Mom Wants Another...

This Blog is Moving!

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Wed, 18 Mar 2015 03:37:00 +0000

Sometime this month, all content on this blog will be deleted and moved to PurvaBrown.com - I hope you'll visit and find me there!

Why I Cook Dinner (Almost) Every Night

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Thu, 30 Oct 2014 16:47:00 +0000

I did not expect to meet my mother, six years after her death, in a blog post. I thought I had cremated her, dealt with the seething, strangled ball of anger, honor and confusion I tried to unravel as she lay dying eight thousand three hundred and forty-seven miles away. But there she was. In my Facebook feed, my friends’ conversations, suddenly, everywhere I looked. The more I read, the bigger thought bubbles my memories blew. They got larger, threatening to pop all over me, spittle and all, demanding to be noticed. My childhood had finally come, screaming, swinging in the swiveling kitchen door, naked, begging to be diapered, powdered, clothed. It was time, I decided - time to either kiss the wound and send it away happy or put that disobedient, tear-streaked cheek in the corner, to mete out punishment or take it upon myself in the name of womanhood.

I knew what she would have done. I knew only too well.

Cooking was how my mother showed affection - and the lack of it. Making dinner was her weapon of choice. She wielded it extremely well. On days she and my dad fought, there would be no dinner cooked, as if to force my dad to acknowledge that he needed her after all. On the flip side, she made homemade wine, pickles, party food, pizza, festive food. Growing up, I didn’t know a single person who intentionally stayed away from a celebration at our home. I knew no one went home and didn’t tell whoever he met that he had just gained five pounds and wouldn’t mind gaining another five if this woman invited him over again for dinner. My father’s friends were jealous, as were mine.

Except for this one thing.

“Don’t you ever, ever quit your job after you have kids!” she often warned. “You lose your worth. All you’re ever good for is cooking and cleaning.” She didn’t teach me to cook, intentionally, I think, even though some of my fondest childhood memories are puttering around in the kitchen with my toy pots and pans while she cooked. As they say in shorthand parlance, my relationship with cooking was complicated, right from the start.

So I was disconcerted, to say the least, to be confronted with the same acerbic complaining that still echoes in my ears thirty years later on the other side of the globe. Cooking is too hard, it takes too much time and no one appreciates it anyway. There should be something better I could be doing with my time, something not inside this house. Why all this focus on the homemade dinner, this onus on the mother? This restlessness, this unnamed self-pity, the seeming sadness classified as the woman’s lot, propped by ditties claiming a woman’s work is never done draw me into darkened corners of my psyche I never wished to visit again, places that I wanted to leave dimly lit, cobwebby and dank.

“Mommy, can I help?” my daughter asks me today. She wants to chop vegetables, admire them. She wants to learn to make aioli. She wants to do dishes, revel in the feel and worth of a kitchen apron cut just to her size. She wants to learn my imperfect art. And I have to look at it anew – not through my mother’s eyes but my own.

I have to do what my father wasn’t willing to do to my mother - shake her out of her dark reverie, her imagination that didn’t allow her to see the truth. That cooking is work but it isn’t drudgery. That it is a tool, not a weapon. I have to remind myself, gruffly, if I must, that I actually do like my food, even if I don’t necessarily like to make it every single day. There are days when I’m tired, not interested, would rather be reading or soaking in the tub, wine tasting with my friends, but when I’ve had my fill of the world and all its delicacies, I would rather just eat something cooked in my own kitchen. It’s not gourmet and it’s not always fantastic. Yes, it’s work. But like all work, it is ultimately satisfying and God-glorifying, even when it falls far short of perfection. I have to remember, especially when it gets hard, that our family dinner is more than food – it is life lived together – a culmination of all our individual labors: my husband’s work away from home, my planning and shopping, the children’s cooperation in the store and assistance in carrying in the groceries and, finally, my cooking, in which my daughter sometimes joins. This is not romanticizing our family dinner. This is just looking at it from a point of view that is not borrowed and stitched together from the rags of feminism.

If I didn’t have a little daughter, I would remain heartless, I sometimes think. She reminds me, innocently, quite efficiently even, of what I wanted to be when I grew up. And I am surprised but ready with an answer when a friend asks me the same question.

“I wanted to be like my mother,” I say wistfully. Never having known the working mom side of my mother who quit her job when I was three, I loved the notion that I would be a stay at home mom when I grew up. I don’t know when it became a bad thing, when cooking for people who depended on you to nourish and love them became an insult, when it diminished your worth. I don’t know when I began believing my mother’s lies. “I wanted to be like my mother. Only happier with my life,” I say to her. And realized, then, that I am.

What Friends Are For

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Fri, 04 Jul 2014 05:54:00 +0000

Friends don’t let friends drive drunk. This is the one that started it all, so we can let it go, I guess. Then came others: Friends don’t let friends drink Starbucks. Friends don’t let friends drink blush wines, or chardonnay, for that matter. People who offer you drugs are not your friends. Friends don’t let friends smoke or use bad grammar. Friends don’t let friends eat GMO foods or use Huggies. Friends don't feed friends gluten, friends don't let friends avoid gluten, friends don't let friends vaccinate or not vaccinate. Friends don't let friends miss daily Bible reading time, friends don't let friends allow their babies to ride face forward even though it's legal. Friends don’t let friends let their babies cry it out or not, or spank or coddle, or breastfeed or not breastfeed. Friends don’t let friends do anything with which they disagree.

Apparently, friends don’t let friends do much of anything at all unless they are completely complicit. It must then follow that they’re not friends; they’re clones. But even that is tenuous at best. So what are they? Carbon copies? For someone who can barely live with the thoughts inside her own head on some days, that is a scary, downright terrifying thought. If my own internal monologue gets on my nerves, I certainly do not want carbon copies of me proclaiming the same thing I’m stating, repeated back to me, echoing down endless mirrors of sameness until Christ returns. I mean, seriously? Blech! Me too, me too, me too, me too, me too, me too, me too, we would nod and nod like Sylvia Plath’s disquieting muses until we finally fell asleep on our identical sheets on identical beds and wake up perfectly disheveled, with matching puffy eyes the next day because we both woke up to the sound of duplicate sprinklers on indistinguishable lawns because, well, we never let the other think otherwise, “let” being the operative word in all of this. (See, you were wrong there, reader. You thought it was “friend.” You wild goose chaser, you.)

