I never believed it would happen. I never hoped it would happen. I never expected or anticipated it would happen - but is has. For the first time in my life, at least the first time in my memory of my life (which admittedly is not as complete as the life itself), I have accomplished an act of humanity heretofore witheld from me....my fingers sweat.
My husband can sweat buckets, and after a full day of working outside in the summertime his shirts are so sweat-logged that I can literally wring them out and make puddles on the floor. My son sweats; with his current army buzz cut the little droplets of sweat sit on his scalp like dew resting on blades of grass awaiting further orders. My daughters sweat, all of them, and I have the stinky laundry and empty containers of deodorant to prove it. Even little Emma can moisten her armpits after a good play session. My brothers and sisters sweat, my neighbors sweat, my friends sweat. In fact, it is my understanding and a commonly held belief that all humans sweat. Except me. Until now.
To truly understand the significance of this sweating event, you must understand that I am not a sweater and never have been. When I get hot my face turns a deep shade of red and starts to swell like a balloon. Torso and limbs may warm up a little, but nothing to write home about. My hands and my feet never seem to retain any body heat whatsoever, so they have no opportunity to get the hot party started. If "cold hands means a warm heart" is valid, then I am the warmest hearted person on the planet. The best I have been able to accomplish thus far from my physical exertions is a mild form of heat stroke.
Life changed and my very existence redefined itself last week. Hannah and I were coming home from our 3.3 mile run. We were about 30 minutes into it and on the home stretch. The weather was cool, the fall foliage glorious. Normally when I run I am concentrating on keeping my breathing even and my feet moving. I am in survival mode and conserve all my mental and physical energy for the task at hand. This day was different; somehow the route seemed easier, and the beauty of God's glorious creation was just too spectacular to ignore. I let my mind wander where it would, and at that moment my brain sent the unexpected message, "You need to wipe your hands. Your fingers are sweating!" I looked down, and sure enough my fingers on each hand were glistening. Surprised and amazed, I called Hannah over as a witness to the perspiration miracle.
Since that run last week I have had "glowing digits" several more times. As further confirmation, during Tuesday's Modern class I was not the coldest person in the room. My body, including my chronically cold mitts, was more comfortable in the cool temps of the classroom than the strapping, healthy young lad who said he was freezing. Perhaps my warm heart is cooling down because of the stress and strain in my life; perhaps not, but for sure my fingers are warming up. I believe the evidence is to strong to ignore - I have joined the human race.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
To Be or Not to Be (a Homeschooler)
My first exposure to the word "homeschooler" was in 1992 in San Antonio, Texas. A family from our church there had three school-aged children who did not go to school. One of them was 8 years old and still sucked his thumb, so needless to say my first impression was not altogether positive. Fast forward a few years and now my oldest sister has decided to "do preschool" at home. When the time comes for first grade, said sister's son, Andrew, is still at home. Andrew never did go to "school", and now he is a college graduate, a homeowner, and a full scholarship law student at a prestigious law school in Denver. No thumb sucking loser here...
Homeschooling was a fairly unknown practice in the 90s. When I told well-intentioned friends and neighbors that my son was not enrolled in the local public school, they barraged me with well meaning comments: "Is that legal?" "Does the government know?" "You mean, he never gets to ride a school bus?" One uncle in particular decided he was going to test Jonmark's educational progress. Every time we saw Uncle Dick he questioned my young lad. "What is 20 times 52?" "Tell me what you know about Picasso." "Where is Yugoslavia?" These questions were all well and good, except for the fact that Jonmark was still in preschool. Uncle Dick started to let up his interrogations, however, when Jonmark amazed him with his ability to read and correctly pronounce the word PENSKE on a yellow moving truck when he was three years old. I can't say we convinced Uncle Dick 100 percent, but at least he relaxed a little and saved the theory of relativity questions for middle school.
