It's not strange that when I see this photo caption contest from the Nature Conservancy Facebook page (photo credit Bob Gress)

that my thought is to caption it "My souffle is ruined", "Ruined!" ala the Bloggess and her lovely Juanita Weasel

Yeah, I'm going with not strange at all.


BTW, you can purchase lovely cards and/or aprons of Juanita and her friend Jefferson Peabody.  True. Motherfucking. Story.

People don't understand kids. Or homeschooling. Or learning.

Seriously. I overheard a conversation where people were talking about homeschoolers. People who do not homeschool, mind you. They were talking about how this family does a really good job but this other family doesn't teach at all. They were wondering how this alleged lackadaisical family could expect the kids to learn?

This, my friends, is the problem. Until we trust that kids WANT to learn, schools won't change. The whole system models things on filling of a bucket, and then checking the bucket sometimes for leaks. In other words, forcing info down their throats and then testing to make sure they "get it." This model is not working, obviously. Why do the powers that be seem to think MORE testing will make it work BETTER? Does this work for YOU when you try and learn something? I doubt it.

Why not trust that humans of all ages enjoy learning things. Make this learning available. Encourage the learning. Light the fire and watch/help it burn.

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After an evening at a lovely child's birthday party where I got to chat with my friends but Stella spent the night in a tree by herself and Sandis hid behind me whining, I stopped at the liquor store.  Guess what I found?

Yes! It's here already! My favorite, favorite beer :)  And look what it says under the cap.

Yes, I do think it was a night bravely done.

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So I am not a master dream interpreter.  Really, I'm not.  I love when I can remember them, especially if they are all convoluted, but I don't actually find hidden mystery in there.  I usually find things from the previous days that hung around in my subconscious and mixed in with bizarre elements gleaned from my all-time memories and created something resembling what I assume a hallucinogenic trip would be like (never taken the magic bus myself.)

Take last night for example.

First dream, Miller Farms.  Not surprising since the kids want to go there and I need to plan it.  It's on my mind because I really don't feel like going.  It's a ton of work to process all that produce when we get home, not to mention finding a whole day to devote to the trip itself - harvesting food, playing on the jumpy thing, riding the mini-train, sledding down the dirt hill, etc, etc and doing the corn maze.

You see, the girls decided, out of the blue, they like corn mazes again.  After several years of hideous outbursts at the mere mention of corn mazes, NOW they want to do one.  Have I mentioned my graduate work was in corn? And I've walked through enough corn in my life thankyouverymuch.  So, do I go by ourselves? Rope Brian into going with us on a weekend (when it's crazy busy)? Try and organize a field trip with our friends? Yep, it's on my mind.

Second dream, playing hockey.  I often dream about hockey because I miss playing.  BC (before children,) I played all the time.  I was in two leagues, had games and practices 2-3 days a week, went to the gym on off days.  This time I was playing with some old team mates plus some current friends (yep, Lana, you were there.)  One person was out there in a wheelchair as a nod to my inclusive UU self (not to subconscious, they play in sleds, not wheelchairs when the need arises.) 

Third dream.  Third and fourth dreams morphed out of the 2nd so hang on! The hockey morphed into cleaning hockey equipment in the front yard, where there was also accumulated yard sale finds.  Why did I purchase several rugs, a plant stand and a ton of knick knacks? And why did I arrange them in the front yard? This is the drug trip portion, no explanation necessary.

In any case, some high school kids came by with there beat-up SUV and were collecting things from the neighbor for their huge HS rummage sale.  They thought *my* stuff was for the taking too (note to self, next time, say yes, even if it's a dream.)  I said no, but I had stuff inside.  I ran in and started stuffing things into bags (old clothes, toys, etc.)  This is when we proceed to...

Dream four, packing to move.  Yes, I decided to start getting rid of even more stuff because, well, we were packing to move anyway.  This is the whole crux of the post, my dreams of moving.  Over the past year, I have dreamed at least 4 times that we are moving because Brian got a new job.  And all these moves are rush - like 2 weeks to pack up, sell house (ha!), and be in the new place.  Is he looking for a new job? No. His job is quite secure and the company doing well despite the economy.

And guess where we move to in all these dreams? Kansas. Yes, Kansas.  Seriously? I would never want to move to Kansas! It holds nothing for us, it's windy, it's flat.  Why on earth do I dream we move to Kansas? (No, we have NOT watched the Wizard of Oz lately.)  Well this time my subconscious remembered that I didn't like the Kansas move.  I actually was telling someone in the dream about previous Kansas-move dreams as I told them we were moving to, wait for it, Kentucky.  Sigh.  I guess I can only move to K states in dreamland.

