Showing posts sorted by relevance for query first day of school. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query first day of school. Sort by date Show all posts

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

Lowering My Standards

There's a Dave Barry quote on my fridge:

"Sometimes people ask me, 'Dave, what is the essence of parenthood?'
I always answer, 'Lowering your standards.'"

Sometimes people ask me (not really, but let's pretend for the sake of a blog post), "Karen, what is the essence of the first day of homeschooling?"

I always answer, "Lowering my standards."

First days come with high expectations. Curriculum has been sifted through, assessed, and weighed. Books have been bought and neatly stacked on shelves. Shiny new school supplies have delighted one and all. Lists have been made, schedules labored over, planners filled and chore charts posted. Children have been prepped. Earlier bed times! Up and at 'em! Today's the day! This is going the be the best school year of our lives!

And then it arrives.

Someone struggles to get out of bed, and so it begins. Math is still hated. Chores are forgotten. Pencils break. Hopes are dashed all day long. Nothing is perfect and nothing has changed.

Unless you change one thing: your expectations.

This sounds like the plan of a defeatist loser, but I'm going to contest that charge. (Maybe I just don't want to admit that I'm a defeatist loser, but, hey, I'll let you be the judge.)  Long ago, I gave up the idea of a perfect first day. It doesn't fit with my personality, because I've known for a long time that I'm so far from perfect that I don't even know what a perfect day looks like, much less am I able to plan one.

So, I plan on a good day rather than a perfect one. A fun day, with some new disciplines mixed in. A day that reminds us of why we homeschool and why we hope to keep doing it. A day that starts with Mass in the morning, and always includes breakfast out (a real treat around here). A gentle introduction to the math we need to tackle, reading some good books, praying in thanksgiving at the end of the day for the blessing of our family and our days together.

Our first day this year:

~Mass and McDonald's (that actually qualifies as "breakfast out" for my kids)
~Violin and piano
~Anne-with-an-e read 15 or 20 pages of Our Town
~Math all around!
~Ramona's read aloud (which we're all enjoying): Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat (thanks, Johnna!)
~Workbooks for Ramona (sigh. She loves them. The more the better, she thinks.)
~Read some Screwtape Letters aloud with Anne and Betsy and talked about "taste" and "having opinions on things" such as music, and so I dug up this quote from C.S. Lewis on humility:

There are two musical situations on which I think we can be confident that a blessing rests. One is where a priest or an organist, himself a man of trained and delicate taste, humbly and charitably sacrifices his own (esthetically right) desires and gives the people humbler and coarser fare than he would wish, in a belief (even, as it may be, the erroneous belief) that he can thus bring them to God.

The other is where the stupid and unmusical layman humbly and patiently, and above all silently, listens to music which he cannot, or cannot fully, appreciate, in the belief that it somehow glorifies God, and that if it does not edify him this must be his own defect. Neither such a High Brow nor such a Low Brow can be far out of the way. To both, Church Music will have been a means of grace; not the music they have liked, but the music they have disliked. They have both offered, sacrificed, their taste in the fullest sense.

But where the opposite situation arises, where the musician is filled with pride of skill or the virus of emulation and looks with contempt on the unappreciative congregation, or where the unmusical, complacently entrenched in their own ignorance and conservatism, look with the restless and resentful hostility of an inferior complex on all who would try to improve their taste -- there, we may be sure, all that both offer is unblessed and the spirit that moves them is not the Holy Ghost.
                                     ~~ from his essay, "On Church Music"
It was a good day. Not perfect. But good. Very good.

And we had cookie dough for lunch.

So, slap the loser label on me (that lunch alone qualifies me) but know this: I love our first days of school.

Friday, September 11, 2015

First Week of School

Photo thanks to FreeImages

Yes, we're back at it.

Many moons ago, we decided that the two non-negotiables of the first day of school were Mass and breakfast out. (To my daughters' chagrin, I've always added the somewhat negotiable, "And a little bit of math.")

It used to be so easy to schedule these things. The day after Labor Day = First Day of School. But schedules are more complicated these days. Anne and Betsy wanted to join us for our first day ritual, but their morning schedules made it trickier. Anyway, for a variety of reasons involving Mass schedules, college schedules, yada, yada, we went to Mass on Tuesday evening. Not perfect scheduling, because Anne couldn't join us, but on the plus side, the new priest at our parish made a point of stopping to ask what he can do to support the miscarriage ministry I help with, so that was lovely. On Wednesday morning, all four of us went out to breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, and loads of coffee, tea, or hot chocolate, depending on which Edmisten you are.

On the way home, we cranked up the volume in the car and belted out "Let It Go." Then I had to let go of my college girls so they could go have their lives. Ramona and I dove into some math, read some books, and talked about plans and ideas for the school year.

~~~~~

In other news, I am on the final Harry Potter book with Ramona!

from Facebook:

Sept. 6th: The down side of being the youngest in this family/late to the Harry Potter party: Ramona didn't get the fun of midnight movies, book release parties, winning costume contests, and staying up till the wee hours to rip into the latest release. The upside? One book and movie after another. We finished Half-Blood Prince last night, watched the movie today, and then started reading Deathly Hallows. Anne, Betsy, and I are already talking about creating a final feast for Ramona that will include chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, chicken wings or legs (for Ron-style/two-fisted eating), butter beer, and Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans.


Sept. 7th: Reading HP & the Deathly Hallows to Ramona today ... my throat hurts from my Mad-Eye Moody voice.

And from Instagram ... Ramona made Luna Lovegood's Spectre Specs.



I will be extremely sad when we finish Deathly Hallows (and not just because of all the deaths I'm going to have to read about aloud...wish me luck.) It will be the end of an era at our house. However, the great relief for all of us will be no longer having to say, "Don't talk about that in front of Ramona! Spoilers!"* 

*Last night, Atticus took Ramona along with him when he had to help run a concession stand at his school. When he introduced her to the students they would be working with, he said, "This is my daughter. She's currently reading the last Harry Potter book, so if anyone talks about Harry Potter, NO SPOILERS."
I love that man. 

Thursday, September 05, 2019

Poetry Friday: Our *Last* First Day of School


Although Ramona started French class as an early-enrollment student at the college a couple of weeks ago, I have always waited to "officially" start our homeschool after Labor Day and this year is no different.

Well, one thing is different.

Today is the last first-day-of-school for Ramona and me. My last first-day-of-homeschooling forever. She's a senior this year. (Whaaaat?) We have thoughts and plans and aspirations for this year, of course. And we'll tackle them fiercely, knowing all the while that we have no idea what this year actually holds.

Have we ever known what a year holds, before that year takes hold of us? Not really. Life has an annoying funhouse quality, with unexpected twists and surprises around heretofore unseen and unconsidered corners. I love the way this poem by Henrietta Cordelia Ray captures the breathless, naive, but utterly lovable optimism of being human while acknowledging the as-yet unknown shadows and gloom that will inevitably color and shape every life. And yet we soldier on and continue to "climb the slopes of life with throbbing heart."

Here's to a school year propelled by an eager pulse, rich song, and eyes wide-stretched. We cannot repine, Henrietta. No, we cannot repine.

Aspiration
Henrietta Cordelia Ray

We climb the slopes of life with throbbing heart,
And eager pulse, like children toward a star.
Sweet siren music cometh from afar,
To lure us on meanwhile. Responsive start
The nightingales to richer song than Art
Can ever teach. No passing shadows mar
Awhile the dewy skies; no inner jar
Of conflict bids us with our quest to part.
We see adown the distance, rainbow-arched,
What melting aisles of liquid light and bloom!
We hasten, tremulous, with lips all parched,
And eyes wide-stretched, nor dream of coming gloom.
Enough that something held almost divine
Within us ever stirs. Can we repine?