So maybe it’s me who doesn’t get it. Then again, maybe it's you.

My friends don’t let me do anything; they also don’t not let me do anything. They have opinions, some strong ones at that. And I have opinions, equally strong. And that is okay. (Even if they’re wrong.) (Yes, I said it. Get over it.) Because a friend can handle that. Neither one of us feels the need to curtail, edit, alter or otherwise revise our opinions because they do not reflect the other’s image. We are not friends because we agree on most things. In fact, often, we are friends in spite of the fact that we disagree. Lest you think this is tolerance, mind you. I’m not a tolerant person. I do not believe it to be a virtue. I reserve the right to judge, to discern, to weigh the spirits. I’m pugnacious, increasingly so as I grow older and things begin to matter more than they ever did when I was young and single. And yet, I have friends. Real, legal-right-to-one-phone-call friends even.

We must be doing something wrong. If friendships rest on us handcuffing the other into submission to our point of view, my friends aren’t my friends at all. Yikes. Perhaps I’ll bring that up the next time we’re eating gluten and drinking wine and Starbucks as we read a book about cry it out sleep training. Then again, I wonder if they’ll let me?

What I've Always Wanted to Say about Homeschooling (But Was Afraid To)

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Mon, 23 Jun 2014 22:54:00 +0000

I am a homeschooler. And I love it. I love it in a no options, no excuses, no holds barred kind of way. I love it without reservation. I believe in it. I’m passionate about it. You should know this about me if we’re going to be friends. In my mind, there is no doubt that homeschooling is the single best option to educate children.

This is hard to say. It is unpopular. It seems to offend too many people. It’s almost as if I have to add a disclaimer each time I speak of homeschooling, lest I appear negative, bigoted and insensitive or, heaven forbid, not inclusive enough. I’m expected to pay my respects to public school teachers, listen to unsolicited advice from them in the oddest of places, (like the gym locker room!) salute the state, and whoever else is included in this village that it supposedly takes to raise my children. Don’t get me wrong. I know quite a few teachers and as far as I know they’re fine people but, if they work at a public school, they are working at an institution that is antagonistic to parental rights. Can you tell I’m not a fan of the Department of Education yet? Yes, I wholeheartedly love many wonderful families and I wouldn’t think twice before leaving my children with them but that’s only because they do it with an eye to my authority over my children and do not try to usurp it. Oh look. I’m doing it again.

Disclaimer has apparently become my middle name.

So here it is. I am a homeschooler and I (no disclaimers) love it.

When I say I love it, I don’t mean it’s easy. When I say I love it, I don’t mean only when it’s practical. When I say I love it, I don’t mean I love it every minute we’re settled around the dining table poring over worksheets and manipulatives. When I say I love it, I don’t even mean that I do it perfectly or that I never wish (or pay) for a break. When I say I love it, I don’t mean I’m going to only write about how wonderful it is and only post uplifting things. When I say I love it, I definitely don’t think it is the only way to educate my children, but let me be perfectly clear about this one thing: I do, whole-heartedly believe that it is the best way.

“But… but… but…”

I can already hear the slingshots loading.

“Surely you’re not saying you’re their best teacher? What training do you have?”

“Are they learning anything? How do you know they’re learning?”

“Oh, what? You think we who send our kids to public school aren’t Christian enough? Are you looking down on us?”

“Have you read this?”

To which I say, Yes, I am, and, I’d like to understand your idea of being qualified to teach. Yes, I can see and hear and understand, I’d like to talk to you in person about this, and finally, yes.

We’re not part of the purity culture or the patriarchy movement or the unschooling culture or whatever other "culture" you think we might fit into. We just happen to be passionate about homeschooling. I’m not necessarily raising my daughter to be a homemaker and my son to work outside the home, although that might just be how things work out. And if they do, I would be overjoyed. Because you cannot be whatever you want to be and you cannot have it all. I teach life skills depending on their interests and abilities. Right now, my daughter wants to learn to cook, change diapers, do math, read, play with babies and is able to do so. Currently, my son wants to learn to fix things, listen to stories, watch television, do dishes, play video games and do math. So that’s what we do.

And also, for the last time, I do indeed believe it is the best way to educate because if I didn’t, if I didn’t truly, whole heartedly believe that, why in the world would I give it my all? In a world where it’s considered so very important that I do something “just for me,” why would I choose to let go of other pursuits – professional and artistic – and spend so much of my energy, my time, my emotions, my intellect and sheer will in picking a curriculum, hand-holding, controlling my temper, teaching, making my children do things they do not want to do, catechizing, explaining, exhorting, disciplining? Why indeed? Because I take God’s call to disciple my children when at home and when in the way and when we wake up and go to sleep very seriously. Why else? And I just don’t see how I can do it if they’re gone all day long in a place with twenty or thirty other children and an authority figure who is NOT their parent. There are only so many hours in the day.

Interestingly enough, even though I firmly stand on Christian ground as a homeschooler, my introduction to homeschooling began in the secular world. The first books on education I read were by John Taylor Gatto. Even as a Christian, I believe you should read them. It was only later, after I had decided to homeschool that I read the Bible and became a Christian. As a result, I have quite the unique experience of seeing from both worlds, secular and Christian, how homeschooling affords the best possible option for educating children. Why else would we do it? God forbid, if we ever had to send them to school outside the home, I would, but I wouldn’t think that it was even close to the kind of education homeschooling would afford them.

