“This brand new Chevy with a lift kit would look a whole lot better with you up in it … Let’s go get it stuck.”
~ Florida Georgia Line
TGIF!
lift kit
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Whenever I ask for anything to be regulated, I am asking permission to use/consume/think on that thing.
When I ask for regulation of roads, I make those roads the sole property of the regulator.
When I ask for regulation of hair salons, I make those salons the sole property of the regulator.
When I ask for regulation of schools, abortion clinics, veterinary hospitals, restaurants, water parks, I make those all the sole property of the regulator.
Because the regulator can manipulate the way the thing/service/action is operated, but more importantly, the regulator can shut it down, close it. What is a greater testimony of ownership than to cease operating?
And now there is a large outcry to regulate Monsanto and other such horrific-crimes-against-nature food companies. That action, to regulate, will make food supplies the sole property of the regulator. Newsflash – The regulator is the government.
Say goodbye to your sustenance. You chose this.
Heading further south into the county tonight, I was in no hurry.
I crossed Greater Alamance Creek and looked left, down stream, and thought, “What a beautiful evening for a canoe trip.”
I passed a freshly cut hay field near Mt. Hermon Church and noted it would be baled by end of week so I need to call Rusty tomorrow so I can begin refilling the loft.
Many pick-ups were in my view as I drove. I do truly enjoy the sight of a pick-up.
I turned onto Friendship-Patterson Mill road and as I crested the hill above Cedarock, the bright, warm sun welcomed me. It was a beautiful sight.
Now I watch boys, playing or learning, I can’t tell. I appreciate not knowing.
Birthing a child has little, if anything, to do with mothering.
Some birth and use the moment to begin a life with the human they grew.
Some birth and check a box.
Some birth and move onto the next thing on the list.
Some never birth but use the moment of meeting to begin a life with the human they met.
Being a mom is hard. It hurts my soul almost daily as I watch them grow and I choose to let them fail and make mistakes. But I am with them. I will never leave them, nor forsake them.
I am with them.
We are in a rainy spell here in central NC. While my sky blanket looks like a return to winter, there really have been a lot of good things.
Today, whenever the rain breaks, the kids will escape outside, leaving experiments, LEGO builds, coloring wherever it was the moment the last few drops were falling.
Lots of mud races and mud contests. And laundry.
And many more of cooler weather’s warming dinners like meatloaf, casseroles, BBQ, and soups.
I am always grateful for rain. Even when I grow tired of it, I am grateful.
It’s 810p and finally blue skies, about 60F, 83% humidity with a light NE wind. My breath condenses as it hits the cool, moist air. I’m sitting by this fire thinking about how I intended to blog about the communist atrocity that is May Day but then I think about the gifts of time I have been given this week, and my attitude changes.
Practices and clinics were canceled giving us an evening. A friend took two young ones to play giving me two hours at home alone while the others were at a clinic and golfing. And tonight the children entirely made dinner and mostly cleaned up dinner. The gift of time is so precious.
And I thought I’d share something I did kind for someone today. It is not easy to be my friend. I know this. It is not easy to be my acquaintance. I know this, too. I have few filters and make fewer apologies for the lack of filters. But even I can be nice.
So, this afternoon after my workout and before the three oldest finished tennis clinic – I am stopped, engine off in the HT Express Lane, typing to a student on my iPad. A suburban slowly creeps up behind me. A cute, fit, middle-aged woman gets out with a redbox in her hand and I assume returns it.
Then, she sidles me. The two youngest were with me and so I became suddenly physically postured in defense mode.
The woman says something like, “You need to move, you are blocking traffic.”
And pretty harshly. I replied, “I’ll move when my truck is loaded.”
“But I need to move and you’re in the way.”
“Oh. Would you like me to push the button and ask them to bring your order out at the same time?”
“What order? I just need to pass through.”
“Well, I can drive around and you can pass through. I am waiting for my Harris Teeter Express order. That’s what this lane is for – for express grocery orders.”
“Oh. I thought it was to get the redbox people out of the way of traffic. Thank you for moving, I just can’t back the Suburban up.”
And all was well. That was such a weird and funny exchange. I’m still chuckling about it.
Back to my fire and knitting.
I am really not terribly much in a mood to write. Mostly because I am freezing. It is damp and chilly and, like a moron, I have the windows open to let in fresh air. They should be shut and the heat should be on. I am a moron.
And so are people who think we all look alike. That all Christian homeschoolers look alike. Newsflash – we don’t. And I don’t think all public schoolers look alike nor that all private schoolers look alike. Mostly because I actually know many public and private schoolers. My family is typically one of the few homeschooling families that the conventional schoolers know. So who has less worldly knowledge?
So, no, we Christian homeschoolers do not all look alike. Take this homeschooling family for example. They wake at 530a. Not here. They use school in a box, er, online. We do not. They eat every meal together. We do not. The mom thinks public education is acceptable. I do not. The mom does not mention government influence in education. It’s about all I can focus on sometimes. So it is safe to say we are different.
But listen to people discuss Christian homeschoolers. Read articles on Christian homeschoolers. Apparently we are all doily-covered-bun wearers dressed in homemade dresses that button up to the neck. Uh. Not me. I like a bun, but that takes too much effort. If my Husband is nearby, I show as much cleavage as is acceptable with my children around.