~~~~~~~~~~


~~~~~~~~~~

(Photo courtesy of Barbara A. Lane at Pixabay.) 

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Back to School and Not Back to School


Yesterday my eldest daughter headed off to college classes. She's attending school here in our town, so it's not the seismic shift it would be if she were moving away, but's it's new and different. Between classes and her job, we'll be seeing a lot less of her.

My middle daughter also went to a college class (dual high school/college credit for a foreign language), is thinking about getting a job, is involved in various activities, etc., so she's getting busier all the time, too.

Anne-with-an-e and Betsy are "back to school" in a way we've never really been before.

Ramona stayed home with me. We cleaned her room and took board game breaks. Atticus asked if it reminded me of the days when Betsy and I would walk Anne to her Kindergarten class at the school across the street and then spend the morning together, just the two of us.

It felt a little too weird to remind me of anything I've ever experienced before.

Being somewhat unschoolish, I've always been content to just "start" whenever it suits us. But sometime back my girls wanted things to be a bit more official. And Ramona is a big fan of official.

I'm philosophically opposed to school starting before Labor Day so, years ago, I chose the day after the holiday to be our annual, official kick-off day. But, as with most things in life, I've found that the more official things get, the more likely they are to be full of letdown.

Remember this post? I talked about "lowering my standards" for First Day Expectations. My main expectations always come down to two things for the first day:

We go to Mass. We go out for breakfast.

(Evidence here, here, and here [although in this one, I neglected to mention Mass. Did we not go? I can't remember a year when we didn't start the first school day with Mass, so either I was sloppy in my recounting of the day, or something was amiss.] And here.)

Everything else is gravy. (Or cream in the coffee.)

I've never expected us to move from summer languor to school year rigor in 0-to-60, though Anne and Betsy are experiencing some of that in a way that Ramona and I can still skim over. Still, since I have a ten-year-old, full-time homeschooler, and a 16-year-old, part-time homeschooler, I'm going to hang on to my unschoolish ways awhile longer, and savor what I have, while learning to deal with what's new and different.

So, we are both back to school, and not back to school at our house. We are adjusting. Sometimes we are a little dizzy. We might need more Masses. More breakfast out. Definitely more coffee.

Most of all, as has always been true, we need each other. And we're here for each other.

Some things never change.

(Photo courtesy of Stock.xchng.)

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

First day of school

I always set the day after Labor Day as our first day of school because it gives us an excuse to go out to breakfast. (I know what you're thinking: "Now, there's a woman who has her priorities straight.")

Here's what I'd planned:

Mass
Breakfast out (with two meals free, thanks to "birthday club" coupons)
Nature walk
Math
Read-alouds
Writing

Here's what we got:

Mass:

At first, we seemed to be annoying the woman seated directly behind us. I thought she had a tiny scowl on her face, and I wondered if too much whispering had been going on. But, at the sign of peace, she was lovely. She smiled warmly and exchanged a sincere greeting. Then, after Holy Communion, I noticed that she had not gone forward. I wondered if she might be going through RCIA.

Right after Mass, she asked if we were homeschoolers, then explained that she used to homeschool her four boys, "once upon a time." She sweetly offered me leftover curriculum, and then said that she's in RCIA, but keeps wondering if she's doing the right thing. Hmmm ... she was talking to the right person. I explained that both my husband and I are converts, that I was on our parish's RCIA team for about six years, and if she'd ever like to talk more about her questions, I'd love to have her over for a cup of coffee. We exchanged names. God is good.

Breakfast:

The coupons could not be honored. The restaurant just dropped its franchise affiliation and would not give us the birthday discounts. (I had a few words to say about cultivating good customer relations during their transition period, but I kept my mouth shut and ordered a muffin and coffee.) The girls enjoyed their unhealthy chocolate chip pancakes, bacon and the like, and we were off for our

Walk:

We went to the lake and racked up a load of nature sightings. It was a gorgeous morning -- blue skies, 70 degrees. Perfect. The girls spotted a couple kinds of fish, water striders ("Just like in Joyful Noise, Mom," said Anne), a very fat brown caterpillar and the skeleton of something. I didn't know what it was, and the girls didn't want to know. We moved on.

Math:

Back at home, we casually reviewed some math facts, just to get back into the swing of it. Ramona has decided she loves math. Not that I make her "do" math ... I think she just likes to be the opposite of her sisters. She chases them through the house, shouting, "I'm a big book of math!" I have to confess that I wasn't thrilled with the water that was sprayed on the table (from someone's mouth) when something funny happened. I did get a little crabby for a few minutes there, but I had to admit that I was glad they were having fun doing math. In light of the big picture, the spraying was quickly put back into its proper perspective.

Read-aloud and writing
:

We finished our Martha book, and today will move on to Twenty and Ten. The girls also did some writing. They have stories going, are working on blog posts and keyboarding. (When did typing become keyboarding?)

And last night, we did some door-to-door canvassing to help out the woman who teaches horseback riding to my girls. She also runs a therapeutic riding program, and depends quite a bit on her fundraising. The girls were thrilled to collect $30 for her, and I was thrilled to see them so excited to do it. It was extraordinarily cute (if I do say so myself) to see them offer their spiel and squeak with delight at every "yes."

Back at home, we read a little more, got ready for bed, and Ramona dropped off in my arms during prayers.

What a lovely day. But then, with God, chocolate, coffee, and three angels in my midst, how could we go wrong?

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

"What we're really talking about is an education."

So, the other day I apparently said, "Actually, what we're really talking about is an education: what that is, what it means, how one acquires such a thing."

The trouble with saying something like that is that it makes me appear to have something to say. It sounds as if I actually have a post planned. It prompts people leave comments such as:

"I for one am looking forward to that next post, still trying to figure out 'what it all means' myself."

and

"Naturally, waiting impatiently for the next installment... ;)"

I'm grateful Dweej winked. I think she has me figured out (i.e., 87% of the time, I'm just talking, talking, talking ... y'know? I have no plan, no wisdom -- just a lot of words and ideas and caffeine. Or wine. Oh!  The talking is worse when I've had two glasses of cabernet.)

Anyway.

What is an education, and how does one acquire such a thing? My ideas about these things have changed so much over time.

I used to think that "An Education" was a set of objective truths and procedures, but as educations have unfolded over the years (my own education, and those of my children) I have seen how fluid the processes and definitions can be.

I used to think that to acquire an education one had to attend school and then, naturally, college. As my own education has progressed, and as my children have grown, however, I've seen so much autodidacticism that I now believe there's not a simple, single, well-defined way to learn, and that a classroom isn't always necessary for intellectual growth.

For today, I'm going to rerun an old post, from a series I did a couple of years back. Feel free to jump in and discuss -- let's educate ourselves on the nature of education.

(The post below is Part 4 of the series. For links to the previous three parts, see this post, "Joining Michele's Discussion: What is Education?")

~~~~~
from March, 2009:


My ideas about education.

They.
Have.
Changed.
Beyond.
Recognition.

When Anne-with-an-e was born, I had never, ever considered homeschooling.

Oh, I knew about those homeschooling fools. They were the people I'd ridiculed years before when they were fighting for the right to legally educate their kids at home. I'd heard of them (noisy religious fanatics that they were) and forgotten about them.

By 1993, when my first child was born, I didn't have an ounce of interest in homeschooling. I knew that my child would attend whatever public school was nearby, wherever Atticus taught. Because public school was simply what people did.

(I still believe in the ideals of public education -- that a great, solid education should be available to everyone, which is quite different from an education that is compulsory, but that's another post.)

I remember having thoughts about things that would be a part of "Kindergarten and so on" and I therefore didn't worry too much about some of those basics: "Oh ... she'll learn that in school," I would think.

In 1997, when Anne was about three-and-a-half, and I'd been a Catholic for two years, we bought a home from a family who homeschooled. I still remember the first time we went to see the house. As I knocked, I wondered what kind of demented woman would answer the door, and what kind of freaks would her children be, having been shut up in the house all day long, day after wretched, home bound day?

But shortly after that, I began to hear more about homeschooling from various quarters. A close friend was looking into it, though his wife wasn't convinced. At a Bible study I attended, a couple of people were discussing it. I began to find myself strangely intrigued. Oh, I knew we would never do it -- could anyone imagine Atticus, a public school teacher, homeschooling his own children? Preposterous. But, ummm ... tell me more, I found myself saying. Tell me. More.

They told me more. I began to read, and discuss, and explore online, and then read some more. I was drawn to it again and again, despite all my doubts and fears. I remember asking someone on an e-list, "Can I really do it? I'm already tired all the time. How will I teach my kids, on top of everything else I do?"

Those lovely moms assured me that it could happen, it does work, and that it's a process. Kind of like growing into grilled peanut butter.

I decided that if I completely blew it the first year, well, at least my daughter wouldn't be ruined forever. I could still put her in school for the final eleven years of her education, right? Eventually, Atticus was on board, too, and we began.

Now I marvel at how much my mindset has changed.

The idea of waiting for someone else to figure out our path? Or to determine all that my children need to learn? Conforming to others' ideas about what an education is, how it should be accomplished? It sounds like a foreign language now.

