Archive for the 'Homeschooling' Category

ALL HAIL THE ARBITER OF ART! (Part 1)

So, about a year and a half ago, I was hanging out with a homeschooling friend of mine, and we got to talking about stuff we were thinking about doing for the kids. And I mentioned to her (me being a poet and all) that I was thinking about maybe starting up a poetry appreciation tea party kind of thing, and she (being an amateur pianist) said she’d been thinking about starting a music recital thing at her house, and then (WHOOPS!) her chocolate got into my peanut butter and the next thing you knew, we’d accidentally created this little arts appreciation program for homeschool kids in our area. We named it “Afternoon with the Arts” and held it once a month at her house, because her house was a hell of a lot bigger than mine. So, once a month, we’d post to one of the local homeschool groups near here, asking people to sign up for this thing, and before long, it became this Incredibly Popular Event. Practically everyone wanted in.

At first, it was really cool. Kids brought their musical instruments they were studying. Kids brought their artwork. They read poems and stories. Some danced. Some of the preschool set would get up there and do somewhat odd things that weren’t exactly related to the “ARTS”, but they were preschoolers, so we didn’t worry about it. We didn’t expect prodigies. And if they wanted to get up there and talk about firemen for 2 minutes, we’d just applaud and move on to the next act.

After a year or so of this, things began to deteriorate. It started with this one mom. (There’s always that ONE, isn’t there?) She’d been bringing her 3 kids since the beginning, and her youngest was only 3 years old, and he always liked to get up there and dance to Michael Jackson. And again, since he was only 3, we didn’t expect him to do a great job, although he actually had a pretty decent moonwalk going there. And since dance is part of the Arts, we figured he was well within the scope of the program, so no big deal, right? Well… he got so much applause for his routine that his older brother and sister wanted IN. So the 3 kids started doing something called ROCK BAND.

ROCK BAND was this act in which the 3 kids turned on some Hannah Montana song and bopped around the room for a few minutes, sort of lip-syncing and playing air guitar to the music while the 3-year-old danced his dance. For the first couple of ROCK BAND acts, we applauded politely and sort of shrugged. We figured it would eventually stop and the kids would go back to something else. Something that they were actually performing. We figured their mom would tell them: okay, that was fun, but remember, this is supposed to be a program where you show YOUR TALENT. Not just futz around up there.

But, noooooooooooooo….

ROCK BAND began to escalate. Another little boy (about 8 years old maybe) decided he wanted to do something like that too. So at the next opportunity, he got up there, put on a rapper CD, slung a KB Toys plastic guitar around his neck and mumbled along to the music. He called it HIP HOP. Next thing you knew, my kids wanted to do a ROCK BAND. And so did my co-creator’s kids. Everyone wanted to do ROCK BAND or HIP HOP. Because, let’s face it: you sound so much cooler that way, and no one can tell if you mess up.

I looked into the future of Afternoon with the Arts and saw endless hours filled with watching kids lip sync (badly) while playing air guitar and imaginary drums. And I didn’t want any part of it anymore. But, for a while I just kept my mouth shut. Who wants to be the kill-joy mom who brings ROCK BAND to a screeching halt and makes them go back to fumbling out beginner level tunes on the piano?

But then in February we held a special evening show (dubbed Evening with the Arts – we’re SO original, I know!) and invited the dads to come and see. And we invited the adults coming to also perform something if they wanted. And this little boy came with his dad, and the two of them sang a song together, a cappella, in perfect harmony. It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever heard in my life. It was Afternoon with the Arts at its finest hour, you could say.

And after they were done singing, the ROCK BAND jumped up, popped a disc into the player and did their lip-sync air guitar thing. And the kids watching responded (in an almost Pavlovian kind of way) by screaming and cheering like the Beatles had just landed, and I was just disgusted and tired of it all by then. All the work we’d put into making this happen, all so we could watch these kids do NOTHING up there. No thanks.

But the next month, when we sent out the signup notice, that mom put her 3 kids down for ROCK BAND again, and the HIP HOP act went in there too, and I finally emailed my friend as diplomatically as I could and told her I thought ROCK BAND really had to stop. I didn’t mind if the kids wanted to do rock music or hip hop, but if they wanted to do it in the future, they needed to actually PERFORM the song themselves. No more lip sync-ing. No more air guitar. It was just getting ridiculous. I also asked her if she thought I was being too picky, and if she said yes, I was ready to bite my tongue. I mean: who am I to say if it’s ART or not, right?

