safety pin (1/4" long)

 

 

There!  Put it all together and you have a science experiment!

 

Or  an experiment in how to drive your mama nuts, either way it's an experiment.

 

I love teaching but I dread science projects.

 

What's your teaching nemesis?

on savoring and sequins (in the bathroom)

What?

You too?

I'm not the only one who drives a letter to the post office so it can go out in today's mail so I can have ten minutes of peace?

[okay, peace is a nebulous concept, hard to put your arms around, but in my book, it's children restrained by the law of seatbelt usage and Matt Maher and Audrey Assad with Hayley on the background vocals belting out Lord, I Need You]

You don't?

So it's just me.  That's okay.

Savor the moments and slow down everyone says, you know, your mom, your grandma, Ann Voskamp's facebook posts, Jesus Calling (I read Jesus Calling and then I can't remember what I read five minutes later, but I'm pretty sure it was slow down and don't hurry).

I savor about one moment per week.

I showed Eli what sunshine patches on the floor were this week.  We sat on the floor in a huge square of sunlight and I made his little hand feel the temperature difference between the sun and the shadow.  It was very sweet to sit there and wiggle our toes together.  I should probably do it more often.

It should be more often.

Like wayyyy more often.

Instead I am annoyed by noise and irritated by the child reading the news over my shoulder while loudly crunching on a carrot stick and impatient with childish arguments.

Stop. Savor.  Yeah.  Sometimes.

I teach - it's a full-time job.  I get done teaching and all of the home stuff is waiting for me, patiently, it hasn't gone anywhere at all.  Some weeks teaching our children is glorious and heady and just such a privilege and other weeks you wonder if everyone is getting the short end of the stick.  We have a life outside all this and sometimes that life is super rewarding and other times it's just plain a ton of work.

I was driving home from AWANA tonight, stopping to check on a house issue that Daniel + tenant were working on, going home to dishes piled and laundry spread on the living room floor.  God. . . I just need a little bit of encouragement.  Please.  Just a little something pouring in.

I put Eli to bed and we read about the 9 little "bunkeys" that were Curious George's previous family- before the Man With The Yellow Hat- the things you learn.  I didn't even know. 

And then the kids were in our bedroom, breathless.  They had hot coffee and my Philip Yancey book that I am almost done with and book marks made from their looper loom. 

Mom, just stay here, please.  Ok? Don't come out.

I know it's  a shameless ploy to stay up a bit later but I'm too tired to care and oh coffee and Yancey sound too good to be true.

A little bit later they're back with careful notes and instructions: go to the pumkins.

I tiptoe down to the coffee table in the living room.  The laundry is gone (probably behind the couch, but who cares) and all the toys and library books are picked up.  The note next to the pumkins says: go to the appels and pumkins.

The dining room table is clean and dinner dishes left in the pre-church scramble are all cleared away.  The only thing on the table is my silver tiered cupcake platter filled with apples and mini pumpkins.  The note next to it reads: go to where your shoes are.

Oh my kitchen is so clean! The dishwasher is running and their faces are beaming.  The shoes are straightened and neat and my last instruction reads: go to the toilet

Um okay.

So my elaborate treasure hunt ends at the clean toilet, with a note on the lid declaring how much fun of a mom I am,  signed by "Jake" and "Cambria". . . . and the best part. . . . a whole scattering of sparkly sequins sprinkled around the toilet. . . for pizazz, I suppose, the hurrah of the treasure hunt.

I want to die laughing.  It's all so funny.  The toilet, the sequins, my request to God for encouragement, my children's happiness, that God answered with my kids. . .

My heart is warmed from the inside out and we sit at the dining room table and eat microwave s'mores and microwaved cookie dough-turned-cookies in the glow of our clean house and our pumkins and appels.

Thanks, God, for my sequined toilet surprise.  You're pretty creative. 

 Yeah, I'm savoring.

Frosties & Freeeeeeeedom!!!

Well I turned thirty-one on Tuesday and we finished school.

Guess which event made me happier? ? ?

Oh yes I have half of my life back!!!

(Just half.)

I have not been on Pinterest in . . . months?

