Okay, I just thought I’d put this out there for anyone actually caring whether this blog dies with a whimper, a bang, or a good, solid ‘splat’.

I’m alive.

I’m now in Virginia.

I’m living in my in-law’s house and learning how to be humble and not annoying.  Tougher than typing it, that’s for sure.

I’m now exactly 31 weeks pregnant.

Oh, didn’t I tell you?  We had a surprise decide to join our family.  A little girl will be joining us January 1-ish.  The children are all very excited, none more so than Laura.  The girl who wanted her own room quickly decided that it was “no fun being alone!”  So she’s looking forward to sharing a room with her sister when we have our own place.  Given the way that Max is fawning over his youngest girl cousin and how Timmy is fascinated with any baby he sees in pictures or real life, I think the boys will do well, too.

As for our sanity, we’re doing alright for a whirlwind move cross-country followed by a, so far, disappointing job search.  Did you know that it’s kinda hard to find a job right now?  Yah.  Really.  We found that out recently and I feel the need to share my hard-earned wisdom with you:  finding a job stinks.  I’m just glad that my job is secure and well-defined as a stay-at-home mom.  But I feel really guilty because it’s not really fair to my husband, is it?

As for the storage unit reference up in the title:  it seems that the answer to every question about the location of an item is “it’s in the storage unit.”  This week we might get back to it and finally pull out all the stuff we’ll need for a slightly longer stay at the in-laws than I was hoping for.  We’ll need baby clothes, toys, big kid clothes, cold weather coats, craft and homeschooling supplies, etc.

But as for tonight, it’s Halloween.  Laura will be a sparkly fairy princess, Max will be Iron Man, sans mask, and Timmy will be a scarecrow.  We’ll be going to my brother-in-law’s neighborhood to trick or treat for real!!!  I’m very excited because the past 8 or so years have been a succession of trunk-or-treats with our church.  There wasn’t much in the way of going door-to-door in our little town.  But this year my kids will get to experience what it’s like to earn your candy the hard way.  It’s good for them; it’ll toughen them up.   So I have to repair some holes in the Iron Man suit (it’s for dress-up) and then we carve pumpkins, then we head out for some good old-fashioned trick-or-treating.  And, you know, as long as you can go trick-or-treating, life’s still pretty good, right?

As apt as this analogy might seem, it’s wrong.

You see, I’m not Bilbo, unwittingly conscripted into a bewildering flurry of adventures.  I’m not even Frodo, bound by honor and duty to fulfill an impossible quest.  I’m part of a far more prosaic tale, one which appeals to my taste for the classical.

This very nice painting is by Angelica Kauffman.  It’s subject is the storied Cornelia, mother of the less-than-fortunate Gracchi of Rome.  Lauded by Roman moralists as the epitome of motherhood, she was interested in life and learning, and was devoted to her sons’ ill-fated attempts to change Roman politics.  She is mentioned by Plutarch numerous times and the painting above demonstrates an anecdote from Valerius Maximus.  While of questionable validity, I rather like it.

Cornelia had a rather fancy friend drop in.  She was a successful and wealthy woman, no doubt an equal to Cornelia’s own wealth and rank.  She kept going on and on to her hostess about the fine things she had:  beautiful clothes, a very handsome home, and exquisite jewels.

Knowing that her friend was quite able through her husband’s position and her own family connections to afford the same, her friend wondered aloud ‘But where do you keep your jewels, dear Cornelia?’

I imagine Cornelia had a gentle, if slightly wry, smile on her face as she turned to call her children to her.  Presenting the children to her friend, surely as grubby and fidgety as children have been throughout history, she simply replied that these were  her jewels.

Perhaps her friend was touched by her friend’s simple answer, perhaps she took her look of stunned incredulity home with her mind already satirizing the event for her friends.  To be honest, the tale does not say.

I do believe that Cornelia watched her handsomely dressed friend go, put a hand to her hair (swept into a hasty updo) eyed her stola slightly stained from the baby’s spit-up, and then hugged her squirming children and sent them back out to play.

Now I wrote a whole paragraph waxing romantic and sentimental about my children and what jewels they would be.  But, to be honest, I think it’s a little personal (and embarrassing) to post.  Suffice to say that I envisioned Laura as a Tigerseye, Max as a sapphire, and Timmy as an aquamarine.

