transition

End of an era, and all that.

As of June, I will be done homeschooling. The journey that began when R turned four and we debated about her education, deciding to "try it for a year", is ending some fourteen years later. M, the youngest of the three, will be entering high school in the fall.

I feel like I should write some sort of retrospective, but how does one distil so many years of learning into mere words? Once again, words alone prove hollow. But it being me, I'll try.

2008 school day

When I began I looked at women who had been teaching their kids for five or six years and I considered them sages of educational wisdom. They had taught so much, multiple subjects, while I was on my first steps of doing flash-card phonics and teaching math using plastic counters. They must know it all. They had seen to many different facets of learning. When I reached that point myself, I wondered if they really had known everything - because I sure didn't. 
I then got terrified when I realized some moms who were starting their homeschool journey seemed to look at me as I'd looked at those women. I figured they'd find me out. Perhaps they did, perhaps not. Unless they read this, I suppose. Hm.

Each phase of learning, and each student, brought new twists and turns. And rather than a closed-in maze that gave me claustrophobia, the twists and turns made it feel like winding path that meandered through new and varied scenery. Not to say I didn't have days (weeks?) of metaphorically bashing my head on a wall. Each phase also brought its own challenges. When child #1 and child #2 learn very differently, you think you've got it figured out until child #3 comes along and blows all of those tidy ideas out of the water.

I learned about my own limitations - and I learned some talents, too. I learned about learning styles. I learned about trying to quantify our learning for the people who asked, "what do you do all day?" I learned that socialization doesn't require a classroom or a playground. I learned the joy of seeing a child who has worked, struggled through something suddenly have it click - and the light bulb comes on. It's incredible. I worked through projects with them and saw them overcome nervousness to present their work to groups. I shared my love of learning and, I hope, instilled some of it in them. I tried to show them as we learned some things together that really, you should never, ever stop learning.

I learned about ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia and Greece and Rome and the Middle Ages and Genghis Khan and mommy did you know that this shark eats these fish and mommy what is the name of that bird and why do we say "won't" instead of "willn't" and why do I have to do all this math and Bible and Latin and Greek and reading books and science and mommy look look at this turtle skeleton I found IT IS THE COOLEST THING EVER.

So while our days will look very different, it's the right time for us. I always said homeschooling may not be for every family, but it's been a huge blessing for us. I stand by that, even as I bid it a fond farewell.

changes

I am now the mother of three teen girls. Well, I have been for a while, but became aware recently of a shift in my perspective.

Boyfriends are not in the picture, but there are names mentioned by each of the girls more often than others. Who is he? I think. What's his character? His family? What are his plans for the future? Would he suit our daughter?

And then I realize...

... I am becoming Mrs Bennet. 

sad days

We are, for the first time in almost seventeen years, dogless. Is that a word?

Meme, who joined our family just a year ago as a six-year old retiring from a successful career as a show dog and mom to many champions, had a sudden (to us) decline and had to be put down. I wonder, does it get easier when you've had more dogs? I took her to the vet when she became lethargic, and at the vet she started twitching with mini-seizures. A growth on the liver, and apparently the kidneys shutting down gave a poor prognosis. Tearfully, the decision was made. I wasn't alone at the vet; 13-year-old A was there and impressed me with her strength. She was crying so hard but stayed in the room, choosing to be there as the shot was given and Meme fell asleep for the last time.

We brought her home and D, wonderful support that he is (texts of "do you need help to take her to the vet?" "do you need me to come there?" had been flying, and a quick call to make the final decision had his voice helping me), came home from work early to dig a grave. We're getting to have something of a pet cemetery down there now.

It has hit A the hardest; Meme and she had a special connection. Meme liked us, but she loved A. And she was loved right back. She was a great dog, and a funny mix of maternal and tough. She would carry socks to a corner to make a sort of nest, but then she was the dog that killed a skunk before it had a chance to spray.

A few sad days have followed.

And why, yesterday, out of the blue (no anniversary, no birthday date to trigger the thought) did I suddenly hear, replaying in my mind, the phone call from my mom about J's accident? I could hear her voice saying it as clear as if it had been yesterday. Where did that come from? Why that? Why now? I have no idea.

unintentionally outside the box

Every now and then I realize that, well, we're weird.

