Fairly Odd Mother

Wordless Wednesday - Whoa, Pinterest!

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 12:54:00 +0000

(my blog traffic after this post was shared on Pinterest, as of Wednesday at 7:41am):

Ironically, I do not even have a Pinterest account.

How to fall in love with winter. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 22:03:00 +0000

I have a foolproof way to fall in love with winter.

Just grab three tween girls who aren't embarrassed to be seen with you.

Dress warmly! Winter is cold.

Find a hill, a tube, and someone who will give you a good push.

Zoom!

Repeat, over and over again, until you cannot feel your cheeks from cold, wind burn and smiling.

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Video taken at Amesbury Sports Park in Amesbury, MA. And, yes, this 44-year-old mama was the one with the camera. And the screech.

Musical Beds

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 15:42:00 +0000

--round and round she goes/where she stops/nobody knows--

This is a picture of my comfy, king-size bed:

I share this with my husband, John. Most nights. Often, nestled against me is my son, D, who sneaks in around 3am.

This is D's bed, in his newly painted bedroom.

However, he doesn't sleep in this bed. My daughter Jilly has decided she likes this bed. She now sleeps here, often with our dog Star stretched out along the bottom.

Where does D sleep now?

He's here, with his sister Belly, in her crowded bed.

And here is Jilly's bed.

It used to be a loft but she didn't like being up high so John cut the legs down for her. Of course, no one sleeps there right now.

Though I ended up in it with Belly last night. Until D woke me up, and I ended up in Belly's bed with him.

Confused???? Yes. So am I.

Destination Imagination: A journey to the unknown

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 13:23:00 +0000

Have you ever heard of D.I., or Destination Imagination?

I had only heard the words in passing from an extended-family member whose kids were involved, and I didn't understand what the heck it was.

Now, here it is January, and I find myself in charge of a team. And I'm still not exactly sure what the heck it is.

What I can gather from what I've read, the videos I've watched, and the day-long information seminar I attended in December, D.I. is a team competition where the adult managers are constantly warned of the dangers of "interference".

Ahhhh, interference. This is how I found myself managing a D.I. team. This idea that the kids have to do all the work themselves, with only my guidance---to keep them from cutting off a finger or punching a fellow team member--- was appealing to me. In other words, I am discouraged from doing any of the work for them, and even giving them suggestions on how to approach their challenge is a big, fat no-no.

Little did I know that my team of four kids, ages 7-9, would pick one of the hardest, most complicated challenges to do for the big competition this spring. I'd explain it if I could do it justice, but let's just say it involves creating a skit that involves golf balls, while also building a weight-bearing structure out of wood, glue and hope. The addition of golf balls to this year's "structure challenge" is new and I think it was added just to shake things up and insure each manager goes a little grayer before the year is up.

My own daughter Jilly is on my team and is the biggest goofball, something I am slightly proud of at times. The other times, I want to wrap her up with duct tape, sit her in the corner and let her teammates work.

Our debut of this idea that exists only in their imagination is the 17th of March, a mere two months away. If the kids advance from regionals, we move on to states on the 31st. I refuse to even consider that they will go to the national championship.

Especially since there has not yet been any consensus on their overall idea and no development of a structure yet. I am half expecting them to enter the competition with a few handwritten notes, a structure of popsicle sticks and Elmer's glue, and costumes made out of the remnants of our dress-up box.

Wish me luck. Actually, wish them luck. I don't want to interfere.

On the 19th day of Christmas. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 03:28:00 +0000

Oh, ok, I guess this needs to come down soon. (please tell me I'm not the only one who still has their Christmas tree up)

Eleven

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 14:10:00 +0000

Eleven years ago today, at 4:18 am, I became a mom.

My "natural childbirth" baby quickly turned into an emergency c-section after the nurses discovered she was breech. . .when I was 10cm dilated and ready to push. Doh!

The lesson I learned? Things may not be as easy as I expect, but the end result is pretty amazing.