Apparently we also only buy Bob Jones or Abeka curricula and only listen to K-Love.
Uh. Not here. We use Saxon. In our own way. We use some other random stuff with Biblical reference, but Biblical is not the focus. Good, true knowledge is. And my 8 year old is at this moment breakdancing to a song about calling 911 because Shawty’s fire is burning on the dance floor.
And did I mention we only have 5 kids? Surely we’ve come short of the glory of God. At least based on mainstream views of Christian homeschoolers.
Are we heathens? I don’t think so. I love my Jesus and I pray our children will love Him as much as I do. We share Christ’s love and His life and His history with them.
But I don’t look like the Christian homeschoolers the media wants to show the 81% of people who do not learn at home. The media wants us to look like freaks. I am OK with being a freak. And a Jesus Freak. I am not OK with others generically calling me a freak. After all, that would not be very tolerant, would it?
Rebekah Anne is crashed. Laura Lea is practicing French braiding my hair. Sawyer is asleep on me.
I have the most wonderful life!
We have reading group again this week. We meet twice a month and explore a new genre each month. It’s casual, and easy, and the kids and adults can share what they wish. No expectations. Just my kind of commitment!
This month is poetry and humor. I’d mention it is National Poetry Month, but really? National anythings are such a crock and waste of paper and breath. But anyways…
We focused on poetry and as one of our activities last week, we learned a method for creating haiku and then wrote and illustrated our haiku.
Here is my simple haiku inspired by gardening. Yes. I draw and color like a kindergartner. And I am good with that.
Yeah. Yeah. I know. Curiosity killed the cat. But I am not talking about cats. Well, I am actually not talking about death, either. So what should I change the title to instead? Oh, I don’t know. I don’t even remember much Shakespeare, so there ya go. Here’s a little quote, though.
Curiosity is the very basis of education and if you tell me that curiosity killed the cat, I say only the cat died nobly.
Arnold Edinborough, author
Agreed, Arnold Edinborough. Agreed.
And it is the very curiosity of and about education that killed a piece of my daughters’ innocence yesterday.
I am not going to re-hash the story – see the above link. What I will share is some enlightening information found along the journey, brief in time and eternal in emotion as it has been.
Children take time to open up for fear of attack. Our society, the very nature of public school buildings of concrete and doldrum are not nurturing of a child’s honesty. Most children learn very early at home and daycare and schools that when they make a mistake the consequence and reaction from a form of authority is most often negative. My own home can be like this. It is less and less as I find my soul along the way as a parent.
Yesterday and today, as my daughters have felt reassured that they will not go to jail, juvenile hall, or even be punished by me or their Father, they have opened up and shared more. My daughters were not in the wrong. They were curious.
And their curiosity led them to make choices yesterday that have consequences. Some negative. But most positive.
I have not scolded my daughters. I have pointed out, without mincing any words, where they could have made other choices and why. I have taught them of the nature of our society and that public property is not truly public. That even though they were in a space they knew they owned by the theft of their parents’ money, they are not welcome there. We have discussed never giving away our names to anyone we do not know or with whom we are not comfortable. We talked about encroaching on the space of others. We have debated the merits and demerits of my swift reaction. We have learned new expressions of the non-aggression principle. We have experienced, communicated, and discussed the biological response of sheer exhaustion to this purely emotional event.
My daughters have learned. And they learned nobly. A piece of their innocence died nobly. And we gave them the space to experience it in their own time, on their own terms. And I believe we gained more trust from them because we did not jump up and down and flail our arms like wild birds of thunder. We were peaceful. With one another, we were peaceful. I am so grateful for this experience even though I wish never to have it again!
I did receive a phone call from the principal of the school this afternoon just before 3pm. He was very kind. He is a reasonable man, I believe. It is my hope he is an honorable man as well. I shared that there were three things I wanted.
~ to know what has happened/will happen to my daughters’ collected information.
~ an apology from the teacher to my daughters for his terrorizing them.
~ an apology from the assistant principal to me for threatening me.
From my discussion with the assistant superintendent yesterday, I knew that I would not get the apologies. Can’t get blood from turnips. And I really wish there were another vegetable in that phrase because I really like turnips. The principal assured me, as did the system superintendent through the honorable school board member, that the girls’ information was gone.
No. I do not believe them. I am confident that yellow sticky note is in an “incident” file somewhere. But I am going to take the word of the principal and believe it will not be used against us. I did make it clear to him that if it was, I would know from whence the trouble came, and I have good notes and solid evidence and will involve counsel if necessary. I did not say that as a threat, as I take the man at his word. But he needed to know I understand the larger system of which he is a small part.
The principal even conceded that he could understand why the girls were so terrorized by the teacher’s actions. In fact, our conversation was entirely civil, just as the conversations at the school and at the central office were civil. Even civil when the principal challenged me on one issue – whether or not I was threatened by the assistant principal. Upon sharing that I have evidence that I did nothing to provoke the assistant principal’s threat, the principal chuckled and we moved on.
So thus most likely ends this tale of curious kittens who lost their mittens. No, curious kittens who lost a piece of innocence to education – their own education. Experience – the most noble of educations.