We left suburbia for the country, choosing a small, drafty farmhouse over a large, modern, all-the-amenities home. We started making our own food, including the animal variety, thanks to chickens, ducks, and deer.

The kids were, until this year, all homeschooled. R entered grade 10 this year and while she enjoys it, she has said several times that she's glad of the timing of it, and is glad that this was the year she went to public school and not sooner. She's adjusted well to a more regulated schedule, but it hasn't changed her easygoing nature and positive outlook.

Church to them includes setting up chairs and sound equipment in a gym each week, knowing an XLR mic cable from a patch cable. It means applying their faith through the week, trying to see the world as Jesus sees it, and making choices based on that.

We aren't heavily scheduled. The kids take music lessons, go to youth group, and hang out with their friends. But if we're stuck at home, they don't drive me nuts. Sometimes they will disappear, singly or together, and have virtual, imaginary, or real adventures. Other times we're all together, experimenting in the kitchen on some new food we've decided to try simply because we've never tried it.

They love music and experiment on their own time. They've started a band with a friend, practicing together, using the sound equipment here. M writes songs. A and R write stories. I realized a while ago that growing up in a house where a band meets weekly, and where I write music, this is normal life to them.

And I like our weird normal.

sacrilege

Every Christmas growing up, we had it. Thanksgivings too, I think. My first time roasting a turkey as a newlywed, I called my mom to ask for it. Every Christmas and Thanksgiving, I have made it. Without fail, if I'm making a turkey dinner, it is there. 

Mom's turkey stuffing. Potato, seasoned bread, onion, and savoury - so much savoury! Likely my favourite part of the meal, I would make far more than could go into the bird. We'd fill it up, roast it, then combine the turkey-ified stuffing with the rest to stretch it farther. Of the leftovers stuffing was the dish I most diligently tried to squirrel away in a forgotten corner of the fridge so that I could sneak it out, Gollum-like, and make it mine, all mine. Problem was, the rest of the family felt the same way. So good! We all love it.

(side note: I partially credit Mom's stuffing with starting me on a road of cooking without recipes. When I asked her how she made it, all the ingredients were "about this much" in handfuls. So - thanks, mom!)

This year I saw a recipe that I want to try. It's got apple, sage, rosemary, sausage, cranberry - and looks delicious. But really, it's not as simple as simply adding another side dish. This is stuffing. The part of the meal that overshadows the turkey for some of us. There's only one cavity in that bird, and only one thing can go in it.

I am realizing as I type this that I don't know where Mom got the recipe and I may indeed be going farther back into the family history with my heresy. Oh dear.

I confessed to D that I was thinking about this new recipe, and he gasped (okay, a little theatrically for humorous effect, but gasp he did). Then demanded a road test. So tonight I'll try the new recipe with a roasted chicken and we'll see.

If it works though, I am seriously considering roasting two smaller turkeys to still have the old standby.

on guilt and looking forward

Eight years ago, JB left us. I still miss my nephew, my friend, my kindred spirit. And more than a few times in the intervening years, I've heard "won't it be good to see him again someday?" more often than I care to count. Yes, it's true. Yes, it's well meant. But selfish me wants him here, now - not there, later.

But it's true. I hold on to that hope. So I got the picture of getting to heaven and seeing Jesus, and seeing JB. And I will confess the latter had me more excited.

Enter a little good old-fashioned Sunday School type guilt. Shouldn't I be looking forward to seeing Jesus more? I mean, He is my Saviour, He died for me and makes this future reunion possible. It's Jesus I want to be more like: loving those society deems unlovable, caring for people - really caring - like He did, bypassing hypocrisy and religion for real, true life that makes a difference. The "correct" answer is, it's Him I should be looking forward to more.

Then I remembered something. My parents were coming to visit one time. And our daughter R, about 4 or 5 years old, was bubbling with excitement to see them. The window was covered with hand (and nose) prints as she strained for the sight of them. "When, Momma, when?" I was excited too, of course, but kept my excitement below her frenetic level as we watched and waited.

There! The car pulled in at the end of their long journey. My little one's bouncing echoed that of my own heart as she ran and threw open the door. We both went out and I smiled as she ran ahead, chatting and laughing as she hugged and was embraced in turn.