If you think this is a case of semantics, let me assure you it’s not. Where children spend most of their time matters. Who they spend most of their time with matters. The kind of education they get matters. It matters a lot. I’m tired of saying we do it for practical reasons, which could change as soon as it doesn’t work anymore or as soon as it gets difficult or as soon as we can afford a Christian school. I’m sick of disclaimers. I’m really just tired of defending my family against people who either don’t like homeschoolers or homeschooling or feel judged by my conviction that homeschooling is the ideal way to educate children. I’m tired of offering an apology for my passion; I am tired of hearing it being called an agenda.

If I have an agenda, it is this: to raise my children in freedom, to train them in a job well done, serving in excellence, knowing God and understanding how to relate to Him, His Creation, themselves and their neighbors in His image, which is what education is, after all. So maybe I do have a homeschool agenda.(Hey, you know what? Anyone who wants to get anything done has an agenda.)

Yes, homeschooling is all it’s cracked up to be. Even on days when it sucks. Even when it’s hard. I’m not asking for permission to be in love with homeschooling any more. I’m not going to apologize for promoting it. I’m going to be unabashedly supportive of other parents who choose this option.
I’m not going to say that it doesn’t matter what you choose. Not any more. Because it does.
I am a homeschooler. And I love it.

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Tue, 10 Dec 2013 05:27:00 +0000

I'm starting a new project! Go check it out!

http://threefiveandunder.com/

Five Things I Learned in my First Year of Homeschooling

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Thu, 23 May 2013 21:07:00 +0000

Oh my! The school year is over. (By the way, we will probably school year-round with a lighter summer schedule.) Really? I didn't notice. Haha. That's normal, right? For a homeschooler?

So, here are the highlights of the year:

1. It didn't look how I thought it would. Not for the most part anyway. And if I held on any longer to how it should look, I wouldn't do it another year. I had a planned curriculum, written out, neat and tidy, text books lined up under subjects galore, ideas and pictures in my head, blah, blah, blah. The year came and went. I forgot about the written curriculum, went by what I saw my kids needed and God's grace. The other day, looking through some stuff, I find the curriculum. Would you believe it if I told you we had covered every. Last. Textbook? Yup. Did it all. But not the way I had planned. Homeschooling is messy. Messier than I had thought.

2. School happened in the midst of life. I had a baby this year. I also had to get tested twice a week for high blood pressure for eight weeks while pregnant. The kids went with me. God knows better than I do what they need to learn. Looking back now, I recognize those moments as pivotal in my daughter learning the beginning steps of obedience.

3. My kids learned all the time. Not just during school hours. That's a scary thought. I love and hate schedules. I love that they seem so controllable and the kids find then predictable but I also hate being an automaton. So although I like them I feel the need to break them. Unfortunately, if I break them too often I feel like I'm not doing enough when sometimes I'm not required to do much at all! They're not learning just when I'm teaching, they're learning even when they're playing. I know because I get the odd question (while I'm harried and crazy making dinner! Why is it always while I'm making dinner?) that tells me something has clicked into place!

4. It doesn't take a rocket scientist but it does take energy. Tons of it. And I can't pour it all out either at the gym or in my social life or even in supposedly planning the perfect curriculum. It needs to be available for them, for teaching when they're ready to soak it in.

5. I'm the teacher and the student. This has perhaps been the hardest year spiritually speaking for me so far. God has broken my pride, bent me in ways I never thought possible. But I have seen more blessings than I can number. He has shown me His faithfulness. I have learned more patience, more mercy, more grace than I thought I could muster. I have learned how much my husband loves me. I have found out how much more my children can learn about loving each other if it is expected of them.

Today, my daughter recited Philippians 2:14 to me: "Do all things without murmurings and disputings." Yeah.That reminded me, as it does, every time I've said it to her that I'm definitely the teacher and the student. Definitely.

How to clean polyester micro fiber couches

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Tue, 14 May 2013 03:29:00 +0000

Guess what I did before I knew I was sick last weekend? Yup. I cleaned my couches. We've been through a few illnesses already this spring and I do after all have THREE kids. Under five. All this to say, Don't judge. Because you're going to see my dirty couches. See that shine in the before pics? That's grime and dirt and goodness knows what else. But... But... They're clean now! See the after pics?
I found the solution almost by chance. Or necessity. Well, I did tell you we had a stomach bug, right? Let's not get into those details. Let's focus on how the couch for so clean. You're going to love this! Because not only is it cheap and natural, it works far better than the job the professional carpet cleaners do, or at least mine did.
Okay, here's how to do it. Mix together baking soda, peroxide, laundry soap and water in a 1:2:1:4 ratio. Then smear all over the couch with a wash cloth. (Oh yeah. Test a small area if you're not sure your couch can handle it. Also, you might want to try this on a warm, sunny day so you can use your couch again sooner!) After you've smeared it all, get plain water in another large-ish container and use the same washcloth like a mop to wipe off the soap with water. Be sure to wring the washcloth often in the clean water and be aghast at how filthy your couch really was. And then, let it dry! Voilà! Not only are your couches cleaner, you did it yourself and saved yourself a nice bundle of money.
You're welcome.

Microwave peanut butter cookie in a cup

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Mon, 06 May 2013 03:53:00 +0000

Yes, yes, I did make one. And it's soo good, you guys! Yum. Here's the recipe.
1/3 cup olive oil
1/4 cup peanut butter
5 or 6 crumbled Graham crackers
1 tsp vanilla
2 tbsp sugar
1 tsp baking powder

Mix well with a hand blender. Bake in microwave for about 45 seconds until fluffy. Enjoy.

Sweet Potato Bread (Gluten-Free, Egg-Free)

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Thu, 02 May 2013 20:52:00 +0000

I've been on a bit of a baking kick lately. So I thought I'd attempt to make some sweet potato bread. We had quite a few sweet potatoes lying around that would go bad soon. So I made sweet potato three ways, so to speak: regular sweet potato bread for the kids using this recipe, gluten-free, egg-free sweet potato bread for James (recipe follows) and sweet potato and oatmeal protein bars (recipe coming up in a different blog post) for me for a late night treat.