But my friend agreed. She told me she’d been thinking the exact same thing. But she wanted to wait until the year was done before saying anything. Let’s finish out the year, she said, and then next year, we’ll put some guidelines in writing and start the year fresh. She was moving across the country in a month or two and wouldn’t be here to start the year fresh with me, which made it much easier on her to say “oh, let’s just wait till the new year starts” but she’d just had a baby too, so I didn’t want to press the issue. I was just glad she’d been thinking like me. That I wasn’t being crazy or mean by wanting to stop this weird un-artistic trend that had developed.

So, fast forward to last week. The new year is starting up. Another mom stepped into the place my friend vacated when she moved. This is a good friend, who also agreed that it was time to refocus our little arts program. I didn’t think people would be overly upset about it. So when the call came out from the leader of our little homeschool group to come to the planning meeting, I signed up and went to the meeting without thinking much about what I was going to say about Afternoon with the Arts.

Big mistake.

When it came time to talk about it, and I mentioned that we were going to be limiting the kinds of acts that the kids could do that year, all hell broke loose. The mom with the ROCK BAND kids got upset. I knew she would. She’s a mess and a generally unpleasant person. She’s made it clear on many occasions that no one has it harder than she does, that she doesn’t like her own children, and often chastises people for not helping her enough with whatever she thinks we should be helping her with. We all have spent the past year tiptoeing around her IMPENDING NERVOUS BREAKDOWN. Entire families have pulled away from her and her children in an act of self-preservation. I’d already had a couple problems with her in other activities, and I knew she’d take this badly. So, I said to her, Look, I’m not trying to single just your kids out. I’m not trying to mess with you. I’m just trying to bring this thing back to where it was supposed to be.

It didn’t go well at all. The fact that the HIP HOP kid is the son of the leader of the group didn’t help me much at all either. She got just as mad as the ROCK BAND mom. Then everyone started brainstorming OPTIONS for me. Like maybe we’d do a special ROCK BAND night. Or maybe the kids would have to take turns doing ROCK BAND. It all began to spiral out of control, and all their suggestions just added extra work to me, as the planner of the event. And I got mad. I bared my teeth a little. I told them if someone else wanted to do this thing, I’d be happy to pass it off on them. That it took an enormous amount of work to run the program. That we’d had a very specific vision for it way back when we started it and that the vision was getting lost in air guitar.

At that point, someone said, “you know… there are air guitar competitions all over the world… can you really honestly say that air guitar isn’t art?”

I almost cried right there. Picture it, if you can: there I was, the woman who’ s married to a rocket scientist who’s also a thrash metal bass player, a man who once took guitar lessons from John Petrucci, and who once was in a band that opened for Machine Head and Otep, sitting at a table in a Borders bookstore coffee shop listening to a bunch of “good Christian homeschooling mothers” defend the artistic genre of TEEN BOP RAPPER AIR GUITAR.

Somebody just fucking shoot me already.

More heated discussion ensued. I was no longer sure what I was trying to say or do anymore. I only knew I wanted to get the hell out of there. I threw my hands up in the air and said: “Okay!!! I stand corrected! If you think it’s art, then you decide. I leave it up to you as the parents to determine if your child is presenting something artistic.” It wasn’t what I wanted to say, but it was the only thing I could think of to say to MAKE THE CONVERSATION STOP. Then I made a ridiculous show of saying I felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave. And the whole meeting pretty much broke down (which made me feel worse) and I managed to just get out. I was 45 minutes in to an anxiety attack that would last about 16 hours.

I went home, told RegularDad the whole story, lay awake most of the night and wondered what the hell I was going to do.

Do they even realize how they inadvertently promote homeschooling?

My 7-year-old checked a book of poems out of the library last week called, Did You See What I Saw? Poems about School, by Kay Winters. Here’s one of the poems in the book:

If I Were in Charge

Waiting in line,
a long thin line
takes time
every day
from our play.
We start
then we stop
while we
straighten our line
missing more time
on the way.