To know Belly is to love her. I don't say that to brag or because I'm her mom, it's just the truth. She makes so many people happy and has such a kind soul---I know that isn't all there is to life, but it's a pretty great start.

-----------------------------
this is the beginning of one of my favorites---to read the entire short story, go here.

“Eleven” by Sandra Cisneros

What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And you don't feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is.

Wordless Wednesday: Happy

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 02:20:00 +0000

Star: Almost three months with us and right at home

It's all about the Lincolns

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 12:00:00 +0000

Last December, I read about the five-dollar savings plan. It goes like this: Every time you find yourself with a five-dollar bill in your possession, you set it aside instead of spending it. At the end of the year, you use the money you've saved for either a big purchase or to do something you wouldn't normally spend the money to do.

I was skeptical as to whether or not this would work for me, mainly because I hardly ever use cash. I pay with credit or debit cards for everything from groceries to gasoline. I go to the ATM for pocket money only once or twice a month. And yet. . .I was curious.

So, starting at the beginning of January, I started putting aside (almost) every five-dollar bill I acquired. And my pile started to grow.

In one year, with no help from my husband or my kids, I saved 70 five-dollar bills.

Yup, that is $350 right there. Not bad, eh?

I love that this didn't feel like a "savings plan" at all (and, don't get me wrong, this is NOT a financially sound way to really save money as there is no interest earned when the money is just kept in an envelope!).

To make this an even bigger deal, I could get the whole family involved and put any Lincolns saved each week into an interest-earning savings account. If we had a big goal that was worth saving for a few years, we might end up with a good chunk of it paid for without really trying.

So, yeah, I was skeptical at the start of 2011. But when we surprise our kids with a special weekend excursion this winter, I think we'll all feel like this was a worthwhile experiment.

A Fairly Odd Review of 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 14:40:00 +0000

I just read a meme from Nan called The Year That Was and since I'd rather write about 2011 than talk about how Jilly was throwing up last night, I'm going with her meme.

First though. . .some perspective: In 2011, I blogged only 63 times which is about half the number of posts I wrote in '08 and '09, and about 40% of the total in '10. My focus was instead on my job and in trying to save our homeschooling life. I think this was the right thing to do, but I miss this space and am going to try to work a little harder at it in 2012.

But before looking forward to 2012? A review.

In 2011, what was the. . .

. . .most beautiful post (on your blog)?
When the Storm Passes
A very hard post to write, but one of those imperfect moments in parenting that will stick with me forever.

. . .most popular post (on your blog)?
Waiting Is The Hardest Part
This post about waiting for the results of my ten-year-old's milk allergy test was by far the most popular post in 2011. And though she still hates milk, she gives two thumbs up to any baked good she's met so far. (that's my girl!)

. . .most controversial post (on your blog)?
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
I should have known that a post about why we may quit homeschooling would generate strong feelings. And while this wasn't "controversial" in the sense that I was fighting with commenters (I don't really "do" that kind of controversy), it was filled with strong emotion which I so very appreciated hearing at that very difficult crossroads.

. . .most helpful post (on your blog)?
Wordless Wednesday: Through the Looking Glass

Though not instructional per se, I love looking at the photos of Jilly's Alice in Wonderland party. The included links will hopefully help others create a similar party themselves. Way more affordable than renting out that smelly gymnastics studio!

. . .post whose success surprised you?
Facebook Ate My Blog
With only one measly comment, this post about why I haven't been blogging generated way more traffic than I expected (#2 in traffic this year!).

If I'm not basing "success" on traffic numbers alone, I'd say this photo of my son with his broken LEGO contraption got a lot more attention than I expected.

. . .post that you feel didn't get the attention it deserved?
Oh Meme, Oh My
Last year's meme took forever to write, but just wasn't all that popular. One would think I'd learn from this. . .

. . .post that made you most proud?
Do You Untag Ugly Photos?

I couldn't have written this post twenty years ago---I would've untagged the ugly photo and pretended it never happened. I suppose being able to accept who I am in my skin, right now, is growth. And that does feel good.

Here's to more growth in 2012! Happy New Year!

