Aside from being older and wiser (HA!), this pregnancy has been different for me in many ways. I was super sick, had odd problems that have never occurred before, and my belly popped out like a beach ball before I even told anyone that I was expecting. I can deal with the odd things, like my feet are freezing, I have to take more medicine than I have ever taken before, and I want to eat something really bad until I get it and it makes me sick to look at it. But for the past few weeks, it has gotten even more weird.
I want to eat a lime. Never mind that I have never eaten a lime before. Ever. Or that I am not even sure I know what a lime tastes like. Every night around bedtime I get this craving that will not go away. For limes. I don't even know what I would do with a lime if I had one. Slice it up and put it in my water? Peel it and eat it? Cook with it? Garnish something? Seriously, no idea.
Last night it was so bad that I went online to find recipes with limes. I found a garlic lime chicken over rice. I had to send my poor husband to the store for lime juice. It was good, and yet, the craving remains. I have tried to drink a bit of lemon lime soda, but after only water forever any soda tastes super sweet. I made lime jello. Did not quench the craving. And I did not like it. As I said, I am not even sure I like lime. I am thinking that I don't.
There really is not point to this, aside from letting you all know how odd I am right now. Well, that, and I am not sure how long my husband will last if I keep waking him up after midnight to tell him that I want a lime, only to have him text me the next day to see if he should stop for one and I say no. The craving is gone by morning, only to return at bedtime and haunt me all night long. So, perhaps you can shoot me an email with lime recipes that I can try. Or I may resort to drinking the lime juice in that tiny green bottle that is now in my fridge...
Friday, March 30, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The Doctor Kicking It Lego Style
Lego creations by Faith
Doctor Who with his sonic screwdriver and the TARDIS
Confession Time
I have a confession. I hate cleaning. My house shows it. There are so many other ways I can find that are very valuable ways to spend my time. My school. Home school. Reading, games, puzzles, activities, crafts with the kids. Backyard fires. Long bike rides. Walks. Movie night.
When we do clean, it is with the kids too. They do dishes, laundry, sweep, scrub, vacuum, and dust. We work together to get it done as quickly as possible. And it looks like the kids helped. They are still learning.
There is always clean laundry stacked on the couch. And crafting remnants on the floor. And Legos everywhere. Game pieces on the living room floor, school work on the dining room table, and glitter all over. We have toys on the floor, books on the love seat, and movies stacked up by the DVD player. There is at least one fake bug somewhere in every room of our house.
You see, we live here. All the time. And we do school here. There are some hyper kids, some slow to complete task kids, and some kids who are much bigger and are just trying to enjoy the little ones while they are still little. And waiting for some little woodland critters to help has not yet paid off. So we dust in between subjects, scoop up toys so we can vacuum, and shift school work to eat together. Regardless of how clean, not or so clean it is, I always step on or hit the bugs, just in case...
When we do clean, it is with the kids too. They do dishes, laundry, sweep, scrub, vacuum, and dust. We work together to get it done as quickly as possible. And it looks like the kids helped. They are still learning.
There is always clean laundry stacked on the couch. And crafting remnants on the floor. And Legos everywhere. Game pieces on the living room floor, school work on the dining room table, and glitter all over. We have toys on the floor, books on the love seat, and movies stacked up by the DVD player. There is at least one fake bug somewhere in every room of our house.
You see, we live here. All the time. And we do school here. There are some hyper kids, some slow to complete task kids, and some kids who are much bigger and are just trying to enjoy the little ones while they are still little. And waiting for some little woodland critters to help has not yet paid off. So we dust in between subjects, scoop up toys so we can vacuum, and shift school work to eat together. Regardless of how clean, not or so clean it is, I always step on or hit the bugs, just in case...
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The Truth About Socialization
When people hear that we home school, there are a few things they usually ask. Why?? Is that legal?? What about socialization?? I am often tempted to give a sarcastic response. "No, actually it's not legal, so please don't tell anyone!" Usually, because I am supposed to be setting a good example for my children, I answer honestly and openly. And maybe with more than the asker bargained for in some cases.
You see, my least favorite question is socialization. According to dictionary.com, socialization is "a continuing process whereby an individual acquires a personal identity and learns the norms, values, behavior, and social skills appropriate to his or her social position". Nothing in the definition states that this happens by being in a group of their peers for over a decade. Actually, I think that the process of obtaining socialization took me longer because of peer pressure. I wanted to be cool. I wanted to fit in. Almost every stupid decision I ever made was a direct result of peer pressure. And it never worked. I was not cool. I did not fit in. And I felt like a sell out every time I saw an injustice and said nothing. Choose to be silent when seeing bullying. Knew my friends were taking up destructive habits, but said nothing. Did not say what I thought or believed because I did not want to be ridiculed because of my faith.