Why can’t we bunch
as we go to our lunch?
Or walk in a group
for our soup?

There’s a rule
in each school
about standing in line,
a stupid straight line.
I resign!

My daughter brought this book to me last night while I was in the midst of a grumpy moment, brought on by an attempt to sit down and write a few lines of poetry myself. Said attempt was foiled by an almost constant stream of interruptions, all of which began with the words, “Hey, Mom…?”

Twenty minutes of this sort of thing, and the poem I was working on had disappeared from my thoughts, and I was struck with the frustrating realization that if I were to put them in school next month, I’d have about seven hours a day to sit in silence and write whatever I damn well pleased.

Then my daughter brought me this book, and I flipped through it, and so many of the poems served as yet another reminder of why I’m doing what I’m doing. Sure, there were a few little poems about the specialness of teachers. But really only a couple. Most of them highlighted the many irritations, both big and little, about industrial schooling, like the example above.

And speaking of that poem above…. Let’s just examine that title for a moment: If I Were in Charge.

Notice how the writer uses it to give the child a voice. Notice how that voice understands the condescension inherent in the endless lessons in waiting-in-line. Notice how the voice understands that the best course of action is to simply leave. To resign. And think of how many kids out there that want to say that exact same thing. But never get to.

Um… yep. We’ll keep on homschooling, I guess.

“Have had no thoughts today…”

Excerpts from a letter written by F. Scott Fitzgerald to his daughter:

…I am glad you are happy—but I never believe much in happiness. I never believe in misery either. Those are things you see on the stage or the screen or the printed page, they never really happen to you in real life.

All I believe in in life is the rewards for virtue (according to your talents) and the punishments for not fulfilling your duties, which are doubly costly. If there is such a volume in the camp library, will you ask Mrs. Tyson to let you look up a sonnet of Shakespeare’s in which the line occurs Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

Have had no thoughts today, life seems composed of getting up a Saturday Evening Post story. I think of you and always pleasantly…

 Fitzgerald ends his letter to his daughter with this list of things not to worry about and things to think about:

Don’t worry about popular opinion
Don’t wory about dolls
Don’t worry about the past
Don’t worry about the future
Don’t worry about growing up
Don’t worry about anybody getting ahead of you
Don’t worry about triumph
Don’t worry about failure unless it comes through your own fault
Don’t worry about mosquitoes
Don’t worry about flies
Don’t worry about insects in general
Don’t worry about parents
Don’t worry about boys
Don’t worry about disappointments
Don’t worry about pleasures
Don’t worry about satisfactions
Things to think about:
What am I really aiming at?
How good am I in comparison to my contemporaries in regard to:
(a) Scholarship
(b) Do I really understand about people and am I able to get along with them?
(c) Am I trying to make my body a useful instrument or am I neglecting it?

[From William J. Bennett's The Book of Virtues for Young People, pp. 86-87]

I read this to the girls today during lunch, having come across Bennett’s book purely by chance at the library last week. It was one of those books I’d heard mentioned frequently in homeschooling circles, but never felt compelled to rush out and purchase. So, when I saw it on the shelves, I grabbed it and brought it home to peruse, and now we read a little from it every lunch hour. And now that I’ve read this letter, I do believe I’ll buy a copy for the house.

I can’t help but remember how my own father never gave me any advice, except with regards to what I should be reading. I’d send him a letter, and he’d write back: “Go out immediately and get yourself a copy of Madame Bovary.” Or he’d send a letter with a postage stamp with Hemmingway on it. “Look at the man on the stamp,” he’d write back. “Read him.” My father lived a life of missed opportunities, estrangement from family, homelessness and addiction. He was the Hemmingway Defense defined, you could say, and a failure as a parent in every possible way.

Except one, I suppose.

What a classical education for modern girls should look like.

Why most homeschoolers recommend at least two weeks off during the month of February:

We’re eating popcorn and apples and grapes, and going over the review questions outlined in the Story of the World, volume 3, by Susan Wise Bauer. We’re on Chapter 19, in which India collapses due to a string of weak emperors, and in which the English subsequently take control of the country, via the East India Company’s hired armies.

Me: Who decided to send an army against Siraj and the Indians of Bengal?

