The Man

In 1858, Minnesota became the 32nd state in the US. Just forty years later, a pioneer filed a claim for a homestead in what is today Alexandria, MN and built his home. Adam and I recently bought that home and 10 acres of land.

The flower gardens contain a lovely mixture of burdock, bull thistle and a few volunteer trees.

The degraded masonry chimney you see in this photo is only a memory. The home has no fireplace. The chimney is only used to vent the furnace. We could have repaired and rebuilt the chimney. But, that would have meant sinking money into a decorative furnace exhaust. So, Adam climbed on the roof and chiseled and hammered away. It is gone.

Do you see the trees peeking over the back of the house? Most of them are gone too.

This is maybe the hardest working man in the nation!

The land that they were growing on will become our new mound septic system.  Adam went to the land use office. They checked the records all the way back to 1950. There is no record of a septic system ever being put into the site. Not surprisingly, the inspector did not pass the system. He had been out there when the previous owners lived there and walked the land and couldn’t find it. They had two years to bring the septic into compliance and never did.

Eleven years ago today, I said I do. I still do! Thanks for marrying me someday!

Learning the Art of Downward Mobility

When I was growing up, my Dad was in the Air Force. I thought I was grown the week I showed up at Old Dominion University for orientation. The ROTC Cadets had been tasked as tour guides. I thought my tour guide was pretty cute. So, when it was time to sign up for classes, I joined ROTC. Really, there was just that much thought put into the whole thing. The guy turned out to be prettier on the outside than on the inside, but I stayed with in the program anyway. I learned about, applied for and accepted a full Army ROTC scholarship. All I had to do was major in nursing and join the active Army for at least 4-years after I graduated. I had planned on majoring in nursing anyway. One of the non-commissioned officers I worked with thought that whole story was funny. I used to leave my hospital ID in my locker at work. He took it out and taped over where my name should have been and wrote, “Lt. S, Here on a whim.”

Anyway, I spent the first 35, plus years of my life moving every 2-3 years. Part of moving was culling your stuff. Food stuff was donated. Trash was actually thrown away. When I arrived at my new home and had only a few weeks to find housing, have my things delivered and unpack before I had to go back to work full time, I didn’t want to have to unpack anything I didn’t find useful or beautiful.

Adam and I moved into our current home ten years ago. We haven’t culled. I am getting overwhelmed. Cleaning days generally involve straightening piles and, maybe, moving the pile to a different location. I can’t find anything and so I have resolved to live in my current home as if it were a smaller home. I am driving my family nuts!

I had planned on taking part in this 52-week Organized home challenge. The first week, I was supposed to organize my counters. I did one section of counter. My Bosch Universal Mixer had found a home there. It “belonged” in a cabinet in the basement. But, it is heavy. I need it frequently. Worst? While putting it away one day, I accidentally dropped it down the stairs! My husband had to glue the casing back together. I organized one cupboard, gave my second set of casserole dishes away and put the mixer away in the kitchen.

The second mission was to organize your drawers. That mission was posted on January 9th. Well, today (thanks to my wonderful husband) I have organized one drawer.

Before I even knew about the challenge, I had organized my pantry, so now I am officially 5 missions behind schedule and only partially done with the first two. The counter behind Samson’s head obviously is not organized anymore. The kitchen is a hard place to organize. Adam and I combined our kitchens. We have two of almost everything. We also have favorites and sentimental connections to some of the items. I have lovingly been called the gadget guru. It is going to take me a little longer than a year. I am calling any progress in the kitchen a success.

Hat Tip: to Canadagirl at Mary’s Little Corner for pointing me to the Home Storage Solutions Challenge.

Drawer Organizer: I planned our organizer, drew it in Microsoft Word and handed it to my husband based upon an idea for wood drawer organizers on Ana-White.com. My husband redrew it on a computer-aided drafting program and used a router to carve out hand holes in the dividers so that it would be easier for an adult-sized hand to reach in and grab items. This photo was staged. I have to take everything back out and finish the divider with food grade mineral oil. I just need to purchase some first.