Surprising thing about the two breads? I like the gluten-free, egg-free version better. It's more moist and tender! Frustrated with the lack of recipes for good gluten free sweet potato bread, I made my own. So, here's the recipe:

1 cup almond meal
1 cup gluten-free flour (Bob's Red Mill All Purpose)
1 1/4 cups roasted and mashed sweet potato
1/2 cup oil
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp cinnamon
2 tsp baking powder
a pinch of salt
Ener-g egg substitute (equivalent of 2 eggs)

Mix all ingredients together in a bowl, adding egg substitute last. Bake at 350 in an oil lined bread pan for about 45 minutes to an hour until inserted toothpick comes out clean. Voila! I think he's going to like it. :)

Our Schedule for Preschool Homeschool

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 22:40:00 +0000

A very wise woman whose name I now forget (such is the postpartum life!) once told me that I shouldn't get too attached to a schedule because as the children grow up it will change. Constantly. But you still need one, I think she added, hurriedly. Well, it's true. You still need one. So now that the baby is almost six months old and the older children are inching closer each day to (home)school age, we're desperately working on one. Or changing our old one, depending on how you choose to look at it.

What amazes me (again!) is how blessed we have been in that God cares about our family and our homeschool infinitely more than I do. And I care a lot! However, you know you hear about it all the time - "Pray about it," "He will provide," and so on. In the last three weeks or so, I've personally experienced His care in terms of the smallest things of our homeschool and especially when it came to scheduling. A few weeks ago, I met Carmon Friedrich, who has homeschooled TEN children and she directed me to reading this article. While it does not talk specifically about how to schedule the day, it did help me structure our day. Also, I'm a firm believer in training the children in household cleaning activities. And I count that as part of school, at least at this level. In that, I learned a fair bit from another speaker at a group who is currently homeschooling six children ranging in ages from preschool to high school. She talked about making chore charts. As soon as she mentioned that, I knew my kids would just love that.

So, with all that said, what do our days look like currently? Well, I really like the idea of teaching the three Rs and having everything else flow from that. So, we begin the day with chores and then read the Bible in the morning. Our chores include feeding the cat, sweeping and starting laundry. The kids help with these. I wash the breakfast dishes and then we head out if we're going to the gym. (I'm currently debating if we should continue with this since we go with my husband three times a week in the evenings anyway.) If we don't go to the gym, Bible reading time then overflows into other reading time. On those days, Bob books are great. The pre-reading books deal with shapes and sequences. We also get lots and lots of story books from the library and the children love it when I read to them. Sometimes the baby joins us on my lap. But on most days, he naps through this morning session.

Then the kids get some free time to snack or run around in the backyard and at about 11, I plan for a small craft that focuses on math, like counting. The picture you see was the kids playing math bingo. Then it's time for lunch and clean up. (And feeding the baby, who is turning into quite the fussy thing lately. Anything can set him off and then we have to listen to him complain. Loudly. Sigh. It's a good thing he's cute.)

After lunch, the baby goes down for a longer nap, so we have quiet time for an hour. I set the oven timer for this one. During quiet time, the children work on writing. At this point, it's pre-writing, so they've been coloring, tracing letter worksheets for letters and cutting. And hey, another homeschool preschool day is done! This schedule is workable, I think. It allows me time to make those necessary phone calls for dental and doctor appointments, keeps the home looking relatively clean, involves the children in housework and educates them as well. So far, so good.

A Vacation

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 22:47:00 +0000

Grandma was here! So we took a vacation from doing hands-on crafts and more dedicated school time. After some adjustment time, the kids loved hanging out with her and even made her read to them. Clearly, even though there was no formal teaching, learning was taking place because, suddenly, Hucksley is counting! He placed his trucks in a row and counted them. The day before my mother in law came for a visit, we had made a counting book together as a craft where I had them count out stickers. It was fun to see all that percolate through his head. Bombie is a little more reticent to count even though she can; I have heard her do it. She will not do anything on demand unless she is absolutely certain she can do it perfectly. My little perfectionist.

An Experiment

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 22:44:00 +0000

Last week, I tried an experiment on the kids. Everything I've been reading about homeschooling / unschooling has been making me think about motivation to learn. On this journey toward a true philosophy of education, I hope to instill that in my children, or rather, hope that I don't kill their natural curiosity and love of learning and finding out new things. I have noticed, however, that Bombie seems to do things less out of a desire to learn and more out of a need for approval. The minute doing something gets hard, she gives up. I know, I know, she's only four but this quality comes through loud and clear. She is driven by a fear of failure way more than I'd like her to be. So for one day last week, I decided to take away (mostly) all approval and / or disapproval. I did not suggest any activities or crafts, I did not stop her from doing what she wanted to pursue (as long as it wasn't potentially dangerous to herself or the others.) I wanted to see what she would do.

Answer? The results were mixed. Two things happened. One, she actually did pursue something I wouldn't have necessarily suggested in an area of potential difficulty for her (spatial reasoning) and was completely thrilled by it but, two, with the lack of response from me, the kids' behavior was quite bad. They were completely driven by just having fun. Once I had spent most of the day not expecting better behavior from them beyond just not hurting themselves or others, that set the tone for the rest of the day.

So, in the end, I think, the experiment was successful. It showed me what I needed to see. When Bombie was driven by her own motivation to put four magnets close to each other around a heart-shaped sticker without having them jump on top of each other (Talk about fine motor skills! These are strong magnets!) she worked so hard at it, continuing to try repeatedly after many failed attempts, far longer than I would have pushed her by encouraging or dissuading her. I timed her; she was working on those magnets for close to fifteen minutes straight, lips pursed, frowning determination; it was quite amazing to watch.