And my poor blog. . . so neglected. . .

my poor cupboards. . .

my poor flowers. . .

the garden. . .

ahhhhhh I cannot believe the weight lifted off! 

The kids feel a similar joy.

Wednesday morning found Cambria paging through her finished books, I think just so that she could put them down and walk away.  wink wink

I wandered upstairs with my camera to see what Jacob was up to.  He had MercyMe in his little cd player filling the room with This Life  and here is what I found:

 
I am so happy for him to be able to just kick back and relax.  He has worked so stinkin hard this year; he's earned his summer vacation.

Um, hi Mom?!  I was just sitting in the Little People toy basket looking bald and cute. . . is that ok?!


And we had pop-tarts for breakfast. . .  oh the joy.  :) 

I have a whole stack of books to read and my family bought me enough birthday coffee to last until July so my mornings are planned until August.

I'm halfway through

The Wisdom of Tenderness -Brennan Manning

just finished

The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness -Tim Keller

and ready to go:

The Checklist Manifesto -Atul Gawande

Look Again -Lisa Scottoline

Try Fear  -James Scott Bell

Seven -Jen Hatmaker



This overly cheery post brought to you by an overly cheery me. 

YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I should probably go to the Y and burn off some of my a) happy energy and b) homemade chocolate ice cream. (made by Daniel, recipe below.)


Wendy's Copycat Chocolate Frosty

1/2 gallon chocolate milk
8 oz Cool Whip
1 can sweetened condensed milk

Mix in large bowl, pour into ice cream freezer and freeze per manufacturer instructions. 

Tastes just like Wendy's!

Rice Nights

Sitting at a wedding last fall, I listened as friends described a mission conference their church had just finished hosting.  One of the nights a meal was going to be served, and there were many different ethnic foods displayed, but when it came time to eat, the only thing served was. . . rice. 

One bowl.

Our friends described the shock and underlying surprise of the attendees who didn't expect to be served rice;  and the impact that this rice meal had was great as the leaders went on to explain the reality of hunger and poverty that Americans just don't comprehend.

Can you imagine your daily meal being a bowl of rice?

This idea, of serving rice and thinking about how the other half lives, stayed with me and in January we implemented our very first rice night.

We served rice and water, that's all, googled some world hunger facts [that were frankly, staggering], and then each week we've followed our own little youtube video trail searching relief, World Vision, Compassion, children and poverty.

Did you know that every five seconds a child dies from hunger related causes?

It has been eye opening for our kids.  I love that they're seeing another side of compassion;  our family has focused on grief so much that sometimes its easy to forget that there are many more needs out there in the wild cruel world. 

On a teaching note, the geography absorbed is phenomenal, because the kids like to see where the stories are coming from.  Last week we were watching something about a little boy in Niger and Jacob piped up oh, yeah, that's right below Algeria.  I, of course, had no idea if that's true cuz my world geography is pathetic, so I snuck over to the globe to see if he was right. . . yeah, he was.  ;)

And it keeps reality in view.

We've been given so much.  Most of us have no idea what hunger truly is, what famine and poverty and water shortage really look like. 

This was a rice + lentils night. :)

Then we ran across this great organization when our friend Rachel married Jonathan, the operations director for Live58.  We were intrigued by the line Live 58. . . a challenge to believers to live Isaiah 58.  Daniel looked it up via YouVersion and read aloud from the NLT to me:

“Shout with the voice of a trumpet blast.
Shout aloud! Don’t be timid.
Tell my people Israel of their sins!
Yet they act so pious!
They come to the Temple every day
and seem delighted to learn all about me.
They act like a righteous nation
that would never abandon the laws of its God.
They ask me to take action on their behalf,
pretending they want to be near me.
‘We have fasted before you!’ they say.
‘Why aren’t you impressed?
We have been very hard on ourselves,
and you don’t even notice it!’

“I will tell you why!” I respond.
“It’s because you are fasting to please yourselves.
Even while you fast,
you keep oppressing your workers.
What good is fasting
when you keep on fighting and quarreling?
This kind of fasting
will never get you anywhere with me.
You humble yourselves
by going through the motions of penance,
bowing your heads
like reeds bending in the wind.
You dress in burlap
and cover yourselves with ashes.
Is this what you call fasting?
Do you really think this will please the Lord?