My Almost Hometown

I was a military brat. When I was very little, it seemed my Dad was PCS’d (Permanent Change of Station) every year or two. By the time I was in my teens (and I am sure in direct response to an attempt to deal with the budget deficit and military spending), my Dad’s assignments became more stable. We lived in a place for 3 or 4 years. As a preteen and teen, I sought peer approval. Friendships became more valued. Moving was so very hard. When I chose to leave the military, one of the reasons I did was that I didn’t want my kids to have to move frequently. I wanted them to have a hometown. I don’t really have one.

The closest thing I have is Biloxi, Mississippi. I moved there during my 8th-grade year. I graduated from Biloxi High. It is the town whose birth, marriage and death notices I read in the paper. I went to school with many of the people who live there now. I spent hours on the Internet after Hurricane Katrina searching for names of the people I still call friend.

But, I have no family there. I hadn’t been to Biloxi in years. I have been back “home.” I went for my reunion and had a wonderful time! I rented a car and drove around and found the house I lived in. The Junior High I attended has been torn down. I took a tour of my old high school. It is the Junior High now. It looks the same. I could walk by classes and remember which teacher taught in the room. I went to the courtyard and felt as if I had been transported back in time. We had pep rallies in that courtyard. There was a Victory Bell. I remember leaving class to ring the bell on the day the Americans held hostage in Iran were freed. They had been imprisoned 444 days. I found my old church. I didn’t worship there. The people I knew are no longer there. Instead, I worshiped with my dear friend, Linda. We were in youth group together. We both adopted children with behavioral challenges. We have spent hours on the phone!

My Almost Home Town

Home… you can’t always go back. But, it is still nice to visit!

Precious Memories

I am from Air Force Brat, USA! I grew up moving every couple of years. When I was a young girl, my Dad was stationed in Omaha, Nebraska. Over the Christmas holidays of my 8th grade year, my Dad was reassigned to Biloxi, Mississippi. I graduated from Biloxi High School. This October is my Thirtieth High School Reunion. So, many of the things I am writing about happened a long, long time ago.

Before leaving Nebraska, my friend Lisa gave me a surprise slumber party. At the party, she presented me with an Autograph Book. Many of my classmates had bid me goodbye, wished me well, signed their name and given me their address. As an adult, I joined the Army and did my own moving around. I kept that little book for years. It was in my memory box, along with my yearbooks, high school diploma and baby book.

My oldest daughter found that box one day. She liked to go through it and look at my past. For whatever reason, and without my permission, she decided to make that little book her own. She tore out all the pages that had been written on and took it to school to start collecting her own memories. I wish she would have told me she wanted one. I was a little sad when I learned my memories were gone.

I hadn’t thought of that little book in years. I had long ago decided my daughter was more important than my things. I have been purging the room that had been hers. It is vacant now and I want to put it to use. In and among her things I found the torn out pages from my little book! I threw them out, but not before I made an electronic copy of two of them.

How I miss my Dad! It has been a rough week. And, my Dad is still there for me. Oh, not in the mystical he sent me a message from beyond kind of way. Just in the solid assurance that I was loved. He trusted me to make my life happy. He and my mom worked so very hard to give me a firm foundation. Tears can be very cleansing!

Special Memory

You’re Kidding Me, Right?

Well, she did it! According to the Minnesota statute on Compulsory Education:

Each year the performance of every child who is not enrolled in a public school must be assessed using a nationally norm-referenced standardized achievement examination.

I had planned on giving Damaris this test at the end of 1st grade. But, instead, the end of our academic year was pushed aside as health concerns took up more and more of our time. We are still homeschooling through the summer. So today, smack in the middle of summer, Damaris took an online California Achievement Test.

Damaris scored average or slightly above average in all but two categories. First she did amazingly well in Reading Comprehension because, well, she is a good test taker. I don’t know why, I didn’t teach her how to take a test. But, after reading the first passage and answering the questions she figured out that the answers were “Right There.” So, she didn’t read any of the rest of the passages, she just started with the first possible answer and looked for that word in the passage. She continued down the possible choices until she found a word that matched and chose that one. The method was slow; she ran out of time before she ran out of questions. Still, she scored well above average. This testing method will obviously not work when she is taking tests designed to test achievement at beyond the entering 2nd grade level, but it worked today. Reading is one of her absolute weaknesses. She would way rather make up a story or fill in the next line than to focus on words on a page.