I stood back, myself so happy to see them, but rejoicing in the love of my daughter for her grandparents and they for her. I paused to capture the vignette in my mind as I moved forward for my own hug. I'm so glad you're here, we said, with a strong hug that was no less full of love for my daughter's usurping of that first contact.

It is that happy union that I look forward to. And someday, when I arrive home at the end of my own long journey and the door is flung open, I look forward to both hugs. R is a lot like her cousin JB, after all. Maybe, like her, he'll run ahead for that first hug. The first of many.

art and questing and mosaika, oh my

*disclaimer* I wrote this right after the first weekend in August, then planned to add photos. My camera is being cantankerous though, seemingly has something against my computer. So, here's the plain old blog.*

Our planned long weekend camping trip being cancelled, we decided to fill up Saturday with a series of things exploring our city that had been on our radar to do for a little while now. We slept in (D's main request for the day) then headed downtown to spend a couple of hours at the National Art Gallery, seeing works by Caravaggio at the temporary exhibition, then touring the main gallery to "ooh, ahh" at some pieces and "huh? really?" at others. R and A liked the more realistic works, while M was quite taken with cubism.

A walk back to the market, itself alive with the farmer's market, shops, and street performers, to La Moulin de Provence, garnered us some delicious pastries. Refreshed, we headed to the Hill for the main adventure of the day: UrbanQuest. 

I had booked our quest, printed up our clues, and we had set the start time as 4pm. Why the start time? This is one thing we loved about the UrbanQuest idea: you have a quest (okay, that part is pretty obvious). Clues to find, fill in, and solve as you walk around the area exploring. Ultimately, the completed quest leads you to a restaurant for dinner, where a reservation is waiting for you two hours after you start your quest. 

The girls had a great time searching for the next place to go, deciphering the poem that gave our clues. Some answers were found by observation, some by reading signs, and a couple with a google search and asking people. A lot of walking, but we had been warned about that part, and we got a good, not-too-strenuous workout. Once finished we had solved a phone number to call to get the final clue, which took all the info we had and gave us the key to our code. This, entered online, would give the last piece of the puzzle: the address of the restaurant. This was where we got a little derailed as we tried to use D's blackberry but couldn't access the site. So it became an exercise in innovation as we hopped over to the Mac store at the mall (just closed) and finally to an internet cafe (got it!). I realized later, they had sent a very nice email to me as our quest began, with a mobile link that would have worked fine. Oops. We'll know for next time.

Supper was great as we relived the day, ate some good pub-type food on the outdoor patio, and generally shared some laughs about what we had done and seen. While there we decided to stay in town for one final show, so hiked back to the truck for our folding chairs and blanket, then meandered back through the Market (did I mention, a LOT of walking? Not sure of the distance, but out of curiosity had started my ipod pedometer after the art gallery. The end of the session had 13,000 steps) to Parliament Hill. 

We staked out our spot, then sat in chairs and lay on the blanket, waiting until 10pm when the Mosaika show began. Side note: there is just something wonderful about sitting on the lawn in front of the national government buildings, relaxing (yes, I dozed off) and laughing with thousands of other people around us doing the same. We are truly blessed in this country of ours. 

As to the show - wow! A half-hour show of music, sound and light projected onto the Parliament Buildings. Seeing the grand structure used as a sort of movie screen was amazing, and the show a creative, well-executed mix of history, culture, and national pride. If you see the Mosaika website, those images are not enhanced; it is literally how the show looked. It was educational, too, and conversation as we walked back to the truck involved the trans-Canada railway, strikes during the Great Depression, the Famous Five, and Terry Fox's Marathon of Hope. Looking up at the sky, a few stars could be seen and so light pollution became another topic. We returned to a quiet farm, the sky full of bright points of light, all tired but happy with our day.

Today, my legs are complaining.

lazy hazy crazy days

July has pounced out of the bushes, leaving poor June far back in the distance as we race through summer. We spent a wonderful week in the Maritimes, reconnecting with family and reminding our kids that even if they were born inland, they still have the ocean in their blood. We relaxed, played with family, the kids hit the pool, I kayaked, D golfed, and we ate many marine creatures - mussels, shrimp, lobster (oooh, lobster, how I've missed you). We visited a beach with its red-soiled cliffs and sandstone shore, the kids clambering around, skipping stones, and discovering shells and stones in the edge of the calm water. After PEI we had a couple of wonderfully restful days at the cottage, time with D's family, canoeing on the lake and hearing the loons at night.

