Homeschool...or not

The answer is "or not." I've liked the school my kids go to, and they love going there, so I've never really had to answer the question of whether I want to homeschool my kids. But all it takes is a couple of snow days to make me very grateful for that. I teach my kids piano, and I don't even do that very well.

Lucky for me, the kids did their own school over the past couple of days. It included some:

science experiments, using an entire package of paper cups to measure ice accumulation,

a little geography and art in the basement, made just a little bit more entertaining by pulling out our IKEA igloo tents to serve as classrooms. And lets not forget the...

...construction/architecture class held in the living room using every available blanket, as well as some of my favorite lamps placed precariously on the edge of tables to hold them in place.

It made me wish I had the set of World Book Encyclopedias that served me so well for that very purpose when I was a kid. As I recall, the letter 'M' was the best one.

I spent most of Thursday recovering from our little homeschool adventure. Although they can be a little messy, I am grateful for my kids' creativity and curiosity. I am also grateful for teachers they love at school that make them excited to go every day.

Ice, Ice Baby

I often make fun of the school district here for how quick they are to cancel school when a little bad weather comes. Growing up in Montana, school was only cancelled once--and it wasn't because of the weather.

Although there are many days where I think people are pretty wimpy for doing that, I have new respect for how dangerous ice storms can be. Snow I can handle. Ice--I'd rather stay home. The last couple of days we've had some impressive ice accumulation, which produced these amazing works of art:

The laurel bush in the background is where these ice leaves formed.

And it also gave me this treat:

I put a canopy over our big sand box so that the leaves wouldn't make it so messy. Note to self: take down the canopy the next time there is an ice storm predicted! Luckily it popped back up once the zipper unfroze and I was able to get in and break the ice off of it. A little damaged, but remarkably intact considering what it went through.

Ouch

There's always a first time for everything. Sometimes those are good things, and sometimes they are root canals.

I had a sensitive tooth that had been bothering me for a couple of months, but I hate going to the dentist when I'm pregnant, so I had to put off getting it fixed. When I went in last week, I found out the bad news.

So when I went in today, armed with an MP3 player to drown out the drill and a prepaid flex plan credit card to pay the bill, I was ready for it. He got down to business, and after a little while he stopped and said that he thought I was just going to need a crown, no root canal. My spirits soared!

But then he kept scraping. And scraping. And scraping. And then I heard what I somehow knew I was going to hear but kept hoping that I wouldn't: "Oh, that last little bit exposed the nerve. We'll have to do the root canal."

Are you serious?

Somehow it seemed so much worse to have to go through it after I had laid there in the chair singing along to the 'Wicked' soundtrack thinking of all of the pain and discomfort I was going to miss out on because I had been spared the root canal. Or so I thought. You know who is wicked? My dentist--who was chosen only on the basis of a promotion he ran that involved free tooth whitening trays. I'm such a sucker. But at least I'm a sucker with white teeth.

So now I sit here with a golden temporary crown on my white teeth. I have to admit that the fact that I can drink cold water without pain makes me feel a little kinder toward my dentist.

I guess everyone has a role to play in this world--and mine is to be a walking advertisement for why it important to brush and floss.

Grateful

As I watched the inauguration ceremony today with my kids (my choice, not theirs), I was profoundly grateful for a country where there is peaceful transfer of power from one person to the next. When I look at countries throughout the world that descend into civil war and chaos to change power, I am grateful that whether or not people voted for President Obama, there is no violence to protest the outcome of the election.

God bless America!

Katie's Inheritance

I know a lot of mothers leave their jewelry to their daughters after they die. I decided to start a little early.

I took out my jewelry container today (one of the few graduation gifts I recieved that is still in use) and decided the time had come to part with some treasures.

Necklace worn for Prom (very sparkly!)? Gone!

Tarnished silver bracelet from Jackson Hole? Gone!

Necklace from sister that is missing stones in obvious places? Gone!

I think you get the idea.

I had them in a pile on my bed, and when Katie saw it, it was like a moth to a flame. When I told her she could HAVE them ALL, it was like a second Christmas for her. When she went to bed tonight, she carefully strung each of her new treasures onto her reading light. She's not a really girly-girl, but she loves jewerly (the shinier the better). She couldn't comprehend why I no longer wanted to wear the cubic-zirconia/fake pearl necklace I had worn to prom.