The other area she did well in, in fact she scored at the highest level was in an area called Language Auding which “tests the ability to comprehend and use what is heard by answering questions about stories given orally, and by following verbal directions.” My daughter’s highest score was in following directions! Now, we do a lot of practice in this area. I read to the children a lot. I use Charlotte Mason’s narration and have them tell me back or draw what they heard. I only read once during school hours. If they do not listen, after school is over and their sibling is playing, I will re-read the section and have them complete their school work. So, I guess that this shouldn’t surprise me.

Still, it isn’t as if following directions is one of Damaris’ strengths. I ask her to clean her room and she looks at my like I have four heads. I ask her to hang up her bath towel. Later, I find the damp towel still in a heap on the floor. She insists she didn’t hear me. Given this new found piece of knowledge, how do I interpret her dazed look when I tell her dishes are on her or that it is time to get her math book. I think she is pulling my leg!

World’s Worst Teacher?

All day long I’ve carried this thing

Now the 6th period bell is fixing to ring

Text note, class notes and book work too

All this work is just too much to do.

A reasonable facsimile of the above poem was written by me and published in our school’s student magazine. I couldn’t find the original. This is just the part that stuck in my head. I was in 12th grade. Yes, I got an A. Obviously, the poem wasn’t featured because I was a brilliant poet. It was universally accepted because it paid tribute to a history teacher who was loved (or hated) by all.

This teacher didn’t lecture;  his class notes were all projected on the wall and available in the library. There were whole class periods in which the only sound that was heard in the class was the scratch of lead pencils frantically copying each word. All of his students had three ring binders that were separated into sections. In one section, was a word-for-word transcription of his “lecture notes.” In a second section, each student was required to read their textbook and write a synopsis of what came under each section. In a third section, we had to write out and answer all the questions included at the end of the chapter. Last, we always had a special project to do. I liked to call them busy work. Once, I know we had to list all the first lady’s names. The journal itself was called a “learning journal.” I wasn’t learning.

I thought I hated history! What I really hate is textbooks. History should be told just like a story with an interesting plot, characters who aren’t one dimensional — very good or just plain evil and a setting in which the culture (and its impact on the story) is well defined. My 12th-grade history class was far from interesting to me. I was mostly bored and baffled. Why was I baffled? The day before the multiple guess test, this teacher had the entire test (and the correct answers) available for the students to review. He had each question on an overhead! Well, he had all the A, B, C and D choices on an overhead anyway. The actual questions were not on overhead. He had tape recorded the test questions. At the beginning of class he handed out color wheels. You know, A is blue, B is green… He would start the tape and we would hear his disembodied voice slowly read the test question and then state, “Select the correct answer from the available choices.” After a brief pause that allowed us to read the responses and turn the color wheel to display the appropriate answer, the voice would say, “Ready, respond!” At this, every student was to hold up their color wheel displaying their answer and the voice would say, “The correct choice is…” We would practice the test three, sometimes four, times. The next day we were given the exact same test! I can honestly say my brain dumped everything I had “learned” on a the subject within 72 hours of spitting it out on the test blank. What was the point?

For many years, I would have counted him as my worst teacher.

It is easy to look at other people and assume their failings are related to incompetency. Do we hold ourselves to the same standard? Would I judge the the same failings in me as incompetency? Because, life has a way of improving vision. At 17, I didn’t know that I would one day teach too. I taught nursing. The contents of the state boards became the standards that I taught to. If our pass rate was low, our school would lose its accreditation; I would lose my job. I had very little control over the text book I selected; they were all the same anyway. The books were written to cover everything on the test. Students, accustomed to being taught to pass a test, expected and asked to be given what they needed to study. I bristled.