And, it all brings home the Church's teachings on the principle of subsidiarity:

The teaching of the Church has elaborated the principle of subsidiarity, according to which "a community of a higher order should not interfere in the internal life of a community of a lower order, depriving the latter of its functions, but rather should support it in case of need and help to co- ordinate its activity with the activities of the rest of society, always with a view to the common good."

-- Catechism of the Catholic Church
We, as parents, are capable of making these choices and carrying out these plans. And, by not depriving ourselves of the most basic responsibility as the primary educators of our children, we have created something -- in the way of education, lifestyle and family relationships -- that we treasure.

In short, my idea of education has changed in this way: I used to think of it as "something they would get in school."

Now, I know it is "something we define, plan and pursue."

"Education" is a wide open space, a vast universe, a wilderness waiting to be explored; it's unconventional and traditional, depending on the day, the book or the topic. It's full of things that are fun and fascinating, not just things that are required to pass the test. It is books, discussion, and knowing when we don't need to talk.

It is our life. As Betsy said in this post, "... let's take years and years and years to learn everything!"

"Education" isn't something that's confined to a desk, from 8 to 3. It's a full-time job, and yes, sometimes it is exhausting to homeschool. But, I'm so glad those noisy, crazy religious fanatics fought for their right to pursue it. For my right. And my privilege, because make no mistake ... no matter how much work it is, defining, planning, and pursuing my kids' education is an enormous privilege, one I'm extraordinarily grateful to have.

On related notes, here are links to a couple of past posts on homeschooling:

Here's one about finding support for homeschooling.

Here's a post from 2006 about "What is 'normal' anyway?"

~~~~~

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Joining Michele's Discussion: What is Education? (Part 4: Changing Ideas)


Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
~~~~~~~~~~



How have your ideas about education evolved and changed over time (if they have).

Hmmm.

My ideas about education.

They.
Have.
Changed.
Beyond.
Recognition.

When Anne-with-an-e was born, I had never, ever considered homeschooling.

Oh, I knew about those homeschooling fools. They were the people I'd ridiculed years before when they were fighting for the right to legally educate their kids at home. I'd heard of them (noisy religious fanatics that they were) and forgotten about them.

By 1993, when my first child was born, I didn't have an ounce of interest in homeschooling. I knew that my child would attend whatever public school was nearby, wherever Atticus taught. Because public school was simply what people did.

(I still believe in the ideals of public education -- that a great, solid education should be available to everyone, which is quite different from an education that is compulsory, but that's another post.)

I remember having thoughts about things that would be a part of "Kindergarten and so on" and I therefore didn't worry too much about some of those basics: "Oh ... she'll learn that in school," I would think.

In 1997, when Anne was about three-and-a-half, and I'd been a Catholic for two years, we bought a home from a family who homeschooled. I still remember the first time we went to see the house. As I knocked, I wondered what kind of demented woman would answer the door, and what kind of freaks would her children be, having been shut up in the house all day long, day after wretched, homebound day?

But shortly after that, I began to hear more about homeschooling from various quarters. A close friend was looking into it, though his wife wasn't convinced. At a Bible study I attended, a couple of people were discussing it. I began to find myself strangely intrigued. Oh, I knew we would never do it -- could anyone imagine Atticus, a public school teacher, homeschooling his own children? Preposterous. But, ummm ... tell me more, I found myself saying. Tell me. More.

They told me more. I began to read, and discuss, and explore online, and then read some more. I was drawn to it again and again, despite all my doubts and fears. I remember asking someone on an e-list, "Can I really do it? I'm already tired all the time. How will I teach my kids, on top of everything else I do?"

Those lovely moms assured me that it could happen, it does work, and that it's a process. Kind of like growing into grilled peanut butter.

I decided that if I completely blew it the first year, well, at least my daughter wouldn't be ruined forever. I could still put her in school for the final eleven years of her education, right? Eventually, Atticus was on board, too, and we began.

Now I marvel at how much my mindset has changed.

The idea of waiting for someone else to figure out our path? Or to determine all that my children need to learn? Conforming to others' ideas about what an education is, how it should be accomplished? It sounds like a foreign language now.

And, it all brings home the Church's teachings on the principle of subsidiarity:

The teaching of the Church has elaborated the principle of subsidiarity, according to which "a community of a higher order should not interfere in the internal life of a community of a lower order, depriving the latter of its functions, but rather should support it in case of need and help to co- ordinate its activity with the activities of the rest of society, always with a view to the common good."

-- Catechism of the Catholic Church
We, as parents, are capable of making these choices and carrying out these plans. And, by not depriving ourselves of the most basic responsibility as the primary educators of our children, we have created something -- in the way of education, lifestyle and family relationships -- that we treasure.

In short, my idea of education has changed in this way: I used to think of it as "something they would get in school."

Now, I know it is "something we define, plan and pursue."

"Education" is a wide open space, a vast universe, a wilderness waiting to be explored; it's unconventional and traditional, depending on the day, the book or the topic. It's full of things that are fun and fascinating, not just things that are required to pass the test. It is books, discussion, and knowing when we don't need to talk.

It is our life. As Betsy said in this post, "... let's take years and years and years to learn everything!"

"Education" isn't something that's confined to a desk, from 8 to 3. It's a full-time job, and yes, sometimes it is exhausting to homeschool. But, I'm so glad those noisy, crazy religious fanatics fought for their right to pursue it. For my right. And my privilege, because make no mistake ... no matter how much work it is, defining, planning, and pursuing my kids' education is an enormous privilege, one I'm extraordinarily grateful to have.

On related notes, here are links to a couple of past posts on homeschooling:

Here's one about finding support for homeschooling.

Here's a post from 2006 about "What is 'normal' anyway?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upcoming questions:

What’s working? What’s not working?

What are you aiming for?

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Understood Betsy

The other day I mentioned that we were reading Understood Betsy by Dorothy Canfield Fisher. I knew absolutely nothing about this book before we started it; somehow, it was not on my radar screen. All I knew was that Lissa and Liz had both recommended it to me (more than once each, I'm sure) and that I trusted them to know what kind of book we love.

We finished it last week, and we all adored it. It was the sort of book that leaves one with that curious mix of satisfaction and mourning: the feeling that you are full and happy, content to have partaken of the feast, but so sad that it's gone, over, consumed and done. Oh, yes, of course you can read it again. And you will. But there's nothing like the first taste of a discovery.

In my last post, I mentioned that, as we read, I was reminded of John Holt and Charlotte Mason. Faith, from Dumb Ox Academy, pointed out that Fisher was a champion of Montessori methods. I'm far less familiar with Montessori than with the others, but all were advocates for children, and all encouraged a certain level of independence in learning. All, too, believed that children were capable little people who simply needed to have their natural desires to learn enthusiastically encouraged.

The first John Holt moment was just a little thing. Nine year old Betsy has been called forward in class to do math:

She hated arithmetic with all her might, and she really didn't understand a thing about it! By long experience she had learned to read her teachers' faces very accurately, and she guessed by their expression whether the answer she gave was the right one. And that was the only way she could tell. You never heard of any other child who did that, did you?

(I love the way the narrator sneaks in the occasional editorial aside.)

I was reminded here of a passage from How Children Fail in which John Holt talks about children faking their way through years of math, purely on their ability to read the teacher's face.

I was also reminded of Holt's observations about how strangely artificial school is, about how children are removed from the real world (and from normal interaction in it) when they are closed up in a school building all day. A passing farmer has stopped to join in the children's tug-o-war game at recess:

Elizabeth Ann was thinking to herself that this was one of the queerest things that had happened to her even in this queer place. Never, why never once, had any grown-up, passing the playground of the big brick building, DREAMED of such a thing as stopping for a minute to play. They never even looked at the children, any more than if they were in another world. In fact she had felt the school was in another world.


This happens when you're homeschooling, too. You become very aware that you are indeed living in something of an alternate world. A couple of weeks ago, my girls and I stopped at the grocery store after horseback riding lessons. The clerk, a very cheerful woman, said, "You must be homeschooled." My girls said that yes, they were, and we'd just come from horseback riding and the clerk said, "Oh! Then you get to enjoy this glorious weather! That's so nice. You know, we don't get to see too many children here during the day."

Back to Betsy's new world: I was reminded of Charlotte Mason in Betsy's teacher, who saw the importance of time spent outside, and who was quite matter-of-fact about Betsy being a person ... not a "student," not a "third-grader" and not a pail to be filled, but a human being who was there to grow and learn.