6-year-old: Um… the… um… the…

9-year-old: The traders?

6-year-old: HEY! I WAS GONNA SAY THAT!

Me (quietly): That’s okay… calm down… do you remember the name of the traders?

Silence. Blank stares. My 9-year-old flips her coloring page over to start doodling on the back of it.

Me: The East India Company…. Think for a second how weird that is. What if Wal-Mart got mad because we never shop there and hired an army to attack us?

They both start giggling.

Me: And who led the army of the East India Company?

9-year-old: Um…(flips her coloring picture back over to read the caption at the bottom)…Robert Clive.

Me: And after the battle, Mir Jafar became the new nawab of Bengal. But what happened when he didn’t do what the people of the East India Company wanted him to do?

9-year-old: They sent another army and attacked him.

Me: That’s right. And then what laws did the people of Bengal start to follow?

6-year-old: Ummm…. No hitting?

More giggles all around.

Me, trying not to laugh too much: No… not that kind of laws. Bengal wasn’t exactly a “no-hitting” city.

6-year-old, all excited, because this time she’s surely GOT THE ANSWER: No pinching?!?

Thus ends our history lesson for the day.

The beginning of letting go.

Came across this interesting article on a message board this morning:

The Dramatic Rise of Anxiety and Depression in Children and Adolescents: Is It Connected to the Decline in Play and the Rise of Schooling? by Peter Gray.

It’s a bit long, and employs some psychological jargon that takes some wading through, but it’s still an interesting read. Basically, Gray says that the increase in amounts of modern industrial schooling correlate to an increase in anxiety and depression in children. And it’s not just about the school day; the control of children’s after-school hours also contribute. Here’s a quote:

In school, children learn quickly that their own choices of activities and their own judgments of competence don’t count; what matters are the teachers’ choices and judgments. Teachers are not entirely predictable. You may study hard and still get a poor grade, because you didn’t figure out just exactly what the teacher wanted you to study or guess correctly what questions he or she would ask. The goal in class, in the minds of the great majority of students, is not competence but good grades. Given a choice between really learning a subject and getting an A, the great majority of students would, without hesitation, pick the latter….

School is also a place where children have little choice about with whom they can associate. They are herded into spaces filled with other children that they did not choose, and they must spend a good portion of each school day in those spaces. In free play, children who feel harassed or bullied can leave the situation and find another group that is more compatible; but in school they cannot. Whether the bullies are other students or teachers (which is all too common), the child usually has no choice but to face those persons day after day. The results are sometimes disastrous.

When I was a kid, I went to school, and then I went home and did my own thing for hours on end. We were poor, so I had no after school activities like dance classes or soccer practices. I just went home and played. Or read. I didn’t even have homework until I was in the fourth grade.  We lived in a large apartment complex that was surrounded by patches of forest. All the kids in the neighborhood would roam the woods together, or we’d split off into smaller groups and play other games.  On summer nights, there’d be at least two dozen of us still outside way after dark, playing large games of hide and seek, or jumping rope or doing not-so-smart things like setting wasp nests on fire. And then running for it. And yeah, sometimes there’d be fights. But we all survived. When I went into therapy as a young adult, all my running around, unsupervised, late into those summer nights, was not the reason.

When I was older, our financial situation improved somewhat, and for a few years, I had a horse to ride. My mom would drop me off at the stable and I’d saddle up and ride the trails alone for hours on end. I also worked in the stables part time, and at the age of 13 was expected to be able to handle that kind of work. If I couldn’t get a ride to the barn, I’d roam the woods near our house. Alone. As a young teenager. Or I’d play by the creek with my sister. For hours and hours. My mother never came with us. She didn’t look out the window nervously to see if she could still see us. She didn’t say to us: don’t go too far. And I never once considered her inattention to my outside play neglectful.

But that was 30 years ago. Today, kids don’t live like that. They’re rarely left alone, especially outside. All of their after-school hours are filled with sports practices, clubs and other activities, and that, along with their homework is all they have time for. I never see children running around in this neighborhood (except for that pack of middle-school boys who roam the streets on summer evenings and make suggestive comments to second graders eating ice pops, that is), and I don’t let my kids roam around either (because of said pack of middle-school boys). It’s just not done anymore.