I can give many examples of home schoolers that I know that do not feel the crush of peer pressure. Who stay true to themselves, their beliefs, and their faith regardless of circumstances. Mainly, I see my oldest daughter. Who she is. Who she is becoming.
Angel does not feel the need to impress anyone. She does what she enjoys, regardless of who finds that popular. She wears what she likes. She watches, or does not watch, things based on her preferences and beliefs. She forms her own opinions. Strongly. Her taste in music is not the same as her friends. Or her taste in books, games, activities, or how she feels about school. We are more alike than she will want to admit. But by middle school I had already felt the pull of peer pressure shaping who I was, even though I was strong. She does not. I have seen her decline opportunities with friends because she wants to spend time with extended family. Or at church. I have seen her not participate in activities because she felt that something about those activities was wrong. She sings, dances, and acts because it is fun for her. She performs dances to praise music for church that she choreographs herself because she enjoys it. She participates in youth group, joins her father onstage, and is actively involved in community service. Not because it is what her friends do, but because she finds meaning and enjoyment in those activities.
And yet, despite not caring what others think of her, we can not go anywhere without someone calling out "Hey Angel!" or "Look, Angel's here!" The post office, the bank, the playground, the park, swimming, restaurants, grocery stores, the library, even in our back yard. She knows people everywhere we go. Just tonight we were running at the local school track, just the two of us. We get out of the van , and hear "Angel!!" There were only a handful of people there, and most of them knew her. Children, parents, teachers, coaches.
I am convinced that this happens not despite her being true to herself, but because of it. You see, she learned something already that took me until the beginning of twelfth grade to discover. It does not matter in the long run who likes what you do if you do not. It does not matter what others think of your faith if God is not pleased. It does not matter what others think of you if you are not happy with who you are. She is very comfortable with who she is, and that appeals to others. Spending time with a variety of ages makes her comfortable talking to her peers, their parents, and any siblings. She is kind, likes listening to people, and enjoys serving God and others. I know that she is this confident in who she is because she has been given the freedom of home school. Freedom to help choose what she learns, and how. Freedom to excel, or take some extra time. Freedom to interact with her great grandparents, uncles, younger siblings, friends, parents, coaches, teachers and even those people who ask if we are sure our children will have enough socialization.
You see, my least favorite question is socialization. According to dictionary.com, socialization is "a continuing process whereby an individual acquires a personal identity and learns the norms, values, behavior, and social skills appropriate to his or her social position". Nothing in the definition states that this happens by being in a group of their peers for over a decade. Actually, I think that the process of obtaining socialization took me longer because of peer pressure. I wanted to be cool. I wanted to fit in. Almost every stupid decision I ever made was a direct result of peer pressure. And it never worked. I was not cool. I did not fit in. And I felt like a sell out every time I saw an injustice and said nothing. Choose to be silent when seeing bullying. Knew my friends were taking up destructive habits, but said nothing. Did not say what I thought or believed because I did not want to be ridiculed because of my faith.
I can give many examples of home schoolers that I know that do not feel the crush of peer pressure. Who stay true to themselves, their beliefs, and their faith regardless of circumstances. Mainly, I see my oldest daughter. Who she is. Who she is becoming.
Angel does not feel the need to impress anyone. She does what she enjoys, regardless of who finds that popular. She wears what she likes. She watches, or does not watch, things based on her preferences and beliefs. She forms her own opinions. Strongly. Her taste in music is not the same as her friends. Or her taste in books, games, activities, or how she feels about school. We are more alike than she will want to admit. But by middle school I had already felt the pull of peer pressure shaping who I was, even though I was strong. She does not. I have seen her decline opportunities with friends because she wants to spend time with extended family. Or at church. I have seen her not participate in activities because she felt that something about those activities was wrong. She sings, dances, and acts because it is fun for her. She performs dances to praise music for church that she choreographs herself because she enjoys it. She participates in youth group, joins her father onstage, and is actively involved in community service. Not because it is what her friends do, but because she finds meaning and enjoyment in those activities.
And yet, despite not caring what others think of her, we can not go anywhere without someone calling out "Hey Angel!" or "Look, Angel's here!" The post office, the bank, the playground, the park, swimming, restaurants, grocery stores, the library, even in our back yard. She knows people everywhere we go. Just tonight we were running at the local school track, just the two of us. We get out of the van , and hear "Angel!!" There were only a handful of people there, and most of them knew her. Children, parents, teachers, coaches.
I am convinced that this happens not despite her being true to herself, but because of it. You see, she learned something already that took me until the beginning of twelfth grade to discover. It does not matter in the long run who likes what you do if you do not. It does not matter what others think of your faith if God is not pleased. It does not matter what others think of you if you are not happy with who you are. She is very comfortable with who she is, and that appeals to others. Spending time with a variety of ages makes her comfortable talking to her peers, their parents, and any siblings. She is kind, likes listening to people, and enjoys serving God and others. I know that she is this confident in who she is because she has been given the freedom of home school. Freedom to help choose what she learns, and how. Freedom to excel, or take some extra time. Freedom to interact with her great grandparents, uncles, younger siblings, friends, parents, coaches, teachers and even those people who ask if we are sure our children will have enough socialization.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
How very odd...
