Following through

I have a greater sentimental attachment to my children's belongings than they do. This would make sense to me if I were the type of person to update baby books (or even bother to buy baby books after the first few kids) or get annual family photos taken or even print snapshots once in a while. But I'm not. I have the memories and, most times, that's good enough for me.

Yet I still haven't donated or chucked my son's Bob the Builder bedsheets.

The fact that my kids' bedrooms are complete disasters devastates me. Also insane, since I grew up in a disaster of a room (and, well, kind of continue to live in one!). It breaks my heart because the messes lead to breakage. Broken DVDs, crumpled art work, missing pieces... All of those wonderful belongings destined for the trash can.

I finally had it with my 11yo, whom I've been telling to straighten up for several weeks. I'm not even talking dusting and vacuuming, just picking the crap up off the floor and putting it somewhere NOT on the floor! I gave him one last warning. If he didn't care enough about his stuff to put it away safely, he obviously didn't care enough to keep it.

Unfortunately, I CARE.

But I sucked it up.

This weekend, I sat down and gathered 5 garbage bags full of stuff while sobbing. And then I let the garbage men take it this morning.

And you know what? I feel better, and so does he.

Stuff sucks. It's time to tackle the rest of the house!

Even lefties can disagree with the POTUS

The AP has decided to remind us that Obama thinks schools should have longer hours and longer years.
You can read the article here.

I would just like to share my single thought on the matter.

Trying to solve the education problem with more of the same education is like trying to solve the obesity problem with more Twinkies.

That is all.

Once upon a time

One of my favorite things about homeschooling is the ability to study history in chronological order. Things actually happened before Plymouth Rock. Interesting things! And starting from the beginning makes it easier to understand why and how things have progressed.

For H an M, the first four years of our curriculum focus on interesting stories and engaging projects to familiarize them with the topics they'll study more in depth in the middle grades.

This week, we learned about Ancient Crete and the legend of the Minotaur. After having heard many, many stories about Egyptian Gods and fierce battles, the idea of a half-bull, half-man chained in a basement wasn't all that impressive.

H has dubbed the feared beast "Bull-dude".
That kid cracks me up.

I'm looking for a word...

for a person who really doesn't want to go to the doctor because she's afraid of being diagnosed as a hypochondriac. Or finding out that her fear of being diagnosed as a hypochondriac has prevented her from being diagnosed with some horrible disease in a timely manner. Because maybe she is really is sick. Or a real hypochondriac. Or a really sick hypochondriac.

And now that person has a doctor appointment set for Monday and can't decide whether making a long, detailed list of symptoms will make her look like a complete hypochondriac or provide the road map to some obscure diagnosis.

Either way, I think she's effed.

Wish her luck!

The roller coaster

Eight years ago today, I realized I was bringing another life into the world. As if it weren't enough to suddenly doubt my then-3yo's future, I found myself wondering what another child's introduction to this place would look like.

While it still seems like only yesterday, a lot has happened since then. Not only did I bring a wonderful child into this world, but I've gone on to do so twice more. And so have women in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, Korea, Guatemala, France, England, Italy, Ethiopia, Japan, Germany, Sweden, Ghana, Canada, Rwanda, and every other country in the world.

As frightened as I may have been, I was and am extremely fortunate. My children are extremely fortunate. I knew this on 9/10/01, but I didn't understand it until a few months later. And now that I do, I try to remind myself every single day.

Today I turn my thoughts specifically to those lost eight years ago and all those who still suffer from that tragic day. This focused rumination is what will take me through the next 364 days of global devastation, celebration, disappointment, relief, setbacks and progress. Because we are not the only ones who ride this ride. Today may be the anniversary of turn, but it's running all year round.

We're getting there!

I hate potty training.
Hate it.
Hate it.
Hate it.

If I didn't fear a Child Services investigation, I'd probably leave my children in diapers until they were 7. That's how much I hate potty training.

My first three kids probably would have let me. But I did my duty (tee hee!) and introduced them to the toilet. I don't think a single one of them took less than a full year to get the hang of it. It was a nightmare.

Then there's C. HE thinks the potty is the greatest thing in the entire world. He loves to flush. He loves to watch everything go down. He loves to drive me crazy.

What took everyone else forever to grasp seems to be coming relatively easy for him, and I think we will become a diaper-free household pretty soon. Which is awesome. Except for the fact that fitting a year long process into a couple of months still feels like fitting a year long process into a couple of months.

How one little boy can manage to use the toilet 13 times in one day while still having at least a half dozen wet diapers AND two or three accidents on the floor is beyond me. I don't think I went that often while I was pregnant with him!

So, right now, my life revolves around pee.

I hate potty training.