In the 21st century homeschooling has gained a place of recognition in mainstream society. People no longer ask, "What is that?" nor are they itching to pick up the phone and contact the local truancy officer or the department of family services. Homeschooling has arrived into the public consciousness; however, the impression of homeschoolers could use a little adjusting. Somehow the whole media presentation of homeschoolers has lumped us all as backward, nerdy, uncoordinated, too smart for our own good, weird, nerdy, socially inept, nerdy (did I say nerdy already?), out of touch with reality and nerdy. Just today my daughter, Hannah, was speaking with a man at church. Once he heard the word "homeschooler", bells and recognition whistles sounded in his brain and he commented, "I have never known a homeschooler who liked sports." Really? Have you met Matt Segrist?
Attempting to shun the negative image, several teenagers who do not attend public or private school refuse to identify themselves as homeschoolers. "I am not a homeschooler; I am just a dude who does school at my house." Really? Really? And how does that differentiation make you not a homeschooler? Just what hair are you splitting? A homeschooler is a person who completes their school requirements at home. Sorry to break it to you, dude, but you is a homeschooler; you be learning at home (my attempt to overcome the nerdy "knows all the grammar rules" stereotype); your desk may be your couch and your lunchroom may be the kitchen table, your principal may be your father and your mascot may be your dog, you may be too cool for school, but anyway you slice it you are a homeschooler. If you don't like the label, I suggest you shift the paradigm. Rather than exclude yourself from the select group of individuals who are quickly becoming the cream of the crop in the hallowed halls of higher learning and the new golden boys in the economic marketplace, why don't you just admit the truth - YOU are a homeschooler. Wear the label with pride, and show the world exactly what an individual can be when they have the freedom to develop according to their God given talents. Apply the sage advice of some nerdy intellectual before you, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." Welcome to the club, dude.
Homeschooling was a fairly unknown practice in the 90s. When I told well-intentioned friends and neighbors that my son was not enrolled in the local public school, they barraged me with well meaning comments: "Is that legal?" "Does the government know?" "You mean, he never gets to ride a school bus?" One uncle in particular decided he was going to test Jonmark's educational progress. Every time we saw Uncle Dick he questioned my young lad. "What is 20 times 52?" "Tell me what you know about Picasso." "Where is Yugoslavia?" These questions were all well and good, except for the fact that Jonmark was still in preschool. Uncle Dick started to let up his interrogations, however, when Jonmark amazed him with his ability to read and correctly pronounce the word PENSKE on a yellow moving truck when he was three years old. I can't say we convinced Uncle Dick 100 percent, but at least he relaxed a little and saved the theory of relativity questions for middle school.
In the 21st century homeschooling has gained a place of recognition in mainstream society. People no longer ask, "What is that?" nor are they itching to pick up the phone and contact the local truancy officer or the department of family services. Homeschooling has arrived into the public consciousness; however, the impression of homeschoolers could use a little adjusting. Somehow the whole media presentation of homeschoolers has lumped us all as backward, nerdy, uncoordinated, too smart for our own good, weird, nerdy, socially inept, nerdy (did I say nerdy already?), out of touch with reality and nerdy. Just today my daughter, Hannah, was speaking with a man at church. Once he heard the word "homeschooler", bells and recognition whistles sounded in his brain and he commented, "I have never known a homeschooler who liked sports." Really? Have you met Matt Segrist?
Attempting to shun the negative image, several teenagers who do not attend public or private school refuse to identify themselves as homeschoolers. "I am not a homeschooler; I am just a dude who does school at my house." Really? Really? And how does that differentiation make you not a homeschooler? Just what hair are you splitting? A homeschooler is a person who completes their school requirements at home. Sorry to break it to you, dude, but you is a homeschooler; you be learning at home (my attempt to overcome the nerdy "knows all the grammar rules" stereotype); your desk may be your couch and your lunchroom may be the kitchen table, your principal may be your father and your mascot may be your dog, you may be too cool for school, but anyway you slice it you are a homeschooler. If you don't like the label, I suggest you shift the paradigm. Rather than exclude yourself from the select group of individuals who are quickly becoming the cream of the crop in the hallowed halls of higher learning and the new golden boys in the economic marketplace, why don't you just admit the truth - YOU are a homeschooler. Wear the label with pride, and show the world exactly what an individual can be when they have the freedom to develop according to their God given talents. Apply the sage advice of some nerdy intellectual before you, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." Welcome to the club, dude.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Where Does the Time Go?