We homeschool, so I am able to provide a significant amount of free play time for my kids. But what I’m learning this year is that that’s not good enough. Here’s another quote from Gray’s article, that really drives this point home to me:

By depriving children of opportunities to play on their own, away from direct adult supervision and control, we are depriving them of opportunities to learn how to take control of their own lives. We may think we are protecting them, but in fact we are diminishing their joy, diminishing their sense of self-control, preventing them from discovering and exploring the endeavors they would most love, and increasing the chance that they will suffer from anxiety, depression, and various other mental disorders.

I’m learning that my kids need more unstructured time. What I need to learn now is how to take that next step. How to stop HOVERING. I can say: yeah, I let the kids play and I don’t structure the time or the game. But those hours are still technically supervised by me. I know where the kids are. I can get to them quickly if need be. And I know my 9-year-old wants more autonomy than that. What I don’t know, is how to let go and give it to her.

Of course, the fact that my youngest is only six contributes to my inability to just let them go play. Maybe when they’re a couple years older, this won’t seem so hard. Six seems a bit young to be allowed to wander the neighborhood unattended. The best I can do right now is to take them to the park with their friends and let them get a little far away from me in a group.

Peter Gray promotes an unschooling approach to educating children. I’m not sure I can totally get on board with that. I still believe that a classical education is a good idea. My goal is to educate the kids, and still have a ton of hours of free, unstructured play time. We get our work done in three hours or less, and there is no homework. When we’re done, we’re done. But I’ve still loaded them up with lots of structured activities. Too many, I think. And I do that for the same reason I’ve always done that: because I want to make sure I’m providing enough socialization time. It’s ridiculous, I know. But I still get stuck in that trap.

This summer, we’ll be doing a lot less. And I’m really looking forward to it. Maybe I’ll work up the courage to just let them go play.

Maybe.

Laryngitis.

I’ve had this cold for about 10 days now. No big deal. Just a cold.

Trouble is: when you have a cold in the middle of a blizzard, you still have to go out and shovel snow. RegularDad did most of it. But I still had to go out there quite a few times and clear him a spot so that he could get off the street. And it took its toll on me, that little bit I shoveled. The last time I went out there, I could just tell.

So, I guess I didn’t rest as much as I should have. And now I’ve got this horrible dry cough – the kind that makes your head hurt when you really get going – and a nice little bout of laryngitis. Not a big deal, really. Just one more glitch in my February. But it could be worse, of course. I mean – it’s not like the entire country was leveled by an earthquake or anything.

But it’s quite a challenge, let me tell you, to learn that the proper treatment for laryngitis is to STOP TALKING as much as possible, when you live in a household where you have to repeat the same simple instructions (things like: put your shoes on) a half dozen times before both kids actually have their shoes on. And that’s just the shoe thing. You can only imagine how much talking I have to do when it’s time to do things like math. Or ask for help cleaning up the living room.

I’ve never been more aware of how much time I spend TALKING.

I’m considering making a bunch of signs to carry around with me. I can just wave them in front of the kids until they do what’s printed on them.

It might actually work better. Because Lord knows they never seem to hear me when I’m talking on a regular day around here. Unless the word “candy” falls out of my mouth, that is.

Besides, I think we could still count these days as school days. All that sign reading could count as “reading lessons” and “community skills” as they attempt to actually do whatever’s written on the signs. Things like: “get ailing mother another pillow.”

This is also becoming an interesting exercise in letting the little things go. Like tonight for instance. Tonight after I tucked them in, I came into my office to write a little while, and I could hear the two of them whispering every once in a while. Usually I’d call out to them to stop whispering. But tonight, I let the majority of it just go. Oh… after a half hour or so, I finally gave one call-out to them, but for me, that’s pretty good.

So, who knows? Maybe this is a good thing. We’ll see how well it goes. I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime, I’m off to find a very large glass of orange juice to sip on.

(sigh)

Thawing out.

We managed to get through the blizzard with only a half day interruption in our phone and Internet service. But we never lost our heat or our electricity, so I really have no complaints. I’d rather sweat out 12 hours of email-withdrawl than deal with serious power outtages.