Our official reason for heading to PEI and the reason for the bonus of my whole family being out east at once was celebrating Dad and Mom's 50th wedding anniversary. The evening we officially marked the event, I looked around the room and thought what an amazing bunch of people this is, and how blessed I am to be a part of it and bring up our three girls in such a rich heritage. With 22 of us under one roof there were lots of laughs, reliving memories and making new ones. In a quiet moment alone on the deck one night I thought about the one who wasn't there with us. Wish he could have been.

We came home to a lawn not gone as rampant as I would have thought, but - oh, the garden! The veggies are ready for eating. And eating. And eating. The Swiss chard has grown, the thick dark leaves a lovely contrast to the bright yellow and red of the stems (and has furnished us with two chard gratins already, with more to come). The kale is lush, the broccoli looks almost ready for eating, the beans will succumb to being steamed with butter for supper tonight. Tomatoes have started setting, the herbs are fragrant, the cucumber vines are wandering around, and the pumpkins simply will not stay in their home, instead wandering about and visiting all the other plants. Corn is growing, carrots coming along, lettuces looking healthy and ready for salads.

Now if only the pool would cooperate and stop being so cloudy.

oh, my puppy

D took him to the vet who confirmed not only the diagnosis, but that it was very aggressive and one of, if not the largest such tumors the vet had ever seen. Our hard decision, while still painful, was confirmed and as planned if that was the case, D had him put to sleep while there. He brought Samson home and we buried him down by the creek, beside Tasha's grave. He had run along that stretch many a time in his life here.

Good bye, Sammy.

I will miss the way he romped with the girls, picking up a log or large branch and carrying it around before dropping it with a thunk at our feet, then sitting back on his haunches and staring fixedly at it, waiting for us to throw it. If we weren't fast enough, he'd nudge it with his nose, then sit quickly and politely back, perhaps with a small whine as if to say, "there it is! I pointed it out to you. you can find it now, and throw it for me! hooray!"

I will miss the feel of his warm, thick coat and silky ears.

I will miss the way he would lick the remnants out of a tuna can, chasing it around the floor and getting every bit out.

I will miss the way he was a loyal companion to our girls, playful and gentle with them, protective of his charges.

I will miss the way he would pounce on toys with both front paws, then freeze until he was sure (or thought he was sure) he had it.

I will miss the lunk-headed things he did (most of them, anyway), making us shake our heads in disbelief while we smiled and had a laugh.

I will miss the eagerness with which he joined me on my morning run, his face alight and panting with that big goofy smile of his, and making me feel a bit safer by his very presence (who wouldn't feel safer with a hundred-pound German Shepherd?).

I will miss his puppy kisses, slobbery as they were.

I will miss the way he chased things in his sleep, his paws twitching as he was in hot pursuit in his dreams. He did that earlier today, one final chase - and it made me smile that he got one more. I hope it was a fox.

I will miss him.

sad

Samson. Archie the Wonder Dog. Sam the Mighty Hunter.

Our pretty boy dog, whose goofiness and occasional idiocy have been cause for laughs but who has been such a good dog, has cancer. An aggressive form that has, quietly and insidiously, grown on his spleen. We had no idea until he couldn't walk this evening and we made an emergency trip to the vet. Spleen hemangiosarcoma.


It's in constant danger of rupturing and causing him a slow, painful demise by internal bleeding. A canine time bomb of sorts, something we don't want him to go through. And so tomorrow, if our family vet confirms the diagnosis, we say goodbye to Sammy.

Tonight, we sat with him and shed some tears together. There will be more to come.

sometimes

Sometimes my kids amaze me. Sometimes it's with their ability, their perseverance, their intellect, their hilarious senses of humour, their achievements, their faith and integrity.

Of course between all those times we have the clothes not picked up, chores not quite done, homework half-attempted and given up, bickering over little things, and those sorts of things that make us all human.

