What's the point?

Spelling class with Noah this morning.
Me: Spell "crocus".
Noah: C-r-o-a-c-u-s
M: Not quite.
N: Well, it doesn't really matter.
M: Why not?
N: Because it's not like I'm ever going to need to spell "crocus" in my life.
M: What if your wife wants crocuses at her wedding, and you have to write down the order for the florist?
N: By the time I get married, nobody will be writing anything on paper anymore.
He makes a good point.  It's unlikely that he'll be texting the florist anyway, but if he is, autocorrect will take care of it for him.  And even if he spelled it "croacus", the florist would know what he meant.  What's the point of teaching people to spell nowadays?

Fundamental snake charming

Sarah and I were looking out the window at this windy, rainy, chilly morning, and I said, "It's a great day to stay home all day in our jammies and make chili for dinner."  She said, "Meh. I'd rather get dressed up and go do stuff all day and then go out for dinner."  I was starting to reflect on the fact that that's a fundamental difference between us, but she was already talking about how snakes are not really charmed by snake charmers, so no time to reflect.

Sarah's birthday

Sarah's 10th birthday was epic!  She got to go to Chick Fil-A and the mall with Nana and Papa last Thursday, and she's going to Culver's and Walmart with Grandma and Grandpa this Thursday (she likes to eat and shop).  On Saturday, we had a tumbling party for her at YMCA in Canton, which was very fun! 

And today we took her to Hacienda Fuentes for lunch, where they put a big sombrero on her, sang to her, gave her fried ice cream, and smashed whipped cream in her face.

 Mike is saying, "Yo como fajitas!" and Sarah is saying, "Oh, Dad."

Comfort is my color

I put a lot of thought into my outfit today.  We're having a tumbling party for Sarah, and I intend to tumble my heart out, so I chose pants that allow for free movement.  I have on a tshirt that tucks into my pants so nothing gets exposed, and a hoodie for warmth.  When Sarah saw me she said:
"I wouldn't wear that if I were you, Mom."
Me: Why not?
S:  Because plaid is not my color.
M: But...you won't be wearing it.
S:  Plaid is not your color either.  Plaid is not anyone's color.
M:  Comfort is my color.
S:  Oh, Mom.  [walks away, shaking her head]

Throwback Thursday

From our newlywed days:

I never realized how deeply rooted I am in my morning routine until my husband started working the day shift. After several years of working nights, he had forgotten how it works to get up in the morning. So the Sunday night before our first day of going to work at the same time, we were making our arrangements to carpool.

“What time do you get up?” he asked me, probably expecting a simple two-second response and a kiss goodnight.

“What time do I get up, or what time does the alarm go off? It’s a complicated process. The actual alarm goes off at 6:00 a.m., which is really about 5:40 because the clock is fast.”

“Why don’t you just set the clock to the right time and set the alarm for 5:40?” he asked, logically enough.

“Because,” I guffawed, “5:40 is too early to have to wake up.”

He paused dramatically to let the stupidity of my statement sink in, and then said slowly and loudly, as if I had a learning disability, “Yes, but you’re waking up at 5:40 every day as it is. Just because the clock says 6:00, you know it’s still 5:40.”

“No, I don’t. I’m so sleepy that I’m fooled into believing it’s really 6:00.”

“Every morning?” he guffaws.

“Yes. So anyway, the alarm goes off at 6:00 and I hit the snooze, because 6:00 is too early to get up, and I’m still tired. I sleep till the alarm goes off again at 6:07 and then I hit snooze. I then get my Bible and devotional magazine off the nightstand, put them next to my pillow, and sleep till the alarm goes off at 6:14. Then I hit snooze and read my daily devotional until the alarm goes off again at 6:21. Then I lie in bed and listen to my favorite program on the radio. After it’s over, I go to the bathroom, go downstairs and feed the cats, and get back in bed. When the clock says 6:48, I have to get up and take a shower.”

“So you actually get up at 6:30.”

“Whatever. All I know is that I have to be out of the shower at 6:50, according to the bathroom clock, which is about ten minutes fast.”

“Why. . .?” he starts to form a question but thinks better of it and just resigns himself to never understanding. “Then what?”

“Then I get dressed and get ready. I have to be downstairs at 7:30 by my watch, which is about five minutes fast, so that I can pack my lunch and be out the door at 7:32 by the clock on the stove, which is the actual time. When I get in the car, it should say 7:38 because it’s exactly six minutes fast. I listen to another radio program on the way to work. At 7:45 by the car clock, I meet Boxcar Lady on the road and wave to her and then. . .”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who do you wave at?”
“Boxcar Lady. I call her that because she drives this little green car that’s shaped like a box. She must be pretty wacko about her schedule because I meet her at the same time on the road every morning.”
“Does she wave back?”

“No, I don’t think she knows me. But then I see Jack Joe a few minutes later and she sometimes waves.”

“Why. . .”

