Ordering pink eyeglasses at Wal-Mart that took awhile, and a preteen feeling uncertain about the new change in her routine, her appearance; even if they're pink. Lots of produce and paper products bought, too. Lots. Inviting a few of the kids' school friends over -- one each, times four. Two come to play, and two messages are left. One calls -- penciled in for Wednesday. Another for tomorrow at the park. Dropping off, picking up. More friends they wish to call, to invite, to see; another day, I tell them. Bay and her pal play at the "old grade school" across the fence from our backyard; nostalgic. It's where they attended until two years ago, when the new building was complete a mile or so away. The former place is still a school, just inhabited by different kids; and the playground is exactly as it has always been. Pretending it is still theirs.
An all-fruits-and-veggies dinner with sliced, sauteed-in-real-butter red beats as the anchor. Sprinkled with sea salt. Baylor eats heavily. The others do just fine. English work page and sight words for one, reading and journal writing for another, and math for all four. Bay inquires about "lesson from Mom or Dad," which is a filler so Anna and Jameson don't feel like they've got more work than the others, but I often dismiss it for the sake of my own time and exhaustion. But Bay persists. She is a sponge and wants to know things; new things. I toss out the idea of going to the map in her toyroom and reading the names of the Caribbean Islands. She does, happily, as I tend to the language work of the others at the counter, and my headache.
I make return calls to my sister; her boy's checkup with the specialists in Indy went well. And Mom -- her cancer prescription isn't causing too much grief. Energy is pretty good, and she's quilting like crazy. We'll all be together on The Fourth.
We cover our religion lesson, and the kids work at it nicely. Anna and Jameson want to become Catholic and receive communion like the rest of us do already, and the religious education director at church offered materials so that the quantity of material didn't have to be overwhelmingly packed into 8 months (fall through Easter). I teach, adjusting the work pages to the kids' ages and academic abilities, including Hunter and Bay for a family feel. The review won't hurt them, that's for sure. The kids listen, write brief answers, and share in turns. This is Anna's favorite of all her study areas. They show a sense of respect, and yet, it is still apparent that the beet-induced pink pee they've witnessed during breaks to the powder room is more captivating than the water-to-wine transformation at Cana.
Showers, clean up, into bed. My head is throbbing; please, ibuprofen, work! I rub Anna's back; Bay is already asleep after her heartburn. I explain that with school work there are three ways: 1. Look at the work, see that you know it and it's easy, and you just do it. 2. See that it's not quick and easy and think you can't do it, and don't. And that most learning in American schools is in the middle, #3 -- Look at it, read it, think about it, reread it, think some more, and then solve the challege or ask the teacher something specific that you've narrowed down as your particular sticking point. She asked for me to explain how to ask the right kinds of questions. She is getting it -- what we mean when we expect her to "work at it," "to think." I float into the dimly lit boys' room to quiet their talking. They've taken to slumbering in Hunter's single bottom bunk; it's summer, and it's sweet. They look up at me as if they are cojoined twins and grin. I remember the late eves in childhood of talking with my sister; rubbing each other's backs when we had to share a bed at Grandma's.
The throbbing in my head has ceased and only a tolerable discomfort remains. Trying to do too much yesterday and distressing about so little checked off the list today -- thinking, planning, orchestrating. the pain reminds me that "THIS IS SUMMER!"
Slow down you, crazy fool. And I do.
An all-fruits-and-veggies dinner with sliced, sauteed-in-real-butter red beats as the anchor. Sprinkled with sea salt. Baylor eats heavily. The others do just fine. English work page and sight words for one, reading and journal writing for another, and math for all four. Bay inquires about "lesson from Mom or Dad," which is a filler so Anna and Jameson don't feel like they've got more work than the others, but I often dismiss it for the sake of my own time and exhaustion. But Bay persists. She is a sponge and wants to know things; new things. I toss out the idea of going to the map in her toyroom and reading the names of the Caribbean Islands. She does, happily, as I tend to the language work of the others at the counter, and my headache.
I make return calls to my sister; her boy's checkup with the specialists in Indy went well. And Mom -- her cancer prescription isn't causing too much grief. Energy is pretty good, and she's quilting like crazy. We'll all be together on The Fourth.
We cover our religion lesson, and the kids work at it nicely. Anna and Jameson want to become Catholic and receive communion like the rest of us do already, and the religious education director at church offered materials so that the quantity of material didn't have to be overwhelmingly packed into 8 months (fall through Easter). I teach, adjusting the work pages to the kids' ages and academic abilities, including Hunter and Bay for a family feel. The review won't hurt them, that's for sure. The kids listen, write brief answers, and share in turns. This is Anna's favorite of all her study areas. They show a sense of respect, and yet, it is still apparent that the beet-induced pink pee they've witnessed during breaks to the powder room is more captivating than the water-to-wine transformation at Cana.
Showers, clean up, into bed. My head is throbbing; please, ibuprofen, work! I rub Anna's back; Bay is already asleep after her heartburn. I explain that with school work there are three ways: 1. Look at the work, see that you know it and it's easy, and you just do it. 2. See that it's not quick and easy and think you can't do it, and don't. And that most learning in American schools is in the middle, #3 -- Look at it, read it, think about it, reread it, think some more, and then solve the challege or ask the teacher something specific that you've narrowed down as your particular sticking point. She asked for me to explain how to ask the right kinds of questions. She is getting it -- what we mean when we expect her to "work at it," "to think." I float into the dimly lit boys' room to quiet their talking. They've taken to slumbering in Hunter's single bottom bunk; it's summer, and it's sweet. They look up at me as if they are cojoined twins and grin. I remember the late eves in childhood of talking with my sister; rubbing each other's backs when we had to share a bed at Grandma's.
The throbbing in my head has ceased and only a tolerable discomfort remains. Trying to do too much yesterday and distressing about so little checked off the list today -- thinking, planning, orchestrating. the pain reminds me that "THIS IS SUMMER!"
Slow down you, crazy fool. And I do.
Beets...Cana...LOL. Love, Dad
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