It's a Wonderful Thing...

...to be three years old when your curriculum box arrives in the mail!

As I've pondered each child the past few weeks and begun to design programs of studies tailored especially to each of them, Katie has been my easiest to plan.  This child just plain exudes joy.  Everything is happy!

In so many ways, she reminds me of her "biggest brother."  I have a picture of Michael when he was her age posted just above my computer monitor. He is covered in fingerpaint, with his arms spread wide and his smile spread wider.

It serves two purposes:  to remind me to back away from the computer and to remind me of a time when I wholeheartedly encouraged giant messes of creativity. This is my blond-haired, blue-eyed golden boy's last year at home.  We've begun the process of finding a college and I think I can safely claim to have some perspective on home education. That perspective certainly colors plans for everyone else.

I don't want to push the stages of development, nor do I want to fold one stage into another without stopping to really notice and savor it. One thing I find is that the younger children in a large family tend to get folded into the school-aged crowd. The veterans tout all the benefits of "trickle down" and advise that we teach to the oldest when we take the whole family as a group.  If we are not careful, they miss all those wonderful early childhood treasures that we cultivated so happily for our first children.  I am determined not to let that happen, if for no other reason than I LOVE early childhood and all the good things it holds.

Mounted with the picture, just above my computer monitor, is this poem, taken from the Five in a Row website years ago.

If I had my child to raise all over again,

I’d finger-paint more, and point the finger less.

I would do less correcting and more connecting.

I’d take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.

I would care to know less, and know to care more.

I’d take more hikes and fly more kites.

I’d stop playing serious, and seriously play.

I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars.

I’d do more hugging and less tugging.

I’d build self-esteem first, and the new house later.

I would be firm less often, and affirm much more.

I’d teach less about the love of power, and more about the power of love.

For the most part, I lived that philosophy with Michael and I have few regrets. So, with the poem and the picture as my inspiration, finger paint became the focus of Katie’s “official pre-school,” at least metaphorically.  And how silly is this notion of "preschool" when you know there is no school at all planned after a “preschool” that isn’t even school itself?? Ah, but  I digress.

Finger paint really is a glorious medium! We’ll unpack the rest of the box tomorrow.

Oh, that itch!

After the blackberry picking came the poison ivy!  Poor Nicholas and Christian...we've found tea tree oil to help the itch and to clear things up quickly.  Tea tree oil is amazing--it's like an entire medicine chest in a bottle.

"For Real" Friends

Someone recently told me that she didn't have time to blog or message board because she was too busy with her "In Real Life" friends.  She went on to say, somewhat disparagingly, that internet friendships were shallow and somehow false.

I disagree.  We got internet access almost ten years ago.  Since then, I've made friends who are truly precious.  They have seen me through some very trying times.  They've rejoiced with me in some very good times.  And, on rare occasions, they have hurt me like only someone real can hurt.

There are people out there in cyberland who know me very well--we've been writing back and forth for years and we've met in person and we talk on the phone.  And there are some people out there who know me better than I recognize. 

A couple of weeks ago, an internet friend asked if we'd chosen a baby name.  Then, she wrote back and told me she'd remembered it was a secret.  But she guessed anyway.  And since her guess was eerily accurate, I let her in on the secret.

A few days later, after a rousing diaper discussion on the 4Real boards, I had a diaper order ready to go.  And then my mom offered to buy the replacement liner and extensions I need for the co-sleeper. I found both sites, filled both carts and just couldn't press "buy." 

I'm readying the house, but I can't seem to bring myself to ready the baby things. I told my husband about it the other night, but he was the only person on the planet who knew that I can't bring myself to buy anything because I'm scared.  After a heartbreaking miscarriage and two years of infertility, I'm scared to believe this is really true--we're really going to bring home a baby.