Anyway… the sun was out this morning, and the cardinals that live in the big pine tree were flitting around before I’d finished my coffee. This is what it looked like outside my bedroom window:

After I’d had my coffee, I got everyone dressed and fed, and announced that we’d be taking another day off of school because I had more shoveling to do. And also because I’ve got a cold right now, and that on top of all this snow makes me think this is a good time to not do math.

HOMESCHOOLING SIDE NOTE: One of the most common questions we get as homeschoolers, particularly after a snowstorm, is if we take snow days or not. (This question is often following with a knowing look and an irritating chuckle, as if to say: ha! gotcha on THAT ONE, don’t I? Your poor kids will never know the joys of having a SNOW DAY.)

The answer is, quite simply, not usually. We prefer to save up our “snow days” and use them up on those first really great spring days. We call them “Nice Days”. So, while most kids are stuck in school staring out the windows in May, when spring really starts rolling in, and they’re wishing they could take the day off because it’s SOOOOOOO NICE OUT… guess where we are: At the lake. Or at the park. With Subway sandwiches. And no homework waiting for us when we leave.

However… when we get a big giant blizzard… a snowstorm that’s actually IMPRESSIVE, and that storm falls in the same week in which Mom Has A Cold… well, then… yeah… we take a snow day. Or two. Or three.

The point I’m trying to make here is twofold, actually: 1. We take days off whenever we want to. And 2. That snow-day question is actually kind of annoying, and does not make you sound nearly as witty as you think. So you should stop asking it.

Anyway…where was I? Oh yes… Thawing out. So, I went out after a while and shoveled the half-inch of snow that fell after RegularDad finished shoveling last night. I also found the mailbox:

which is always a good thing. I brushed a foot of snow off of it and dropped the mortgage payment in there. Hopefully, a mail carrier will come along at some point and pick it up. Shoveling the last of the snow off the driveway wasn’t too bad, and now our house looks like this:

and my arms are kinda sore.

RegularDad came home from work early so that he could play in the snow with the kids. I went out there with them for a few minutes to take pictures, but the wind drove me back in pretty quickly. It’s cold. And I have a cold. So, no snowball fights for me. But they were out there all afternoon, having a blast.

 Of course, not everyone loves all this snow. These guys, for example:

These guys aren’t all that impressed with the white stuff outside. Not in the slightest. In fact, they’ve made it clear that they really don’t want anything at all to do with snow. The only good thing about it, they’d say, is the way it chills everything just enough that the heat kicks on more often and the humans keep leaving fleece blankets all over the place.

Yeah, these guys are all: wake me when it’s May.

I so totally get that.

Blizzard of 2010.

Haven’t seen snow like this since the morning we flew out of Denver to move here three years ago.

Here’s a shot of the first storm we got about four days ago:

Notice how accessible and visible my mailbox is? Yeah… haven’t seen that thing all day long. Mail service is suspended anyway.

Now here’s some shots of what it looked like here earlier this morning. BEFORE the blizzard proper actually began:

That’s my 6-year-old’s snowman. She built it yesterday afternoon. Half of it’s buried underneath last night’s snowfall. We went out again for a while today, during a lull in the storm, before the real blizzard started, to get a little fresh air. The puppy messed around in some snow drifts and tired herself out nicely. But now, after several hours of actual blizzard, she can’t even leap herself out of the drifts anymore. So, we tramp down little runs for her so she can find her bathroom and then we hurry her back into the house.

And here’s what it looked like at about 4:00 this afternoon, when I went out again, to shovel out the driveway, so that RegularDad might have a fighting chance of pulling his car in:

Technically, those steps are part of my front walkway there. I’d just finished shoveling it clear. Honest.

That right there is my driveway. See the two giant piles of snow? Yeah, that was a wall of icky snow mixed with road salt blocking the whole driveway when I went out there to start shoveling. I’d gotten maybe a tenth of it done, when out of nowhere a plow truck came along and the guy driving it gave me a big smile and then plowed the whole mess off to the side for me. Dude… whoever you are… you ROCK. Thanks.

By the way, my mailbox is now buried under that pile of snow on the right. You can’t see it, but it’s there.

Of course, not five minutes after that dude who plowed my driveway for me drove off, another plow came along and started a whole new wall of slush across the driveway. I could have cried right there. But instead I just plodded on back to the house for my shovel.