Thank you, Susan, for the reminder to keep my blog updated as well. To tell the truth, I justified not blogging last week because I was too busy and blogging was too far down on the "to do" list. Too busy? Is that a fair excuse? I decided to dedicate this post to finding out, and so using pure scientific and mathematical methodology I will examine my weekly schedule. Judgment awaits...
In the mean time, however, I guess I need to take some tips from someone we all know whom I will refer to (for anonymity) as Mrs. Tasteful. Mrs. Tasteful has cut out the eating and sleeping almost completely, thus adding 133 hours to her week. She also communicates, counsels and homeschools while driving. Not only does Mrs. Tasteful homeschool her own child, but she also has taken several other students under her wing and helps all of them be successful. Amazingly, Mrs. Tasteful can pray while watching kids, clean while plotting world domination and pay bills by osmosis. Actually she gives and gives and gives, and God's grace covers the rest.
So am I too busy to blog? No way! Life is as full as we make it, and if God's grace can cover Mrs. Tasteful, I can depend on God's mercy to cover me. After all, there is always the summer for sleeping...
- 168 hours available in a week (24 hours times 7 days)
- Theoretically speaking, a person should get 8 hours of sleep per night, right? 168-56 = 112 hours available.
- For my physical and mental health, and for the benefit of the rest of humanity, I shower daily. (Yes, I know you thank me.) Some of my most creative ideas come to me when I am in the shower. Christmas Tree Volcanos, Treasure Maps, International Trips and Anne Hutchison Trials all are beholden to my watery world for their existence. Some people can take five minute showers - I cannot. Although I do not hold the Musick household record for shower excess (Hannah holds that title. She frequently falls asleep in the shower, really!), my typical shower time from entering the room until leaving is 30 minutes. That adds up to three and a half hours per week under water, so I will just add an additional 30 minutes for Saturday spa activities and call it an even four. 112-4 = 108. hours available.
- Eating is important, right? Three squares and all that? Food prep time, consumption time, cleanup time = 3 hours per day. I don't cook every meal from scratch. Breakfast is usually cereal or bagels, lunch is left overs, tea time Bible time is snacks, and dinner is a continual mystery. Giving credit where credit is due, my wonderful husband Mark does dinner on Tuesday nights, and my superior daughter Hannah does dinner on Thursday nights. Sunday nights are food scavenger hunts, so I don't cook then either. Still, skimming the cream off the raw milk, shopping for fresh produce and dispatching the packing off of pre-packaged foods does take time, so I think the 21 hours per week is justified. 108-21 = 87 hours available.
- Scheduled activites: Church (3 hours), Dance Class Chauffeur (2 hours), Tuesday Homelink Teaching (10 hours), Wednesday Tutoring (4 hours), Thursday Homelink Teaching (9 hours). 28 hours reserved in total. 87-28 = 59 hours available.
- Time with God. More important than beans and chocolate is my spiritual nourishment. If I don't keep myself in the Word, in prayer and in worship I begin to shrivel up and die on the inside. My success as a wife, mother, teacher, friend, neighbor is directly related to my relationship with God. Although busy stress often tempts me to skip over this time commitment when other NEEDS press in, I just can't do life without God. Impossible. Not gonna happen. Thirty minutes a day - ironically, the same as my shower time. 59-4 = 55 hours available.
- Time with Mark. Husbands have this expectation that their wives will be there and be available. Imagine that. Hard to be a help meet when one is comatose, I realize marriage takes time to do well. Not even claiming to "do well", I mentally reserve thirty minutes a day for the attempt. Add in a coffee date and we are up to 4 hours again. 55-4 = 51 hours available.