At least I thought he was the only one who knew.  Silly me, in this world of connected Catholic moms, I should have known better.  Today, as I sat at the computer, looking again at the crib order, my son brought me a box.  It was a gift from Donna, who knows more than I can bear to contemplate about loss and hope.  In the box was a beautiful pink quilt, perfect for the bed I really do need to assemble.  And with the quilt was a note, encouraging me to revel in these last few weeks of joyful anticipation. It was the first time I've seen the baby's name in print.  She was one who'd guessed.  These friends--these women scattered across the whole wide world and joined in mission and in prayer--these friends are as real as friends get. Not only that, I really think that they are often instruments of the Holy Spirit, real answers to prayer.

Carnival of Homeschooling

Grab a cup of tea and put your feet up.  The 29th Carnival of Homsechooling is being hosted by the Nerd Family!

A Lady Lives Here--Our Lady Lives Here

It must be that nesting urge, combined with all those rosaries, but my thoughts these days are turning evermore to hearth and home and how we can live here with the gentleness and grace of Our Blessed Mother. Donna Marie has posted such an inspiring look at Elegant Simplicity. And, in true traditional style, we’ve talked about it at 4Real. But still, my mind is a whirl.  Where I am from, homes look perfect. But it’s been far too long a road back from the misery of perfectionism. I know that’s not what Our Lady wants for me and I know that’s not what the home of a lady is. Homes where ladies live are homes where the words of John Paul II are taken to heart by the homemaker who lives there:

By taking Mary into his own home, John showed her his filial affection...John's action was the execution of Jesus' testaments in regard to Mary.  But it had symbolic value for each one of Christ's disciples, who are asked to make room for Mary in their lives, to take her into their own homes.  By virtue of these words of the dying Christ, every Christian life must offer a space to Mary and provide for her presence.

Certainly a devotion to Mary is obvious in home where she lives.  Carefully chosen statues and images are nicely displayed there.  Alice is so good at welcoming Mary with style that rises above the cheesy, sanctimonious religious arts and crafts.  If something is truly precious, it needs to look that way. Collections, whether they are polished rocks or religious icons, should never be clutter. Instead, if it matters enough to be invited into our homes, it should be treated and displayed like it matters. A cluttered, disheveled home is much like an unkempt, disheveled woman—certainly not the look of a lady.What is truly important is not the statue or the icon or any of the "stuff" at all, but the palpable presence of Our Lady and the way it is infused in the atmosphere.

However, homes of true ladies are not magazine-perfect, nor so clean that they are sterile.  Instead, they are inviting.  Beauty is not a buff, polished, dyed, surgically-corrected woman in clothes that could finance an Indian family for a year. Beauty is the acceptance of the body created perfectly for the soul He infused in it. It’s good stewardship and care of that temple.  It’s attention to detail but not obsession and vanity. It’s being ladylike:  with gentleness and grace that are a style of their own. And so it is at home.

Sights and smells and even sounds of those ladylike homes welcome the weary to stay and be comforted.  Whether it’s a simple vase of flowers on a dreary January day or freshly squeezed lemonade in the heat of July, the home cheers its inhabitants while not being wearisome or ostentatious.  It’s not about the show; it’s about ministering to souls with gentle, thoughtful, grace.  And the homemaker who lives there calls frequently upon the Blessed Mother for the grace she needs to see to the all the details with calmness and composure.

The ladylike homemaker goes about her daily round with one purpose:  to live as God wants her to live. It does no good if her house shines from top to bottom and her drapes coordinate perfectly with the upholstery and she has hand-glazed all her walls if she has done it all to impress her neighbor and she has been less-than-gracious to her children in getting it that way. We want to be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect, not as the lady across the street is perfect.

So what does that mean for a house with seven children, a dog, a traveling husband and a baby on the way (which means a mom of limited mobility and energy)? To some degree, it means lower standards and higher goals. It means I can’t be on the phone the way I was yesterday morning--trying to talk, barking at my kids, and becoming increasingly frustrated with everybody’s imperfections (not to mention their lack of cleaning finesse). It means I need to take a deep breath and think about how I want our home to be when we welcome our baby. What’s really important?  Order? Yes. Beauty? Definitely.  Comfort?  Certainly.  Peace? Absolutely.  Perfection?  Only in God’s way, in God’s time.