So, dream interpreters, why on earth do I dream of moving? And why Kansas? For the record, no new starts in my life currently, nor am I looking for any.  If you have ideas, please post in the comments :)

 

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It's Monday morning and we get up and start doing schoolwork.  Being homeschoolers this means we aren't dressed yet, isn't that nice? I think so.  Stella is excited to start her math, which is on the computer, Teaching Textbooks.  She's loving this new math because 1) it's new, 2) it's on the computer, and 3) it's all basically review at this point so it's easy.  Ask me again in 6 months how much she likes it.  That will be telling.

In any case, she jumped on her computer and asked where her math disk was.  Things went to hell from there.

• Um, where did you put it? I don't know.  [frantic looking around on her desk while I berate her for leaving disks strewn about on said desk]
• Did you even take it out of the computer? Well, no.  
• Then why are you looking for it? Did you check the cd drive? Both of them? No.  
• Which cd drive do you use? I don't know, both of them.  
• Which one do you use when you play games? Both of them, I don't know.  

Are you confused? I was confused.

Turns out the disk IS in the cd drive.  Problem is that the cd drive isn't recognizing the disk.  Not good.  Gets even better, cd drive isn't recognizing the disk because computer isn't recognizing the cd drive.  Well, that does explain why things aren't working, doesn't it.  Glad the disk isn't wrecked as it's not actually ours.  We get the math curriculum through the quasi-school for free.  If we lose/ruin it, we have to buy it.  At $150 for this particular curriculum.  

I sit down at her computer to try and fix things.  Keyboard is a nightmare.  Stuck keys, keys that don't work.  I go through various things to try and fix the errant cd drive but no dice, computer refuses to believe that the drive exists besides the fact that I. can. see. it. right. there.  Dammit.

Email Brian to see if he has any ideas and get totally frustrated with keyboard.  Decide to clean it a bit.  Shake it upside down and a pile of nastiness comes out.  Stella says, "that's a lot of sand."  Um, how does she know that it is s-a-n-d and not some other dirt? Oh, because she has a balloon full of sand right here! Cool, right?!

I did not beat, or even scream at, her.  I get gold stars.

After cleaning out the keyboard, during which time she accused ME of breaking it, (honey, I only popped off some keys to get the CEREAL out of there, I didn't dump sand in it!) I got out this lovely pile of crap:

 

For those of you who were reading along and thinking, "spoiled kids these days have their own computers, grumble, back in my day, grumble, walk up hill both ways, bitch, etc," this picture explains why they have their own computers.  I don't want THIS happening to MY computer.  Their computers are the $10 castoffs from Brian's company.  When they upgrade the computers at work, they sell off the old ones to get rid of them.  This is how my children get their own computers.  It is a $20 investment for both children to have their own computers and not to ever have to touch mine.  Totally. worth. it.

Well, that lovely break is over.  I'm done swearing at Stella's computer (which is waiting for her dad to fix it) and the girls are done weighing the chickens (don't ask) and are working on their schoolwork again.  Just another day of chaos in our lovely little homeschooling home.

BTW, still in our pajamas.  Jealous?  ;)

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After getting up early, attending quasi-school all day and then going to therapy group, Sandis was NOT tired.  Crying endlessly because you have to take a shower (which you have to do every day) is not a sign of being tired.  No, that's your mother being unreasonable.  Ditto on doing the dishes.

When someone suggests that you are tired, you should cry and throw yourself on the ground while repeating over and over that you are not tired.  That should prove to your parents that you aren't tired at. all.

I think she's really 2yrs old, not closing in on 11yrs.

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Cutest damn jolly roger ever.

I am such a bad parent that I totally forgot that yesterday was Talk Like a Pirate day.  And it was the ONE day a week they go to school so they would have had other kids to pirate about with too.  My children could have been "Argggg" and "Matey-ing" all day long.  But no, instead, they were victims of poor parenting.


And, if that were not bad enough, when I asked them if they would have talked to their teachers in pirate talk, they said, "NO!"  Really? Not even a, "I'd rather swab 'e decks 'en take 'em notes!"
or even an, "Arg, I 'm present t'day."  They wouldn't even think of speaking like a pirate to their teachers.  Sigh.  Such a bad parent.  I don't even know where to go from here...

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