These “middle-skilled” jobs include registered nurses, dental hygienists, construction managers and electricians. ~ Four Years of College Isn’t for Everyone, Harvard Study Says

I am probably biased, but I don’t see nursing as a middle skilled job. This doesn’t mean I think all nurses need a four-year degree; the program I taught in was two-year program. But, there is a lot of critical thinking that goes into decisions made by nurses. Bad nurses kill people. As a patient, I would never want a middle skilled nurse. As an instructor I told my students that, if I were ever lying in the bed and looked up and saw their face, I never wanted to think, “Oh no. Not her!”

I had been a bedside nurse. No one went over the “test” with me in the days or minutes before a shift. I just showed up and found a client laying in bed without a blood pressure. There weren’t multiple choice responses to guide me through my decision making process either. I just had to know physiology and pathophysiology, and possess good assessment skills and the respect of the physicians I worked with. I had been a manager. I walked in one morning and found that a patient had a respiratory rate of 4 all night. Normal is 12-20. The nurse never called the physician. She never even tried to wake up the “sleeping” patient to see if his brain like being deprived of oxygen all night. She just wrote 4 on his vital sign record, over and over. I was a clinical nurse specialist when a transcription error resulted in a nurse giving a patient 10 times the amount of insulin the doctor had ordered. She had to fill three syringes and give three injections in order to comply with what she thought was the order. She admitted she had never had to give even two syringes of insulin before. But, it never occurred to her to stop and question the order. The nurse needed to be taken away from the bedside and given remedial training. Instead, the hospital revised how it transcribed orders and what abbreviations were acceptable in medical records. I wanted to tell every student (and I sometimes did), “The test you have to pass isn’t the next test in this course or the state board. You pass the test when you don’t kill anyone.” When I refused to teach the test, my student evaluations suffered.

Despite my misgivings, my teaching strategies slowly morphed. When I started teaching, I assumed students would come to class having read their assignments and be ready to learn. I used case scenarios to teach the information. But, the adult learners didn’t come to class prepared. I couldn’t count on even half the class having read the assignment before coming to class. No longer case-study driven, my lectures reflected the order of the textbooks. I made handouts for the students. Each handout started with a measurable objective and a sample, multiple choice question with the answer and rationale. The notes themselves were in two columns. The left hand column was for class notes. The right hand column, was essentially the text book in bullet format. I asked the students to bring a highlighter and highlight the text book items I repeated in class and take notes on the things I added that weren’t well covered in the text. I encouraged the students to star the things that had been presented to them both in writing and orally. That was what I thought was important and what I would be testing. Grades on the tests went up. Student evaluations went up. My perception of myself as a teacher fell. The only “teaching” I did was when my students were in clinical. The students were pulled away from patient care areas for post-clinical conferences. A part of an 8-hour day, divided by 8-10 students doesn’t give much one-on-one time. But, I had earned those few minutes by putting up with all the rest.

My history teacher did the same thing. He didn’t teach us history. But, he earned a place in our life by going through the motions. Because, while I didn’t learn history, I did learn. He taught us not to take news stories at face value. He taught us to read critically. He did this by discussing current events. He asked our opinions and was genuinely interested in what we thought. He was the adviser for our school’s debate team and got all giddy about making us think about (and articulate) why we believed what we believed. No matter what side of the issue the class took, he argued the other. Looking back, he was the first teacher to encourage me to begin thinking critically about any topic. And, I wonder, “Did he hate ‘teaching’ as much as I did?”

I home school now. I do it so my kids can come along side me and learn how to live. We get a little math, English and history along the way. Our state mandates that home educated students be evaluated every year on a norm referenced standardized test. Lord, give me what it takes to not teach to the test.

dailypost:Topic: describe the worst teacher you ever had

It’s All Light

I have written a lot about my oldest daughter. As I struggle with how best to help her and, yes, worry about the choices she is making, when I have free time (which corresponds with my blog time), my thoughts drift to her. I try to work out through my journal my plan of action. I sift through my feelings here on my blog pages.