Some days I don’t get out of pajamas, some I don’t get a shower until my husband gets home.  Many days pass by in an appropriately hobbit-like boredom.   But I’m not waiting for a mysterious wizard to bring me an adventure.  I’m in the middle of one of my own, cutting and polishing my jewels right in the middle of the dragon’s lair.

I’m boring like that.  ;)

Well, we have a crisis far more terrifying than death by volcano:  bladder terrorism.

Is it just us or do your kids try to blackmail you by claiming every five minutes-usually in the middle of a quite inspired talking to-that they simply have to go to the bathroom.  Only to repeat the gag in three minute’s time.  At this point we’re reduced to playing the odds of whether we think she actually has to go to the bathroom or is just using her rather formidable skill of distraction.  She’s like a ninja, leading with cries of “Potty!” and disappearing into the resultant smoke.  You look around and wonder where she is and-more importantly-what on earth you were just talking to her about.  It’s bad (read:  really, really annoying) when your kids know how to work your ADD.

Now, part of me is impressed with her ingenuity.  The other just wants to strangle her.  Or install an outhouse.

That might do it.

In keeping with the holiday season, I made a turkey.

It’s really cute.

And, yes, I made a real turkey, too.  But it’s in my tummy for good.  You don’t want pictures, I assume.

Please welcome our own little tiny Tim.  More on his general perfectness later.

“Steady, baby, hold together…”

All I can say is it’s a good thing I was granted a medical deferment for  this semester.  Since I dropped my classes, it has been one thing after another.  Most of those things are people emptying their guts into any and all vessels in the house.  I know.  Gross, right?

And every time we think we’re good, our mischievous Max decides that too much peace and quiet is a bad thing.  Apparently keeping us on our toes involves said gut-hurling at odd hours of the night.  Personally, I think he does it for the undivided attention and movie days that inevitably follow.  Tricky little monster.

And every time I start envying the fact that other (read: normal) people send their older (willful, insolent, annoying) children out of the house for a few hours every day, I am reminded that we are spared a LOT of hassle by homeschooling.  When we’re sick, we can all hunker down and weather the storm without missing any schoolwork at all.  We can also count Schoolhouse Rock as schooling, which makes me feel a little better on sick days.  Laura is also breezing through her math and reading, so I’m free to increase the difficulty of her schoolwork to match.  And, seriously, aren’t you all just a wee bit jealous that we get to read Anne of Green Gables for reading practice.  And she just got a real microscope for her birthday.  How many kindergartners get to study slides?  She’s all fired up about the various things around the house she can look at up close.  Okay, I’ll stop being all annoying and boastful.  But this is my silver lining right now.  Allow me a moment to enjoy it, please.

So, all said, we’re still plugging along with about 7 weeks left until baby comes.  Now we just have to figure out a name.

Red 5, standing by.

P.S. I just showed the original Star Wars to Max.  Instead of being awed by the sheer awesomeness of it all and begging for V and VI, he had the gall to demand more Batman cartoons.  I don’t know whether to be annoyed or pleased with his partial good taste.  Well, at least he’s not watching Spongebob Squarepants.  Ugh.

Besides some of my own issues involving a very unhappy stomach, we’ve had a good day today. Mutually-Assured-Timeouts only needed to be administered twice before they got the picture that you don’t hit, kick, or sit on the head of your sibling.
Yes, there was indeed head-sitting. Max is becoming quite the bruiser. Remember from The Princess Bride, when Mad Max meets Fezik the Giant?

“I’m on the Brute Squad.”
“You ARE the Brute Squad!”

Yep. That’s my boy. And, he keeps getting better every day.

Schoolwork went swimmingly, although Laura gets a little antsy sitting down for reading practice (I think I’ll try writing up her sentences on a white board so she can wiggle all she wants as long as she reads). And we finished in enough time for her to go outside and play in the nice (cold, stormy) weather.

Here’s where my hearts gets torn into little pieces:
As I was reminding Laura of the rules for playing outside and that she was not to leave the backyard under any circumstances, she stops me.
“Mom, I know the rules. I can be in charge. I can control myself.”
And then she skips merrily out the door.

WHA!?!!
I instantly begin to drown in a sea of conflicting emotions. Pride at my little girl all grown up (well, sorta). Annoyance that I was that easily dismissed. Sorrow at my little girl all grown up.