“No, this is the kind of fasting I want:
Free those who are wrongly imprisoned;
lighten the burden of those who work for you.
Let the oppressed go free,
and remove the chains that bind people.
Share your food with the hungry,
and give shelter to the homeless.
Give clothes to those who need them,
and do not hide from relatives who need your help.

“Then your salvation will come like the dawn,
and your wounds will quickly heal.
Your godliness will lead you forward,
and the glory of the Lord will protect you from behind.
Then when you call, the Lord will answer.
‘Yes, I am here,’ he will quickly reply.

“Remove the heavy yoke of oppression.
Stop pointing your finger and spreading vicious rumors!
Feed the hungry,
and help those in trouble.
Then your light will shine out from the darkness,
and the darkness around you will be as bright as noon.
The Lord will guide you continually,
giving you water when you are dry
and restoring your strength.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like an ever-flowing spring.
Some of you will rebuild the deserted ruins of your cities.
Then you will be known as a rebuilder of walls
and a restorer of homes.

“Keep the Sabbath day holy.
Don’t pursue your own interests on that day,
but enjoy the Sabbath
and speak of it with delight as the Lord’s holy day.
Honor the Sabbath in everything you do on that day,
and don’t follow your own desires or talk idly.
Then the Lord will be your delight.
I will give you great honor
and satisfy you with the inheritance I promised to your ancestor Jacob.
I, the Lord, have spoken!”

 

 

We were both a bit stunned by the directness clarity of these words, humbled to realize that often our lights as believers are clouded because of our selfishness and the modern day equivalents of fasting to please ourselves can mysteriously look like

 

squabbling over sunday school room placements

 

righteous indignation over music preferences

 

endless critiques of public Christian leaders

 

proving that my philosophy of ministry/outreach is better than yours

 

how this must grieve the heart of God.

 

 

For us, these little rice nights have been a tiny step in a direction of opening our children's eyes to the real, physical needs of little ones around the world. 

 

I pray that God breaks my children's hearts for a world in need of Him, the living Water and Bread of Life.

 

 

when no one notices

This dish.

Beautiful china, tiny roses.  Wrapped in press n' seal, placed in our freezer with a meal, three years ago when the bottom dropped out of our world. 

I looked for a note, a marking, some clue to the whereabouts of the owner and the person who had taken time to prepare, braved the unknown to deliver their kindness. 

Nothing.

I asked around, kept my ears open, checked off all of the people I thought it might belong to, and after two years of no one claiming the dish, I started using it.

Every time I lay bread slices on it, muffins, strawberries, I think of the unnamed person who blessed us and never was thanked.

I think of the kindness that no one noticed, the offering that went to the seemingly ungrateful, the good deed that never got a thank you card.

I think of the frustration that I feel bubble when I offer good deeds to the thankless;  it's . . . well, thankless.

But a thankless task, an unnoticed offering, a kindness unrequited: it's a little hollow, maybe, but oh so important. Thankless does not equate unnecessary.



Today in the middle of teaching third grade and kindergarten and managing trying to love a toddler through a green playdoh snake mess,  I think: this job doesn't pay enough and I want the thank you, the pat on the back, the hey you did great today, the you matter and you're important. Never mind the sweet nothings, how about a paycheck to compensate the stress?  That could work too. 

I picked up my coffee mug to get some liquid encouragement and squinted down at 5 little green playdoh balls, floating in my Dunkin' Donuts blend.  Flavor of the day. I blink tears. 

No one notices. 

Or does someone notice?

Or does that even matter? 

why am I here?  why do I show the kindness?  what are my motives?


[so when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full] Matthew 6:2

But. . . I like trumpets. . . maybe trumpets would help. . . maybe we need to queue up some Henry Purcell for the weekdays.

Actually I'm all about trumpets.  But if I'm living for the trumpets, Jesus points out so clearly, then I'm living for the trumpets.  And that's the reward.  To be honored by others?  That's why I'm loving my kids?  That's why I show kindness?

Well, that's humbling to throw out there.

[So let’s not allow ourselves to get fatigued doing good. At the right time we will harvest a good crop if we don’t give up, or quit.] Galations 6:9

Maybe the right time doesn't mean that Eli will thank me for reading I am a Bunny 42 times this week.