After the teacher utterly shocks Betsy by placing her at a 7th grade reading level, 2nd grade math level, and 3rd grade spelling, Betsy's mind is spinning:

Elizabeth Ann fell back on the bench with her mouth open. She felt really dizzy. What crazy things the teacher said! She felt as though she was being pulled limb from limb.

"What's the matter?" asked the teacher, seeing her bewildered face.

"Why--why," said Elizabeth Ann, "I don't know what I am at all. If I'm second-grade arithmetic and seventh-grade reading and third-grade spelling, what grade AM I?"

The teacher laughed at the turn of her phrase. "YOU aren't any grade at all, no matter where you are in school. You're just yourself, aren't you? What difference does it make what grade you're in! And what's the use of your reading little baby things too easy for you just because you don't know your multiplication table?"


This is simply too much for Betsy. This is not at all what she's been taught, not at all what she thought an education was all about:

"Well, for goodness' SAKES!" ejaculated Elizabeth Ann, feeling very much as though somebody had stood her suddenly on her head.

"Why, what's the matter?" asked the teacher again.

This time Elizabeth Ann didn't answer, because she herself didn't know what the matter was. But I do, and I'll tell you. The matter was that never before had she known what she was doing in school. She had always thought she was there to pass from one grade to another, and she was ever so startled to get a little glimpse of the fact that she was there to learn how to read and write and cipher and generally use her mind, so she could take care of herself when she came to be grown up. Of course, she didn't really know that till she did come to be grown up, but she had her first dim notion of it in that moment, and it made her feel the way you do when you're learning to skate and somebody pulls away the chair you've been leaning on and says, "Now, go it alone!"


Fisher has a lovely, sly sense of humor, and finishes the first section on school with this:

They ran along to the little building, and there I'm going to leave them, because I think I've told enough about their school for ONE while. It was only a poor, rough, little district school anyway, that no Superintendent of Schools would have looked at for a minute, except to sniff.


And the whole book is every bit as delicious as that.

I won't share every detail we loved, as I don't want to spoil the book for those of you who haven't read it. But know that it's full of surprises and delights, a bit of pathos, a lot of compassion, sincere love and humor.

Dorothy Canfield Fisher had a keen understanding of human nature, knew children terrifically well, and captured a wonderful array of arresting personalities in this all-too-quick-a-read.

Understood Betsy is an altogether enchanting book, and a new family favorite here in our Holt-inspired/Masonish/Montessori-touched/Betsian homeschool. Thanks, Liz and Lissa.

Wednesday, September 04, 2013

Betsy Was a Junior ... But Now She's a Senior

Fellow Maud Hart Lovelace fans will get the Betsy-Tacy reference in the post title, but I'm talking about my Betsy (whose blog name, yes, came from said beloved books.)

My Betsy recently had, as she said, her "last first day of school."

My Betsy is a senior.

We launched her senior year the way we always begin our school years -- with Mass and then breakfast out. (I've always gambled that if we start with God, coffee, and pancakes, we can't go too far wrong.)

We had a lovely day of easing into work, discipline, academics, math (which we merely talked about on the first day but did not tackle until today, so as to preserve the loveliness of that God-Coffee-Pancake kind of beginning. I know on an intellectual level that math is one of God's fiercely beautiful inventions, but on an emotional level? I want to kick it to the curb.) We did fun stuff, like buying snappy new journals, going to the library, and taking Ramona to the park. Betsy also joined Ramona and me as we watched a couple of episodes of Liberty's Kids (which, unbelievably, is available for under seven bucks right now. Yes! All 40 episodes. Run. Run and grab it now.)

And I'm savoring it all. Appreciating the gifts of the mundane. Journaling (not just blogging, but journaling, too, which I've missed and let slide since I started blogging.) Reflecting on the fact that after this year, there will be only one child left in this homeschool dynamic, and that child will be in junior high (which hits me anew every time we reuse a book or resource around here and I realize that I don't have to preserve it for anyone coming up after Ramona ... a strange feeling....)

I'm so grateful that we chose to follow this weird, counter-cultural, fulfilling, amazing, odd, winding path. I wonder, sometimes, what our lives would have looked like if our girls had chosen to go to high school. I never get very far with the speculation, though, because this life is the only one I've known, and it's been good. Maybe a schoolish life would have been good, too? I don't know. Possibly, probably. But at this point, what does that matter? Roads diverged, and we took the one that most intrigued. I used to say that we would take homeschooling one year at a time, and we did, but it didn't take long before I realized something about myself, that "knowing how way leads on to way/I doubted if I should ever come back."

I started this post in a Betsy-Tacy frame of mind, detoured past the Revolutionary War, then meandered into Frostian territory, but through it all I've had a picture in my mind of my beautiful, witty, brave, and talented girl, my novelist, my poet, my middle child. It will be a year of many last firsts.

Betsy is a senior.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Our first day of school

It was yesterday. And it went so well.

Now, I know that we homeschoolers sometimes want to sugarcoat our lives, as Danielle Bean so rightly and forthrightly pointed out recently. It's true that we're so often being criticized, assessed, and judged as geeks that we want to put forth only the best, the brightest, the sunniest of days and dispositions.

Guilty.

We all do it, I think. In an attempt to encourage and support each other, and to let the world in on the secret that homeschooling can be pretty great, we focus on the positives and let a lot of the negatives slip quietly by with nary a blog post in sight.

Blogs are, in large part, for the edification of others, not the depressification.

And, we all know that there can be plenty of depressifying things about mothering, homeschooling, and life in general.

But, for today I can honestly say (without sugarcoating, hiding the facts, or skimming the surface) that we had a great day.

And so much of it was my attitude ... which is another blog post in itself (hopefully not a depressifying one.)

Here are some snippets of the greatiosity of our day:

We went to Mass in the morning and only one of us had to go to the bathroom, and Ramona timed it nicely for just after the Gospel.

We went out for pancakes and bacon and lots of coffee (and, oh ... did I say I wouldn't hide anything? Ummm .... I just won't mention how much it costs to feed four people a lot of flour, sugar and maple syrup in a restaurant. We will skim over that little factoid.)

We had a leisurely nature walk at the lake, and I really didn't have an educational agenda, which made me a much more pleasant walking companion. We just walked. We spotted our three favorite ducks (whom we've now named Harry, Ron and Hermione), and watched a small flock of geese take off over our heads. We pointed out about thirteen spider webs on one fence, and Betsy panicked only three times about bees.

We headed to the library. And I really didn't care how long we were there or when we got home. And, they had an old videotape of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter on sale for $1.

We came home and did Math-U-See and no one cried.

We read the first part of Twelve Bright Trumpets.

We looked through all of our new books and Betsy read the first three chapters of her Science Daybook.

Ramona found an old phonics game in the closet and almost read several words.

At the end of the day, I had a glass of wine (doesn't every teacher deserve one?)

I feel content. Content with the content of our day.

This homeschooling business?

It can be really good stuff.

Just don't ask me about it in February.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Our First Days of School

Recently (oh, was that really back on August 21st?) I mentioned that we'd be getting back to school after Labor Day. We did indeed start and it's been pronounced "Good!" by those in the know (that would be Ramona.)

First Day of School:

Went to Mass. Lovely, quiet, daily Mass. Lovely, quiet way to start and fortify our day.

Went to breakfast (though I would argue that Ramona's #1 choice -- a McGriddle at MacDonald's -- is not, in actuality, food).

Music lessons for Betsy and Ramona. We are the scum at the bottom of the barrel when it comes to keeping up with instruments over the summer. When there is no routine -- when no one named Mom is writing on Whiteboard Central in the kitchen, "Practice Today!" -- it doesn't seem to happen. Apparently, I am completely to blame. But, they're getting back up to speed quickly, and all is well and all will be well.

Math for everyone! Because we love it so much! Oh, wait. No. That's not the reason.
(Fact: I have five posts labeled "Math" on this blog. And one of them is a rerun.)

The park. Because it was a gorgeous day. Because it's fall. Because that means I'm coming back to life after wilting like old lettuce for months.

A spelling book! Because Ramona likes to challenge me.

Writing. Because we love it so much! And this time that's true!
(Fact: I have 133 posts labeled "Writing", "Blogging", or "Writing With the Kids." And those are just the ones I remembered to label.)