Pregnancy does odd things to a woman. To her body, to her mental state, to her emotional state, and even to her family. There are things other people notice by a glance, like my freaky hair, my double wide booty, or a belly that looks 6 months but is only 15 weeks. Then there are the things that my family notices, like the fact that I no longer drink coffee everyday, that peanut butter make me sick, and that I am oversensitive about things like babies and Batman. Then there are the things I notice, like I have to go to the bathroom every half hour all night long, that I sweat doing even the most mundane things, or that I eat like a hobbit. My feet grow wider, my nose gets bigger, my hair is curly one day and straight the next.
Pregnancy has made my family extra irritating. For example, they do crazy things like eat the last of the chocolate, drink the last of the water, or breathe at me. Or, while I am sleeping they crawl into my dreams and do irritating stuff so that I wake up grumpy. Or they do horrible things like ask me where I would like to eat for supper, which makes me cry. Or they are really nice to me when I am mad for no rational reason.
Then there are the times that I crave some specific food, only to make it and gag over the way it looks. Or those times when I want two foods that will never go good together, like chocolate ice cream and lemonade. The times I will die if I do not have a Sheetz hot dog right now, even if I was sound asleep five seconds ago.
There are those times when I cry at the baby on the baby wipe box. Or because Andy told me that I am beautiful when pregnant. And he did not even mention that I am also crazy. Or I cry because my son told me that Batman is not real. Or when I cry because it is Tuesday. Or reading a poem about a bird to my son, or a birthday cake book to my other son. Or when I am talking to my daughter about Narnia, or dinosaurs. I cry when I do not even know that I am crying. At first my children found it alarming. Now they laugh behind their hands. In a different room. Which also makes me cry.
But the worst has to be that somewhere, deep down, there is a remnant of the rational me that sees all of this crazy. And she protests. And she tries to reason with my hormone saturated brain. She struggles to make sense of my tears, my fears, my craving, and my brand of crazy. She knows that Batman is (probably) not real. She knows that of course the baby on the wipes box is cute. And that it is actually me who is irritating, not my family. She tries to explain that it is ok if they eat the chocolate, because it makes me sick anyway. And that I do cry too much, and when it was not me, say it was my mother, I found it funny too. But she is too quiet to hear over my craziness, and I am the only one who sees her daily.
She also knows that soon this will all be over. The world will not end. People do not die from being pregnant, even if they also homeschool. There will be a wonderful tiny baby, and we will laugh and cry and be a family forever. And, very importantly, she knows that soon I will be able to stomach chocolate. And a daily cup of coffee. But I will be reluctant to give up my nap.
Pregnancy has made my family extra irritating. For example, they do crazy things like eat the last of the chocolate, drink the last of the water, or breathe at me. Or, while I am sleeping they crawl into my dreams and do irritating stuff so that I wake up grumpy. Or they do horrible things like ask me where I would like to eat for supper, which makes me cry. Or they are really nice to me when I am mad for no rational reason.
Then there are the times that I crave some specific food, only to make it and gag over the way it looks. Or those times when I want two foods that will never go good together, like chocolate ice cream and lemonade. The times I will die if I do not have a Sheetz hot dog right now, even if I was sound asleep five seconds ago.
There are those times when I cry at the baby on the baby wipe box. Or because Andy told me that I am beautiful when pregnant. And he did not even mention that I am also crazy. Or I cry because my son told me that Batman is not real. Or when I cry because it is Tuesday. Or reading a poem about a bird to my son, or a birthday cake book to my other son. Or when I am talking to my daughter about Narnia, or dinosaurs. I cry when I do not even know that I am crying. At first my children found it alarming. Now they laugh behind their hands. In a different room. Which also makes me cry.
But the worst has to be that somewhere, deep down, there is a remnant of the rational me that sees all of this crazy. And she protests. And she tries to reason with my hormone saturated brain. She struggles to make sense of my tears, my fears, my craving, and my brand of crazy. She knows that Batman is (probably) not real. She knows that of course the baby on the wipes box is cute. And that it is actually me who is irritating, not my family. She tries to explain that it is ok if they eat the chocolate, because it makes me sick anyway. And that I do cry too much, and when it was not me, say it was my mother, I found it funny too. But she is too quiet to hear over my craziness, and I am the only one who sees her daily.
She also knows that soon this will all be over. The world will not end. People do not die from being pregnant, even if they also homeschool. There will be a wonderful tiny baby, and we will laugh and cry and be a family forever. And, very importantly, she knows that soon I will be able to stomach chocolate. And a daily cup of coffee. But I will be reluctant to give up my nap.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)