When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit

A couple weeks ago I mentioned that we'd started When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, by Judith Kerr. We finished it last week, and we all thoroughly enjoyed it. (There were a couple of rough spots, particularly one description of a man driven insane by the cruelty of the Nazis, but we steered around those.)

The "negative" reviews I'd gotten on the 4Real Learning forum weren't really negative. A couple of moms had reported that the book didn't seem to hold their kids' interest. The book is definitely character driven, rather than plot driven, but we tend to like that around here.

The story begins in 1933 with a young Jewish girl named Anna, and her family. Anna's father is a famous writer who perceptively believes it best for his family to flee Germany before Hitler is elected. The rest of the book follows the next few years as the family seeks refuge in Switzerland, France, and finally, England.

As the family leaves Germany by train, Anna pages through a book a friend has given her for the trip. It's about famous people, and describes their "difficult childhoods." Anna wonders if she will ever be famous, but sadly rejects the notion, as it appears to her that one must have a difficult childhood in order to be famous. Anna's own perception of what constitutes a "difficult childhood" is a lovely and recurring theme throughout the book.

My girls liked Anna immensely, and were also amused by her initially underachieving older brother, Max. They especially giggled over Max's attempts to meet the word count on his French essay assignments by padding them with long lists of foods which his characters ate. In each essay, the feasting was followed by, "And then they all burst." (Later in the book, when Anna and Max "burst into laughter," Ramona cried with delight, "I knew there would be more bursting!")

We identified with quite a lot with things that related to our homeschooling life. When Anna was struggling to learn French, her mother comforted her with this knowledge, something every teacher (and experienced student) has witnessed:

"Look," said Mama, "these things don't always happen as you expect. When I was studying music I sometimes struggled with something for weeks without getting anywhere at all -- and then suddenly, just when I felt it was quite hopeless, the whole thing became clear and I couldn't think why I hadn't seen it before. Perhaps it will be like that with your French."

And, I loved this passage about the difference between learning history through a list of dates, and learning it through "living stories." When Anna's papa asked her what she had learned about Napoleon, she rattled off an amazing list of dates and events.

"What an extraordinary way to learn about Napoleon," said Papa. "Is that all you know?"

"But it's everything!" said Anna, rather hurt, especially as she had not made a single mistake.

Papa laughed. "No, it's not everything," he said, and settling down on her bed he began to talk about Napoleon. He told the children about Napoleon's childhood in Corsica with his many brothers and sisters, about his brilliance at school and how he became an officer at fifteen and commander of the entire French army at the age of twenty-six; how he made his brothers and sisters kings and queens of the countries he conquered but could never impress his mother, an Italian peasant woman.

"C'est bien pourvu que ca dure," she would say disapprovingly at the news of every new triumph, which meant, "It's good as long as it lasts."

Then he told them how her forebodings came true, how half the French army was destroyed in the disastrous campaign against Russia, and finally of Napoleon's lonely death on the tiny island of St. Helena.

Anna and Max listened entranced.

"It's just like a film," said Max.

"Yes," said Papa thoughtfully. "Yes, it is."

(This is a bit of foreshadowing as well, but I won't give that away.)

A bit later, Anna's parents are considering sending the children to live with their grandmother for a time, while they search for housing and work in England. Anna panics, fearful about the family splitting up.

"It's just that I think we should stay together," she said. "I don't really mind where or how. I don't mind things being difficult, like not having any money, and I didn't mind about that silly concierge this morning -- just as long as we're all four together."

"But Anna," said Mama, "lots of children leave their parents for a while. Lots of English children go to boarding schools."

"I know," said Anna, "but it's different if you haven't got a home. If you haven't got a home, you've got to be with your people." She looked at her parents' stricken faces and burst out, "I know! I know we have no choice and I'm only making it more difficult. But I've never minded being a refugee before. In fact, I've loved it. I think the last two years, when we've been refugees, have been much better than if we'd stayed in Germany. But if you send us away now I'm so terribly frightened ... I'm so terribly frightened ...."

"Of what?" asked Papa.

"That I might really feel like one!" said Anna and burst into tears.

As someone who has felt like a nomad much of her life, I loved this illustration of how little "place" can mean and how much -- everything, in fact -- family means.

When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit (and I'll leave it to your reading to find out what the title means) was a lovely book, wonderfully written and beautifully conveying the message that all kinds of obstacles can be overcome with the love and support of family.

A mother's grief and surrender

I am feeling so very sad tonight for an online friend who just lost her precious baby at nine weeks.

Recently, I've been praying for several women who have had miscarriages. One thing never changes: it doesn't matter how much we trust God and His loving kindness, it still aches, like no other ache, to lose a baby. I've done it too many times and the stark truth is that it's a horrible, empty feeling beyond compare.

Yes, we will heal. Yes, we will trust again. But, yes, we need to cry and grieve. Sometimes we need to grieve for a very long time.

A few years ago, I wrote the following poem after a very unexpected miscarriage. It wasn't my first loss, but I mistakenly thought we'd found "the problem" and resolved it, as I had gone on to have two children. We hadn't found the problem -- or, rather, a new problem developed. I went on to have more miscarriages before we were blessed with Ramona.

As poetry goes, this is not very good poetry. As prayers go, this was from the depths of my hurting heart.

And tonight, Donna, this is for you.

Fiat

You said that we would have a child
So I, with love, welcomed new life
and smiled with each wave and sea
of morning sickness,
caught up in this miracle-to-be.
"For You, Lord," I said,
and offered each tiny suffering
as a gift to Thee,
incomparable to the gift of life
You were giving to me.

And so I reeled, stunned and shaken,
at my baby's death.
I was forsaken.
Anger rose and built a case
against misinterpreted signs of Grace.

I was so wrong –
"Here is a child," You said,
or so I thought.
But my arms are empty, bereft.
There is nothing left of my trust when I listen for Your Voice.
How can I trust when I was so wrong?
How will I again be strong?

I quiet myself and turn to You,
O Ancient Beauty ever new...
I ask You, my truest and deepest Love,
for an answer, some comfort, a sign from above.
There is silence, and my tears...
tears of a mother's grieving love.