We're starting our Writing Groups up again. Ramona meets with hers at a friend's house, and I host one here for the teens. This year's a little different, though. For the past three years, Writing Group has been "my girls" -- Anne-with-an-e, Betsy, and their two best friends. So, we can be as girly as we want to be, and Betsy can write as many Jane Austen-y romance-y subplots as she likes, and these four such-best-friends-you-can-barely-tell-them-apart can write stories that include every inside joke they've ever split their sides over.

But this year, Anne and her best friend are busy with college classes, and meeting with us during the week doesn't work. Ack! What are we to do?

It happens that there are now two teen boys who are also interested in coming to Writing Group, so the dynamic has changed. Everyone has agreed not to laugh at anyone else's idea of good writing, whether that idea includes true love or things blowing up real good.

Days since the first day have included: 

The Prairie Thief read-aloud (which can be accomplished only when both Anne and Betsy are home and free to listen because they've made it clear they'll kill me if we read Lissa's new book without them.)

A visit to the library to hear a Laura Ingalls Wilder Chautauqua. Will probably do a separate post about it.

Betsy is reading Quiet, and a Sherlock Holmes book. (And doing math! Because she loves it so much! Just keep saying it, Karen....)

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

A No-Panic Advent: The Monstrously Long Post

Update, November, 2015: 

I first ran this as a series of posts in 2008. 
The next year, I pulled them together into one enormous post which, at first glance, looked insane and intimidating, but it wasn't meant to be. Forgive me my fervor. 