Conclusion: hmmm. I don't know yet. Do less with them, I think. Less is more. Pick my battles. Leave lots of time for free play but don't sidestep parenting completely. You know, the usual.

For Valentine's Day: An Excerpt

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 17:35:00 +0000

(From my still unfinished book.)

The day we bought Bombie a Pez dispenser, our lives changed a little.

My husband says they were out picking up something from the store when Bombie’s eyes landed on a Pez dispenser in the display and soon her pudgy fingers as well. He chuckled, thinking it would be fun to let her have one. Happy memories of loving his childhood Pez dispenser flooding his head, he told her to go ahead and pick one for herself. My husband loves impulse buys and the kids love him for it. It makes him way more fun than mom when shopping.

And so ran perhaps the first day my daughter made me proud: she picked a Pocahontas-shaped one for herself. Not because of the movie – she hadn’t even seen it. She picked Pocahontas for her darker skin and long dark hair; it reminded her of mommy. (Apparently, even active imaginations have their comfort zones!) For her younger brother, Hucksley, she picked out Buzz Lightyear, again, having never seen the movie Toy Story. Nope. She picked him for his white skin and larger stature.

“Daddy!” she said. “It’s daddy!” You can’t make these things up!

Thus began Bombie’s attachment to this inanimate thing that has the potential of changing the lives of children everywhere. Soon, the candy in it was gone, but her sticky fingers grasped the plastic dispenser with a two-year-old’s greedy enthusiasm. When she finally did see the promo of Pocahontas, her eyes grew wide. I may have watched a neuron or two fire in her brain, I thought, sounding like my husband for a minute. She searched desperately for her Pez dispenser, never more than a foot away from her, hidden in the folds of her pink blanket. Her eyes darted from the screen to her hand to me, thrilled at having mommy, I suppose, in three different places in front of her all at once.

She beamed. I tried, I really, really did, not to roll my eyes.

She even named it. “Mammy,” she called it. (What else?) I was “Mommy,” you see, and Pocahontas had to have a different name lest I find out that Bombie was secretly trying to replace me. However, one vowel wasn’t fooling anyone, and especially not when she was whining. She even woke us up a few times from bed, screaming, because it fell out of her crib and how could she possibly go to sleep without “Mammy” beside her? Did I mention she carries it around everywhere she goes? I have stumbled over to her crib many a time bleary-eyed to see her pointing to “Mammy” lying innocently on the floor, my daughter bawling her eyes out at not being able to reach it.

Psychologists, I hear, call this kind of thing which helps children get to the next step in their increasing independence a “transitional object.” But the list of transitional objects for my daughter grows every day. She has her blanket, which used to be a nice fluffy pink and is now torn in three places and somewhere between grey and brown. She also tends to get caught up in rituals, like wanting a book or stickers or worse, toys in her crib, at bedtime. I sometimes wonder at the cramped space she sleeps in, but I think it makes her feel safe. Currently, she shares her crib with about eight dolls. I’m convinced she has named them because if I sneak one out, she hunts for it. Something tells me she’s going to have a dozen kids. Watch out, Duggar family.

Still, I do not begrudge her the toys. Rather, it is her attachment to things and rituals that worries me the most. It is enough to drive me to tears. I dread getting her a new toy because I know that in some way it is adored, pedestalized and included into a routine before I even hear the slightest rip of the gift wrap.

Bedtime is perhaps when this behavior shows up the most, perhaps because I’m pleased to give her what she wants if she will just lie down and go to sleep. And that indulgence on my part turns her into quite the control-monster; it’s as if she becomes completely incapable of even a little change. Every bedtime has to follow the very same elaborate ritual or no one’s going to bed or getting any peace in the home. And so, lately, my biggest advice to new moms is this: be careful how many steps you add to the ritual of bedtime. No matter how perfect the baby soap commercials seem and how loving the family looks, all huddled together reading a book after baby’s bath time, remember that someday that baby will wear you down and you will become secondary to doing all those things so baby can get to sleep. My rule now? If I cannot count aloud the bedtime ritual to the children, it’s too long. Our current one goes something like this: Drink milk, brush your teeth, say your prayers and it’s off to bed. They even repeat it after me.

“Nuk, tee, pear, ta-taam.” Milk, teeth, prayer, bedtime.

Ritualistic routine-attached behavior is not new. I have seen it in more than one and I’m not just talking about my children. Here are the sins of the mother. Attachments come as naturally to me as breathing. Some virtually drop into my lap via the television when I think I’m relaxing.

Today, for instance, is Valentine’s Day, a day when I think I’m going to step out my door and hearts are going to come falling from the sky and cover the sidewalk. Every woman’s fantasy, right? Oh, to feel the squish of red velvet hearts under her three inch heels! What woman doesn’t sigh at the thought? I laugh at it but not without wincing a little because it reminds me of a time not too long ago, a time when I understood love only within the confines of romance.

It was our first Valentine’s Day since we were married. We decided to go out on a date. As it turned out, it was a disastrous evening to be out – we would have done way better had we stayed home and ordered pizza. We ended up waiting for over an hour and a half in an annoyingly loud restaurant for a table. Then, when we finally got one, it was even louder and even more uncomfortable to be in the dining area than in the waiting room. We decided to leave. In the car, in tears, I complained to my newly married husband.

“You’re not doing this Valentine’s Day thing right!” I whined.

He sighed. “Let’s go home.” He sounded resigned to hate this day for the rest of time.

“But I’m hungry!” I lied.

We ended up having dinner at a fast food place, where there was room to sit and, believe it or not, it was quiet! The French fries put me in a better mood. We may have even smiled and joked a little. Then we went home and opened a bottle of champagne. He gave me the candy he had bought for me as a gift. All in all, the day had had a rocky start but ended well. More importantly, my husband has continued to bring me flowers on every Valentine’s Day since without complaining and sighing, so I guess the damage I did that first day was not irreparable.