Mommy and her laptop, sitting in a tree. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 12:15:00 +0000

If there is one ugly truth about myself, it's that I'm on this laptop far too much.

I use this computer for work, and to shop for everything but groceries (though I have done that before). I use it to research what we're having for dinner and to get materials for the class I'm teaching in our next homeschool coop session. I have three email accounts to check, and Facebook and Twitter feeds that I try to pop on at least once a day (okay, 50).

But it is way too easy to get sucked into a vortex. Just one more post to read. Shoot, work needs this tomorrow, I'll do it now. Oh. . .Big Store X is having a huuuuge sale, and I really should pick up some of their {insert product here}.

Here's the thing though: My house is not falling apart from filth. The laundry is done (and put away). I cook three meals a day, and they are (almost) always nutritionally sound. My dog is walked (and tired) (which counts as my exercise, right?) My marriage isn't falling apart (right honey???). My legs are shaved. I read stories to the kids at bedtime and don't check my iPhone as I do it. My kids aren't running wild, beating small animals and setting fires. In fact, they are great kids.

The only thing that bugs me about the time I spend online is how it looks to the kids. Will they remember mom as the lady with the laptop in the kitchen clicking away? Or will they remember her as the one who took them to their million activities? Who kicked their butt dancing to The Chemical Brothers on Just Dance 3? Who helped them put away their 1,001 American Girl accessories? (oy) Who sat with them as they tried to remember the difference between an adjective and an adverb and somehow didn't scream?

I'm debating setting a timer. Working only when they are asleep (a tricky proposition as they stay up later and later). Maybe only going online between certain hours.

Or cutting myself some slack and stop worrying about this. 2012 as the year of less self-imposed guilt? Sounds pretty nice to me.

Merry Christmas!

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 12:40:00 +0000

Have a fun, loud, wrapping-paper festooned Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, or ----if you don't celebrate any special holiday---have a nice Sunday!

I'll be busy trying to keep one big black lab from eating the gift bows and any chocolates hidden in stockings. Wish me luck!

Seven years gone

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 03:20:00 +0000

I took the kids to LaSalette Shrine a few towns from me---we go almost every year to see the gorgeous lights. I also use this as my crash course in Religion 101, since my son will always ask---loudly---"Who is THAT GUY?" when he sees any statue of Jesus Christ. This year, after my hasty explanation of the nativity scene, the crucifixion scene and a general explanation of Christianity in general, he pronounced, "I don't think I believe in evolution anymore. I believe in God." Wow, I've got the touch.

Normally, we head to LaSalette at the end of November, before the crowds of people descend on the place, but we were late this year. Fortunately, we arrived by 6pm which was still crowded but not the madhouse it was an hour later.

I remembered as we parked the car that we were here on the anniversary of my father's death, seven years ago. So, we walked up to the little sales window and bought a couple of candles to light in the flickering room of memorial lights. I lit the one above for my dad. The kids lit the other one for Cally, my sweet cat who died last year on this same day. I heard D whispering, "I pray that Cally comes back to life."

I think if that happens? He's giving up evolution for good.

---------------------------------

Miss you Daddy! You'd love these little munchkins so much, and I hope you are somewhere watching us all from above, cheering us on.

Let's hear it for the (geeky) girls

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 02:52:00 +0000

If I had to pick one catalog that sums up my kids' wish lists for this holiday, it'd be the LEGO catalog for my son, the American Girl catalog for Jilly, and Think Geek for my oldest daughter, Belly.

Yes, Think Geek.

Today, she was musing about her favorite items as we drove around town.

First, there is this tee, from one of her favorite movies (you know which one this is, right?). And, yes, her accent is perfect.

Then bacon + chemistry = funny! Also, funny---she mentioned two t-shirts as her "favorites" in one breath and then reminded me that she won't wear a t-shirt. She's quirky like that.

Finally a giant gummy bear that lights up? Is this geeky or just awesome? I'm going with awesome. Can't wait until she opens this one (thanks Auntie Nancy!).

Let's hope this love of geeky things translates into a love for math before we hit Algebra.