Wait! She’s not allowed to grow up!
Doesn’t she know that?

I, most emphatically, did NOT give her permission to become independent.

At this time, please ignore all my previous sentiments of raising an independent,

capable, intelligent child who can take on the world.

I didn’t know what I was saying.

I’ve learned my lesson and will never, ever let her grow up again.

Well, I can dream.

Truthfully, only part of me is feeling bereft and bereaved. The other part is impressed with the polite, well-behaved child that Laura can be when she’s in a good mood. She can express herself well, and has (so far) obeyed our rules about playing in the backyard despite the peer influence of her friends. I thrill when I catch her teaching Max his letters or numbers or she hits upon a particularly creative ‘imagination game’.

She is growing up. And I hate it. But I love it.

And it helps that she still pops in from the backyard “just to hug” me.

Because, honestly, that’s certainly how it feels.

So here’s some good to keep from complaining to you and to remind me that life could always be worse.  I know, optimism at its best, hmmm?  I’m just a ray of sunshine.

Laura looked up at an Aspen tree outside our new apartment and said, “I know it’s not, but I feel like that tree’s full of green butterflies.”  Anyone who’s seen an Aspen will certainly agree. I like it so much better than the ‘quaking’ idea.

Later that day she runs outside around the (small) complex and declares that this place is “imaginable!”  Anyone else reminded of Anne of Green Gables’ scope for imagination?

We had soooo much help with a very fast move that I’m still reeling.  Whenever doom and destruction threatened, a way was opened.  We were very blessed.  I still have to make ‘Thank You’s.  I was thinking some canned Cinnamon Peach Jam.  The best recipe in the world is on TastyKitchen from bertscannery.  I am fairly certain a requirement at the pearly gates is having tasted this jam.  Get crackin’ people!

We have a good amount of pictures up on the wall for just being moved in.

Max is becoming increasingly becoming fastidious about being in a dirty diaper any longer than he has to.  I blame it on the cloth diapers.  They don’t wick everything away so he actually knows that he dislikes being dirty.  Even now, when he’s in disposables (3T-4T extra overnight protection pullups) because he’s a giant monster child, he has issues with being dirty.  He will even go so far as to hold #2 until he’s in a clean diaper.  But that might just be a symptom of drivemyparentscrazy-itis.

Yes, the above is a good thing.  Every bit closer to potty-training is good.  …so I tell myself…

We’ve been fairly consistent with homeschooling even in the midst of a very busy schedule.  Downside:  Laura’s struggling to deal with a consistent schedule and having things that have to be done.  She’s thrown a fit two days in a row about her reading practice.  It doesn’t help that she’s giving up naps at the same time.  Perhaps I need to change what we’re reading.

My kitchen is not really organized but everything is shoved into the cabinet and I now have a working stove/oven.  I’ve even canned twice since we moved.  And I’ll be canning some more pear-sauce (oh, that bit of heaven deserves it’s own post) tonight.

And, perhaps today, some things that have been shadowing our life for a while will be resolved.  At least to some extent, anyways.  ~crosses fingers~

Unfortunately, I will probably be absent for at least one week more.  We are currently moving apartments right now and must be done by Thursday.  Then I have a canning class to teach for the Married Student Gardens on Saturday.  And unpacking to fit somewhere in there.

So, you understand, right?

Have fun while I’m working and trying not to fall flat on my backside!

Valete omnes!

Three years into college I married the man I met when I was twelve.  We promptly got pregnant the first month.  Between being newly married (do you know how hard it is to concentrate on Latin with a new spouse?), newly pregnant (the toilet and I became quite intimate), and my husband’s need to continue his own degree, I quit school and got a crash course in being a stay-at-home mom. But I still kept all three (or is it four) sets of Latin textbooks for when I eventually returned to school and became a Latin teacher.  After all, I’d need something to do when the kids were all gone.

A couple of years into our marriage I realized two things:  I loved to cook and probably should have been a culinary arts major in college; and I lived just a few blocks away from a college where I could finish a degree.  DUH.  Yah, it took me a little bit to notice the university in town.  It’s so unobtrusive and all.

I went back to school but they didn’t have a Latin major.  So I fell back on my previous minor:  History.  However, I realized two more things:  I really should have taken a culinary arts major while they still offered it; and I was right in the middle of the history department dumbing down their courses.  Students were complaining, y’know.  Poor babies.