However, today I still look back at that day a little peeved. I will admit that the reality of it was far indeed from my expectations of how it would turn out and so I am peeved that I didn’t get the Valentine’s Day I wanted, but within that is a different irritation, deeper, more subtle, almost hidden. And that is really annoyance at myself, because it has taken me all of ten years with my husband to realize that, ultimately, my focus that day had been all wrong. I have come to realize that what we see on television and fill our heads and hearts with is all wrong. The television cannot convey the love that matures, the love that binds, the self-sacrificing love of marriage, the enduring love of God who has created marriage as an earthly representation of His eternal love, Christ’s love.

The television knows nothing of Christ’s love.

What I should have wanted that day was not the hearts, the romance, the candlelight. What I should have wanted was to celebrate my husband and – by extension – us. What I truly vowed to love at our marriage was not the singular night of chocolate and wine and hearts; it was him after all – him, having worked all day, still patiently waiting with me in a loud restaurant, him, trying to please his bride, him, at the McDonalds eating fries with me, him, opening a bottle of champagne. The rest of the things were contrivances to get to him, embellishments that had taken the place of the one thing that mattered – him, in love with me.

If the television knows nothing of Christ’s love, I’m beginning to realize, by the same token, I know very little of God’s love. How many times have I been, to Him, exactly like my daughter, grasping for things, finding comfort in them, things created than the Creator Himself? How many times have I cried to Him when something fell just outside my reach? How many times since that night have I continued to whine and cry that my husband hasn’t made my birthday, a vacation day, just perfectly the way I wanted it? How many times do I insist that I have an absolute right to my regrets?

As I grow older, my regrets grow with me. A house bought too soon, a friend lost, investments not made, then made, and ruined, homes sold, people hurt, a bankruptcy. Regrets that scream out life isn’t fair, regrets that cry, I must be recompensed for this, Lord. Even though I will only grudgingly accept whatever else it is you have for me and say, Fine, if that’s how it is, Your will be done. And in the process, I will trample over other people’s emotions and scream and yell and generally make a nuisance of myself. No, I am beginning to think I will probably never learn to take things in stride. I will never learn how to shake it off and walk on knowing that He is by my side. Never truly believe that all things happen for the good of those who are called by Him. The hands of faith I extend will never quite be completely empty of regrets – those idols of the heart.

My daughter’s Pez dispenser is not me and, while I am slightly flattered that she chose a very slender and high cheek boned beautiful Disney-ized Pocahontas as my replica, it is still clearly not me. That Bombie would then push her brother aside and throw a tantrum for it, rebelling against me and being as big a nuisance as she can so that she can then have her sweet moments with something that simply reminds her of me is frankly saddening. It brings me face to face with my own idolatry; it drives me to repentance.

Someday, God willing, my daughter will understand this. Someday in the future when she’s picking up another toy her child demands with a tantrum and she starts to pull her hair out and say, “But I’m right here beside you! Why do you need another thing? Another obsession?” Then hopefully she will look toward the sky and The Holy Spirit will whisper in her ears, “Listen O Israel, the Lord thy God is one. The only One. Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, all thy soul and all thy strength” and she will cling to Him and hope in some small way to instill in her child this truth. She will pray fervently for God to touch her child. And, maybe, in some small way, that is when she will understand why today even against my will I wake up and stumble half-asleep to the side of her crib at one a.m. to hand her the Pez dispenser that has fallen out of the side and sigh.

Lessons from Pigtails

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 22:52:00 +0000

As I work on refining my homeschool/unschool philosophy I realized today that whether Bombie explicitly counts with me or not she definitely CAN count. She wanted me to braid her hair this morning and so I told her to bring me some hair ties. She comes back with EXACTLY four and then she tells me two for the right side and two for the left. What was that? Division? Nice.

Nevertheless, at grocery shopping, I let them "help" me by taking turns at counting vegetables and fruit as they picked them out and bagged them. I loved that they were involved and I didn't need to tell them to stop fighting or work to keep them out of the way or strapped in the cart as I have in the past.

Against my better judgment I bought them some stuff that would be referred to as educational in a traditional sense. Okay, okay, I'll say it - I bought them flashcards. But in my defense, they picked them out and they weren't too expensive. One is a spin on the classic "Go Fish" game where the kids match upper case and lower case letters and the other has numbers and other math concepts. Bombie matched all the letters at the first go and got bored with the game immediately. Hucksley is a little too young to play with either of them so here they sit and wait. Sigh. Serves me right. I shouldn't be buying flashcards anyway. Way better to learn to count while tying pigtails!

An Ongoing List of Homeschooling Reading

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Sun, 10 Feb 2013 22:51:00 +0000