The end of history

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 19:16:00 +0000

It's a big day. We finished history today.

Four years and three months ago, my friend Kristen and I gathered our kids together to start a homeschool history program called The Story of the World.

(our very first class back in '07--The Excavation)

We know many people who have started this four-volume series, but very few who have finished in close to four years. That is partly because each of the four volumes has about 42 chapters in it, meaning we often had to keep going into the summer to finish up a volume.

Who wants to tell them we'll be doing history in July?

Last year, when our family joined the virtual public school in Massachusetts, we thought our days doing history together were over. But, that was just an interruption: As soon as I quit the virtual school, we went back to meeting weekly.

We have been so fortunate to have this relationship since it has kept us both accountable. It was hard to say, "let's take this week off", when I knew our friends would be reading the chapter in anticipation of our weekly meeting.

Yes, this is history.

Now you may wonder, what do the kids remember from four years ago? If you are paying attention, you'll notice that my son D isn't even in these early photos because he was so young when we started. Even now, as we finish, he is just in his first months of first grade. But, I believe that for the older kids, we've laid down a strong foundation and an interest in history.

No, they may not remember every detail, but they will recall the big events. And when they encounter it again, I hope it'll jog their memory, much like it did mine as I read about the journeys of Marco Polo, the history of the Korean War, and even the Fall of Rome.

Except for this---no one will remember this.

In a couple of weeks, we'll start history again, but this time, we're spending two years studying U.S. History in depth so that we can delve into the big events.

I don't know what it'll be like to only focus on a single country instead of traveling the globe every week, but I do know one thing:

I'll have these five along for the ride.

When the storm passes

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 13:37:00 +0000

My seven-year-old son had one of his epic meltdowns yesterday. Loads of tears, anger, frustration. The pulling off of bedsheets. The throwing of stuffed animals. The shouting of many "s-" words (no, not THAT one, thank goodness).

Looking back, I didn't react all that well to any of this. I got angry and made lots of threats of Halloween candy going away, video game privileges being revoked, future play dates cancelled. . .and then I calmed down and came downstairs to continue schoolwork with the girls.

It was too quiet upstairs, so I turned to head up the stairs to see what was going on, but instead saw his still-little-boy body crumpled in a heap on the living room chair. I felt a bit of anger bubble up at the idea that he had left his bedroom without my permission, but his form was so small and sad, the feeling went out like a snuffed candle.

I tentatively sat down on the same chair, hands ready to contain another explosion but there was only a sob-filled body. He clutched at me, and we cried and cried together, both apologizing for the words spoken in anger.

I had one thought that would not leave me as I sat there holding him in my arms: Will he remember this? I remember being yelled at by my parents. Spanked, even. I remember those hiccuping sobs in my bedroom, but I think I was always alone. I don't remember reconciliation.

Will he remember the aftermath of his (our) raging? Will there be any memory of us hugging, and then going upstairs together to put back together his broken room? Will he ever recall us going outside for a dog walk/bike ride side-by-side in the rain as he chattered happily? Or will he remember my quick anger and empty threats and his hiccuping sobs?

Time will tell, I suppose. I also hope writing this down may someday spark a little memory in his brain of the time his mama held him, and we both whispered I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. . . into each other's ears.

We adopted Houdini

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 12:15:00 +0000

I just read this online:

The most highly ranked dog crate, regardless of breed, is the Midwest Life Stages Dog Crate. Dog forums and dog owners alike love this crate because it is safe, functional, grows with the dog and is almost impossible to escape.

Yes! This is the one we have!

Guess who got a paw onto the latch, pushed it over, and squeezed out of her crate in the middle of the night to sleep on our couch?

I am soooooo busted

The best thing is that now she is trying to get back INTO her crate to get her peanut-butter stuffed Kong.

Tonight we will instead wrap her in a straightjacket and hang her from her back paws. I expect she'll escape in less than three hours.

-------------------------
note: we will not really be hanging her from her back paws. . .but we're considering the straightjacket.