Then, in Your Kindness, Your encompassing Love,
You embrace me and speak:
the words from above
flow through an earthen vessel.
A man of God who listens to me,
and tells me I can --
I must -- dare trust,
for all is as it should be.
The mystery that is my child
is in Your Hands,
Your Sacred Heart.
The part I play is to surrender and be free.

When next I quiet myself to pray,
"My Grace is sufficient for you," You say,
"For My power is made perfect in weakness."
The words play again and again in my mind,
like a record left to skip...
they rip into the core of my grief
and leave me no choice but to drop to my knees
and offer You my child.

Oh, heal my heart, Lord, bitter and spent,
Be perfect in my weakness,
my Pearl of great price.
Though I offer it, Lord, imperfectly and poorly,
my life is Yours.
Let Your Grace suffice.

The campaign for real beauty revisited

A week or so ago (or sometime recently ... who knows? I'm a mom. I have no idea what day it is) I posted a link, found through Love2learn Mom and feminine genius about the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty. Danielle Bean found it last week, too, and asked for comments. She got tons, and they were all over the place, with a lot of different reactions. (Go here to read her post and the commenters as well.) Margaret asked about thoughts on the issue, too.

I've thought about this little video, but just haven't had time to post about it. Now I've got time (because daylight savings time ends tonight, and that means I've got a "found" hour. )

When I found the video, I immediately showed it to my husband and daughters. I had mentioned to my girls that the people in the film were going to do a lot to the model before they took the photo of her. My girls' reaction to the ending? One of them said, "Hey! That's not even her!" Yup. That's what I wanted them to get out of it. The final shot we see is not even her.

We all found the computer "enhancement" to be a little spooky. (Hey, that's it! It's really just a scary Halloween video, isn't it? That cheeky Dove.)

My girls also said things such as, "She was really pretty to start with -- why did they change her neck? Why did they change her eyes?" Yes! Success! I wanted them to see just how much work goes into that "carefree, pouty, windblown look." I wanted them to see proof that the pretty girls on TV don't really look that way when they arrive at the studio. They're already pretty, yes, but they aren't the artificial perfection that passes for beauty in our world.

They took from the video what I'd hoped they would. That may be because I've been preaching this message from the start. From the time they are little, I talk to my daughters about what "real beauty" means. To me, it starts with love for God and other people. Our actions must be beautiful before anything else can be. Then, I also talk to them about taking care of ourselves, being the best we can be, being clean, neat, and yes, even attractive, in a modest way. And then, we talk about how TV, magazines and catalogs are all trying to sell us something. All the time. And that it's our job to sort it out with the eyes of faith.

We have to talk to our kids -- boys and girls -- about this, because we live in a world that bombards us with images of "not even her" beauty at every turn.

I probably allow a bit more pop culture into our lives than some Catholic moms do. My philosophy on that is that we live in the world, but God commands us to not be "of the world." But, because we live in the world, we have to deal with it. Don't get me wrong -- I do protect my kids from plenty of unhealthy influences, but I also try to gauge what they're ready for, how to introduce it, how to temper it, and how to help them navigate through it. Controlled exposure and controlled guidance are the keys for us.

Let's see ... beauty influences from the world ... It starts with Barbie. And, yes, I do allow Barbie, but it's Barbie With Disclaimers. My daughter will tell you, "If Barbie were a real woman, she would be a freak of nature."

Yes! Success!

Pop singers. My kids used to like one, but now that they've seen her shrink ("Is she dieting?" they ask suspiciously ....) and pile on excessive amounts of make-up, they think she must be too obsessed with her appearance. They've also heard that she smokes and so they've abandoned her completely.

Yes! Success!

They like Raven Symone, who is a very pretty girl, but is also a very normal weight. My girls think she may be the most beautiful girl on TV.

Yes! Success!

And what about TV? Why allow it at all? Well, again, for us, I believe that it's a matter of controlling and guiding the exposure. Since they were very small, I have been The Voice of Reason, hanging over their shoulders, proclaiming The Way It Really Is during all-things-TV. Over the years, I've countered just about everything they've seen on television, to the point that I now hear things like this from them:

"Do you think that thing really works? I don't think so. They're just trying to sell it to us."

"Oh, right! That toy would probably break ten minutes after you got it home."

"Look at her hair. It would never stay that way in real life."

"You know, that dress is kind of pretty, but in real life, you should never wear something like that. It's immodest."

I don't mean to make it sound as if I've raised perfect little children who are not at all influenced by the culture around them. They are not perfect. They are influenced. They do sometimes want junk, buy junk, request junk. If you'd like proof of just how imperfect we are in this regard, just stop by for a half hour or so, and our imperfections will be quite apparent in no time at all. But, we're muddling through a complicated world, doing the best we can. And overall, I've been pretty happy with the results of my Voice of Reason approach.

Other than making constant disclaimers about most of what they see on TV, what do I do to instill ideas about "real beauty"? I mentioned earlier that we talk about inner beauty. That's a cliche, I know, but it's one that comes from truth. My oldest has begun to notice boys (not real boys ... they are still either just friend material, or gross) in the form of a crush on a celebrity. That has paved the way for some interesting discussions. It's already come up that "cute" isn't enough. When the aforementioned cute celebrity used God's name in vain in an interview, the aforementioned daughter got quite mad at him and decided that she could never marry someone who talked that way. His "inner beauty" was affected.

Yes! Success!

I would like to make it clear that when I talk about inner beauty, I am not pitting it against "outer beauty." This isn't an either/or thing. Stressing one's inner beauty doesn't have to mean being apathetic about one's appearance. It doesn't necessarily mean eschewing make-up, though it could mean that, and that's perfectly fine. I'm not "for" or "against" make-up. It's a very individual choice, and I know women who are beautiful when they wear make-up and women who are quite beautiful without a bit of it.

(On a side note, I have to add that one of the things about Atticus that I first loved was that he could not have cared less about what he wore, or about how it looked. He was so completely unassuming about that that I fell in love on the spot. That, and his incredible intelligence, and he made me laugh. That was it. I was his. But, I digress ....)