But, I don’t always have free time. Most of my day is spent doing something in which fetal alcohol spectrum disorder and mental illness are merely a distant memory. I home educate my 5 and 7 year old! Last year, we almost exclusively did unit studies. We documented our learning in lapbooks. Planning lapbooks when I had two non-readers and non-writers was a time sucker. Even when I found a ready-made lapbook, I had to rework the projects so that they fit where my children were developmentally.

At Christmas our family remembers the magi’s visit to the child Jesus. We give our children three small gifts. They get a gift fit for a king (gold), a gift for their spiritual life (frankincense) and a gift for their body (myrrh). I struggled with getting a gift for my children’s spirits. When we changed churches, our new church didn’t have a children’s service. The kids had to sit in the sanctuary during service. I had bought them both picture Bibles. They have many Christian children stories and music. So, I cheated. I decided that studying God’s creation would work as a spiritual gift. Besides, Light is my favorite paradigm when thinking about God.

Light, without which we can see nothing, is itself invisible. It seems to move from place to place instantaneously, passing ghostlike through solid materials such as glass. If it is part of the material world, it is certainly, by dint of its surpassing subtlety, the part that is closest to spirit: So thought the astronomer Johannes Kepler. It is identical to God, mystics like Mani and John the Evangelist declared. Plus, it can give you a tan. ~ by Jim Holt, What is Light

We are using Damaris’ gift to do a unit study. We are not doing a lapbook. And, we are having a fun!

ScienceWiz - Light

We have loved this kit! It is reasonably priced and includes almost everything you need to complete the experiments. The site describes this set as appropriate for children ages 6 to 12. My children have needed an adult to help them do each of the activities that we have completed so far. By far, their favorite activity was splitting light into all the colors of the rainbow using the spectrum glasses that are included in the kit. Coincidentally, in our regular homeschool curriculum, My Father’s World First Grade, we are studying Noah. So, the colors of the rainbow theme fit right in!

Warning: The below video contains an ear worm. The song will get stuck in your head and drive you batty. But, your children will learn the colors of the rainbow!

In art, the kids made a rainbow. Tricky mom only gave them the primary colors. They had to experiment with mixing to find the colors they needed to complete the entire spectrum. After they figured out purple, I did give them a little light (white) to make violet. Their photos turned out great! Here are my painters!

I know a boy named...

Roy G. Biv

Damaris already has Mt. Ararat on her page! Yes, the kids are painting in my formal living room with mostly white carpets. When you home educate, you have to learn to use the spaces you have.

Cool, huh?

Last, tonight we made Light Detector Cookies. I followed a recipe for Oreo Cookie Balls. I selected this recipe because there was very little measuring (a box of Oreos and a block of Cream Cheese) and the cookies didn’t have to be baked. The kids could help me with the entire project. I think the final product is uber-sweet and probably not worth the high rating that this site gives it. But, Damaris and Samson love them! Finally, we decorated our cookies using the instructions (minus the wax) I found here.

As for me, I am contemplating, if our eyes are physical light detectors, do we have a spiritual light detector? Is there such a thing as a third eye?

” Because of this I also, having heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus, and the love to all the saints, do not cease giving thanks for you, making mention of you in my prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of the glory, may give to you a spirit of wisdom and revelation in the recognition of him, the eyes of your understanding being enlightened, for your knowing what is the hope of His calling, and what the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what the exceeding greatness of His power to us who are believing, according to the working of the power of His might,  which He wrought in the Christ, having raised him out of the dead, and did set [him] at His right hand in the heavenly [places], far above all principality, and authority, and might, and lordship, and every name named, not only in this age, but also in the coming one; and all things He did put under his feet, and did give him — head over all things to the assembly, which is his body, the fulness of Him who is filling the all in all,”

~ Ephesians 1:15-23, Young’s Literal Translation

Identity

My most precious possession…

A group of people has my personal information. They are not scrupulous. They call me several times a day. They have told me that my order is completed. The order they would love to follow up on is one for Adderall, a controlled substance. Naomi used to take Adderall. I had to appear in person to pick up the prescription. I had to hand carry it to the pharmacy. I could only get 30-days at a time. Obviously, getting controlled substances through the mail from a dubious supplier would be less than legal.