Why I'll be wearing black every day from now on. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 02:18:00 +0000

I am a dog owner for the first time in my life. My girls and I drove to Connecticut to meet the van that held our new family member, all the way from Indiana.

We were at the end of the pick up line, and so we watched dog after dog come out of the van to meet his new owners.

Finally, Star came out to meet us. I wasn't sure what to expect having seen only a couple of photos of her, but my first thought was, "Oh, she is so cute and so much smaller than I thought!" And then I thought, "ZOMG, she is STRONG! And can PULL!" as she dragged me across the parking lot.

The hour-and-a-half ride home was long, but, all things considered, awesome. No barking, no whining, no eating my minivan's back seat despite all the food that is ground into it.

And now that she's home, she seems so eager to please and to be a part of our family. On Twitter tonight, I joked "This dog already looks at me with way more devotion than any of my kids. She's going to do wonders for my ego."

I can't tell you how many times I've thought of Jesse today, the dog I met years ago when I volunteered in an animal shelter. There is something in the goofiness of Star's mannerisms, in the way she tries to jump up to kiss you---not a great behavior, mind you---and in her wish to be with a person all the time, that reminds me of the little shelter dog I loved so many years ago but couldn't adopt.

Welcome home my silly, eager, slobbery* baby.

*have you ever seen a lab drink out of a water bowl? oy! good thing she's cute!

Nightmares

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 01:59:00 +0000

It's 9:39 and quiet, for the first night in a while.

For some reason, my girls have been fighting sleep. It started with my oldest, a shift I felt right after we returned from our July vacation when our family had slept in the same room for a week. She started getting anxious when I left her at bedtime, sometimes working herself up into a state of panic over the prospect of going to sleep.

After ten years, you'd think this would be easy by now, wouldn't you?

Things would ebb and flow from week to week, from "normal" to "not", but it wasn't until this past week when my middle daughter started to exhibit anxiety at bedtime that my ability to handle this cracked. Every night: Up and down to the bathroom, 6, 7, 8 times each. Stomachaches. Tears. Crying. Sometimes by me.

I fluctuated from Understanding Mother to Samuel L. Jackson reading this book. I took away TV privileges and allowance. I tried reasoning with them during daylight hours, assuring them that their bladders could not fill up in ten minutes without them chugging a gallon of water. I sat on the floor outside their room for so long, my butt grew numb.

Then I found an article online this morning on a godawful-looking website that really helped. I had hesitated to even search for articles because, seriously, who the hell has 8 & 10 year old kids who can't fall to sleep on their own?

Oh, Google, I should not have doubted you. I was amazed at how many people I found online with older children who were literally shaking at the prospect of going to sleep. Maybe it has to do with kids reaching an age when they realize how helpless they are while asleep, or maybe they worry about death or fire or theft, but I don't think we are the only family going through this.

Tonight, I took a different tact---calmer, with rules for when they could visit the bathroom "one last time". I stopped in to check on them a few times, to reassure them that they were okay, and there were hardly any tears.

The sound of three sleeping children is a beautiful one.

And now I will knock on wood because, heaven help me, I have never been able to say a good thing about my kids and sleeping without it coming back to bite me the next day. In other words: Tomorrow night? Send cupcakes and wine. I think I'll need it.

Feelin' Furry

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 02:13:00 +0000

At long last, we have made the decision to (finally) adopt a dog.

We've been without a pet for almost a year, and the house is too fur-free and quiet without something on four legs getting under our feet. And though part of me wants to get a dog-bird-cat-chickens all at once and just deal with the madness, the other part of me is smart and knows better.

So, we're adopting a dog. A little girl who is two years old and was found outside of the animal rescue center in a rain storm. The rescue group named her "Star" because they say a guiding star led her to them. A little biblical for my tastes, but I'll go with it, and the kids seem to like it. And D can pronounce it, so that's a plus.

Star will arrive from the midwest via some sort of doggie bus in about a week. In the meantime, I've been frantically emailing Tania for advice. I think she accidentally even offered to live here for a few weeks to train our new family member, so I'll be driving by to ~~kidnap~~ pick her up right after we get our little Star.