So ... back to my point. I'm not opposed to make-up. I wear it many days. If make-up helps one to feel more attractive (or, in my case, to look awake), I see nothing wrong with it. I also have nothing against hair implements. I'm not a curling ironist. I own one (two if you count that one that's duct-taped together.) There's nothing wrong with fighting against one's natural hair. It's an ancient, time-honored tradition that, as far as I know, will not keep me out of heaven. (Too much time with a curling iron could certainly earn me some extra time in purgatory, but that's why I only spend a minute or two a day with mine.)

Did I have an ultimate point to make here? Or has this just been one long ramble? And, more to the point, are you sick to death of my use of italics?

As I'm sure you can tell, this post has not been thoroughly planned, thought-out or revised. I just wanted to throw out a few thoughts about beauty, the world, and how we deal with it all at the Edmisten house.

The inner teacher in me wants to summarize:

We are fallen creatures, living in an imperfect world.

Nothing we do will be perfect.

The world will always try to sell us something.

Don't buy it, daughters of mine, whom I love more than my own life.

Do your shopping with God. He's got the goods.

Ramona, on conversion

While reading The Winged Watchman again tonight, we read a particularly affecting scene in which a priest is explaining to the protagonist that God doesn't "just kill all the Nazis" because God allows us freedom. And, God allows people the chance to be sorry for their sins, so that their souls can be saved.

(I had substituted a phrase like "get rid of" for "kill" because Ramona was in the room, but she joined our discussion anyway.)

"Yes," she said, as she spooned soft-serve vanilla ice cream into her mouth, "God takes all the madness and turns it into sweetness."

Yes, he does, my love.

An update on my ineptness

Thanks to dear Helen, at Castle of the Immaculate, I now know how to update a post with a label without fooling Bloglines into thinking I have a brand new post.

It was simple.

It was right in front of my eyes.

It was so kind of Helen to take the time to point it out to me.

Now, go visit her and help her celebrate that their adoption is closer than they thought.

Do I mumble that much?

While reading The Winged Watchman aloud the other day, Ramona suddenly stopped me and said, "What's a bumpoofle-dee-dee?"

I said, "A what? Where did you hear that, honey?"

"You! You just read it a minute ago."

"I did?"

"Yes. You said Bumpoofle-dee-dee."

Thoroughly confused, I skimmed back over what I'd just read and found this phrase: Some people think electricity is foolproof and easy.

"Oh! Honey, no -- " I corrected, "I said, 'foolproof and easy.' Not bumpoofle-dee-dee."

Anne and Betsy were besides themselves with giggles.

But, oh, it got worse at dinner time. The girls were recounting the misunderstanding to Atticus. Anne said, "Daddy, can I tell you about Bumpoofle-dee-dee?"

"Huh?" said Atticus, understandably foggy after a day of teaching high schoolers. "One poopy baby?"

If I thought the girls had a good giggle at breakfast, it was nothing compared to this laughfest. Anne spit applesauce across the table onto Betsy, and Ramona latched onto the phrase, which she could repeat endlessly, sending her sisters into fits and guffaws.

When everyone finally quieted down, I told the origin of the story to Atticus, but it seemed to have lost its punch. We do, however, have a new family word.

Perhaps we need to add elocution to our curriculum?

I must apologize again

Now that I have the wonder of Categories on this blog ... I must remember to use them.

I just updated my last few posts with appropriate categories, and so -- yes, again, and I'm pitiful and sorry -- it looks as if I have a half a dozen new posts on Bloglines, when in reality there are only two.

Sigh.

Of Punnett squares and pea plants

We recently finished studying genetics, and Anne-with-an-e and Betsy loved it. I have to thank them for this unit, because it was at their prompting that we tackled the topic.

Books we read:

Grandfather's Nose, Why We Look Alike or Different , by Dorothy Hinshaw Patent

Gregor Mendel, Father of Genetics, by Roger Klare

Genetics, by Buffy Silverman

Genetics, by Trevor Day

Understanding DNA: A Breakthrough in Medicine , by Tony Allan

Albino Animals , by Kelly Milner Halls

We found all of these books at our library (or from one through which we can obtain free interlibrary loan.) They are written for various age groups and reading levels, so I adapted them as needed. For example, Anne read most of the Mendel book, and wrote a narration for me, but I covered just a few basics about Mendel with Betsy. A couple of the books had just a wee bit more detail about reproduction than Betsy needed, so again, I tailored that for her, leaving out what was unnecessary.

We also made use of a couple of websites:

Athro Limited says it is a high school/college level site, but I found a lot of helpful things here, such as these Punnett Square examples.

And, though we did lots of Punnett squares on paper, the girls also enjoyed punching in some possibilities on this square calculator.

We had fun, learned a lot, and had great discussions (such as the one I wrote about here. And, my girls now have a better understanding of why they all have Atticus's brown eyes.

I want to pray that prayer all the time

Ramona, during bedtime prayers last night:

"And thank you, God, for right now."

from today's Mass

"Behold, God is my salvation. I will trust and not be afraid, for the Lord is my strength and my song, and He has also become my salvation.

Therefore with joy you shall draw water from the wells of salvation. On that day you shall say: Praise the Lord, call upon His name; among the nations make known His deeds, proclaim how exalted is His name.

Sing to the Lord, for He has done glorious things. Let this be known in all the earth. Shout with exultation, O inhabitant of Zion, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel!"

~~ Isaiah 12:2-6

Any time I hear the words, "Be not afraid" I think of our dear, departed Papa, John Paul II (or John Paul the Great, as I'm sure he will be known in years to come.) The first words of his pontificate were, "Be not afraid!" I return to these words so often: in times of trial, in times of anxiety, in times of uncertainty.

When I fret about our homeschool, or about my abilities as a teacher:

Be not afraid.

When I worry about not having another child, or about having one:

Be not afraid.

When I pay the bills and stew about money:

Be not afraid.

When I despair about the world:

Be not afraid.

Fear is not from God. He doesn't want me to waste my precious days, hours, or even minutes in worry and fear. And who am I to replace the good He has in store for me with worry of my own making?

And so, "I will trust and not be afraid, for the Lord is my strength and my song, and He has also become my salvation."

Days of Math

I just saw this math calendar, by Theoni Pappas.