Just remember this: 
no one does everything I talk about in this post, not even me. This is a springboard, a pool of ideas, a bunch of memories, and hopefully, a little bit of help to you as you watch, wait, and prepare for Jesus during Advent.


~~~~~~~~~~

Part I: Note some dates

It's the advent of Advent! So mark some dates on the calendar. You know that's the only way you'll remember anything!

Stuff that goes on my calendar:

*The first Sunday of Advent (Before the first Sunday rolls around, I try to buy candles for our Advent wreath. Sometimes I've been so annoyingly organized that I bought them the previous year and packed them away with the wreath. But I never know if I've done that until I unpack the thing....)

*December 5: St. Nicholas Eve. (Extremely important. St. Nicholas doesn't go to bed without remembering to do a few things first.)

*December 6: St. Nicholas Day

*December 8: Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception (Holy day of obligation!)

*December 12: Our Lady of Guadalupe

*December 13: St. Lucia

*December 17: O Antiphons begin (I always intended to do something with these, but rarely did. Here's an idea from my daughters' godmother.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you haven't observed any of these feast days in the past, do not -- I repeat, do not -- feel pressure to do it all.  Listen up: No one does it all.

Pick just one or two things to focus on -- and have fun with them. Advent observances are meant to deepen our faith, help us pause and reflect, and draw us closer to God. Stressing out about how well we do this stuff (or whether we do it at all) doesn't deepen our faith. It just irritates us.

God doesn't want us irritated as we prepare for the coming of His Son. That would kinda defeat the purpose of the Prince of Peace, wouldn't it? Meaningful preparation is the key. No panic necessary ... just keep your eyes fixed on Jesus.


Part II: The Jesus Stocking

The Jesus stocking is something I started when Anne-with-an-e was very young. I wanted a way to keep our Christmas focused on Jesus rather than all the other trappings (delightful and fun though they are) of the holiday.

It's a simple stocking and I just used fabric paint to add His name.

What goes in the Jesus stocking? It can be whatever you like -- we've done it a couple of different ways.

As with our Thanksgiving Tree, at dinner we can each name something we're thankful for, write it down, and add it to the stocking. On Christmas day, it's fun to read all the blessings that were counted during Advent, from the littlest things (in the old days, that might be a tea party with Tigger), to grown-up concerns (such as being thankful that, on a sub-zero day, the car chose to break down in the driveway instead of twenty miles from home), to everyday-but-enormous joys (such as friendship, family and faith.) Here are some samples from years past:



Another way to use the Jesus stocking is for corporal and spiritual works of mercy. You're probably familiar with the idea of setting up a manger for baby Jesus and filling it with soft hay (we use yarn in a basket) in preparation for Christmas day.

The Jesus stocking can be used the same way. Corporal and spiritual works of mercy, small sacrifices, kindnesses, and prayers are recorded and dropped in the stocking as gifts for Jesus.

For the first couple weeks of Advent, the Jesus stocking is the only one hanging on the mantle (the small tree to the right is our Jesse Tree):


That reminds us that He is at the center of the celebration. Surrounded by our favorite Advent books and calendars, this place of honor for the King is a constant reminder that what we anticipate in this season of hope is not a gift, but the Gift: our Lord and Savior.


Part III: The Jesse Tree

I call the Jesse Tree a "family scrapbook" because through its stories we learn about our spiritual family and salvation history.

This is probably one of the most "educational" Advent activities that we do. (Remember, though -- life is school, and school is life, so it's all educational.) I used to post a small sign next to the tree (just in case my children forgot what I was educating them about.)  The sign read, "Finding Jesus in the Old Testament" and that's exactly what a Jesse Tree helps us do. It introduces us to the truth that Christianity is not a new idea, nor a religion dreamed up and perpetuated by a motley crew of fishermen and tax collectors. It is the fulfillment of God's story -- our story -- from the beginning of time.

Reading the Scriptures that lay the foundation for and point us to Jesus brings all those seemingly disconnected Bible stories together into a meaningful fabric, a tapestry of history that makes sense to even the youngest of children. When we compare it to a family's scrapbook, it becomes a metaphor children can easily understand. The symbols we hang on our tree are snapshots of the history of Jesus, which is our history, too.

We use ornaments made from salt dough. My salt dough has a tendency to break, so we've been through a couple sets of ornaments. I used to keep the ornaments right under the tree, within easy reach for the daily readings but you may not want to do that if you have babies or toddlers. The reason I no longer keep them there is we now have a dog who finds salt dough to be a delicacy. (P.S.: For young kids, I recommend scheduling the ceremonial hanging in a basic, "No fighting - your turn will come tomorrow," rotation to avoid having fights break out.)

I started using a small, artificial Christmas tree as our Jesse tree several years ago. Before that, I dithered about, trying to find the best way to approach this activity. One year we did poster board and a hodgepodge of paper and 3D ornaments; another year I searched in vain for the perfect tree branch to place in a pot, a la a friend's example. Nothing seemed to satisfy me.

One year, I realized I was trying so hard to make the activity a perfect one that  I ended up abandoning the whole thing in frustration. Another year our tree was hastily thrown together on construction paper. I was pregnant then with Ramona, at a very tired age 41, and was extraordinarily pleased with myself simply for breaking out glitter.

I was finally inspired to use our artificial tree by my friend, Johnna, who always has great craft and liturgical ideas. She began using their full-size Christmas tree as a Jesse Tree, hanging Jesse ornaments during Advent, then replacing them with Christmas ornaments on Christmas Eve. I adapted the idea, pulled out the old 4' tree I'd been considering giving away, and our Jesse Tree dilemma was finally settled. My kids were 11, 8 and 2 when I figured this out. So. Huh. It took awhile.

What readings do we use? That took some time to figure out, too. I have to confess that for awhile, I reeeally disliked the whole Jesse Tree activity because I couldn't find an easy, workable, all-in-one version anywhere. If one source had ornaments I liked, it didn't offer appealing readings. If I liked the readings in a different version, suddenly my ornaments didn't match up with the daily reflection.

Harumph. Then, my English pal, The Bookworm came to the rescue, and we settled in with a book she recommended.

The Jesse Tree by Geraldine McCaughrean combines a picture/storybook with all the Scripture readings I want to cover. I use this book and a Bible to completely cover it all.

An important point to remember about the Jesse Tree -- and one that will keep you from falling into petulance -- is that it doesn't have to be done perfectly on schedule or legalistically. Miss a day of readings here or there? It's okay! Catch up when you have time.

What you're aiming for -- the truly important thing -- is increased familiarity with Scripture, and a growing understanding that Jesus is present in the Old Testament.

In the same way that little math students do the same multiplication problems year in and year out, students of the Jesse Tree study "the same old thing" each year,with the result being steady and continued growth and knowledge. It isn't immediately transforming. It's an activity that grows on you, that grows on your kids, and most of all, that increases everyone's fluency with the word of God.

What matters is that you're digging into Scripture. Your ornaments might be hastily assembled, glitter-glopped and slapped on poster board, or they might be carefully crafted in the weeks leading up to Advent. Your readings might come from one source while your ornaments are nabbed from another. The bottom line is you should do what works for you and your family, for your possibly-tired-or-pregnant-or-incapacitated body, your crafty or craft-challenged self, your one child or your many.

Don't do what I did. Don't let the quest for "the perfect Jesse Tree" squelch a great way to spend time with God's word. Relax and have fun with it, and keep that big picture in mind.


Part IV: O Night Divine, Catholic Cuisine and Catholic Mom

Gather ideas from all corners of the world! Or, at least, from a few Catholic corners of the internet.

Mary Ellen Barrett's Advent and Christmas blog, O Night Divine is a treasure chest from which you can pluck a few jewels for your preparations and celebrations.

Catholic Cuisine, a liturgical year resource that's a treasure trove all year round, is packed with ideas from a variety of contributors.

Lisa Hendey's CatholicMom.com Advent page is full of great links, too.


Part V: Files

This is simple.

Keep an Advent file. Online bookmarking and a paper file, too.

Toss good ideas into your file as you stumble upon them. When you're halfway through Advent, or seven days into the Twelve Days of Christmas and you discover a great new idea, don't kill yourself trying to implement it right this very minute.

That idea will still be there next year. Don't try to do it all. 

That's what files are for: to hold all the great stuff you're not doing at the moment, but will do. Another year.


Part VI: Don't Sweat a Little Secularity

Or, "What Does Miss Piggy Have to Do with Advent?"

Unexpectedly, Miss Piggy became a part of our Advent traditions many years ago.

When Anne-with-an-e was very little, my mother gave us an Advent calendar: twenty-four mini books, one for each day of December until Christmas. The calendar featured Miss Piggy and Kermit the Frog bringing the O. Henry story, The Gift of the Magi, to fuzzy, muppety life. My daughter delighted in the story and looked forward each year to the books, which we read and hung by their decorative little ribbons on the tree.

One year (before Atticus came into the Catholic Church), I worried that I shouldn't include anything secular in our Advent traditions and I considered leaving the Muppets in their box. I was trying so hard to impress on the kids what the season was really all about. I was determined -- without my husband's help and that made it seem a heavier burden -- to make sure my children focused on Jesus. Though I was well-intentioned, I think I was wrong to approach it so rigidly.

That year, at the beginning of Advent, Anne immediately requested the Muppet Calendar, the one "Grandma gave us." Ummm, yeah. I suddenly saw that this was a beautiful way to include my mother (who is not a Christian) in our Advent preparations. She lives far away and we see little enough of her as it is ... wasn't this a lovely way to make her a part of our focus on Jesus?

I let go of my worries about the little secular traditions that we include in Advent. Those things are part of our shared family history and they connect us to those in our family who are not connected to Jesus.

Who am I to say that God can't work through a Muppet?


Part VII: Simple but Cherished Traditions

Here are a few other easy ways we observe the beginning of the new liturgical year.

The Advent Wreath

Pretty self-explanatory. We love ours. It's a hand-me-down from the friend who introduced me to Catholicism. It's not about how the wreath looks -- mine is imperfect and crooked, like I am -- but rather what it reminds me of and Who it points to.

I've used various prayers over the years. (In 2011, I adopted Sarah Reinhard's Welcome Baby Jesus. It sounds as if it's just for young children, but it's not. There's enough substance in that little book to make it fruitful for all ages.)

When my daughters were young, we divided up the "duties" -- one child lit a candle, one read a prayer, and one got to snuff out the candle at the end of the meal (our antique candle snuffer made that task particularly coveted.) Some nights, though, everyone reeeeeally wanted to light a candle, or everyone reeeeeally wanted to snuff one out. So, we often relit candles and snuffed them out repeatedly, because we're easily amused.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daily Prayers