Sometimes, though, that amazement is just in the simple ways they are themselves. These glimpses of the precious people they are, the young women they are becoming, often stop me short and make me think, "how did we ever get to such an amazing place?"

I'm blessed beyond what I deserve in these girls, and I hope never to forget that.

another year in history

It's the time of the school year when for a couple of weeks everything else is shelved and the girls get to work taking all their research of the months before and putting it into presentation-ready form for the Historica Fair. They learn about a specific area of history but also learn research, organization, and presentation as they described their project and answered questions for the judges. We had three projects from our house this year, for the last time as next year R will have passed the grade 9 upper age limit.



M covered the story of Vincent Coleman, hero of the Halifax Explosion of 1917. A very cool story (the vignette that inspired her to research this is here), we found newspapers from the days after the event at the National Archives and she learned about his life and even covered the possibility that he didn't stop the train.



A had a sort of followup to last year's project on Vimy Ridge, as one of the soldiers from the cemetery there was brought back to Canada in 2000 to lie in state and be buried as our Unknown Soldier. She learned about the tomb's history and structure, built a scale model of it, and reported on the unknown's last journey to Ottawa.



R was back after a year off and revisited a topic of a few years back, this time in much more detail and depth. She learned about the New England Planters, a group of immigrants to Canada from (you guessed it) New England to take up free land left behind after the Acadians were expelled. This group included some of our ancestors who were, pretty much, land grabbers. She learned about changes this group brought in construction and government, as well as the back stories of how they came to live in Nova Scotia.


They did a great job. A took first prize in her age group at the fair, but all three girls are able to go on to Regionals in April.

simple

'Tis the season where work abounds, but simple pleasures are there to be found.

The chicks are growing nicely and the hens spend their days foraging outside, having found a new hangout at the back of the summer kitchen but sometimes making me laugh as they sprint across the lawn. Why they decide to, I often have no idea. But a running chicken looks pretty funny. The cows haven't arrived yet for the summer but I expect them soon.

The sun rises to birdsong in the morning, and I'm getting up early enough consistently to see it, and take a brisk walk to enjoy it up close and personal. Everything is getting greener by the day. We are busy with gardens, and spring cleaning, and mowing, and planning fixups - but the breeze is sweet and the sun is warm.

I believe I finished another song yesterday. It's got that complete feeling to it with the balance of music and lyrics now; I wrote the lyrics after seeing a video about autism, with interviews with parents talking about the struggles that can be faced with raising these precious children. It was sent to me by sis-in-law JG, whose son is autistic and such a sweet, sweet little boy. I hope the lyric is ... well, right.

I've been writing a few lately that have been an interesting twist for me: writing what I think of as "third-party" lyrics. My writing has always been from my point of view, many of the songs from very personal experiences. And yet I've had a few lyrics through my mind lately that have me standing in someone else's shoes. I'm tossing around the thought in my mind, ruminating on it (moo) as to whether it's having a chance to speak thoughts that someone else wants said, but can't put to words, or whether I'm just posing as something I'm not.

"Poets do not need to go to Niagara to write about the force of falling water" - Robert Frost

It bears thinking.

growth

Today we pulled out the summer clothes. The temperatures are consistently warm enough to have some shorts on hand for the kids to wear. All kinds of great shorts and capris were brought out from last year, ready to see the light of a few more warm summer months. Typically, this is when the girls find old favourites ready to put on again.

Not this time: almost none fit A or M. Most of R's were ready to pass down and they fit A nicely, but the younger two had outgrown absolutely everything. A few comments by the girls on how big they were, including some that had me giggling:

daughter: "my waist is in, but then it goes out"

me: "welcome to being a big girl. It will happen more, trust me"

And some that had me realizing that even at their young ages, the media has started to creep in and suggest that their beautiful selves might be less than perfect:

daughter: "this doesn't fit. Am I getting fat?"

me: "your body is designed to be shaped a certain way. We eat good food and exercise so that it can be healthy with the way it is meant to be, but you won't be exactly the same shape as your sister. And that's fine."

It's all yet another tangible reminder of little girls who are growing into young ladies. And once again I find myself reflecting on the passage of time (so fast!) and being thankful for the time we have together (so precious!).

Apparently, some of that time together will soon involve a shopping trip.

worthwhile

Some blessings in life you just wonder what you did to deserve them. Then you realize, probably nothing.