Isn't it beautiful?

That's my Betsy they're threatening with OoP

Thanks to Faith for alerting us to the fact that the Betsy-Tacy books are in danger of going out of print.

We are Betsy-Tacy lovers here (my blog name for Middle Daughter -- Betsy Ray -- probably gave that away, huh?) and I would hate to see these lovely, gentle books go out of print. Write to Harper Collins and let them know how you feel.

10 Random Facts

Kathryn, at The Bookworm, tagged me with the "10 Random Facts" meme. Thank you, Kathryn, for thinking of me.

Soooo ... here are ten facts, as random as I could be, about me:

1. I was born in Massachusetts, but have lived in Alaska, Florida, Washington (state, not D.C.) and Nebraska. When we lived in Alaska, we endured an earthquake, a flood (I remember being rowed away from the apartment in a boat), and one day when I was in the third grade, the ice was so bad I slipped roughly 111 times on my way to school (before I even made it to the end of our street) then slid back home, crying all the way. Even so, some of my fondest childhood memories are from Alaska: blueberry picking, the skating rink in the backyard, the creek, the glaciers, the centennial celebration and the pioneer clothes. It was a kid's paradise.

2. I was once a businesswoman: suit, briefcase and all. I managed a budget, oversaw marketing, traveled, stayed at the Waldorf-Astoria, supervised a small staff. I hated every minute of it and hated myself when I was doing it. I felt like an imposter. (Business people, take note: I have nothing against you. It was me; or rather, it was the fact that it wasn't me.)

3. As a child, I watched Jerry Lewis's Muscular Dystrophy telethon every year, then went out door-to-door collecting money for "Jerry's kids." I cried through every profile and tribute and couldn't shake the feeling that it could have been me.

4. I can eat the same thing for dinner three or four nights in a row (and for lunch, too) and not really be bothered by the monotony one bit.

5. Jennifer got me thinking about this. The only concerts I've ever been to are Three Dog Night, John Denver and Jimmy Buffett. These were all in my jr. high days (Three Dog and John) or in a previous life. The only person I'd like to see in concert now (except that he's in heaven) is Rich Mullins. I love him, I love him, I love him.

6. I wrote my first play when I was 12. It was for my 7th grade drama class and it was about the Flintstones. I played Wilma.

7. My freshman year of college (I was a theater major) I saw my first Broadway shows. I went to New York with a group from school, and we saw seven plays in six days. I came home convinced that acting was indeed my calling. (I was wrong.)

8. I love being pregnant if I'm in my second trimester. But, the first and third trimesters are really rough on me. Still ... I'd do it again, if God allows it.

9. I make my bed every day, but I didn't get in this habit until a few years ago when we had our house on the market and had to keep it up for showings. (Want to develop some great housekeeping habits? Sell your house.)

10. I once met an editor from Rolling Stone magazine. I can't remember his name now, but over drinks with him, my college writing instructor, and a few others, this editor asked me about my future plans, and turned my head with some compliments. I decided that my future plans included writing for magazines such as Rolling Stone. (I was wrong.)

(9:01 p.m. ... back to edit, as I forgot to tag anyone. If you're reading this, you're tagged. And, will you let me know if you do it so I can read your list?)

Go to a carnival with the kids

The Carnival of Kid Comedy, Week 29 is up and generating laughs over at Why Homeschool.

Ramona is onhand, explaining why she was up early on the day in question.

Enjoy!

Speaking of children ....

Visit Elizabeth for a dose of The Loveliness of Babies. It's lovely!

Miracles with Alice

A must read.

In His Hands

My blog sat quietly this weekend while we were out of town visiting some dear friends. We got together to celebrate the birthdays of Anne-with-an-e and our friends' middle daughter. The girls are, respectively, 13 and 12. We all had such fun. The kids played laser tag (this was a completely new experience for us ... who knew my girls were little commandos?), exchanged gifts, made a movie (in which Betsy was a princess who had been switched at birth with a poor girl), outfitted Ramona with dress-up combos involving many sequins, and there was much Coldstone Creamery ice cream involved. Need I say more?

Just two things more.

First, Ramona's comment at Mass yesterday: after Holy Communion, she said a prayer. I asked her what she had prayed and she said, "It's all to Jesus now."

Second, I am now the mother of a teen. It would seem that this fact is supposed to inspire dread, if one can believe societal hoopla. But I don't feel dread. If you're the mother of a teen, and you feel compelled to say, "Oh, just wait!" I ask you to please be gentle with me. I realize that I may be quite naive, and I also realize that in the last 13 years of mothering, I've seen that all of my best parenting happened before I actually had a child. Most of my theories, philosophies and absolute truths about children have been laid to rest, one by one. The reality of these little people, made in the image and likeness of God, shattered all previous beliefs. As they have grown, I have become a new creation: a new mother, a new person, a new philosopher. They have shown me a new kind of "best parenting." It's a rockier path than I thought it would be, but a far more rewarding one, too.

And, I look forward to the rewards continuing as we embark on these teen years. I'm excited by the possibilities, the vistas before us. I have always said that "every age is my favorite age." I loved them with an ache when they were babies; I adored them as toddlers; I revel in the fun of preschool wisdom and 10-year-old tea parties. And, I love that my first baby is a teenager and that we are walking a new path together, as we always have.

And what of the dread?

Hmmm. I keep going back to Ramona's prayer:

It's all to Jesus now.

The Wisdom of Atticus

You know, he warned me.

He said, "Umm, Karen, let's not do a dry run on the Halloween candy this year."

Meaning: "Don't buy the candy too early." (You know, just to make sure that you know the procedure and buy the right kind and are sure to have enough on hand and all that ... not that there's any other reason to buy it early.)

Why would he say such a thing? Something to do with the old adage, "Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it"?

I'm the doomed sort when it comes to Halloween candy. But, I promise, there will not be a second dry run.

I can learn from my mistakes. I just don't always choose to.

It was a motherhood kind of weekend in the blogosphere

Although I'm sure everyone has read this one by now, here's another beautiful post on motherhood. Margaret speaks here about the beauty of being open to life, the challenges we face when God seems to be saying "no," and the joy of sharing everything, from the celebrations of new life, to the heartaches of losses, with dear friends.