Maybe the right time . . . to be thanked. . . is not going to be here.

Am I okay with that?

Am I okay with pouring my life out and never being noticed, the thank you note left unwritten?

Yes, I am, right now, with my feet kicked on the coffee table, my children in bed, my own playlist through the speakers, but the rubber doesn't meet the road while I'm writing in my calm 10pm living room. 

The rubber meets the road when people put playdoh in my coffee and my kindergartener's eyes glaze over and she shrugs:

I dunno, 1 + 2?  Um. . . 56?

I have perspective when I can back away.

But when I'm in the thick of it, life closes in and I struggle and I just want a lil thank you note, y'know?

And I'm full circle, back to the dish in my cupboard, back to the feeling of being overwhelmed by a stranger's kindness, back to the carried part of my life where I didn't take a single step alone.

Back to the dish that didn't seem to matter. 

But it did matter.



To you, the unnoticed:

You matter.

Thank you.

Thank you for being kind, for being faithful, for caring, for doing good when no one notices, for loving without the fanfare.

Thank you for loving when those you love don't love you back.

Thank you for demonstrating faithfulness.



More thoughts on being overwhelmed:

A Life Plan When You're Overwhelmed: Sanity Manifesto

kindness umbrella (art project)

This was an art project we worked on today. 

 

Kind words shield people's hearts from life's storms.

 

The kids told me kind and unkind words and I wrote as fast as I could. 

 

 

{Unkind}

 

you're a crybaby

 

you always stink

 

you're not amazing

 

you don't drive well

 

you cry too much

 

don't touch me

 

you're very mean to my mom

 

you're not organized

 

you don't let me say a word

 

your doll is not cute

 

you never give me a backrub

 

your food tastes gross

 

i don't like what you're wearing

 

i don't like your snack

 

you're a horrible cook

 

you're dumb

 

hurry up

 

it's mine

 

you're freaking stupid

 

you're fat

 

your bed is so messy

 

i don't like the smell of your gum

 

{these rolled off quickly}

 

 

 

{kindness}

 

i'll make your bed

 

i love you

 

you're smart

 

your life has meaning

 

you're good

 

you look nice today

 

you're good

 

you're generous

 

you're so cool

 

you have excellent handwriting

 

you're good at lots of things

 

God cares about you. 

 

i'll have you come over to my house

 

come here

 

you're good at doing things

 

i like you

 

you're sweet

 

i care about you

 

i will try to protect you

 

i love you

 

i will love you forever.

 

 

 

I want to choose the kind words.



Nesting Pt. 1

So if you talked to my husband he would tell you that I am nesting.

I think that may be too kind of a term.

Nesting at our house sounds a little more like Angry Birds than soft cheeping and layering of layette pieces.

Ever read P.D. Eastman's The Best Nest? I texted my sister in law the other day that I was becoming the mean mamma bird in the book. . . she sends the papa bird all over the place frantically trying to find the perfect spot for her baby and is really quite crabby in the process. I always thought she was mean. And then, this week, I was reflecting on my nesting and this thought popped into my head. . .. I nest like. . . . . oh my goodness, I nest like the mamma in P.D. Eastman's book!

Anyway, my husband promised me two days at home and that he would do all in his power to cross off all items on my honey-do / baby-get-ready / nesting list.  My absolute favorite item on this list is not baby related at all, but I am in love with it.   Daniel doesn't want anyone to know that he made it because he fails to see the beauty in reclaimed trash and doesn't want his name or carpentry skills attached to something that took him two minutes to make and two minutes to hang. But, drumroll, I have a pallet shelf rack now!

Did I say that I love it?

Now I think I need some words in the space between the pallet shelf and the alphabet board (from Loren. . . the giver of perfect gifts).

I keep mulling over ideas for a short phrase that would just fit.

Grab a Kleenex, blow your nose and keep studying. not kind enough

Study to show thyself approved too King James-y {Jacob was reading something in the unfamiliar-to-him King James Version the other day: "Mom, is this supposed to be Godlier or something?!"}

Readers are leaders ummm. . . no.