I can't wait to eat your shoes!

Oh, this will be fun. I've never owned a dog! Adventure! Dog hair! Someone who will love me unconditionally and never say "You Are The Meanest Mommy Ever!"

Star, we can't wait for you to join us.

Broken hearted

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 25 Sep 2011 14:12:00 +0000

There are few things as sad as the heartbreak of a little boy who has dropped his latest LEGO creation to the ground.

Humbled

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 15:52:00 +0000

At our summer track meets, one of the races some of the kids and adults participated in was a one-mile race. My kids always sat out of this one, preferring instead to watch the older kids sprint by. Because there were so many races those evenings (50m, 100m, 200m, 400m, 800m, relay, along with the mile), the only request made to run the mile was that you be able to run it in under 10 minutes.

I was always curious if I could do this. It seemed doable---after all, I ran a 5K in just over 33 minutes---surely I could run a single mile faster. But, I was too chicken to join those running, especially with so many finishing in 6, 7, 8 minutes.

Today, I gave it a shot.

I haven't run in a long while; I have only just started exercising again (hi, Shredheads, it's been a while!). But the cool fall-weather day had me itching to put on my sneakers and hit the road.

I mapped out a single mile, stretched out, and took off down the street.

I felt like I was flying at first, really sprinting. Even at the uphill about halfway through, I felt strong and quick. The last couple of minutes were a real struggle but my arms were pumping, legs striding.

I crossed the mile, and glanced at my watch, certain I must have done it in eight, maybe nine minutes.

Blink. Blink.

9:46.

Whoa, I JUST beat that ten-minute mark. Barely.

Running is so humbling.

There are days when a half-mile feels like a marathon. Times when every little incline is a "hill" to be conquered. Times when I feel like I must have run four miles, only to find out it was just over three (that hurts).

But, there is nothing else that makes me feel so connected to my body and its ability to push itself beyond what I think is possible. And though I barely got in under ten minutes, I did it.

And that is good enough for me.

Though next time? I'd better break 9:30.

Just do it (without sweating)

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 13:17:00 +0000

Last night, I got into a conversation with some moms of girls in eighth grade who were from different towns. The discussion was about their schools' gym classes and the fact that kids no longer change into "gym clothes".

After having a brief, yet horrifying, flashback to the ugly one-piece, zip-up gym uniform that I wore in sixth and seventh grade, I realized what they were saying: Kids in gym wear their "everyday" clothes from class, to gym, to class again. No peeling off sweaty tees, or removing wet gym socks, and certainly no quick shower on super-hot days.

I realize that Time In The Classroom is seen as sacred nowadays but I also think this is an interesting message to send tweens: Exercise is important, but if you don't want to stink up your entire biology class, you'd best take it easy.

Sure, many kids play very competitive sports after school, often meeting every day of the school week. But, what about those kids who get very little physical activity, or kids at risk for obesity?

Or maybe gym class meets so infrequently nowadays that no one really believes it makes much of a difference.

----------------------------
Did you used to change for gym class? I honestly can't remember much about junior high/high school, but know we did through middle school. I also remember having to take swimming in first period of eighth grade which was a horror show for all girls who were wearing non-waterproof black eyeliner. Yes, that would include me.

Is this the little boy at play?

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 11:00:00 +0000

I'm going to try not to get all Sunrise/Sunset on you all, but---hold me---my baby is seven today.

SEVEN.

I have a hard time reconciling my growing-up boy with this idea that he will be, always and forever, my baby.

This summer, I remember crouching down at the end of the long-jump pit, waiting with camera to eye for his legs to come running toward me.

I almost didn't click the camera because I thought, Who is this older kid running toward me?

Oof, my heart. He IS the older kid.

Hug your babies, mamas. It does go so fast.

Though seeing the person he is becoming is pretty awesome too.

I am so lucky this little boy is mine. Happy Birthday D.

Too old to play?