But just as I was reaching for it, RegularDad’s car appeared and he rolled right over the new wall and up the driveway and parked with no problem.

Because the gods are kind like that, I guess.

The best part of a blizzard is seeing your husband arrive safely home, isn’t it?

I made beef and barley soup for dinner. Because it’s his favorite. After he ate it, he went right back out to shovel more snow. He was out there for over an hour, and just as he finished, a neighbor came walking by and said: “hey man, you want to borrow my snow blower?”

Note to self: get RegularDad a snow blower for his next birthday.

We’re staying warm in here. Hope you are, too.

Call me Spud.

So, two days ago, I peeled myself.

Yep. You heard me. I freekin’ PEELED myself.

I was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for dinner, and the potato in my hand was somewhat small and unruly, and I was leaning over the trash can just working away at it, and next thing you know,

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!

That wasn’t the potato!

Immediately upon my hollering, everyone else started hollering.The girls were all: MOM!!!! ARE YOU OKAY????? and RegularDad was all: WHAT HAPPENED?????? Even the puppy started barking. (The cats, snoozing under a bed, were all: wha?… did someone say something?… no?… good… zzzzz…..)

And I’m already at the sink, cursing a bit, with my index finger under some cold water, yelling back: I’M ALL RIGHT!!! Because if they came in and saw me like that, they’d FREAK. Moms with bleeding hands are downright scary.

The thing is, it wasn’t all that bad. I could tell pretty much right away that it wouldn’t need stitches or anything. You know how you JUST KNOW? Yeah… it was like that. I just KNEW. It wasn’t too bad.

But there was a… well… a flap, if you know what I mean. And that’s just GROSS. Any way you slice it. (Ha ha ha… slice it… get it… yeah, okay. I’ll stop.) RegularDad came in and asked to see the injury. I already had it wrapped in a paper towel and I was all: no thanks. I’m fine. It’s fine. And he was all: why don’t you want me to see it? And I was all, well there’s a bit of a flap. And he was all: we really need to get under that and disinfect it, and I was all NO WAY DUDE. GET AWAY FROM ME WITH THOSE TWEEZERS.

I laced a BandAid with Neosporin ointment and wrapped it around my flap, and went on with my evening.

Yesterday afternoon, I figured I’d refresh the BandAid, maybe put some more Neosporin on it. No big deal, right? But when I took off the bandage, it looked a little gross. So when RegularDad got home I asked him to look at it, and he did, and at first he was all: I dunno. Maybe you should go in. And I was all: I really don’t think it’s necessary. So, he cleaned it all up (even under the flap) and sprayed everything down with Bactine and then we did another Neosporin-laced bandage, and that was that.

Except I obsessed all night long over it. Because of my neighbor.

My neighbor spent all last spring and most of last summer at home on disability because he got a splinter. That’s all. Just a splinter. He works construction. He got this splinter and then didn’t clean it out completely, and ended up hospitalized with a shunt in his neck so he could have super-strength antibiotic cocktails infused right into his cartoid artery. Because of a FREEKIN SPLINTER.

So, all last night, I sat around thinking: what if there’s an infection brewing right now? What if I wake up tomorrow and see red lines creeping up my arm, and I go in to the doctor and he says: “You really should have come in the day this happened.”

Or, what if I make an appointment and I go in there and the doctor says: “You know, this really isn’t anything to worry about at all. Just keep on using the Neosporin and some BandAids, and you’ll be fine.”  Then he turns and scrawls “RAGING HYPOCHONDRIAC” on my file, and no one takes me seriously ever again.

Either way: I’m looking pretty foolish.

So, last night, I went to check in with some of my posse online, and they assured me that I was okay. That I could just do my own self-care and all would be well.

And I feel much better now. Although I haven’t looked underneath the bandage yet today. I can’t quite face it yet.

But still: Dudes…. I freekin’ PEELED myself.

It’s upsetting.

We’ll be eating potatoes with the skins on from now on. Hell, it’s healthier anyway.

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Doing my part to show the world that the home- schooling community is more than just a bunch of crazy fundamentalists. There's plain old regular crazy people who homeschool, too. Like me.

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