She knows what we all live for

Don't miss this really beautiful post, from Elizabeth. If you're a mom, you'll be crying soon.

Spending the day with saints

Thanks to Alice the Amazing Craft Mom, we got ourselves to Hobby Lobby, bought some wooden ice cream spoons and spent our day in the company of the saints.






We had such fun, and I know the creating isn't over yet. Thank you, Alice, for yet another wonderful idea that I would never have thought of on my own!

May you all have venerable, blessed and saintly weekends!

At least they argue about the really important stuff

Ramona: His name is Mr. Snugglekins.

Betsy: No, it's not. It's Pooh.

Ramona: It's Mr. Snugglekins!

Betsy: He is Pooh Bear!

Ramona: NO, HE'S NOT! HE'S MR. SNUGGLEKINS! HE IS NOT POOH BEAR!

Betsy (quietly): He's Pooh Bear.

Ramona (walking away, in a huff): MISTER Snugglekins.

I've got too much time on my hands

Well, not really. But I did this anyway. You can, too, if you go here. And a hat tip to Another Catholic Mom, who has all sorts of fun widgets and pictures and stuff that I want.


Like this countdown to the next HP movie:


which has inspired me to finally write that post about why we've read the Harry Potter books, what we think of them, and why we're looking forward to Book 7. But, it will have to wait until I have even more time on my hands, and there's no telling when that will be, what with all of this aimless vital web surfing that I'm doing.

Visiting others

I feel as if I've had nothing of substance to say recently. Perhaps that's a good thing. I'm focused on the kids, we're busy with our days, and our homeschooling has been quite satisfying of late. But, since I've had nothing to say here, I feel compelled to send you elsewhere, where people are saying and doing wonderful and creative things.

Start with Willa, who always has something of substance to share. Willa is substance personified, and I love that about her. In this post, she talks about "Age quod agis" -- "Do what you are doing." I remember when Love2Learn mom, whom I also greatly admire, talked about this. Love2Learn's was a simple, short post. I didn't even comment on it at the time, but I certainly thought about it. In a household full of people whose attention is easily diverted, the reminder to "do what you are doing" is an invaluable one. So, the phrase has stayed with me.

But, back to Willa (you see how easily I am sidetracked?) In the post I mentioned, before I stopped doing what I was doing, Willa talks about "Logistics in the Homeschool" and of the different ways she has ordered her days over the years. Her final paragraph sums it up beautifully for me, and I especially love "Organization is a servant, not a master."

From this I have learned that organization looks different in different seasons. Organization is a servant, not a master. Orderliness is a good thing, but it works best when suited to the need of the situation and also to the comfort level of the people using it. That is where Father Hardon's other advice -- discern, and seek the will of God continually -- comes in. Pray and build up the methods that best suit the season your family is in. Age quod agis.

Now, back to Love2Learn Mom. Thanks to her and to Feminine Genius, I just took a look at this video. You must take a peek (it's very short) and then you must show it to all the teens (girls and boys) in your life. The Dove film ends with the phrase, "No wonder our perception of beauty is distorted." Indeed.

On an entirely different subject, Jennifer does a beautiful job of explaining why it's so scrumptious to have little ones snuggle in with you for the night.

And, for the record, we are a family that celebrates Halloween. It's quite the Daddy-daughter thing, with the kids and Atticus plotting out the best candy routes and the most efficient way to hit all the best houses. Of course I emphasize the Catholic roots and connections, and we talk a lot about All Saints Day and All Souls Day as the holiday approaches. We talk about why I don't allow any really evil-looking or inappropriate costumes and then we have the chocolate-related fun. On Halloween, we go to the All Saints vigil Mass then head home and get into costumes (I always go as a homeschooling mom, but no one ever guesses what I am.) Then we trick-or-treat at the local convent -- the sisters love to have visitors and see how the kids are dressed. Then, we execute The Plan: Candy Galore. Door to door, neighbors we know, the whole family together. The kids say, "Thank you! God bless you!" to everyone and the reactions range from delight and surprise to odd looks.

And, yes, I let them eat lots of candy, and I let them eat it for breakfast the next day and I rarely give any of it away. As a matter of fact, I got a great tip from my dear friend Heather last year: save the leftover Halloween candy and use it during the Christmas season to decorate gingerbread houses. So, that's my take on Halloween.

And, in closing out today's linkage, here are the readings for Mass today, which include a passage from one of my favorite books, Ephesians. Does it get more sublime than this?

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
who has blessed us in Christ
with every spiritual blessing in the heavens,
as he chose us in him, before the foundation of the world,
to be holy and without blemish before him.
In love he destined us for adoption to himself through Jesus Christ,
in accord with the favor of his will,
for the praise of the glory of his grace
that he granted us in the beloved.

In Christ we have redemption by his Blood,
the forgiveness of transgressions,
in accord with the riches of his grace that he lavished upon us.
In all wisdom and insight, he has made known to us
the mystery of his will in accord with his favor
that he set forth in him as a plan for the fullness of times,
to sum up all things in Christ, in heaven and on earth.

What a difference a day makes

The view from the kitchen window today.

She takes good care of her charges

If you are a beloved doll or a much-cuddled stuffed animal and you are blessed to live in Betsy's room, this is how you look at bedtime,when everyone is tucked in for the night.

Another reason I love autumn

The view out of our kitchen window.

Yup. I got the digital camera (but then, you may have guessed that when I was so quick to post a picture of The Lissa Meeting.)

However, lest you think we live in a bucolic paradise, I have to offer full disclosure. There is an evil highway between the horses and us. They keep saying they'll be diverting it soon (perhaps it's all those tax dollars being poured into the library that have kept it from happening.) Then true bucolia will be ours.

In the meantime, though, I still love this view. With or without zooming cars, it's so nice to look outside on a rainy autumn day and see this.

I love libraries almost as much as I love coffee and chocolate

Some days, I love them even more. We homeschoolers owe our libraries an enormous debt of gratitude for making our lives so much easier, not to mention more economical.

I love taking my kids to a big building full of books and saying, "What would you like to read about today?" I love telling them that this is the beauty of tax dollars at work, and I love that they get so excited about visiting the library.