- Homeschooling. Ahhhhhhhh! I am a homeschool mom. Thankfully my children are very self-sufficient and can do a lot for themselves, but Emma still needs to learn how to read, Glory is just getting confident in her academic skills, Clara is taking her first "real" classes at Homelink, Hannah is a whiz at writing but not quite so "whizzy" at Algebra, and Jonmark is at college but is still my boy. To make like manageable our family does homeschool four days a week. We skip Tuesday because of Homelink, and Hannah covers Thursday since I am gone all day. Monday,Wednesday and Friday I oversee my children's work, write out assignments, explain math concepts, read stories aloud and try to create an environment where my children will learn and thrive. 51-9 = 42 hours available.
- Bills and Housework. Praise God for understanding husbands! My man has taken over the biggest portion of our home care, and during Saturday cleaning day I pay bills and take care of our family business paperwork. During the week a quick sweep, a few loads of laundry, a daily ten minute tidy are all I do, ignoring the rest of the dust and clutter. 42-5 = 37 hours available.
- Driving. Living in House Springs, we are 30 minutes away from St. Louis metro area. I put about 300 miles a week on my car, which at 45 mph translates into around 7 hours behind the wheel. 37-7 = 30 hours available.
- Running. My new motivation to transform my couch potato status requires 4 hours per week. The increase in energy and endorphin release after completing a run is well worth the time. 30-4 = 26 hours available.
- Lesson planning. I teach five different class preps (9 classes total), and to prepare for each class probably takes an average of one hour per class per week. 26-5 = 21 hours.
- Friday night movie and Sunday night movie. My family does not have a working television, but we do depend on Netflix to provide Friday night entertainment. Currently the older half of the family enjoys watching Chuck. We watch one DVD per weekend, usually about 3 hours of viewing. On Sunday nights the yournger half of the family gets to have their turn: Phineas and Ferb, Delilah and Julius, Cooking shows and cheezy children's movies occupy another 2 hours of viewing. This is family time, so everyone is expected to participate. Have I fallen asleep during Sunday movie nights - often. Can I skip - no. 21-5 = 16 hours available.
- Family walks/activities. Walks through the neighborhood, family "meetings", trips to the zoo, errand running, Missionettes, etc. The miscellaneous of family life occupies about 3 hours per week. 16-3 = 13 hours available.
- Telephone calls and internet. Homework assignments, communication with Homelink parents, talking to Kerrie Tate, checking in with extended family out of state, writing to friends in Japan.....yikes, I really fall down in this area of responsibility. Probably I average about 10 hours per week, but I should be doing much more. Relationships with people are so important, and life is too short to push people to the back burner. 13-10 = 3 hours available.
- GRADING! Oh, I have saved the best for last. I have over 70 composition students. On average I am reviewing around 35 writing assignments and grading another 35 writing assignments. It takes about 10-20 minutes per paper, depending on how long it is, how good it is, etc. Japanese students also have homework for correction, plus overseeing reader's journals, comprehension questions, vocabulary notebooks, workbook unit pages, and then recording all the grades on paper and online with Engrade. 3-24 = (negative 21) hours not available.
In the mean time, however, I guess I need to take some tips from someone we all know whom I will refer to (for anonymity) as Mrs. Tasteful. Mrs. Tasteful has cut out the eating and sleeping almost completely, thus adding 133 hours to her week. She also communicates, counsels and homeschools while driving. Not only does Mrs. Tasteful homeschool her own child, but she also has taken several other students under her wing and helps all of them be successful. Amazingly, Mrs. Tasteful can pray while watching kids, clean while plotting world domination and pay bills by osmosis. Actually she gives and gives and gives, and God's grace covers the rest.
So am I too busy to blog? No way! Life is as full as we make it, and if God's grace can cover Mrs. Tasteful, I can depend on God's mercy to cover me. After all, there is always the summer for sleeping...