The calls from from phone numbers all over the country — Washington, Northeast Ohio, Manhatten, Michigan. I have called the sheriffs. By the time that the sheriff calls to check the number, the numbers have been disconnected there is no forwarding phone number. Does that shock anyone? Short of changing my number, I don’t know if there is anything I can do to stop these calls.

I feel so violated. These people have my name and home phone number. I suspect if they want to mail me a package, they have my mailing address too. I feel vulnerable knowing that these people have my personal information. I follow the suggestions listed in this article on how to stop identity theft. Last year, at my banks suggestion, I purchased identity theft protection. Someone had used my debit card number to try to order over $2000 worth of stuff from Japan. Without calling, my bank turned off my card. I only found out that my card was no longer good when I tried to withdraw money from an automated teller machine.

Sadly, I have the added worry that the criminal is closer to home. Naomi was only in the sixth grade when she first stole my debit card and used it to make purchases online. Naomi recently plead guilty to a fourth degree felony related to the sale of Adderall. Right before she ran away from the adult foster home, my debit card went missing from my purse. When Naomi lived at home, my purse stayed locked behind my bedroom door. I don’t lock doors anymore. I love that. But, she visited the weekend before she took off. I didn’t lock my purse. I was out of the habit.

I don’t have clear and convincing proof that Naomi is involved in my current problems. In my opinion, I do have a preponderance of evidence. The sheriff suspected her too. She was questioned while she was still in jail for probation violation. Naomi doesn’t take responsibility for breathing. She admitted to nothing. Without enough evidence to hold her, she was released the next day.

And, we are left with worry, sadness, anger and fear. Every time I think Naomi’s situation cannot possibly get worse, it gets worse. It feels like I am always in a crisis or waiting for the next crisis. There is a part of my soul that hysterically screams, “I want my life back!” The other part confidently asserts, “This is your life. What are you going to do to make it better?”

My son, the battle is between two ‘wolves’ inside us all. One is Evil – It is anger, envy, jealousy, greed, and arrogance. The other is Good – It is peace, love, hope, humility, compassion, and faith. ”

The grandson thought about this for a while and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf wins?”

 To which the old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

In the middle of my reflective thoughts, Naomi called. She is vomiting again. She has been admitted three times with these symptoms. Each time, she admits to recently using drugs and or alcohol. Each time, the hospital cannot find a medical reason for her symptoms. Each time, she is asked to follow up with her outpatient provider. She has never done this. She uses the Emergency Department as a point of access to health care. She isn’t consistent in taking the medication to decrease stomach acid. When she is in a monitored living situation, when someone else is managing her medications, her symptoms are controlled. Her pattern of behavior creates crisis for everyone in her circle.

Helping or enabling? She is really sick. Every time she has gotten this sick, her electrolytes are off. Her blood glucose is elevated. Her body is reacting to what she has done to it. Who am I? Am I compassionate? Am I cold? Am I a caretaker or a pawn? My identity — I am not sure anymore. I am not sure I even know what love looks like.

A Hairy Morning

This morning I was up before the kids. Damaris came downstairs and ordered me back to bed. She is really not a morning person. She needs a long time to transition from being asleep to being awake. So, we are cuddling and she sits up, looks me in the eye and declares, “You actually need to shave because your legs are poking me!”

Since getting out of bed, the kids and I have listened to our currently favorite videos.

And,

Damaris wants her locs to grow as long as Ziggy Marley’s.

I enjoy the music. I can put sweatpants on my pokey legs. Frequent winter shaving is not appealing to me. But, what can I do about Samson?

As part of My Father’s World first grade curriculum, the kids and I have been drawing our way through Drawing With Children. We have been learning to look for circles, dots, curved lines, straight lines and angled lines in our environment. Yesterday during bath time Samson pointed out that a butt looks like two ovals “squished together.” And, of course, he can draw ovals. His butts aren’t too realistic yet. His ovals are asymmetrical. And, this morning he put tick marks all over his ovals. Good thing he told me that it was hair. I was kind of clueless! But, apparently naked butts are gross.