Homeschooling and libraries is the really interesting blog of Adrienne Furness, a children's librarian who is working on Helping Homeschoolers in the Library, for ALA Editions.

Adrienne has included on her blog a five-part interview with Mary Griffith, which is just wonderful. She recently linked to the blog and website of Scott McCloud, a comics author who is homeschooling and blogging his way across the country with his wife and two kids. And she has lots more there to read about as she investigates the world of homeschooling.

The difference between being 4 and 40-something

When lights-out time is imminent, we 40-somethings rarely jump up and down on the bed speculating as to whether Cinderella is dead or alive.

For Ramona, however, this sort of thing is standard operating procedure -- both the jumping and the speculating. I'm not sure which one I find more charming.

And, now that I think of it ... did she mean the cartoon Cinderella? Is she really so cynical as to think that Disney would kill off one of their princesses? She can be cynical. This is one frighteningly savvy child. Sometimes when I say something completely nonsensical, she cocks an eyebrow, casts her skeptical look upon me and says, "Mommy. You know that's not true."

But, back to Cinderella's possible demise. Perhaps she meant Lesley-Anne Warren?

Oh, no. Now I've gotta go check Dead or Alive before I'll be able to sleep.

I'm back. She's alive.

But now I'll never get "Ten Minutes Ago" out of my head.

When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit

Recently, I posted a question about this book on the 4Real Learning forum. We were between read-alouds in our WWII unit, waiting for Hilda Van Stockum's The Winged Watchman to arrive. I wondered if I should pick up "Pink Rabbit" from our library in the interim.

I got mixed reviews, so decided to give it a try.

We're only a few pages into it, but so far we're really enjoying it. My girls can completely identify with Anna, who has this reaction to a recent purchase:

She unpacked her new crayons and took them all out of their box. There was a good pink and quite a good orange, but the blues were the best. There were three different shades, all beautifully bright, and a purple as well.

I can see why the boys, mentioned on the 4 Real forum thread, didn't find this to be action-packed. But my budding little writers find Anna to be just the kind of girl they'd like to spend some time with:

Lately she had been producing a number of illustrated poems which had been much admired both at home and at school. There had been one about a fire, one about an earthquake and one about a man who died in dreadful agonies after being cursed by a tramp. Why not try her hand at a shipwreck? All sorts of words rhymed with sea and there was "save" to rhyme with "wave" and she could use the three new blue crayons for the illustration. She found some paper and began.

Soon she was so absorbed that she did not notice the early winter dusk creeping into the room ....

And in this exchange, Anna's father, a writer, offers her some sage advice that my made my girls light up with its truth:

Anna said, "Papa, do you really like the poem?"

Papa said he did.

"You don't think it should be more cheerful?"

"Well," said Papa, "a shipwreck is not really a thing you can be very cheerful about."

"My teacher Fraulein Schmidt thinks I should write about more cheerful subjects like the spring and the flowers."

"And do you want to write about the spring and the flowers?"

"No," said Anna sadly. "Right now all I seem to be able to do is disasters."

Papa gave a little sideways smile and said perhaps she was in tune with the times.

"Do you think then," asked Anna anxiously, "that disasters are all right to write about?" Papa became serious at once.

"Of course!" he said. "If you want to write about disasters, that's what you must do. It's no use trying to write what other people want. The only way to write anything good is to try to please yourself."

And, the only way to find out whether or not you like a book is to read it yourself. So, we'll push on with this one, and I'll keep you posted.



And, by the way, that copy of The Winged Watchman arrived, and it's a very cool old 1962 edition. Don't you love old books?

Sunday links

Alice has a wonderful post about taking a little time out (with some other moms, of course) for a cup of tea. Yes, Alice, I'll do it this week!

And, I'll be picking up some wooden spoons so we can follow Alice's lead on this.

Love2learn mom has some some wonderful words and wonderful words about words.

Superboy has given me ocean fever.

Margaret has several great posts -- stop by Minnesota's Mom's house and read about holy two-year-olds, Martha Stewart, and Teresa of Avila, one of my most beloved saints.

And I'll close with one of my favorite prayers from St. Teresa:

Let nothing trouble you
Let nothing frighten you
Everything passes
God never changes
Patience obtains all
Whoever has God wants for nothing
God alone is enough.

May you all have a blessed Sunday!

I'm sorry, Blogliners!

As I revel in being able to tag posts via Bloggerbeta, and organize some of my older entries by categories, the posts I'm updating with tags are showing up as "new" posts on Bloglines. Sorry! All those old things popping up in the viewing pane are just that ... old. Forgive me as I organize, and soon all will be back to normal on the Bloglines front.

Switching to Blogger beta

Becky and the Bookworm both assured me that my comments would make it through the transition from plain, old Blogger to enhanced Super Blogger. So, as I began to play around with it, thinking that I could transfer only my little experimental blog over (I have a blog I don't post publicly on ... I just use it to learn html and to tinker ... then, I don't have to worry about ruining my main template) Blogger suddenly took over and told me it was transferring everything.

Before I'd backed up my template.

I can hear some of you gasping. I gasped, too.

But, it appears that all is well. The transfer is complete, and if this works as I think it will, then I'll have ... drum roll, please ... real categories. Categories were the only reason that I sometimes considering straying from my beloved blogspot. And now, finally, they're here.

I'm a happy woman. It really doesn't take much, does it?

Mary Ellen's "O Night Divine"

Awhile back, Alice referred me to O Night Divine, which is the brainchild of ubermom Mary Ellen. Mom of 7, including newborn twins, Mary Ellen still (somehow ... I want her secrets ....) found time to create this blog, which is devoted to celebrating Christmas. With guest bloggers such as Alice, Elizabeth, Dawn, Jenn, and Gwen, it's sure to be full of inspiration and mind boggling creativity.