Monday, September 26, 2011
Run Like the Wind (with shoes from the 70s)
In high school I had this fleeting dream of becoming a runner. True to that goal, I saved my hard to come by money and bought a rather expensive pair of Etonic running shoes. Trying to be as prepared as possible, I also bought the then best seller book by Jim Fixx entitled The Complete Book of Running. Shoes - check. Research - check. Excitement - check. Motivation - check. On to the training (I would say that I was "off and running", but not only would that be a bad pun; it would also be untrue).
The first few days I dutifully got up with my alarm clock at 6:00am and shuffled out the door. Living in Colorado at the time, the cool evenings and high altitude soon zapped my motivation. Somehow the snooze button became a preeminent longing that squelched the runner dream. Just 10 more minutes and I will be a world class runner in training. Just 10 more minutes. OK, just 10 more minutes. Soon it was "get ready for school time" and my window of opportunity had passed. Motivation may have taken a hit, but I was still excited about becoming a runner, just not an early morning runner.
Death has a tendency to quell excitement. The whole idea of running for me was integrally tied in with the idea of good health, fitness and longevity. Runners are superhuman, right? Well, not long after I pretend started my regimen of running, Jim Fixx, the author of The Complete Book of Running, died....of a heart attack....while running......(yes, while running!!) Excitement = extinguished. The fact he had an undiagnosed congenital heart defect was inconsequential to me. My running hero was gone, and whether it be true or false, running appeared to be complicit in the deed. In honor of Mr. Fixx, I shelved the book and retired the shoes.
Ah, the shoes. Maroon suede and nylon runners with silver wings on each side, these footwear beauties have caused my children much embarrassment over the years. You see, after 29 years I still own my original Etonics. I have worn them occasionally for household jobs, walking, even a hike or two. My red racers were my shoes of choice for painting the playground maps at Homelink in 2009, so several times that year my son Jonmark refused to walk next to me or acknowledge me as family, claiming I looked like a perverse combination of Bozo the Clown meets Achilles. Finally, after almost three decades of waiting, my faithful Etonics (with Trans Am written on the heels for good measure) are getting use according to the purpose for which they were originally created. I am using my running shoes to run!
Whether it is running, jogging or bounce shuffling is an argument for another time. For now, however, I am very proud to report my running shoes are getting worn out and will soon need replacing. Most running shoes are designed to last six months with moderate use. My shoes have lasted 58 times longer than that.
Picking up a long abandoned dream with tacky fashion footwear,
HRM
The first few days I dutifully got up with my alarm clock at 6:00am and shuffled out the door. Living in Colorado at the time, the cool evenings and high altitude soon zapped my motivation. Somehow the snooze button became a preeminent longing that squelched the runner dream. Just 10 more minutes and I will be a world class runner in training. Just 10 more minutes. OK, just 10 more minutes. Soon it was "get ready for school time" and my window of opportunity had passed. Motivation may have taken a hit, but I was still excited about becoming a runner, just not an early morning runner.
Death has a tendency to quell excitement. The whole idea of running for me was integrally tied in with the idea of good health, fitness and longevity. Runners are superhuman, right? Well, not long after I pretend started my regimen of running, Jim Fixx, the author of The Complete Book of Running, died....of a heart attack....while running......(yes, while running!!) Excitement = extinguished. The fact he had an undiagnosed congenital heart defect was inconsequential to me. My running hero was gone, and whether it be true or false, running appeared to be complicit in the deed. In honor of Mr. Fixx, I shelved the book and retired the shoes.
Ah, the shoes. Maroon suede and nylon runners with silver wings on each side, these footwear beauties have caused my children much embarrassment over the years. You see, after 29 years I still own my original Etonics. I have worn them occasionally for household jobs, walking, even a hike or two. My red racers were my shoes of choice for painting the playground maps at Homelink in 2009, so several times that year my son Jonmark refused to walk next to me or acknowledge me as family, claiming I looked like a perverse combination of Bozo the Clown meets Achilles. Finally, after almost three decades of waiting, my faithful Etonics (with Trans Am written on the heels for good measure) are getting use according to the purpose for which they were originally created. I am using my running shoes to run!