Oh well, I'll think of something. Suggestions welcome!

Nesting Part 2 tomorrow. . . check back for instructions for a DIY roman shade out of existing blinds.   I love this allllmost as much as the pallet shelf.   But not quite.

creating a reading environment

So have you ever noticed

that if you try to display something

your children will mess it up?

I'm one step ahead of my kids this week and we are displaying books in the windows.

They like to read anyway, but they are beside themselves now.  Everywhere they turn, there are books

they haven't noticed before.

They're just irresistible. . .

especially if you can warm your little toes up on the furnace vent. . . .

or snuggle up in your mom and dad's bed. . .

My mom has always encouraged and cultivated a love of reading and books. . . as demonstrated here by Daniel.

who was thoroughly involved in The Great Picture Atlas for Children when we were there for Thanksgiving.

My mom is great at creating every kind of relaxing environment though. . . my mom and dad's house is the one place I can go and totally kick back and let all troubles roll away.

And speaking of relaxing, how cool is my mom's dining room?  I love her house. 

But this has nothing to do with reading.  So on with my current creative tangent. . .

And this idea borrowed from my friend Pam, one of my many mentor friends that ought to blog:

I found these Scrabble tiles today at a thrift store for 65 cents!  Woohoo!

How do you encourage your little people to read?

Thankfulness Tree

sticks. . . damp sand. . . . magic marker printing on fake leaves. . . white lights. . . remembering to have thankful hearts.

kids riding a bus are probably schooled

JD to Daniel's dad tonight:

"I saw a bus today and the door was stuck open."

Grandpa: "Well that sounds strange. Were there kids on it?"

JD: "Yes. They are schooled. But I am not schooled. I am homeschooled."

things i did today

I didn't do my hair today.

BUT

I did clean and clean and clean.

I did take a picture of my bathroom but this isn't a photography blog, so it didn't look as good as in real life plus the flash made fingerprints show up on the mirrors that I thought were really clean. Sigh.

I did answer the door this morning at 7 to a neighbor who wanted Daniel to come help her move her dad. He's at work. Well, could I call him? He's on duty, ma'am. Did I have a phone? Yes. . .{retrieve phone} Now could I call him? Ma'am, he can't personally respond to you. You need to go through the channel of dispatch, and he may run this call, but you have to go through dispatch. After convincing her that she needed to call 911, I shut the door and laughed. She was so convinced that he would leave work to come help them. Those firefighters, always going beyond the call of duty. Back to my coffee.

I did make three meals. One meal involved pouring fake rice shaped pieces of high fructose corn syrup and malt flavoring into bowls with milk, but hey -

I have not been home at all this summer. It shows. I am forcing myself to kick it into gear and maybe some of the old Hayley will come wandering back.

I found a new favorite food blog. Check out Framed. . . you will drool for sure. I have some of these Coffee Walnut Chocolate Chip Muffins assembled on the kitchen counter for breakfast. . . I will update you in the morning to see if my version (dark chocolate + hazelnuts) is any good.

I hung a bunch of pictures and rearranged furniture. This particular self help method, without fail, makes me really happy.

Jacob Daniel finished his math book today. As soon as I get done here I will be ordering more of these a.ma.zing books from Amazon. K-learning is going waaaaay better this week. {In case anyone besides me cares about that}

And just to keep myself accountable, here is a raw, untouched photo of the guestroom that needs to be cleared out by tomorrow night.

We took these little strawberry "shmarshshmellow" yummies to Miss Clare tonight. . .


Don't you wish we would have missed your birthday by a month?

Oh, wait, we probably did.

Don't be fooled

Look at those gorgeous brown eyes.

That angelic face.

Cool chalkboard bookshelf & globe. (shamelessly copied out of Better Homes & Gardens)

Just think of snuggling up next to your little people with a mug of Starbucks and teaching them in the peace {*eye-rolling*} of your own home.

Dontcha just wanna homeschool?


{*more eye-rolling*}


Our first week of Kindergarten has been a challenge, not gonna lie.

It will get better. {please}

Teaching your kids at home is NOT for the faint of heart.

Trust me, I have tons of experience. My first homeschooled child is on his 3rd day of Kindergarten.