“Because her license plate is J-A-K J-O 4. When I turn onto Middle Road, I meet the McHugh family in their van. Their license plate is “M-C-H-U-E”, and one time I saw them pulling out of their driveway (when they were running late) and I noticed their mailbox said, “McHugh” so that’s how I know them.”

I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was amusement or disbelief. “And then I get to work at 7:56 car time, which is 7:50 real time and 7:45 company time. I put my lunch away, turn my computer on, and punch in by 8:00. That’s it!” I finished triumphantly.

He said, “I can’t live like that,” rolled over, and went to sleep.

Not much school (but lots of learning) this week

Our schedule was so full of good things today that I had to cancel our official school day.  We still had a great day of learning in my favorite classroom: life.  The kids had a science class at 9:00 a.m., and I picked them up a little early so we could be at the library for a program at 10:00.  The library  was showing TED talks (leaders in the fields of Technology, Education, and Design give their best talk in less than 20 minutes each) and then having group discussions about them.  I went last week with no kids to do a reconnaissance mission to see if it would be something I could bring them to this week. It was so interesting and stimulating last time, but the audience was all older adults, so I asked the facilitator if it was ok if I brought my kids to the next one.  Today's talks were even better than last time's, and Noah even participated a little in the discussion.  What a great education!

We picked out some books at the library and headed for Bloomington for an appointment for Noah.  The kids read their new books all the way there and didn't make a peep!

Noah had some blood drawn to see if he would qualify for an allergy study.  There was a long, complicated, roller-coastery issue at the appointment that I won't go into detail about here, but it caused me to pray right out loud in the exam room, and God resolved it in a way that was better than we expected!  On the way home, Noah asked me what the biggest thing was that I learned today.  I mentioned a fact from one of the TED talks.  He said the biggest thing he learned was that God can take something bad and turn it around for good.  I don't think we would have gotten that from the classroom.

Tomorrow is a half-day at school, because in the afternoon we are doing our annual pie-crust-making for the Mennonite Relief Sale.  Our church makes pies on the Thursday before the sale every year, but we miss it because of CBS.  The kids and I and one other lady make all the crusts the day before, so they're ready to be filled the next day.  We make 90 crusts.  We've been doing it for several years, so my kids can whip out a pretty good pie crust by now! 

We never have school on Thursdays because of CBS, and we probably won't get much in on Friday, because we'll be getting ready for Sarah's birthday party.  This is one reason we do school all year, even in the summer.  I'd rather do a couple hours a day all year round than 8 hours a day with the whole summer off.  I want my kids to know that learning happens all the time everywhere, not just when you're sitting at a desk with a textbook. 

Gymnastics cake

I have this grand plan to make an awesome gymnastics cake for Sarah's birthday, including little clay gymnasts and edible gym equipment.  Tonight I asked Mike to take the kids to their Kuk Sool Won class so I could work on it.  The project of the night was to mold four tiny gymnasts out of clay and get them baked so they can cool and I can paint them another time.  I only had an hour and a half alone, so I worked  fast.  I was pleased with my first gymnast, who was doing the splits, but I got too ambitious with the vaulting girl.  I couldn't get her to stay upside down, no matter how many toothpicks I stuck in her.  I propped her up against a glass and hoped that she would bake and stay upside down.  The third one turned out to be a little oddly-proportioned (huge, long ape arms and stubby, skinny legs), but an hour had passed already and I needed to get them in the oven.

I cleaned up and hid the evidence while the gymnasts were baking.  I  checked on them after 15 minutes, and saw a grisly sight.  The vaulter had fallen off the vault, and her hands were missing.  I found them still stuck to the vault.

I pulled the tray out of the oven and removed the glass that had failed to support the vaulter and set it on the counter.  I used hot pads, of course, because I'm no dummy, and I realize that a glass that's been in the oven for 15 minutes is going to be very hot.  I also removed the handless vaulter, as well as the vault with two creepy hands sticking on it.  Then I put the other two gymnasts back in to bake for a few more minutes, because I have no idea how to tell when gymnasts are fully baked.

In an effort to tidy up, I grabbed the glass off the counter to put it in the dishwasher.  In the 30 seconds since I'd put it there, I'd forgotten that it was hot.  I was rudely reminded, and my seared hand opened involuntarily, and the glass shattered all over the floor. In the time it took me to go get a plastic bag to gather the big pieces, I forgot that the glass was still hot.  I burned my other hand picking up the first chunk.  I used the hot pads to pick up the rest and started vacuuming up the little shards.  With both hands burning and glass still everywhere, I forgot that I had a husband and kids.  They reminded me by arriving at that moment, so I had to scramble to cover up the handless girl and handy vault. Then I remembered the other poor gymnasts who were still baking.  I took them out of the oven and went back to vacuuming.  Sarah asked for a snack. Bad timing.

At that point, the vacuum died.  Just turned itself off right in the middle of the job.  It also inexplicably dumped its contents (dirt, hair, hot glass shards) in a pile on the floor under itself.  This birthday cake is not going very well so far.  I think instead of four gymnasts, I might just go with the one that turned out ok.