With the huge amount of research I have done into homeschooling, unschooling, and education in general, I thought I should begin a list of books I either have read and found helpful to develop my own style of homeschool or books other homeschoolers have recommended that I plan on reading soon. Who knows how this list will come in handy! So (deep breath) here goes:
1. Weapons of Mass Instruction - John Taylor Gatto.
2. Dumbing Us Down - John Taylor Gatto
3. A Different Kind of Teacher - John Taylor Gatto
4. How Children Fail - John Holt
5. How Children Learn - John Holt
6. The Underground History of American Education - John Taylor Gatto
7. Homeschooling for Excellence - David and Micki Colfax
8. Deschooling Society - Ivan Illich
9. You Are Your Child's First Teacher - Rahima Baldwin
10. Homeschooling Rights and Responsibilities - Christian Liberty Press
11. The Philosophy of the Christian Curriculum - R J Rushdoony
12. Homeschooling - The Right Choice - Christopher Klicka
13. Homeschool Heroes - Christopher Klicka
14. The Homeschooling Father - Michael Farris
15. The Learning Gap - Steveson & Stigler
16. Play with a Purpose - Dorothy Einon
17. Why Johnny can't Read - Rudolph Flesch
18. Better Late than Early - Raymond and Dorothy Moore
19. The Christian Homeschool - Gregg Harris
20. The Homeschool Jumpstart Navigator - Barbara Shelton
21. The Great Escape - Geoffrey Botkin
22. For the Children's Sake - Susan Schaffer Macauley
23. Develop a Lifestyle Routine - Marilyn Howshall
24. The Well Trained Mind - Susan Wise Bauer
25. The Unschooling Handbook - Mary Griffith
26. Late Talking Children - Thomas Sowell
27. How Lincoln Learned to Read - Daniel Wolff
28. The Montessori Method - Maria Montessori
29. Loving God with All Your Mind - Gene Edward Veith Jr.
30. Feel-Bad Education - Alfie Kohn
31. Homeschool: a Family's Journey - Gregory Millman
32. The Homework Myth - Alfie Kohn
33. In Their Own Way: Discovering and Encouraging your Child's Personal Learning Style - Thomas Armstrong
34. Seven Kinds of Smart - Thomas Armstrong
35. Why We Do What We Do - Edward Deci
36. Deschooling Our Lives - Matt Hern
37. Learning All the Time - John Holt
38. Teach your Own - John Holt
39. Punished by Rewards - Alfie Kohn
40. Do Hard Things - Alex and Brett Harris
41. Real Lives: Eleven Teenagers Who Don't Go To School - Grace Llewellyn
42. Growing Without Schooling (magazine)
43. The Old Schoolhouse (magazine)
44. Home Education Magazine (magazine)
45. The Home School Source Book - Donn Reed
46. Good Stuff: Learning Tools For All Ages - Rebecca Rupp
47. The Power of Play - David Elkind
48. The Hurried Child - David Elkind
49. Miseducation - David Elkind
50. So You're Thinking of Homeschooling - Lisa Whelchel
51. The Mismeasure of Man - Stephen Jay Gould
52. Hard Times in Paradise - David and Micki Colfax
53. Growing with Games - Sally Goldberg
54. Homeschool Your Child for Free - Gold and Zeilinski
55. Real Life Homeschooling - Rhonda Barnfield
56. The Homeschooling Book of Answers - Linda Dobson
57. The Big Book of Unschooling - Sandra Dodd

58. The Underachieving School - John Holt

59. What Do I Do Monday? - John Holt

60. Freedom and Beyond - John Holt

61. Escape from Childhood: the needs and Rights of Children - John Holt

62. Instead of Education: Ways to Help People Do Things Better - John Holt

63. Home Education - Charlotte Mason

64. Parents and Children - Charlotte Mason
65. School Education - Charlotte Mason
66. Ourselves - Charlotte Mason
67. Formation of Character - Charlotte Mason
68. Towards a Philosophy of Education - Charlotte Mason

69. Smooth and Easy Days - Charlotte Mason

70. Doing it Their Way: Home Based Learning and Autonomous Education - Jan Fortune-Wood

71. The Unschooling Unmanual - essays by various

72. Free Range Education - Teri Dowty
73. One to One: A Practical Guide to Learning at Home Age 0-11 - Gareth Lewis

74. Unqualified Education: A Practical Guide to Learning at Home Age 11-18 - Gareth Lewis

75. Educating Your Children at Home - Alan Thomas

76. How Children Learn At Home - Alan Thomas
77. Help for the Harried Homeschooler: A Practical Guide to Balancing Your Child's Education with the Rest of Your Life - Christine Field

78. The Unschooled Mind - Howard Gardner

79. Teach Like Your Hair's on Fire - Rafe Esquith

(More coming! Want to recommend a book to add to this list? Let me know!)

Amidst Baby Teething...

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 01:31:00 +0000

... Bombie learnt to put a flatter, weaker magnet on stronger ones and make a spinning wheel. This was her idea and not initiated by me in any way.
... The older kids made ice cream with basic guidance from me. Bombie's motivation to master my tasks is exhilarating. "I do it!" has become the phrase of the week it seems.
... Bombie has been making squiggles on lined paper which may not look like a lot but is fantastic pre-writing practice. I absolutely do not intend to put worksheets in front of my children until they're good and ready. A lot of research suggests that at this point the single most important thing they have to learn is hand eye coordination and fine motor skills. If we rush through this, writing (when it's time) can be a big challenge.
... Hucksley learned about trucks today, which is what he was interested in the most. And in a wonderful moment of homeschooling, I showed them, using two sheets of paper how when a cloud passes the sun it dims the light. I loved it when they reenacted what I had told them to my husband when he came home.

Library Day

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:59:00 +0000

After a day of house arrest we headed out to the local library today where the older kids had a chance to play on the computers again but it was busier than usual so there were a few tears from both. We played a little, read a little and then headed home for lunch.

I also picked up Thomas Sowell's book Late Talking Children which so far seems to describe Bombie pretty well. I haven't finished reading it yet but am about a quarter of the way through and it mentions how certain children just talk late and have no other developmental issues. Einstein was a late talking child as a heartening example. Bombie is definitely not talking at the level of a four year old but she's not delayed on any other milestone. So far, the book is offering me tons of hope and reassuring me that reading and talking to her and keeping her out of an institutionalized assembly line education is the best way to handle the situation.

Unschooling day (yes, another one)

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Thu, 07 Feb 2013 00:33:00 +0000

We stayed home today on a self imposed time out. It's truly amazing to me how much more gets done when we decide not to do anything. See for yourself!

Counting game

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 04:31:00 +0000

We made a counting game today, although everyone is still really tired. (By the way, one thing I'm learning is to limit the number of other adults in my children's lives, but more on that later maybe. I've noticed a perceivable difference in their behavior as it relates especially to obedience when they interact with too many other adults. Perhaps it has to do with styles of relating to them. I don't know. All I know is we're going to have to stay home tomorrow and if nothing else gets done, we're going to be working on getting their behavior back under control. There hasn't been any outright rebellion but there definitely have been little rumblings and mumblings.)