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Fri, 09 Sep 2011 11:51:00 +0000

A couple of weeks ago, a friend was telling me her son wanted to play soccer in their town's recreational league, but she had a problem. Her son was too old to be "a beginner".

Around here, soccer is a big deal (probably for you too?), with recreational leagues starting for kids as young as 3 and "travel soccer" teams---these require try-outs---beginning in third grade. You can spot the soccer kids pretty early---they can dribble and shoot and run like a grade-schooler before they can even tie their own cleats.

But, my friend's son is seven. And that bummed me out. Is seven now considered "too old" to start a sport?

She isn't alone in feeling this way. In fact, I clearly remember when Belly was playing first-grade soccer, and I looked over at the second graders playing and thought, "she's going to get crushed in there." To Belly, soccer was fun, social and not really all that competitive. But the girls in the grade above were a well-oiled machine at seven. I can understand my friend's hesitation to throw her son into it.

Another example: My friend's daughter is a gifted gymnast, but never took a serious gymnastics class until she was ten. When she began, she was told that she may be too old to get onto the more competitive track because of her age---the other girls had started training much, much younger. (thankfully, I think her ability convinced them otherwise, but if she had been 11 when she started? probably not)

Want to play football? Don't wait too long. . .our town's third graders start practicing daily in August. . . if you wait until junior or (gasp) high school to try out for a sport, you'll be years in training behind some of your peers.

What about ballet? Jilly's Pre-Ballet class had only one ten-year-old in it; everyone else was younger. Not such a big deal if you are small, but a tall twelve year old would tower over her much-younger classmates.

Now, to be fair, I don't think that most of these classes/teams/groups overtly state that older kids can't join in----but older kids will surely notice that everyone seems to have gotten on board a lot earlier than they, and I imagine this discourages a lot of kids from even trying.

What do you think?

Is this a parent-created problem in that we're worried about our kid being the worst one on the stage/field/mat, so we discourage them from starting something much later than their peers?

Or, do you think your kids don't want to try out for something new because they'd be starting at square one when their friends are already on square 15?

First day of school

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 11:14:00 +0000

It's a weird day to be a homeschooler since my town starts school today. My Facebook and Twitter feeds will fill up with posts about bus-stop waving (and/or the high-fiving that some parents do as the bus drives away), public invites to meet for coffee (without the kids), and lots of talk about school/jitters/teachers and dreaded homework assignments.

I've accepted that our lives are different, though I can't help but wonder what this day would be like if my kids did go to school.

It's 7:15am, and I'm pretty certain everyone would already be down in the kitchen, bleary eyed and nervous. I'd be taking breakfast orders, telling Belly that she must eat something more than a glass of orange juice, even with her stomach in knots.

I'd already be "borrowing" money from their allowance pouches to cobble together exact change for lunch. But, as I write this, I wonder if they have some newfangled system like pre-paid lunch cards---how out of touch am I?

I'd probably have the oven timer going so I could get the kids to the bus on time. Jilly and Belly would both be in the upper elementary school in town, as Jilly is entering third and Belly fifth. Jilly would be super excited, babbling on about the bus ride and who she knows in her class. Belly would be unusually quiet.

After driving them down the street to their noisy, neighborhood-friend-filled bus (it's raining today, otherwise, I'd insist we walk), I'd return home with D for a little while until his turn came. We'd make sure his backpack is all set, maybe watch a few minutes of his favorite cartoon, and then---BEEP BEEP---my timer would go off again, and we'd go to the car.

And then I'd take him down to the same bus stop and watch my new first grader climb on board the big yellow bus, and I'd wave and cry as he drives away. This would be his first full day in school, since our kindergartens are still half-day.

I'd get back in the car and come home to an empty house. There would be beds to make, breakfast dishes to wash, a load of laundry to do. I'd throw myself into work, hoping to pick up more writing here and there to keep myself busy while the kids are in school.

I'd have to set the timer again to remember when the buses return.

You can call me crazy for homeschooling---and there are times I'd agree---but on a day like this, I am so happy that our reality is so very different.

Even if I can't meet you for coffee today without the kids.