I also realized that I just didn’t have the ability to finish a bachelor’s degree for now.  I hate making that admission and do worry that 10 years down the road I will wake up in bed realizing I bailed on my only opportunity to get a real degree.  But for now, I feel an amazing sense of peace over my decision to take an associate’s.  I know that it would be impossible for me to homeschool while worrying about my own academic readings and deadlines.  And I want to homeschool.  If I can accomplish it, my children can have an education tailor-made for them.  Hopefully, this will help them gain a true passion for learning and do a great deal of good in their world.

But what about Latin?  Have I thrown it to the curb to thumb its way to someone younger and more able to pursue that dream?  Nope.  I think learning Latin is too important to not be encouraged by every capable individual.  I plan to offer Latin tutoring wherever we move as a source of extra income.  Many school systems, especially out west, don’t offer Latin.  I can provide another foreign language offering that would be impressive on a college application and give a more rounded education.  Furthermore, I will have a trump card in the homeschooling world.  Many homeschoolers would like their children to learn Latin, and I can always trade services for something my children want to learn.  Like the tuba. 

But the nagging feeling still persists about cooking.  I love cooking for my family.  Remember the mother from My Big Fat Greek Wedding?  In a similar fashion, I equate love and nurturing with food.  If you’re my friend you’re more likely to find yourself with plates of over-rich desserts and jars of delicious jams and jellies than with me sitting down and talking for hours.  Food is a useful language when you’re shy like me.  (Yes, in real life I’m somewhat reserved.)

But I want to cook for more than just my family.  I want to offer wonderful food and knowledge and skills to others.  So many in my generation have grown up without even the knowledge of how to boil water.  I want to emphatically change that.

How?  Ah, that’s for the next post.

“They come in pints?!?  I’m getting one.”

(must be said in a delicious accent by Billy Boyd)

Did you ever not post for days (or weeks) because you felt that you had absolutely nothing witty, earth-shaking, or otherwise profound to say?
Oh, no? I’m the only one so neurotic and perfectionist about everything I write? I’m the only one who will write something and then look back at it 15 times the next day wondering if I sounded wonderfully intelligent or like a complete idiot?
Hmmm…this explains so much about life…

I have been trying to get the gumption up to write about a variety of parenting and education articles I’ve seen around lately. But, in an effort to clear my mind and move on, I will just give you the links and let you form your own opinions.
Because I can’t give you opinions for everything, now can I?

http://news.yahoo.com/s/mcclatchy/20100808/pl_mcclatchy/3585264

Does it bother anyone else that Arne Duncan is essentially strong-arming/bribing most of the states into implementing yet another set of requirements and battery of tests?  I remember the Standards of Learning from Virginia as miserable, useless things that restricted what the schools were able to teach.  But, since this is an international set of standards, I’m sure it’s completely different.

Right.

http://www.newsweek.com/blogs/nurture-shock/2009/12/30/some-kids-are-never-spanked-do-they-turn-out-better.html

I love that we are now getting the data to study the effects of not spanking children on later behavior and success.  I look forward to a number of studies like this popping up over the next 10 to 20 years. Make sure to read the conclusion of the article.  Food for thought, at the very least.

http://theweek.com/article/index/202006/do-perfect-babies-require-three-parents

Anyone else had to read Brave New World in high school?  Putting aside the occasionally questionable content, this article reminds me of that first scene where the test-tube baby-making is described.  All I can say is Creepy!

http://nymag.com/news/features/67024/

First of all, the photography for this piece is weird and creepy.

Make sure to read through to the end of the article.  It’s much more optimistic than it sounds and it’s not actually arguing that parenting makes us unhappy.  But there’s some interesting data throughout that can make you think.

http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/07/07/unhappy-helicopter-parents/

Are we so busy running our child-rearing like a business that we have no time to be a family, a marriage, and truly happy?  This is why I think my kids should entertain themselves.  I’ve got enough to do with the house, my husband, their basic needs, and homeschooling without making sure their every waking minute is planned and amazing.  Let them be bored!  It’s so much better than ‘Let them eat cake’ and far less likely to lead to a bloody revolution involving sharp, giant razor blades.  Plus, they’ll learn life skills all on their own.

Okay, so there are a few opinions there.  But, in comparison to my usual long-winded posts, I’m sure this is quite refreshing.

Have fun reading and thinking!