The counting game was fun. And they enjoyed most of it. I wrote a number on an index card which they had to identify and then they stuck colored dots on the back which matched the number I had just written. It was number recognition, counting and fine motor skills all in one. And I found out something in the process - they recognize numbers just fine but they have no concept of counting. They do go in order but they begin at a random number. When James came home, he went over some numbers with Bombie again which was such a blessing because she relates to him in a completely different way. But I know now what the next immediate focus has to be - counting, counting, counting. Add that to reading, reading, reading!

Busy weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Mon, 04 Feb 2013 22:32:00 +0000

What a busy weekend this has been! On Friday, we headed to Barnes and Nobles to pick up a gift for my friend's daughter who turned five. I had warned the kids that they could touch things at the store as long as they didn't tear or break anything and to my amazement they were incredibly well behaved. They even put away the stuffed toys lying around when I said it was time to clean up and go. Of course I could not go to a book store and not get something for the children and myself. So I bought them a board book of nursery rhymes, another book of the story of the three pigs and bought myself a few things as well. I love that being around them makes me rediscover my own love of stories. Good stories. The kind in which you can get lost - stories about heroes and good things happening, stories about people doing the right thing and overcoming obstacles. Stories that are, sadly, not a part of current literature which seems obsessed with despondency and despair.

On Saturday, it was birthday party and sleepover (for Bombie) day. She did incredibly well and came home the next day quite tuckered out from all the fun only little girls can think of! I wasn't convinced that she wouldn't wake up scared in the middle of the night and I would have to go get her but turns out that fear was unwarranted. Besides, I completely trusted the family she was with so on some level I knew she would be fine. But I barely slept. It's all right. I think given the choice between over protection and under, I'll chose the former. I guess I'm old fashioned that way. ;)

The kids made wonderful wrapping paper with celery and carrots for the gift books. I loved how we could incorporate what they were already doing into their friend's birthday!

Today has been kind of an unschooling day. The kids need some down time to play freely and drink the lees of the fun weekend. Bombie is still runningaround with the bag of party favors she received - bracelets, plastic rings and swirly straws and when I sent them outside to play with a Frisbee, they made a birthday cake out of it. Clearly,they're not over it yet. And I'm in no hurry for them to move on. Time moves way too fast already.

Grocery Shopping and other gifts

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Fri, 01 Feb 2013 22:49:00 +0000

It wasn't that long ago that I used to go grocery shopping with one kid and then two. Something about going with three scared me though and so I would wait until my husband got home from work to head out by myself. Sure, it gave me a chance to dawdle a little and actually *gasp* read labels. However, it did mean that I would have to sacrifice an evening at home. Anyone who knows me knows that my evenings are incredibly important to me and since we already spend three out of five weekday evenings at the gym another one spent grocery shopping busy isn't worth it to me. So I started taking the kids again with me. And I figured, isn't this the essence of homeschooling anyway? What's the huge advantage of looking at a picture of an artichoke over actually seeing an artichoke and learning what it's called? Who decided textbooks were the essence of learning anyway? So off we went. They learned names of vegetables, they learned to count, but more than anything else, they learned obedience and also appropriate behavior. Yeah, that dreaded s word - socialization.

The funny thing is I feel like God Himself has literally reached down to my level and reminded me again that I must homeschool. Everything had literally fallen into my lap. A case in point:when we came home, the kids asked to play with plastic Easter eggs. I let them. And then soon a fight broke out. They couldn't share! So I suggested that we divide the eggs and write their names on them to identify them. (We're writing initials currently.) I brought out a marker and to my surprise, Bombie got very excited about writing her initial on her eggs. And then Hucksley wanted to write his. So here we were LEARNING TO WRITE! And this morning, I found Hucksley sitting and writing perfect Hs all on every piece of paper he could find! Who needs a workbook? When you're a preschooler, the world's your school!

Rhyme and speech

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Wed, 30 Jan 2013 23:21:00 +0000

Bombie warmed my heart early this morning by reaching - unasked - for the alphabet flash cards we had made a while ago and then identifying upper and lower case letters correctly. Hucksley joined in with her and I could really see the wheels in his head turn as he asked me the letters he couldn't quite identify.
After a quick trip to the gym and lunch, Bombie and I worked on her pronunciation while the boys napped. She seems to have trouble with her b and p but only when the sound appears in the middle of a word, not at the beginning or the end. Then we read some rhymes and threw in some more books to finish off the day. Now we're all soaking up the sun. Seriously, sixty plus degrees in the winter? Yay!

More counting and a craft

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 23:10:00 +0000

I don't know what it is about coins but the kids love them. So I figured, why not teach them to sort coins? Bombie did a much better job with quarters, nickels and pennies than I did when I was new in the U.S! (And hey, this was a great use of those baby food jars!)

Later the kids wanted to cut paper. Bombie cut some felt paper and started to say it looked like a tree. So I thought why not see this idea all the way through to the end? I made them cut little pieces out of other felt paper (they chose the color theme) and then put some glue down on the paper. They had a great time then spreading the tiny pieces all over. Serendipitously, we also had some empty frames!
Seriously, if every day homeschooling is like this, I'm so sold!

Ah, Monday!

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 03:07:00 +0000

After the tired, sleepy weekend, (yes, we're onto week three of being sick - the latest one to fall victim to this unnamed bug is me!) Monday was reading day. Sandra Boynton is quickly becoming a favorite of Bombie's with the cartoon animals. We might just need to head out to the library again: we're going through our books pretty fast!

Library visit

noreply@blogger.com (Purva Brown) — Thu, 24 Jan 2013 20:23:00 +0000

The baby is on the mend! Woohoo! To celebrate our family's increasing recovery after two weeks of sickness, I took them to our local public library. They love going there. Why? Well, for one, it's the only place I will let them play games on the computer. For another, we always come back with a nice stack of books we read over the next week or two. Books for them and books for me! (Mostly about them and raising them right, but that's okay.)