For what it's worth, I'll throw in my own little getting-ready-for-Christmas tip. For about the last 9 years, I've kept a Christmas journal that's been a huge help in getting ready for the season. It's an informal journal, kept in a pretty little blank notebook. What do I record in it? All of the following:

St. Nicholas Day (ideas and gifts given)
Christmas card list (to send)
Copies of annual Christmas letters
Christmas card list (received)
Christmas gift ideas for kids
Gift ideas for everyone else
Ideas for homemade gifts
Stocking ideas
Book lists (new seasonal books purchased, and an ongoing wish list)
Gifts received
Post-Christmas purchases (that I've squirreled away for the following year)


It's so helpful to be able to look back through the journal and see that a gift idea I jotted down for my sister last year will work again this year (how many years in a row has she hinted that she'd love that CD?), to jog my memory about a new book we want to get our hands on, or to be reminded that I already have some gifts purchased and hidden away. (Isn't it sad that I have to be reminded of that?)

The only other tips I can think of at the moment are:

To choose and consistently use the same hiding place for those squirreled away items, so that they don't get lost or forgotten.

To keep files on each liturgical season and feast day that you want to celebrate. (For example, I have a file for Advent and within that, are ideas for St. Nicholas Day, St. Lucia celebrations, Our Lady of Guadalupe, and so on.)

Mary Ellen has a very detailed post with more in-depth references and links on organizational ideas here.

Thanks, Mary Ellen!

The loveliness of autumn

Visit Michele at The Family Centered Life for a "Loveliness Fair" focused on autumn.

Lots of beautiful links and creative ideas!

Letterboxing North America

Theresa at Lapaz Farm Home Learning has done it again. I'd never heard of Letterboxing, but Theresa (naturally) has. Go here to read about the details of their treasure hunts, and visit Letterboxing North America to find out if there are clues and treasures to be found in your area.

I don't go to Kansas very often

but once in awhile, I find an excellent reason for a road trip.

Lissa and her adorable children were the recent excellent reason.

I've been plotting a way to connect with Lissa for some time. Last summer, Atticus and I talked about a trip to Gettysburg with our kids. Hey ... Gettysburg is east ... Lissa is east. This could work. But it didn't. The trip wasn't in the summer travel budget, and Gettysburg and the rendezvous were not to be.

So, when I found out about The Big Move, I knew this was our chance. Then I learned that Lissa would be traveling on I-70. Not an -I- that runs through our neighborhood. Oh, woe is me. But, not to worry. Have van, will travel. And what's a few hours in a van? Especially when you have three delightful (most of the time) travel companions who:

a. like books on tape as much as you do

b. like to stop for coffee as much as you do (though they normally pass on the coffee and ask for ice cream, Hershey bars or candy necklaces)

c. are as eager as you to meet up with the bonny gang (or, as Ramona said, while we were all piled into a tiny convenience store bathroom, just minutes away from the meeting place, "I'm desperate to meet them!")

We hadn't known exactly when Lissa would hit Kansas, but our schedule was mercifully open over the 2-3 day span that we were aiming for. It worked.

To anyone who doesn't have "an internet life" this whole thing sounds immensely strange. After Mass on Sunday, a friend asked if we were stopping at the parish hall for doughnuts. When I explained that I couldn't as I had to go home and finish packing so that we could drive several hours to meet "strangers" she looked at me with widened eyes. I said, "I know ... it sounds a little odd when I say it out loud."

"Oh, no, no," she replied politely. "And she's a writer, huh? Yes, well. I'm sure you'll have fun."

I did. The kids were instant friends; Ramona and Beanie were inseparable, the older girls held hands and chattered, and they all giggled over shared jokes from their mothers' blogs. At one point, we were called to the principal's office for allowing our children to have too much fun (the front desk rang us with a warning to please kick it down a notch) and I have to admit that I did feel bad that we were the cause of some poor, weary traveler's sleep deprivation. After all, I had been ignoring my children for "my Lissa talk time." I think the children were flinging themselves off the top of the ice machine when the phone call came in, but who knows? I was busy talking to Lissa.

When the girls and I woke up on Monday morning, Ramona said, "Whew! That was a short night! Cuz they don't allow long nights in this hotel."

I just have to add that WonderBoy is too cute for words, and that I want a baby just like Rilla. She's magically good. She goes to sleep happy, wakes up happy, looks at you happily and generally makes you happy. Touched by the fairy folk, to be sure. And Lissa is every ounce as warm, generous and lilting as you imagine her to be.

So, if you ever have the chance to meet up with Lissa and her kids at a Comfort Inn in Kansas, I highly recommend it. Just watch out for those ice machines.

Oh, and be ready to wipe away a tear when you face the fact that you will most likely never, ever really live next door to this beloved friend.

Ramona points out the folly of Mommy's comment

Me (watching Ramona curled up next to a heat vent): "Ooh, that warm heat feels good, doesn't it?"

Ramona: "Yes. Not cold heat."

Um. Yeah.

Well ... I'm tired, eh?

I was blessed

Details coming soon ....

from today's Gospel reading

from the Gospel of Mark:

The people were bringing young children to Him that He might touch them, and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw that, He became indignant and said to them, "Let the children come to Me, and do not prevent them, for the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I say to you, whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God like a little child will not enter it." Then He picked them up in His arms, laid hands on them, and blessed them.

(photo of "Sleepy Angel" courtesy of Stock Xchng.com)

Science, or something like it

What can you do with your little sister's
pop-it beads?

Make a model of DNA, of course.

The main difference between male and female bloggers is

the use of the word "mean." Not in the sense of a midway position, or something halfway between two other things. No, I mean "mean" as in "that's not nice."

Men don't seem to use this word in the same way women do.

Women bloggers say:

"No mean comments allowed."
"You can say whatever you like, but don't be mean."
"That's just mean."
"How can people be so mean?"

Men say:

"Huh?"

I could be way off base here (and if you are a male blogger who uses the word mean in the above-defined way, please let me know. I could be missing a whole set of really nice male bloggers.) But, in general, I think it's women who, as guardians of civilization, employ the word "mean" to mean simply "mean." And we mean it. We don't like meanness and we won't tolerate it. Especially not on our blogs.

And, if you find this post to be silly or inane, please feel free to say so.

Just don't be mean.

It's a treasure trove

It's the first ever Catholic Homeschooling Carnival and you can see it here.