I spend my days doing what would officially be considered nothing of worth. I do not have a job; I do not earn money. I homeschool my kids and write music (okay, maybe a little more than that). Some days I feel like I have little to show for it. I'm not driven by the need to accomplish things, to get more done on my list than I did yesterday. Sure, sometimes I wish I got more done. But then I'd miss out on moments with the kids, or playing with a phrase that catches my fancy.

And then.

Oh, then.

I thanked D today, as I emailed him a lyric on my latest ramble with words, a little something called 'Scatter' (for now at least), for never making me feel like what I was doing wasn't worthwhile. For encouraging me and not treating my writing as a waste of time.

And then.

"Babe;

Your writing, your music - is part of who you are. Part of what makes you beautiful. Part of what makes me love you ... To squash it would be in conflict with my love. It is not a waste of time because I see the joy it brings you and so it brings me joy..."

Well, of course I cried.

coffee

I was awakened this morning by the entry of M into the room, smiling and saying "good morning, Mommy and Daddy, I made you breakfast in bed!" Such a sweet start to the day, and she was obviously so happy she'd done it.

On the tray was a glass of juice, two slices of cinnamon toast, a napkin, a glass of Coke, and half a cup of hot coffee.

The glass of Coke was, of course, perfect for D who hates coffee.

"Wow, did you make coffee?" I asked, a little hesitantly, thinking I'd never shown her how to use the machine.

"Nope!" (insert excited, quite-proud-of-herself grin here) "There was some in the machine yesterday so I poured it in a glass, hid it in the fridge to have it for this morning, and reheated it in the microwave!"

Loving foresight trumps fresh-brewed every time in my eyes.

home

Home feels new. Three and a half weeks away was a great time, seeing family, meeting friends. Thirteen different states, no idea how many miles traveled. D was his usual amazing self, driving almost all of the distance, and the girlies were fun and much silliness was had by all.

Now it's home, to a house that was clean and intact but for evidence of partying mice. Traps have been set. Picking up Sam today, chickens sometime soon, and a new hamster this weekend (as pet, not for aforementioned traps).

making rather merry, sir

What a funny Christmas.

I had no Christmas Eve service to plan.

I did not decorate my house.

I did not buy a turkey, mash potatoes, make stuffing, plan a meal, fuss over details.

Gifts among our immediate family were all opened by the 17th.

There's not even a chance of snow here.

In some ways, all is so foreign, yet... here I sit, as the girls play in their silly camaraderie among cousins and uncles and aunts, old jokes being dredged up and laughed at yet again, and new jokes being forged as we laugh our way through the holidays. And it's right.

Some of the laughter is because of the jokes, much is just because it's so easy to laugh when we're all together.

More people than ever, yet not quite all. Tonight on the way home the iPod kicked into "All is Well". About one verse in, I switched tracks. "I like that one," said D. "It reminds too much," said I. "Enough said," he replied. What an amazing guy.

What an amazing family.

I am, in so many senses of the word, ridiculously blessed.

Merry Christmas. And God bless us, every one.

celebrate

Yesterday D and I celebrated 18 years of marriage. Wow. Eighteen years. I graduated from high school when I was that old and felt like I knew so much, not realizing there was a whole world of things I as yet had not a sweet clue about. Hopefully I'm a little wiser at this point in my life. Still silly and childish (childlike? sounds better) by times, but overall a more knowledgeable me. Hopefully.

The evening was to be a youth group event at our place, when teenagers descended on our farm to swim, roast things, burn things, and otherwise enjoy the country. There was talk of capture the flag in the fields, and whether or not to warn the kids about the ... err ... land mines left by the cows, or just let them find out for themselves. Many hotdogs and chips were purchased, as well as two lobsters I planned to cook up for D and me after the kids had gone home for the evening.

Then the wind picked up and the clouds rolled in and the event was called off by the leaders. Not a drop of rain fell here, however, and the evening cleared up and stayed beautiful. So, we made a fire in the firepit, cooked hot dogs and marshmallows and had a relaxed family evening complete with swimming before and after dark. The lobsters met their end and were delicious. It really was a perfect evening with many laughs and D and I being so thankful for the life we've had together so far.