Whether it is running, jogging or bounce shuffling is an argument for another time. For now, however, I am very proud to report my running shoes are getting worn out and will soon need replacing. Most running shoes are designed to last six months with moderate use. My shoes have lasted 58 times longer than that.
Picking up a long abandoned dream with tacky fashion footwear,
HRM
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Sunday Struggle
I don't want to be here doing this blog. Sundays at the Musick household have a long standing tradition for being "nap" sacred. From lunch until family walk time, anyone in the house over the age of 40 and under the age of 5 takes a nap. We take the Sabbath seriously, and any deviation from the norm causes major rebellion. I am not taking a snooze on this cool and rainy afternoon, and I am NOT happy about it.
The whole problem started last night. On a normal weekend the Musick teens and parentals enjoy a Netflix movie after the Little Munchkins are in bed. We don't have a TV, so this once a week ritual is our opportunity to watch Psych, Monk, a good movie, and our most recent find - Chuck. This weekend Hannah and I attended the Joyce Meyer's Women's Conference and were not home on Friday night. No Chuck. Saturday nights we are supposed to go to bed early so we can get to church on time, but this past Saturday we wanted to relax after the long conference and decided to "Chuck it up". Bad idea, because although each of us might have a modicum of self-control, as a group we revert to the least common denominator.
Before we started Chucking we unanimously agreed to watch one show, or at the most two. After the second show two of us were stalwart in our intent to stop, but a unnamed family derelict said he needed to know what happened next (the fact that there is only one human male living in our house at the moment might give away too much as to who this was, but don't think about it too hard). After the third show, the youngest member of our Chuck clan pushed the play button for the fourth episode, and the rest of us did not have the energy to refute the action. Thus we went from a 45 minute break to a 3 hour break.
Going to bed way too late, we were 25 minutes late for church today. Now, instead of counting sheep, I am making sure I know enough about blogging to instruct my students in said exercise on the morrow. Was the late night worth it - I have to say yes. Family time is precious, and life is for living in and through the distractions. I can sleep another time.
There. I survived. My first blog is "in the bag", and I might even have time to squeeze in a trip to dreamland before the natives get restless.
Happy ZZZZZZZZZs and blissful blogging,
HRM
The whole problem started last night. On a normal weekend the Musick teens and parentals enjoy a Netflix movie after the Little Munchkins are in bed. We don't have a TV, so this once a week ritual is our opportunity to watch Psych, Monk, a good movie, and our most recent find - Chuck. This weekend Hannah and I attended the Joyce Meyer's Women's Conference and were not home on Friday night. No Chuck. Saturday nights we are supposed to go to bed early so we can get to church on time, but this past Saturday we wanted to relax after the long conference and decided to "Chuck it up". Bad idea, because although each of us might have a modicum of self-control, as a group we revert to the least common denominator.
Before we started Chucking we unanimously agreed to watch one show, or at the most two. After the second show two of us were stalwart in our intent to stop, but a unnamed family derelict said he needed to know what happened next (the fact that there is only one human male living in our house at the moment might give away too much as to who this was, but don't think about it too hard). After the third show, the youngest member of our Chuck clan pushed the play button for the fourth episode, and the rest of us did not have the energy to refute the action. Thus we went from a 45 minute break to a 3 hour break.
Going to bed way too late, we were 25 minutes late for church today. Now, instead of counting sheep, I am making sure I know enough about blogging to instruct my students in said exercise on the morrow. Was the late night worth it - I have to say yes. Family time is precious, and life is for living in and through the distractions. I can sleep another time.
There. I survived. My first blog is "in the bag", and I might even have time to squeeze in a trip to dreamland before the natives get restless.
Happy ZZZZZZZZZs and blissful blogging,
HRM
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)