(This was meant to be a quick, 30-second post, just to get the details of the carnival up. Instead, I've been perusing all the posts and finding lots of fun and interesting stuff. I'm honored to be in such company as all of these great contributors. Now ... back to work, but you can bet I'll be back, coffee in hand, later.)

This is what it's all about

Some links about being a Catholic mom:

Danielle Bean succinctly illustrates what goes on in the average domestic church.

Elizabeth Foss welcomes the newest little Foss. Congratulations and blessings!

Minnesota Mom reminds us of the only real coping strategy to get through an insanely busy day.

And (I don't have a link for this one yet, because she may want to keep her blog private) but I want to thank my cyber friend, Mb, for the beautiful witness she provides regarding being a "Catholic mom" ... whether we have one child, or two or three, or a baseball team, whether we have borne them after nine looong months, or adopted them after loooooooong months (or years) of waiting, what makes a truly Catholic mom is the love of our Lord, shining (we hope and pray) through us, onto our children, illuminating their lives and lighting a path for them toward Home.

May God bless your domestic church today.

Oh, yeah, and what he said, too ....

Scott reminded me of an email conversation I had with Lissa about five years ago, when we moved from the wonderful, rambling old house that we loved to a small apartment, while we waited to figure out where we wanted to live and whether or not Atticus would like his new job. I hated to leave the house, but at the same time, I knew that in the larger scheme of things, it really wasn't important. I felt fine about leaving. Because I knew that as long as we were all together, we were "home" -- whether it was in the full-of-character 1920's craftsman style house with closets so big they were actually additional rooms, or in a monochromatic 1990's style apartment.

I remember Lissa understanding exactly what I meant. She and Scott had had exactly the same conversation.

God is so good

After my self-pitying post of this morning, you'd think God might just smack on the head and tell me to snap out of it. But, no, instead, He sends me a love song.

While preparing some food this afternoon, I was listening to a recording a friend made me. The singer, a priest (from our hometown, now residing in Texas), did a truly lovely, folk-inspired version of "How Can I Keep from Singing?"

I was especially struck by these lines:

No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to The Rock I'm clinging;
Alive is the Lord of Heaven and earth,
How can I ever stop singing?

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
A fountain ever springing:
All things are mine since I am His—
How can I keep from singing?

Indeed.

I'm off to sing.

Moving Day

No, I'm not referring to Lissa, though she's smack dab in the middle of it The Big Move, nor am I referring to the monarchs on their way through Lissa's neighborhood, though you've got to go read that story.

No, I'm referring to the fact that it is moving day here in our little town for some friends of ours. We'll be seeing them off later today, and my kids plan to wear black for the occasion. We met them our first year of homeschooling -- could that be six years ago? -- and the kids quickly became the best of friends. I still remember the delight of the two oldest kids (my Anne-with-an-e and their little girl, S.) as they discovered that they were kindred spirits.

"Redwall?!" shrieked S. "You like Redwall?? ... Oh, yeah ... these girls are friends of mine!"

(As C.S. Lewis said: "Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, 'What! You too? I thought I was the only one!'")

And they've been friends ever since. Last night, Anne said, "Mom, I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could relive the last six years with my friend." What greater tribute is there than that?

Last week, as I watched Anne give her girlfriend a going-away gift, and watched them hug one another in an oh-so-grown-up-girlfriend way, I tried to hide my tears from them. It was The Going Away Slumber Party and I didn't want to be the first one to introduce weeping into the evening. But, as I watched that exchange, I was struck by the fragile and mysterious beauty of friendship. What a gift it is from God.

One more quote from Lewis:

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival."

That's all I can really write right now. I have a long post churning inside, something about having 8 or 9 friends move away in the last few years, something about how just as I grow close to a new friend, she moves away, taking her children (and thus my children's dear friends) with her, leaving us spinning at the loss, something else about how God keeps detaching me from this world, and I keep going, going, but with protest and reluctance ... because friends, as Lewis said, give that elusive, ineffable value to our lives. They add riches we can't articulate.

And, as much as I may need detachment, the ripping away always hurts. God never promised that it wouldn't, of course, but that doesn't really take away the fact that it does. Again.

Ramona's latest favorites

Ramona loves penguins. But then, who doesn't love penguins? Some of her favorite penguin reads of late: Penguins A-B-C by Kevin Schafer, the amazing photographer. The photos in this book are gorgeous. Like a lot of alphabet books, it's not the best for teaching letter sounds ("C is for Chinstrap Penguins" isn't very helpful, but the photo of chinstrap penguins is delightful.) But then, we don't look at this book for phonics. It's about the penguins, isn't it?




Tina and the Penguin by Heather Dyer is silly fun. No big message, a little bit of educational info, but mostly just enjoyable illustrations and a nice little story.



Penguin Chick by Betty Tatham is a bit science-y (it's actually geared for a slightly older age) but Ramona still loved it. The illustrations, by Helen K. Davie are beautifully done, and she enjoyed following the life cycle of a penguin, from egg to grown-up. My older girls commented that we need to rent March of the Penguins again.


Flip and Flop, by Dawn Apperly is another sweet, fun little story about two penguin brothers and their new friends. There's some of the "little brothers are pests" mentality, but it's pretty innocuous and Ramona loved the colorful illustrations.

Atticus always said they were scary

Anne-with-an-e woke up very early this morning, after having a nightmare. In the dream, she was watching a movie populated by zombies. The zombies looked like ... mimes.

Go wish the Minnesota Mom a happy birthday

And while you're at it, read Margaret's lovely list of 40 things for which she's grateful.

Angele Dei

Today is the memorial feast of our Guardian Angels. Read about it here at The Catholic Encyclopedia, and here, at Women for Faith and Family.

You might also want to check out CatholicMom.com here and here.

Or, visit Domestic-Church.com here, for different levels of activities, from "young families" to "practiced families" to "experienced families."

Angel of God,
My Guardian Dear
to whom God's love
commits me here.

Ever this day be at my side
to light and guard, to rule and guide.

Amen.

(Painting: Andrea Pozzo, c. 1685-94)

Respect Life Sunday

Life Chains are happening all over the country. Click here for details.

Visit The Elliot Institute for great information on pro-life work, post-abortion healing and more.