The ironic part about all of this is that some of the jewelry I have in my container are things I stole ("borrowed long-term") from my mom's jewelry box. So I guess I know where Katie gets her love for bling.

A Little Magic Trick

Here's a little trick you can try in your own home. First, take a toy. The lamer the better. Then take the toy, and throw it in the garbage. Make sure not to bury it down with the wrappers from the candy that you ate for breakfast (maybe I'm the only one that does that)--keep it up on top where it's sure to be seen.

Here's the magic: it's a guaranteed thing in our house that if my my kids find one of their toys thrown away in the garbage, it instantly becomes their FAVORITE toy--even though it hasn't been played with for months. Or if I throw away a drawing, it's always the one they spent a REALLY LONG TIME doing. How could I possibly throw it away?

Last night, Ryan threw away some of this stuff (I don't even know what to call it):

It never stops sticking. To anything. Any everything. It's not that messy when kept on the table, but Katie was playing with it all over the house. It had been buried in the back of her dresser, happily forgotten about, until Saturday when we gutted Mason and Katie's room.

Ryan must have been tired of finding little pieces of it everywhere, becasue he threw it away last night after the kids went to bed (good strategy). But he forgot to bury it (bad strategy), and Katie spent a good 10 minutes wailing over the tragedy of finding one of her FAVORITE toys in the garbage this morning.

So, being the nice parents we are, we let her take it out. Now if only the toy we had put in the garbage hadn't been one that STICKS to everything, it might have been okay. As it is, the lump of sticky dot stuff smells like peppers and has what appears to be sloppy joes mixed into it. If I didn't hate it before, I hate it now.

And when I throw it out, it will be in the outside garbage.

Workout Buddies

When baby #4 came along, there weren't a lot of things I needed that I didn't already have. One thing I had seen that looked useful was a playmat she could lay on the floor and use. I did a little online shopping, and was amused to find out that what I was calling a "playmat" is actually a "baby gym". I can't be the only one for whom those two words together conjure up images of babies on stairclimbers and doing bench presses.

So many people seemed to love them per the reviews on Amazon that I KNEW my baby needed one as well. A girl's got to stay in shape, after all.

The one thing I hadn't been able to predict was Andrew's response to it. This picture pretty much sums it up:

At one point in Andrew's life, I was concerned he might have hearing problems. I no longer worry about that, since no matter where Andrew is in the house, he can detect the music being turned on when I put Chloe in her gym. He immediately comes running to join her for her workout.

Research seems to indicate that having a friend to workout with is helpful. I think this case is a definite exception to that. But like it or not, Chloe has a very devoted workout partner for her all her trips to the gym. I wish I had one of those!

We Should Have Read the Warning

Last night for family home evening, we called Ryan's mom for her birthday (Happy Birthday Delsa!) and then Ryan suggested playing a game since we didn't have a lot of time left. He pulled out one of the new games we got for Christmas from Aunt Lisa: "Trouble". She had originally bought it for her family, but then thought our kids would like it so she decided to give it to them. I hadn't played it for a long time, but remembered it was something that would be easy for them to learn.

Well, what started out as an attempt at family bonding ended up in tears (Mason and Katie alternated, depending on who was sending the other's piece back to the start). Ryan and I spent the game being frustrated at their complete lack of being good sports and Andrew's complete lack of being able to leave the pieces alone. We barraged them with helpful reminders like "It's only a game" and "If you guys can't play nicely we're going to bed right now", but somehow that didn't seem to help. Shocking, but true.

After Katie had squeezed out a clutch win, beating Mason by one pop-o-matic pop of the bubble button, Mason lost it (meaning both the game, and all sense of sanity). Katie then picked up the box to the game, and after examining the cover, let us in on why the night had gone so poorly: "It say's right here on the box that 'There's trouble in the bubble!'"

And how.

If only we had read the warning first.

Maybe Aunt Lisa did, and that's why she wisely sent it our way (just kidding Lisa!).