The girls and I pray together before breakfast every morning. Let me amend that: unless something interrupts our routine, we pray together. If we have missed morning prayer, it becomes obvious. A hovering crankiness and irritability are sure signs that we forgot morning prayers.

I vary our prayers with each liturgical season. Mounting our list of prayers on construction paper and posting them on the kitchen wall is a simple way to teach about liturgical colors. Ramona knows that if the prayers are on a green background, we're in ordinary time. Advent prayers are on a purple background, and so on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An Embarrassment of Advent Calendar Riches


We still read from our Muppet calendar every year and we also have another one based on A Christmas Carol: 


Another Advent calendar (yet another gift from my mother) is a wooden Christmas tree and twenty-four tiny wooden ornaments to hang on it.

And, who can resist a chocolate-a-day-calendar? It's a must at our house. One year Ramona even added some heavy-duty protection in the form of bungee cords to the chocolate shelf:



What if you can't find one of those chocolate-a-day calendars? (They seem to be getting harder to find, at least in my town. One year, I waited too long and I was out of luck. In true Karen-Shortcut style, I proposed throwing a bowl of chocolates on the dining room table and inviting the kids to have one every day. But my friend Johnna saved the day, chocolately speaking.

What I would've considered a major project (because it involved plugging in the glue gun), Johnna saw as a nanoblip in her day. My kids were hanging out at her house one day so she decided, "Why not take care of this little problem?" They made these Advent candy ribbons:


A Hershey kiss for every day of Advent. Glued to ribbons. Then, the primo candy at the top, for the Twelve Days of Christmas and Epiphany:


Magical Mrs. M. has saved me numerous times over the years.


To see Johnna's other Advent calendar idea, go here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Young kids might also want to:

* Fill an empty manger to make a soft bed for the long-awaited Baby Jesus (I use a small basket and pieces of yarn)

* Decorate a Christ candle (I have used inexpensive white candles that could be decorated with sequins and jewels. The candle sits in the middle of the Advent wreath and is not lit until Christmas day.)

* Ready Mary and Joseph for their long journey (their figures are placed as far from the Nativity set as possible, and children move them a little closer to the stable each day.)

(I first learned about the empty manger and the Christ candle from this article by Michaelann Martin.)


Part VIII: Our Favorite Advent Books

Through December, our favorite Advent and Christmas books sit under our Jesse Tree, like the gifts that they are.

Here, in no particular order (and with links to past posts that contain more detail, in some cases) are some of our favorite books.

And, here's the "No Panic" part: Although we own many of these books, we certainly don't own them all. I make frequent use of the library, then every year I purchase one or two new books to add to our collection.

The other "No Panic" detail: We don't read all of these every year. We'll definitely read our dearest favorites, but other books will rotate. For example, one year, we focused on all of the American Girl Christmas stories, baked related treats, and learned more about Christmas in other times and places. Read and do only what works for you! It's not a race.





The Donkey's Dream by Barbara Helen Berger is an all-round favorite.

In this post, I talked about it, and "how literature teaches us beautiful things."







The first time we read The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey I cried a bucket. What a touching story about love and patience, healing and Christmas. Recommended with vigorous nodding of the head and tears in my eyes.










When I originally wrote this postThe Twenty-four Days Before Christmas was out of print and a bit hard to find. However -- huzzah! -- it's back in print!







The Tale of Three Trees: A Traditional Folktale is a story that can be read anytime, but is especially good for Advent and Lent.

It's a simple, beautifully illustrated book that helps children to see that God will answer our prayers, but not always in ways we can foresee.







The feast of St. Nicholas has us reading The Miracle of Saint Nicholas and The Real Santa Claus: Legends of Saint Nicholas (Yikes! Looks like that one's gotten rare.)







We used to get this one annually on inter-library loan, but last year I actually nabbed a copy of it and I didn't even have to barter my firstborn child! (Check out the typical prices to score a copy of this out-of-print rarity by Melissa Wiley.)

It's our must-read on St. Lucia day, along with saint books that tell us more about St. Lucy.





We love Tomie de Paola's The Legend of the Poinsettia and The Night of Las Posadas. Don't forget Jingle the Christmas Clown and An Early American Christmas (yikes, two more rare books! Check your library and watch your library sales.) Country Angel Christmas is a sweet one, too. And, anything else by Tomie de Paola that we can find.






 My sister gave The Legend of the Candy Cane to Anne-with-an-e when she was very little. A very sweet book.










It has become a tradition that both The Legend of the Candy Cane and Jan Brett's The Night Before Christmas must be read by Atticus on Christmas Eve.








Gennady Spirin's rendering of The Christmas Story is gorgeously illustrated. I think I bought this one for me.











Okay, so I cry a lot. Yes, I cried at this one, too. A lot. Love this book. Silver Packages is beloved by all the females in the house. Atticus has probably never read it, but then, he doesn't love to cry.






More and more:

The Legend of the Christmas Rose by William Hooks
Bright Christmas : An Angel Remembers by Andrew Clements
This Is the Star by Joyce Dunbar
Jesus by Brian Wildsmith
A Christmas Story by Brian Wildsmith
The Gift of the Magi (this version, illustrated by P.J. Lynch, is on my wish list for "Books to Add This Year")
Hark! A Christmas Sampler by Jane Yolen
This Is the Stable by Cynthia Cotten
The Story of Christmas (Orchard Paperbacks) by Jane Ray
The Littlest Angel by Charles Tazewell (just ignore the faulty theology. Sorry. I can't help it.)
Jacob's Gift by Max Lucado
Christmas with Anne and Other Holiday Stories by L.M. Montgomery
The Christmas Story by Kay Chorao
A Little House Christmas Treasury: Festive Holiday Stories (Little House) by Laura Ingalls Wilder
American Girl Christmas Books

And, of course:

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson
and
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis



Part IX: Don't forget about you



Advent unfolds and you're savoring the liturgical season, teaching your children about watching, waiting, and preparing for the Lord.

But, what are you doing for yourself?

I grant that the things we do for our children are done for us, too. I benefit enormously from the books we read, the talks we have, the thought and consideration we give to our preparation. But, sometimes, it isn't enough, or it isn't exactly what I need. God wants not only for our children to be prepared but for me to be ready, too.

During these weeks before Christmas, don't forget to do something for your own spiritual growth.

What do you want to do?

What do you need to do?

It doesn't have to be monumental. It just needs to draw you closer to the One who came for you, lived and died for you, and wants you to be with Him for all eternity.

What might help?
  • A book you've been meaning to read
  • More time with Scripture
  • A single Scripture verse on which to meditate ("The Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is His name," from Luke 1:49 can lead to endless, grateful meditation ....)
  • A saint's biography or a collection of quotes from the saints
  • An extra five or ten minutes of prayer a day
  • A promise to give up complaining
  • A promise to give up something else until the joy of Christmas arrives
  • Daily devotional readings for the season
Something. You know what it is for you, and I know what it is for me.

Remember: not only are we awaiting His arrival ....

He's waiting for us.


(The painting: The Annunciation by Henry Ossawa Tanner, 1859-1937.)



Part X: Feasts and St. Lucia Bread

The feast of Our Lady of GuadalupeCatholic Cuisine has easy, doable ideas for "Rosy Treats" here and other festive foods here.

We don't usually go all out for this feast day because I've always been overwhelmed busy (but not panicked! Really!) by other observances. But awhile back I added Tomie de Paola's The Lady of Guadalupe to our book collection and maybe someday when I have grandchildren I'll add something else, too.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The feast of St. Lucia! And ... the Lucia bread! We love this bread so much it hurts.



Do not be intimidated by this yeast bread recipe!

If I can make this bread (and make it look beautiful), anyone can. Trust me on this. This bread is easy. A little time-consuming (this from a woman who, when left on her own, would easily eat tuna out of a can rather than cooking a meal) but easy.

And, as I mentioned in this post, if you don't have time to make it on the feast day, save the recipe and make it another day. It makes a great King's Bread for the Epiphany, too.

Here's the recipe, which came to me from my great friend, Holly (and Holly originally got it from Family Fun):

Braided St. Lucia Bread

Dough:
1 1/2 cups milk
2 (1/4 oz.) pkgs. active dry yeast
1/4 cup sugar, plus 1 T. sugar
6 T. butter, cut in pieces
2 large eggs
1/4 cup orange juice
1 T. finely grated orange rind
1 t. salt
5 1/2 - 6 1/2 cups flour

Glaze and garnish:
2 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar
2-4 T. orange juice
1/3 cup dried cranberries

Warm the milk in a small saucepan, then pour 1/2 cup of it into a large bowl. Add the yeast and 1 T. of the sugar and let it sit for 5 min.

Melt the butter in the remaining milk. Add butter/milk mixture to the yeast mixture. Whisk in the eggs, juice, 1/4 cup sugar, orange rind, and salt. Stir in the flour, 1 cup at a time, until the dough can be gathered into a ball. Knead the dough on a floured surface for 10 min., adding more flour until the dough is smooth and elastic and doesn't stick to your hands. Transfer the dough to an oiled bowl, turning it once to coat it. Loosely cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let it rise until doubled in size, about 1 1/2 hours. Punch down the dough and divide it into 3 equal parts. Roll each part into a 30-inch rope and braid the ropes together. Transfer the braid to a greased baking sheet, pinch together the ends to form a circle and let it rise until doubled in size, about 45 min. Bake at 375 degrees for 25 min., or until golden brown, then let cool on a wire rack about 30 min.

For the glaze, stir together the confectioner's sugar and orange juice until smooth. Drizzle over the bread, then garnish with cranberries. Add candles for "wreath."

Other things we've done in the past to celebrate St. Lucia:

Made wreaths for daughters, found something (anything white) for the girls to wear for a St. Lucia procession through the house, read Hanna's Christmas (see Advent books, above.)

Employed "flexible homeschooling" in an off-year (i.e., when Ramona was still keeping me up every night, for the third year in a row of her fabulous life), and didn't sweat the imperfection known as "not doing it all" and also known as "moving St. Lucia day to a Saturday or an evening."


Part XI: A Prayer

Dear Lord,

When I become harried and impatient,
when I think I have too much to do
and not enough time,
when I feel burdened by obligations,
responsibilities,
activities
and busy-ness,
please, Lord,
give me the grace to remember,
that my obligations,
responsibilities,
activities
and busy-ness
spring from an abundance
of blessings.
Enormous, ineffable blessings.
Help me to see my busy days
and busy ways as the privilege
and the gift that they are.

Help me to remember, pray for,
and tangibly support
those who are not "burdened"
by too much to eat,
too much to bake,
too much to decorate,
too many books to read.

Help me, Lord, to see the Advent of Your birth
as a time to remember all of these things,
to drop to my knees thank You,
thank You, thank You,
for Your undeserved Love.


Part XII: A Week Before Christmas -- Do You Know Where Your Daughter's Tights Are?



One week until Christmas!

What do I still need to make? Buy? Wrap? Panic about??

Have I thought about those stockings that will soon hang over the fireplace, and about what will go in them?

Speaking of stockings, when Christmas Mass rolls around will everyone have tights/socks without holes/hose without runs, clothes that fit? Shoes that won't send them into last-minute snits?

Let's be totally honest here. The problem with writing and running a "No-Panic Advent" series is that at some point any sane, normal, writer-mom will panic.

I've done it. I've panicked.

"Hi, my name is Karen, and I'm a fake."

Well, not really. Usually not cataclysmic meltdowns. I don't take off anyone's head (well, not completely, and I always tell them I'm sorry for being snippy), and I don't run from the house, ripping my hair out and screeching, "I thought I had more gift bags!"

But I've had my moments. Suddenly, it seems, Christmas is upon me, and there are things I've forgotten, things I fell behind on, things I didn't get around to.

One year, when I went to have coffee with two friends, I practically threw their Christmas gifts at them and said, "Now I can cross you off my list." I was kidding, of course, but there is something to that awful, "Must ... Do ... During ... Advent .... " spell we all fall under.

Sometimes things providentially pop up that help us rearrange our priorities. For example, although we always celebrate St. Lucia Day, one year some friends were available at the last minute and invited our kids to stay overnight while Atticus and I ran away for a one-night vacation. We jumped on it and were thrilled we did. We had a great time, and Ramona survived her first big separation from me (although, after our reunion she sighed, "I did miss you more than I can say. And I love you dearly.") We missed doing our traditional St. Lucia activities (the bread, however, had been consumed and eaten two days prior), but when I felt a pang about that, I reminded myself that "no panic" means accepting what God allows.

Sometimes it's a refreshing one-night vacation.

Other times, it means someone gets sick and throws up on Christmas Eve.

Whatever happens, we can rest assured that He knows about it. And He'll get us through.

So, when I start to panic, I go back to prayer. It grounds me. It reminds me that Christmas is not about shopping and doing, not about presents (with the exception of the Ultimate Gift.) Rather, it is about sin and redemption, about panic and apologies.

And, it will come, as the Grinch learned, whether it is surrounded by all our cultural, habitual trappings or not. It will come to our sloppy, imperfect selves, and when it does, I need only ask myself, "Is Jesus pleased with what I've given Him this Advent, and in this Christmas season, or is He wagging His finger at me?"

If I sense any Divine finger-wagging, then I can get a head-start on the next to-do list: spiritual resolutions for the new year.

Because He's all about beginnings, this God of ours.

Now, I'm off to cross "tights" off my shopping list.

Part XIII: To Santa or Not to Santa?

There are always Santa conversations at this time of year. Don't throw anything at me.

We're all busy, so I'll make this quick. We do "No-Panic Santa."

I don't worry about it. Honestly, I don't. When Anne-with-an-e was a baby, I worried (a lot) that lying about Santa meant that one day she'd think I'd lied about God, too. When she was two years old, people asked her what Santa was going to bring, and she'd stare blankly at them, wondering who in the world they were talking about.

But then, my own past Santa-fun crept into our Christmas traditions. I don't even remember how. So, yes, we started "doing" Santa. (Why does this always sound slightly confessional? "Hi, I'm Karen. And I lie about Santa.")

Well, I don't out and out lie. I imply. I play a game. We get a visit from St. Nicholas on his feast day, and we have presents from him on Christmas morning, too. We wink, we leave cookies, we love the magic.

And, although I completely respect the many different ways that good Catholic parents handle this question, here's the reason I don't worry that "the Santa lie" will lead to atheism:

God is real.

My children know, see, and feel His fingerprints on their lives. We have seen God at work, and we know He isn't the stuff of toyshops and flying reindeer.

Yes, my daughters learned that Santa was just a lot of fun pretending. But, they also know that Jesus is a powerful King.

ETA: [With daughters who are now 22, 19, and 13, I can confidently say that Santa did not ruin my daughters' faith lives in any way. I'm not trying to convince anyone of anything, I'm just reporting on what unfolded at our house. My girls are strong Catholics. No Santa-harm came to them.]

Feelings on Santa vs. no-Santa are subjective and personal, and I would never say that my way is universally best. I understand not wanting to do it and I'm not looking to argue. I'm just saying that I no longer fret over it. And, since there's no doctrine of the Church that says we must not do Santa, I'm at peace with the magic.

And as someone who grew up with Santa, but without religion in Christmas, what was Santa for me? He was unconditional love. The times I was bad? He never left me a lump of coal. Not once. (Thanks, Mom and Dad.) Santa was magic.

God is the ultimate Unconditional Love and the True Magic. I know that somewhere, deep down, when I loved Santa I was yearning for Christ.

And He came to me. Just as Santa did. But when He came, the Magic was bigger, and powerful.

And when He came, the Magic was here to stay.

******************************************

12/24/08 Edited to add this great bit of G.K. Chesterton, courtesy of Chris in the comments:


On Christmas morning, he [Chesterton] remembered, his stockings were filled with things he had not worked for, or made, or even been good for.

The only explanation people had was that a being called Santa Claus was somehow kindly disposed toward him. “We believed,” he wrote, that a certain benevolent person “did give us those toys for nothing. And ... I believe it still. I have merely extended the idea.

“Then I only wondered who put the toys in the stocking; now I wonder who put the stocking by the bed, and the bed in the room, and the room in the house, and the house on the planet, and the great planet in the void.

“Once I only thanked Santa Claus for a few dolls and crackers, now I thank him for stars and street faces and wine and the great sea. Once I thought it delightful and astonishing to find a present so big that it only went halfway into the stocking.

“Now I am delighted and astonished every morning to find a present so big that it takes two stockings to hold it, and then leaves a great deal outside; it is the large and preposterous present of myself, as to the origin of which I can offer no suggestion except that Santa Claus gave it to me in a fit of peculiarly fantastic good will.”

********************************************

Aaahhh ... no one can say it quite like G.K. Thank you, Chris.



Part Who-Knows?
The Last-minute "To Do" List of a No-Panic Advent

Christmas Eve:
  • Put youngest child/children's church bag together ... just a couple of extra things for them to do and read while you wait (and wait) for Mass to begin. 
  • Bake the birthday cake for Jesus:


  • Make a pie
  • Watch in awe as my husband works various other food magic in the kitchen
  • Look forward, with increasing anticipation, to the celebration of the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me
Wishing you a blessed, happy and holy Christmas Eve.


Part Hey-We've-All-Lost-Track 
(Written on the Sixth Day of Christmas ... in which she finally talks about the Twelve Days)


We've been "keeping Christmas" here (translate: "keeping too busy to blog") so rather than talk about it, we've been celebrating and visiting friends (with a bit of work sprinkled in, just to keep me from becoming a slug.)

But I wanted to take a moment out to share some ideas on keeping the Twelve Days.

When we first started doing some of these things, my kids noticed that much of the world was dismantling Christmas Joy just as we were picking up speed. I told them (repeatedly, because that's a mother's job), "It's a shame the whole world doesn't realize that the Christmas season is just beginning! They don't know all the fun they're missing!" The harping instruction paid off. They get it. And Ramona, who has never known any other way, is the first to correct one of us if we call Advent "the Christmas season." Which can be kind of irritating, but endearing. Mostly endearing.

Ideas:
  • Keep your tree up until the Feast of the Epiphany, of course.
  • Read with the kids about the twelve days.
  • Keep watching Christmas shows and movies, continue reading Christmas books.
  • Post prayers for the season (I put them up on the wall in our kitchen -- our page of prayer intentions for the Christmas season is accented with glitter. One can never have too much glitter).
  • Send Christmas cards during the 12 days ... and don't apologize for it! It's the Christmas season! Mine went out yesterday and today. 
  • Observe the Epiphany -- have a Twelfth Night party, or make Kings' bread (the St. Lucia bread works well, or perhaps make a "King Cake" -- Google it for endless possibilities. Other ideas are here at Catholic Cuisine). 
  • Give Epiphany gifts (as large or small as you want them to be). 
  • Have the wise men from your Nativity set travel through the house during the 12 days, making their way to the stable. 
  • Make gingerbread houses. 

I just found this page at Catholic Culture. You can click on each day of the Twelve Days for a new activity and recipe.

In keeping with the "No Panic" philosophy, don't try to incorporate twenty-seven new things into a twelve day period. Pick a couple, and put the rest in the Advent file for next year.

12/31/08: Edited to add more ideas:

From Sarah, who inspired this post:

I have some friends whose kids open one gift a day for each of the 12 days, some gifts are larger and some are very small like what might be used as a stocking stuffer. We're considering that for next year. We read The Three Wise Kings by Tomie de Paola a few weeks ago and I'm planning to pull it check it out from the library again to read this week.

From Jenn:
We read all our Christmas books and bake a festive cookie every other day or so (instead of all at once like I used to do.) We read The Legend of Old Befana on January 5th and make pizzelles on Epiphany. That's the only thing set in stone. I also finally found the frankincense and myrrh incense I bought last year. Lucy's conveniently learning "We Three Kings" on piano.
Our priest was talking about the peace of Christ on Christmas Eve. I've always hoped for a peaceful Advent and it struck me as very fitting that night that that peace I've longed for arrives the very moment we gather to celebrate Christ's birth and is very tangible throughout the Christmas season.

from Margaret in Minnesota:

We keep the season by talking about the 12 Days of Christmas--specifically, the Christian symbolism of each of the days. And we don't sweat the "small" stuff, like getting cards and presents out "on time". As my dear friend Sarah puts it, we're supposed to be living Christmas every day.

1/5/09 -- More ideas:

My friend, Mary P. writes: "I bought an Advent box at Starbucks. Behind each door was a piece of candy. Why not make one for the 12 days of Christmas? I think I know somebody that would like chocolate each day."

from the comments:

Amy says: "My kids were thrilled to get a little bag with their own kid-friendly versions of gold (chocolate coins), frankincense (scratch-n-sniff stickers), and myrrh (bubble bath)."

Connie's Daughter says: "You know, Karen, the Christmas Season goes until the feast of the Baptism of Our Lord, which this year is on Jan. 11th. We usually keep our tree up until then, and we have lots of treats throughout the entire time, ice cream being our favorite. :) And even though the world has moved on, I continue to wear my Christmas sweaters and earrings and socks. Our Nativity set is still being lit each night in our yard, too!"


Twelfth Night!



It's still Christmas!

Even when the Twelve Days come to a close, we're still liturgically in the Christmas season until the Baptism of the Lord. (Or is it until Candlemas? Check out this article.)


Celebrate! Rejoice! Worship!

Merry Christmas!